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/Chapter One: Enter the Waters.../ It is a beautiful day – cloudless, warm, and sunny – and, just casually walking through a village on my return home, I am bringing terror in my wake. Such a terror I could never imagine nor comprehend. Such a terror comes to these kind-hearted people with no reason. Had I not experienced what I have, I would have thought to myself: is my appearance so horrific, so hideous, that I might not pass by without children screaming and large men shuddering? Though I have been described as having been an evil overlord in my past life, I see no reason for people such as this to be so anxious and apprehensive. But I have been broken and manipulated to such a form that I can never return to that innocent state of serenity that I used to live. Yet it is all imaginary. I am the first born son of the Royal family of Bayfelas, the 6th Kingdom of the Earth. I know for a fact that my face makes young women giggle and men jealous of my charm. I am the prince, and many people adore me. My name is Braeden. I am twenty-one years of age, I have blue eyes, blond hair, and I am approximately two meters tall. I am a fair skinned, fair-haired, baby blue-eyed prince. Yet now my life is changing. So, little mortal, pay attention: my tale is not to be forgotten that easily. Braeden walked calmly through the small village at high noon – and as eager to get out of the heat of the sun as he was, he remained serene. Shepherds and shepherdesses tended their flocks in the fields, children shrieked as they played, farmers worked, and women gossiped inside the farmhouses and in the market. And as if a cloak suddenly settled itself over the entire town, everything stopped. [Something is wrong here,] he thought to himself darkly. Through a window looking into the nearest home to him, he could see a local family gathering in their living room, shaking and trembling with fear and coming close together. Then, their eyes went dark and dull as each one of them stood up abruptly and exited their home. Stiffly they stood up straight and marched, he supposed, to the Town Square. Shaking his extremely blond hair from his eyes, he noticed that out of every household every person left and began walking, despite broken legs, or sicknesses. All gathered in the town square. He should have noticed when he entered the town that no one had been on the street nor on any of the streets. It should have been him who noticed something wrong in this community. The Elf followed the family whose home he had first peered into. The little boy and what appeared to be his twin sister were no older than eight and their parents were young as well. An old, crippled woman also walked with them. Never knowing a true family to call his own, he entertained himself foolishly by making up a story. [Grandmother and Grandfather met during a large war –] he thought childishly. [Grandmother had been a nurse and Grandfather was a great general. After a night of romance, the natives of the battlefield tore Grandfather to pieces, then sold and fed the remains to the cannibalistic enemy. The general’s child was Father, who met Mother at the village where Grandmother had made her own after the war as great-grandmother and great-grandfather had died years before in a tragic fire...] Thus he continued, smiling to myself and making up a dramatic story of their lives. They lived quite a distance from the square, or so that was where he thought they were headed, and intricately detailed every aspect of these peoples’ lives with never a thought to the peril he may be in. As he walked, he continued the naïve game in his mind, never taking notice of the eerie silence that covered all the entranced townspeople. They walked right through the square, and his satisfaction that came from knowing where everybody was going disappeared. They kept going, and going, and going. The gathering passed through the entire village, past all the farms, and into a forest, and from there they kept walking. A long procession of villagers, poor and ignorant, were all walking in thick woodlands under a heavy trace. He could feel the thick fog of magic increasing there, pushing down on his shoulders and gradually becoming more and more burdensome and vexatious. The ground was soft and mossy beneath his softened leather boots, and the trees groaned and whispered to each other. He heard whispers of his name, yet each time Elf-prince whirled around to see the speaker; he saw nothing but the emotionless and dull zombie-like farmers and wives behind him. He began to get worried, yet his curiosity drowned it out by far. After three quarters of the hour had passed, the whispers of ‘Braeden’ had ceased, and the sound of trickling water teased his mind. He could never pass a waterfall without stopping by to pray. Braeden was an elf who preferred flowing, pure water to the forests and earth like the rest of his kindred. He was the odd one in the royal family, he had admitted long ago, and was not afraid to be different. How different, he occasionally wondered, could he be? How much could he stand out amongst the family without being thrown to the wolves? Elves are very tuned with nature, and they feel deep sorrow when it is hurt or maimed. They are tall beings, and very fair. They wield a weak strain earth magic through prayer, and will never cease caring for the world. Immortal beings though they are, nothing can live forever. They live for thousands of years and cannot be killed by poisons or drafts, but by heartbreak, loneliness, or in battle. Very different from the mythical dwarves and the blunt humans, the elves lived in peace up to the present age. A dark magician threatened the world, and Prince Braeden was cast out of his kingdom to seek out a maiden in distress so that he might save her, woe and marry her, then become king and save his kingdom. Well, his quest already was changing pace. Listening harder to the sound of trickling water, Braeden strained his ears and decided that it was a brook or a stream, then daydreamt as he walked. The sound faded from earshot. Unexpectedly, an unknown being’s arm shot out from behind a tree, grabbed Braeden and pulled him off the path. With a wavering shout he tumbled into a damp mossy bed of leaves and grasses, then he straightened himself out and looked to see his antagonist. He saw no one. He had seen a flash of a smaller, petite hand – with wet and filthy blue green skin. He shrugged the thought off and convinced himself he had tripped over a log and what fleeting imagery of another being (that was conscious anyway) had been an illusion created by his eyes and imagination from the poor lighting. He made an attempt to step back onto the path, but yet again, he was pulled back by not just one, but two seemingly invisible creatures. A hissing female voice spoke to him, “Don’t go onto the path!” A rustling of leaves behind him, and he spun violently around. Nothing. “Show yourself!” he yelled. He received a reply of innocent, invisible, giggles. “If you want to see us,” said the hoarse girlish voice. “follow your heart to a place which is not a place, in a stream which is not a stream.” Other voices giggled, more rustling of leaves, then she (for he had guessed it was so much as a feminine creature) continued. “And Braeden, follow my instructions – DON’T go onto the path and DON’T follow the villagers. Their path is not for you.” His eyes widened as he saw small footsteps approaching him in the leaves, but no body above the impressions in the mossy undergrowth. He felt another being close to him, leaning on his shoulders, and a swift cold kiss on his cheek. More whispers, giggles, and hushed undertones came, a large snap, and then everything was silent. He shook his head and blinked a few times. Minutes later he spotted a large, leafy brown plant nearby and smirked very much relieved. It was just the wafting aromas of nearby nymph grass – a very powerful intoxicator - that made him hallucinate so wildly. Braeden stepped back up onto the path, and froze. Before he could rejoin the procession of persons, he felt a strong urge to go back. His head turned back into the dark, green, and damp forest and his whole body involuntarily followed the motion of his head. His feet lifted and fell, carrying him away. About a dozen feet from the area in which he had fallen moments before, he saw the stream that he had heard. Yet here it made no sound against the rocks which resisted against the flow. He made an effort to resist what tried to control him then. His entire body and every inch of his flesh shuddered and trembled as he attempted to stand still. The water was four inches thick at the most, and he had the compelling urge to dive in, head first! [What has gotten into me!] he thought, exasperated. Resisting was making him nauseous now; his head was spinning and the queasy feeling in his stomach was unsettling. He took a few steps backward, raised his arms together above his head, jogged forward and plunged into the stream. There was no pain, there was no shock. There was no foolish thoughts scolding him for doing what he did. Rather, Braeden soared through deep blue water, further and further into the earth. [How can this be?] he questioned himself as he looked around. [surely this water was no deeper than the width of my hand!] He thought back to the mysterious creatures, which “spoke” to him earlier, and he had thought it to have been due to the nymph grass. {{Follow your heart to a place which is not a place, in a stream which is not a stream.}} [She was real! And this is where she meant for me to go... Now where are they hidden?] He turned his head as he descended even further, the breath he held was making him light headed. He needed more oxygen, but he was determined to find the creatures. Nothing was around him, and the only light that he saw reflecting upon the water before he entered was the very little light from through the trees, so far above. Yet the water was neither dark nor cloudy. It was clear and marine blue, as if light was coming from all angles, just from so far away; its source could not be identified. Dizzier then before, the elf called Braeden longed for air and could not help it. He opened his mouth and tried to take a breath. No air bubbles escaped his mouth, and no water entered it. He could breathe easily in this stream, what a miracle! He sank further, breathing easily now, and the light headed-ness from before was no more. Some thirty feet from the surface, his feet touched the bottom gently, and Braeden gently pushed off again to search the area. He was in what he would describe as a crevasse filled with magicked waters – possibly lunar waters, of which werewolves were cured. (Of course, they would only be cured temporarily, as being fully cured after a werewolf’s bite could only come from the gods themselves, and it would be difficult for even they!) The space was approximately fifteen meters across, considerably larger than the width at the surface, and an infinite length that he could not see. Swimming close to the bottom, he moved further downstream. There was no current though, so he made a guess that he was moving downstream, as moving the other way was more difficult. Something flashed before his eyes; it moved across the width of the chasm and disappeared into what he saw was a cave... he followed it, and entered. He was immediately grabbed, blindfolded, and knocked out with a rock... And when he awoke, he saw her.