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Siraleth, Istmere

15 Years Ago

Anneliseraisedherswordagainst the oncoming witch, a Nightshade clad in black metal armor, their face masked in shadow. She plunged her sword into his chest, turning quickly to avoid another oncoming attack. Her hands shook from the effort, quickly becoming battle weary. Her sword was as heavy as a ton of bricks in her hands; it took every ounce of her energy to hold it up before her. Her strawberry blonde hair whipped back and forth as she turned, soaked through with sweat and blood.

She had been fighting for hours. Fighting for the equality of witches like her, witches who were storm born. She avoided tripping over the bodies of her comrades as she pushed her way through the battlefield, her eyes on Osiris.

The dark king battled his attackers from atop a mound of rubble, a broadsword in his hand. His long black hair pulled tightly into a bun at the nape of his neck, his armor smeared with dirt and blood.

Annelise fought and pushed to get to him, but she only made it a few feet before she was stopped again, a sword clanging loudly against hers. She pushed her newest assailant off with a grunt, swinging her sword wide and missing as the Nightshade witch ducked out of the way. As she raised her sword to try again, another sword pierced through the back of the Nightshades neck, blood squirting across Annelise’s face. The Nightshade witch fell to his knees with a gurgle. The sword was pulled free with a slick, wet, sound and the witch fell to his knees. Annelise saw her oldest friend rise before her.

“Thank you, Zion,” Annelise huffed, gripping his forearm tightly.

“Get to him, Anna. She will kill him. There isn’t much time,” he replied.

Annelise responded with a fierce nod, pushing her way through the dense crowd of fallen bodies and fighting soldiers. She pushed her slick wet hair out of her face and her forearm came away bloody. Donika may have been their daughter, hers and Zion’s, but Annelise would not let Donika slay the Dark King. Her first love. Osiris. To have to choose between your daughter and your former lover, it was a choice she never thought she would have to make.

From the moment that she could walk, Donika had wanted to hold a sword, and her magic had been stronger than anything Annelise had ever seen before. She could see Donika before her now as she pushed her way through the packed bodies of the battlefield, her sword raised, her eyes dark black pits.

Donika had immersed herself in black magic, and it had twisted her soul and her very being into something foul. Something unredeemable. Something entirely unrecognizable. She was no longer the sweet white-haired girl Annelise had raised in their small cottage in Siraleth with her oldest friend. Did Zion truly understand what she had become? Annelise had tried time and time again to save her, to make her understand, but all Donika wanted was power. She would do anything to get it. Sacrifice anyone, including herself.

Osiris fought valiantly, slaying his enemies with grace, his power something to behold. He may have been on the wrong side of this war, but Annelise knew she couldn’t bear the thought of him dying. He hated her kind as much as the next Nightshade, but they had been close once. In love. He had been her closest confidant. She couldn’t live in a world where Osiris didn’t exist. He was not as evil or cunning as everyone believed him to be. Deep down, he was a gentle soul. Perhaps too gentle to continue to rule Istmere, but Donika would not make a suitable replacement. She was only fifteen years old and despite her years entrenched in dark magic, she was still too young, too naïve. If he hadn’t been pressured by his people, by his soldiers, would he still have cast her out of the stone palace? Would she still be by his side, even now?

Annelise could see Donika fighting her way to the Dark King. They were on the same side, slaying all Stormshade witches, but Donika’s thirst for power had become too much. It was all she could think about, all that clouded her vision. Osiris might be on Donika’s side fighting for the Nightshades, but he was the only thing that stood between Donika and the throne of Istmere. She would do everything in her power to overthrow him.

Anna was pushed from behind and she fell to her knees with a bone jarring weight, her sword flying from her hands and clanging against the rocks.

“Filthy Stormshade,” a voice sneered at her back. She turned slowly, and as she opened her mouth, to beg for her life, the witch’s head was detached from its body in one clean sweep of a sword. It hit the dirt before her with a resounding thud, the witch’s eyes still fixed on her with a cold stare.

“Better get going.” Zion’s smile was sad. He had saved her, again, for the second time during this long and unending battle. Annelise scrambled to her sword, grabbing it tightly in her grip, and set forth towards Osiris once more.

A breath escaped Annelise’s lips as she saw a flash of blue and white hair and a sword as dark as onyx. Osiris now battled Donika atop the mound of rubble. Annelise pushed and pushed but made no leeway, stuck between the dense bodies, the sounds of swords clashing harsh in her ears. A ball of flame whizzed past her head, close enough that she felt the tingle of her hair burning, the flame hot as it passed her face. A building fell to ruins on her left and she covered her mouth and eyes with her tunic to avoid the cloud of ash that resulted. The rocks flew in every direction as the building fell, Anna did her best to shield her head. When she opened her eyes, all she could see before her was a cloud of dust and ash.

I need to get to him.

“Osiris!” Annelise screamed, “Osiris!” But she could not draw his attention. It had been years since they had been lovers and she had been cast out of the stone palace, but she would fight for his life all the same. Osiris was nowhere near as ruthless as Donika, having let Annelise live even after finding out she was a Stormshade herself. She tried to call on her power, to propel herself forwards faster, but the earth here had been sucked dry of all its magical tether. Her magic was only able to propel her so far, her energy was quickly becoming depleted. It would take weeks to replenish the magic that had been used here today.

A witch from Donika’s army approached Osiris from behind, and Annelise watched as if the world before her was moving in slow motion. Her feet were glued to the dust as rubble littered the ground around her. She watched the witch bind Osiris’ hands behind his back. A guttural scream ripped forth from him as he struggled to free himself. Another soldier joined in, pinning Osiris down with ash shackles. Donika’s cold smile had a chill running down Annelise’s spine.

How had she borne a witch full of such evil? Osiris might not have been Donika’s father, but the idea that she would murder her mother’s lover and that it would bring her such joy…she truly was too far gone. Oh, how Donika hated Annelise. She was revolted at the very thought of her own mother being a Stormshade, and she would do anything in her power to hurt and destroy her.

With that wicked smile across her lips, Donika raised her onyx sword high, only hesitating a moment to catch her mother’s eyes over the chaos of the battle. She plunged her black sword into Osiris’ chest all the way to the hilt, the sword protruding from his back. His broad sword fell from his grip and clattered to the ground before him as his knees gave out, a pool of fresh red blood falling forth from his lips.

Donika, what have you done?!

She held her mother’s eyes with a sinister laugh, placing her boot against Osiris’ shoulder and pulling her sword free. Osiris fell to the dirt before her with a heavy thud. The dark king was dead. Osiris was dead. Donika raised her sword high above her head in victory, her eyes as dark as the black magic that had consumed her. She cast her cold glare across the battlefield. The witches sworn into her service roared and cheered; victory was theirs.

Annelise was panicked, scanning the crowd of bodies for more Stormshade allies. There were none. The Stormshade witches were dead or had already fled the battle. There were none left on the battlefield that she could see. Osiris was dead. Donika was the new queen of Istmere, and Anna needed to get out of here, now. Annelise turned, her bones cold with terror. Where was Zion? She couldn’t leave without him. She wouldn’t.

Anna shouldered her way through the crowd back the way she had come, hoping to put as much distance between Donika and herself as possible. The shades, the unspecialized witches, had stopped fighting. Many of them fled when they realized that the battle was lost. The army of Nightshades had won, but their king was still dead at the hands of one of their own. Annelise was pushed from behind, and she fell to her knees once more. She crawled forwards, frantically trying to locate Zion in the chaos. Where had he gone? Had he already found a way out?

The surrounding cheers were deafening in her ears, disorienting her. Hot tears streamed down her face as she clawed her hands bloody, trying to push her way through the piles of bodies. How was she going to get out of this alive? The faces before her would haunt her forever, dead lifeless eyes and faces caked in blood and dirt. Former friends, former allies. Her fellow Stormshade witches had been mercilessly slaughtered, and for what? Because the Nightshade witches were envious of their power? It was always about power for them.

The holy city of Siraleth was reduced to wreckage during the battle. Anna had never imagined that the city could fall. The air was filled with smoke and ash, and Annelise coughed as she tried to catch her breath.

A foot on her back stopped her dead in her tracks and she was afraid to turn. She knew who it would be at her back. She knew what would happen next.

“Face me,” a cold voice sneered from behind her. Annelise, still on her hands and knees, turned slowly to find the end of the black onyx sword pointed directly at her. The once beautiful blue eyes of her daughter reduced to black, lifeless voids. Her blue and white hair was caked with the blood of her enemies and allies alike as she smiled down at her mother with a cold stare. She was ruthless. She used the point of the sword to turn Annelise’s chin up, forcing her mother to meet her lifeless eyes.