Join me in night painted with crimson and black.

Fae are enchanting. Beautiful. And deadly. Cruel like winter morn. And they love a taste of your mortality.

Tiyan Markon didn’t know how his life would turn, how much darkness would slip into it, when he became pursued by the dark fae ruler. Tiyan finds himself in the palace of the fairy, a gruesome pit filled with dark urges and twisted beauty, and isn’t even aware, that the fair folk have plans for him.

“Do you hate me, Leira? With strong, beautiful hatred?”
- Lorian Ain'Dal, chapter "The Withered Bones of Hope IV"
ATOM: Path Through Oblivion – I

Tiyan slept that night. With deep slumber, his nightmares gave way to the horror of life and retreated like rats from a sinking ship.

When he awoke, the morning was still hiding from the sun, the trees bathed in a faint darkness. The village slept, their dreams haunted by something he had to face in a wake.

He was still only partially ready to leave. He was no hero, never had been. For the mercy of the goddess, even hunting an anglor was an effort for him, not to mention other, more dangerous animals. But deep down, he knew that if he didn’t go, Mina would lose her soul – forever, with no chance of return, in any form, in any way. And the fairies would come for him, one way or another. He didn’t have the luxury to run away, to hide in cowardice. He would begin to despise himself, eventually.

Mina needed him. She trusted him, surely, and his absence would shatter her, and he would never forgive himself. He was at the point of no return. And he couldn’t even look back.

Every time he looked back, he saw horrors.

The village was still asleep when he left. He didn’t have many possessions, nothing he would need on his way to the realm of the Fae. He equipped himself with bronze weapons and hid an iron dagger in his boot, just in case. He would not show himself in Ain’asel without the slightest and most ridiculous advantage. He took the sack and filled it with warm clothes. He knew he couldn’t sleep in the snow. The inns weren’t working any more, but even an abandoned inn offered a moderately warm place to spend the night, and maybe even things left behind by the departing or the dead.

But warm clothing was always needed, the winter was harsh, enchanted, pure and dangerous, just like the hearts of the Fae.

He took the herbs too. Tinder too. There might be some dry hay in the abandoned building, or a cave that could be filled with branches, perfect for kindling. He didn’t have to worry about water, the humans had learned to drink it from the winter itself, even if there was a slight fear that the enchanted snow might affect their organisms.

Tiyan didn’t want to go, but he was already crossing the threshold – the house seemed empty and dead. His old life, hard as it had been, was over. Now he had to fight, to rip any future out of Ain’asel’s throat.

No one had ever made a map of the fey realm. But he knew which way to go, and he hoped that the promised will-o’-the-wisps would be present to show him a more detailed path.

Korr walked slowly towards him. Tiyan would want him at his side. But he knew that the Fae would use him against him, harm him or simply kill him.

“Go. Find Noyd. I can’t take you with me. I don’t want you to suffer.

The dog’s brown eyes looked at him, not blaming, but confused and lost. Tiyan had never told him to leave.

Now he only saw mist, normal, everyday mist, not enchanted. It filled him with a strange peace.
Inamora, ordinary, untouched by fairies. As in long lost days…

The boundary between the forest and the village was marked by a huge dolmen standing near the gentle stream, with a small wooden bridge that swung from side to side. As if through a fog, he remembered how Gravir Markon had built it so that the children could throw bread to the fish. It was life before the darkness, before the Fae, when he was too young. Before his own baptism of blood, during the last and only battle between humans and Unseelie, in which he lost his innocence and his hope that he was good. That he was a good man at all.

Do not think about it. Do not turn back, there are monsters.

He felt the new resignation creep in, fuelled by memories. Do not think. The past is long gone. He stood in place, fixed the light bag on his shoulders and aimed for the bridge, to enter the forest. The main road would only lead more or less in the right direction once he passed the forest. Then he could look for the dancing fires.

“Tiyan… Tiyan!”

Oh.

No.

Please, no.

“Tiyan…” he thought at first that Noyd was watching him and his house to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. But he saw a bucket of snow and understood that she was collecting it to boil at home. Korr tangled up between her legs, not knowing where to go.

“Noyd…”

“Are you going hunting?”

“More or less.”

She looked behind him and saw the packed bag, narrowing her eyes.

“You’re leaving,” it was more of a statement than a question, disappointment painted on her face.

“I must. I should have left before my family died.”

“It won’t change anything,” her curls slipped from the warm hat and fell on her forehead, a fox child, reddish like autumn. “You always leave when you should stay. I was hoping now…”

“They have Mina,” he cut her off, and her catlike green eyes opened wider, a gleam of understanding creeping into her features.

“How do you know?”

“One of them came to see me at night. She wanted me to go and save her.”

Noyd shook her head, incredulous at his stupidity.

“You know it’s a trap?” another rhetorical question.

“Of course it’s a trap,” he laughed bitterly. “But do I have a choice?”

Noyd looked at him for a moment, as if engraving his features in her mind, remembering what he looked like, or just trying to look into his soul to see how much of it was desperation and how much was courage.

“No. You don’t,” she said finally.

Tiyan didn’t want to look into her eyes, but when he did, he saw something new in them. Worry. Fear. And all of it mixed with pride and relief.

“Don’t let them kill you.”

“I’ll try not to let them kill us both.”

“When you return…”

“When I return…”

She looked at him again, intensely. And walked over to him, hugging his neck with her arms.

“If you return. Promise me.”

She moved closer, almost afraid. Doubtful. As if she didn’t know if it was the right time, if it was right. But she kissed him passionately, one last kiss before the war.

“I promise,” he murmured into her mouth. Inhaling her scent of mint and old herbs. Of the fireplace. And safety.

I promise. I will try. But I don’t know. So much I don’t know.

His eyes filled with unwanted tears, her chest pressed tightly against his own. Her hands in his hair. And her tongue in his mouth. And a promise that bound them together again.



Under Shadows Fair

Leira looked at Lorian, her whole being protesting, but she couldn’t stop looking. She could feel his displeasure, his usual calm, almost bored demeanour now transformed into a deadly calm before the storm that seemed to enter not only her heart – it entered everyone present in the throne room. His enchantment assaulted her senses, beautiful and terrifying. She felt it touch her, slide over her, fill her with conflicting emotions.

Don’t do this to me.

She couldn’t stop looking.

She didn’t want to stop. It pulled her in, a spell she was not ready for.

Neither was the lower fey who was responsible for the boy’s escape. His aura was frantic, like a trapped bird that knows it is about to be sacrificed.

Leira watched with fascination as Nymre and Areltha crept up behind Lorian, dark creatures, ominous harbingers of death who couldn’t wait for their lover to punish the guilty.

The fey knew he stood no chance. Leira didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to look. Never. But she looked, and that alone made her so afraid. Why are you doing this to me?

“So,” Lorian raised a brow, his voice deep and only slightly tinged with anger, sweet as honey, far too sweet to taste good. “I was under the impression that you wanted to explain yourself. Don’t. I am in no mood for words aimed at saving you. The only thing I would really like to hear would be the sound of your punishment.”

The fey’s expression showed only resignation. He has spent too many years here, he knows how Lorian punishes those who displease him. He only hopes it won’t take too long.

I am not your toy. Even if my mind begins to believe that it’s the only way. That it’s all true.

“I find you very brave. Allowing the prisoners to escape. So I thought you would be brave enough to amuse my lover. She really needs it. Something to light her fire.”

Nymre clung to Lorian’s shoulders and looked at the fey with a gleam of sick fascination, pure as a winter’s morning.

“Not too deep… please…” he said, but it only made Lorian furrow his brow.

“Make him feel, deliciously,” Nymre sighed into his ear, and he looked at her with an undecipherable expression, and… misplaced hunger.

And a single pulsating wave sank into the prisoner’s body, almost invisible, but Leira choked in her place. Lorian slowly rose from his seat and approached the fae. The captive tried to move away, but Lorian’s darkness held him until he was face to face.

He caressed the prisoner’s tense face, tenderly, almost affectionately, and slid his hand into his abdomen. And filled him.

The fey stood there for a moment, paralysed, until something inside him began to move. His mouth opened in a silent expression of pain. Something was tearing through his flesh, burrowing into his veins, something inexorable. He wanted to scream, but found that his voice was swallowed by the power that now beat within his body.

The fairies gathered in the throne room watched with sick interest as he gagged, trying to catch his breath as Lorian’s power burrowed deeper. There was no blood, only spreading skin to show what was happening inside, a defiant sign of his failure.

Lorian seemed to glow with blackness, filling every crevice of his prey with his spell. His eyes took on additional depth, now looking like black holes that swallowed all hope.

It went on and on, until time ran out and all that remained for the fey was pain, pain and the gaze of Lorian’s black eyes, drilling wounds into his soul.

“Now,” Lorian smiled, his features brightening. “Mercy tastes better when it comes after suffering” Leira looked at him again, this time with more fear than anything else, she knew he was going to do something malicious. His dark glow seemed dim and subdued, his disappointment and hunger pulsing around him. “If you express how much you regret. I will end this. If you don’t… more will grow in you.”

Nymre and Areltha laughed softly, amused and pleased. They leaned over Lorian and pressed themselves against his back.

Stop it. Do not do this. I am not your plaything.

The captive fey’s eyes filled with tears, both of pain and of utter hopelessness. Lorian took his voice and didn’t give it back, the power he sent choking him, strangling every word before it left his mouth. The enchanted tendrils moved deep into him and he knew he wasn’t even close to dying. They were dark enchantments, so they could grow inside him for months until they dissipated. He groaned in pain, doing everything he could to show Lorian that he was at least trying. Please allow me to speak. I beg you. Please.

“Such a loss,” Lorian purred. His hair brushed with shadows, his eyes blank in their pitch-black darkness.

The Fae flinched as Lorian’s power pushed into him again, burying itself deeper, taking what now belonged to the night.

“I don’t think it was that deep,” Lorian smiled, a sharp grin on his otherwise ethereal face, looking curiously at the trembling Fae. He turned to the lower Fae guard, who looked at him with a gleam in his almost white eyes. “Take him and lock him up somewhere low. I don’t want to hear from him again. Look at the others, they never tried to help him. He must feel it, savour it like wine.”

Nymre looked at the punished fey with deep fascination, her eyes never blinking, her hand clenched tightly on Lorian’s arm.

Leira felt as if something was squeezing her heart, hard. Lorian was never merciful, but to see this always made her feel the deepest sadness and regret.

Even when she couldn’t stop looking.

Do not look at him. He does it for a reason, to possess your emotions and your soul. Just…

… do not look.

But you want to.

You want him.



Interlude III – Dal’coler

Lorian felt it with his whole self. Like it washes over him, reaching into his veins, tendons and flesh.

The falling lights that right now were brushing the sky with fire. The stars that swallowed darkness into their open mouths. The moon that beamed over Dal’coler, a stellar hunter pursuing the sun’s light.

The night was feeding him slowly with its powers, when he sent the tendrils of shadows between the trees and among nocturnal voids.

It was pleasant and invigorating, a taste of his land, which he savored like the finest wine. A taste of all who lived here, and unbound nature that thrived with snow and ice.

Something slipped through the door to the balcony. Someone. Someone with wings and aura of light, which started to insistently push at his darker one.

His eyes closed, his fingers clenched on the edge of the intricate balustrade cracked by the vines.

“Lorian…”

He felt her chin on his shoulder. Her hands embraced him  in the waist and she pressed into his form like a wild cat. Ah, how he loved that. To feel her so close. To be able to enter her soul and see what she wants. Delicious feeling that was as overwhelming as the night itself.

With his eyes still closed, he smiled, a pleased grin. He allowed her hands to wander over his body.

“My beautiful raven.”

“I liked how you dealt with the girl today” she purred, a low, deep, seductive voice. “His brother killed our kind, though. I hope you prepare the punishment worth its fault.”

“His mind is young, scared and innocent. I am hungry for his purity, a real treat for senses. But his gift, for which I long most… became an obstacle of its own.”

She reached with her hand to his hair and moved a lock of hair, which fell on his forehead, pitch black, like the night under their feet. He caught her by her hand, she allowed that, when his lips touched her wrist and kissed it, his sharp fangs brushing over her skin.

Blood pulsed in her veins, blue and hot. And he always wanted to spill it. Unsatiated lover, bathing in azure each time when they fed on each other’s passion.

She knew what lits his flame. His cravings dark and cruel, as the land he was ruling over.

“The love for his sister should be enough of a lever to make him arrive” he sighed into her skin, his black eyes shining with reflected stars. “But his flame stirred in him, just as I wanted. Avel fulfilled her purpose.”

“Why you sent for him just now? Why not earlier?” Nymre shook her head.

“His flame was not ready. I see the minds of the gods” he chuckled, charmingly. “They coddled him like a toddler in a craddle. Preparing him. Testing my patience and my endurance. What a beautiful justice – to awake him just… when I craved him most.”

She knew what he planned, and her hopes, her hunger, was reaching so deep. Lorian promised her the taste of stars and she latched to it, pulling by every thread which it sprouted.

They won’t drink from them. They won’t destroy almost painful beauty they radiate with. They won’t eat them, feasting on their souls like humans feast on rotting meat.

They deserve to be dark suns over both lands and beyond. The thought that it could end, was like a hook in open skin, painful and agonizing. Nymre disliked being powerless. It was too… final.

The dark slowly rushed through him, a mix of pleasure and pain, which told him he has enough. The tendrils of shadows retracted and his body swallowed them all. His eyes suddenly became dim, like gloomy, foggy night.

Nymre got so close again, letting him grab her by her waist, easily allowing him to press to her, just as she did moments ago. It was too tempting to not yearn for it. They both felt as their blood becomes hotter. As their minds start to swirl around fulfillment – like his shadows.

“The girl will be an amusing break from usual boredom” smiled Nymre, a dark glint in her big, blue eyes, almost hidden under the shadows created by her mask. “I always enjoy what sits in your head. Your imagination is… inspiring.”

“Are you bored?” he responded with a grin and ran his finger through her thick white hair. She sighed feeling as his touch sends sparks of blacklight into her skin.

“Perhaps” a dark mischief in her words.

“Perhaps…” he inhaled her elusive scent, of lilies and ocean breeze. “… I should give you special treatment. Something you truly need.”

She breathed fast, feeling as his hand went lower.

“And what do I truly need…?” her voice reaching the depth of lost caverns and frozen passages under the mountains.

His shadows crept in and when his hand laid on her chest, they seemed to sink into her skin, making her open her eyes wider, her breath even faster.

“Darkness.”

He was ruling over darkness. And she really deserved it now.



World

[ to be redacted / expanded ]

 

Avras. The land drowned in eternal winter, struggling under a curse. Once a great kingdom, maybe not big, but thriving, which could be proud of its intellectual heritage, now is pushed into oblivion by the Unseelie folk.

Places:

Inamora

Tiyan’s village. As most of the villages, it’s buried under snow, opposing winter. Its inhabitants live mostly from the hunt.

When you pass the thick frozen woods, you will find yourself in a settlement almost swallowed by the forest, breathing under a thick cocoon of snow. People here are hard and remorseful, stripping death from meat and surviving despite being under a curse. The houses are made of wood and stone, not small, like one could expect – people spend in them most of their time, so they must be at least comfortable. People in Inamora work hard and have hard skin, yet they fear one thing – the fae.

Feirne

The home village of Ona. Once a last place of real resistance, now almost burned to stake.

Ona came from nowhere. But this nowhere was a village of Feirne, now cinders and ashes. Feirne was surrounded with a wall made of iron, and its people were hunting on lesser folk, very often succeeding. Their traps and science were reminiscent of old days, where knowledge thrived in Avras.

Arelt

The city that was taken into possession by the Praetorian Inquisition. People there are living much better life than villages of the woods. As long as they… repent enough.

Inquisition pretends that they don’t support the fey, that they fully took their role as protectors of Avras. But silently, they worship fey gods and give him sacrifices of “unbelievers’ ‘. Arelt is only moderately rich and the biggest city of the realm… but there lurk other dangers.

 

Ain’asel. Fey land. Thriving in winter, a dark place, where wind can eat the body to the bones and black magic sinks deep into the soil.

Places:

Dal’coler

Capital city of the fae. It’s stark and beautiful, in an ominous, almost primal way. Ruled by Lorian Ain’Dal. Life in Dal’coler is bathed in old blood and glamour.

Look at the branches biting through the stone walls, at stained glass windows hiding painted scenes of long forgotten atrocities. Dal’coler, a place of twisted darkness, rises like a sore tooth in the woods, among the Lons mountains, the second biggest mountains of Ain’asel. Its magic radiates on all lands, and it’s a place of gathering of all fey races.

Shadowlands

Place inhabited by shadow faeries, vassals of High Fae. The Shadowlands lay mostly in mountains, which separate Avras from Ain’asel.

Shadowlands are surrounded by eternal mist, hence the name. It’s both magic-caused and environmental. The vast black mountain lakes are a place of birth of all kinds of dangerous beasts. Shadow fairies are mildest of the fey kind, yet one never should underestimate them, they hold the key to the death kingdom. Among mountains, you can also find settlements of Bean Sidhes, warriors used by High Fae for bloody work.

Natsel’sorl

Land of Changelings. The night weavers, who keep goda asleep. Bound to their woven web, can’t leave their realm.

Changelings have most difficult task in fae realms. Fey gods feed on fae souls – hence the night weavers must keep them in perpetual dream state, so they never eliminate their darkest creations from the face of both lands. Natsel’sorl is woody and rainy, hiding forbidden mysteries of deep caverns, as well as fae portals, with which High Fae travel to various places on Ain’asel.

The Lesser Realm

Part of fae land, inhabited by the lesser fey. It bites through Shadowlands, like it guarded Dal’coler,so no one dared to go there without permission. Lesser fairies are most wild of the fae, and weakest magic-wise.

The Lesser Realm – wild, sick and untamed. Every guest/ trespasser that is not High Fae (who can control their minds) is subjected to vicious torment and becomes a plaything of the fey. They are closest to god’s soul, which forms a state of constant hunger in them. They are though used as messengers by the Unseelie Court.



Lorian Aesthetic

Click to see. The site’s darker theme makes it… well, darker.



3.

And actually, funny trivia.

Lorian kept to his word and gave Suriel many eyes, for her to see better.

She is more pretty with them.