Prologue
The flames dance and the shadows flicker in the leaves. The embers of the fire glow like small suns. A strong gust of wind causes the trees to creak and groan, sounding eerie in the dead of the night.
A man in a long black cloak huddles close to the fire, his hollow cheeks pink from the chilly air. His long fingers twine with each other, trying to become warms again. The man holds out his arm, long and thin, like his fingers. A small Phoenix alights there, its eyes gleaming. It chirps slightly, and then it leaps into the air and flies away, leaving only a trail of smoke in its path.
The man sighs, lowering his arm. He wonders when the girl will come, when the girl will discover a Portal. She has great potential to be a Water-Weaver. He wishes the Master would let him 'tell' her, but the Master specifically told him no.
"Don't tell the girl," the Master had said, "she deserves to figure it out herself, if she needs to at all."
Why? The man thinks, she deserves to know. But he knows why. With his long, pointy nose and his deep-set eyes, black as night, she might think he's some foreign spy, the idiot Liars.
The fire crackles. The man tosses a branch into the red-hot embers, waiting for it to catch. With just his eyes, actual holes burn through the branch, lighting it quickly. The man grins. He loves being a Fire-Breather.
A Hellhound prowls up to him, nuzzling his knee and looking up at him with pleading eyes. The man smiles again, reaching into the fire and pulling out an ember. He feeds it to the Hound, and it bites twice before swallowing and begging for more. The man sets his hand to flames and lets the Hound lick them off. It nods at him, as if to thank him, and then it trots off into the undergrowth.
The girl will come, the man thinks, and I will wait here forever if needed. She must come. She MUST.
Many lives rely on her, his mind adds.
His thin lips curl into a sneer.