Lightlands

Prologue: The Boy and the Portals

"This is it?" The boy asks, trembling. He clasps his small hands together to prevent them from trembling, but it doesn't work. His palms are slick with cold sweat, and he repeatedly rubs them on his pants to dry them.

"Yeah" responds the dark haired woman on his right gruffly. She looms threateningly behind him, scowling.

"Get a move on Alman" The woman's twin brother, someone more muscle than man, says, shoving the young man. The boy nearly stumbles, but rights himself.

"I have a name." The dark haired boy mutters under his breath. He looks up at the three stone arches in the vast room ahead of them, two are parallel to each other, on the right and left walls of the room, and a larger one stands on the back wall. The arches are made of cold grey stone, but bear no evidence of time; no cracks or crumbling mar their flawless surface. The place feels unnatural. The air is strangely warm despite the falling of leaves in the forest surrounding the ancient building. A slight breeze whisks through the room, even though there are no doors leading directly outside.

The boy steps into the center of the room, between the arches, and raises his hands. Like a magician about to perform a trick, he points them out to the arches on either side of him and closes his eyes. Though, the boy is much more than a simple magician. For a moment he stands there, made of stone same as the arches, then he takes a shallow breath in and two swirling vortexes form in the arches surrounding him. Through them he sees glimpses of the realms through them. Dead, black sands and water that is so dark it looks like ink.

All that is left is the third portal, he thinks, straining to push his magic further. Further than he ever has. Further than anyone ever has.
After a few minutes the boy starts to sweat, the powerful magic taxing him. Beginning to tire, his hands lower slightly and his breathing gets heavier. The boy starts to feel nauseous, and his head starts to pound. He brings his hands up to his head, which feels like it's being bashed in with a hammer.

The man notices and shouts threateningly "Keep going! When we're done with this we'll be rich as kings!"

We, the boy thinks spitefully. He knows that once the portal is open the twins will probably kill him. He only hopes that he'll find a chance to escape before that happens.

The vortexes stabilize as the boy puts an arm out and closes his fist. He tenitavely relaxes and can see where the newly opened portals have opened into. Just as the twins said, a portal to the Dunes and a portal to the Depths, two of the Otherlands, but one portal still hasn't opened. The arch in front of him remains empty.

"Get that third portal open or we'll skin you alive filthy Alman!" Shouts the woman, prowling towards him.

"Why not start now?" growls her brother, grabbing the leather hilt of his starlight silver scimitar. "Maybe he needs a little motivation."

"N-no! Please, I-I can get the portal open. Please. No!" Stammers the boy, but the twins are upon him, the woman grabs his arms and twists them painfully behind his back while the man lines the scimitar up with his neck.

"Why not just kill you now? We've already got two of the three." He asks, smiling at the shivering boy. He pushes the blade into the warm flesh of the boy's thin neck, drawing a line of crimson blood, taunting him.

The boy squeezes his eyes shut and calls forth all the power he can, abandoning all his thoughts except one.

I want to live. I want to live. I WANT TO LIVE.

The portals answer the boy's desperate call.
Power floods through his bones, his skin, his every cell. The boy screams as his soul starts to fracture, the power of the Otherlands not meant for mortals, but the boy doesn't give into the dark chasm of death. Instead he shakes as he lets the power fill him, strengthening him, slowly gaining control of it. Dark tendrils snake from the Dunes and the Depths, surrounding the boy. Then the final portal opens. A powerful shockwave knocks the twins from their feet, they push themselves away from the boy, horrified. The third portal glows with the light of the sun, burning away all the shadows in the room. In front of it the boy looks godly. Horrible animal noises emit from the realm beyond the vortex. The sound of barking, howling, yipping and growling fills the air. Slowly, the creatures of the Lightlands crawl out. For a moment the grotesque things stand and sniff at the air, savoring the taste of freedom after centuries of imprisonment. Then, slowly, they advance to the twins. The siblings don't move, their fear freezing them as the creatures approach, but they do let out blood curdling screams as the creatures tear them apart.

The boy just stares, blinking like someone awakened from a trance. His body is still humming with immense power, pale skin flushed and breathing heavily. When the creatures finish tearing up the twins they trot up to the boy. He doesn't shrink away, somehow knowing they will not harm him. They sense his power and he senses theirs. The creatures look vaguely like wolves, but are much larger. They have pure black fur and small red eyes, their pupils slitted like a cat's. Their paws are large and their claws look like silver daggers. One rubs its large head on the boy's shoulder. He looks at it for a second, then scratches its head. The creature starts to make a noise in between a purr and a growl. Its long tail thumps against the floor, wagging back and forth in delight. The other wolf creatures stalk over to the boy and lay by his side, panting and fighting over his attention.

Curious of what this new power can do, he tries to perform his magic, he senses the life around him. He feels the wastes of the Dunes, the raging waters of the Depths. The mountains of the Lightlands. The life of the Otherlands beats in time with his soul. He looks at the wolves and mutters "amazing, I never knew such power existed." The wolves perk up their heads, looking at him attentively, "and now it's mine."

The wolves start howling as the boy stands, claiming the silver scimitar of the man that had tried to kill him. Vowing that he would never bow to the weak any longer, he looks at his remains with disdain, his lips curling into a sneer.

"Pathetic" he says, kicking what was left of the man's body out of his way. His hand creeps up to his neck where the scimitar had cut him. Running a hand over the wound, he looks at it and sees that it is slick with his blood.

"Hmm." The boy hums, concentrating on his newfound power. He runs his finger over the wound, concentrating on each cell and slowly heals the wound. "Interesting."

The boy whistles to get the attention of the creatures and beckons for them to follow him. He walks out of the crumbling castle and into the shining daylight. Some of his creatures hiss at a small red squirrel that runs up a tree, searching for food. They growl at it as they back away from the tree.

"A bit skittish are we?" The boy laughs following the squirrel with his eyes, "if it scares you so much then go get it."

The wolves take off as soon as the boy finishes, chasing the terrified animal. The boy loses sight of them in the tall trees, but clearly hears the shrill squeak of the squirrel when it dies.

As the sun begins to set, bathing the autumn forest in oranges and purples, the boy returns to the room to observe his handy work, and sees the glowing edges of the portal wavering.

"No!" He shouts, running to the vortex, not ready for the rush of power flowing through him to be cut off. The power of the Otherlands is like an addictive drug, he doesn't want to lose it. He arrives in front of it seconds too late, just as it collapses in on itself. Sinking to his knees, the boy curses and tries in vain to reopen the portal.

When he collapses, exhausted and with tears of frustration running down his face, the creatures bound up to him. They settle around him, whining worriedly. He sobs, not bothering to smother the sound, for the power of the Lightlands that flowed through him was the best thing he had ever felt. Though the experience was brief, he longed for the feeling again, he never wanted to feel weak again.

"Mine." He mutters under his breath, pushing himself up from the ground. "It will be mine again."

Author's notes: Hi, Zenith here. How do we feel so far? Good, bad, horrendous perhaps? Either way I would love feedback/constructive criticism (unless it's about spelling or grammar, I won't fix it, I'm sorry) if you would like to give me any. Thank you for reading, and if you choose to continue with this story be prepared for a hot mess. Yay!