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But now I’m back.
Back where I was born, a place once ruled by women.
And now, I’ll reclaim the island that once was mine.
Chapter one
Luka
It’s been four months.
Four months since Gunnar was taken captive by the Eclipse—and Aisling gave herself over to them in exchange. Four months since Gunnar and Vance started grappling for power, since people in the lower ranks of the Angels started discussing if Gunnar might make a better leader.
I thought shit was bad when Aisling was still in Pacific City.
After four months of power struggles and suffering, I know better.
I step off the boat and onto New Eden’s shore, my boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. The sound of livestock reaches my ears, bleats and caws creating an alien soundscape. I’ve never been out of the city, and this is all new.
It’s fucking…pastoral. Quaint.
I squint against the light, scanning the environment. It’s peaceful here.
Where the fuck are the evil cultists? The imprisoned omegas? I know they’ve gotta be here somewhere…
…but wherever that is, it’s not anywhere visible.
“Welcome to paradise,” a voice grunts to my side. One of the cultists, his smile too sharp to be friendly, eyes me with what I reckon is false warmth. “You one of the initiates?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” My voice comes out flat, no hint of enthusiasm. I’m not here for pleasantries; I’ve got one thing on my mind—Aisling.
It took a month or so for us to come up with the plan, but it’s been in the works for a while. Me and Rook realized fast that things were way worse for all of us with Aisling gone–that Gunnar was going nuts, that Vance had lost his edge, that Oberon was on the brink of falling back into the clutches of eros or the Eclipse. And not only that, but I realized something about myself…
…that I couldn’t just let her go.
That something was pulling me north to find her.
So here we are.
I just have to hope that my intuition was right and that I’m in the right place.
“Follow me,” he says, turning on his heel and leading me away from the shoreline.
We pass through clearings dotted with odd symbols carved into rocks and painted on trees. They look like sigils or talismans, meant to ward or welcome; I can’t tell which. It reminds me of the old Norse runes I have tattooed on my fingers, like this is where I was supposed to be.
“Mind telling me what those are for?” I nod towards one particularly elaborate design.
“Protection. Guidance.”
His answer is curt, like he’s got no time for questions, and I get the message: I need to keep my mouth shut if I want to blend in. And that’s okay…I’m very good at listening.
A deep breath fills my lungs with something pure, not like the smog-choked alleys of home. Here in New Eden, green is king. The trees reach up like they’re trying to snatch pieces of heaven, and somewhere beyond, the Cascade Mountains stand guard. There’s a rhythm to this place, steady like a heartbeat—cows mooing, chickens pecking at the dirt, a horse whinnying in the distance. Everything’s alive, everything’s thriving. I’ve never seen this much non-human life, from the livestock to the animals to the trees towering over us.
Doesn’t exactly look like a prison, and Rook thought I was crazy for agreeing to go on what he’s described as a suicide mission. Anyone else might be kicking themselves for agreeing to go into enemy territory on a thought and a prayer like this.
But I’m not like other people.
As Rook says–I’m fucking insane…and maybe a little psychic.
