Plapper: What's up guys? So I already had this chapter written, nice and dandy and then guess what? The computer crashed… yup yup! So here's my second attempt, but I've learned my lesson, I promise you. I'll be hitting the save button every two seconds.. just did… and again… you get the point. Two hours of work gone… Puff! I nearly cried, but then I didn't because that would've been unwomanly… well then here it goes. TAKE 2!

Two years.

That's how long it had been since the events in Egypt had unfolded. Two years in which I'd lost everything. Two years in which I'd seen more than many people see in an entire life time. Two years in which everything had changed.

Two years were a bloody long time.

And here I was, back at the beginning. I'd sworn I'd never return, not after all the pain and betrayal, yet here I was. New beginnings often started at old endings. I wondered if they'd even recognize me… I no longer did. The girl in the mirror was a different one than the girl that had stepped through these gates, little over a year ago. That one was gone. She'd grown up. I'd turned 20 a few short months ago, but I felt older, so much older.

I thought back to the events that had brought me here, back to the beginning. After I'd left Nico I'd been discouraged, heartbroken and alone. He'd returned to camp and I? I'd sulked in empty hotel rooms pitying myself. No one had come for me and I'd lost hope. Ironically enough hope found me in the form of the death of my mother…

Flashback

It was raining. The raindrops fell onto the coffin in a steady, soft pitter patter. Soft and yet, unbearably loud. How could raindrops be so loud? We weren't many. My grandparents, a doctor, an old high school friend named Ella, the pastor and I.

Pitter patter.

The pastor began to speak, trying to be heard over the deafening sound of the rain, his words dancing in between the raindrops.

"Ayleen Mist…"

pitter patter

"mother and daughter"

pitter patter

"grace of god" Which god? Which god dear pastor?

pitter patter

"remembrance"

pitter patter

"Love"

pitter patter

"Amen."

pitter patter

Pitter patter

Pitter patter

The rain ran over my hair, my face, I was completely drenched, my black dress sticking to my skinn, my hair in my face. Good. Maybe some of the rain in my eyes would pass as tears, tears that just wouldn't come. I stared at the coffin as it slowly sunk into the ground; I dropped my white rose and walked back to stand alone. I felt nothing. The woman who'd given birth to me was dead, shouldn't I be sad? But there was no room for sadness… No room for pain. I'd cried too much in the last couple of months. Too many tears, wasted on a foolish love. A love for which I'd given up everything and gained nothing. Nothing at all.

A gentle touch on my shoulder ripped me out of my gloomy thoughts and I turned to see my grandmother standing there. Her right hand, enclosed in a soft black leather glove, rested on my shoulder and in her left she held a small silver chest, about as big as a shoebox. The rain dripped from her big black hat unto the box as she looked at me with those strong green eyes.
She wasn't old, maybe mid-sixties, and had a grace about here that I couldn't help but admire. A strong heartless woman, I thought.

She handed me the box and met my eye. I was slightly shorter than her, but not by much. There were no tall women in our family.

"I guess it's time that you had this", she finally said as I took the box into my hands, then she turned and left without another word.

I looked down at the chest in my hands and my breath caught for a second. It was ornamented with beautiful roses and in the middle stood a beautiful woman with a gentle smile, her arms stretched out in a kind and inviting gesture. Atlantis

Yes… the silver chest had started it all. I'd finally had another lead to follow. I'd finally found hope again and it had come from a most unexpected place. At the time it hadn't made sense to me, but it hadn't mattered either.

Flashback

I ducked and the blade missed my head by inches. That'd been close! I jumped and rolled as the blade came at me again and quickly got to my feet, paring the blade inches before my face. Our noses almost touched and Khai grinned, his blue eyes lighting up against his dark skin.

"Ready to give up yet?"

"Never", I said as I held his Khopesh in place with my stronger right hand and twisted my left blade in between the blades using it as a lever. He stepped away, as not to lose his blade.

"Not bad, not bad Kyra, but you forget… I'm the best" I laughed. We'd see about that. He feinted an attack on my left side and I spun around, ready to block the blade that was bound to come at me from above. It didn't. Instead he was suddenly behind me, his blade at my throat. I could feel the cold metal pressed against my skin, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough for me to know, that the slightest movement would. I didn't dare to swallow.

"I told you sweet thing, I told you", he said has he gently kissed my neck. I shivered as my skin lit up at his touch. His blade was still at my neck, but his left hand was on my hip. I dropped my blades and turned around so we stood face to face, our noses barely touching. He was smiling, showing off the dimples on his cheeks.

"I guess you are", I said right before our lips met.

Khai. I could still remember the way he smelled of fresh dirt and spices. He'd taught me how to fight, not in the ancient Greek way, but in the way of the desert nomads. He'd truly been the best, but in the end I had beaten him. Although just barely. Unconsciously my hand moved to the soft scar running from my left temple down to me collar bone. Yes, just barely.

Flashback

The woman before me was old, at least a hundred years, but most likely more, and yet her eyes seemed young. Maybe even younger than mine, Khai had told me that I had old eyes. She was small, tiny even, as she sat there on her huge orange and red pillow, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Djeserit, the great -great- grand-mother of Khai. Nomadic life was very healthy it seemed. She'd seen the world at war more than once during her life time. She'd seen mortals fight, and gods as well. I didn't press her to speak, she'd speak in time, and so I studied her for a while.

Her face must have been beautiful at some time, and still was, in its own way, beneath those wrinkles lining her face. Her blue eyes were hidden behind those heavy lids. A purple shawl, with golden coins at the hem lined her face, and made a soft sound every time she moved. She wore a white tunic, as it was custom with the nomads. I looked down on mine, I'd never worn so much white before, but somehow I still liked it. She didn't open her eyes when she finally spoke and her voice came over her lips strong, yet gentle, like an old melody.

"It's an old tale my child… Very old, passed on from generation to generation, almost forgotten now. There was an island once, a beautiful place as big as Africa. The grass was always green, the flowers always bloomed and there was peace, always peace and in the centre of that island rose the Silver City, as beautiful as a diamond and as indestructible.

The creatures that lived there were beautiful and kind, full of ancient magic. They were old, maybe as old as the earth itself, and many worshiped them as gods. They themselves worshiped the gods of old, the earth, the sky and the elements.

Then new gods came, younger gods, gods that claimed it was their right to rule. The beautiful people didn't care much; they lived in their world and needed no more. They were happy being their own gods, at least for a while. People started traveling to the Silver City, sharing their goods and sharing stories, and soon the beautiful people grew curious. What was out there in that other world?

Many began to explore the world outside of their own and they brought back tales of wars, of gold and of gods, so powerful that they could light up the sky. The beautiful people grew scared and closed their gates, allowing no one to enter or leave.

Many years passed, and the fears of the past were forgotten. A new king arose, Gadeiros, a proud and greedy man. He decided that ruling his kingdom was no longer enough. He wanted to be worshiped and so he marched on the noblest city of the new gods, intending to overthrow their power and rise above them all.

His actions brought doom to the entire island as those gods unleashed their wrath, and the entire city was burnt to the ground in one single night, leaving nothing but death and ashes. To cover up their horrible deed, the gods sunk the city into the ocean and banned all stories of that place.

They thought that they'd destroyed them all, but some had escaped. The king's son, his wife and some of their closest friends had realized the folly of Gadeiros and escaped to the shore where they lived as simple nomads.

There is a prophecy though, my dear, an old story, that one day the heir to the throne would rise and bring the Silver City back out of the Darkness of time. "

It was an interesting tale that the wise old woman had told me, and mostly true. The new gods that had attacked the Silver City were the Olympians. They'd destroyed and entire nation because of the selfish acts of one man. No they hadn't attacked because of the Atlanteans had marched on Athens, they'd attacked because they'd felt threatened. More and more dreams had put the puzzle together. The lost world wasn't just my city, it was the entire Island. My heritage.

Flashback

"Are you ready to pay the price now honey?" Oh the world was a cruel place and so often new beginnings came with old endings.

"Yes."

She laughed, cruel sound like rocks grinding against each other under water.

"They've taken everything from you honey…And what will you do? Now that you know the truth?"

I stepped into that cavern, my heart beating loudly. There was no going back now. Revenge was a one way road.

"I will make them pay."

I'd done enough reminiscing, it was time to get going. I stepped through the giant gates and the camps protection unhindered.

"Well then Kyra… Let's get this party started."