The Dragon and the Queen by Kaitlyn Davis
The Diary
Date Unknown
Zavier tells me it’s been weeks since my last entry, and he has lost track of time. I know no time. I am every time at once. It is a struggle to write this. Even now, the words wobble across the page, the parchment growing aged and withered to my eyes—
But I am here.
I am now, whatever now is.
With his hand on my skin, I'm more grounded in the present. When he is gone, I float in oblivion, the world a blur around me as futures oscillate across my vision, a thousand different possibilities alive at once, always changing, always shifting. But I have learned there are some things that never change—some people who are meant to live and meant to meet, whose faces never fade and never alter, the only solid points in my ever-flowing world.
I have seen how the world ends.
And I have seen how it is put back together again.
Zavier urges me to write it down, now while I'm having a lucid moment and there is still some ink left, so it is recorded in case the worst happens to us, allowing someone else to carry on the message and keep hope alive. Together, we will come up with something shorter, a poem or a prayer, something people will be able to remember, a lullaby to be passed down from generation to generation, until the chosen ones arrive.
But I'm ahead of myself already. Here, in this time, the rift is still open, and the beasts still roam free, claiming the lands for themselves. There is enough magic on this side of the peninsula to keep them distracted, but soon they'll venture over the mountains and across the seas to other lands. We must stop them before they do. And we will. I've seen it.
Zavier will create a rift spell the likes of which this world has never seen. I have told him how to do it, and he is ready. The eggs will be our anchors, and we will use the magic within them, part beast and part man, to seal shut the entrance to the other world. For a long time, the tight bind of the weave will keep them from hatching, though eventually, Zavier's magic will weaken, and the monsters will be freed from this cage. I've seen that too. I've—
I'm supposed to go in order.
What a strange concept—order doesn’t exist to me anymore.
The rift will split the land as the anchors rise into the designated positions, a complicated diamond pattern that will last longer than any other design. The avians will claim the skies. The magic in the aethi'kine egg will be sewn into the rift, and they will be able to siphon power from it to keep their kind alive. But the cost will be immense. They will discover that magic weakens the careful balance Zavier will weave, and they will banish it from their lands—all in possession of magic will die. Mikhail will be their king, and he will see this order through. He will forget that Zavier's power created this new kingdom of peace and prosperity. He will forget the priests they claim to be of their gods are really low-level spirit mages who can help channel the aethi'kine power from the rift for the soul fusions. He will forget who the real enemy is, and so will his people.
But the world below will remember.
I will make them remember.
The early days will be rough. Most of the land will be torn apart by the creation of the rift weave, and what's left will be little more than barren rock and endless sea. But some of the mages will survive, and they will lead the rest through. As the weave weakens, they will be the gatekeepers protecting the rest of the world from the beasts. They will become the hunters instead of the hunted.
And so it will be for a long time, one land above and one below, both isolated from the realms beyond and the people living in ignorance of how close to destruction their world teeters—until the saviors come. They are a dove princess and a raven warrior, two lovers always torn asunder, one with the magic to heal the world and the other, oh, I hate to even write his fate. He will be the only of his kind, and I have not seen far enough to know if it will destroy him. Perhaps I don't want to look. In a battle of fire and snow, they will save the world. At least, that is what they and their people will think.
But it won’t be so.
They will delay the inevitable, yes, and will have played their parts, but there is another face I see across the ages, always with perfect clarity. Her skin is freckled. Her hair is as blonde as corn stalks. Her honey eyes are as fierce as the noon rays of the sun. She is a spatio'kine, the first of her kind in hundreds of years, born on the other side of the great mountains, and she will be the one to finally seal the rift.
At least, I pray she will.
I have not seen the end. Time is a fickle master, and it keeps secrets even from me, but I know enough to know the fate of everyone lies in her.
If anyone is reading this, please, I pray you find her.
Find her and find salvation.
Find her and be free.
Thank you for reading!
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