Two chapters in a day to get the story started. Chapter three is underway now. Last chapter I forgot to thank my loyal beta MissVD for reviewing my work, I don't know where I'd be without her. Anyways, enjoy the beginning of the story. It will seem slow at first but the following chapters really begin to pick up speed. There were no notable songs that inspired this chapter, so just enjoy.

DISSENSION

02: THE SCION

The day is July 4th, 1998, and it happens to be one of the few things unchanged anymore.

She hardly remembers the importance of a date as of present, the thought seems hardly vital to her given what gloomy clouds hang in her head. The date doesn't earn money or keep a family safe, but it does provide an inkling of order in a world where you are powerless. Perhaps that is why people cling to it so.

There was something stirring in the trestles of her home. The structure seems to shift at the base, and Aspen entertains the thought that there is a monster in the rafters above her. She has long since stopped believing in the boogeyman, or that a fiendish ghoul will steal her away into the darkness—never to see the light of day again. Yet sometimes she catches herself staring at the corners of dark rooms, drifting off into her childish fantasies that she will finally see the something and her fears will all be realized. They never were.

When she was but a child she would stand where she stood now, clutching the leather bindings of a bible wondering where the world had gone wrong. Before her grandfather's death, he would spin her tales of a world that was free, one where men governed each other, and there was no supernatural presence to tip the scale. She would be living in Bulgaria now had the world not fallen to the hands of the Devil's son. She would cry whenever she'd hear his title, and she began to believe that he was worse than the boogeyman that haunted her dreams.

Aspen has long since grown out of the shoes of her younger years in every sense. She no longer fears the dark, or mourns the idea of Bulgaria. She does still consult the Bible, even if it was outlawed, and she still believes the ruler of The Empire to be worse than the boogeyman, only now she knows that one of them is undeniably true. And to add to this whole ordeal, she is bordering on the cusp of becoming a lady—her eighteenth birthday nearing in less than a week. A large celebration is usually in order when a girl makes the right of passage to an adult, free to the world and able to make something of her life. Aspen does not feel as excited as she should.

There is the other doubting thing, though: for years she has heard tales of the world before the era of blood, one which is now only transcending into another. The world has always been a violent place, but never as much as it has in the last century, and she has been told this many times. Growing up in this time makes her feel less human than she is, because she rarely sees the world but through a small scope. This home has been her cage for eighteen years, albeit it had been a pleasant one, and when she leaves it she will be entering a larger cage that encompasses the world.

A bit of dust falls from above, landing next to her as the house creaks again, but now louder. Aspen begins to think that maybe in this sense of mind, she is the monster.

A bird swoops down in a blur of deep blue and twists through the air and out the door. Aspen is mesmerized with its movement, and the freedom with which it leaves this house to explore the world on open wings.

There is a distracting movement under her feet. Aspen peels her eyes from where the bird had been and looks down at Dog, her dog (she was not very creative with naming as a child, and it stuck). For a moment there was a blank expression on her face, but eventually her eyes soften from stone to the warmer gray shade they usually are, and she crouches to scratch at the scruff of his neck. His tail begins to wag harder, and at her pup's enjoyment, Aspen's smile grows larger. "You must like that don't you?" He whimpers back to her, and all the fear that had clutched her whisks away.

Sometimes she wonders if what she fears anymore exists. Her fear is of the unknown, of what her future may hold when she leaves the house of her childhood. The world always seemed a scary place from afar, she cannot imagine it being any better up close.

"Are you hungry?" Dog wails his tail harder at the mention of food, "of course you are. Let's get you a little treat."

Two steps and she is in the kitchen. Another two and she is standing amidst all the food her father bought on his last trip to town. Fresh cow that has been dried and salted is sealed in a tight plastic package, Aspen tears off a piece and throws it in the air for Dog to catch before gnawing on a piece of her own. Jerky was a good way to start off the day, and it tasted good enough to save herself from her own thoughts.

She sits down at the table, Dog laying at her feet, staring at her with big eyes that beg for another piece. Aspen petted him idly, her mind drifting from the window where she looked out.

Dog, upon cognizance that getting another snack was strictly not an option, quickly got to his feet and padded to the door, pawing at it with a piteous look on his scraggly face. Aspen sighed resignedly before clambering over to open it, and with the sudden gap available Dog scampered out into the backyard that stretched across the expanse of their land. She stood there for a few long moments, letting the breeze press against her skin as she rocked absently on her heels, there was a creaky board at the foot of the door frame. Aspen smiled as Dog frolicked carelessly in the meadow, sometimes she wished she could be so free as him, and in every sense of the word. But she would content herself to taking pleasure in the small things that tethered her to reality, like this little creaky board.

For now.

Shortly thereafter she found herself joining Dog, only she wasn't running around. Aspen had a special spot in mind, frolicking around in the meadow could wait.

Not three hundred feet out from the backdoor to her home was a large oak tree, its trunk a twisting mass of jagged bark with leaves that rivaled the vivaciousness of a rainbow. It was a favorite destination of daily life, the constant unrelenting escape that never ceased to comfort her in times where it felt necessary. Perhaps her favorite part was the hollow center, which was hard to notice unless you moved a patch of grass away from a certain part of the tree. Here Aspen deemed an appropriate place to hide things that were outlawed by the Empire, and there were quite a few.

Scripts made up most of the list, ones like the Bible and the Count of Monte Cristo. At least those "inspiring" texts were forbidden to the lesser classes, not that any well-heeled person would dare own it.

Among the rest of the outlawed items were other random things: crosses of course, capsules of venom, pure silver weaponry, rubies, vervain, oaken stakes, and a long, extended list that she didn't care to remember. Actions too were prohibited by law, most of them being acts against the Empire or studies of witchcraft that wasn't under a licensed witch or warlock. Still, all of these things and more were viable with treason, trial, and execution no matter who you were.

All that mattered to Aspen was that no one found out of her indulgence in that bit of rebellion, that control that she held in her life was through the wonderful tale spun by Alexandre Dumas. A story of great adventure, romance, revenge, overcoming everything at all odds. She loved it, and she envied Edmond above all despite his many obstacles; he was fearless enough to overcome them, to defeat his demons and still come out an admirable character.

Aspen knew it could be worse—her life could be worse. There was always the possibility of something worse, and in this world she knew second hand that safety was never guaranteed. Rarely was she permitted to leave the town for the sake of risking immunity and virtue, and even then Donovan and father were usually accompanying her, never allowing her too far out of sight. She was guaranteed security in this life, but was it a quality even worth living? That was a question that seemed more frequent in her life, especially as of late. She shouldn't really complain, but she always did. Secretly.

There were times when she would muse that it wasn't possible for Donovan to be content either. He was much less controlled than she as it was, and yet he maintained nearly the same level of arid lifestyle as she. The only relief he got was through his weekly excursions to town, receiving letters via his messenger hawk, or the sporadic visits from Gregori Cato, who gifted Donovan with the hawk, her with The Count of Monte Cristo, and gave them both lessons on sword wielding and bow shooting.

Gregori was perhaps her only source of life to the outside world, but even he didn't speak of it often. "Dark things like that should not possess a happy conversation in a place like this." And no matter how much he pleaded he would always say no, but Aspen never held it against him. He would bring gifts and tell her tales, but he always bore bad news, things that were for secret ears but she secretly listened into as best she could. It was another bit of freedom she could have for herself, something that, though she didn't understand most of what Gregori said, she could always feel that tingling rush of excitement in her bones.

Her back was pressed against the trunk of the tree, the book opened in her hands as her legs spread out on the ground, Aspen flipped open to a random page in The Count of Monte Cristo and began reading.

The air was dry but warm, and the cool air coinciding with it made her feel refreshed and almost otherworldly. She could imagine the harsh winds were from the seas that she sailed, or perhaps from the mountaintops high in the clouds where only God's graceful touch could reach. A place where her mother was still alive, and not the victim to murder as she had been.

Her graying interlude ended when Dog jumped into her lap, his large head peering over her book as he craned his neck to lavish her face with sloppy kisses. "Awe c'mon Dog, your breath smells!" She giggled, petting him as he playfully attacked her.

Over the clamor of the dog, Aspen didn't notice an approaching shadow, who was sporting an amused smile at the sight of his sister and the family dog tussling. His inner turmoil was not as complex or realized as her, but he faced many of the same problems as she: a spiceless life.

"Did I miss the betting time? I have all my money that Dog will win."

Aspen barely managed a glance in her brother's direction as Dog continued his assault on her. She was still laughing hysterically, but after managing to twist her hand to reach the junction where his head met his body she scratched furiously, and Dog dropped on the ground, panting in pleasure. "I guess you owe me all your money then, brother dearest." She said smugly, flashing him a playful smile.

"But I didn't bet." He pointed out, mirroring her haughty tone.

Aspen quirked a brow, holding his gaze but still keeping Dog subdued. "Backing out on your word already? How very dishonest of you."

Donovan rolled his eyes, "It's nearly lunchtime," he began, ignoring her subsequential eye roll at the sudden topic change. "Fancy fixing me a sandwich?"

"You are perfectly capable of making a sandwich yourself Donovan." Aspen said idly, "You have two hands, put them to use."

"What if I sweetened the deal and said make me and father a sandwich?"

She didn't even have the good grace to look slightly considering, "That is not going to help your case."

"Oh your poor husband is going to be sorely neglected," he pouted, a hand on his chest. "You will pay more attention to the dog than his needs, I pity him."

"Perhaps," Aspen began, "I shall marry rich and won't have to tend to my husband's needs. If he's anything like you there will be quite the long list."

"Pray then that he is not like me," she looked at him questioningly, and he went on to clarify. "—because I find it highly unlikely you will marry anyone at all, let alone a nobleman."

Her eyebrow quirks at his playful tone. Innocent teasing as usual between them, but she can't help but feel slightly challenged, even if she doesn't disagree. The life of a pompous aristocrat's wife does not appeal to her in any way—all her life she had been put to hard work, calloused hands and sinewy muscles her attestment to this. She had never been pampered nor lavished with opulence, she did not think she could get used to it now. "Oh?"

He smirked, she took the bait. She always did when he had that challenging lilt in his voice. "Yes, quite a tragedy, really. The only daughter and our poor father will never see you married off."

"What makes you think any woman would want to marry you?" She said, indignant, arms weaved over her chest. "You're hardly capable of holding an intelligent conversation."

Donovan scoffed, "Unlike you, other women do not entail intelligent conversation as a requirement to becoming your significant other."

She visibly glowered at his jibe, eyes rolling (again) despite the good nature behind their banter. "Consider other women boring then," Aspen's ironic smile was reflected on her brother's face, poisoned first by genuineness before the two started laughing. She stopped first, still chaperoning a large grin as she went on, no longer feeling lost in her sea of thoughts. "Now, was there any real purpose for you harassing me or was it just to entertain you?"

"Mainly to entertain me, sister mine." He approached her, ushering her to stand before slinging an arm around her shoulders as he directed her on the path back to their home. Dog scampered up to trot beside them, seemingly unaffected by the sudden lack of attention to him. "But that is not the only reason. Father wished to see us both—something about a business transaction or whatnot. He's cutting it close with the taxers coming around anytime now, but you know how he is."

Aspen did know. Lately her father had been lacking in precaution to the dates scheduled for the Empire's taxpayers to come around and collect money. Her family lived in a small province more than one thousand miles from the capital city, Budapest, and as a result the taxpayers were more lax. Often coming around on improvised times, expecting families to have their dues ready despite the set date being later. The punishments for not paying on time were harsh, but thankfully Aspen's father had never missed a payment. Albeit he was beginning to cut it close.

"I do, and he's really beginning to scare me. Someone is going to hear him and all his patriotic talk and report him to the guard."

"Father's not wrong though, you know how righteous father is in complaining about the state of our country. We're not free, not under a monster of a tyrant. We're hardly even people to him—just bloodbags and slaves that keep his precious empire running." He hissed in disgust, spitting out the words like they were poison on his tongue.

"I know Donovan." Aspen said, squeezing his arm in comfort. "We all do. There's just so little we can do about it, we hardly even survive with all that we have to pay."

"I despise him." He said flatly.

"I know."

"No—despise doesn't even begin to describe how I feel: I hate him with ever fiber of my being."

She grinned at him from the corner of her mouth, "Yes, I know."

They stopped walking, and Donovan looked at her, a very serious expression on his face. He looked so grimly unfamiliar like that, not like the playful brother that stood tall as her idol but was not afraid to stoop to acting like a child to improve her bad moods. He was a good man like that. "I love you, you know that, don't you Aspen?"

"Yes," she smiled, "I know."

He mirrored the smile again, and anyone looking at the two would hardly have been able to tell them apart. "Good."

The two looked so alike despite their minor differences. The same long nose, high and sharp cheekbones, though Donovan's were more so than his younger sister's. They both had the same gray eyes, but Aspen's didn't hold the flecks of blue her brother's had. And then there was the hair: the fiery red hair that could have born straight from a Phoenix's wings. The only other significant detail being the large red mark behind Aspen's right ear, which held no other importance despite its existence. Still, they were quite a sight standing side by side as they were.

And that was how their father, Hector Voltaire, saw them as they approached the detached building, which was his workplace, or rather as he liked to call it, his Mind's Palace. A place where he experimented, created, and supported their small family of three. When Aspen had first been introduced to it there were three rules: do not limit yourself in any way, even the Empire's laws shan't be abided here; nothing is impossible, and any limit you wish to reach is reachable; there is to be no touching of anything unless someone is dying, there is a fire, or a revelation is at hand. The final was pressed the most often: under no circumstances will you touch the Book.

The Book was an old, old thing that remained in prime condition—not a page out of place, but obviously worn by time, as the cover and spine attested to. Their father was hardly not scribbling something in it, but whenever she saw him write it was hardly ever legible, and her skills of subtly reading were hardly agreeable. Little of its contents was known to her, besides the general assumption that it was something scientific and, as her father accredited himself, amazing and earth changing. It had to be if it was what provided her family, but he never shared much besides simple things when he needed help, which wasn't often. He worked best alone, and Aspen was just fine with letting him do so.

Despite all his preaching and her attempts to remain optimistic, Aspen couldn't help but think that nothing seemed to be changed, but she could hardly blame her father, what with him being a lowly man in a small town near the coast of the Bulgia province. She had faith in him and his research, even if others called it blasphemous.

Even now he had the Book tightly clasped in his hands, a pen in the other as he hurriedly scribbled down something. He seemed unaware of their presence. Aspen spoke up. "Father, you asked for us?"

He had, in fact, heard them come in. He paid them a glance but never stopped scribbling, finishing the thought before slamming the Book shut and setting it to the side, placing the pen haphazardly on top. There was a gleam in his eyes Aspen didn't like, and the furrow in her brow deepened. "There is something of dire need we must discuss. I wanted to wait many more years before bringing it to the table, but I cannot avoid the topic any longer. It would be cruel and unfair to the both of you."

The tension in the room felt palpable, crawling over their skin and inducing a feeling of dread and paranoia that left both Aspen and Donovan terror-stricken. "What are you talking about, father?" Donovan asked, his voice betraying the image Aspen held him to in his head. He sounded small, scared—completely unlike himself. And admittedly she felt the same way.

"Donovan you need to leave." Hector stated abruptly, his face hardening like stone as he looked at his son. "Prepare the horses and pack anything you can and take it with you, you are going to take your sister to Gregori's house after I'm done speaking with her. Anything she deems appropriate to tell you she will."

"Anything you have to say to me Donovan can hear too." Aspen stated smoothly, her voice free from the tremor that shook at her hands.

"You must make haste! They're coming now, I will send her out to you in ten minutes, and right when she leaves you must head off before they catch us all. I will join you as soon as I can, but your sister and yourself are the priority." Hector went on, ignoring Aspen's statement. "I cannot lose all of you."

"Father what's—" Donovan's voice did tremble, but Hector cut him off.

"Make haste, Donovan! Go now before they get us all! Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes." He echoed hollowly, head nodding as he bolted out the door, leaving Hector and Aspen alone in the Mind Palace.

Hector turned to Aspen, unwilling to waste anymore time than what had already been used up. "Many things must be discussed, but due to the vastness of subjects and the short length of time I'm provided with I will have to shorten the explanations considerably.

"Your mother was a witch, a very powerful one in fact who was born of a bloodline of some of the strongest magic wielders as history knows. When we first met in Bucharest it was the first thing she told me, but I was already enchanted by her and that slight didn't hinder my determination to marry her. The rest as you know is history." Aspen felt an explanation should have been entitled, but she kept her mouth shut and listened as her father went on. "Your mother had always had a knack for getting in trouble with the government, but her father was a very important figure and Dracula could not get away with killing her off on his own. She was very outspoken and as I soon came to know a very large Patriot in the rebellion, in fact she was one of its major players. And I, a man in love, followed her lead and joined the revolutionaries as well. It was small back then, a mere child compared to the enormity it is now. It has grown so much over the years, and it is reaching the point where people will begin to know it exists.

"I hold an active part in the Revolution, but my job is as a scientist, not a soldier. I'm on the brink of discovering something that may change the outcome of the revolution, and if they can kill me, they can halt the movement. Without the many serums I've developed the Order may not pose the threat they do now. But I'm the only one who knows how to make it, all my research is strictly for me."

"The less people to know the less likely the details of your work is to get out." Aspen rationalized in a small voice, her father nodding sharply in confirmation.

"It's why they're coming for me." He explained, his cold face melting into one of sorrow that made Aspen's heart clench. "Gregori managed to send a letter by hawk overnight, but it may be too late. I never wanted to put you or Donovan at risk, but your mother died for the cause, and I couldn't give it up without knowing I tried to avenge her sacrifice." Hector's voice dipped, and Aspen grabbed his hand and squeezed, determined to milk all the information she could from her father before it was too late.

"Gregori knows of this whole arrangement? What does he have to do with the Revolution?"

"Gregori is the head council member of the Order, and he happens to be your mother's father."

"Which means he's my grandfather..." Aspen realized.

"Yes it does." Her father conceded, sounding exasperated.

"Does that also make him a..."

"—A warlock? In fact it does, but the gene is very picky, and usually only stays with one gender in a family. It was quite the surprise to him when your mother inherited it." Hector looked pointedly at Aspen, and she felt something stir in her—the beginnings of true awareness, something that made her queasy and exhilarated all at the same time.

"Does that...does that mean...?" Aspen choked on her words, unable to find the suitable ones that could complete the statement.

"It does." Her father nodded in confirmation, a twinkle of pride in his eyes. "Some part of you is a witch, Aspen, and a very powerful one if your mother's genes persevered as I believe they have."

"But how is that possible?" Aspen asked, almost more to herself than her father. "Wouldn't I have noticed after all these years if I was a witch?"

"Not necessarily," he started decisively. "Some witches don't have powers that show until a certain age or life changing point in their timeline, but for precautions sake your mother managed to cast a spell on you that would allow your powers to remain hidden until you turn eighteen. By then you would have full control over them and they would be more in tune with your thoughts and less with your emotions despite your lacking usage of them. Your mother didn't wish anyone to find out that the legacy of Cato lived on, especially not through one of her children, and so it was the only way."

"Is Donovan magical?" Aspen asked, though she had an idea she knew the answer.

"No."

The sinking feeling in her grew, but she only managed a small "Oh". She suddenly felt less guilty that her brother wasn't present, that would've been quite a blow to him.

"There are a few final things I must tell you before you go. First off, matter what you have to know that I love you and your brother more than anything, and that not only did I pursue this cause for your mother but for the both of you. I also entrust this Book and all it's contents with you, anything that it holds is only for your eyes and whomever you allow to see it. And finally I'll tell you the key to winning this rebellion: love. A feather like feeling, plucked from the highest soaring birds in the sky that never touch the ground. That is the key to this book, to the rebellion, and to any other victory you seek.

"Now go."

He thrust the Book into her hands before pushing her towards the door. Aspen felt the pit in her grow, a mix of fear and confusion and despair at all that he had told her. "But father—"

"Now is not the time! Go, Aspen! Go! Remember it's in a feather, and remember that I love you." His eyes were wet with tears, and before she was fully out the door she wrapped her arms around his neck, letting out a sorrowful sob before pulling back. "Ride swiftly to Gregori, got to Debrecen with your brother."

"I love you papa. Please stay safe."

He nodded. "Go! I'll be right behind you!"

She didn't feel the wave of his reassuring words because they were hollow. As she sprinted to where Donovan stood, the Book clutched tightly in her hand, she knew that those had been her final words to her father, because despite all his promises, he wouldn't live to see the light of tomorrow. That responsibility weighed down on her, like a pit of acid in her stomach. She felt it burning in her abdomen, in her throat. But the sobs never came, and Aspen felt something in her that she never knew she had crack, and the world felt numb.

Through it all she felt her brother reach out, call to her. But she'd already set her horse in a harsh canter to the woods, trying to put as much distance between that feeling of desolate nothing and herself. Then, when she should next return, her childhood home and harbor to all her memories would be gone: a pile of ashes that would sweep away with the next gust of wind. And the feeling of emptiness she had before would never compare to then.

Aspen thought about this, and she pushed her mount to ride faster.