Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: Spuxie is the penname on which all collaborative works of Spudzmom and ncbexie25 will be posted. We can also be found on Facebook under Laura Spudzmom and Bexie Mc :)

~o0o~

~ The Prophecy ~

~o0o~

Thrice the Sun shall rise for his Lioness,

Twice the Sun shall recede to Darkness' depth.

Thrice the Lioness shall seek her Sun,

And twice the Moon shall overshadow.

Once shall Lioness and Sun unite,

To bring war of Sun too bright.

For powers of light that be,

They shall unite that once and as is their will,

so mote they overcome,

The dark evil of the Moon.

~o0o~

October 31, 1993
~ The Underworld, Egypt ~
~ By Spudzmom ~

~ Osiris sat upon his throne in the darkest depths of his domain, the underworld, his black gaze piercing the very psyche of the being knelt and trembling in front of him.

"The God Ra and his Goddess have been born again my Lord."

A cruel smile twisted Osiris' blackened lips.

"Wonderful, my faithful one. Retrieve him without delay. I will break him before he has a chance to reach maturity, I vow it. This time, he shall not survive to battle and the world will at last, be mine in eternal Darkness."

~o0o~
October 31, 1993 ~ Peter ~ Houston, TX
~ By Spudzmom ~

Silence fell in the delivery room, the only sound heard, the squalling of a newborn infant.

The desperate query of the exhausted mother pierced the stillness, shaking all from their shocked silence.

"What is it? What is wrong with my baby? Tell me!"

The nurse approached hesitantly with the tiny bundle.

"Perhaps it's best to show you."

The desperate mother pulled the babe to her, hastily loosening the blanket, revealing a beautiful, perfectly formed baby boy, his head covered in downy blond hair.

She scowled at the nurse.

"I see nothing wrong with him! He's beautiful."

The nurse looked nervous. "Look at his back, Ma'am."

Gently, she turned him over, her breath catching in shock.

There, centered on the babe's back, was the perfect depiction of an Egyptian sun and on his inner wrist she noticed with mounting horror, a pentagram with what looked to be an Egyptian eye in the center, both marks seeming to glow from within.

~o0o~
October 31, 1993 ~ Bella ~ Phoenix, AZ
~ By Spudzmom ~

Tears streamed down the woman's face as she labored to bring forth her first child; a daughter, she knew.

This was her miracle baby. She and her husband had tried for years to have a child without success. Truth be told, they had given up long ago.

"All right my dear. One more push like that last one and we're gonna have a baby. Deep breath in...and push!"

She grunted and screamed as she bore down with everything she had, finally collapsing back when she felt the babe leave her body, tears of joy mingling with the sweat on her face as an exhausted laugh escaped her.

Concern replaced her joy though as she heard the quiet comments of the Doctor and nurses, all made with surreptitious glances at her and her husband.

"What is it?" She was becoming frantic. "I want to see her. Give her to me!"

They handed the crying child over, laying her small form on her mother's chest.

Tears filled the mother's eyes. "Oh honey look! She's gorgeous!"

She lifted her dark haired daughter up to see her better and there, over the tiny babe's heart was a rearing lioness, with a depiction of the sun behind it and on her tiny wrist, a pentagram with what they recognized with fright, to be the Eye of Ra centered perfectly within. Strangest of all, both marks were glinting with a light all their own.

~o0o~
October 31, 1998 ~ Peter ~ The Underworld
5 Years Old
~ By Spudzmom ~

The small boy shivered in the cold, dank cell, his vivid blue eyes blinking open to the oppressive darkness that was a constant in his young life. Tears filled his eyes as he comprehended his reality yet again.

He always felt this way upon waking, the realization that the wonders he experienced while he slept were not real; not to him anyway.

His eyes widened in fear and he scrambled up curling into a ball on his sparse pallet at the sound of keys rattling in his cell door. He anticipated this daily visit while dreading it in equal measure.

It was time for him to eat, and he was very hungry… but they always beat him first.

He had never known any other way of life and probably never would were it not for his dreams. His dreams took him to a warm place where it was so bright it hurt the eyes and there, in that warm place, was a small girl with long, dark hair that curled around her shoulders. She was lovely and he was always captivated by her.

He had learned to speak from these dreams. He had learned everything he knew from these dreams. He'd had to since he'd been in this dark place since before he could remember. The dreams were his only source of comfort and knowledge; he only wished that he could stay in that dream world and never awake.

He curled in on himself as the dark, cloaked figure entered. He'd learned very early on to protect the most vulnerable parts of his body from the careless blows delivered while the cloaked figure hissed out venomous words and mocking laughter.

"Well boy, do you know what today is? No? Today is the day of your cursed birth. Five years I've had to spend my precious time feeding you and ensuring you don't think too highly of yourself and still, you do not die!" He screamed.

The little boy flinched from a sharp kick to his thigh, a whimper escaping him that he just couldn't stifle.

"Yes, whine and cry you pathetic little vermin. My greatest wish is to kill you but I cannot. I cannot even maim you or leave permanent marks. It's against the laws set forth from the prophecy." He sneered out with his thin lip curled in disgust.

He kicked him twice more before dropping a tray in front of the trembling boy. "Eat up you filthy little worm. I've better things to do than wait all day for you to finish."

The boy ate frantically, thankful that the food he was given was fresh and tasted good. He'd been informed one day, due to his guard's bitter rantings, that the quality and quantity of his food was also due to the rules set forth by the gods. His captors could not starve him, and for that small gift, he was grateful.

He drained the mug of milk with relish, placing it back on the tray as he grabbed his canteen of fresh water, immediately curling back into the tightest ball he could achieve. He certainly didn't want to take a blow to the stomach and lose all the food he'd just eaten. His guard had figured out that he could get around the rules that way and the boy had gone hungry for a few days until he'd caught on.

He shivered at the sound of his jailers evil chuckle as he exited the cell. "Have a wonderful birthday Peter." He sneered.

With that, he slammed the door and left, his chilling laughter fading into dark, hollow silence.

The boy laid back on his pallet, tears making tracks in the dirt on his face as he closed his eyes, desperately seeking the peace of sleep and the comfort and light of his dreams.

~o0o~
October 31, 1998 ~ Bella ~ Phoenix, AZ
5 Years Old
~ By ncbexie25 ~

It was nighttime when the little, doe-eyed girl of five years crept downstairs and out the back door of her house. She'd been able to hear her parents sleeping as she passed their room on her way to the stairs, so she knew that she would be safe to go out into the Dark again.

She made the mistake of looking up at the Moon, whimpering immediately and looking down as she heard the voices—bemoaning, dark, and taunting. It was best to look away and get to her spot under the overhang of the trees when she did this.

To her, it felt as though her breathing was so very loud when she sat down, hunched against her tree.

Immediately, she reached for the long sleeve of her shirt and pulled it back, revealing her wrist and the mark that lay her, imprinted on her skin since her birth, she'd been told.

She stared in awe, her mouth open in a cute round circle of wonder as her finger reached to trace the symbol. She didn't know what it meant, and her parents would never tell her when she asked, but it was just so... pretty.

Especially when it lit and glowed at nighttime—it was the only reason why she came out into the Dark. She hated the Dark, but her mark made her feel safe.

She glanced toward the house, her hair a curtain falling around her, obscuring her face almost completely as she angled her head down, eyes intent as she traced the glinting mark. Her eyes caught on the muted glow emanating from her chest, and her lips fell open in wordless wonder as she reached up and pulled her top down just a little. She frowned. It was harder to see that mark.

All of a sudden, the glow grew brighter, and her skin felt hotter as she whimpered. She burrowed herself in on herself, looking up toward the brilliant, glowing Moon, shrouded by the protective trees. She didn't like this feeling she always got. It was a daily occurrence, but it was worse on her birthday. She didn't understand why, but she knew she didn't like it.

The feeling grew stronger and tears welled in her eyes as she rested her forehead on her knees, her breaths growing shorter as she breathed out and in hot air. She could hear the taunts again, but for some reason, she knew they weren't talking to her. It was like she was listening in on something.

She whimpered and clutched at her knees even harder. Her chest and wrist glowed stronger, brighter, and her whimpers turned into scary, growling sounds as she felt the anger build up inside her. She didn't know why, but she really wanted to protect the poor victim of the voice's taunts. She just didn't know how, and that made her sadder and angrier than she'd ever known or felt before.
She cried out, the feeling growing stronger to the point of pain before abruptly disappearing completely. Then she gasped, stopping even her breath as her eyes sought her house. She groaned to herself when she saw the light of her parent's bedroom turn on, and she got up quickly but made no move toward it.

From the door, only a few minutes later, she heard, "Isabella, come inside this minute! It's late, and you need sleep, sweetheart."

She sighed but did as she asked, never sparing another glance toward the evil globe in the sky as she escaped from the Dark.

As she was tucked into bed, she did not listen to her mother's words of caution and venting anger, instead she concentrated on her own thoughts of what she had felt tonight—again.

And those thoughts stayed with her until she fell asleep. Her dreams taunted her again with words she could not understand at her tender age, and when she woke up again, she had forgotten all about it.

~o0o~
October 31, 2006 ~ Peter ~ The Underworld
13 Years Old
~ By Spudzmom ~

Sounds of exertion pierced the dark silence as the boy worked his changing body into exhaustion. Exercise had become a salvation of sorts for him. He had found that as he got older, the ability to sleep for hours upon end had left him and that unfortunate development had left him with many lonely hours with nothing to do to fill them. Working his body had solved that problem, but also provided the unanticipated outlet for the rage that had begun to fill him when he'd become old enough to really think and reason.

He growled in frustrated anger as he worked, his mind whirling with thoughts of his situation and how unjust it was. Why had he been singled out and condemned to grow up in such a hellish environment? He was but a babe when brought here. Surely then, it wasn't due to anything he had done.

He'd heard mention over the years, about a prophecy and all the rules his jailers had to follow where he was concerned. Perhaps he was here due to this Prophecy? It was the only conclusion he could draw, though he'd never been told his part in it, if any. The rules they had to abide by however, and his dreams, had been the only small comfort he'd had during his time here. All the rest had been sheer hell.

He couldn't quite decide which was worse; the constant verbal abuse or the physical, and as sweat ran into his eyes, he concluded that they were equally as painful, though he knew the former had left marks upon his soul. Marks that he would carry with him for the rest of his days.

He flipped over on his threadbare pallet, changing from sit-ups to push-ups as his thoughts went to his dreams. They remained the literal bright spot in his life; he could literally feel the light and warmth through them and they always made the mark on his wrist glow brightly and grow warm. Curiously, the whole middle of his upper back would grow warm too, and it made him wonder if there was a mark there also.

He felt himself smile. Just thinking of the dreams and the beautiful girl he always saw in them allowed him to smile; a rarity for him, to be sure.

He had learned her name from the dreams a few years ago; Isabella. He repeated the beautiful name in his mind with reverence and his heart ached as he wondered if she was real, or if his beautiful dreams were just another cruelty in his life. He knew if he ever discovered that the hope he held in his heart for her to be real was all for naught, it would finally accomplish what his jailers had failed to achieve all these many years; it would kill his will to live, and he would allow himself to die.

He had come very close to doing just that a few years ago. He had fallen into such a despair, that he had refused to eat for days and that was all it took to put him at deaths door. It had been a vivid dream of the girl telling him to fight... to fight for her... to live for her, that had brought him out of it and he had begun eating again, much to his jailers chagrin.

He had tried to escape after he'd regained his health, but found, in a rather rude way, that he could not. It seemed that there was a supernatural force holding him here and he couldn't cross the threshold no matter how hard he tried. It had been a crushing blow to realize that, even with his door wide open and no guards in sight, he still could not escape.

He shifted around and had just begun doing one legged squats when he heard the dreaded sound of the key in the lock.

Quickly moving to the corner, he stood straight and as tall as he could, keeping his face void of expression as the vile jailer made his way through the door.

After dropping his tray to the floor, he moved to stand directly in front of the boy, towering over him, his foul breath bathing the boy's face as he stared down into it.

Without word or warning, the jailer delivered a stinging slap to the boy's face, the sound of the blow echoing and fading into the inky black shadows.

"Happy thirteenth birthday, Peter. I hope you enjoy your gift. That was just a preview."

With that said, he began to laugh as he slapped and kicked, always seeming to know just how far he could go to avoid any punishment from the gods.

In Peter's mind, it was always taken too far and his rage built as the blows kept coming. Finally, he felt something deep within snap and he roared out as golden flames bright as the Sun shot from his hands, setting the vile jailers body aflame.

Peter caught his breath, eyes wide in shock at what he'd done before finally smiling maliciously at the screaming and flailing jailer, watching with ice-cold, vivid blue eyes as the jailer slowly burned to death. He even went so far as to sit next to his tray and eat his meal, all the while watching as the flames consumed the hated creature.

He was just finishing his milk when two more jailers burst into his cell.

"What happened here you disgusting little shit?!"

Peter looked at the jailers, his eyes cold and hard as ice as he held his hand out, flames dancing in his palm.

"Happy Birthday to me. That's what happened."

~o0o~
October 31, 2006 ~ Bella ~ Phoenix, AZ
13 Years Old
~ By ncbexie25 ~

Her eyes snapped open.

"Peter!"

The girl gasped as she was shattered out of her dream, her breath coming out in pants as she sat up in her bed. Her eyes were wide as her mind tried to comprehend what she had just dreamed.

The struggle was that these dreams that she had been having for quite a while now always felt so impossibly real. But surely, they were just dreams, right?

Right?

She sighed and fell back onto the bed again, staring up at the ceiling. She hissed as she felt the familiar heat in her wrist and on her breast, brightening the darkened room. Her marks always lit up after her dreams.

She glanced down at them, and bit her lip. Normally, she would hide under her covers and stare at them for hours on end, reveling at the beauty of their raw and unrestrained, glowing power.

But tonight she just couldn't make herself. She was frustrated, feeling much the same as Peter. But unlike him, there was nothing she could do about it at… she looked at the clock and sighed.

1:00

So, doing her best to ignore the glowing, the fire, and her feelings, she looked out toward the window, lips parted. Her mind was still reeling after her violent dream. Her heart ached for the boy of her dreams who was exactly the same age as her. She wondered if he were out there somewhere in the world, or if he was just a fabrication of the mind.

She rolled onto her stomach, facing away from the Moon—she didn't have time for the stupid voices tonight, nor did she want to be tempted to go outside as was still her almost-nightly ritual. She snorted at herself. There was no way he was real.

But…

Her mind turned back to the many, many dreams that she'd had of the boy. And there had been many over the years.

She smiled as she remembered the first time she had ever dreamed of him. She had immediately loved the boy, loved Peter. He'd been hunched up in a corner, tears falling from his eyes and trailing down his cheeks only to sizzle when they fell to the ground he sat on. He seemed unaffected by the obvious heat of it and of the very air around him as he'd eyed the fire in the corner of his little cell, so very small and so very frightened.

She could sympathize with him, she found. She knew what it was to be scared, to be utterly alone. And when she'd dreamed of his beatings, she could sympathize with him on his pain—though hers was hardly ever physical.

It was true that she was severely bullied at school... and that people generally seemed to accept it as rule to be frightened of her. Very rarely that fear manifested into physical violence from the other students.

And when it happened, it was so strange. The sensations that she felt from within herself, from around herself… they were all encompassing, they were protective, and they were so hot; like fire.

But somehow she could still feel a love to it. Like it was protecting her, but doing so out of love.

Each time she'd look up at the ball of fire in the sky and wonder to herself if the Sun was beating down on her bullies, if maybe it was protecting her in the only way she knew.

Heat.

Fire.

Her mind flickered away from those thoughts with a shake of her head, and she concentrated on other dreams.

She would never acknowledge her feelings for Peter. That was just too painful, and brought up too many questions of 'what if' and 'maybe.' She didn't know what she'd do as she grew older, so she simply disregarded that part of her.

It was silly to fall in love with the fictional.

She, too, had overheard through her dreams of him of a prophecy, but she had no idea where to begin in trying to find out what it was about. She wasn't even sure if she believed in it… but she had felt such a raw power, such a need to protect Peter—as if it were her life goal, as if her very life depended on her doing so—that she wasn't sure if she could accept that it wasn't real.

Add to that the fact that when she had dreamed of his starvation, and felt the pain of having failed to protect him from all his hurt, he had heard and listened to her cries for him to fight for her, to live for her.

It had added such a sweet feeling of hope when, the next time she had dreamed, she had watched him eat and fight. She had protected him. She could scarcely get her mind past those four words. She had protected him.

She felt fulfilled. For the first time in a very long time she had felt as if she wasn't listlessly living such a half-life day in and day out. She felt as though she had finally done something in her life.

And she wasn't even sure if it was real or not.

She sighed again. It was all probably just her mind's own creation to compensate for her crushing loneliness. She had no friends, labeled a freak and constantly bullied as she was.

Yeah, she thought to herself as she settled back down to sleep. That's all it is.

Her last thought was a muted happy birthday to herself—and Peter—as she eyed the clock on her bedside table until her eyes grew heavy and sleep took over.

Your thoughts and comments are appreciated. Don't worry, it's a bit dark now but this story will be a happily ever after. :-) Keep in mind, this story is complete and will be updating on a regular basis.