Fallen One (Book three of Alfireán age)

- Romantic spat? -

Lillian arrived at the Belkin Forest Road at long last, lathered in sweat, exhausted, and out of breath. Her pale gold mane clung to her long neck, shimmering in the afternoon light; black mud covered her silver hooves, and her formerly white coat lay hidden beneath multiple layers of grime and dirt.

It had been a difficult journey.

Finally, the air flashed as she transformed and stepped out of the forest and onto the hard-packed road once again. Willing herself invisible, she fought the urge to fall to her knees, lay down, and rest for a while.

No, I can't, Lillian thought to herself, a sense of urgency pushing her onward. She didn't know how or why, but the feeling he was in trouble pressed against her now more than ever.

Taking several deep breaths, Lillian pushed her small frame forward and examined her surroundings. The Belkin Forest Road had been constructed hundreds of years ago when the Brockovich's ancestor had moved the teleportation stone from its original location. To this day, the brownish-red road, with tree leaves hanging over top of it from either side, painted the perfect picture. But somehow, it seemed too perfect to her, almost as if it were fake.

Lillian shoved the thought out of her head, chalking it up to the horrible day she had had. Two nights ago, the Empire had been shaken with an explosion so large half the nation had either felt or seen it. According to her estimations, it had been alarmingly close to Brockovich. Lillian knew he hadn't died in it—she would've felt it—but she also knew his life was in grave danger. So despite the risk, she had run through the night and pushed herself beyond her limits.

Lillian had only been a few hours away from Brockovich when the traveling spells gave out.

And that is when she had made a terrible mistake.

With the roads no longer functioning, Lillian had decided to try to make a straight line for Brockovich, cutting through fields and forests alike. Things had gone well at first, but as she'd entered the woods, she'd quickly found herself surrounded by monstrous beasts. She'd been able to outrun most of them, but the others she had had to fend off using the energy she had stored in her gem.

As Lillian strolled towards the village, she looked down at the amethyst gem lying against her chest. She had used years upon years' worth of energy in less than half a day, and even then, it was a miracle she was still alive.

Memories of the monsters chasing her through the forest sent goosebumps up and down her pale arms. Lillian was no scholar, but she knew only the dragons were capable of mutating beasts in such ways, and if they had awakened from their dark slumber, the entire course of history was about to shift.

Shoving the thoughts aside, she quickened her pace and marched down the red stone road. As the minutes passed, the sun edged across the sky, and a cool wind blew through the leaves. At last, the town where she had grown up came into view, and Lillian gasped in disbelief.

Giant, earthen spikes dotted the road and walkways. Burnt timbers and crumbling domes sat where flourishing homes had once resided. Carts and selling stalls lay on their sides, their produce long rotted away, while tiny trees and vegetation pushed their way through the broken pavement.

Then her eyes fell on the skeletal remains of people and animals alike littering the lawns and doorsteps, and her heart failed within her.

No! It can't be possible!

Lillian dropped her invisibility and ran headlong into the mayhem, hoping, praying to find some signs of life, but there were none to be found.

How did this happen? Who would do such a thing? her heart screamed. As if to answer her question, her eyes landed on the form of a skeleton clothed in soldier's garb. On its chest, the crest of The House of Lirsdro gleamed brightly in the sunlight.