“My name is Nyx.” Says a tall lithe girl that looks about my age. Her raven-black hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, tied tight with small leather thongs. It hangs down the center of her bone white armor like a thick length of dark rope. Striking green eyes smolder back at me from a porcelain face that’s all high cheekbones and sharp symmetries. Her gaze is cool and calculating, like the unblinking lens of some beautiful and lethal machine. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows are two slices of midnight against her smooth pale skin, and her full lips are the color of wine. “Welcome to Helios.”


The sudden agony of the surge snaps my head forward, and my hands fly up to the sides of my head involuntarily, like they’re trying to block the sudden burst of feelings and information all on their own. When the pain in my head finally subsides and I’m able to raise my head again, I’m shocked when I realize that know exactly who this person is. I doubly shocked that I was ever able to forget.

His name is Ghoul, and he’s my best friend in the world.   


The dead swirl around me like a flock of startled birds scattered into the cold air by our passing and by the sound of boots hammering out a disjointed rhythm against the frozen ground. One by one, their features seem to blacken and distort, faces eaten from within by unseen flames, until they drift away as clouds of ash and bright dancing sparks.

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