AN:I apologize in advance for this long read ahead of you. To make it less tedious and monotonous, I've broken it into two parts and interspersed both of them with POV switches.

Side note: This site has mauled several of my chapters by eating some of my words and punctuation. Sometimes, it's understandable, like when I try to insert a link and see most of it removed upon publication. Other times, like with the last chapter with Cyclonis and Piper's heights in the AN, it's not. Apparently, trigger words like "pounds" and "weighs" sets it off- I had to reword the bottom footer/Author's Note several times to get the information to properly show up. Maybe the site thinks I'm going to fat-shame the readers?

Anyway, I should get to making a rudimentary map of my Far Side realm soon. Upon completion, it will be available on a separate Tumblog, which I will dedicate only to my art and some incomplete pieces of writing (that may or may not contain spoilers for future chapters). Main chapter texts (chapter fragments more than 500 words each) that are housed on my Google drive will be shared upon approved permission.

Earworm music: "Bãtutã din Moldova"- Rabbids Go Home


On the move.

Duck, jump, left, right. Swing past the den of sleeping Badger-Moles. Slide under low-hanging vines that trap even the strongest and wisest. Don't forget to double back to cover up tracks.

Stop.

Sniff the air.

Breathe.

Run.

Under the blinding sun, a single black-furred Wyrmus crept within the heavily timbered forest, melting into a pack of seven, each matched in size and strength with few variations. Among them, the leader One-Eye stood, now perched atop a slanted rock. His long slender tail fanned the air behind him, poised and erect. The chief himself did not seem too pleased with the current state of affairs; the focus on the famine was marred by seasonal testing as the cubs matured and sought higher places in rank.

He, who had an entire half of his face ruined by the previous leader, prided himself upon cunning and instinct. Strength came naturally and so was paid little attention to. It took unusual circumstances to foster and develop sense of wit in order to succeed as the new alpha. However, certain disruptions in the pack could liquefy his rank, especially if the whole of the group was turned against him.

Turning his scarred muzzle towards the squabbling six, One-Eye snarled his displeasure and flashed his teeth, taking care to send a clawed paw in the general direction of the group. Nail met flesh, and four jagged bleeding marks soon appeared on a youngling's back.

Yelping, omega faced alpha, claws extended and ready for a fight as well. He was silenced, however, by the throaty growls issuing from other pack members- those loyal to One-Eye had forced a mutually beneficial alliance and resented any threats to leadership stability.

Defensively backing away, it waited until the threat of tooth and claw passed before venturing forward again. Pain naturally came as an unfortunate consequence to his low standing within the group. Therefore, avoidance and placation tactics grew in skill in tandem with planning.

Satisfied when order returned and blissful silence reigned, One-Eye raised a paw and lightly tapped it upon the ground, all while thumping his hind legs aggressively in conjunction. To outsiders, it would have appeared as if he had suddenly became stricken by rabies. To the pack, however, it meant something worth chasing after in the dance of life and death.

Food.

One-Eye finally sprang away, managing to gain a respectable distance before the others followed, hot on his heels, alert of the nipping teeth that would surely inflict pain behind them.

By nonvocal speech, word had spread of easy prey. One-Eye's scouting had turned up this bountiful find, miraculous that and in of itself.

And so, lost in the chorus of panting breaths and whining, the hunt began.


"We've got to move faster! Run! They're gaining on us!"

A discordant screech rang in their ears. A chorus of furious flapping wings sang, overpowered by a cacophonous cascade of squawking.

"You didn't have to startle them!"

"It's not my fault! You screamed in my ear and I fired in self-defense!"

HEEEYAAARRK!

"What in Lightning Claw's name-!?"

The thump of flesh against rock as the two broke apart amidst a swarm of very angry raptors.

A whimper of unadulterated terror, cut off by a sharp gasp of pain.

"L...Lark! H...help me!"

A desperate hand, reaching, torn by many...

"Piper, I...!"

CRUNCH


Drip… drip… drip…

Far below the surface terras of Atmos lay the rent remains of what was once the greatest empire of all. Beyond shattered glass and torn metal amidst rocky debris lay the former locus of power, soiled in the wastes of its once-proud sweatshops.

Clack, clack, clack.

A slender female frame stalked through the ruins, casually strolling along the decrepit paths that once used to be the grand hallway hundreds of Talons once ran through in preparation for battle on her command. The doorway to her left used to be their barracks. The floor below housed the kitchen, which produced an unusually wonderful quality of food. She sighed, savoring those sweet memories, and turned, a relic of the past. This was all behind her now and a new era would begin after the age of the Storm Hawks.

Storm Hawks.

So her advice to that pathetic ragtag bunch of snotty kids had been useful after all…

Not that she was going to thank them for kicking the witch off her throne, of course. They were merely her pawns.

Strolling to what once was her commander's quarters, she blasted open the entrance with energy slash of her violin bow. Eerily, the double door creaked on its hinges before falling to the floor with a 'whump'.

"Master, I'm home!" the purple-clothed lady mockingly called, putting a hand to her ear.

Only silence answered her.

Ravess laughed loudly and sashayed into the destroyed chamber, kicking aside metal detritus.

The room was in complete disarray. Master Cyclonis's hasty banishment to the Far Side hadn't helped matters either. Fallen supports intermingled with shattered ceiling plaster. The Cyclonian emblem was completely destroyed, large gouges easily marring what little recognizable remnants there were. Crystals of differing abilities and grades graced the slanted room, softly humming in various frequencies to each other, waiting to be picked up and wielded.

Yellow, hawk-like eyes scanned past the ruined books and damaged machines until they found what she wanted- the shards of the Aurora stone.

Lying in a heap accompanied by its shattered glass container, they pitifully twinkled in what little light the ruins provided. Little did any non-Cyclonian know, they certainly weren't destroyed, even going so far as to retain quite a bit of their power. Smirking, she retrieved and stowed them away in a burlap sack.

The sniveling brat had tried many times to restore the rock to its former state, unhappy with her first major failure and the temporal loss associated with her Storm Engine's construction. The Atmos had almost been destroyed by her hand; she was so close to achieving her predecessors' dreams- that is, until that redheaded good-for-nothing destroyed it with a single blow.

Taking only a few books that contained matter relative to her interests, the former general swiftly departed. Crystal usage was practically unknown to the markswoman, aside from the one snugly held in her pouch. One dash to her skimmer later, and she was airborne once more, feeling the familiar warm, smog-laced air against her face.

Banishment to the wilderness had taught her how to endure. How to live. How to survive.

It was time for a change, and she knew just where to start.


The convening of the Guardians was an event known for the marking of a change, whether it was in rule or in rules. Kingdoms rose and fell according to their decisions, which were moderated by a small group of five elders insistent upon maintaining the balance of the Atmos. The high council laid the foundations to the Atmosian democratic-republic, and so were highly regarded by all who took the time to delve deeper in history.

Most notably, Arygyn himself was present, jutting out like a sore thumb amidst the monotonous clothing of his fellows by his tri-colored outfit. The trainer normally concerned himself in guiding heroes and allowing them full access to their powers. This time, however, was different.

With the Storm Hawks gone and that part of the prophecy fulfilled, a new meeting began to mark the dawning of a new age.

So the council of five and the lesser group of fifteen took their spots within the vast underground chamber, their hooded faces lit by flame.

"Brothers and sisters of the covenant," one of the elders declared, rising from his sitting position. "We are gathered here today to draw a new course for the Atmos. With the recent fall of Cyclonia, those terras long under Cyclonia's rule are in disarray. Some denizens plan a reinstatement of the monarchy, a new empire, and a new ruler of Cyclonia rather than a parliamentary system with directly elected officials."

"Impossible," Felix objected, standing tall in the air. "Terra Cyclonia has fallen into the void and Cyclonis herself left no living relatives!"

"Cyclonia... has no need for living relatives," the elder, Xerxes, replied, sweeping a frail hand in the air in an overly-exaggerated arc. "Cyclonian rulers are not genetically related in any manner to prevent family rivalry for power. In the case of an attempt in decapitating their authoritarian regime, any higher ranking official is eligible to succeed the former ruler. Thus, the state is left intact and the government itself remains institutionalized and civil societies can remain suppressed on the successor's whim.

"In any case," he continued, stroking his long, white beard; "the future of Atmos-"

"I have divined the future," Egret boisterously interrupted, rising to his feet. "And it does not bode well for the Atmos."

"Master Egret, please-!"

"I too have seen the future," Cyrus announced, cutting his fellow off before he could speak further. "But I have seen hope."

"Master Cyrus!"

"But I saw-!"

"What everyone sees is irrelevant," Xerxes trumpeted. "Whatever the future has planned for us will come to pass. The Guardians are not to directly influence history through any means- a lesson that every man and woman gathered here should embrace in their hearts. Remember Krow?"

The Guardians nodded in fearful unison. Krow had been an influential member many years ago, assisting the council in any way possible and acting as an informant within the growing Cyclonian empire. But as the years passed, he grew more unstable, developing beliefs deemed too radical by peers and empowered alike. He had taken a prophecy to heart and had committed unforgivable atrocities with his gifts, believing himself as the catalyst to paradise, the panacea to all ills.

Needless to say, once the council found out, Krow was never heard (or seen) from again. Not dead, no, the council didn't believe in execution. Krow was banished to a deserted terra far from Atmosia. Perhaps he escaped to the Far Side, perhaps he had indeed perished, as the grapevine rumors claimed.

Arygyn displayed no emotional response, silently wishing he had ignored his summons once again. The well-known unfortunate story of Krow was used to keep the lesser Guardians from doing anything else but watching and waiting, prophesying from a distance. How he despised the elders for resorting to this shameful tactic instead of taking charge and showing leadership, as evident in past generations.

An ounce of prevention had saved the Guardians from becoming all but extinct, yes, but what was the threat of death to them when they lived abnormally long lives?

Felix gave Arygyn a knowing look, which the trainer returned. The Storm Hawks had indeed crossed over into the Far Side, fulfilling the part of the prophecy of an Atmosian future without Aerrow, but what about the other half of the foretelling?

'The bloodline of Derecho will rise as protector, but will vanish as when the Atmos would need him most. And she will unite the terras as one'

Would the world be united in treaty? In arms? In one single landmass?

Not bothering to listen to the councilmen as debate raged anew, Arygyn silently slipped away with his unspoken questions, jumping over the cliffside and transforming into a Mynall bird as he fell.

The Guardians were restricted by code, blinded by routine much like a certain squadron on Terra Rex. Unwilling to take direct immediate action, they sat by the sidelines, idly watching the present as if it was a play. Only he, Felix, and two others had decided to do something about this predicament, often meeting in secret under the dark of the night sky.

Perhaps it was time for change.


Pain.

A razor-sharp beak slashed its useless eyes, forcing it away. Blood showered from the open wound, staining the grass a brilliant red hue.

The raptor waited until the slobbering beast charged before smashing its wing against the side of its jaw. The attack failed to halt the paw's momentum, however. In retaliation for its now-useless appendage, the lizard-bird sliced at its tendons, managing to slice through only a nonessential few at a given time.

Shaking its blood-matted fur, One-Eye raised his hackles and flashed the whites of his teeth as yet another blow tore his muscles. Then, lunging for the kill while it recuperated, he closed his jaws around the hellish bird neck. It convulsed thrice in its death throes, the fangs easily punching through the thick feathery flesh and gnawing on the remains.

Raising its head, his licked his lips and nursed his wounds. The quick meal served only to whet his hunger. Blood led him here. Blood brought him to the sight of the two creatures it sniffed out hours before. Blood entangled him and his pack within a short encounter with their prey before a pillar of pain smashed against his body, burning away fur and flesh.

And he had emerged from battle neither victorious nor vanquished, merely scarred. So the pack rested, feasting on the husks and taking momentary respite.

In conjunction like a pair of well-trained dancers, both ears and nose scanned the air, flicking to and fro. A minute's search yielded no results, nor did five minutes' worth- there was simply too much interference on part of the mammals that lived here.

Then, the scent of fire caught his nose- the same odor that grazed it upon brutal impact.

They were still close by.

Ducking back into the tall tree-line, One-Eye didn't bother to wait for his teammates. This was his only chance before the Rykters migrated to these lands to compete for food and he certainly wasn't going to waste it. Time was ticking, and the countdown for their survival started.


Clunk.

Thump, shh.

Clunk.

Thump, shh.

Cyclonis grunted in exertion, leaning on both staff and 'servant' as droplets of sweat ran down her forehead. One shaky foot was placed in front of the other, both decorated in lacerations. Piper silently provided a steady stream of encouragement by practically tugging her along, willingly allowing the girl to use her arm as a crutch.

In the distance, the sun finally began to disappear over the horizon, giving way to darkening skies with a fading golden radiance. Sheets of pinkish yellow soon began to follow the sun's wake, casting a multicolored glow over the landscape.

A voice broke the continuous loop of dragging feet and stabbing staffs, cracked and fragmented by happy disbelief.

"We're here. We're finally here!"

The Storm Hawk blinked. Tenebre's landscape yielded nothing but rocks, dirt, and little plant growth. Sadly, no tumbleweeds crossed their vision for comedic effect.

The younger mage merely nodded in agreement, not bothering to hide her skepticism as the approaching stone wall yielded nothing that denoted it as different from its surroundings- not even a single hieroglyph. However, the expression was ruined, foiled by Lark's quasi-relieved smile and uncanny cheers after nearly fourteen hours' worth of continuous travelling.

Cyclonis pulled away, limping over to a particularly immense mountain. Unsurprisingly, it looked nothing out of the ordinary.

"The great ancestors of the Far Side built this to house some of their greatest weapons before their extinction," Cyclonis whispered, allowing her fingers to roam the rock face. "Great architects they were, choosing to conceal important structures within their environments rather than construct them in the open unlike their warring counterparts. Only a special symbol known only to few detonated their existence. Understandable. To reiterate, they housed elemental weapons, crystal technology far beyond the fevered dreams of Atmosia's greatest thinkers..."

Chipped nails brushed away the dirt layer, revealing thin streaks of color.

"...Which are now at our disposal. It should be opened immediately!"

One grand sweep of her arm, and a primitive design came to light for the first time in centuries.

Piper, who had been silent for the rest of the trip after the 'incident', looked upon the avian symbol and shivered involuntarily. For some reason, this certain design sent unpleasant feelings down her spine unmatched by the Black Gorge, Cyclonia, and the Leviathan combined, intensifying second she locked eyes on it.

Was it Stork speaking through her, whispering death and disease?

"Wait," she cautioned, throwing out a hand and wrapping around Cyclonis's outstretched one. "We don't know what else could be inside."

"Please, like anything could be alive after being sealed for hundreds- thousands of years, even. I thought Storm Hawks were brave, if not annoying fighters,"

"I'm not sure about this place..." Piper continued, fidgeting nervously. "I mean, in the Forbidden City, traps that seemed to have no obvious power source still worked perfectly."

"Have I lied to you?"

Pause.

"I mean, in this very area?"

"You mean in this three by three meter space, or on this terra?"

"Never mind."

"Um…"

"In any case," Cyclonis continued, suppressing the urge to taunt her rival for her misplaced misgivings. "Whatever it throws at us, I'm sure we can handle with..." here, she withdrew the Blazer crystal from her person. "...A little help. After all, we were fortunate to have this with us when those things attacked."

Piper's hand flew to her neck, where the little blue crystal hung- a nervous tick developed after her parents' deaths that only emerged when company was scarce. Her fingers hovered over it, but never once did they make contact.

Unnoticed by either mage, the crystal, hanging around the latter's neck started to glow a dull, comforting blue, pulsing to an inaudible heartbeat, glowing brighter with every step closer to the structure.

Raising her crystal staff towards it, Cyclonis shouted phrases the First officer recognized as a part of a "dead language" seldom used by non-historians, commanding the door to open and its secrets to be revealed.

No reaction.

Realizing that the Ancestors might not have used this language (her grandmother's tomes did inform her that they used a variety of dialects instead of having a set one used by all), Cyclonis tried again, spewing command after command in differing tongues, one right after the other.

Still nothing.

Thinking the door mechanisms had partially rusted over and the process itself would take longer than usual, both crystal mages exchanged rather unimpressed looks and waited...

And waited...

And waited...

And waited some more, until Cyclonis's thinning patience snapped. Piper watched with no small amount of amusement as the teen shouted incomprehensible gibberish and furiously smashed the wall with fists and steel- a rather hilarious change to anyone accustomed to her cool demeanor.

"How dare you defy us! We travel for over half a day, become open to attacks by surrounding wildlife, resort to eating charred bird corpses...!"

"Uh, Cyclonis?"

"...And rancid ones at that...!" she continued, pointedly ignoring the darker skinned girl's waving hand.

"Cyclonis, helloooo? Atmos to Lark? This is not helping..."

Still the flames flared on and the spew of colorful swear words increased.

"So with all the power of Cyclonia and the might of my ancestors…!"

The childish temper tantrum grew worse with every passing second, making the younger girl quite antsy. Cupped between her palms, Cyclonis cradled a rapidly-growing ball of fire. Feeling intense heat waves wash over her form from the girl's use of the little scarlet rock helped matters none whatsoever.

"...Righteous and furious anger…" Cyclonis hefted the missile above her head and prepared to heave it…

The slender fingers drew nearer...

"Prepare. To. Suffer. My. Unconquerable wrath!"

... And touched it.

The crystal flashed.

At first, nothing happened. As seconds ticked by and the frustrated lambasting by the empress reached its climax, something shifted and a thunderous crash shook the building to its core. Previously hidden symbols flared to life, decorating the rock face in a golden effulgence and forming a radiant halo around the bird.

"What the-?" Cyclonis shouted in shock, stepping away half-dazed as a metallic groan escaped clashing gears and a doorway started to appear from the depths. "I don't believe it... The lock securing technology made by the most legendary citizens in the Atmos opens by... senseless physical abuse?"

"Apparently," Piper breathed, still taken aback.

The door rose...

Both Storm Hawk and Cyclonian excitedly peered inside, faces affixed in laughable goofy grins, expecting a hoard of crystals to appear before them...

...but deflated as nothing but a dark tunnel awaited their company.

"Well, so much for that. After you," Cyclonis mock-bowed.

"Talons first," Piper snorted, giving the girl a light shove in return. "I insist."


From great caverns to rocky precipices, the land was covered in red and black. Volcanoes decorated the barren lands, embroidering the heated ground with ribbons of red and orange. Black smoke rose into poisoned air, sending soot far and wide, where they fell like snowflakes on a winter's day.

The Wastelands are understandably treacherous, especially towards those attempting to seek asylum there. Snipe knew this very well despite having navigated this terra for very different reasons. Clutched within the claws of a thoroughly battered Fire Scorpion, the lesson hammered itself into his thick skull once more, bounced around uselessly within empty cranial space, and died on deaf ears.

"Coward! Sneaking up like that," he snarled, raising his weapon above his head and driving it home in the elemental insect's skull. "Snipe hates bugs!"

The Fire Scorpion trilled angrily upon impact, increasing the intensity of its hold in response and preparing to jab its stinger through his overly-muscled, ape-like chest.

"Oh no you don't! Snipe is going to smush you!" Tree trunk-like arms waved the crystal-imbued weapon, swatting away the appendage with minor difficulty and fending off similar attacks. However, even for a man as well-toned as he was, fatigue soon began to creep in, eating away at his muscles and turning them into rubber. Taking advantage, the latter readjusted its grip and eagerly clicked its mandibles, preparing to sink them into his flesh...

…Until purple slashes rained from the sky, easily cutting through the bug's claws and freeing the hulking man from its grasp.

"Huh?"

The fight all but forgotten, the ex-Talon ignored the wounded beast as it skittered and hissed in agony, eventually ending up tail-first in a patch of hot lava. Eyes struggled to focus as a moving red streak sliced through the smoky atmosphere.

...and widened upon realization.

"Oh," was all he managed to say.

"Brother," Ravess greeted, landing the switchblade adjacent to a flowing river of fire. "It's been too long."

"Too short by my tastes," the sibling grunted, turning around and stomping away. "Why are you here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be rotting away or something?"

"For your information, I escaped. I am surprised to see that you haven't kicked the bucket, dear brother. But… I suppose I can put our differences aside, for the better… I came to form an alliance, now that the child-brat is gone."

"Dead?" Snipe questioned, pausing momentarily to cast a hopeful glance at his older sister.

She shook her head, and the little joyous spark in his eyes died away.

"Unfortunately, no. She merely crossed over using that Far Side door of hers. The Storm Hawks followed her, you know, so they're out of our hair."

"I don't need you," he spat, fingering his mace and aggressively finishing off the Fire Scorpion, only to find himself surrounded by three others.

"Clearly," Ravess yawned, pretending it inspect her nails. "Well, this should be interesting to watch..."

Less than three seconds later, Snipe went down as the uncontested loser, having been defeated at a speed worthy of a world-record few would be jealous of.

"Help," grudgingly wormed its way out of his mouth.

Ravess obliged. Soon, the trio was reduced to a blackened, smoldering pile.

Nodding to her recovering, incompetent brother, the female ex-general beckoned with a finger.

"Now that you're done playing around, we have work to do. Follow me, unless..." she paused, allowing the elemental beasts to finish her sentence.

Yelping as a spout of flame scorched his backside, Snipe ran past her in whimper-filled bounds, almost splitting her skimmer in two upon landing.


The farther they went, narrower the tunnels became, often dividing into multiple directions and ending in dead ends. The air was hot, musky, and stale, having little ventilation for centuries. Fat droplets fell from cracks on the ceiling and pooled on the ground. In time, the deterioration of the building began to show more and more; impassable obstacles forced the duo to travel in a single line more often than not.

Piper led, holding the blood-red stone above her head to light the way. Cyclonis trundled behind, neither content nor contempt. Not only was it more efficient to simply be dragged along instead of slowing both of them down, the Storm Hawk served a suitable body shield in case something happened to be alive down there. The dull sting of becoming the follower instead of the followed, however, wasn't so pleasant. Ah, but she digressed. At the moment, continually being in a very vulnerable position hurt her pride more than any follow-the-leader spell could.

If there was thing the Storm Hawk was right about, it was the part about traps. Many a time, billowing clouds issued from small crevices above the floor panels with the clear intent of instantaneously poisoning both women. Not only did the Ancestors attempt to murder robbers and the curious alike by asphyxiation, painful disembowelment was also offered, judging by the humanoid skeletons littering intersections, spears and curved scimitars in hand. Both girls unanimously decided not to touch the weapons for fear of activating an actual, working trap.

And still they persevered, stubbornness naturally a part of their nature, steadfastly ignoring foul smelling assassination attempts ("Are you positively sure you're not trying to kill me?"), bizarre torture devices ("Ah, the old eye-saws… My grandmother used to use them. I'd welcome them into Cyclonia any time..."), and Lark's rather sigh-worthy quips ("Hey!"). Run for six miles straight? Trampled upon by 200-plus pound beasts? Almost stung to death? All in a day's work for these two. Might as well get the whole thing over with rather than prolong their suffering.

The Blazer's flickering orange glow bounced up and down with every footfall, casting light upon undecorated walls and spreading warmth to their weary bones. In a way, it was comforting- having a source of illumination to cast away the potentially lethal blackness of unknowing, that is.

Speaking of which...

The darkness around them was a peculiar sort. As they journeyed on through the seemingly endless halls, it began to choke the fire-light, slowly reducing it to a near-smoldering flicker. Piper certainly failed to notice this- her sleepy mind directed all resources to finding alternative paths (that, and staying awake).

Cyclonis, however, had the luxury of daydreaming and so fared better when it came to bringing herself out of her mindset to observe her environment. During the course of their trip inside, she'd noticed several things. One: They're claustrophobic (who wouldn't after being in cramped tunnels for hours?). Two: The Ancestors were more paranoid than she was. Three: Piper's necklace glows brighter than the Blazer crystal for some odd reason.

"Your crystal is glowing," she remarked, casting a rather scrupulous gaze at the blue rock for what seemed to be the millionth time.

"Huh, wha-?" Piper yawned, shaking herself awake and casting a sleepy glance at the rock.

"The crystal," she slowly repeated; "Around your neck. Is glowing. You know, for someone I admire as an equal in crystal Mastery by self-teaching, your rather disappointing processing speed perplexes me."

Curious and curiouser. The Storm Hawk stopped and cocked her head, raising the blue shard to the air and earning a disgruntled response from the girl behind as she crashed into a mass of hair.

"Sorry," she apologetically mumbled, walking slightly faster. "I got this from my mother... She said her great grandma gave it to her when she was little. I thought it lost its imbued ability, being so old and all. That doesn't mean that I haven't been trying to figure out what it was, though..."

The girl trailed off as the tunnel abruptly ended. Forcing the Blazer's remaining luminescence to die away, she held her necklace, allowing the little crystal to give light to the chamber.

Here, the ceiling arched high, supported by grand stone pillars hewn from great mountains and embellished with symbols. Like the cramped passageway, it was filthy, waterlogged, and caked with debris. To the side lay undisturbed treasures- golden trinkets, silver goblets, and the like. At the end of the room, a lone throne sat upon an altar of stone, presumably left to rot while awaiting the return of its often-absent Master. Above it, a winged figure protruded from the shadows, surprisingly still intact, given its environment.

Grand marble flooring covered from corner to corner, discolored and ruined with the passing of many centuries. Streams of water quietly ran through the wall-holes, guided by rough metal into a trough, where it collected and flooded. Adding to the tragically beautiful derelict nature, painstakingly arranged mosaics graced the wall, juxtaposing senseless battle scenes and serene landscapes with fluid transitions.

"Wow... What is this place?" Piper breathed, running her fingers along chiseled tablets, reading the engraved words aloud and paying little heed to the alien grammar and punctuation denotations.

Pause.

Cyclonis's visible eye twitched in agitation.

"I don't believe I've heard you correctly. You see, on Cyclonia, speakers who spoke exactly as you did just now would be immediately executed. In lieu of a reason to actually proceed with that, I ask- no, I demand you to read it properly. Speak slowly and clearly."

She read it again, murdering countless ancient pronunciation rules along the way. To her credit, however, she did speak more slowly.

"The tablet clearly addresses this specific location's history. Nothing too informative, in case you were going to ask," Cyclonis answered, voice still laced with annoyance. "But..." her agitated speech gave way to a more curious tone; "there's something that I've only heard about in myth... something that I'd long dismissed as fantasy... it calls this place... Rapture."

Piper's necklace instantly responded to the name, bathing the entire room in a blinding flash before receding. Autonomously, the symbols took a life of their own, flaring cobalt one right after the other. In the darkness, fragmented sentences came to light, bearing messages in near unreadable text. Like the language gifted to the block, they were written in different tongues and brought focus to the room's regalia.

"So this is Rapture..."

"It's not just this place, this entire side of Atmos is called Rapture."

"I wonder what happened to it..."

"Who knows?" Cyclonis shrugged, hobbling past the stupefied crystal mage. "Even my superior learning cannot shed ample insight... But I do know that we may be... um... stuck in here for an eternity. I kind of... 'accidentally'..."

"What did you do?" Piper growled; the empress fidgeted nervously, looking everywhere except into the girl's eyes.

"I think I might have touched something when you weren't looking and sealed the entrance..."

"Great!" Piper shouted, throwing her hands up in the air. "Wonderful, superb!" was subsequently followed by her head lightly slamming against a stone column.

Thunk, thunk, thunk

"Are you..." Cyclonis hesitated, concern for another individual's life still a foreign concept to her "...alright?"

Thunk, thunk, thunk

"I hate my life, I hate my life, I hate my life, I hate my life..."

"Don't worry," the ex-ruler consoled, uncertainly draping a slightly-trembling arm over the girl's shoulders, pleased when it wasn't shrugged off. "I hate your life as well,"

Thunk.

"Thanks," Piper sarcastically replied, twisting her neck to face her. "You've made me feel a whole lot better about myself."

"No problem!" came the cheery reply.

"Well," the navigator sighed, turning her body completely. "If we're going to be stuck in here forever, at least we might as well find out more about this place..."

Cyclonis beamed and led her to the front of the room, her orchid eyes lighting up with pride as familiar emblems surrounding the fowl centerpiece came to light, all branching and connecting to one another. This she definitely knew about; the scholars that tutored her taught her far beyond the curriculum offered to normal Atmosian children.

"For starters, we can dissect the symbols that the Ancestors used. They may be the key to figuring out what your necklace fits into the scheme of things. Look!" Piper ducked as an arm shot out in excitement. "There's the crest of Terra Potens! The badge of Ala! The red flag of Ignis! They had the most legendary armies known to man. There's even the seal of… Cyclonia? I understand my family line extends for hundreds of generations, but…"

Piper peered over the empress's shoulder. Immediately, all color drained from her face and she wished she hadn't done so. Tucked in the corner her parents' coat of arms sat adjacent to ones belonging to her distant relatives, peeking out a little from under Cyclonia's crest.

Nervously, she swallowed and nudged her rival in the abdomen.

"I think I understand... It's a family tree..."


AN: In a parliament-monarchy system such as the one implemented in the UK, parliament has more power than the actual monarch(s), who are seen as (a) figurehead(s) only. The definition of a state is not merely constricted to a country sequestered into pieces- a country can be considered a state based on its political structure (i.e. a democratic state, a totalitarian state, etc.). Quizlet gives a more accurate description of a state because this isn't my AP Comp Gov classroom (and I don't feel like wasting time writing its definition and expanding on that).

For any unusual fantasy creature noises I write in for this story, think of a pterodactyl. Now try to type out the noises it makes when its throat is stung by wasps. Or, if you feel like being lazy, look up a L4D2 Hunter's "rabid squirrel-esque" pre-pounce shriek. There you go. Congratulations!

Happy New Year to all readers, and a joyous rest of the holiday before you have to go back to school or work!