8

The War Prophecy

Four may rise
As evil shall fall
Stand up high 
And listen all

The evil festers 
In your core
Beware for when it comes 
You can’t ignore

The burning and
Twisting obsession 
Becomes the root to
Conquering your possessions

One is born 
On a bright crystal night
The other one
Born able to master flight

Two is two
At the same time
As they are born
Magik and mortal entwined

A war will come
When they will join together
If not, the world will fall
Into ash and darkness forever

My lungs are burning like they’re about to burst, and my eyes water as I continue to run through the branches. My magik is simmering away far too quickly. The clash of weapons and ear-splitting shrieks surround the damp misty air. Out among the dense forest, arrows are fired, puncturing through our shields and into our kind’s hearts.

How many Faes will be killed today?

My head is drowning and my body moves sluggishly as if  I’m floundering through neverending water during a storm. I couldn’t even summon speed, much less a shield. I used too much to fight back…

With my body stinging from magik being burnt out, I collapse on the damp forest floor. My wounds are bleeding, and pounding headaches are plaguing my mind. “Please let me have a quick end,” I whisper in Ellwryd, half-delirious and hysterical.

“Kestrel, snap out of it!”

I turned my head in the direction of the voice. A figure ran towards me, swathed in red. His face was hazy. “Noctis?” I whispered weakly but he didn’t seem to hear me, or was I hallucinating?

I vaguely sensed that I was being carried into a dark space just before I passed out.

It wasn’t always like this…