Fated to the Damned

Chapter 1

Nikolai 

“In the name of the First, I place my trust. I pledge my endless life to her, to the clan, and to all vrakken. Before Akeldama...”

Too few voices follow my words, the prayer that all vrakken should know, and yet, I have not seen many in the temple in far too long. Not since the aboveground bases started.  

"Before your god, kneel." I turn to face the dais at the front of the room, dropping to my knees and bowing my head. The others follow suit, but there’s a lack of devotion as I continue the ritual. Their voices waver through the prayer, like there is no conviction, and I have to swallow back the kernel of anger that starts to bloom within me.

Once the prayers are finished, I rise, turning to look over the congregations of still kneeling vrakken. My eyes sweep over them as words spill from my mouth, my devotion so bone-deep I don’t have to think about the praise I’m sharing. The reasons they shouldn’t turn their back on Akeldama and the First.

Instead, my mind starts to pick up on the small things I often refuse to notice. Like how each prayer has fewer attendees. Or how my temple is still tucked down in the recesses of the caverns, as if I am to be shunned. The too low ceilings are an insult, both to the god we honor and our own kind.  

I can see it in the other vrakken, too. In the too tight shoulders and their backs tense as they keep their wings – or the dwindling number that has them – pinned tight together and high. It’s exhausting, and my own muscles tend to spasm with the need to stretch my wings. A luxury I’ve never fully been given.

"We are blessed today," I say, though the words feel a little bitter on my tongue. "Another day to rise and honor those who give us our gifts, our magic and lives and wings."

My gaze brushes over the wingless vrakken, noticing how they flinch. I don’t mean to insult them, but they must know it is true. All our people once had wings. Now, there are more and more humans muddying our bloodline, weakening the music and stripping us of our abilities to take to the skies.  

Not that I’ve tasted one.

"He’s blessed by the First," I often heard growing up. A born vrakken with wings was becoming rare when I was born two and half centuries ago, and for my mother, a wingless fledgling herself, to produce me was seen as a sign from Akeldama himself.  

Or at least that's what they said when they thrust me into the arms of the priestesses, an orphan child with nowhere to go. I was told I was given extraordinary magic, blessed with something so many of our kind strived for, because I was meant to strengthen the faith of our people. After so much time below the surface, many were growing restless.

But my time as a youth, when this cavern was filled to the brim, was nothing like it is now. The vrakken have surpassed being restless. They have launched straight through apathetic, and into something worse...

Reckless.

"We rise as one." I turn back to the front of the temple where a statue of the First sits, watching over us. She’s carved out of stone, beautiful in her own right. Her wings are magnificent, and I hear she was once more powerful than any dark elf above is.  

Some days I ache to find her just so she could bring justice upon the race she brought life to. I wish to feel honor in being a vrakken again, but with the human mates, changelings, and debauchery happening in the wildspont bases, it’s hard to.

I haven’t seen a base. But I hear whispers from the scouts and guards. I know that some of those leaving here see the surface as a place to indulge, not plan or ready for our return as they are supposed to.  

And I know the Council is ignoring it, indulgent bastards that they are.

"Before Akeladama, we give our thanks. He gave life to the First, who Made our race. She blessed us, and as so, we must carry out her prophecy."

I take a deep breath, feeling the energy in the room shift as we all prepare to speak the prophecy ourselves. "She told us..." The other voices join in now. "‘By the gods, only one of Protheka’s two creations can walk the surface.’"

I turn to face the congregation. "For so long, the dark elves have claimed that. They believe they have beaten us, but we have only been biding our time. They may have long lives and their Thirteen." The word drips with disgust. "But we are stronger and immortal. Our time to return to the surface has come!"

Cheers erupt at my words. I’ve been taught since a young age that my job is not only to learn the rituals of the temple and study the First and Akeldama, but I also must rally the vrakken to want to stand behind our god and goddess.  

Even if I have doubts myself.  

It’s been an enormous undertaking in my short life. The weight has been nearly as heavy as the suffocating air and my too taut wings. But it was what I was born to do, and with so few coming to temple, I must press on.  

"We are walking the surface again, and soon, the dark elves will learn what it is to be Made." I walk up the steps of the dais so I am now above them. "They will learn what it is to be chosen by Akeldama, to be led by the First. They will learn of vengeance, and what it looks like when Protheka’s true creation claims what is rightfully theirs."

They cheer again, the energy becoming palpable. This is what I love, to see my people full of their faith. I just hate for it to be so few.  

"In the name of the First and Akeladama, I invite you all to leave. To go share the news of our creators and what is to come. Carry with you their prophecy, and know it will soon be our time to bring them honor."

I stay still as the congregation cheers and chatter starts up. They all turn to leave, to empty back out into the halls that will lead them to the massive cavern that I avoid. It’s the only place to fly, but it’s too full of vrakken who have turned their back on the temple.  

Maybe it is wrong to not use the wings I was blessed with, but I can’t lower myself to the level of debauchery that all the other vrakken have. Besides, that is the least of my worries.

The guilt that swarms me comes more from my reluctance to fulfill the prophecy I’ve spent my entire life learning to uphold.

Each sermon has felt more and more like a lie as I hesitate to feel any pride about our return to the surface. There is nothing waiting up there for us but a line so tainted with human blood that we will no longer have magic. And that will only bring us swift deaths.

"Nikolai?"

My head snaps up. The room has emptied, and quite possibly has been for some time. I didn’t realize that I was still standing up next to the First, my hands tucked behind my back and my wings parted just like hers.  

I’d like to think I’d bring her honor.

Sometimes, I wonder if my mother would feel any pride for me. Or if this isn’t the life she wanted for me.  

I wouldn’t know. I’m not allowed to ask about her.

"Yes?" I answer Lev, who is still staring at me. Drawing myself taller, I tuck my wings in tighter and descend the steps, my pants swishing against the stone.

Our dress isn’t that different from most other vrakken. We are all warriors, after all, and we cannot be restricted at any time.  

My tunic and pants are close cut and black like everyone else, though my top has a higher neck and my pants flare at the bottom to cover my boots. It is almost robe-like, except for the fact that my arms are bared, the sleeves cut close around my shoulders and the back curving in to settle between my wings where they meet my back.

Lev wears the same attire. "Do you have time to practice?"

I stop before him, turning to look over the small vrakken. He’s young, younger than me, but he, too, has wings. I am uncertain if he’s vrakken born or Made. I didn’t ask my questions when he was dropped on the steps of my temple a hundred years ago, the membrane of his wings shredded and his back coated in blood.  

Instead, I did what was done for me. I healed him and I taught him to follow the First and Akeldama. I showed him there is healing in our creators, and he took to it brilliantly.  

We, to this day, have never discussed our pasts. I much prefer it that way, I have a feeling that Lev does as well.

"That may have to wait." Our heads both jerk toward the side entrance to the temple. Down the corridor are rooms, where both Lev and I reside, as well as the others devoted to the temple.

"Priestess Adelina." I incline my head, and Lev bows even lower. She is the closest I have ever had to a mother figure, though she has grown quite distant from me in the last decade or so. I took it to mean it was time to stand on my own.

Though it’s getting hard with shaky convictions.

"Nikolai will train with you later, Lev." Her eyes are piercing as they focus on me, the green shining like the moss that throbs with the wildsponts power. She wears the same tunic and pants as me, but a hood shrouds her face.  

She says that it is so her sermons are focused on the god and goddess and not drawn to her. But I have always wondered if it has something to do with the scars marring her skin she lets so few see.  

It’s rare for a vrakken to sustain such irreparable damage. It’s almost as if it has to be gods-cursed to not heal.

"Nikolai." Her eyes seem to pulse with the chaotic energy that runs rampant in these caverns. "The Council has summoned you."