AN: I shouldn't be starting something new, but oh well! I apologize! Truly, I do! This is the beginning of my new Djinn/Jinn/Genie AU. I hope you enjoy it!
The Amulet of Pyralis
Prologue: Black Chains of Morgreth
The sun was blinding and the heat was all but unbearable as the sand swirled across the desert, stretching out for miles and miles until it was the only thing anyone could see. This was a barren wasteland. A land of fire. A dangerous place. This was her home. The sand and the sun were all she had known since the beginning of her time. It was home—had always been home. But it would not always be home. Times change. Bad things happen. So many bad things happened.
She grinned up at the woman standing in front of her, blonde hair blowing around in the wind, whipping around in front of her eyes. She didn't feel the chill brought on by the blowing wind, only the light brush of it against her skin—gentle at the moment, but she could tell that it was picking up. Fire Djinn feel no cold, only the searing heat of the flames they conjure. It is both a blessing and a curse—to feel one extreme but have no recollection of the other, to see only one side of a coin, but know of the other sides existence. It's like living only half a life.
The woman, her mother, smiled back gently, hand reaching out for hers. She peered curiously at her mother's open palm, seeing her holding out a necklace clasped between her fingers, glinting in the sunlight. She looked at it, blinking slowly at the plain, gold chain and the dark-red gem framed by intricate gold that flashed in the rays of the setting sun. The red sky made the gem looking even brighter than it should have been. And when the light moved it looked like fire dancing across her mother's palm in red and orange and fiery gold. She is no stranger to fire. She lives with it, lets it dance with her, and wields it when others cannot. Fire has always been her friend, and in that moment it was like she was gazing into the heart of a flame.
And she saw something beautiful there. Something magical and unlike anything she had ever seen before, and magic was nothing new to her.
She is not a stranger to the magic of the Djinn. It has been a part of her for as long as she can remember. Her mother and father both used the same magic, once upon a time. Many years before the present time. The fire Djinn were a proud clan. They lived amongst the sand serpents beneath the desert, which would rise up out of the sand, long necks twisting, teeth snapping, and giant wings creating sandstorms. What she wouldn't give to see one again. What she wouldn't give to see one of those magnificent beasts again.
With lips pursed, she leaned closer to the gem, cocking her head to the side in confusion. It looked like the same gem that rested upon her mother's breast, yet a glance told her it was not the same stone. Her mother had hers, yes, but the second stone resting against her palm was one she had never seen before in her lifetime. Not her mother's, at least. Nor was it the one set in the ring her father wore, which was smaller and more of an orange color.
The woman leaned forward, hand still outstretched, her golden hair whipping around her face. Her long, colorful skirts blew with the wind, red and gold flickering like fire, the coins sown into the fabric clashing in the air, the sound ringing through her ears. A friendly smile lit up her face, brightening it and chasing away the shadows that crossed it, her eyes flashing gold in the light. "Mea Fiametta," the woman whispered, sliding the necklace into the smaller girl's palm, "you must never lose this." Her words were gentle, but her eyes were stern as she looked into the young girl's eyes. "You must promise me to never let anyone other than you carry this gem, do you understand?"
She frowned up at the woman, not fully registering the panic in her wide eyes, nor the way the wind picked up violently, screaming shrilly. She had never heard the sky cry out like this before, as if it was in great pain.
"Mother?" she shouted over the wind, her free hand pushing her hair away from her face. "What is this?" Her fingers wrapped around the gem, causing it to dig into her palm harshly. "What do you mean?"
"It is Pyralis. It is fire. It is a small piece of the desert's heart," she said slowly. Her mother crouched in front of her, gaze flicking to the north, where the howling wind blew from. "There are those who would seek to control you," she said, placing her hands on the young girl's shoulders. "But, Mea Fiametta, they cannot do so without this." She pointed to the gem in the girl's hand, then to the chain at her own throat. "The will of a Djinni is strong, we are a force to be reckoned with," she stated proudly. Her eyes flashed with something the girl could not place. "Remember that you serve no man."
She nodded slowly, the fingers of her free hand going to her mother's wrist. "Why are you giving this to me?" Her mother smiled sadly, eyes welling with unshed tears. Her lips quivered and the smile became strained.
"Because I fear this will be the last time we ever meet, Fia." Her eyes snapped open, a gasp leaving her—her mother cut her off before she could speak. "The free reign of the Djinn is over," her mother told her gently. "They come for us now."
And they did come. They came and they destroyed everything in their path, burning everything to the ground. It was chaos.
In the distance the wind screamed louder—no, not the wind. She looked to the north, noticing for the first time the people running and crying out, men on horses chasing them, swords raised high above their heads. She watched as Djinn fought back, children sent running ahead and men throwing themselves in front of the intruders. People were being ripped from their homes, dragged across the sand, and tossed to the ground before a man dressed in white. He raised his own sword above his head, but her mother jerked her around before he could bring it down.
It was not the wind that shrieked and cried out for help that would not come.
The sand was painted crimson, and it was not due to the setting sun. She had never seen so much blood before.
Her mother grabbed her around the waist, hoisting her into the air as the screaming grew louder. People began to run by them, so many people were sent running, trying to escape. "Jude," her mother screamed above the wind and shrieks from the Djinn campsite below. Layla whirled in circles, searching for her husband in the crowd of people running past. "Jude," she cried out again, turning in fast circles and clutching her daughter to her chest. A heavy hand fell on her shoulder, and Layla wrenched herself from the grasp, shrieking.
"Layla," a voice called from besides her. Hands grasped her shoulders again, shaking her briefly. "Calm down, we need to go!" Her eyes snapped open, locking with her husband's.
"Jude," she breathed, wrapping an arm around him, the other still holding her daughter firmly against her. And she clung back to her mother, holding her just as tightly as her father hugged them both. Jude's arms went around Layla in return, pulling both of them flush against him, his fingers trailing up his wife's spine. He pulled away from them moments later.
"Layla, we need to go," he reminded her, wrapping his hand around hers, pulling her with him as they ran. And they ran and ran and ran.
They did not make it.
She remembers clinging to her mother as they ran, hearing the screams of the Djinn that were caught, and tucking her face against her mother's chest as the sun faded from the sky.
They were not fast enough.
Her father was the first to fall, telling her mother to run as he stayed behind, hoping to hold them off for as long as he could, but there were so many of them. He had no chance. His fire could only burn for so long, and they snuffed it out like he was nothing.
And then her mother released her, telling her to run. And she did. She ran and did not see what became of her mother.
It was not long before she slipped in the sand, the jewel in her hand falling from her grasp, disappearing from her sight. She had no time to panic as a man rode up behind her, sword raised above his head. She cringed as it was brought down upon her, arms flying up to cover her face.
Everything went dark.
Gold eyes snap open, slitted pupils dilating, glowing cat-like in the darkness. Her senses come back to life for what feels like the first time in years. She frowns, grimly realizing that this is the first time she's felt anything in years. And now, suddenly, she can see and hear and feel. She can feel again. For the first time in years she can feel again. Only, it is not a pleasant feeling. It is not pleasant at all. It hurts.
The ground and the chains around her wrist are covered in patches of ice. Usually, the ice would not bother her, yet, for some reason she cannot understand…
The ice is so cold that it burns her.
The cold has never bothered her before. Ice cannot harm a Djinni of fire, it can never come close, but this ice—this cold has been creeping into her skin for many months now—possibly many years. She cannot remember. It has been so long since the desert raids. Time had left her long ago. This ice has been pressed to her skin for a long time, freezing the blood in her veins and leaving a white-hot pain to course across her flesh. A fire Djinni cannot be harmed by the flame, yet this chill burns like no other. It should not be possible. Ice should not burn.
None of this should have happened. She shouldn't be here. No one should have been killed. She was never supposed to lose the amulet. Her parents never should have—a lot of things should never have happened.
She releases the breath from her lungs, watching as the white fog drifts into the darkness, disappearing from her sight in little wisps of smoke, reminding her again of the fire that she cannot use as of now.
She grits her teeth, snarling. Her flames being ripped from her hurts more than the sting of the ice. She misses the pleasant warmth and the smell of smoke and ash. She misses the light and the heat and the feeling of being strong it gave her. Ice has no scent, being nothing more than cold tendrils that strangle the warm heart. It is cold and unfeeling, dark and unpleasant.
She thinks they are wrong. Hell is not fire.
It is ice.
And the ice burns.
Her hands clench into fists, nails digging into smooth flesh, tearing the skin. Crimson slips from her skin, freezing in trails and standing stark against the dark ground. She waits for the wounds to close, hoping deep in her soul that she can still do that much.
And she bleeds.
She winces, shuddering. Her magic is weak, her power gone. She has been here too long, far too long. A Djinni is not meant to be locked in a cage, no matter what the others think. She is not meant to be caged.
She glances around the dark room, only able to see due to her Djinn heritage. She is caged. The walls are damp, frozen in places, the floor is stone, cool against her skin. An iron door, sits across the room from her, large and imposing. Threatening. Somewhere, far away from her, she can hear water dripping, the only sign of life left in this infernal place.
There were others once. There were others that would scream and cry and beg as they were tortured. There were others that hold her hands when she was small, protecting her until she was taken away as well. There were others that gave up, handing over their stones—like the ones her mother and father would protect with their lives—and then they would disappear into the darkness. She never saw them again. There were others that fought back and started an uproar.
They are no more. They were silenced. They can never come home, though there is no home to go back to. Just a cage and death and the cold and dried blood staining the walls.
There was so much blood. Since that night so long ago she has seen so much blood.
She does not remember much about the day everyone else ceased to breathe, only that there was so much screaming. There was so much screaming that she could not hear her own thoughts. And then there was cool steel pressed to her neck, followed by a whoosh of air as something rushed towards her. She should have died that day, but a hand had reached out, stopping the fast moving object inches from her throat.
And she remembers cruel eyes, laughter booming through her head. She couldn't move, but she could hear words. "Leave this one," a voice had whispered. "She's of a 'igher level. Leave this one." And so they left her, and she has been alone ever since.
She looks down, taking in the torn and dirty fabric that was once red. Skirts that were once long like her mother's, are ripped, cut high on her thighs. Her shirt fairs no better, scraps barely covering her now, leaving her skin bare for all to see. Scars and dried blood cover her arms and legs, bruises pulse, and she begins to notice how hard it is for her to breathe. Everything hurts. Everything hurts so much, but it's almost like a dull ache. She's far too used to this pain. It's constant. Every time she starts to heal, they hurt her again, beating her until she can't move. And then they toss her around some more, just because they can. It's the same thing every time. She knows what they want, but they won't get it. She promised her mother…
She misses her mother more than anything. She misses the way her mother's skirts would blow in the wind and how the gold bracelets she wore would clink together softly. She misses the amulet her mother always wore, how it was always warm, smooth against her skin.
Her skin…
Her gaze trails to the chains around her wrists and she tugs against them harshly, pulling her arms as far apart as she can, wishing the chains would snap—shatter against the floor, but nothing happens. Cuffs of black iron are locked around her, connected by a thick chain. Her eyes trace the elaborate gold runes that run along the cuffs, a growl leaving her throat.
Black Chains of Morgreth.
She hisses, snarling at the chains. She had only heard about them once before. They have anti-magic properties. She doesn't quite understand how they work, just that they drain her of her power, make he tired all the time.
They keep her fire away.
With a scream, she rips her arms apart in a feeble attempt to break the black chains, but she only succeeds in making them bite further into her flesh. The raw skin around her wrists break open, blood trickles down her fingers, pooling on the ground before her.
Hell is cold.
The runes flash, glowing in the dark. Her lips purse. It seems she has more magic left than she originally thought, if the runes are any indication of that. They glowed brightly when they were first forced around her arms, but the light had dimmed within time, disappearing completely several weeks ago. She thought her magic was gone forever, but it seems she was wrong. Her hands clench into fists as the light dies down again, plunging her back into darkness.
She never has liked the dark. She is not afraid of it, nor does she hate it, she is simply indifferent to it. It is there and it happens. She just does not care for it. Fire is bright, it drowns out the dark, but now the darkness has snuffed out the flames. No, she does not like the dark. Not at all.
Her eyes slip shut, eyes tilting back to rest against the wall behind her. Her legs stretch as best they can, but the process is slow. She has not moved in a long time, her limbs are stiff and any action can become painful quickly. Rocks dig into her bare legs, but she hardly notices. Everything already hurt, small pricks feel like nothing. Her hair tickles her arms, nearly bringing a smile to her face. The feather light touch reminds her of a life outside of this place.
She sighs through her nose, head leaning further against the wall, head tilting into a more comfortable position.
She does not like the dark, but she will embrace it.
Heavy footsteps pound against the ceiling above her, startling her. No one has been to this place for days. Her eyebrows knit together, a frown tugging at her lips. What could they possibly want from her? She knows nothing of what they seek. It is lost. She cannot find it, even if she wants to. And she does want to find, but not for them. Not for those who would use it to control her. Not for those who destroyed her home and slaughtered her family.
She will not help them. And because she will not help them she will rot in this cell until she dies. She hopes it does not take long. She does not fear death nor pain. They cannot hurt her more than they already have.
The footsteps become louder. Her eyes open slowly as she realizes they are moving towards the door. Her gaze slides the lock, waiting for something to happen.
Nothing does.
The footsteps stop directly outside the door, as if debating whether or not to open it. Softer steps sound throughout the place, letting her know that there are more than just one of them in the room—if it is a room. She does not know what it is. A house. A jail. An underground cellar. It makes no difference to her. She is trapped. She cannot leave.
She only knows that it is cold and dark and her magic does not work. There is nothing else to know.
The door opens with a barely audible click, startling her and setting her on edge. Light floods into the room, blinding her. It has been so long since she has seen light, even if this is merely a shallow imitation of the desert sun's burning heat. This is a fake light, which only makes her heart yearn for fire more. The iron chains glow faintly, before dying out once again.
Heavy footsteps cross the distance between the door and her body—tucked into the corner of the wall in an attempt to make herself as small as possible. Invisible. She wants to disappear. Her eyes do not leave the ground as the man's steps echo softly, his boots scrapping across the ground slowly. The distance between them shortens slowly, as if he is toying with her.
She believes that is exactly what he wishes to do.
"There are those who would seek to control you. They come for us now."
Well, they came. And they took their power. And now the desert clan of Djinn is dead, slaughtered. They can never come back.
A deep chuckle breaks through her thoughts, but she still does not raise her head, keeping it bowed.
The man crouches before her, reaching his hands out for her. She does not move as his fingertips trail across her arms, curling around her shoulders. He leans closer, breath fanning across her face, and she shutters, skin crawling at the lack of distance between them.
If her magic was working he would not be alive.
"Little One," he says softly, voice like honey. She tastes poison on her tongue. "This can all be over," he tells her. "You just need to tell me where your heart is." Cold fingers stroke along her cheek, gentle.
She wants to scream, but does not know if her voice will work. It has been so long since she has spoken. Sometimes she tries to speak, but she finds no point when there is no one to talk to. It is pointless.
Her mouth opens slowly, lips trembling. "I—" he voice cracks terribly. She swallows thickly, eyes locked on the black chains. "I do not know what you mean," she tells him honestly. Her heart beats in her chest. If he wants it he needs only to rip it from her chest.
He sighs, fingers continuing to stroke her face. "Your heart," he repeats, one hand sliding to her chest. A single finger taps just above her heart. "The red jewel. The heart of the desert."
"It is Pyralis. It is fire. It is a small piece of the desert's heart."
A strangled gasp leaves her, her eyes widening. The hand on her cheek grips her chin painfully, jerking her head up and forcing her to look at him.
His eyes are cold, colder than the ground, and a snarl is spread across his face. "So you do know what I mean," he spits. He shoves away from her, only for his hand to fly back to her face, the force of the hit causing her head to snap to the side, a loud "crack!" sounding throughout the room. She watches as three other men enter the room, standing close to the door. The man before her stands suddenly, a hand reaching down and dragging her up as well.
Her legs give out beneath her, but she is slammed against the wall before she can fall, her legs dangling uselessly. A hand wraps around her throat, choking her. Her eyes widen as he drags her from the wall, only to slam her against it once more.
And then he does it again, her head slamming against the wall, her ears ringing. And then he does it a third time. And he keeps doing it until she cries out, tears streaming down her face.
It is not supposed to hurt. She is not supposed to feel anymore.
Her back hits the wall one final time, and he presses her against it as hard as he can, but he does loosen the death grip on her neck, allowing her to slip back to the floor. Her legs collapse beneath her as she gasps for breath, coughing and wheezing. Her hand flies to her throat, soothing the abused flesh with soft fingers. She glances up at him slowly, flinching at the dark look in his eyes.
He glares down at her, hatred in his eyes. "This is your fault, you do know that, don't you?" he asks. She says nothing. "This could all stop now," he says, crouching in front of her again. She shrinks back, pressing herself against the wall. Sharp rocks dig into her legs, harder than before. She ignores them. "You just need to tell me where it is."
She shakes her head, lips curving back in a snarl. "You will never find it," she snaps. A foot catches her in the ribs, sending her across the room. The men at the door laugh, joking to each other. A second kick catches her chin, knocking her to the side, her head hitting the ground hard, leaving her dizzy. Blood drips into her eyes and she lays still.
"Stupid bitch," he screams, another foot lashing out. She does nothing to stop it. "This is your fault!" The hits continue. At one point she is dragged off the floor, tossed to the other three. They grin down at her unkindly and she sees death in their eyes. "You serve me!"
She lets them do as they please. She cannot stop them. She has no reason to.
Her ribs crack after a particularly forceful kick that sends her tumbling across the damp room. The world stills for a moment, the chains around her arms glowing faintly in the dark. Her face is smashed against the floor, blood and ice sliding across her skin. Her eyes slip shut as she hears them walking over to her.
"Remember that you serve no man."
Her eyes snap open wide, pupils narrowing into slits. The Black Chains of Morgreth start to shine, blinding her as gold light floods her vision. The men in the room stumble back, hands shielding their eyes. She rises to her feet slowly, balancing on shaky legs.
Her head turns to them, eyes gold and bright. A snarl curves her lips back.
The men step back again, tripping over themselves. "W—what?" one of them stutters, crawling to the door.
Her arms fly apart, the black chain snapping in the middle, shards of iron flying across the room. Flames dance across her fingers. Wind whips what is left of her skirt around her legs, though no wind should be able to reach where she is.
"I serve no man," she snarls, voice seeming to echo through their heads. Her hands fly out to the sides, the wind pushing them back.
The building explodes.
AN: I'm sorry! I shouldn't be writing anything new, but I had to do this! Please be sure to leave a review! All reviewers will receive a preview of the next chapter! Next update is for The Raven
