Children of Fire and Sun: The Rebellion (Updates Resume From July 2024)

Prologue: Lysa (Wælgarth)

"Namiona shall never know peace."
- A Domhnallian Proverb
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Lysa Trellis was on a fool quest, and she knew it.

She did not know what madness gripped her suddenly, that she ventured out in the middle of the night, armed with only her dagger and this ancient horse that could barely trot, let alone gallop. Her brother called her wild. Maybe it was that wild soul in her that beckoned her to a danger.

Or perhaps it was a plea for help, a desperate wish to disappear before she could be handed over to the man she was bequeathed to, and any sane woman betrothed to Lord Edmund Eni would feel the same way.

She gave a bitter chuckle. Here was her dear brother Janus, the epitome of everything one could associate with the word honourable. Then there was his beloved brother-in-arms, his closest companion, Edmund Eni.

Edmund was a boisterous fellow, with a colorful reputation amongst the population of tavern wenches. Yet somehow he had ensnared her brother dearest. And she was to be the sacrificial lamb, who would solidify their bond, and unite their two Houses through holy matrimony.

"He might as well have married me to you. Say what Wylde?"

She patted the matted fur on top of the horse's head. The creature gave a snort before resuming its slow walk. The bemused expression on Lysa's face drained with it. No matter how much she jested about the matter, she could not quite bring herself to accept the predicament.

A stray tear escaped her left eye. Here she harboured desires of being independent, to marry for love and there her brother was set on ensuring that she would remain unhappy for the rest of her life. Did he not see the follies of his friend? Or was her life a gamble to be played with? She wished she knew the answers.

Her dark curls blew in the chilly winds of the northwest. It was dark, a moonless night with clouds so grey that all the stars were blotted out of sight. Despite the fur cloaks that adorned her lithe, agile figure, Lysa shivered. The cold was too much, even for her who was born and brought up in these cold climes.

But this cold was different, somehow. Lysa could not place what was wrong with it. Her grey eyes darted towards the misty path ahead. Lysa could not comprehend much of her surroundings, save for the hoofbeats of her horse, which told her she was on a dirt track.

Patience, Lysa, have patience. She repeated to herself. It could not be much long now before she would be greeted by the great ash trees of the Æscford woods. She would venture up to the clearing and then be back. As much as she wanted so back to the comfort of her chambers, Lysa knew that this could not wait. Not after what she thought she had heard.

A year and a half before, Briar, her handmaiden, had met a brutal end after she stumbled out of a window. Goose pimples erupted upon Lysa's skin as she remembered the bloodied snow and the poor girl's neck twisted like scythes of the North. Briar did not have a close kin who could take care of her last rites. Thus, she was interred by them in the ancient graveyard within the woods.

Yet for the last month or so, Lysa had seen her. Not in dreams, no. Lysa did not dream, at least not the ones that were coherent. Each time it happened, she was wide awake and alone. She would hear Briar's voice, soft with a slight rasp, calling for her.

Come to me, my lady....

It was no haint, Lysa had decided. It just could not be, for they had taken utter care to make sure Briar was laid to rest with the utmost respect. Janus would have it no other way. Why would a haint wait for so long to return from the grave? Yet she wanted to be sure.

Lysa wanted to see Briar's grave for herself.

The horse halted suddenly. It went rigid, legs stretched out as if it were about to rear. Lysa gasped. This old horse could never. It had been years since Wylde had shown signs of sudden tension, like now. If anything, this old one was known for being dependable.

"Wylde?" She nudged the horse. It refused to move. It held onto its right posture despite Lysa's best attempts to make it move. Seeing no other way, she climbed down from the steed to inspect what was wrong.

A shudder traversed her entire being. Lysa clutched the cloak closer to her body. Sharp chills ran down her spine. So dark was the path ahead and misty that she could see nothing. She clutched the dagger by her side till her knuckles turned white, as unseen eyes seemed to trail her.

Lysa stood unmoving, staring at the dark. Her fingers trembled, while her face had turned pallid. When her racing heart could bear it no longer, she turned around to ride the horse. She would not be going to the wood, she decided. She was going to go home at this instant.

But when she turned around, Lysa felt something hard hit the back of her head and sink in, hot as fire and cold as ice. Her mouth flew open, frozen in mid-scream. She could not bring herself to utter a single whimper, though. The sky above stretched endlessly, unforgiving. Lysa Trellis collapsed backwards into the shadows, never to be seen again.

Little had Lysa realised that a desperate wish, made from the heart, is always answered. Sooner or later.

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