Legends of Ragathor: Rise of Kyrotaar: 1

Chapter 1

Ronan

Breathing - the simple motion of inhaling and exhaling, yet now I could not take in even the shortest of gasps. Repressed thoughts exploding before my eyes and a sharp pain washing over me like seawater on sand; This was hell at its finest. Fingernails digging into my eyes; hearing myself screaming and begging for it to end, before realising that they were my own. Darkness and demons more monstrous and fearful than even the most psychotic minds could conjure up. Pain (no, this was agony) Was this real? That blinding light prevails, the true horror of this terrible, disgusting pit – shining with a deathly image which was too bright and horrific to look at, though I did make out a bright crimson. Blood? No, flames? Or something similar to both, and yet at the same time neither.

It contained power – ruthless, animalistic power. Wrenching my fingers from my eye sockets, I dared look upon this unknown deity. A fearsome, soul-shattering gaze burned into my mind – it saw me. Helplessly, I became overtaken by its hypnotic spell. My life, or whatever this existence was, undoubtedly began to fade to a decisive end. The end was near. Horrors of oblivion descended on my weak, feeble body – and then the final blow was struck. Yet I still bled, and the suffering continued. I felt myself fading into nothingness.

Awaking in pure fright, my memories began their swift return. My head ached immensely, along with the rest of my battered body. The first breath is always the most painful, and now was no exception. Pressure tightening across my chest, my lungs tried desperately to take in air – the feeling felt like a blade passing though my heart. I waited endlessly, though my body still struggled to complete this simple task. Painfully I attempted to force my eyes open – there was resistance stemming from the nightmare which still had a slowly fading, yet agonizing grip over me. The deathly visions still clouded my mind, but I knew that I must push them away if I was to overcome this.

Okay, start with the basics. What is your name? Ronan. How old are you? Seventeen. My eyes began to flicker. Where are you? I do not recall. For a moment the lurking images began to regain control – a clenching feeling taking hold around my heart. Pounding rapidly, I heard its powerful beat as if it were in my eardrums. New York! The fear fled and my eyelids shot open. Air flowed into me, sharply at first, but gradually my breathing returned to a steady rhythm. Those nightmares were getting worse – more terrifying, more vivid. I slept as little as possible in an attempt to avoid them, though trying so hard to basic bodily functions takes a toll on you – I maintained a state of constant mental and physical exhaustion. That tiredness started the problems.

I sat up in the darkness of my room, pleased that my breath had finally returned. Faint light coming from the city beyond my window let my eyes adjust to the dimness around me. Decorating the walls of my room (well technically the Smiths' spare room) were posters, images of my favourite musical artists from soft acoustic singers to heavy metal bands. Against the far wall stood a wardrobe, filled with only a minor selection of clothes – my old clothes were too small and I could not expect the Smiths to buy everything for me. A single desk stood at the window, having been scattered with school notes prior to my expulsion. Finally alongside my bed stood a small oak table, on which there lay simply an MP3 player and a pair of earphones.

I felt certain that peaceful sleep would succeed in escaping me so I scavenged the table's contents, switching on the device and slipping the buds into my ears. Sweet music washed over me, soothing all of my nerves and anxieties for now. Long instrumental melodies, gracefully lacking the distraction of vocals – music like this allowed a certain calmness to embrace me. For hours I lay in relaxation from long piano-lead orchestras and symphonic guitar solos. After a few hours a more natural light came into the room. Moving my eyes to the window, I witnessed the first light of the glorious sunrise. Rising into the morning sky, it released a glow of purity, lighting the darkness of the world before me – a godlike object here to banish the evils from this cursed world, the opposite of the creature from my dream.

Removing the earphones, birdsong now filled my ears in place of my music. How beautiful a sight, yet so many miss the opportunity to look upon it with awe, the way in which I see it now. For a while I was no longer in this world, nor the one in my nightmares – for now I simply felt like a piece of something much greater. Returning to the world of the living, I decided that now would be a good time to pull myself from my own thoughts. Raising from my bed and stretching, I walked across the room to my wardrobe. I quickly picked out a simple outfit, and then carried the clothes to the bathroom with me where I did my business, bathed, brushed my teeth and shoulder length hair, and dressed myself in my chosen attire for the day.

Setting eyes on the pale brunette youth in the bathroom mirror, I noticed my own exhaustion which removed any trace of a glint in my experienced, icy gaze. Not a particularly striking image, though it would be untrue to say I looked unpleasant. Most were unnerved by my wish to lack a surname above anything else. Throughout years of different families, I had adopted many names: Jones, Bailey, Miller, Atkinson; but all were removed when I returned to the foster home – my life felt like a constant voyage between different homes and families. So I soon chose to go by Ronan, and nothing more. Sounds of movement startled me from my thoughts. Realising that the Smiths were waking for work, I swiftly moved from the bathroom and back into my room. Even though they claimed to be fine with me, I did not wish to cause any more problems. Therefore, for the last few days, I had attempted to avoid all contact with Mr and Mrs Smith – a habit which I hoped to continue.

Early afternoon arrived and I now wandered alone through the vacant house. Checking the contents of the fridge, I found several things which should be easy enough to prepare into a decent meal. As it was cooking I strolled around the living room admiring the furnishings. A burgundy couch, a fireplace which roared when it was lit, walls decorated with framed pictures of family and friends – none including me. It reminded me of how short a time I had been living with these people. Soon after, I sat down with my dish in hand and began to eat when I came to notice a letter upon the table. Though still lying within the envelope, it had obviously already been opened and read. Removing the letter, I began to read a longwinded message to the Smiths about how since I was turning 18 soon I would have to be "phased out" of foster care. My heart sank into my stomach.

So they were ditching me, just like I thought. Just like the others. I sat still for a while - thinking. I had no clue what would happen to me once they deemed me too old to remain in care. I no longer had any appetite. Out of a mix of desperation, along with an irrational anger at the Smiths, I recovered my breath and stability, and then journeyed to the tiny room beneath the stairs in which I found a large rucksack and a sleeping bag. Briefly retreating back to my bedroom, I gathered a fistful of underwear and socks, as well as a few T-shirts and pairs of jeans – stuffing them all into the pack and slinging it over one shoulder as I threw the sleeping bag over the other. Invading Mr and Mrs Smith's bedroom next, I tore apart their belongings until eventually I found a wad of money (three hundred dollars in all) and shoved it violently into my pocket. So without a second thought I departed from the house without looking back – my meal still only half eaten, abandoned on the table.

Sitting upon a park bench several hours later, I feasted upon a hotdog over twenty miles away from Smiths' home. The stolen cash had allowed me to travel by bus far from the area and satisfy my now grumbling stomach, with much coin to spare. It occurred to me however that the money would not last forever – I presumed three weeks at most before my funds were completely gone, assuming that nobody pickpocketed me beforehand. It was upon that bench that I saw a peculiar figure stood some ways off from me. Though wearing a lengthy, black, hooded coat which shadowed the majority of its face, the build of the person made them appear obviously male. And though standing still, he seemed to have his attention fixed on me. Suddenly realizing that I was now glaring back at him, I shifted my gaze, frightened to look again. It was not until a few minutes had passed that I dared to look once more in that direction, by which time he had disappeared. This unnerved me, probably much more than it should have for such an insignificant event. This was New York after all, shady characters lurked around every corner. Nevertheless, I devoured what remained of my snack and was shortly once more on the move. While leaving the park, I felt the full effect of the surrounding city. Birdsong again made its way to my ears and made me feel such warmth inside – a feeling unknown to me lately.

As the sun now began its decent, students flocked from all directions – relieved to be out of school. I envied them, it seemed that none had a care nor worry in the world. They remained completely peaceful, likely ignorant of the hardships in life. Whoever it was that once said that ignorance is bliss had a good point. There was still one though thing which made me feel envious of those kids – friends. By moving around and cutting myself off, I had nobody but myself, and me as the only one at fault. Blaming my old friends was out of the question, it was obviously not easy to maintain a long distance friendship. It is a devastating realization, to look back after nearly sixteen years and not see a single person who you think of as even an acquaintance, let alone an actual friend.

So now while walking from this place, I became bitter while many others joyfully passed me – laughing, smiling. I doubted they were any older, but compared to them I felt like a wise old man. In a moment of hope I dared to glance up at a few students about to pass me, desiring something as simple as a friendly smile. Raising my head, I witnessed three girls chatting with one another as they approached. I offered a smile towards them, but was crushed when I received nothing more than a judging glare in return. When hopes are high, you become vulnerable. Moments later, I heard one girl whisper the word freak to the others. She was most probably right about that.

Late afternoon turned into evening, and I found myself wandering the cold city in search of shelter. I started to hurry when rain began to pour over New York, soaking both me and my clothes. As I walked through a dark back ally, I came across two drunken men arguing.

"No way! You owe me some fucking money, and I'm going to get it!" one yelled aggressively to the other.

"Please calm down! I told you you'll get the money, just give me time." the other pleaded. I began to turn around, but the sound of my footsteps drew their attention.

"Whoa, look what we have here!" the first man exclaimed, "Give me all of your money kid!" From where I stood I watched helplessly, unable to move as he walked menacingly towards me - a beer bottle in his hand. When he was less then a few feet from me, his hand went into his jacket as he pulled out a knife. So without a thought I pushed him and ran, hearing his bottle smash to the ground. I sprinted as fast as I could, and only looked back when I was sure they were not following. Hurrying under a dark bridge, I exhaled a sigh of relief to have found salvation from both the weather and the men. I threw my rucksack and sleeping bag to the ground, shivering from the icy coldness. While cautiously checking for intruders, I disrobed and wrapped my body in dry clothes from the pack – cursing myself for not thinking to bring a towel of some sort. Still rather wet I unfastened my sleeping bag and watched it fold out to full length. Lugging my possessions beside the hard stone wall of the bridge's underbelly, I wormed myself into the sleeping bag, pulling its sides against my shivering form.

Noises from traffic above annoyed me; however the sound of pouring rain soon lulled me into tiredness. Night now approached and I lay on the rough, barren ground in serious discomfort. I cried. I sobbed like a child, letting the moisture run down my face. How had my life become so miserable? Was this all I was? All I would ever amount to? While lying there, I wondered if it was too late to go back. The Smiths were not bad people, they surely had no control over whether I stayed or not. Despite my resentment towards them, they had never caused me any problems, even after I was kicked out of school. I disregarded it as too late to go back though – I had stolen from them and left without a word. If they did not hate me before, they certainly did now. Again my mind began to fall into slumber, terror gripped me, but I could not stop it.

Flames engulfing my very core, I saw again that deathly gaze. In this world of nightmares, hate and anger were physical. Misery which covers the world, felt with every fibre of my being. Blood dripped from my skinless arms as I unwillingly clawed at my veins, desperately trying to open them. This time I breathed, but the air suffocated me. Feeling my eyeballs burning as I gazed at that blinding light, I now saw it for what it was. I clawed my retinas out with my own fingers – the overwhelming urge to stop this sight. No more air, nor flames – just pure fright. Two eyes of both fire and darkness, above me and also surrounding me. This deity shattered my soul, this evil, the embodiment of darkness itself. It approached, I froze. Slipping, falling, and drifting into this corrupt void...

And then I woke, without warning or reason. Unlike the previous night, my eyes were already open. Pressure gripped around my shoulder as I felt a presence, heard breathing, saw a looming figure. Adjusting to the dark, my eyes recognised the man from the park. His hood now hung lightly behind his head, a face coming into view in the faint moonlight – pale skin, brown eyes not unlike my own. However jet black spiked hair covered his head seeming darker than the night, and a scar across the bridge of his nose gave him with a unique image. Panic dawned on me as my mind raced to find some rational reason as to why he was here. Still holding my shoulder, he drew his face closer to mine. My heart was beating so hard that I was sure he could hear it.

"Don't worry," he commanded with a voice which suggested no cruel intentions, however as his mouth opened my eyes focused upon pearly white teeth which were sharpened so that he gave off the look of a wild animal, "I'm not here to hurt you." I glared at him frightened, not allowing my body to relax. Who was he? And why was he here? Was this how my story ended?

"Now before I introduce myself, how about you tell me what your dream was about?"