The names we carry
"We are what we do."
SYNOPSIS
When enemies find themselves trapped in a hidden world they must learn to survive united or die divided. An ocean away, a young boy enters the brutal world of a naval dynasty that shares his last name. He will quickly have to learn which pieces of his soul he can sacrifice for survival...
and which pieces are worth dying to protect.
From a distance, he watched as the people who had sheltered him burned. The frigid winter wind carried both snow and ashes while the raging fires flickered on the horizon. If not for the blood-chilling screams that split the starless night, one might think that the sun was merely struggling to rise.
The nomadic Aattikan tribe, the Marbara of the Great Plains, had given them food, water, healing herbs-- a place to lay their heads... and this was their reward. A horrific night that would leave a footprint for all the generations that followed. They were dying, and it was all his fault.
He was Alvaero, son of High King Laevon, who ruled the Skyron Nation. Once, he’d had six other siblings, but all had been hunted to extinction. As the sole surviving heir, it had become his duty
to survive.
​
He found himself wanting more.
​
There was a movement to his right. Without turning, he knew it was her. No one else would dare approach him.
“We must go. They saw us leave.” Her voice, raw from screaming, now crackled like the fires in the distance. “A kovanic cohort is already separating from the main legion, heading this way.”
For a moment, he considered letting them find him sitting on the hilltop. Would that end the bloodshed? He doubted he was that important, but how he wished it were that simple. He would trade himself in a heartbeat. Too many of his loved ones had already died, their only crime— proximity to him.
He should never have stopped in Marbaran Lands. Had he passed them by, they would not be burning. They had renewed his broken body alongside his hope, for they had spoken of another Aattikan tribe, located deep within the eastern woods. A tribe that thrived in a hidden world. A world lost to time itself. He didn’t know if it was a legend or an actual place, but his options had become extinguished.
A woman’s scream split the night, causing him to flinch in the face of its overwhelming depths. It was the sound of one’s entire world being ripped asunder. A tear fell heavily, painstakingly carving a trail down his ash-covered face.
“They saw me leave,” he said, “I made sure that they did. Why do they not abandon the people?”
“Blood reminds them of what they are,” she answered, with a long exhale.
This madness had carried on for a thousand years and would extend far beyond his death. There was absolutely nothing he could do to protect those whom he would lay down his life for, and yet, his life’s purpose was consumed with the very hope of doing so. "When does it end?’’
“It doesn’t. Death is a cycle, and the echoes of our actions transcend generations. We simply do what we can until our last breath leaves us.”
He could not tear his eyes away from the flickering in the distance. In the end, she had to take him by the hand.