AN: I just want to let you guys know that this is my first fanfic. I also have no editor, so if there are mistakes, I apologize. I got some ideas for this story from the game Aion (hence the whole races/wings thing). The plot, however, is entirely my own.


Seventeen Years Before

The Arrival

Prologue

Ripping winds howled in circles around the manor, beating against the rich wooden walls with intense fists. Even the dancing flames in the gigantic fireplace flitted from side to side with stress, as if scratching the stone path upwards into the chimney for an escape route from the awful beasts yearning to come inside. A woman was huddled in the middle of the wide open parlor, sitting still upon the soft fur rug, wearing a long white gown made in silk. An array of candles surrounded her that whispered safety with their light.

Her movements were small and the sounds that escaped her lips were hushed, like soft music, to soothe the crying tiny child she kept close to her chest. Her glittering eyes begged for the release of tears herself but she held them back like a rein, knowing that they still had a chance. If Angelus had succeeded with the Fairies, and if her spell worked, the chance must be enough for them. It had to be.

It will be.

The woman peered down at the gurgling baby girl in her warm arms. The infant was wrapped tightly in her father's furs. Her miniature chubby hands outstretched the grasp the air, the tips of her fingertips brushing against her mother's jaw as she smiled in loving admiration. Her newborn eyes were open and bright, and the woman, the mother, could hardly hold back her pride at that moment as she recognized where her baby's eyes had originated from. But the pride diminished as she saw tears of fright fill the infant, and so she instinctively began to rock her, once again, coaxing her to be quiet. You have to be quiet now, love. Just a little longer.

She held her child closer and persistently pushed away her burning anxiety like waves slamming against the barriers of her mind. Her baby girl was only four months old. Four months of being with her was not enough. She was going to protect her virtue with all the might she possessed, even if it was the monster they were facing; this was her baby, her child—a part of her, forged by a powerful bond more glorious than magic. It was not impossible to overthrow a God by destiny's will. The magic of the Fairies and her own power combined could take out entire species over a few hours, so certainly they could hold an angry God back from taking what's most precious.

But something was really wrong. Something was pulling at her magic, provoking it like an arrogant snake. It was something a witch would most dread. The candles' flames hissed at the dark entity close by as they were the only thing standing in its way if she lost the rest of her waning power. Time was vanishing.

I will not let go. I will not lose my baby.

She hummed sweet lullabies, her breath tickling her baby's ear pleasantly. Lips pressed against the soft ivory skin of her little girl, she felt determined to take out the thunderous storm from her infant's hearing. She was sure that the monsters crying in the wind outside were calling her baby's name in their sing-song voices.

Her breathing, now becoming uneven with grief and desperation, halted in her chest. She shakily whispered charms of strength into her ears when she knew the feeling she was experiencing was her magic diminishing, the only thing keeping them safe. Dread filled her body, but she didn't dare let it crumble their slippery hope.

"Shhh, it's going to be okay," she murmured as she buried her face into the damp furs. She wasn't sure who she was telling that to—her baby girl, or herself. Her pale hands were trembling. She hadn't realized that hot tears had already escaped her bloodshot eyes which made her mind race hysterically. She never cried. "It's going to be okay, love, I promise. Don't cry, sweet baby. Be quiet for mama now. You have to be quiet."

Her father would never let anything happen unless something terrible stopped him first. He'd be murdered before he let anyone, powerful God or not, take away their newborn. She bit back more burning pain; he'd never seen her cry either. Witches don't cry, and yet she found herself losing her mind over this baby.

Panic shot through her like lightning. This is what it felt to be mortal. To care, to be possessive.

Her baby. She's mine.

No one can take her.

Mine.

The glass in the windows shattered open and rained against the woman and the shivering baby girl. Diminishing magic blocked the shards, but the wooden door splintered in impact to the intruder and it was blown into the nest with a blinding flash of strength. The woman ducked, hovering over her baby, as the door flew over their head.

Lightning flashed and a silhouette of a woman stood at the doorway, sodden with rain, but illuminated with gifted power. Temporary power. It wasn't hers—so whom did it belong to?

The woman's silky, hypnotizing voice broke the dream. "It's time."