Cruel Fates (Empires Book 1)

CHAPTER 1

The full moon cast an ethereal glow over the forest, illuminating the dense foliage in shades of Silver and gray. The air was crisp and cool, filled with the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers. In the distance, the distant howl of a wolf echoed through the trees, a haunting melody that sent shivers down the spines of even the most seasoned hunters.

Galen Marek trudged through the underbrush, his boots sinking into the damp earth. His eyes scanned the surroundings, but his mind was elsewhere. Beside him, Xanthos Thorne walked with a quiet confidence, his crossbow at the ready. The moonlight danced across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the piercing blue of his eyes.

"Xanthos, wait," Galen whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustling of leaves.

Xanthos halted, his gaze flicking toward Galen. "What is it?"

Galen's eyes drifted away, lost in thought. He didn't respond, and Xanthos knew better than to press him. Instead, he nodded and continued onward, his senses on high alert for any sign of their quarry.

As they walked, the silence between them grew thicker, like a palpable fog. Galen's thoughts were consumed by memories of that fateful night, the night his parents were massacred by the Empire's assassins. The pain still lingered, a raw wound that refused to heal. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of grief, unable to find a lifeline to cling to.

Xanthos, sensing his friend's turmoil, shot him a concerned glance. But Galen's expression remained impassive, a mask that hid the turmoil brewing beneath the surface.

The hunt continued, the two friends moving in tandem, their footsteps quiet on the forest floor. But Galen's heart wasn't in it. His mind was elsewhere, lost in the darkness of his past, and the uncertainty of his future.

Xanthos suddenly stopped, the crossbow hanging lazily by his side, but Galen was far from fooled. He knew that all it took for Xanthos to prepare the crossbow was a split second. Xanthos's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing as he turned to Galen. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low and even.

Galen hesitated, not wanting to bother his best friend with the sordid details of his parents' death. He didn't want to reopen old wounds, didn't want to relive the pain and the anger. Wanting to change the topic, he started to skirt around the conversation. "It's nothing, Xanthos. Just...just the usual."

But before Xanthos could press him further, a noise in the underbrush of the forest caught their attention. The sound of leaves rustling, of twigs snapping, echoed through the night air. Xanthos's eyes snapped toward the sound, his crossbow instantly at the ready.

A deer sprinted across their path, its large brown eyes flashing in the moonlight. Xanthos's finger tightened on the trigger, but he didn't fire. Instead, he watched as the deer vanished into the darkness.

He turned to Galen, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. "We're not through with this conversation," he said, his voice low and even. "You're hiding something from me, Galen. And I aim to find out what it is."

Xanthos ran after the deer, his feet pounding against the earth. He waited behind a fallen tree, his crossbow at the ready. The deer paused to munch on something on the ground, oblivious to the danger lurking mere feet away. Xanthos aimed, slowed his breath, and fired. The deer came down without a sound, its legs crumpling beneath its body.

Xanthos smiled to himself, feeling a sense of satisfaction at a hunt well done. But as he stood, he caught a whiff of smoke on the wind. He frowned, knowing they were nowhere near a campfire. Suddenly, he remembered Galen, left standing alone in the darkness.

Xanthos tracked back, his senses on high alert. He paused in his tracks, the deer he had shot forgotten, the crossbow hanging limp in his hands. Before him stood Galen, surrounded by a blaze that seemed to defy logic. The flames danced around him, yet he remained untouched, as if protected by some unseen force.

Galen's face was a mask of shock and horror, his eyes fixed on his hands as if they belonged to someone else. He looked around, taking in the inferno that surrounded him, but his gaze didn't quite reach Xanthos. He seemed lost in a world of his own, one that was rapidly spiraling out of control.

Xanthos's heart racing, he took a cautious step forward, unsure of what he was witnessing. "Galen?" he called out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Galen's eyes locked onto Xanthos, his face pale and shaken. "I-I did this," he stuttered, his voice trembling. "But I don't know how. It just happened."

Xanthos waved off Galen's concern, though his own surprise still lingered. There could only be one explanation for this phenomenon. Galen had been Marked, set apart by Gifts that could be his undoing.

Xanthos's mind flashed back to his youngest sister, Elara. She had been Gifted, too, and the Empire had taken her, forcing her into their army of Gifted soldiers, the First File. He had lost her, and the pain still lingered.

The Empire's persecution of the Gifted had created a culture of fear. Those with abilities like Galen's lived in constant terror of being discovered and captured.

But why had Galen's Gifts manifested now, after all these years? Xanthos knew that only his uncle, Archivist Orion, could provide the answers they sought.

For now, Xanthos pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on comforting his stricken friend. He placed a reassuring hand on Galen's shoulder. "We'll figure this out, Galen. Together."

But Xanthos couldn't shake the feeling that everything was about to change – and not for the better. If Galen was indeed Marked, their lives would never be the same again.

CHAPTER 2

A man strode through the grand hallway of the Eridoria Imperial Citadel, his footsteps echoing off the polished marble floors. His destination was the throne room, where Emperor Alyaz awaited his arrival. Despite the impending siege on the city of Themyscira, the emperor demanded to be informed of the latest developments. And, as was customary, Grekh, the first Adviser, was tasked with delivering the news.

As Grekh approached the ornate door of the throne room, two guards sprang to attention, pulling the door open for him. They bowed deeply as he stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.

Emperor Alyaz stood before his throne, his gaze fixed intently on the sword in his hand. As the door opened, he moved with lightning speed, grabbing a spear from the nearby rack and hurling it at the entering figure. Grekh, anticipating the attack, smiled wryly and dodged the spear with ease, catching it in mid-air as if it were a harmless trifle. His Gifts granted him extraordinary speed and agility, allowing him to perceive the world in slow motion.

Emperor Alyaz's eyes narrowed, his face a mask of intensity. He had always sought to surpass his first Adviser, who also served as the commander-in-chief of his army. Yet, he was grateful to Retu, their god, for making Grekh loyal to him. The emperor's gaze lingered on Grekh, a mixture of admiration and envy swirling in his chest.

"You're as quick as ever, Grekh," Emperor Alyaz said, his voice low and measured. "I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to best you."

Grekh bowed his head, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "It's not my intention to defy you, Your Imperial Majesty. Merely to serve and protect you."

The emperor's gaze lingered on Grekh, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he nodded, his attention shifting to the matter at hand. "Speak, Grekh. What news do you bring me?"

Grekh's smile broadened as he delivered the news. "The Oracle of Delphi has spoken, Your Imperial Majesty. We have found one whose Gifts will be a massive boon to our army."

Emperor Alyaz's interest was piqued, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward. "I thought Elara was the most powerful of the First File," he said, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Grekh's expression turned serious, his voice filled with conviction. "This new Gift surpasses Elara's by far, Your Majesty. We are talking about a level of power that could potentially tip the balance of our wars in our favor."

Emperor Alyaz's eyes sparkled with excitement as he asked, "Which village is this Gift from?"

Grekh's response was measured, his words chosen carefully. "It's not a village, Your Majesty. The Gift is from the kingdom of Brindlemark."

A slow smile spread across Emperor Alyaz's face as he nodded. "The First File should get to work on bringing our newest recruit into the fold. And if this Gift is still new to their abilities, then Elara should lead the First File and... guide them."

The emperor's voice dripped with anticipation, his eyes gleaming with the promise of power. Grekh bowed his head, his expression neutral, but a hint of unease flickered in his eyes. He knew the implications of the emperor's words, and the potential consequences for the kingdom of Brindlemark.

As Grekh turned to depart, Emperor Alyaz's voice stopped him. "Grekh, if anyone attempts to stop the First File from retrieving this Gift, they should be killed instantly. I will not have our plans foiled by the petty resistance of a kingdom."

Grekh nodded curtly, his expression unchanging. "As you wish, Your Imperial Majesty."

With that, he turned and walked out of the throne room, the ornate doors closing behind him with a soft thud. The guards outside snapped to attention, their eyes following Grekh as he disappeared into the depths of the citadel, his mission clear.

CHAPTER 3

Galen Marek sat in the cozy study of Archivist Orion's tent, surrounded by shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes and strange artifacts. The warm glow of the fire crackling in the hearth cast a comforting light on the room. Xanthos was nowhere to be seen, but Galen knew his friend had likely gone to clear his head. The weight of their suspicions hung heavy in the air – if Galen's newfound abilities were indeed a sign of his Gift, the Empire would not be far behind.

The tent flap opened, and Archivist Orion stepped inside, his eyes twinkling with warmth. Galen's face broke into a fond smile as he rose from his seat to greet the old man. It was Archivist Orion who had taken Galen in after the brutal murder of his parents, offering him a sense of safety and belonging.

As they exchanged pleasantries, Archivist Orion's expression turned serious. "Galen, my boy, I think it's time we got to the bottom of what's been going on. Fire such as Xanthos described doesn't start of its own accord. I need to see something. Lift up the sleeve of your shirt for me."

Galen's heart skipped a beat as he hesitated for a moment before nodding. He slowly lifted up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing his upper shoulder. On his skin, a intricate Mark glowed with a soft, ethereal light. The Mark resembled a stylized flame, its edges curling like tendrils of fire. At its center, a small, glittering gemstone pulsed with an inner radiance.

Archivist Orion's eyes widened as he took in the sight of the Mark. His face set in a determined expression, he leaned forward, his eyes locked on Galen's. "This changes everything," he whispered.

Galen's shoulders slumped as he let out a deep sigh. "What does it mean?" he asked, his voice laced with a mix of fear and uncertainty.

Archivist Orion's expression turned grave. "One of your parents, or perhaps both, likely made a pact with one of the Twelve," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's the only explanation for the Mark you bear, and the power it grants you."

Galen's eyes widened as he processed the archivist's words. "The Twelve?" he repeated, his mind racing with questions.

Archivist Orion nodded. "Yes, the Twelve. Powerful beings, some say gods, who grant gifts to those who seek their favor. But such gifts come at a steep price, Galen. And I fear you may soon find yourself paying that price. The Empire might soon come for you."

Galen's heart sank as the archivist's words painted a dire picture. "How does the Empire know about me?" he asked, a sense of dread creeping up his spine.

Archivist Orion shook his head. "I don't know, but with your Gift, I fear they will soon be on you like hawks. They will stop at nothing to claim you, to harness your power for their own purposes."

Galen's eyes flashed with determination. "Can't we fight them off?" he asked, a spark of defiance igniting within him.

Archivist Orion's expression turned somber. "Many have tried, Galen. And many have died trying. The Empire's power is too great, their reach too far. The best thing to do is to run, to flee from their might before they can lay their hands on you."

Galen's face paled as the weight of the archivist's words crashed down on him. He felt a cold dread creeping up his spine, threatening to consume him. The thought of running, of fleeing from the Empire's might, scared him. But what choice did he have?

Galen's voice trembled as he spoke, "This means I'll have to leave everything behind... including you, Xanthos, and everyone I care about."

Archivist Orion nodded solemnly, his eyes filled with a deep understanding. "Your Gifts make you a target, Galen. Especially untrained Gifts like yours. The Empire will stop at nothing to capture you."

Galen's face contorted in anguish. "What if I kill someone while I'm on the run? I don't want to hurt anyone."

Archivist Orion's expression turned sympathetic. He looked deep into Galen's eyes and said, "I can give you something to help you, Galen. A dampener of sorts, to help you suppress your Gifts. And a map, to guide you to safety."

Galen's eyes widened as the archivist continued, "You must go across the Deep, to the Rebel Kindred. Arcturus, their leader, will take you in and help you train your Gifts. You'll be safe with them, Galen."

As the archivist's words sank in, Galen realized that he might have no choice in the matter. He would have to leave behind everything he knew and loved, and embark on a perilous journey to save his own life. The weight of this reality settled heavy on his shoulders, and Galen felt his world spinning out of control.

As Archivist Orion departed, Galen was left to grapple with the whirlwind of emotions and questions swirling within him. Why had his powers suddenly burst forth with such violence? Which of the Twelve had Marked him, and why had they chosen him? The questions swirled in his mind like a maelstrom, leaving him feeling lost and uncertain.

Before he could become too consumed by his thoughts, the tent flap opened, and Xanthos stepped inside. Galen's heart ached at the sight of his friend, who was fully dressed in his makeshift armor, his two swords sheathed at his sides. Xanthos's eyes, usually bright and piercing, were misty with tears, and his jaw was set in a determined line.

Galen felt a lump form in his throat as he rose from his seat, his eyes locking onto Xanthos's. The air was thick with unspoken emotions, and Galen knew that this might be the last time they would see each other for a long time. He took a step forward, his hand extended, and Xanthos met him halfway, their hands clasping together in a firm grip.

"I'm sorry, Galen," Xanthos whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "I'm so sorry I won't be able to protect you."

Galen's throat constricted, and he felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "You've always protected me, Xanthos," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "You've been my rock, my brother. I'll never forget that."

As they stood there, hands clasped together, Galen knew that this moment would stay with him forever – a bittersweet reminder of the friendship they shared, and the uncertain future that lay ahead. Xanthos replied with a sigh, "Even if it is the moon that separates us, I will never forget you, my brother, my best friend."

Galen's eyes gleamed with determination as he spoke, "Besides, on my journey to the Deep, the sword skills you've taught me will help me, Xanthos. I'll be able to protect myself."

Xanthos's gaze lingered on Galen's face, his expression softening. But as he looked deeper into Galen's eyes, he noticed something that made his heart skip a beat. Galen's eyes were glowing a deep orange, like fiery bulbs. Xanthos's frown deepened, and he took a cautious step back, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. He wasn't afraid, but he was wary. He didn't want to be burnt alive as a result of Galen's uncontrolled powers.

Just as Xanthos was processing this new development, Archivist Orion burst into the tent, his face etched with urgency. "Our scouts have sighted the First File, mere minutes from our camp!" he exclaimed, his eyes darting between Xanthos and Galen.

In a swift motion, Archivist Orion thrust a map into Galen's hands and fastened a chain-like bracelet around his wrist. The chain glowed blue as it locked into place. Galen's eyes widened as he received the key to the bracelet and dropped it into his pocket.

As the three of them emerged from the tent, a heavy silence fell over the camp. Everywhere, people turned to stare, their faces set with a mix of fear and awe. And then, a squadron of the First File emerged into the camp, their armor glinting in the sunlight.

Xanthos's heart dropped into his stomach as he saw his sister, Elara, leading the squadron. Her eyes, once bright and full of life, now seemed cold and calculating, her gaze fixed intently on Galen. Xanthos felt a chill run down his spine as he realized that his sister was now a part of the Empire's machinery, and that she would stop at nothing to capture Galen.

Elara's gaze locked onto Xanthos, her eyes narrowing as she took in the sight of his hands resting on the pommel of his sword. A low, threatening tone crept into her voice as she spoke, "Xanthos, step aside. We're here for Galen, not you. Don't make this any harder than it needs to be."

Galen's eyes darted wildly around the camp, searching for an escape route, but it was clear that the First File had them surrounded. The camp members were frozen in fear, unable to make any sudden movements lest they be cut down by the Imperial soldiers. Galen's heart sank as he realized that Xanthos was outnumbered and outmatched, and that surrender seemed like the only option.

Just as Galen was about to step forward and give himself up, Archivist Orion grasped his arm, holding him back. Xanthos, meanwhile, whispered urgently, "Run, Galen! Get out of here, now!" As he spoke, he drew his two swords, their blades glinting in the sunlight.

Elara's smirk grew wider, her eyes flashing with condescension. "Oh, Xanthos," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "You really think you can take on the First File? We'll cut you down before you even have a chance to swing those swords." Her squadron chuckled in agreement, their faces twisted with cruel amusement.

Galen's eyes locked onto Xanthos's, and with a burst of adrenaline, he turned and sprinted towards the forest. He didn't dare look back, fearing what he might see. The sound of lightning booming behind him only fueled his desperation, and he ran for his life, the trees blurring together as he fled.

Meanwhile, Xanthos stood his ground against the First File, his swords flashing in the sunlight as he clashed with the Imperial soldiers. Despite being outnumbered, he managed to take down two of his attackers, but the rest soon overwhelmed him, pinning him to the ground. Archivist Orion tried to intervene, but he was swiftly knocked out cold, his body crumpling to the ground.

Xanthos's eyes blazed with rage as he glared up at his sister, Elara. He struggled against the soldiers holding him down, but they were too strong. The other members of the First File closed in, eager to deliver the final blow, but Elara raised a hand, staying their execution.

"His fate will be decided by the Emperor himself," she said, her voice cold and detached. Xanthos's eyes flashed with defiance, but before he could speak or protest, a soldier's fist connected with his jaw, sending him crashing into darkness.

As Xanthos crashed to the ground, Elara's gaze lingered on her brother, a fleeting mixture of sadness and coldness dancing in her eyes. She quickly suppressed the emotion, her expression hardening into a mask of Imperial discipline. With a curt gesture, she dispatched two of the First File, the Empire's elite Gifted warriors, to pursue Galen.

The two Gifted soldiers sprinted after Galen, their footsteps pounding the earth as they vanished into the forest. Elara turned her attention to the remaining campers, her eyes blazing with a fierce intensity. She snarled, baring her teeth, and the campers cowered, sensing the menace emanating from her.

Without warning, Elara raised her hand, and a bolt of lightning shot out, striking a man who had been watching her. The sound of his screams was cut short as his body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. The rest of the campers scattered instantly, fleeing in terror as Elara's gaze swept over them.

Satisfied for the moment that she had asserted her dominance, Elara sat back, her eyes never leaving the forest where Galen had disappeared. She waited, her patience a cold, calculating thing, as the minutes ticked by and the sounds of chaos and panic slowly faded into the distance.