The little one; feeling fragile as ever, struggled to her feet. The cave’s floor all dirt and small rocks. Without shoes she felt little stings from tiny sharp rocks. Its walls, perfectly carved out of a large boulder. Unknown to the little one, it was the largest boulder in the area, never having been known for its cave opening. Never having a cave opening. 

She came cautiously to the edge, pine needles now taking over the ground. Fear couldn’t shake the little one too deep, for finding a small pine cone swept up her interest. Admiring this little brown cone seemed to keep her mind at ease. She wasn’t much for worrying anyway. I’ve got the best of luck. At least that’s how she felt. 

She didn’t know that a short walk through this coniferous forest would lead her to a village. High tech for its time with oil lanterns, carriages, and shingled roofs. Nothing the little one would be used to, for she came from a place far away. With four large castles, floating on islands, each castle hosted a family with its respective name. North, East, South, and West. The little one named this far away land, the Floating Cities. 

Bored of her pine cone, she ventured further out. Touching every tree as she passed it, her small fingers scratching the bark until she bore of that too. Then building piles of pine needles to clear the forest floor. She quickly bore of all to do with the forest. 

Not far from her location now was a young man, hunting as the village’s most eligible since the rest of the men headed out for spring and summer exploration. Travelers by no means, but after centuries in the same location, the idea there was more beyond the border of their village, intrigued many. 

His name was Straval Von Gavinjaphin The Sixth. The community thought it was an obnoxious name. He harbored a great deal of pride being bestowed the name of his grandfather. Straval was an orphaned boy, raised and passed around, not unwanted, but not desired to be kept. His duty to the village was to hunt and come back alive. He found his work to be well and never ran into any problems out in the forest. 

Nothing strange ever came. Nothing new ever happened. Nothing magical had ever happened on Borlin. 

The world sewn together with extreme complexity and blood sacrifice. It existed on an alternate plane than Earth and its universe. Borlin, had its own galaxies, solar system, constellations, moons, and sun. There was another, once known to the little one. Told in epic tales and explained as a nightmarish place home to a half man, half celestial beast. That world was lost as was Earth; or Terran as the little one called it. 

So for Straval to find the little one sneaking around the forest, quiet as a mouse, quick as a fox, his heart nearly stopped. But not yet, it wouldn’t yet.

Part Two

“Stop there!” Straval demanded of the young child he found running through the forest at dusk. He found her harder to catch than a fox. Even harder to keep a hold of than a mouse. She was the thinnest he’d seen in his life. Skin covered in dirt, hair tangled in every which direction, and whatever rags on her body, couldn’t be explained.

Running through the forest after a strange, unknown girl, Straval had forgotten all about his own traps. Surely enough, caught him right up in a net unable to get down. She didn’t trigger the trap? He hung upside down by one foot. Slicing a small hunting knife in the air to catch the rope. 

“Was that for me?” A bold, feminine voice asked. Straval had to turn his head in an awkward position just to look at her. The little one stood, arms crossed over her chest, lips pressed in a thin line while she glared at Straval. Unimpressed with his stupidity. 

“No!” 

“It seems to hold bodies very well,” she replied, careful with her words. For an unfathomable reason, speaking the words she truly desired brought upon the greatest fear she’d ever felt. You must be careful. 

“Well of course, it should. Animal bodies!” Gazing down at the little one in the dark her appearance was lost on him. “Why are you out here?” 

“W–” something stopped her. The little one preferred this secret, she didn’t know why she was here, why admit such a vulnerable thing? “And you?” 

“Hunting, animals,” he answered very firmly with his tone. This time when he sliced his knife through the air, it caught the rope. He would have expected to fall the first time. Now it seemed inconvenient. His body slammed onto the forest floor. The little one, not even phased. 

Straval rolled onto his side, groaning in pain. He felt weak, incapable, screwed. Now on his knees, he stared in the direction of the girl he’d found. Short in comparison to many ten year olds he would have been used to. Much thinner as well. 

“Are you from the village?” Straval finally asked, struggling to his feet. His bones quaked in pain with every movement.

“No,” was all she’d say. 

He went ahead to keep asking, “Then where?” 

“I don’t know, not here.” 

“Were you left behind by nomads?” Straval had never come upon such a group, but the community had sure mentioned them. Hundreds of stories could be in the heart of a nomad. The world around them never ended. The adventure in their soul was ablaze with life. Straval could only dream of such a life. 

“I don’t like nomads.” 

“Nor I,” as if trying to impress the little one. He swallowed back the desire to retrace his steps. Instead rolled with it. “They pale in comparison to those whose homes are warmed by hearths and filled with children.” 

“Got a name, hunter?” 

“Straval Von Gavi–” 

“Straval is well enough,” she insisted, as if not wanting to know it all. She couldn’t know it already, right? The girl stood half his height. A quarter of his weight. With only a few year age gap. 

“Well I’d like to know yours, then we shall head to the village.” 

“Are people there?” She asked, suddenly intrigued, stepping closer to Straval. She was within arm’s reach.

“Of course, very many. More than a few dozen hands could count,” he explained, gathering his things. Name request forgotten. They headed together, always space between them, down to the village. Straval had expected a demon child. A figure of nightmares to have walked home with him. It was all that could explain her presence. 

Walking into the light of a village road, her appearance caught him by surprise. Small, thin, with tangled hair, and dirty. Except her eyes were bright as gems. A radiant smile with perfect teeth. Delicate, small hands, nails trimmed neatly. The tangle was more or less an up-do gone wrong. The clothing, made of fine fabrics and tedious stitch work. She was without a doubt the most beautiful Straval had laid his eyes on. 

“You’re gorgeous…” Straval muttered, almost incoherent, but the little one trained her senses well. 

“And you are not,” she replied. Chin tilted up, eyes fixed. The little bore an untameable presence, something to reckon with. The age difference changed nothing for Straval, the longer he pondered the idea of this young girl being a suitable match. In a few years she’d be age to wed. What a delight it would be, wed to the prettiest woman of Borlin. 

The little one on the other hand, cared nothing for flattery or gifts, nor attention. Stirred feelings inside of her. She’d never know where they come from, those pestersome feelings of abandonment. She had lived somewhere. Lived with people who cared. The little one, no fault of hers, became too dangerous to raise in the light of her history and true potential. If she knew what she was, who she came from, the infinite possibilities she carried within herself, she’d destroy herself and every world around her. 

Tossed aside because she was powerful. She ended up here. In Borlin, amongst what many would call, mortal men. What she would soon call, Ancients. 

“Straval!” An older woman came, she who cared for Straval this time around. She ran from her house, a baby slung around her body. “Have you finished hunting?” 

“No ma’am. I found–” the little one had begun walking away. Heading towards the middle of town. Where a fountain stood tall and well kept. Shingled roof, shaved logs as posts, smooth stone, perfectly rounded bricks. Daisies. So many daisies grew around the fountain. In pots large and small, in the cracks of the stone, and littering the surrounding area. 

“Little one!” Straval jogged towards the fountain, bothering her. 

“That’s not anything like my name.” She glared up at Straval, bothered to be referred to as such. 

“You never spoke it. Like to now?” 

Perhaps my name won’t do any harm. “Petrif, only Petrif.”

“Alright, Petrif. Please don’t wander near our well, you’ll fall in,” Straval warned, guiding her away. He practically put her on display for his caretaker. Explaining how he found her out there, wandering the forest alone. They stepped away from Petrif to speak. 

How uncommon a name as Petrif to find itself in Borlin. It wasn’t what the little one would have named herself, but it was all she knew. A whisper deep inside her mind when she thought of a name. Petrif, Petrif, Petrif. As if she was supposed to know what it meant. 

“We can not invite strange little girls into our village. She is from the woods. The nomads–” 

“She isn’t a nomad, I asked. Yes, she could lie, but she’s not like that.” 

“And you would know as much? Take her back before your betters return from exploration,” the woman hissed, still cradling her baby. 

Straval pursed his lips as she left, then looked at Petrif. This exquisite beauty, he happened upon. Destiny is anything but stupid. He approached the little one, hands tucked into his pockets. “Petrif.” 

She acknowledged him now, hearing her own name being called. “Straval.” 

“Petrif-” he was tempted to send her back. For a second while imagining the damage his betters might do. Hung, banished, burned alive. “-you’ll stay with me, in my small cottage. I have room.” 

“Stay with you? I have a small sanctuary in the woods. A cave to be exact, I will stay there, I’ll call it home,” she argued. Petrif had no desire to stay with this young man. He was disrespectful, rude, and clumsy. Everything she greatly despised. Thinking too long about Straval reminded her of another. An obnoxious fellow whose name she didn’t know. He lived in her old home, the Floating Cities. 

Petrif wouldn’t remember, but that fellow was a caretaker of hers. Like Straval no one truly wanted her and until recently no one would have left her for dead. She was now on her own. Petrif as she’d be known now. Goddess of Magic as she’ll be known soon. Mother of The Realms for the rest of time. 

Part Three

Having stayed in the woods for nearly a year. Against all desire, Petrif had grown fond of Straval. Friends she might say. He was a gentleman when he wanted to be. Otherwise he didn’t make for a great friend most of the time. She aged one year and developed a taste for food. Nowhere near as skinny as she arrived. Clean from her baths in the nearby creek. Wearing simple clothes with her hair combed. 

More beautiful than any other girl, Petrif stood out in Borlin. Unmatched beauty made many of the girls jealous. Straval’s attention worsened the community’s opinion.  Nothing but a bother to them. So she remained in the woods. Her sanctuary grew into a home. Bed, campfire, personal items, a trunk of clothes. Straval swore the boulder had never had such a cave before she arrived. 

While Petrif thought little of her teenage friend, Straval hadn’t stopped thinking of her. She took over his thoughts, his dreams, his plans, every idea. She became everything to him. He neglected his duties as hunter, he ignored girls’ age to wed, and avoided his caretakers. He blamed this on Petrif, while she thought it was a joke, he was serious. 

Petrif plagued him. He had to see her everyday. He needed to hear her voice in the morning. It became like a sickness. Nothing could explain it. The more time he spent with her, the more sick he became. 

Petrif groaned in annoyance, hearing the heavy footsteps of Straval. Heading down the path he made, daisies in hand. He brought them everyday from the well. There were so many, she created an eyesore near the entrance. 

“Pink ones this time!” He announced, bringing them all the way inside. 

So you do catch on? Petrif faked a smile as she took a hold of them. “Still no Middlemists?” Her favorites actually. 

“No, the journey would be long,” he replied, taking a seat beside the campfire. 

“Such a journey would make me happy,” she said, setting down the flowers. Encouraging him to leave was nearly impossible now. These days she could barely get him to leave the cave. 

“And me, lonely. Perhaps you’d consider joining me?” 

She shook her head, a displeased smile on her lips. He ignored her expression. 

“Then it is settled, I’ll stay. Perhaps if nomads travel this way, I’ll buy you some,” he promised. No matter how empty he knew it would be. Nomads never came this close to a settlement. Now bothered with his desperation, Petrif kicked the daisies into the fire. 

“Hey!” Straval jumped to rescue them and the fire blazed to life. “Petrif! I got those for you, they reminded me of your…” he stopped himself. Flattery only enraged her. She once began screaming when he complimented her hair. 

“Straval, I don’t want daisies!” 

“You’re just bothered I won’t get you a certain flower, weeks away from you. Daisies are beautiful. Coming in many colors.” 

“They are ugly, like you!” She shouted. Silence descended upon them. Neither willing to budge. “You should leave. Go hunt or whatever it is you do.” Of course Petrif was first to speak. Headstrong, independent, fierce. 

“No, I’m staying.” 

“I don’t want to see your face,” she snapped. 

“I love seeing yours.” The admission had Petrif gagging. Vile built up in her throat and tried to escape. To keep it down was difficult. “I’ll prove how much you mean to me. Tomorrow, I’ll take you somewhere special. A place no one else has ever gone. Just me and you.” 

“It’s always been just me and you. You never leave me alone.” 

“You’ll love it,” he decided. Nodding his head as he came to his feet. “I’ll be back at dusk to retrieve you. We’ll have a lovely walk and dinner in my special place.” 

“No,” she thundered. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Do sleep well, Petrif.” Against her will he pulled her into a hug, then left. 

She erupted, no longer able to hold in feelings. Screaming at the top of her lungs. The fire raged so hot and tall it scorched the ceiling. The smooth cobble walls shattered into hundreds of small openings. The dirt, which Straval had tamed into grass, died. 

As Straval headed home, the sun had shone so bright when he woke, became dark. Skies blackened and rain began to fall. Soon enough he was soaked head to toe. He’d work in the dark and rain to prepare his special romantic getaway for Petrif. Not at all disheartened by her. 

The next day came. As miserable as the last had been. Petrif’s morning only got worse as time passed. Straval would be around shortly. Ready to profess his love for her. How she hated him. Like a puppy who doesn’t understand no. She had never been educated in love. While she remembered little of her old life, she could recall moral lessons and education. 

For her young age, she was one of the smartest. The caretakers thought stories of love and romance were useless. They would tell her, bluntly; you’re too unique to love. No mortal man could ever amount. Someone as special as you needs someone worthy, there is no such man. How little she grew up caring for romantic interests. 

Straval arrived at the cave entrance, his mood as chipper as ever. “Ready?” Taking no notice of the damage she’d caused. 

“Will it be a long walk?” Her tone intentionally as bothered as possible.
“Not at all! A short distance past the village. We’re heading down to a coast,” he explained. As he hoped, her eyes lit up with excitement. 

“The coast?” Trying to act as unenthused as possible, Petrif couldn’t help a smile. 

“Yes. I was waiting for the day you bore of this cave to take you,” he answered, offering his hand.

I didn’t bore of my cave. Despite that, she took his arm, not hand. They walked through the coniferous forest arm in arm. Also silent, Petrif had nothing to say to Straval. The coast was her favorite of all places, but she would have gone alone. The sand on her feet, salt in the air, waves crashing so loud they brought peace and comfort. 

Straval was right, only a short distance. Their first few travels to the coast were through the forest, not the village. To Petrif’s disappointment, it wasn’t the ocean, but the coast of a large lake. Surrounding said lake, were millions of wild daisies. Their colors varying, but all look identical. Built on a small gulf, there was a tower. 

Aged, crumbled, covered in vines. A hideous thing to set eyes upon. About as ugly as the flowers. I’d take the tower over the flowers. “This isn’t the coast,” she told Straval. 

“A coast,” he corrected. “I do love this one more. The daisies were my favorite sight, before you came.” 

She drew her eyebrows down, hoping he’d take her where she truly wanted. “Come, I’ve set us up a small meal in the tower. With candles and pillows. Warm bread, soup and wine. Do you like wine?” 

Without permission he grabbed hold of her hand and dragged her. Mostly her fault, planting her feet, but he was relentless. Each step further into the tower creaked louder than the last. Each one’s structure weaker than the previous one. By the time they arrived at the top, she was clung to Straval’s body. Scared to death of falling and dying. He smiled. It’s working. 

“Don’t worry, I’d never let you fall,” he whispered, reaching for her cheek and she shoved him away.
“This is dangerous. I don’t want to be up here,” she retorted. 

“But I have dinner,” he motioned to his romantic spred. She lifted an eyebrow, it looked so overdone. With candles on every available space. A black fur blanket laid on the floor, white pillows set up like seats. A wine bottle and two glasses. Plates and bowls, a pot of soup, bread in a basket. 

“Impressed?” He guided her towards the blanket, but she ran to the window. It overlooked the lake, some forest beyond. 

“Is Borlin this unimpressive to look at all the time?” She asked. Fog and gloom laid over the land. Sun in hiding, despite sunset. The moon nowhere to be seen. 

“Not when you’re around,” he answered, standing beside her. 

“I don’t like you,” she snapped. 

“For now, but you’re still young. Once you’re wed age, your mind will change.” 

“Forever, I don’t like you forever.” They stared at one another. Straval not believing a word that left her mouth. Petrif increasingly losing her patience.

“Sit, let’s have dinner,” he encouraged. 

“No,” she meant it. 

“Don’t be that way,” he reached for her hand and she backed away. He pulled a ring out of his pocket. “Marry me, Petrif.” 

“No!” She pushed him away again. “Never.” 

“I love you, you make me happy. I will marry you,” now it wasn’t a choice. Straval had made up his mind. Petrif would be his wife. They would wed and she would never leave his side. 

“Will?” Now the tension had changed from annoyance to rage. “You cannot demand me.” 

“I can. I’m older. I’m a man now, I can have whoever I want. You will marry me,” his voice deepened and he became more threatening the longer she refused.
“Stay away from me!” Petrif shoved him. As hard as she could. Every bit of strength. She wanted him gone. The force of her impact made him stumble back. Before she could scream in shock, his body fell. Fell as far down as it could.

She grasped the edge of the wall, looking down out the window. His body laid at the bottom of the tower in a puddle of his own blood. She would have screamed if she cared enough. I killed him. She didn’t have time to understand what she had done as something seared pain in her chest.

Now she screamed, tearing her layers off until her skin was exposed. A black mark was burning itself onto her skin. A skull with a scythe through it. The pain only stopped once the mark finished. 

What is this? If only her caretakers hadn’t cast her out. Then another, a burning on the back of her hand. Screaming while it formed itself. An oval of multi-colored water. She pressed her fingers to the mark, wondering what they meant. But it wasn’t over. She sat in the tower for hours, screaming in pain as hundreds of marks burned themselves onto her once beautiful skin. 

The last one came, taking up a majority of her back. Surrounded by curves like a reflection of light. Three enclosed double moons on the outside of a large circle. That largest circle on top of a six pointed star almost concealed by the crossing lines like a dream catcher. In the middle of the circle and star was a mark of balance, the ends spiraled with no end. Written on the top left and right curves of the large circle split by the largest point were words. Written in a language native to Petrif’s parents. Not even she could read the language, after all, she didn’t know who her parents were. But nonetheless. The words read. Goddess of Magic and Mother of the Realms. The Realms? What are The Realms?

Part Four

Petrif sprinted through the coniferous forest. Past her cave, past the creek, beyond the point she met Straval. So far that every turn was unrecognizable. No one understood. They wouldn’t listen to reason. Blamed mercilessly for Straval’s murder, Petrif fled the safety of her sanctuary. Mistreated for her lost beauty; replaced with marks that came when they wanted. Her skin became a canvas for symbols of unknown origin. 

The village mourned their lost loved one, no matter how neglected he was. Petrif was to be executed. Life for a life, they believed in. So she ran. As far and as fast as she could without stopping. They hadn’t yet given up on their search. Straval couldn’t rest until she was put to death. So his body would lay on a stone pedestal. Rotting away like an animal. 

While Petrif ran, she wasn’t aware the world was changing. The death of a young man at Petrif’s hands had unraveled the world at its core. Earthquakes created ravines between villages. The oceans froze from bottom to top. Electric storms, unheard of on this world, burned forests to the ground. Sickness ravaged lands and stole hundreds of lives. It seemed death had come for all of Borlin! 

Petrif threw herself into an opening of a cave. Small but secluded and an unlikely place to look. She breathed heavily, trying to calm her racing heart. She paid little attention, but as that heart raced, thunder clapped. Every beat matched a clap. Every bead of sweat that formed was another rain storm. Every shiver of her hands quaked the ground. More than likely just a coincidence. 

Covering every inch of her skin, did little for the marks on her face. Her fingers, her neck. She was horrified with her own appearance. These marks were mocking her for causing death. For killing Straval. 

But actually, the death of Straval had ignited her dormant magic. A magic her old caretakers hoped to hide. As explained to her once; your magic is more dangerous than anything else on these worlds. Nothing, nothing! Could amount. She wouldn’t remember that though, they’d banished all knowledge of her magic from her mind. 

Petrif was on her own. A journey to learn magic, all by one’s self. These marks symbolized the creation of different forms of magic. Considering how her body was covered in thousands of them, she had no control over what went on beyond her small body. When she had been cared for, they taught her to control her powers. No one should be left to figure it out so young. Except control meant power and power meant she could be used. So they took her control, they exiled her from the Floating Cities. They stole her memories. 

It meant she was safe from those who would do anything to release a monster. She had a chance to live, everyone had a chance to know life without him. 

So here Petrif was, a goddess with more power than anyone could comprehend. With one thought, could create hundreds of types of magic. With one pang of fear, could destroy an entire world. With one dream, she created the first realm. Like Borlin, Terran, and the last world, the Realm existed on its own plane, created by Petrif.

The realm was small, a tiny area in existence with an end. Two island masses, vegetation, animals, buildings, and human life. Petrif was capable of creating human life with a thought. With another dream, she created yet another realm, side by side to the first. Yet completely out of reach. The humans on each land would never know of each other’s existence. From a third dream, came millions of more realms. 

Each different from the last. Harboring new animals or better, magical creatures. Each realm with its own unique government system. Land masses could be larger or smaller, hundreds of small ones or none at all. Different eras or a combination of several. Cyberpunk, Victorian, dinosaurs, cavemen, robots. Anything was possible in the realms! Anything. From that second mark Petrif received, human life in the realms learned how to create the portal. A doorway into other realms. From there it began. The Realms.

Part Five

Petrif wanted to throw up, she’d spent so long running from the people of Borlin she hadn’t realized they ever stopped. Not willingly stopped, but were forced to. For when the sickness couldn’t be outran they perished. The world of Borlin was gone. All plant life burned. Almost every human taken over by sickness. The ground quaked into pieces, the sky blackened, clouds fell. Petrif would never believe it was her fault, for this happened because of Straval. 

She sat on the coast, its waters empty of life, mourning the person she was before these marks came along. Before she never slept, before she suffered everyday from a new mark, before she’d killed Straval. She held a small hunting knife to her forearm. If I cut them off, I’ll be free. So she tried. It didn’t work, the mark grew back, more vibrant than ever. The more she tried, the less painful it became, but nothing had changed. 

She screamed as loud as she could, the ravine before her, moved. Just a little bit, but from that small movement, something dawned on her. She could move the land. She tried again. This worked, the land mass shook the world she stood on. She screamed again. Therapeutic. She screamed as loud and as long as she could, with every ounce of hatred for Straval and the mass shot off into the distance. 

Her small body felt the force of the land mass, but didn’t move. A chuckle escaped her and she finally wanted to leave Borlin. She wanted to go home. A portal opened before the little one, its colors vibrant and purple. Like water it ripped from the middle, a shimmering doorway just for her. With excitement she hopped through. Coming out on the other side in her realms. The places she created. She’d never know which realm, but it was peaceful. Colorful, no humans, just animals and no daisies just as she would like. The little one didn’t realize her marks had disappeared, not physically, just to the human eye. 

Petrif could do anything she wanted, perhaps one day she’ll know that. But not now, not yet. She had a long way to go. For now, she was just a little kid. Enjoying the fields and forests and ocean. 

He woke up, gasping for air, screaming in pain. Every bone in his body begged for mercy to be ended. But it never came. He wasn’t dead. His eyes could see above him the tower he was thrown from. Except the land was desolate, cold, broken. He rolled over, only to vomit blood all over the dry, black sand. Seeing how much had changed, he scrambled towards the tower, forgetting how damaged his body was. 

The lake was gone. The daisies, the millions of them shriveled and hideous. That hurt Straval the most, the daisies. He loved daisies more than anything. The pain in his body subsided while it was replaced with a searing pain on his chest. He too received a mark. But only one, for he was only capable of what the mark represented. Taking up a majority of his back was the mark of a skull with a scythe through it. Connected through blood, he and Petrif would share this mark forever. 

She killed him on sacrificial land and the land took him as a sacrifice to awaken her dormant powers. Through awakening those powers, Petrif had done something horrible. Something she’d grow to regret. Straval was reborn with magic in his blood. As well as the sacrificed blood of his people. Petrif created a god. The God of Death and Sacrifice. He’d never be nearly as powerful as Petrif, but he could do quite a bit of harm. 

Straval ran to the village. Seeing how broken his village was, he cried. He found the dead bodies of those he loved. Caretakers, friends, other children. He grew up with these people and deep down he knew how it happened. He knew it was Petrif punishing him for his love of her. He tore the town apart looking for a living soul. Only when he heard screaming did he have hope. He was forced to destroy the floorboards to get into the basement. Finally he hopped down inside. Relief filled him. Some of them were alive, sick but alive. All children, some teenagers, the rest little ones. 

“Romova?” He addressed one of the older girls who embraced him. 

“We thought you were dead! You’re body…” she felt him, he was solid. Hands, face, legs. He was here. At least magic had created him a solid soul, his body was in fact a separate entity now. One he’d have to be careful with. They were attached and he needed his body. 

“It doesn’t matter now,” he returned her embrace, staring at the children. “What happened?” 

“It was too fast. The sickness came and they were dead. It took longer to kill the children, but… my parents–” she broke into a sob. “They’re dead, Straval!” 

“Sickness?” 

“Yes. After you were killed by that wretched who–” Straval shoved her into the wall.

“Don’t refer to her as anything but her name!” 

Romova decided to be silent instead, if she couldn’t hate the child who took her family, she wouldn’t speak at all. Straval headed towards the younger children. “Listen up, little one, I’m going to get you out of here. Someplace wonderful and lovely, how does that sound?” 

 They all agreed it would be wonderful, after all they trusted Straval; dead or not. While he didn’t share the portal mark with Petrif, it’s actually a common trait in all magical bearing life. Creatures, humans, plant life. They could all open portals. Straval was a fast learner, in no time he had a portal opened. It only required a desire to leave the current place of residence. 

“Where will it take us?” A little one asked

“Will it be like Borlin?” Another added.

“Can I see my mommy?” One cried

Romova was in too much shock to speak. Her once dead friend had returned and begun doing unfathomable things. 

“To a lovely place, so perfect and happy, you won’t realize the adults are gone. Only fun and games. Nothing will ever compare to Borlin, but it’ll do. Your mother will see you soon,” Straval answered all of the children, but the questions didn’t seem to end. 

“Alright, everyone through the portal!” He announced, getting to his feet. 

“What will we call this place?” Romova asked, staring at her childhood friend. He looked at the children. 

“We all know the story of the nomad who broke tradition and settled down? He founded our small village,” Straval said. 

“Hapennjax Otheris!” The children all said in unison. 

“Otheris it is, same as our small village. Romova, I need you to look after these kids,” Straval whispered.

“Aren’t you coming? You can’t stay here in this land, it’s gone.” 

“We’ll see each other again,” before he shoved her through the portal. Then little kids, in a sudden jolt of panic, ran through the portal after Romova. 

Unlike Petrif; who didn’t know where she came from, or what she truly was, or how to understand her powers, that all came natural to Straval. He knew what he had to do next. 

He scoured the realm for any more living survivors and found one more group. Mostly children as well as a few teenagers. This group made up of nomads far away from his village. He helped them through a portal into a land he’d call Hapennjax. From there he returned to his village of Otheris. 

The feeling in his bones was too much to ignore. Too strong to control. With one deep breath, his magic entered the land, bringing the souls of his people into ghostly entities. Then he brought forth all the blood from the soil, every sacrifice ever performed on the world of Otheris and he held it in his hand, a small red orb. The life of Borlin and he left the world. Entering the realms, same as Petrif. 

His presence created a balance, while she brought life, so much life, too much life. He collected the souls of the dead and for many centuries carried them around with him, until he found himself a realm of his own. The Realm of The Dead. Where all magical creatures would spend eternity. The people he saved evolved the realms Otheris and Hapennjax with his help. Their realms soiled in sacrificial blood, which turned into blood magic. From his Realm of The Dead he connected his people to offer council and warning. 

They became The Ancients. While Petrif hid away like a coward from all she created, Straval mastered his powers. He became all he was created to be, but he wanted more. He wanted Borlin back and he wanted Petrif’s head. 

The End.