Cruel Fates (Empires Book 1)

CHAPTER 1

The full moon cast an ethereal glow over the forest, illuminating the dense foliage in shades of Silver and gray. The air was crisp and cool, filled with the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers. In the distance, the distant howl of a wolf echoed through the trees, a haunting melody that sent shivers down the spines of even the most seasoned hunters.

Galen Marek trudged through the underbrush, his boots sinking into the damp earth. His eyes scanned the surroundings, but his mind was elsewhere. Beside him, Xanthos Thorne walked with a quiet confidence, his crossbow at the ready. The moonlight danced across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the piercing blue of his eyes.

"Xanthos, wait," Galen whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustling of leaves.

Xanthos halted, his gaze flicking toward Galen. "What is it?"

Galen's eyes drifted away, lost in thought. He didn't respond, and Xanthos knew better than to press him. Instead, he nodded and continued onward, his senses on high alert for any sign of their quarry.

As they walked, the silence between them grew thicker, like a palpable fog. Galen's thoughts were consumed by memories of that fateful night, the night his parents were massacred by the Empire's assassins. The pain still lingered, a raw wound that refused to heal. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of grief, unable to find a lifeline to cling to.

Xanthos, sensing his friend's turmoil, shot him a concerned glance. But Galen's expression remained impassive, a mask that hid the turmoil brewing beneath the surface.

The hunt continued, the two friends moving in tandem, their footsteps quiet on the forest floor. But Galen's heart wasn't in it. His mind was elsewhere, lost in the darkness of his past, and the uncertainty of his future.

Xanthos suddenly stopped, the crossbow hanging lazily by his side, but Galen was far from fooled. He knew that all it took for Xanthos to prepare the crossbow was a split second. Xanthos's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing as he turned to Galen. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low and even.

Galen hesitated, not wanting to bother his best friend with the sordid details of his parents' death. He didn't want to reopen old wounds, didn't want to relive the pain and the anger. Wanting to change the topic, he started to skirt around the conversation. "It's nothing, Xanthos. Just...just the usual."

But before Xanthos could press him further, a noise in the underbrush of the forest caught their attention. The sound of leaves rustling, of twigs snapping, echoed through the night air. Xanthos's eyes snapped toward the sound, his crossbow instantly at the ready.

A deer sprinted across their path, its large brown eyes flashing in the moonlight. Xanthos's finger tightened on the trigger, but he didn't fire. Instead, he watched as the deer vanished into the darkness.

He turned to Galen, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. "We're not through with this conversation," he said, his voice low and even. "You're hiding something from me, Galen. And I aim to find out what it is."

Xanthos ran after the deer, his feet pounding against the earth. He waited behind a fallen tree, his crossbow at the ready. The deer paused to munch on something on the ground, oblivious to the danger lurking mere feet away. Xanthos aimed, slowed his breath, and fired. The deer came down without a sound, its legs crumpling beneath its body.

Xanthos smiled to himself, feeling a sense of satisfaction at a hunt well done. But as he stood, he caught a whiff of smoke on the wind. He frowned, knowing they were nowhere near a campfire. Suddenly, he remembered Galen, left standing alone in the darkness.

Xanthos tracked back, his senses on high alert. He paused in his tracks, the deer he had shot forgotten, the crossbow hanging limp in his hands. Before him stood Galen, surrounded by a blaze that seemed to defy logic. The flames danced around him, yet he remained untouched, as if protected by some unseen force.

Galen's face was a mask of shock and horror, his eyes fixed on his hands as if they belonged to someone else. He looked around, taking in the inferno that surrounded him, but his gaze didn't quite reach Xanthos. He seemed lost in a world of his own, one that was rapidly spiraling out of control.

Xanthos's heart racing, he took a cautious step forward, unsure of what he was witnessing. "Galen?" he called out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Galen's eyes locked onto Xanthos, his face pale and shaken. "I-I did this," he stuttered, his voice trembling. "But I don't know how. It just happened."

Xanthos waved off Galen's concern, though his own surprise still lingered. There could only be one explanation for this phenomenon. Galen had been Marked, set apart by Gifts that could be his undoing.

Xanthos's mind flashed back to his youngest sister, Elara. She had been Gifted, too, and the Empire had taken her, forcing her into their army of Gifted soldiers, the First File. He had lost her, and the pain still lingered.

The Empire's persecution of the Gifted had created a culture of fear. Those with abilities like Galen's lived in constant terror of being discovered and captured.

But why had Galen's Gifts manifested now, after all these years? Xanthos knew that only his uncle, Archivist Orion, could provide the answers they sought.

For now, Xanthos pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on comforting his stricken friend. He placed a reassuring hand on Galen's shoulder. "We'll figure this out, Galen. Together."

But Xanthos couldn't shake the feeling that everything was about to change – and not for the better. If Galen was indeed Marked, their lives would never be the same again.