Of Starlight and Gold

Prologue

Fire tore at the sky, smoke hiding the beautiful jewels of the night with raw and devouring destruction. Once, the air had been filled with music, laughter and the songs of birds. Now the only sounds were screams and pleas.

No one had listened to the Mad God's priestess. Outside the capital, people had little use for prophecies and foresight. Little use for the future when the present was difficult enough. They called the queen superstitious for relying on old tricks. Magic had long deserted the world, taking the gods' gifts with it.

They ignored the warnings, ignored the priestess as she ran through town, banging on doors, begging them to flee. They stayed in their homes, blind and deaf to the shift in the wind, the chill that spread through too early, or the animals' flight. Not even the familiars, tucked away with their keepers, noticed anything amiss.

When it came, it came for the familiars. A deadly blight that spread through the town like a plague. And through the dead streets walked the army of the dark.

Brutal, ruthless and the walking dead. The army of the dark moved like phantoms in the night. There was no way to stop them, no cure or protection. The Mad God's priestess fled, desperate to make for the capital to warn her sisters.

None would survive the attack. The priestess knew that. From her hiding spot among the trees, she watched her home burn. The agonizing screams were wounds inflicted on her mind, deep enough to scar her for the rest of her days. Her home, in ruins, but there was a far greater concern she needed to pass along. For the destruction of Nelan was only the beginning. The evil that infested the town was unstoppable. They couldn't be killed by normal means.

What was required was magic. Long since dead and lost.

When it all became too much to bear, the priestess forced herself to look down at the animal beside her. His fur was coated with dirt and ash, and his eyes burned like the fire decimating Nelan. He didn't look at her, his grief a mirror of her own.

"We will bring them justice," she promised. "Once our High Priestess learns of this atrocity, she will appeal to the queen."

And if the queen doesn't believe us? he asked.

The priestess took one last glance at what was left of Nelan. She hugged her cloak closer to her petite frame despite the warm night. "Then terror will rain down on all of Abreathia, and by the time the queen realizes the danger is real, it will be too late." She turned her back on her hometown, her body rigid and her heart heavy. "Donis will guide us to safety. We have our task, and we cannot fail."

As she plunged into the night, the priestess believed she was the sole survivor of the attack on Nelan. She had fled before two figures, using the shadows of night, slipped into the dense Serebethian Forest—two souls who were also thrown onto a path that would change their world. Magic might have left long ago, but the gods were still there, pulling the strings, pushing all three survivors towards a far greater destiny.