Fates oddity, p.1
Fate's oddity, page 1
Fate's Oddity
by Evan Solis
Fate's Oddity
© Evan Solis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For my mother. 1974 – 2023.
You were my first fan, my sharpest critic, and my safest place.
Even when we fought, I never stopped learning from you.
This book wouldn't exist without you—because I wouldn't exist without you.
I miss you every day.
Prologue – Ashes of the Night
The world was ending.
Not in metaphor, not in legend—in fire, blood, and betrayal.
Smoke choked the skies over the palace, turning the indigo twilight into a curtain of ash. Screams echoed down marble corridors. And above it all, the towers—once radiant with magic—collapsed in showers of crystal and flame.
I was only ten, hiding beneath a broken column, soaked in blood that wasn’t mine.
And still, part of me remembered the scent of jasmine.
Nox was a land veiled in twilight and brilliance—a hidden kingdom built on centuries of peace and magical innovation. From the outside, few had ever glimpsed its marvels. But within its borders, the world was alive with wonder.
Crystalline towers of magicite rose high above the city’s edge, their facets catching the perpetual indigo light and scattering it into dancing rainbows across rooftops and gardens below. At night, the streets glimmered with soft blue lanterns, fed by gentle pulses of power drawn from veins of enchanted crystal deep beneath the earth. It was never truly dark in Nox; the air itself hummed with quiet energy, and the people moved through it as naturally as breathing.
Silent carriages—vehicles with no horses, their wheels floating inches above the stone—glided gracefully through wide boulevards lined with flowering trees. Parks and plazas thrived in the city’s heart, filled with children’s laughter and the melody of fountains, their waters enchanted to shift color with the seasons.
Homes and public buildings alike responded to the will of their inhabitants: windows that adjusted themselves to the perfect hue, walls that warmed in winter, cooled in heat. Messages flickered instantly between crystalline tablets held in every hand. News, music, and art traveled as swiftly as thought—delivered by magical networks woven invisibly through the city.
Life was an endless festival of comfort and discovery. Illness was rare; the healers of Nox used magicite-powered medallions to banish disease before it could spread. Aging was gentle and slow. Food grew in towers spiraling toward the sky, watered and tended by spells that made every harvest bountiful.
My own days were spent running through luminous halls, racing under the shade of sapphire-leaved trees, and learning from tutors who conjured illusions so real I could reach out and touch the history of the world. The palace gardens bloomed year-round, perfumed with jasmine, magnolia, and the heady scent of night-blooming lilies. Every night, the sky was painted with shifting auroras—a spectacle woven by ancient magic to comfort and inspire.
We were not arrogant, only cautious. Our advancements, born of magicite refined from the enchantments of our blood, given to us by a goddess no longer with us, were treasures too easily coveted by others. Visitors were few and always watched carefully. But inside, we believed in kindness and community, in shared joy and progress.
In the world beyond, rumors swirled: stories of a land untouched by war or poverty, where technology blurred the line between dream and reality. Nox was envied, admired, sometimes even feared—a legend come to life behind closed borders.
I remember those days with a bittersweet ache—the last breath of innocence before peace shattered.
It was not steel or sorcery that doomed us. It was the open hand, the trust of a people who believed themselves safe within wonders of their own making.
On the eve of destruction, Nox was at its brightest—a city of light and laughter, of magic and hope. Jasmine drifted on the breeze, the towers shimmered against a violet sky, and I—just a child—believed the world would always be this beautiful.
I always loved the scent of jasmine blooming under moonlight. It used to remind me of evenings chasing fireflies through the palace gardens, laughter ringing against pristine white walls. Tonight, though, that sweet fragrance was drowned out by smoke, ash, and the metallic tang of blood.
I crouched behind a shattered marble column, clutching my torn gown as my heart thundered in my chest. I was only ten, and the blood that stained me—dark, sticky, and cold—wasn't my own. Around me, my world burned.
Earlier that evening, the great hall had been bright with glittering chandeliers and hopeful murmurs. The King of Gaia had extended an offer of peace and sent an envoy. My parents, ever trusting and idealistic, had accepted his invitation to negotiations. I had hidden under a table, curious and excited, watching through the embroidered tablecloth as nobles and royals mingled.
Then, without warning, everything shattered.
A shadow moved swiftly through the crowd—a figure of silent, merciless grace. I saw the glint of steel, quick and ruthless, before my father's shocked face hit the marble floor. My mother's scream ripped through me, echoing endlessly. I didn't even realize I was screaming until hands grabbed me, yanking me from beneath the table.
I struggled wildly, desperate, but the man who held me wore Gaia's colors, his grip cruel and relentless. "We've found the princess!" he shouted triumphantly, his breath hot against my face.
"Let me go!" I shrieked, kicking furiously. He snarled, frustration twisting his face as he raised his hand.
I remember the look in his eyes most of all—the way he licked his lips like he was about to devour something helpless. He pushed me down.
I kicked, bit, screamed.
That scream, sharp and small as it was, bought me just enough space. My foot caught him in the groin. He howled.
And then came the blade.
"Fine then, die little brat!" A single, ugly stroke across my face—a lesson for resisting, a punishment for surviving.
Pain exploded across my face, sharp and unbearable. After a quick and blinding impact, I felt warmth trickling down my cheek and realized, dimly, he'd sliced my eye.
Blinded by pain, I fell limply to the floor as the man released me, laughing harshly. "Useless little brat. Bleed to death in the ruins of your doomed kingdom."
Footsteps faded into the distance, leaving me crumpled on the cold stone, whimpering and shaking. My vision blurred red, my tiny fists clenched helplessly. Tears mixed with blood and ash as fear gave way to rage—a burning fury born of betrayal and grief.
I was alone. Alone, bleeding, dying amidst the ruins of everything I'd ever known.
But then footsteps returned, softer, more cautious. Gentle, strong hands lifted me. I tried to struggle again, panic seizing my heart.
"Hush, child," came a low, steady voice, soothing despite its edge. "I'm not your enemy."
Blinking through tears and blood, I saw a face—stern, scarred, with eyes sharp yet gentle. A stranger dressed in shadows, his presence quiet but powerful.
"Who… are you?" I managed weakly.
"My name is Giuseppe," he replied softly. "I came too late to save your family, but I won't let you die here."
He held me firmly, swiftly weaving through the chaos as smoke billowed and flames crackled, devouring my home. My head rested against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart, and I bled the remainder of my tears into this stranger's chest—a lifeline amid destruction.
"Remember this night, little princess," he whispered fiercely, his voice tight with restrained fury. "Remember the king who smiled at your family, who promised peace while wielding a knife behind his back."
My consciousness faded, darkness swallowing me. But Giuseppe's words stayed sharp and clear, etched into my soul.
"Survive, Kris. Live—and never forget."
As night fully claimed me, I vowed silently, desperately: I would live. And the King of Gaia would pay.
In blood.
World of Aeterya Codex Entry #1: "Aeterya"
Aeterya is a world sculpted from myths and legends, where ancient wonders and perilous mysteries intertwine seamlessly into everyday life. It is a realm where kingdoms flourish amidst forgotten ruins and the remnants of divine legacies linger beneath the surface.
Great nations dominate the continent, each unique in culture and ambition. Gaia, a proud land governed by white-haired royalty and driven by intricate webs of nobility and power. Levisdia, an elven realm of timeless elegance, wisdom, and delicate political balance. Bestia, a fierce nation ruled by strength, honor, and the primal laws of combat. The Triune Empire, a complex alliance of dwarves, gnomes, and halflings, united by ingenuity and necessity.
Above the terrestrial kingdoms floats the Holy Kingdom Aetherithora, an enigmatic land suspended amidst a boundless oceanic sky, inhabited by winged beings who once proclaimed themselves divine. Beneath Aeterya's lies the Subterranean Kingdom Noctumarè, home to beings who thrive in darkness—demons, vampires, and forgotten creatures whose stories rarely reach the sunlit surface.
Yet, the defining truth of Aeterya is rarely spoken: its gods are long dead. The world turns without divine guidance, charting a path defined solely by the mortal hands that shape it. And while kingdoms rise, heroes venture forth, and battles echo across land, sky, and subterranean depths, the absence of gods casts a quiet shadow over all who dare contemplate it.
Chapter 1: A Death Worth Living For
As the moon waded through the velvet tide of the September sky, my mind spiraled slowly, quietly. My chambers were silent. Untouched. My dress clung to me like obligation. The crown was gone, but I still felt its weight.
I remember wondering—truly wondering—what you might look like.
Would you be a man? A woman? Would you have wings or horns or no face at all? Would you come with fire? Poison? A kiss?
I stayed awake most of that night, too excited to sleep. Not excited like a child.
Excited like a prisoner about to be pardoned—or executed.
Because you—you were going to kill me.
***
I can see the future.
Not like charlatans with cards or incense smoke. Mine were clear. Harsh. Absolute. Like reflections in an unblinking mirror.
It started with small things. A stubbed toe. A servant dropping tea.
But they grew. Oh, they grew.
Weddings turned to funerals. Alliances to war. My coronation. My downfall. My suicide. My murder. Again and again. At dagger point. At the hands of those I loved.
Every path led to darkness.
By sixteen, I stopped trying to change them. By seventeen, I knew nothing I did would matter. By twenty-one, I didn’t want to see anymore.
I just wanted it to stop.
So I sent a letter.
False name. Real target. A commission in secret, sealed with gold.
A bounty on my own head.
I didn’t want just any killer. I wanted the one the world feared most.
Bloodtrail.
Not for thrill. Not for hope. But because I knew deep inside that you were the only one who could.
After all, the one thing fate had never shown me... was you.
Three weeks passed.
And then, tonight... you came.
You moved through the palace like it belonged to you—not with arrogance, but inevitability. Like gravity. Like a storm that had been circling me for years.
From the shadows, beneath my hood, I watched.
You were taller than I imagined. Younger. Leaner. But you moved like history. Like consequence made flesh.
You stopped in front of my doors.
And I let you in.
You didn’t speak. Just looked at me—tilted your head, as if deciding whether I was prey, bait, or dream.
And then, everything broke.
The visions—the screaming, endless parade of futures—stopped. Gone. The noise, the weight, the curse—silent.
And in their place, just one.
A single vision.
Me. Smiling.
Not for politics. Not for image. Smiling like a girl. Like a woman. Like someone free.
Your hand in mine. Sunlight in our hair. Laughter on our lips. A future I’d never seen before.
Not written. Not destined. Possible.
I gasped, softly. Tears blurred my eyes before I could stop them.
You took a step forward.
"...You wrote the letter?" you asked. Your voice—low. Hoarse. Gravel wrapped in velvet.
I nodded.
"I wanted to meet the person who could kill me."
You searched my face. Not with pity. With curiosity. With caution.
"And now that you have?"
My hands trembled at my sides. Then I smiled.
"I think—I want to live."
You didn’t answer. You just walked to the window, lifted the pane, and extended your hand.
Not in threat. In invitation.
I stayed frozen, caught between laughter and sobs, as the moon glided past like a distant witness.
You didn’t kill me. Not yet.
Maybe you never would.
Maybe that was never why you came.
Because in that moment… For the first time in many years… There was no vision. Only hope.
***
Assassination is mostly about breathing.
Slow in. Slow out. No excitement. No fear. Your heartbeat should be the quietest thing in the room.
The night I entered the palace of Levisdia, I broke every rule.
My steps were too loud. My grip too tight. My mind, anything but calm.
Something was pulling me forward. Not instinct. Not training. Something else.
Like gravity. Like music only I could hear.
The letter had been perfect. Royal parchment. Precise. Cold. Just a name, a location, a promise of riches beyond belief.
Celestia Isabella von Levisdia. The princess of all elves.
It read like a trap. But I accepted without hesitation.
Because from the moment I read her name, something in me began to move.
I expected fear. Resistance. Guards. Screams.
What I found instead... was stillness.
She stood in her chambers like she’d been waiting centuries.
Bathed in moonlight. Cloaked in silver. Hair like starlight poured from gold. Eyes calm—not blank, but resigned.
No disguise. No guards. No crown. Just her.
Exactly as expected.
And yet—nothing about her felt real.
Until she looked at me.
That’s when it hit.
A snap behind my eyes.
A lurch in my breath.
Like lightning cracking through my bones.
And then—nothing.
The noise in my head vanished.
Every thought, gone.
In their place, something still. Heavy. Familiar.
Like recognition.
Like fate cracking open to let something else through.
She smiled at me—softly. Gently.
Like she wasn’t afraid to die.
Like she’d invited it.
Like she knew me.
I didn’t speak.
I was too busy trying to understand what had just happened.
Not to my mission.
To me.
She didn’t tremble.
But something inside her did. I could feel it.
And then—right there in that room—I felt the shift.
Like the room tilted.
Like reality blinked.
Her expression changed.
Softened. Opened.
She wasn’t afraid of me.
She wasn’t surrendering.
She was seeing something.
Something only she could.
A tear slid down her cheek.
And I knew—without needing to be told—Her visions had just stopped.
I didn’t know how.
Or why.
But I knew what it meant.
“You wrote the letter?” I finally asked.
She nodded.
“Why?”
“I wanted to meet the person who could kill me.”
I stepped forward slowly.
The blade in my hand lowered. Then slipped away entirely.
She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
And in the space between us—something impossible bloomed.
Not love.
Not yet.
But recognition.
She smiled through the silence.
“I think I want to live.”
And I took her hand.
Carefully. Like it might vanish.
“I can’t let you die,” I said. My voice hoarse, unused to being soft. “Come with me.”
World of Aeterya Codex Entry 1.5: The Ballad of Blood Trail
(A traditional tavern song of uncertain origin, first recorded decades after the event. Popular among bards and storytellers, often sung after sunset with mugs raised high.)
Come gather 'round, ye folks and kin,
Pour ale and mead, let tales begin,
Of Silvanus under moon so pale,
And the rogue they call ol' Blood Trail.
Hair of snow, with eyes of two—
One silver moon, one gold and true,
Silent steps where shadows fail,
None escape the ol' Blood Trail.
Now hear of fair Celestia’s fate,
Elven princess, proud and great,
