Greylith, page 1
2024 Staton House eBook Edition.
Greylith. Copyright © 2024 by F. A. Seng
faseng-author.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
ISBN: 979-8-89379-248-5 (paperback)
ISBN: 979-8-89379-259-1 (ebook)
ISBN: 979-8-89379-253-9 (hardcover)
Originally Published in 2024 in the United States of America.
To Jason,
For always making my reality the best one.
Te amo.
**Trigger Warning**
This book contains scenes depicting a suicide attempt that some readers may find distressing or triggering. We understand that such content can evoke strong emotional responses and may be difficult to read for individuals who have been personally affected by suicide or mental health issues.
If you are sensitive to this subject matter or if you are currently struggling with thoughts of self-harm or suicide, we advise proceeding with caution while reading. It's important to prioritize your mental and emotional well-being above all else.
Please consider reaching out to a trusted friend, family member, or mental health professional for support if you find yourself struggling with difficult emotions while reading this book. Remember that you are not alone, and there are people who care about you and want to help.
Additionally, if you or someone you know is in crisis or experiencing thoughts of self-harm or suicide, please seek immediate help by contacting a crisis hotline or emergency services in your area.
We care deeply about the well-being of our readers, and we encourage open dialogue and support for mental health issues. Thank you for your understanding and take care.
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Greylith Playlist:
Look for the ♪ ♪ throughout the story
‘The Time of Our Lives’ by Miley Cyrus
‘Remedy’ by Adele
‘Bloom’ Troye Sivan
‘Stars’ by Alessia Cara
‘If You Only Knew’ by Alexander Stewart
‘Last Man Standing’ by Livingston
‘Body Say’ by Demi Lovato
‘Second, Minute, Hour’ by JORDY
‘The Sign’ by Lizzo
‘Bird Set Free’ by Sia
‘We Remain’ by Christina Aguilera
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
For centuries, the land of Aetheria has thrived amidst the discovery of the Arcane Weave, a mystical current of power that intertwines with the very essence of the world. Long before the outbreak of war, Aetherian scholars unlocked the secrets of the Weave, harnessing its power through the creation of the Elixir. This potent liquid gives extraordinary abilities to those who partake of it. This revelation ushered in a golden age of prosperity and enlightenment, as Weavers emerged across Aetheria, wielding their newfound powers for the betterment of society.
However, as the Shadow Army emerged, a faction of individuals wielding dark arts combining Shadow Weaving and Spiritwalking, Aetheria's once united realm, splintered; peace devolving into conflict. Despite their mastery of the Weave, the Aetherian Army faced a formidable adversary in the Shadow Army, whose shadow-infused warriors have taken the continent of Ostus, leaving the Aetherian Army to defend Drayca and Drelia Isle. As the war rages on, the fate of Aetheria hangs in the balance, with the Arcane Weave serving as both a source of strength and a catalyst for conflict in this age of uncertainty.
Most Weavers become Elementalists—masters of the elements. Elementalists harness the raw forces of nature. Their affinity for a specific element shapes the nature of their abilities, allowing them to control fire, manipulate water, shape the earth, command air, summon light, or cloak in darkness.
And then there are Artificers. Masters of supernatural constructs and enchantments, Artificers imbue objects with arcane power. They craft enchanted artifacts, imbued with runes of protection, enhancement, or destruction, shaping the very essence of Arcane Weave into tangible forms.
There are also Spiritwalkers; those who commune with the spirits of Aetheria, bridging the gap between the Mortal Realm and the Ethereal Realm. They can summon and command spectral entities, commune with ancestral spirits, and perceive the unseen, wielding their powers to guide or deceive.
And finally, there are the rare Weavers. Chronomancers and Reality Weavers. Chronomancers are masters of time manipulation. They can bend the flow of time and glimpse into the past and future. We have limited knowledge about Reality Weavers, as there is only one documented case of a Reality Weaver. But soon, all of that will change.
Using their best defenders, the Aetherian Army, and their Weavers are determined to put an end to the Shadow Army and finally bring peace to Aetheria.
When I wake, my darkness filled room is illuminated only by the moon's faint glow seeping through the tiny window of my cramped space. It's barely more than a closet, with only a bed and a nightstand occupying the minimal space available.
Last night, I carefully packed and repacked my rucksack, a ritual I’ve repeated countless times this week. Regulations dictate we can only bring the issued rucksack with us to Fort Weave, my upcoming residence for the next few years.
Fort Weave stands as the military training hub where every New Recruit undergoes their transformation into a Weaver. Isolated on its own island, the fort requires a two-hour boat journey from the mainland to reach.
I roll out of bed and walk over to the calendar I have hanging on the wall. I flip to the next page and place a red ‘X’ on August 1st.
As I pull on my tunic and trousers, I stumble around, trying not to make any noise so as not to wake Mom. She has suffered from an undiagnosed illness for the past three years, and the doctors remain uncertain about its cause or nature.
I try my best to prevent the loud creaking noise the door makes when I pull it open because this door must be older than me, and no one has oiled the hinges since we moved in. There’s a light glaring in the hall from the living room, indicating that Mom slept on the couch again and didn’t put the fire out.
“Mom,” I sigh as I pull the thin, torn blanket over her shoulder, being sure to move slowly so as not to wake her. I grab the glass of water sitting on the end table and pour it over the remaining embers.
I sit on the edge of the bench by the door as I pull on my boots. I’ve been getting up before the sun every morning this week because I’ve needed as much daytime as possible to make sure everything is in order before I leave today.
As I tuck my silver hair into my hat, I look up at the clock and see that Mom and I need to leave for the Pier in an hour, which should be plenty of time for me to grab the remaining summer berries from the garden and some eggs from the chicken coop, get back inside, make breakfast, wake Mom up, and get out the door.
I step into the warm summer air before dawn, and the darkness envelops me like a comforting shroud. There's a peacefulness to the early morning stillness, a quietude broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets.
I’m only able to collect about three handfuls of berries; it seems like some rabbits beat me to the
Back inside, Mom is already awake, as I see the couch is empty and the blanket looks like she got up in a rush.
I see a light on in the washroom and I can hear she’s in there, “Mom, are you alright in there?” I ask as I knock on the door.
“Yes, sweetie, I’ll be out in a minute,” she replies.
I can tell by the way she sounds she’s been throwing up. I feel terrible about leaving. I told her I would go to the Recruitment Office and ask for an extension to see if I could just go next year or after the winter, but Mom insisted I go.
I head into the kitchen and throw the only frying pan we have on the stove and light the flame with a match. Mom comes behind me and walks to the fridge, as she does every morning, and kisses the envelope that holds the letter Dad wrote to her the night he left, five years ago.
“Mom, why don’t you get dressed and ready to go to the Pier while I get some breakfast made?” I request, holding her shoulders and pulling her away from the note. “We have to leave in about thirty minutes.”
She nods, wiping the same tear that falls every day. “You’re right. Big day ahead!”
At the first light of dawn breaking the horizon, Mom and I leave the house and make our way to the Pier of Yanos, soon to be filled with groups of families and New Recruits. The Pier is old and out of date. Most of the wood is rotted and loose. A few years ago, one of the support beams had to be replaced because it finally gave way. We stop at the old information booth to check what time the Ship will arrive: 9 a.m. As we head down the Pier, the air becomes charged with excitement, echoing the buzz of activity around us as merchants prepare their stalls for the large crowd that is to come.
August 1st is Elixir Day. All New Recruits are going to find out what our Weaving abilities are. To say I’m nervous would be an understatement. Everyone in my family has been a Weaver. Dad was a Shadow Weaver. My sister Wren is a great Spiritwalker, from what her letters tell us. Even Mom is a Water Weaver, however, I don’t remember the last time she Weaved, as she vowed to never Weave again.
"Are you excited, Phoenix?" Mom's voice cuts through the din of the crowd, her shaky hand resting gently on my shoulder, bringing me back to reality.
“Yeah!” I admit, my gaze fixed on her. “I think I’m more nervous. Who’s going to take care of you while I’m gone?”
She smiles, her sunken eyes looking into mine. "I’ll be fine, my dear. You can’t worry about me if you’re going to be trying to win a war."
“Mom, I just wish you’d Weave to help yourself. Water Weavers are natural healers, and I know you’re strong enough to heal yourself if you’d ju-” I plead before she interrupts.
“Phoenix, you know I vowed to never Weave again. Besides, even if I did Weave still, I can’t heal myself. Healing doesn’t work like that.”
“But what if you see another Water Weaver? That would work, wouldn’t it?” I ask, except I already know the answer.
“Oh, my sweet boy,” Mom says, caressing my cheek. “No amount of healing can take this away.”
I sigh, knowing she’s right.
The sun has barely begun to rise, painting the sky in rose and gold, the distant splashing of water signals the imminent arrival of the Ship. My pulse quickens as I scan the horizon, searching for the telltale silhouette of the vessel.
The Ship is massive. It's made entirely of Aetherian mahogany and looks freshly polished. I’ve been told it's over five hundred years old, but still, it looks like it’s on its very first voyage.
When the Ship docks, a familiar figure emerges from the crowd—a vision of strength and determination clad in the uniform of the Aetherian Army. It’s Wren, her presence commanding attention as she makes her way towards us with purposeful strides.
"Wren!" Mom exclaims, relief washing over her features as she envelops Wren in a tight embrace. "It's so good to see you, sweetie! How have you been?" Wren's appearance has undergone a noticeable transformation since we last saw her. Her once long, silver locks have been traded for a shorter, spikier hairstyle. There's a newfound edge to her look. Her athletic build, which was always evident, now showcases even more defined muscles. It's clear that she has been dedicating herself to her physical well-being, and the result is striking.
Wren returns the embrace with equal fervor, her eyes welling with tears. "I’m good. I missed you, Mom."
“Wren, what are you doing here?” I say, shocked and confused that she’s here. “They’ve never had anyone from Fort Weave come back while they’re training.”
Wren's voice, usually composed and steady, carries a hint of urgency as she relays the unexpected news. "Mom, Phoenix," she begins, her tone filled with excitement. “They’ve changed the rule this year! Originally, we were supposed to stay on the boat and just wave to our families, but I guess one of the higher-ups needed to deliver a message to someone in town.”
“Well, you're here now, love, and that’s what matters,” Mom replies, rubbing Wren’s back.
As they pull apart, Wren's gaze shifts to someone behind me, looking extremely confused. “General Darkflame, sir.”
I turn around and see a man about my height and close to the same age as Mom. He’s wearing an onyx-black uniform that has a silver phoenix emblem on the upper part of the right sleeve. The same emblem that my parents decided to give me my name.
“Ragnar?” Mom says, looking slightly startled, but jumps in for a hug. “You’re a General now?”
“Ah, Freya! It’s good to see you,” the dark-eyed man says. “Yes, the High Council voted last year, and now I oversee the operations at Fort Weave.”
“You two know each other?” Wren says as she and I exchange a questioning look.
“Oh yes! Ragnar, I mean, General Darkflame, your father, and I actually graduated together!” Mom answers. “What can I do for you, General?”
“I wondered if I might have a word with your mother in private?” The General glances at Wren and I.
“Yeah, go for it,” I say, but I’m confused about why he’d want to talk to our mom.
“Oh, I don’t know, I only have a little time left with my children,” Mom replies.
“Mom, we’ll be okay,” Wren reassures her. “Besides, I have to talk to Phoenix about the rules at Fort Weave.”
“I promise, I will only take her for a few minutes,” General Darkflame says, as he already has his hands on her shoulder, dragging her into the crowd.
“I’ll just be a mome-” Mom’s words are cut off by the noise of the crowd.
As soon as Mom disappears into the mass of people, Wren grabs my arm and pulls me behind the candy shop. Her voice was low, almost urgent, as she spoke. "Be careful, Phoenix." Her words carry a weight of concern, echoing the unspoken dangers lurking amidst the vibrant chaos of the Pier. With a nod of understanding, I square my shoulders, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
"I know, Wren. New Recruits always have it rough," I reply, acknowledging her concern. Wren and I haven’t always been super close. After Mom fell ill, she took it upon herself to assume control and manage the household, while all I crave is solitude. "I appreciate the warning, but I can take care of myself," I assure her, a hint of defiance in my tone. Despite our past differences, I respect Wren's guidance, yet I am determined to prove my independence in this new chapter of my life.
"Phoenix, this isn't just about being a New Recruit. It's bigger than that," Wren insists, her gaze unwavering as she speaks. “There are many Senior Officers and Commanders who don't have a fondness for the Greylith family. You need to watch your back," she cautions, her tone serious.
I force a nod, a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. "Why though?" I ask, feeling a surge of frustration and confusion. "Dad was honorably discharged because he was wounded in battle." The injustice of it all weighs heavily on me as I search for answers, unable to comprehend why our family's history would lead to such animosity from those in positions of power. Wren's expression softens slightly, her eyes reflecting a mix of sympathy and resignation as she struggles to find the right words to explain the complexities of the situation.
"I'm not sure why," Wren replies with firmness in her tone. "All I can say is I don't think we're getting the whole truth from anyone, including Mom." Her words hang heavy in the air, casting a shadow of doubt over the narratives we have been fed about our family's history and the events that have led to our current circumstances. I furrow my brow, grappling with the unsettling realization that even those closest to us might be withholding vital information.
