Prologue
Five feathers . . . Metallic ones, glinting in five different ways . . . Bronze, Silver, Gold, Copper, Iron . . .
The warrior's bronze locked in the depths. The lightbringer's silver in a cage again. The herald's gold in another realm. The healer's copper hanging out of reach. The believer's iron, waiting to be forged.
A mysterious young woman with blonde curls and dark, deep-set eyes tilts her head.
Well. The story continues.
The man with a scraggly beard chuckles, Yes. And you're about to be written in.
She raises her eyebrows. How might that be?
That's for me to know. I'm the Writer, even though sometimes the story writes itself.
What will they face now, that they suddenly need me? You told me yourself that you'd follow me into the pages again.
It is the Darkness. Something older than my angels, older than Heaven and Hell.
. . .
What do you want me to do?
Save people . . . bring the five to power . . . raise the lost brother. I'll tell you more as the plot unfolds.
As you wish.
Five feathers, glistening with their respective lights.