Lithium Edge Legend



''“The river runs with blood when the sky becomes violet like the eyes of Praijan. Only then may a daughter of Elgas, the Death Bringer; rise from the land beneath the River.”

An excerpt from the Moiraian Book of the Holy; Jiveua sect, chapter 4''

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From the porch of her house far out in the sprawling Rivoan Valley, Viorrey sat and inspected the life around her. As it was when she had looked outside yesterday, the whole valley was almost devoid of any civilization. Viorrey hated the valley just about as much as she hated her father. The valley was empty, cold and uninviting—much like her father. Much like me, she thought solemnly; for Viorrey could make no friends in a place that was so removed from society. She thought that if she looked through a whole book on Serrainum’s history, she would find not even the minutest mention of Rivoan Valley.

A tailwind from a passing bird rattled the chimes above Viorrey’s head. She looked up and saw the enchanting blue of a Jaybird. It was much bluer than the sky had ever been in above the valley. Everything had always been gray, and the landscape had always been ugly muted shades of green and brown—like something out of an old photo. Viorrey hated it and longed to escape…had her father not held her back so.

“How I despise you, Rennor,” she whispered coldly.

She was sure the still air of the valley had not carried that message inside the house. Rennor was her adoptive father; rather he was somewhat more of a forced father to Viorrey. His gang abducted her years ago, and made her their slave. Now, ever since Rennor got married, the slave duty was divided between Viorrey, her stepmother and her stepbrother. He abused them all so terribly that if Viorrey could, she would run for all Hell as fast as she could. But Rennor’s gang was everywhere so she could not, and so she stayed in Rivoan Valley; fearing life entirely.

“Viorrey,” a quiet voice from behind her said.

Viorrey whirled around, with fear it was one of Rennor’s men. But she felt a tiny hand on her arm, and she was assured that it was not the brutish arm of the men she feared and hated.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Viorrey sighed.

Her stepbrother Bilam was at the door, carrying a glass of viscous juice.

“Mother said to bring you this,” he said.

Viorrey took the glass from him, forcing a pathetic smile.

“What’s wrong Viorrey?” Bilam asked her.

Viorrey’s arm went weak and she nearly let her glass droop to the side.

To Be Continued