Chapter One: Awakening

 

 

 

A ragged breath and the world tumbled, rushing back into his mind until darkness surrounded the entirety of the world as he blinked. Arthas scanned the nothing around him, letting his eyes roam in the darkness, hoping he wasn’t dreaming. Flexing his fingers, he reached up, knocking them into a hardened surface surrounding him. A quick feel of the shell he now laid in sent a memory of the ones who had done this to him.

Chains clinked as he shifted. They wound around his wrists and squeezed his torso. He wondered just how long he had been sleeping. His body ached and the chains had dug into his back deeply enough that he was sure they had left bruises. Closing his eyes, which made no difference in the blackness of the sarcophagus he’d found himself in, he smirked. Asleep, this had held him prisoner. Awake, this was nothing less than a nuance.

Sucking in a breath, he pulled together his magic, feeling it tingle out of his chest and down to his fingertips and toes. It felt good, like stretching a cramped muscle. He paused as he gathered it into a massive energy ball before he let it blast the top of the sarcophagus, sending it flying across the room and shattering into a thousand shards of stone against the surrounding walls. Sitting up, he did the same to the chains digging into his flesh. Imbedded with trace iron, the chains burned, charring his skin where it touched past his clothes. It was a cruel and constant reminder of the intentions of his wardens. They melted apart and clattered all around him as he stretched his limbs.

He was indestructible, didn’t they know this? Kilara, Corb and Rowan should’ve known better than to leave him alive, though in deep oblivious slumber. How they had dared to imprison him for all of time made his anger boil under his skin and sent his thoughts towards vengeance.

He slipped out of the coffin-like prison he’d been sealed in and glanced around the darkened room. Eyeing another sarcophagus, he made his way toward it, noting the other two empty vesicles standing in a circle in the wide rectangular room. Streams of light made their way through slits of the roof, made of the floor of a vast, hidden forest. The magic of the land reached down and touched the boundaries of his, exploring him like tiny tentacles, curious and also cautious as it learned of his darkness.

He was the Unseelie Ancient, King of all dark things in the Land of Faerie and leader of the Sluagh armies of the underworld. He pushed away the wisps of magic that probed at him like a science experiment. Instead, he shoved the top of the occupied sarcophagus.

Rowan.

She was in the deepest of slumbers, her soft, long blonde curls fanned around her porcelain face, like a halo. Her breathing was soft and shallow, a spell held her to sleep for an eternity until awoken by another Ancient of Faerie or a descendant of her blood.

He knew well enough that she had no descendants. She was a virgin faery, never having taken a lover in all her centuries. Her only duty was to her sister, Kilara. Doing whatever that wretched Seelie Queen needed of her.

But what had it earned her? Eternal slumber, forgotten in a prison of their making. Why was Rowan still here? Would she have not ruled about this time in Faerie? Arthas suspected something had gone awry since his imprisonment, but decided it would be discovered all in good time. Replacing the top of her sarcophagus, he turned and made his way to the surrounding wall. Placing his palms against the cool, mossy stones, he whispered, “Land of Faerie, allow me exit to the open air and forest above.”

Immediately, the earth rumbled, shaking dirt loose from the dangling roots above. An opening with dirt steps leading up into a brilliant illumination filled the room. Arthas took to the steps, out of the oubliette and into a grassy clearing in the middle of a vast, thick forest. As he stepped out of the hole in the ground, the earth shook and trembled once more, sealing the entrance of the oubliette, as though it had never been there. He watched the ground heal itself and made sure to burn it into his memory. Rowan was safely imprisoned for now. He’d save his punishment for her later. He was out for blood from Kilara and Corb first for this treachery.

Making his way through the tall, rough grasses of the clearing and entering the darkness of the forest, he felt more and more himself as his magic and darkness rushed back toward him in a violent tumult. It was a jolt he relished, relieved to be free of his grave. Alone, he headed toward his home, The Withering Palace. It was the Unseelie Kingdom where blood of his blood called to him across the earth, the same blood which had awoken him from his slumber. His descendant awaited, and he was eager to meet this long lost relative of his.

Grinning, he was ready to face the world and whatever awaited him in this unknown century.