Chapter 1: Ember's Doom
Shamekeeper12
All glory be to Christ
- Location
- Variant Suns
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Ember’s Doom
O, rise, you that slumber
Stir, and wake your brothers also
For your mind is empty
And by this your heart is silenced
The furret didn't realize it at first, but every step came sooner than the last. Quicker and quicker, until he was simply running. He had dreamt of this tree before.
He ran like a swinub on fire, squinting as the winter wind bit at his face and numbed his paws. As the tree grew, however, he began to realize this was a different dream…
Because he was getting closer.
And when he had reached the oak tree—with its weeping branches frozen in a waterfall of ice, dusted with the whitest snow he had ever seen—he stopped, not knowing what to do next. He had never gotten this far.
As he caught his breath, he tentatively put out his paw, like a sprouting seed. Reaching out, he touched it—and gasped a little.
This cold bark was real. This was not a dream.
He blinked. It was morning in Variant Suns. The blue pre-dawn light bathed all things, and the wind rested—waiting for the sun. His own heart was the only sound.
Having touched, he let his paw fall away. On the other side, he noticed another furret; and suddenly he remembered why he was here.
He sat down beside her, his satchel's contents rattling as he let it fall off his neck. "Sorry I'm late," he said.
She turned, and though she could not meet his eyes, she smiled and that was enough for him. "I know," she replied. "You were running."
These were the days that were darker than nights. The days that started when the dungeons began to spread. Like a pox on the face of the earth, roads were destroyed, and farmland corrupted. Isolation and famine brought with it gangs of marauders, and all three brought letters to the door of the Exploration Team Federation—all begging for deliverance.
All the Federation's guilds and all the guilds' teams couldn't save even half of them, so those with great reward were saved first.
Abandoned, many killed, stole, starved, and died. Cycles of vengeance ruled the hearts of all, and day by day, the dungeons spread evermore.
Surely, said the prophets, the days were coming for the wrath of a generation to be fulfilled.
And as he stared into the town below, seeing angry crowds, he knew these days had come. Some part of him wished she would stay blind forever, lest she see her shadowed world grow darker still.
"Porter?"
He blinked. The sun was rising now.
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
He sighed. He savored her voice, but he hated her question. Indeed, those days were here, and the day for his secret had come as well. "Ainsley…I'll be gone for a few weeks."
The pause in her breathing. It killed him. "You said you would quit."
He didn’t want things to go this way. "I know." He hung his head. He had no excuse.
Her quiet sigh. “Then why won’t you?”
He didn’t dare look up.
“… This… this life isn’t for you anymore. You know this.”
“I know.”
“Then why? We can walk away from all this. Do you know how tired I am of meeting you in secret like this? Do you know how anxious I am all day not knowing when I’ll hear from you again? I can’t go on like this—we can’t go on like this.”
… “I’m sorry.”
“Porter… What’s keeping you? Why won’t you leave?”
“It’s just…” He wracked his brain for something—some way to express why. He knew he was grasping at straws.
But he found a way that seemed right to him. “This is the only life that Quincy knows. He has so much to learn about life, I… I can’t just leave him behind.”
“I know what he means to you, but he’s someone else’s son. Not ours.”
That last part stung him a little. She lay a paw on his cheek. “And he has other teammates. They’ll take care of him. Let him go.”
He huffed. She was right, but still he hesitated. “What do I say to him? What do I say to the Guildmaster? So many people need help—”
“And so do we.” Her quick response betrayed a growing frustration. “At least this way, people won’t hate us.”
He knew she was right about that one too, but he shook his head. “That shouldn’t matter. It’s not right.”
She hesitated. “… I know.”
He flinched a little, suddenly feeling her nuzzle her face into his neck. The thick fur of his winter coat muffled the faintest of sobs.
“I know, and I hate it,” she mumbled miserably. “Porter… Come home…”
He brought an arm around her back, and they squeezed each other tight. They were quiet for a moment.
"…Where are you going?" she asked, taking a breath.
"They say the guild at Shiver Village is in danger. With all the preparations and things to do…it's very difficult for someone to leave now."
Just then, a bell rang in the town below, marking the first hour of the day.
She removed herself from their embrace. "Go," she said, despondent. "You're late."
After exchanging "I love you", he picked up his satchel and started back the way he came. Before he got too far, though, he heard her voice again.
He turned.
She paused a moment, touching her paws together restlessly. "…Above be with you, Porter… I love you."
"I love you too," he said, a second time.
He hesitated, wondering if he would ever see this tree again—this old meeting place of theirs. He turned back and made his way to Cobalt Guild.
He would do everything to make sure he did.
He tried not to make eye contact with anyone as he passed through town. Exploration Team Federation badges were easy to hide. His familiar face, however, was impossible to conceal. His Keen Eye kept him wary along the journey as disillusioned townsfolk stared him down. His ears twitched at the distant cries of the rabble-rousers.
Their words were too far off to be intelligible, but they grew louder as he approached.
"Cast off your chains!" they were saying. "Cast off the Federation! The only thing they'll save is their money!"
He let the words echo in his thoughts more than he should have. She was right: Above is cruel, and terrible things happen to good people.
Idling in his thoughts, he came across a familiar storefront, and he was reminded of what he purchased there.
Peering into his satchel, he found it still glistening in the dark depths. A Gold Ribbon.
He quickly glanced back, his Keen Eye peering up the faraway hill where they had just met. She was gone. Only the tree remained, small in his vision like a wilting bonsai.
At the empty sight, he felt rotten to the core. This was supposed to be a happy moment, the day of their anniversary. But he could not save their last conversation from the pain the world had brought them. Whatever light he makes, the darkness swiftly snuffs it out. Cut a tree, and it falls on you. Build a house, and a storm casts it down. Kindle a fire, and the rain will extinguish it—no ember will be spared.
With a pensive breath, he closed up his bag, and continued towards the guild.
Before he knew it, the guild fence lay stretched out before him, a black row of steel pickets anchored a few yards from the stone face of Cobalt Guild itself. A flagpole bearing its bright blue banner marked the place where the Federation broke ground building it.
The fence was lined with a few dozen angry and shouting pokemon. Many gave ear to a smeargle standing on a wooden crate. His voice was the one he’d heard.
“Come!” he proclaimed. “All you who hunger and are heavy laden, all you who have lost much, come to the gates of your oppressors! Come, and behold the wickedness therein!”
Feeling the cobblestone beneath the snow, he reminded himself that Digging under was not an option. He had no choice, but to navigate through the crowd.
He drew in a deep breath and steeled himself. Walking through an area full of hostile pokemon wasn't new to him. Explorers did that for a living. The only difference was also his only concern:
They are not dungeon crawlers.
He huffed. Now, or never. Paw in front of paw, one pace became two, became three. Past the raticate bundled in a blanket. He kept walking at a steady beat. Past the simipour with the sign. She was too engrossed in shouting to notice him. Wide strides. Stone cold face. Past the stoutland with ice in his fur. Ignore his Leer. Deterrence through confidence is what would save him. By some miracle, he didn't shiver in the hour of his peril.
But cool nerves don’t make you invisible.
The smeargle thrust his brush in his direction, singling him out in the crowd. “This pokemon!” he cried. “We have cried ‘save us!’ and his kind have not heard! We have wept at their feet, but his kind have not seen, nor perceived us! “
Scattered shouts of affirmation rang out from the crowd.
“Behold! The Federation is a wilting tree, and her fruit has become bitter in the sight of the stars! But take heart, all you who have lost much. Yet eighteen moons, and Above will cut down this tree! ”
The shouting grew louder. An emboar steps in front of him, blocking his path.
He was getting nervous.
But a new voice rang out. “Okay, that’s enough! That’s enough!”
All turned to the voice. A bisharp and three pawniard made their way through the crowd, each bearing the city crest on their white winter scarves.
“Leave the furret alone,” the bisharp admonished. “The city is weary as it is. And will you weary them overmuch, and incite violence?”
“Hm,” the smeargle conceded. “Very well, Sheriff Walter.”
The pawniard cleared the way, and Porter was allowed to continue to the gates.
But the smeargle’s voice could not be left behind. “Mark my words: Above will cut you down!”
More pawniard stopped him at the gate. He showed them his badge. They shooed him in.
"You're late, Porter!" one of them remarked.
He stumbled past the entrance. Finally safe, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was too early for that.
He yelped as a tamato berry exploded on the side of his head. Choosing to ignore it, he walked on, only to catch his paw in a Grass Knot, causing him to fall. The crowd jeered and laughed him to scorn. He muttered as he tried to wipe off the mess from his face. The juice fell to the snow like blood. Many wished it was blood. Ignoring their taunts, he made his way to the entrance.
The front yard of Cobalt Guild was fairly barren—landscaped only with the same snow that blanketed all things.
Most notably, no apprentices were gathered here either. He missed roll call.
As he approached the door, though, the drone of a hundred conversations grew louder and louder. He still wasn't used to all this noise.
He put a paw on the door, almost certain he could feel the rumble of the clamoring in the wood. A building filled to the brim with noise, and when he opened it, it all came rushing out over him.
He stepped into the atrium and closed the door behind him, returning the greeting of a passing ariados. The halls have been a lot more packed these past few days. The chaos of various pokemon of all shapes and sizes milling about, carrying boxes, moving items, racing about the halls tended to disorient him. Standing on his hind legs, he could barely see over the sea of bodies.
All of them were part of the Federation's effort to reform in an age of public skepticism, modelled after the very entity that swore to destroy them, the Coalition. Unity was the first step, and they sent Cephas the Skarmory to oversee the start of such reforms in Variant Suns.
Gaining his bearings, he set out on his next order of business. He needed to find his team. If he was seen working with them, maybe he'd escape punishment for being absent at roll call.
The main hall was connected to all parts of the guild. His only challenge was finding which part to get to. He reasoned the notice boards were a good place to start—assuming Cephas hadn't given his team other responsibilities for the day.
As he hit his stride weaving through the crowds, he couldn't help but feel like he was having fun. Staying on his toes, reacting to movements, dodging people...it was a lot like fighting the dungeon crawlers. He couldn't help but smile, finding again his sense of adventure. Quick and fast, he flaunted his agility in front of fellow apprentices and strangers alike. He restrained his play, though, being careful not to draw too much attention—or forget what he was looking for.
A few Cobalt apprentices greeted him at the notice boards, but aside from them, he didn't see his team.
He dashed back into the main hall, the game still in play. The barracks would be the next best place to check.
This time, he took the southern hallway. It was less crowded and offered a straight shot to his destination.
As he zoomed through the guild, however, he couldn't help but notice a type of shouting rise consistently above the rest of the noise. And as he continued through the hall, the shouting grew louder.
His playful side more or less uninhibited now, he couldn't help but also let his curiosity get the better of him. He began following the sound.
He didn't have to travel far before recognizing Callum's voice. The Unfeazant was Cobalt Guild's official number two. And, if Porter strained, he could make out another voice in between Callum's enraged squawks. Cephas.
Intrigued, he kept walking. Eventually, he found himself at the door of the very room where the argument was taking place.
"Don't think I can't see the writing on the wall! I know you had a hand in this! You've been on my case since the day you came here!"
"How many times do I have to tell you? You have no one to blame for this demotion but yourself."
The sound of footsteps interrupted his eavesdropping. Not wanting to embarrass himself, he tore himself away from the door and continued on toward the barracks.
Cobalt Guild didn't have the space to accommodate all the new pokemon, so the training field in the back was converted into living quarters lined with three rows of tents—one for each guild—interspersed with temporary camps for the rescue teams. Nobody thought they were warm enough for the season.
He darted out into the blistering cold. Making his way past Verdant and Scarlet Guild's tents, he quickly found the one for his team—tent number 31.
No one.
Somewhat discouraged, he turned back towards the main building, but before he could get back inside, Guildmaster Raichu flagged him down.
"Furret! You're quite a difficult 'mon to chase down. I didn't see you at roll call today."
Any sense of play evaporated, replaced by fear as his superior approached and towered over him. Porter cleared his throat, preparing his recycled excuse. "Sorry, Guildmaster. The townsfolk held me up."
Raichu nodded with an understanding hum. "That explains the smoothie on your head."
Flustered, the furret frantically ran his paws over his head once again. Only managing to get rid of a little tomato juice.
He smiled. "Follow me," he said, gesturing to the main hall. "I have something for you."
Porter followed him back into the main building. As they walked through the main hall, he couldn't help but notice the guildmaster's disdain for some of the rowdier pokemon. Many did not wear badges he could recognize.
Just then he shared a twinge of Raichu's disdain. They were rescue teams.
After some walking, they finally reached Raichu's office. Raichu kindly let him in first. Closing the door behind him, the guildmaster grumbled. "If there's one thing I hate about these reforms, it's Cephas' insistence that my guild play host to mercenaries. They have no business walking beside nobler 'mon."
Porter watched tentatively from the center of the room as Raichu ambled over to his desk, picking up a polished wooden box placed neatly thereon. With the box in hand, Raichu positioned himself in front of Porter, and with both paws, presented the box to him.
Porter stood on his hind legs, and with both paws, he accepted.
The guildmaster gestured to the box. "Please," he said. "Open it."
Porter did as instructed, revealing a small pin in the shape of a silver bar, and a somewhat hastily-made book.
Raichu spoke up as the furret examined the contents.
"Cephas wanted me to choose a lieutenant who would be present during planning meetings with the other guilds and rescue teams. I think you would be a perfect fit."
"Guildmaster, I…. I'm sorry, but—I really don't think I can accept this."
"Oh?"
With Raichu's expectant gaze weighing heavy on his shoulders, Porter races to find an explanation. He debated simply telling him the truth. He would be disappointing Raichu for the second time today, but it would be the truth, the weight on his shoulders, and the deepest thoughts of his heart.
He made up his mind. This was the hour he would resign.
"...Guildmaster, I—"
The guildmaster cut him off there. "Furret," he said. "Don't humble yourself now. You and your team have blessed my guild with many years of service. Your counsel has proved invaluable in many of our endeavors. Now that we face a threat unlike any we've ever seen, I wish to have your advice close at hand."
His heart sank.
"You may not feel ready. But I'm in charge of the largest guild south of the Danzetsu river, and I'm putting a great deal of faith and responsibility on your shoulders. Believe me…"
Placing his hand on Porter's shoulder, he reassured him, "You are ready."
"…Thank you, sir."
Pleased, Raichu nodded, and returned to his desk. "No, Furret. Thank you."
…
“Go on. Try it on.”
He plucked it out of the box. It felt heavy between his claws. He could’ve sworn he saw his reflection in its glint. He pinned it beside his grimy badge. The mismatch in cleanliness seemed almost comical to him.
“It looks good on you,” Raichu said, beaming.
“Thank you, sir…”
He nodded. “Alright, Furret. Go back to your business. You’re late as it is.”
About business… "Ah, sir… I have a couple of questions."
"If you're looking for your team, I believe Cephas has them by the road loading up crates into the baggage train. You'll find them there."
"…One question."
"Shoot."
"I-uh… I overheard Callum and Cephas arguing over a demotion. What's that about?"
Raichu's expression changed for the worse. "Oh," he groaned. "That… I don't envy Cephas' job. Those talons of his have to land on a lot of heads to keep three rival guilds from ripping out each others' throats."
He sighed. "I don't know if you've noticed, but Callum doesn't like being stepped on. He and Cephas go at it constantly, it's exhausting! I thought it best he take a back seat for this one—especially because it's so important."
He reestablished eye contact with Porter. "Any other questions, Lieutenant?"
The title made him shudder. He shook his head. "None, Guildmaster. Thank you."
The baggage train was maybe ten wagons long, all arranged neatly on the side of the main road. In preparation for tomorrow, when they would leave. More pawniard watched over them, making sure none of the townsfolk got any ideas. He saw a number of apprentices milling about, loading crates, and shouting directions and commands.
One of his teammates was working alone by the eighth cart.
"Hello, Quincy."
The quilava's face lit up. "Porterrr! Ya half-breed bastard! You missed roll call!"—he leaned in, speaking quietly now—“Cephas wasn’t pleased…”
He chuckled sheepishly. "Sorry about that…” he mumbled, taking a moment to look around. “Where's…everyone else?"
Quincy's expression fell instantly. "Oh, them? How do I put this politely?" He pursed his lips. "Hmm… They abandoned us."
He blinked. "...They deserted?"
"Yessir!" Quincy leaned in again. He was about to make a point. "And you know, we're a four-pokemon team, right?"
Porter didn't respond immediately.
"Right?!"
"Right…"
"Well, Cephas—in his infinite wisdom—gave us a four-pokemon job moving crates."
The furret shrugged. "Makes sense to me."
"Well would you know!"—he tapped Porter's shoulder—"Would you know that some of these crates are well-suited to big guys like the honorable stantler, Leo, and HM slaves such as yourself!"
He frowned. "Hey that's—"
"SO! You can imagine, the look of pure shock and absolute horror on my face when, out of the four in our team, only one—me—showed up!"
He looked away, somewhat sheepishly. "Sorry, Quincy."
But he wasn't finished. "You know, I considered—I actually considered evolving just for this purpose. But then I stopped myself, I thought: 'Gee, what are my future grandkids gonna say when I tell them that I evolved just to move crates?'"—Quincy's arms shot up in exasperation—"They're gonna lose their minds! They're gonna say: 'You're stupid, grandpa!'. You know, I was this close—this close to being on the timeline where my grandkids call me stupid! How does that make you feel?"
"After what happened in the Empty Fields? I'd say you deserve—"
"Does it make you feel guilty? You better feel guilty! Because you know—"
"Quincy." He sighed. "Do you want my help or—?"
"Yes!” he cried. “Please! Please help me!"
That evening…
When he opened his eyes, he saw a clear, open sky. Blue as the deep sea. The more he stared into it, the more he felt like he was falling into it.
Stealing his eyes off the blue, he rolled off his back, and the grass caught his cheeks, soft like cotton, and cold to the touch. He shivered. He sighed.
He sat up and rubbed the dirt from his eyes. His vision cleared to reveal a grassy plain stretched out before him, flat like a table as far as the eye could see, right up until the horizon—where infinity met infinity, and the grass and sky were the same.
No longer disoriented, he chanced standing up. Once on his feet, his spine stretched as he tried to get the highest view he could manage, but it didn't matter how high his perch was. This was a featureless plain…
But in the far distance, he could see a tree. An oak tree, all alone in the endless field.
All of a sudden, the light around him seemed brighter. The landscape around him became consumed in a bright white haze of light, and the heat of it soon consumed his thoughts. He squinted in the flurry, and found himself desiring shade.
Animating his legs, he put one paw in front of the other. His shuffle turned to ambling, and his ambling into strides as he started for the willow tree.
Three hundred paces later, he realized the tree did not appear any closer. But he pressed on, soon forgetting why he was going there.
He didn't realize it at first, but every step came sooner than the last. Quicker and quicker, until he was simply running. He had dreamt of this tree before.
He ran like a swinub on fire, squinting harder to see as the light intensified. Yards turned into miles, and he ran forever, that tree never getting any closer.
Soon, forever had passed, and his legs gave out from under him. The light continued to beat down on him as he collapsed, pushing him flat against the ground. Rolling onto his back, his chest heaved with breath as the tips of his paws began to melt. The bright light growing brighter still.
He closed his eyes in resignation as the rest of his body faded away, sinking into the grass, soon to be made one with the endless field.
When he opened his eyes, he soon found himself squinting again as the moonlight seeping in through the tent's open window pierced his vision. Rolling over, his face landed on his deflated hay pillow. A cold draft caught his exposed, sweaty back. He shivered. He groaned.
He blinked before rubbing the grit out of his eyes. It was a bright winter night. All was silent. He took a breath, feeling the rush of frigid air fill his nostrils and chill his lungs. His old cotton blanket had too many holes to warm him up again.
With a quiet huff, he wrapped himself in his tail and bundled the blanket around him. The draft it caused only made it colder. Carefully, he poked his feet out into the cold air, and stepped off of his bed, trying not to let the rustle of the hay disturb the quilava snoozing on the other side of the tent. Quincy had sprawled himself out face-down in a Fire Blast pattern and was snoring softly.
Their barracks was one of the lucky ones to be furnished with a desk—meant to help plan rescues and expeditions. In recent weeks though, Quincy had used it to indulge in his new sketching hobby, covering his work with their guild-issued map to not appear to be wasting time to the guildmaster.
He shuffled over to his satchel and pulled out the book the guildmaster had given him. Turning it over in his grip, he hefted it in his paws. He shook his head. He refused. He wasn't ready to carry all this weight.
Pulling the blanket tighter around him, he brought the book over to the desk, and set it down over the map. The snow outside reflected just enough light for him to read. If he couldn't sleep, he would do just that.
He ran a paw over the cover, feeling the smooth board compare against the deep etchings that scratched out his name in Tree Script.
He squinted, letting his Keen Eye guide his short claws to open the cover and handle the pages. The thin shavings of treated plant root felt leathery to the touch, and were scratched top to bottom with all sorts of information. Lists of type matchups, instructions on how to navigate by the stars, basic combat strategies, items and their descriptions, advice on foraging for food, even a few drawings. He didn't bother to read too much of it.
He flipped through the first few pages of the manual. The pages sometimes squeaking as they rubbed against the string binding. He took care not to be too loud.
A few pages in, a new section began. These pages were sparser than the others, and each one was dedicated to a single pokemon under his command. He started flipping through, counting each page, one by one. He came to a total of thirty six. Thirty six pokemon that answered directly to him.
His blanket had too many holes to keep the chills off his back. He was barely able to lead his own team of four.
Well… two now…
He noticed the book had a few extra pages, all of them blank. Leftovers from the binding process, he assumed. For a while, he just stared at them, not sure what else to do with himself.
"Can't sleep?"
He flinched. "Geez, Quincy! You scared me."
"Boo!"
With a yawn, the quilava got up, and sat on the ground, facing him. "So. What's bothering you?"
"Oh, it's just…" he sighed. "Raichu promoted me today, and…I don't know if I'm ready for all the…responsibility."
"Oh, you got promoted? Congrats." The fact didn’t seem to phase him that much.
"Thanks…"
"So…" Quincy cleared his throat. "…sir…what's the deal with not being responsible enough? We've been on missions with a crazy amount riding on them before. Why the cold feet now?"
He shook his head. "It's just that I spoke with Ainsley today, and…I'm starting to think maybe…I shouldn't be a part of this whole thing anymore."
The quilava held his head at an angle of confusion. "…What?" His tone had lowered.
"I want to quit."
"What, you're gonna leave like everyone else in our team?" he asked, growing irritated. "Is the dream we had, Porter, all those years ago… is that dead to you now?"
"How many years have we been at this, Quincy?" he shot back. "Has the world gotten any better? Look outside! They hate us now. You know, the more I have to break Ainsley's heart to keep this…dream…alive, the more I think I'm doing more harm than good. The more I think this whole apprenticeship thing, the Federation…isn't worth fighting for."
Quincy sat in silence. It was too dark to discern his expression, though Porter knew he had struck a chord with the quilava, and that he was waiting for him to explain himself.
And what could he say?
"All those years ago, when PokePals and ACT were still around? Sure, it was worth it then. We all had vision, you know? But nowadays? We're just rotting away in this tent, waiting for the next payoff. We might not want to admit it, but…the dream died a long time ago, Quincy. And the only thing we're doing is propping up its disgusting corpse—"
"Don't say that," Quincy blurted, shaking his head. "Don't you dare say that."
"Or what? It's true!"
His quills ignited, causing Porter to recoil from the light. "What's true? That we're fighting for nothing? Nothing?!"
Quincy slammed his paw on the map, pointing to Shiver Village's place. "Shiver Village. Fifty pokemon. Do you remember Grandma Froslass from last Winter? I didn't bring enough food to last the mission. We were starving, Porter, but she helped us! They're good people. Just like any one of us. But the Coalition wants to burn it to the ground—why? Because its guild didn't want to pay them tribute!"
Quincy struck the table again for emphasis. "A whole town is being marked for annihilation. Show some class."
And with that, Quincy went back to bed, pulling the covers over himself. He turned his back to the furret.
Porter sighed and held his head in his paws. He closed his eyes, feeling as though the skies were falling around him. He drew in a breath, letting the cold winter air numb his raw emotions. Opening his eyes, a passing ember pulled his gaze with it—a remnant from Quincy's outburst. Fickle and frenetic, it zoomed, and swirled, and danced. Rising higher and falling lower, all the while, answering to every eddy in the air—every wind and word of fate.
As he continued to watch, the ember grew dim,
and as quickly it infatuated him,
it perished.
He had never felt so cold.
Hello Thousand Roads! I've finally gotten around to posting here. I've never posted my story on a forum before, so please forgive me for any formatting errors. Please let me know if there's some things I can fix! This was actually supposed to go out last Sunday—which happened to be my birthday lol—but I got school work really ramped up then so I didn't get the chance.
I hope you enjoy reading! Any kind of feedback is always much-appreciated :)
If you like what you see, Chapter 2 (which has been more than a year-and-a-half in the making) should already be up on FanFiciton.net and DeviantArt. If you don't mind waiting, I'll be posting it here on Thousand Roads as well in a week or so!
Special Thanks:
Maxatax1029: Beta-Reader
Talgoran: Suggestions
Shadow of Antioch: Suggestions
I hope you enjoy reading! Any kind of feedback is always much-appreciated :)
If you like what you see, Chapter 2 (which has been more than a year-and-a-half in the making) should already be up on FanFiciton.net and DeviantArt. If you don't mind waiting, I'll be posting it here on Thousand Roads as well in a week or so!
Special Thanks:
Maxatax1029: Beta-Reader
Talgoran: Suggestions
Shadow of Antioch: Suggestions
