Seeds of Sorrow (Immortal Realms Book 1)
Seeds of Sorrow: Prologue

The smells of blood and brimstone mingled on the breeze, followed by dark clouds of smoke billowing overhead as the village burned down around the three kings. Draven kicked roughly at the back of a monster feasting on the body of a young woman. When it fell onto its back, he thrust his sword into the beast’s chest and slit it fully down the middle of its body. The creature’s innards spilled out onto the ground, and Draven took a step back to protect his sandals from the sludge.

The moment of distraction was all that it took for another beast to catch him unawares. The sharp prick of claws digging into his back was the only warning he had before the full impact of the creature sent him staggering to the side.

The force of hitting the ground knocked the breath from his lungs, and with a harsh grunt, Draven rolled away from his attacker. The sharp drag of claws over his back seared his body with pain and shredded the red fabric of his tunic. He didn’t have time to compose himself, however. Feeling the heat of the beast’s breath at his nape, Draven rolled once more and swung toward it with his sword.

The beast roared in fury as the blade sliced through the corner of its jaw, sending a hunk of flesh and bone flying through the air. Lying on his back, Draven called on his powers and turned himself invisible. Rising up onto his knees, he used the beast’s confusion over where its prey had disappeared to his advantage and brought his sword down on its neck. The monstrous head thudded to the ground, spinning away from him over bloodstained grass, and the beast’s body crumpled.

Panting, Draven staggered to his feet, the muscles of his back protesting every movement. Behind him, his brothers Travion and Zryan were in the midst of dispatching their own monsters. Large fur and scale-covered bodies dropping to the ground with heavy thuds. Draven looked around him quickly, noting that the last of the beasts seemed to have been put down, and any that could be had been driven back through the Veil into the dark realm they’d crawled out of.

Swiping his brow with the back of his hand, Draven smeared a patch of black blood over his forehead. He turned to his siblings and noted that the fine linen of Travion’s green tunic hung in tatters; the only thing keeping it from falling to the ground was the belt around his waist. His dark auburn hair lay plastered to his head with sweat and blood—some of which appeared to be his own. However, the sparkle of victory in his blue eyes let Draven know he was okay.

Zryan, on the other hand, stood naked as the day he was born. Running a hand through his dark brown locks, Draven’s youngest brother shot him a proud smirk.

“Where are your clothes?” Draven asked, staring at him blandly.

“I shifted into a griffin. It seemed more efficient than a sword.”

“Of course.” In Draven’s opinion, Zryan was always looking for a reason to end up naked, no matter what he was doing. Looking away from his brothers, Draven watched the humans, who were frantically trying to contain the fires as best they could. Their pitiful buckets of water did little to quell the blaze. “We should do something about that.”

Travion turned to face the village. “Allow me,” he grunted. Lifting his hands, Travion pulled storm clouds into the beautiful blue sky and brought a torrent of rain down on the inferno.

At first, the fire merely sputtered in agitation, continuing to lap at straw rooftops. But Travion persisted, and finally it succumbed to the intensity of his rainfall. Once it was out and nothing but lightly smoking embers remained, Travion released the clouds, and the blue sky returned. A cheer rang out from the villagers followed by many cries of thanks mixed with Travion’s name.

“Of course. I bring the aid to drive back the beasts, and it’s Travion who receives all the praise for a little cloud play.” Zryan had come up to Draven’s side, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Where credit lies is hardly of importance right now. The more important thing is what is to be done about the Veil,” Draven said, eyeing Zryan.

“I’d also like to make mention that I was correct about that as well.” Zryan’s smirk had only grown.

“Correct about what?” Travion asked, returning to their small huddle.

“That Midniva was being overrun with creatures from Andhera. And no one wanted to believe me!”

“How were we to know? Nothing is meant to be alive in the dark realm,” Travion countered.

Draven’s eyes fell to the final beast he had slain. Its eyes were clouded and staring lifelessly into the distance. It was a monstrosity of a thing: a humanoid face with razor fangs hanging down over its bottom lip, all surrounded by a red mane, a muscular lion body, taloned paws, and a hard-shelled scorpion tail. Draven had never seen anything like it before, and a deep fear of what exactly was happening in the dark realm coursed through him.

“That was true in the beginning days,” he began, waiting until he knew he had both Travion and Zryan’s attention before continuing. “But there are rumors that Ludari banished all of his enemies to Andhera. There is a chance the lost souls unfortunate enough to have made their way into the dark realm now replace themselves twisted beyond recognition.” He pointed down at the beast. “I think this thing used to be a person.”

His brothers froze, all eyes now on the monster.

“By the sun,” Travion rasped.

“This has to be contained,” Zryan followed. “Before the body count rises higher and it grows entirely out of our control.” His shoulders had stiffened, and a dark frown now creased his brow. “There have been too many accounts of attacks on the humans living here. People bloodied, torn apart . . . feasted on.”

Draven found the almost tangible unease coursing its way through his youngest brother an unnatural sight for one typically brimming with arrogance. His own features pinched together. He had seen some of the bodies himself during his trips here to the middle realm. The mortals were terrified. Fearful of moving anywhere in the dark lest they be attacked, and now it seemed even the daylight was not safe.

“And what are you suggesting?” Travion asked, looking between his brothers.

“Andhera needs a warden . . . ”someone we can trust to abide by our rule and keep the monsters there in check.”

Contemplating Zryan’s words, Draven let his eyes fall to the hand still curled around the hilt of his sword. It was coated in dark blood and grime. Currently the hand of a warrior. His hands had been used to dole out punishment for as long as he could remember. Not always because he wanted them to but because that was what was demanded of him.

“A warden? Zryan, who could we trust with such a task? Would we not be setting up our own future aggressor? With such power behind them—” Travion began.

“What choice do we have?” Zryan growled, confidence fueling his vehemence. “If it is not Andhera rising against us later, it will be Midniva rising in rebellion now at our inaction to protect them.”

Zryan does speak true, Draven reflected. Shifting the grip on his hilt, he considered what he was about to say, taking that extra moment to ensure he was certain before he spoke.

“I will go.”

Both Zryan and Travion stilled instantly, their eyes leaving each other to focus on Draven instead, shock and rejection mingling in their gaze. He stared back at them, an eerie calmness settling over him.

“Draven—” Travion hissed, and dread rumpled his brow.

“You cannot honestly be—” said Zryan at the same time.

Draven held up his hand to silence them both. “I will go. Better a king than a warden.”

Travion only sputtered, but it was Zryan, now eyeing him with contemplation, who spoke.

“You realize we do not know what will happen to you if you go? We have no understanding of the dark realm or what is happening there. Should you choose to live in the dark realm . . . ”it may twist you in unimaginable ways.” It was his turn to gesture at the dead beast at their feet. “You may no longer be fae, Draven, but something other. Something that Andhera chooses for you.” Zryan paused, and their eyes locked. “There may be no coming back.”

“I realize.” There was only calmness and finality in Draven’s voice.

“No!” Travion growled deeply, his pale, freckled face reddening. He reached forward to wrap his fingers around Draven’s wrist. A motion that had been repeated hundreds of times throughout Travion’s childhood, his thumb at Draven’s pulse. “This is absurd, Draven.” Travion’s eyes looked deeply back into his, and Draven heard the unspoken words of his brother. Travion understood what he was trying to do, and he would not stand for it. “No one is saying it needs to be one of us, and no one is asking this of you. Zryan, do not encourage him in this insanity.” He shot Zryan an imploring glance.

Zryan did not reply, simply continued to study Draven’s features.

“If Andhera is left unchecked, then the inhabitants there will continue to plague the mortal realm until there is nothing left. Who better to claim the dark realm but one of our own? Who better to build a kingdom and enforce the laws that we would see fit?” Draven said, catching Travion’s eyes once more and accepting the love and concern he found there but only letting it fuel his resolve rather than convince him to change his mind. Draven knew what he could be sacrificing, and he also knew he couldn’t allow either of his brothers to take up the burden. Better he should suffer through hell than either of them. “I am aware of what may very well happen once I go, and I can accept that.”

Travion moved to protest once more, but Zryan pressed a hand to his chest, silencing him before he could begin.

“Now, the only question left to settle is, when do I leave?”