Prologue: Beware the Four Brothers

A/N: I watched Labyrinth late at night while reading Wintersong and catching up on my greek mythology. This was the result.

Before anyone says anything, let me answer a few questions first. Will you ever finish The Opposite of Loneliness? YES. Resounding yes. It's actually my resolution to finish that story. Are updates on this going to be frequent? Yes yes and yes. I promise. I PROMISE. Right now I've got this story mapped out and I'm really excited for it, so you'll probably see an influx of updates on this story before an update on TOoL.

Once, when the earth was still young, a powerful deity controlled the ways of the world. He decided when the sun set and when the moon rose. With a flick of a wrist, tides formed and crashed forcefully on the sand he warmed with his breath. Artists, writers, and musicians had him to thank for their beautiful paintings, heartwrenching sonnets, and breathtaking concertos. Many would travel across treacherous waters, dangerous lands, and various realms just for the opportunity to lay tribute at his alter deep in the Enchanted Forest. Those that flocked to him fed his strength and unsurprisingly his influence continued to grow, untethered and uncontrolled, throughout the years.

However, unbeknownst to his many admirers, the more power he was given, the greedier he became. What was once a bright light shining on a dark world turned into something more sinister. No longer did he cast a warm glow around the lives of those he touched. His presence once comforting became searing, blistering. Music dissolved into nothing more than dissonant screeches clawing out of taught strings as they begged for escape while art twisted onto itself to form grotesque creatures. What was once beautiful turned into a type of deformed perversion. Soon enough neighbor turned against neighbor, brother against brother, daughter against mother, as a sun too hot dried up the lands, boiled the waters, and threw existence into a state of perpetual chaos. Before long, those who once worshipped him began to resent him. Those with cunning began to whisper about stripping the deity of his power. Talks of potions, spells, and enchantments were gathered by the wind as they bounced like marbles off the branches and leaves deep in the forest.

Enraged by the betrayal and fearful that one day his enemies would try to snatch away his gifts, he thought of a plan to ensure that it would be impossible for any single entity to take what was rightfully his. In a fit of rage, he cursed the realms into an endless night filled with unrest, bloodshed, and violence.

Then, he split a portion of his heart into four shards.

The first and largest shard, he named Liam. Full of leadership and prowess, he placed him in the sea so he could reign over the waters and keep seafarers in their place. And thus was born the Ruler of the Sea.

The second, smaller but still potent, he named Graham. Bloodthirsty and cunning, he placed him in the forest in the hopes that he would continue to feed man's inner beast. With the help of his wolf, he planted the seeds of hatred in every man's heart. And thus was born the Ruler of War.

The third, sensitive and creative, but nonetheless filled with hate, he named August. Created with a chisel in one hand and a mallet in the other, he carved intricate designs of powerful weapons in the minds of vengeful men. And thus was born the Ruler of Sinister Creation.

The final shard, small and chipped, he almost discarded. Filled with a sense of shame that someone as powerful as he could produce something so flawed, he attempted to crush the piece and start anew. Just as his hand was about to close upon the deficient fragment, it jumped out of his hand and glowed a deep, inky black. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to manage to catch the shard as it danced and jumped on the floor. He reluctantly spat out a final name. Killian. Determined to put something so useless in its rightful place, the deity banished his youngest son into the depths of the earth without so much as a second glance. And thus was born the Ruler of the Underworld.

Liam, Graham, and August trained mercilessly under their father for centuries before taking their rightful stations. Filled with his anger and vengeful soul, they tormented their subjects.

Sailors and fisherman alike were tortured by dangerous currents and impenetrable seawalls. Lost ships rattled the seas while Liam's raucous laughter streaked through the sky as lightning that split the darkness with the only vestiges of light left in this dark world.

Armies of woodland nymphs and sinister goblins dashed through the forests under Graham's instruction filling the villager's hearts with thoughts of battle and death.

Nimble hands once used to sculpt, paint, and compose were guided by August and his muses to create deadly weapons, which neighbors never hesitated to use on eachother.

Each brother wanted nothing but to get their revenge, to abuse the mortal world without extinguishing them completely as not to destroy their own fun.

But young Killian wished for nothing but to see the world above.

"Papa! I want to see the sea too papa," he would shout upward.

"What of trees papa? What do the trees look like?" He implored.

"Please! Please let me just see the animals. Let me just see them once." The sounds of his cries echoed in the empty darkness.

Day in and day out he would scream and beg, but never once did his father reply. No one replied. No one ever replied. And so poor little Killian was left in charge of the deep labyrinths of the underworld with no one's guidance, destined to live a life of loneliness and solitude. Until one day when something extraordinary happened.

"The meadow is just over there mama! Look, the moon is round and bright tonight. There's not even a need for a lantern." The pit pat of tiny footsteps crunching through fallen leaves sliced through the eerie silence. Flashes of blonde seemed to light up the darkness as flaxen braids danced wildly in the wind.

"Emma! You must remember the full moon tempts many children into the darkness." A pale woman with obsidian hair warned as the girl skipped in the tall grass. "Beware of the four brothers, my love."

"Of course, mama."

Dancing through what was left of her world's verdure Princess Emma quickly forgot about the warnings of sinister men. Tiny eager hands blindly searched for the bright little pretty things her Granny had described earlier. Flowers, she called them, a beautiful relict of a time before endless darkness. It was in that moment that she heard it.

"Papa please! Just this once, please!" It sounded like nothing more than the wind at first, a muffle in the breeze, but her back straightened and her ears perked up nonetheless.

"Papa please! Let me out just for a minute, a second." Searching for the source of the plaintive cries, the princess crouched onto the hard earth and placed her ear to the ground.

"Papa! Papa just give me a chance! Please!" The sound was a boy. He was crying.

"Mama! Mama! There's a boy! He's trapped in the ground!" Frantically, Emma searched for her mother, but all she could see was a seemingly endless meadow. Blinded by the tears and the darkness, she ran without direction in search of her mother.

The cries became louder, more frantic, which just made the young toddler that much more desperate. Cupping her hands into the shape of cone she shouted as loudly as she could.

"Don't worry! I'll help you! My mama and I will help you." Despite the fact that she had yelled as loudly as she could, the young boy had not heard her. Tears of frustration streaked down her face as she banged on the frozen ground with tiny fists.

"I wish I could help you! I wish you were standing next to me!" A gust of warmth engulfed the grove. It had been centuries since something that warm had touched the earth in the Enchanted Forest and all of the trees and bushes stood at attention. Mist rose as the ground beneath her began to tremble. A scream lodged itself in her throat, fighting the tight constriction of her chest in an attempt to escape and fill the air. But just as quickly as it had descended, the mist cleared and standing in the darkness was a little boy.

Rubbing her eyes, Emma checks to make sure that what she was seeing was indeed real. A boy? A young boy her age? How wonderful! There were no other children. She finally had someone to play with. She sprinted over excitedly and gripped the confused boy's hands.

"Do you want to play?" She asked breathlessly.

He squinted against the glowing moon, the white shimmery orb too bright against his pale blue eyes. Even eternal night seemed like an illuminated haven compared to his underworld dungeon. Questions raced through his mind, unburrowing themselves from hidden crevices like woodland creatures emerging after a long winter's sleep. Where was he? How did he get here? Who was the little sprite that swayed before him?

"Play?" The word felt foreign but welcoming on his lips, like a visitor walking into a lonely home.

"Yes! Play! There aren't many children in this realm anymore. My Granny said it was because of a curse, but I'm not sure what that means. I just know that it gets awful lonely. Anyhow, I'm looking for something called a flower. Want to help?" She rambled aimlessly, but with such zeal that Killian couldn't help but gape.

She was no sprite at all. She was a mortal. Something his father had called a human. He should have have been filled hate, but all he felt was the hard, steady pounding in his chest. She made his heart race. Her smile warmed him to the core. Slamming his eyes shut he dug through the slivers of memory his father infused into his brain before abandoning him in the underworld. He could feel it forming in his hand. A sturdy stem. Soft petals. Pale pink, like her dress.

She shrieked with excitement as she snatched the peony out of his hand while Killian watched her with amazement.

"Do it again! Do it again!" She clapped.

Colorful clouds puffed all around her and before she knew it, she was surrounded by a meadow filled with pink peonies.

He felt her sharp tug. His feet were moving in time with hers as she ran wildly, the perfume of the flowers intermixing with her own soft scent. For the first time in his life, Killian laughed. The sound was strange to his ears, but he found that he rather enjoyed it nonetheless. He followed her and in the moment he decided that he would follow her for the rest of his life.

Day in and day out, the princess sought out her new playmate. A simple "I wish…" and like magic, he would appear in front of her, his bright blue eyes shining with equal parts gratitude and excitement. Together they danced to made up songs and told each other fanciful stories. He showed her roses and tulips. She rewarded him with tight hugs and shy kisses on the cheek.

As the seasons turned and the years passed, the playful child grew into a young lady. She was forced to spend more of her days reciting poetry and practicing her writing, yet she still ran to the meadow to meet her old friend in the grove. He too, was beginning to grow and their games changed as well. They became riskier, more daring as the two threw bargains and deals, challenges and dares at each other.

"If I win this round, you must give me something special, Emma." Killian declared proudly as he moved the little marble dexterously between his two hands behind his back.

"What shall I give you?" She asked through playful giggles.

"Nothing you can't give up"

"Hmm... how shall I know if I am willing to give it up if you haven't told me what it is?" She retorted with a smirk. "Besides, what if I win?"

"I suppose you're right." He conceded with a slight chuckle. "If you win, I shall show you the sun again. If I win…" his eyes flicked upward as if deep in thought "you owe me a kiss," he finished with a grin.

Emma was so enamored by the glowing ball in Killian's hand that she gave him a kiss on the cheek anyway.

Autumns melted into springs, springs dissolved into hazy summers, summers cooled into crisp autumns, and autumns froze to desolate winters. Each turn of the calendar hardened the girl until she became a young woman embittered by the darkness of her world. Responsibilities and duties made her weary and disheartened while the demands of court life and expectations of royal blood disillusioned her. So much so that she forgot about flowers and the sun and the boy with the dark hair and bright blue eyes.

"Emma, come play with me! I've grown you a meadow filled with pink flowers. Come see! Come see!"

But Emma never came and Killian watched his sea of amaranth wilt and fade into ash from below.