Chapter one
The Oracle chosen messenger
The heat in the village of Umudi was stagnant, the kind of heat that made the ancestors restless in their grave . Soren sat on a low wooden stool outside his mother's mud-walled hut, sharpening a machete against a smooth river stone. He was twenty, with a broad and nice build and eyes that held the terrifying stillness of a deep forest. While other boys his age whispered about the King's Guard or the riches of the Inner City, Soren listened to the wind. He could hear the spirits of the iroko trees weeping because the Great Oracle had grown too greedy.
That particular afternoon soren was silent as silent as a tree that does not speak . Not before long the silence of the afternoon was shattered by the rhythmic thumping of drums that were not the regular celebration drums of the village, but the iron-tipped drums of the Central Shrine Authority. Everybody ran to different direction trying to hide or escape the drums. Because they believe the drums meant evil and dread it self
A caravan of white and black horse-drawn carriages, draped in heavy silks and guarded by men in bronze breastplates, rolled into the square. The villagers scrambled, and ran more for their dear life .women hide their children under their wrappers in fear and terror. They have come to choose a new messenger soren mother mother hissed, clutching her wrapper. Soren, prostrate please, do not let them see your eyes. His mother begged him .
A High Priest stepped from the lead carriage. He wore an ivory mask that covered his face, leaving only his eyes visible. In his hand was a brass staff tipped with a glowing, jagged crystal and a relic of the Old World. The crystal hummed, turning a violent shade of indigo as it pointed toward Soren.
Soren of Umudi, the Priest's voice echoes out .soren then look up at the old man before him
The Great Oracle has felt the weight of your spirit. You are no longer a son of this soil. You are a Vessel of the Crown. You will come to the Inner City to serve the Balance.
Soren stood up slowly. He didn't look honoured. He looked like a hunter who had finally spotted his prey. The 'Balance' is just a word you use to keep the granaries empty, he replied the old man
The villagers gasped. The Priest didn't argue. He tapped his staff on the ground, and a wave of invisible force slammed into Soren, dropping him to his knees because of sheer spiritual weight.
In a coastal slum on the edge of the Great Lagoon, Amara was screaming.
She wasn't being touched, but her body was arching off the dirt floor of her hut. Around her right wrist, a band of blackened bronze had suddenly appeared, burning itself into her flesh. It wasn't a piece of jewellery; it was a brand.
The Inner City, Three Days Later
The Oracle's housing was a palace of cold white stone and towering pillars, hidden behind walls so high the sun only reached the courtyards at noon.
Soren stood in a room draped in fine lace and silk, he hasn't explore since he came here he just stood and stare at the carved idols that lined the walls. To the Priests, these were tools of control. To Soren, they were trapped spirits, begging for release. He could feel their whispers crawling up his skin.
The heavy iron doors groaned open. Amara was led in by two silent guards. She looked small, her Ankara dress torn at the shoulder, her eyes darting around like a trapped bird.
"This is your Ground, the Head Guard said, looking at Soren with disdain. The girl, Amara. She is the anchor. If your power flares, she bleeds. If you run, she dies. The Oracle has tied your souls with a knot only death can unmake. They close the door and let after saying garbage because to soren they were saying nonsense...
Anchor? He chuckled to himself
Silence fell, thick with the smell of jasmine and old blood. Amara stayed by the door, her hand covering the bronze brand on her wrist. She looked at Soren at the way he stood in the centre of the room, unmoving, while the shadows behind him seemed to grow taller, darker, and more predatory than any man should be.
Please, she whispered, her voice trembling. I am just a market girl. I don't know why they did this to me, soren turned to take a look at her. He didn't move toward her, but the air in the room suddenly grew cold enough to see her breath. His eyes weren't entirely brown anymore, a flicker of amber fire danced in the pupils.
They did it because they are afraid, Soren said, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. He looked at the bronze band on her arm. They think you are my cage. They think if they hold you, they hold me.
And do they? Amara asked, her heart hammering against her ribs, in a rhythm Soren could feel in his own chest.
Soren walked toward her, his footsteps making no sound on the stone floor. He stopped inches away. He didn't touch her, but she felt the heat of his body clashing with the cold of his spirit.
They made a mistake, Amara. he whispered, leaning down so only she could hear. They gave me the only thing in this world I might actually care to protect. And for that, I am going to tear their temple down, stone by stone. Amara gasped unable to comprehend the word of this man standing beside her and even wondering how he knew her name
How did you know my name?
I know... that was the only reply he gave her
Amara shivered, caught between the terror of his darkness and the strange, magnetic safety of his presence. She realized then that she wasn't just bound to a man she was bound to a storm. And one she could never understand or try to run from