The Severaine (Forgotten Legacies Book 2)

Book summary

In "The Severaine," a long-forgotten peril reemerges, threatening to dismantle the realms and defy the gods. Entrusted with the world's salvation, our heroes inadvertently steer it towards doom. Amidst awakening ancient beings and a world teetering on the brink, a glimmer of hope persists. This tale weaves a journey of redemption, where the once dormant power of the Severaine stirs, poised to reshape existence. Only through rediscovered paths and heeded legends can hope be rekindled in a world on the cusp of irreversible transformation.

Excerpt from The Severaine (Forgotten Legacies Book 2)

Chapter One - The Burden 

He had failed her, but what had she expected? What she had asked of them was impossible. They had already wasted months scouring Albeth’s college library in search of anything that may even hint towards their mission. Time passed, filled with nothing more than stacks of dust-ridden books while the world was thrust into chaos by the threat of the Severaine. Already cities had been laid to waste. Its insatiable lust to purge offending life feeding its hunger and replenishing the depleted energies its break into freedom had consumed. It was ravenous and, like any living being, all it devoured gave it strength. A strength which was turned to one purpose, to erase all life. Normally this allowed a new god to sculpt the world as they desired. Zeus, however, still sat upon the Throne of Eternity, keeping vigil but not interfering in the fate of man. After all, it was by their hand this force had been unleashed. It was their responsibility to find a way to tame it.

How could she release this terror and then abandon them? How could she have asked this of him? To seal the Severaine, to undo what she did, there was no way he could do what she had requested.

Daniel stared unseeing through the tavern window, out into the softly lit streets of Collateral that descended in their gentle gradients. The light from the torches, which lit the winding streets, began to fade with the promise of a new day. Soon it would be morning, and once again he would fail to fulfil her final request. Once more their search would result in failure and another fragment of his hope would fade. He had long since exhausted the depths of his reserves. On days like these he just wanted to leave the world and its problems behind, just like she had.

When they had first returned, this bustling metropolis had heaved with life. The trade districts had been busier than they had ever seen, and the taverns were filled to capacity as people sought a means to forget their troubles. Collateral was one of the only safe places that remained, and access was a luxury scarce few discovered, and those who had already scrambled to fill its borders.

Today he had been hopeful. Their research seemed to have yielded so many possibilities. But as they worked their way through the countless tales of lore, his hope once more drained as all amounted to nothing. How did she expect them to find answers when the question asked predated their cycle, and was, perhaps, even primordial in nature?

Now, Daniel and the barkeep seemed to be the only people awake at this hour. The metal shutters secured the bar and the rhythmic sweeping of the brush across the wooden floor whispered a gentle lullaby. But even this soothing noise could not force the sleep he so desperately rejected. So long had it been, even memories of a peaceful night now eluded him. He passed his hands through his ear-length brown hair before cradling his head. It had been so long, so many months and still they were no closer than when they had first set out on this fool’s errand. What had possessed him to think that he could make a difference?

He sat alone with his questions, alone with his worries, as the world inside Collateral enjoyed their restful slumber unaware of the burdens he shouldered.

He feared the night more than his death. Death was an end, a release, and through it he would find peace. But to sleep was to invite dreams. Nightmares he scarcely survived as memories of the past and visions of the future plagued his every sense, repeating on a continuous loop from which there was no escape; at least, not until someone showed the mercy of releasing him.

But the true terror was worse than the moments that danced before him. The real terror, the real reason he feared sleep so much, was because she was there; hunting him through the darkness, relentless in her murderous pursuit. They had escaped her, but in his dreams, she came for him and every time, true to life, she won.

The passing months had become nothing more than a blur. A constant battle to wade through the seemingly endless library in search of something. Perhaps even something as seemingly insignificant as a footnote, or yet another outlandish theory. All the time he fought the approaching sleep and, although it always won eventually, he never slept for long. How could he with the images he saw?

His most successful method of forcing back the fatigue was to busy his mind. Tonight he focused on trying to discover the secret of Collateral.

When they had first arrived here, and walked this bustling metropolis, Zo had revealed just part of its secret lore. She had told him this place was not one of their world. The outside imagery, which led them to assume otherwise, was nothing more than an illusion. One so perfectly crafted and sustained that even the shadows of the town obeyed the passing hours of the virtual light. But even the air was created only by the needs of those who lived within.

It was a remarkable place. So now when he grew tired, he tried to think on this; to imagine where this place could be, how such a perfect illusion was possible, and the power which had been needed to create something of this magnitude.

Tonight, however, his thoughts would not stay focused on the mysteries of Collateral. Even had sleep been easy, he would not have found himself within its comforting embrace. The thought of events brought by the rising sun filled him with such morbid dread, such shame, had he seen his reflection he would avoid its accusing stare. There was no choice, he had put off this inevitable journey for too long. His shoulders grew taut with the burden he was forced to carry. Tomorrow would see an end, tomorrow he would venture to Drevera, Zo’s hometown, and finally say goodbye.

This evening he had spoken to Acha of his intentions, yet by giving voice to them they became forefront in his mind. His every thought consumed by those of his best friend, Acha’s half-sister.

It was strange to think that they had been born nearly 1300 years apart, and yet, both shared the same father. It had been something neither of them had realised until it had been too late.

By visiting Drevera he hoped to finally move forward. Only then could he once more continue with his life. For so long he had fought to keep this day at bay, but he could deny it no longer. What she had asked was selfish. How could he be expected to do what no one else could? It was time to set aside these foolish aspirations and focus on what he could do. He could not seal the Severaine, but maybe he could help those plagued by the disaster her actions had wrought. Perhaps another would succeed where he failed, someone worthy of wearing the shroud of hero.

Zo was not buried in Drevera. Her body wasn’t buried at all, despite his wishes to the contrary given the circumstances. It had been a surreal situation, one which would have perhaps been more common had Hectarian magic still existed. No mortal token of her passing remained; her form still walked the planet with Marise Shi as its owner. Marise Shi, the darkness to Zoella’s light. There was not a moment, waking or otherwise, in which he didn’t wish Hades had taken her instead.

Zo had been unique. Not only was she Hectarian—despite the fact none should have been born after the Hoi Hepta Sophoi extinguished the source of this power at its core—but she had been a walker on the path of light. Most Hectarians, by need alone, ensured their lives and magic remained neutral, thus retaining balance of the light and darkness which formed the magic within them. But should someone choose to follow a path and fail to keep the intrinsic balance there were dire consequences. Those who walked the path of darkness destroyed the purity within them, and those who traversed the path of light would battle constantly to restrain its counterpart.

It was ironic, the Hectarians who walked the path of light were more dangerous than those who embraced the darkness. The reason was simple, given enough time the darkness being suppressed could create its own identity. It would become a being in its own right that drew strength from inner turmoil; an identity born of pure darkness who possessing more power than any who had simply embraced the darker aspects of their nature. When it eventually overpowered the light, which they were told would always occur, it became a force to fear. Marise Shi was such a force.

A figure to Daniel’s right cleared their throat. For a moment he thought the barkeep had finally worked up the courage to request him to retire. Not that it really mattered. At night he securely locked the bar area behind beaten metal shutters. It wasn’t as if he could cause any mischief if left unsupervised. He turned to acknowledge him, surprised he hadn’t heard his approach. As his eyes rested on the figure he realised why. It wasn’t the barkeep, it was Seiken.

Daniel looked to him hatefully. His vision taking in every minute detail of the figure who now perched on the edge of the table. The figure wore his clothes like a second skin. The dark leather trousers accentuated his slender form, whilst the tight shirt showed the definition of every well-sculpted muscle. His red auburn hair was, as always, fastened back into a ponytail, although altered slightly since they last met. The front, shorter layers, now formed a thin, middle-parted fringe which fell each side of his rich brown eyes. He possessed a beauty which could make any woman blush by simply casting a glance in their direction. But he had only ever really looked at one woman, and it was because of him she was gone.

Seiken pulled a chair from the table, moving it to sit beside him as Daniel looked at him in disdain. This was all his fault. He would not be here, in this situation, or mourning the loss of his friend, if it hadn’t been for him. He was the cause of everything.

When Zo was still alive, Night had imprisoned a race known as the Oneirois, a race to which Seiken belonged. They hadn’t realised it at the time, but even this was simply bait to control her actions. Night had required her in order to achieve his desires. She was the only person who could do what was needed, and he had ensured that she was given no choice but to fulfil his every desire. He cared only about retrieving the powers stolen by the Hoi Hepta Sophoi, and since he was already in possession of six of the seven Grimoire—the magical tomes used to seal them—all he had needed was to create the means to obtain the last.

It was rumoured this final text could only be removed from its resting place by someone with a pure heart who also shared his blood. At first, they believed Acha was the key to obtaining this power, but they had been gravely mistaken.

As they travelled Darrienia, they unknowingly released the seals to the Severaine. Seals which not only held back this terrifying power but helped to shield the location of the final Grimoire. Everything had been carefully planned to the last detail and, in the end, Night had obtained everything he desired, the Grimoire, and the release of the Severaine. They had thought they were saving the world, but instead they had been exploited.

Had they known Night’s true intention of releasing the Severaine their actions would, perhaps, have been more guarded. The Severaine was once feared as an enforcer of the Gods, a threat on the lips of all. But in this time, it had been all but forgotten as the cycle of this world evolved. There was little mention of it in texts, and great debates held between elder scholars as to its true nature. But even then, not one truly believed it anything more than a frightening fable. That was, until it broke free of its restraints, plunging the world into a bout of natural disasters as its release changed the very nature of the world.

It hunted at random or so it seemed. One day it could target a town on Albeth, and the next day its sights could be on Therascia, with seemingly little method to its madness. The force was weak, yet with each passing day it grew in strength. Resting and sleeping after its latest meal before striking once more. It would only be a matter of time until it could truly complete the task intended, until it possessed enough strength to purge all life from the planet.

Even knowing Night’s ambitions would have provided little aid. So perfect was his scheme that the only impossible course was inaction. By imprisoning the Oneirois—who protected the barrier between dream and reality—he had ensured regardless of their path the world would suffer the consequences of their actions. Had they not freed the Oneirois, then nightmares and horrors would have crossed the boundaries, taking corporeal form, and those suffering in their dreams, would find the same ailments inflicted on waking. Darrienia, the world of dreams, would have become as deadly as the waking world, if not more so, and from fear, more nightmares would be born and more terror would plague the lands.

That was the beauty of Night’s plan, there was no choice but to aid the Oneirois. Whatever their path it would be a Pyrrhic victory.

He hadn’t seen Seiken since their imprisonment in Night’s tower. He had hoped never to lay eyes upon him again. The very sight of him filled Daniel with a primal rage for vengeance. His hatred towards Seiken had evolved into something far deeper, more potent than anything he had ever experienced, save for once. If he hadn’t asked for her aid, asked her to be their salvation, none of this would have happened.