Age of Atheria by Jenny McClain Miller

Age of Atheria by Jenny McClain Miller

Author:Jenny McClain Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little River Productions, LLC
Published: 2022-10-27T00:00:00+00:00


Gridlines

T

he morning dawns bright and blue. Ady awakens at first light, as the golden sun rays reflect across her chambers.

She rolls from her bed and dresses quickly in a cloud-white robe from the wardrobe. Echo’s handiwork shows in the intricate stitching along the hem.

All night, Ady’s dreams were fitful. But there was always water. In one, the well in the Citadel had dried up, and the people dug through the dirt, desperate for groundwater—anything. In another, the vast deserts they traversed aboard the Aurora were rollicking with waves. Vessels struggled to stay afloat during a storm surge. Then there was always the cavern, the water rising up to her thigh.

She needs to get out of this room. She needs air. It’s time to explore Atheria for herself.

There is no sign of Athos or Edgar in the central atrium or the main hall, not even Gaia or Echo or any of the Nobles. Do they sleep? she wonders. Do Atherians even need sleep? She can almost imagine Gaia standing in the grounds all night, like a tree waiting for the sun to return. Or Echo, resting by the stone statues, still and cool and beautiful as one of them. The palace is so still that Ady’s footsteps ring with every step on the marble. She reaches the large wooden doors undisturbed and steps onto the grand staircase. She takes a deep breath.

Athos said she was anointed. That there would be others. She’d only seen the word ‘anointed’ once—in a Citadel forgotten room. This one was smaller than the others, more like a closet than anything else. There were small wooden benches, mostly rotted, and she stepped over kneeling pads and strewn books, their pages thinner than any book she’d ever seen. She knew this room was more forbidden than the rest because it was one of the few that had not been ransacked by the Republic, only boarded up—not even used for storage. The faded nameplate by the door said Chapel. It was as if whatever happened here, whatever purpose this room served, that even the Republic feared it.

Outside, the sun emanates white light, the sky a brilliant crystal blue. The only sound is birdsong, the competing chirps and chimes of birds in the towering trees. She descends the steps one by one as the sun glares off the marble. With each step, she tries to imagine the Council of Light—whatever that means. How can light—like this very warmth on her skin—have power? She thinks of the tiny flint and the wax candle she used to carry into the forgotten room expeditions, how that one tiny flame could illuminate a buried world.

Now, this world! With colors more vibrant than she knew could ever exist, with this air like silk on her skin, and the soft morning music of birds and wind through the trees! Ahead, the Aurora’s balloon floats languidly over the treeline, and she wonders if the crew is still aboard, waiting. The docks are just ahead, and she doesn’t want to be seen, so Ady turns off the path and into the woods.



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