Prologue
W hen the primal magic at the universe’s core became too dense, it exploded, scattering its shards and thus forming the Crystal Serpent.
The raw magic crystals dispersed across the aether, shaping a reptile carrying all the realms on its back.
Some domains were abundantly blessed with the gifts of the Serpent, and magic thrived in these lands, like Faëheim. Others were not so lucky, and their inhabitants had to carve their livelihood from barren soil, struggling for survival each day against the merciless laws of nature. Yet they succeeded against all odds without the mighty help of spellwork and wizardry.
For ages, Fae watched with condescension and dark curiosity as humankind fell, then rose and tried again. The magical beings of Faëheim seldom became involved in human affairs, allowing their fate to play out in all its torment, yet this was about to change.
The Siphons crawled out of their dark dimension and attacked, starved after eons of hunger, craving the might of pure magic.
The eternal radiance of Faëheim dimmed as the Siphons devoured the powers of its people.
With the last flickers of magic, the rulers of all Fae nations sent their most cunning heroes, their most skilled warriors, to find a means, a weapon, to defy the invaders and restore the brilliance of Faëheim.
And they discovered it in the most surprising place. The human realm.
Even though magic was scarce in men’s lands, the Fae explorers realized that certain humans, the Anchors, had raw, untamed magic raging in their blood, as if the gifts of the Serpent were not distributed equally among all but stored in only a few.
These oddities weren’t even aware of the rare, dormant power inside them.
The salvation from the Siphons´ invasion was now up to the four Fae Hunters, roaming the human world for decades. But how to harvest the power of the Anchors was a question yet to be answered.
Celeste-the Anchor
“T
his meeting could have been an email.” I scrutinize my chipped black nail polish. Should have booked an appointment to get my nails done today and save myself another trip downtown…
“And remember, in servicing you, we service humanity!” My team lead Sandra wraps up the meeting with a fake smile. My colleagues reluctantly repeat the company’s motto, some of them rolling their eyes when they retreat to their desks in the sterile, open-space office. The crowd and the cubicles give me the creeps. I usually work from home, but Sandra sabotaged my casual afternoon on my couch.
“Any plans for tonight?” Jasmin, my nerdy sidekick, startles me. I take in her round face and pierced lips curled up in a smile. She’s wearing too much makeup today, her green eyes surrounded by the Goth, smoky eyeshadows she loves, the purple tips of her black hair styled into pretty curls.
“I don’t, but obviously you do.” A customer call interrupts us before she can answer. She presses the connect button on her headset and strolls back to her desk.
“Aeternus Medical Equipment support, you’re speaking with Jasmin. How can I help you today?” Her words fade in the clamor of the call center.
My line rings before I can follow her and ask what she’s up to.
Call after call, the day slips by in a blur. I crave the tranquility of my tiny apartment, the fairy lights over my bookshelves, the minuscule jungle of my houseplants, and the comfort of my gaming chair in front of the thirty-four-inch monitor. A glass of wine, a round of Skyrim, and then the cool sheets of my bed. This is my plan before Jasmin interferes.
Without listening to my protests, she drags me to a shady bar, where a band plays 90s music, and I try to convince my introverted nature that I’m having fun by quickly downing three toxic-looking shots.
Hours later, the singer is howling to “Creep” by Radiohead, Jasmin is in a deep conversation with a green-haired guy, and his friend is eyeing me, sipping on his beer, obviously gathering the courage to start a conversation.
My anxiety inches back in, despite the alcohol in my bloodstream, just as it predictably does every time I’m among people. The liquor doesn’t help anymore, probably making it worse as I feel tension creep through me, forcing my shoulders to hunch slightly, my eyes darting away, toward my empty glass. As the anxiety heightens, suddenly the neon signs over the bar begin to spin, the faces of strangers crowding the space suddenly merge into an amalgam of features, and I start taking fast, shallow breaths, feeling watched and in danger. My fingers dig into the worn red leather of the stool to steady my shaking body, but it doesn’t help. I’m in a full-blown freefall.
I grab my purse and murmur something in Jasmin’s ear. She nods, understanding, though I’ve never informed her of my diagnosis and the pills I pop before leaving home to combat it. She’s figured it out somehow, and I’m grateful she’s not asking questions or treating me like a lunatic.
Agoraphobia and acute panic attacks don’t go well with college and a successful career. So, I dropped out of school and started changing jobs whenever it got too tricky and demanding.
Outside, I zip my jacket up and gratefully breathe in the crisp, autumn air. It’s past eleven, and I need to hurry if I want to catch the last train.
The fluorescent crescent of the new moon reflects in the street puddles, and the gaping darkness of the side alleys devours the clicking of my heels.
I’ve always felt safe in Chicago and know every corner of this neighborhood. But I sense a certain peril in the air tonight, like a distant whiff of gunpowder before a sea battle, the crackling thickness of the sky before a devastating storm. It’s as if malevolent, eerie eyes follow me, and I look over my shoulder. Empty cans roll on the street, picked up by the wind, and a couple walking a dog talk in muffled tones. Anxiously fishing in my purse, I find my medication and pop two pills. My doctor warned me against mixing it with alcohol, and also against taking too many, yet I bet he never had a problem breathing when he was in a room with more than three people.
Relieved, I dive into the underground maze of the subway and head to my platform.
