I'm sorry, this isn't the promised arc. But it's very important to the plot, and the arc is taking way too long to type up. So here's something to tide you guys over until then.
Dedication: Misthorse, you rock my world.
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(the past breathes)
High above the city, dark shadows rippled in the thin light, lost among the dying, dancing beams. The dark fed on the light here, fed on life itself in the world of dead. Thousands of years had passed, yet everything remained the same, endless circle as before, never pausing, never hesitating. A single thought floated out into the nothing, as conscious and as alive as they came.
It never hesitates to kill people.
Feet hanging off the edge of the drop of thousands of feet, she stared out into the expanse before her, dark bags beneath her eyes. She rubbed them absently, dropping her face into her hands with a slight sigh that barely ruffled the darkness. It crept forward.
The city did nothing to lighten the Underworld. It was dead. A ghost past kept it firmly in place, held in check by her father, the king. The dark, brooding king, who lusted after his brothers' realms, lost in the blaze of his own cravings for power. They were all the same.
Lyss shivered, drawing her knees up to her hollow chest. Her own skin was icy to her, shocking her briefly out of her thoughts with a menacing jolt.
A voice whispered in her ear, a soft breath crawling down her already sensitive, hyperaware skin, and breezing through her being. Ghost or not, she couldn't mistake her instinct to flee.
"Jump, daughter of Hades."
Something sharp found its way into her back, and she cried out in pain, the blade tearing through her essence, as it absorbed a bit of her soul. Lyssa's memories of earth, floating in her mind, dimmed and then flickered out.
Somehow she managed to turn around.
Gasping as wisps of herself sank through the heavy air to the ground, shavings of a masterpiece, dwindling into nothing.
"Max," she whispered under her breath. "Max…" Her dark eyes faded into the distance as the blade continued to cut, to sink deep into her mind. As the shattered pieces of her soul fell apart, she continued to whisper, the echoes of his name becoming softer and softer, until her voice had become nothing.
Until the darkness had swallowed her voice whole.
Something blocked out her sight. Dark shadows shifting, the blade tearing free of her chest. Lyss was aware of these things, but she couldn't quite remember how to move. How to be herself.
"It's all right, Lyss," someone murmured. It was faded, softly coming to her as though through a veil, clear sight and no sound. "Everything is fine."
She pulled herself up on her elbows blindly, breathing in deeply. A familiar warm scent wrapped around her, teasing gently as she leaned forward desperately, the memory lost amid the cracks of her mind. She didn't give it a second thought. All that mattered was finding the owner of the soft, gentle scent that was tickling her nose…
Her forehead hit something with a soft whump. She pressed her face against it, inhaling gratefully, for she had never wanted something more in her life. A low chuckle greeted her, again through that unseen filter.
"Calm down, Lyss."
It was him. But who was he, again? The memory slipped from her grasp.
A gentle hand pushed her away from inspecting the scent. "I think that's enough."
Lyss broke. It most certainly was NOT enough! That familiar smell….maybe if she kept sniffing it, she'd remember… She shoved her face back against the hand and caught the scent head on.
It whirled into place with startling clarity.
It was a single white cloud, sparkling its pure light, surrounded by the streaked November sky as the sun retreated home, leaving in its tracks its dying rays, which illuminated the single blotch of white in a sea of dark purples. Snatches of the memory came back to her, flashing quickly in front of her gaze.
Her fingers knotted in the grass. The dark sky hung above, dripping its color into the world, unable to hold on any longer as its sun slid beneath the surface of the liquid horizon. Wind tugged at her hair, blowing it teasingly across her forehead, laughing as she tried to snatch it away. Through it all, Lyss was aware of his eyes on her, quietly smothering a grin behind blue eyes.
The name arose in her mind. Max.
Pain expanded across her chest as the memory was torn from her against her will. No!
"Get away from her!" someone yelped, bringing her, exploding with pain, back to earth. Lyss's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, against the hurt, and against the painful memories that she could never escape. Because it was near impossible to forget, with a memory going on 300 years old.
Lyss cradled her hollow chest as ice raked through, stunningly cruel and angry as it tore away her heart. The blade of her enemy protruded through her empty center, and out the small of her back, sucking away the remains of her soul.
A voice. It was speaking softly, yet dangerously, as sharp and demanding as a sword.
"I said," the voice growled murderously, "Let her go."
There was an icy pause.
"Your authority means nothing in this territory, daughter of the King. Nor does it mean anything to me." The enemy took a rattling breath. "Step aside."
"You'll regret crossing me," the voice warned, silky and still razor sharp.
Lyss opened her eyes to slits. The blade of a long, ebony sword was inches from her nose, still buried deeply in her chest. She slowly glanced up the blade, but her enemy had his eyes fixed on a figure standing a couple feet away.
Her light was blinding. Long, cascades of blonde locks tumbled gently down her shoulders, touching her pure white dress inlaid with gold. Roses blossomed on her cheeks. Then there were her eyes.
They were a startling shade of emerald green. A green that was enhanced by a light speckling of freckles that dotted her nose, like they'd been drawn there by a pen. Anger sparked from them, singeing the very air that stood in her way.
It hadn't been noticeable before, but Lyss could see a small circlet of gold sitting atop her golden curls, glittering in her light. Daughter of the King.
The words took on a heavy new meaning.
Behind the King's daughter, eyes melted out of the nothing of the darkness. They looked eerily like a wolf's, glowing lamp-like and impossibly patient in the soft glow. A gentle brown, rippling darker and darker as they settled on the enemy.
"You've gone too far, Alcander," she whispered gently. "Remember yourself."
The boy standing over Lyss shook his head angrily. "You don't understand! The gods have given you everything so effortlessly, anytime you wanted it! We have never had it as easily." His eyes took on an insane glint as he continued, his voice hissing and ugly compared to the princess's soft voice. "You will NEVER understand! We weren't meant to be like you…your hatred drove me to this!"
He whirled on Lyss, dragging the blade through her essence roughly, intending to cause pain. Lyss cried out, curling tighter around herself. Shuddering, she felt the tears well, behind her black eyes and pale, drained face. She was frightened, for someone she couldn't remember.
Soft black hair. Sky blue eyes, glowing in warmth.
Her best friend.
The girl with the brown eyes bounded forward faster than light, knocking Alcander aside with a rough shoulder. Lyss stared in shock at the softly furred tail that dangled behind her, curled defensively around her legs. The girl flashed a brief smile.
The King's daughter floated forward, resting a hand on Alcander's arm gently, staring into his eyes. Surprised, he raised his face, defiantly glaring up at her. They made a strange pair; the beautiful, gentle princess, the angry, dark boy at her feet. Their faces were inches apart, neither backing down.
Suddenly his face relaxed. All the hostility leached out of his eyes, and he slowly sunk against the ground, trembling visibly. "I'm sorry, princess. I'm so, so sorry."
She gently slipped one hand under his chin, lifting it to look into his eyes. Hers were full of love.
"There is nothing to be sorry for, Alcander."
Leaning forward, she pressed her mouth against his. Alcander sighed softly. Time slowed down as he turned into dust, blowing down over the cliff, down to the city. To the Citadel of the Dead.
The King's daughter turned her gorgeous eyes on Lyss, after following Alcander almost wistfully. Something sorrowful shone in her eyes; the next moment, it had disappeared.
"Do you know me, child?"
"I'm no child," Lyss spat. "I bet my life was longer than yours, princess."
The girl with the tail bounced forward, eyes narrowed in fury.
"Don't you dare! Don't you know who you're talking to, you-"
"Calm down, Rozielle," the princess murmured softly. "She doesn't know."
Rozielle?
No freaking way.
"I would have thought being with Rylin would have taught her some manners, at least…" Rozielle sulked. She crossed her arms, her tail twitching in irritation. "And after all those good things Ryley told us about Alyssa, she's a true child of Hades at heart. Why don't we just leave her here, Cel?"
Admittedly, Lyss didn't know much about Rozielle.
But if she could remember anything about the daughter of Apollo, it was this: she had always been there for Rylin. Lyss hadn't. The daughter of Hades could see little bits of Rylin in every movement Rozielle made, little traits and habits she had picked up from the Titan goddess, always carrying herself with grace and defiance. They had become so close that it was impossible to tell one from the other.
Until Rozielle had been killed.
Despite Rozielle's glare, Lyss felt something move in her heart. She bit back tears.
Rozielle was a better friend to Rylin than I'll ever be.
"Rozielle," Lyss began hesitantly.
"Yes?" she all but snapped.
"Thanks…..for being there for her when I wasn't. For taking care of her." Lyss turned to stare at the dead city, still lovely, still beautiful. How did it do it?
Somehow, Rozielle knew what they were talking about. There was a soft crunch as she stepped forward, placing her hand on Lyss's shoulder. She whispered into Lyss's ear, "It was harder than it looked. She's always been tough and stubborn, even now, with her boyfriend problem to deal with." Lyss could hear the grin in her voice.
"It was enough of a challenge for Max, Ben, and me too," Lyss whispered back, smiling gently.
The King's daughter stepped forward, her dress whispering over the rock cliff.
"That is exactly why we need your help, Alyssa Janaya," she said quietly. "Rylin can't do this on her own. She needs all of us now."
"Us?" Lyss asked, struggling to keep her voice from shaking. She saw the princess turn her face away, eyes closed tightly with pain as she trembled. Something flashed as she raised her arms to wrap around her chest, to keep from caving in.
Long, raw, ugly scars crossed up and down her forearms, marring her perfect skin.
"Celine?" Lyss gasped.
When Lyss had poured her life into Rylin, little had she known that she would gain more than a permanent place in the Underworld. She had stolen a part of Rylin for herself, greedily hiding it away from the rest of the world like some coveted treasure.
Because of her selfishness, she could hear Rylin's thoughts.
Celine fell to depression soon after. I turned a blind eye to her cutting.
If only I had known it would escalate to something so much worse.
The Celine of Rylin's memories.
The true daughter of the King. The best strategist Camp Halfblood had ever seen.
Something slipped into place. Us?
There was only one thing in common that the three of them had. Lyss's gaze skipped from Celine's eyes to Rozielle's back, where she was hugging the King's daughter, patting her shoulder softly. "It's okay, Cel. You tried. You really did, but it was our time to go." The daughter of Apollo soothed.
"All of us? You mean…" Lyss began.
Celine turned her soft, teary eyes on Lyss and nodded slowly.
"The only people Rylin ever loved."
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Expect the arc in a couple weeks. I'm super busy, so yeah. You're gonna have to wait.
Reviews, anyone?