Prologue
You may have never heard of the Soot World. Most people haven’t. The Soot World is a world of magic that coexists with ours. It is a wild place, overrun by demons and spirits and the fae folk. Between our world and the Soot World lies the Middle Realm, a quiet, orderly, though vigilantly militaristic place. The Middle Realm is there to keep the Soot World from the Human Lands. Our story begins in the Middle Realm, in the very heart of the kingdom. . .

Prince Battista Kellain lounged back in his throne, propping his feet on the rail in front of him. He hated these councils. Every week, he was forced to sit through hours upon hours of listening to old men chatter about the balance of the worlds around them. Prince Battista sighed and ran a hand through his long hair, closing his eyes. His father, King Ereseis, a kind old in a red robe, sat at the head of the hall in his huge throne, looking exhausted. The current topic of discussion was the demoness, Syseli. Ever since the Dark Times, before the Middle Realm had existed, Syseli had been a threat. The Queen of the Demons, she’d been called. However, when the Soot Empire fell and the Middle Realm established, she’d been chained in the deepest part of the Soot World, guarded by many wards.

Battista snapped out of his hazy half-sleep as a sudden gust of cold wind entered the hall. He looked up, peering over the tops of his tinted glasses. All of the candles in the room had gone out, and the huge window at the end of the hall had burst open, letting in the chill night air. As Battista watched, mist, black mist, began seeping into the room, dropping the temperature by a further 10 degrees. The hall was deadly silent as a tall, slim figure entered, wreathed in black. The only spot of color was a deep red mask, silver streaks running from the eye slits. A collective gasp rose.

“I am Syseli, your prisoner,” the voice was raspy and cold from inside the mask and hood.

“We know who you are. Who has released you from your chains?” the rich, melodic voice came from the king as he stood, majestic at the end of the hall.

“I have, myself, broken free from all but one. You will now return my power.” A long clawed, black gloved hand reached out from under the cloak and pointing at the deep violet orb, the Balance, that sat on its pedestal in the center of the room. Battista’s eyes widened slightly. That orb was the source of the balance that kept the Human Lands from the Soot World. It could provide all the power to cause an overthrow of the Middle Realm.

“I will not, Syseli,” replied the king.

A low hiss emanated from beneath the mask and the hand curled, glowing pale blue. Battista suddenly felt himself yanked from his seat, dragged through the air. He let out a cry as he was pulled close to Syseli. All the lords in the room surged to their feet, weapons readied. A cackling rasp of a laugh sounded, ringing off of the stone walls of the room.

“Do not try and harm me, weak ones. I am taking this child as a hostage. I will only return him once my power is returned.” That cold voice struck the gong of doom in Battista’s head as a sickness washed over him, eyes rolling back in head as he collapsed, caught by the black mist of Syseli’s cloak...