Chapter 1


As I fall in space
I feel as if I have no purpose.
I see through everything in front of me,
Yet I only see darkness.

              It was a world of myth. It was a world of old and new. It was - after all - a world of vast imagination. And it is a world that holds the secret of hope. Creatures only known to roam our minds are now free to take the forms of humans, leaving only small traces to give us hints of their true physical selves. Good and evil collide once again, but the outcome can only be understood if one knows the whole tale.

              "Honesah!" A young male Sarachoo trotted toward a female. His green mane flowed about in its medium length, mimicking that of his same-colored tail. “It has been many a day since I have seen the Princess,"; he bowed his head in a quick and formal gesture. The two Cotlies - Sarachoo from birth to the age of twelve - were both only eight and nine years old.
               Sarachoo were a rare and spiritual species. In simple terms, they would resemble a flying Unicorn. Their fur was the only element that remained white while the mane, tail, eyes, hooves, et cetera were naturally many different colors and designs. As humans, their ears and tails remained, horns now replaced by a simple diamond-shaped crystal on their foreheads. Wings were able to appear and disappear at will in this form. Existing in a single large village, deep within a vast forest, it was difficult to find them unless by accident.
               It had snowed heavily the night before, the ground blanketed by its icy white shield; the sun, however, soothed the chill for the plants and animals.
               Honesah, the younger of the two, sighed and shook her head, “I’ve told you before, Allo: there is no need to be formal around me. I don’t mind being treated like everyone else.” Her soft pink eyes clashed against her gold and sapphire striped mane and tail as she tried to engrave her words into her friend’s mind.
               Choosing not to listen, Allo changed the subject. He didn’t believe in putting a social ranking to waste. “I was helping my mother with her garden and noticed you walking by. If you are not busy, would you like to join us? We could catch up on our friendship.” Secretly, he cared for Honesah as more than just a friend, but he didn’t want to let it out just yet. Both of them were far too young to be making Partnerships - committed relationships - just yet.
                A smile curled on the female’s muzzle, “I am not busy at all. In fact, I was looking for you, but I must have lost you in all the green.” She enjoyed teasing Allo about his colors, it always reminded her about how they had first met.

                

                It was back not long ago, when the two were four years younger, on a winter’s day. The ground was deeply covered in snow, and Cotlies as young as Allo and Honesah were not quite tall enough to get around easily.
                Honesah leaped from her holes, making new ones as she sank into the snow each time. It was her only means of getting around, but she did have fun, and her older brother, Freero - who was the age of twelve at the time - watched over her as he stepped through the snow with just a bit of trouble. Freero was a protective brother, but didn’t immediately shoo away every newcomer. They played near the frozen lake, a common ground for most of the young Sarachoo. At one point, Honesah noticed two small patches of grass and decided to jump onto them for her own silly reasons. She landed, but didn’t sink, only hearing an “Oof!” sounding from underneath. Scrambling off the strange grass, the young Princess proclaimed, “It talks!”
                Freero, however, was much wiser and noticed the small yellow horn poking from its white confinement. “That isn’t grass, Honesah,” he laughed and walked over to nudge a small Cotly from the snow. He rolled up, over, and sank back down, his head poking up as he looked around. “How long have you been here?” Freero asked the new Cotly.
                “Most of the morning. Is it mid-day yet?” His innocent voice responded.
               Shaking his head, Freero smiled, “Almost. Give it an hour or two.”
                “Good. I don’t want to miss lunch!”
                Honesah had gradually crawled closer, nearly swimming as she snuck up on the equally young Sarachoo. She was a hair away from leaping onto him, only to collapse from a deeper area in the snow.
                “My name is Allo,” the Cotly turned at the sound of Honesah’s crunch of snow and squeak of surprise. “What is your’s?” He strained his horse-like neck to peek into the female’s pit.
                “Honesah!” came a muffled voice.
                “And I am Freero,” the brother lifted his sister with his mouth by the scruff of her neck. “It is a good thing we came here. You seemed stuck.”
                Allo shook his head in an effort to knock the snow from his mane, “My mother usually finds me by mid-day. She knows I hate to miss lunch.”
               Wriggling and squirming to get free of her brother’s hold, Honesah asked, “Can he be my new friend, Freero? Please?” She soon gave up her struggle and sighed.
               The lavender Cotly answered, purposely doing so to drop his sister, “I guess so.”
                Honesah bounced up from her new hold in the snow with glee, only able to raise her head above the cold blanket. “Yay! That makes two!” She remembered the successful event, keeping it dear.



                 Allo only laughed at his friend’s joke, accepting it like words of endearment. “I have much to tell you.” He turned, heading back to his small hay and log built home, Honesah following close behind.



                The dim atmosphere of the hold Keep was disturbed by two beings - Sarachoo, in their Human forms. The eldest one had a broad face, his long, light-blue hair reached about mid-back; his tail was the same color. The younger male, old enough to be in the Marcroo range of age - twenty-two to death - was built a little less strongly, his hair reaching to his shoulders and pulled back in a band to match his sunset orange tail.
                “This weather has been far too calm,” stated the first male. “Not a cloud in sight for days.”
                “Maybe it is just a simple period of bright skies,” countered the younger Sarachoo. He didn’t want to believe what his King was suggesting.
                Bremeg, the light-blue male, was indeed King of Sarachoo. As King, he was to protect his people at all costs. In Bremeg’s past, he was highly intrigued by legends and the village’s history. The Crimp Legend was one that he respect most.

Five-thousand upon the time
Clouds show their anger by darkness
And not what of routine.
One cry to bleed and shake,
Two cries to weaken and break,
Three cries and the fire is black.
Feasting upon the bodies
They do not turn back.
One that survives,
Choosing to forget,
Or instead, will save.
Turning into tears,
Salty rain shall restore the life
As it was before that day.

               He could recite it without a stutter, and knew that the time drew near. Those evil draconic beasts would return for their long awaited feast. Bremeg wanted to end this once and for all. He wanted to do it without chaos, though, and the King knew such a goal would prove challenging. Searching the many shelves that walled and filled the large Keep, Bremeg picked off a specific old book. Dust has collected on many of them, and he simply brushed it of with his hand. There was not title, but he knew exactly what it was - records of each Feast, written by the Savior, who was the Sarachoo to escape before being devoured. Once the Savior restored the village, he or she would make their own input of what happened before, during, and after the Feast; this would give the Sarachoo information on any changes in the patterns of which the Crimps would perform their Feast.  
               “Unless this is a drought, I seriously doubt your suggestion. Besides,” Bremeg flipped to a page near the beginning of the book and pointed to a date, “twenty, thirty-seven. That was the last Feast. The year is now twenty-five, thirty-six. In three more days, it will be the new year.”
               The orange Sarachoo cracked open and then closed his mouth a couple of time, trying to say something that would prove his King wrong. He didn’t, of course. Out of all the Feasts recorded - four, to be exact - not one of them failed to take place on the night of the new year, every five-thousand years. “Can we not find shelter until the Crimps give up?”
               “It has been tried before,” Bremeg closed the book and replaced it in its original spot. “None have been successful. The Crimps can smell our blood no matter how well we hide.”
               Sighing in defeat, the younger Marcroo looked to the rickety door leading back to the village. “So our fate has been sealed, and there is no way to fight back.”
               “No,” Bremeg smirked at the sight of his bodyguard’s face. He wasn’t necessary, but it was a precaution for lead royalty to have bodyguards. “We will fight, just as our ancestors. We merely have to plan it all out. Devise a way to surprise the Crimps and attack them off guard.”
               “Sire, you know how titanic those beasts are. How can we stand up to hundreds of them?” He was right. Crimps stood up to two pine trees tall. The Lord of Crimps, currently known as Cyfro, stood four pines. Their whip-like tails were as long as their bodies, and their quick reflexes weren’t an advantage to the Sarachoo. If anything, it would take fifty or more Sarachoo to each Crimp for a fighting chance - that was only a chance, though.
               Pausing in thought, the King stared to the door, processing every bit of information about the black dragons that he held in his mind. With a gentle smile, Bremeg rested a sturdy large hand on the shoulder of his comrade, “We just have to try, fail or avail.”
               The orange Marcroo twitched his white horse ears that proudly poked from near the top sides of his head. He felt reassured, trusting his Ruler thoroughly, “What is your plan, Sire? I shall follow you to my death and beyond.”


               Deep in the southern regions of the Earth, there was a rejected mountain range known as Farroon Marock - Shadowed Desert - covered in darkness an flourished with mostly death. There was, however, a certain species that thrived in such a harsh land - the Crimps. Enormous caverns filled the dry mountains, mazing about within them as the tunnels made their way deep into the planet as a center belly. Within this chamber, the entire population of the Crimps met, noisily screeching and nipping at each other, uncomfortable with being so cramped together. A tall and unnaturally large formation of rock stood near the front of the chamber. On it stood Cyfro, Lord of Crimps, his white thin hairs that grew from the back of his head and his solid white eyes signified his ranking amongst the others, no doubt, he was much larger in stature as well.
               “Silence!” Cyfro’s powerful voice shook the walls, a few crumbles of rock falling and hitting the black reptiles below. Communicating to all with telepathy, not wanting to risk slicing their tongues by their own unbelievably sharp teeth, Crimps produced powerful intellect over the thousands of years the species had reigned. Everything was quiet at the sound of their leader’s voice, and Cyfro began his speech, “It has been nearly five-thousand years since the last Feast. Scouts have returned with wonderful news of plentiful amounts of Sarachoo for us! In merely three days, our bellies will be full with the most delicious creatures alive!”
              Screeching and roaring filled the cavern room as the hundreds of Crimps grew excited. For five-thousand years, their kind would only snack on cattle and livestock, making sure their bellies would be very well empty for the Feast. Each Crimp could live for roughly six-thousand years, so such an event was a once-in-a-lifetime treasure. Their winged arms pulsated with the major veins going through the flaps as they flared about, climbing the rocky walls and ceiling. Cyfro only curled his scaley lips in a twisted smirk. He was a proud Crimp - such luxuries. He crawled along the wall, crushing it with each step, as he tried to escape the chaos. Down the tunnels and out of the mountain, Cyfro spread his enormous winged arms and swooped upward to reach the top of his home. He landed, sitting at the very tip, his claws gripping tightly and his long tail wrapped around his perch. There were many other holes from where his claws had dug into the rocks as he returned to this spot to ponder. Cyfro stared toward the large full moon in front of him, What will the Sarachoo try this time, I wonder...

       The shadows of night slowly began to cast themselves over the Sarachoo Village. Dusk was growing into night. Cotlies and Contles - Sarachoo from ages 13 to 21 - entered their makeshift log and grassy homes for shelter and sleep. Allo and Honesah had finished helping the male's mother in the garden, uncovering and tending to the plants that were burried underneath the thick snow. Both retreated to their homes for the night, eager to start a new day.
       Freero, now a Contle, sat in his room, reading a small book that seemed aged and worn. A rapping sounded on his closed door, and he quickly closed the book, placing it in an open drawer at the side of the small desk he sat in. "Come in."
      It was Honesah. She had some to tell Freero that dinner was ready and he should come downstairs to join their parents. The green Contle smiled softly to his younger sister and assured her that he would be down soon. Honesah's soft pink eyes glimmered brightly and she closed the door, heading back downstairs to tell her parents that Freero would be there. Staring hard at the drawer he had placed the book in, Freero began to ponder his future actions. Just who is the Savior? When should he or she leave the village? He wasn't sure, but he would soon have to make a choice.
       Freero stood from his seat and began to make his way downstairs; he could hear his mother, father, and sister conversing with one another as Honesah told her story of her playtime with Allo. Once Freero reached the fairly sized dining room, everyone grew silent - they could sense a worried aura on the Contle, but Bremeg knew exactly what was on his mind. The green Sarachoo looked around the fairly sized room; it was just enough to sit and eat and walked around a bit, the table was a six-seater, and the off-white walls held a nice touch to the redish brown oval table the family dined on. A painting was on each of the four walls, and the other doorway opposite of Freero lead straight into the kitchen. Tonight, there was a mixture of steamed and seasoned vegatables, along with a roast - consisting of a rather large meaty insect that resembled a rhinosarus beetle. Its browned form gave off a delicious scent that made Freero water in the mouth. He then took his seat, sitting opposite of his father, and fixed his plate.
      "The snow has not thinned out today," Honesah broke the silence, "If it snows again tonight, will we be snowed in?"
       Her mother, Crooton, chuckled lightly and answered, "It all depends on how hard it snows, dear. Eat your dinner."
       "But I don't like Beglons, they remind me of the small beetles," Honesah stared into her mother's lavendar eyes, hoping that her pouting would get her out of eating the roasted creature. She then looked over her mother's form, studying her golden hair, her pale-pink crystal that took place of her horn, and her silvery lips. She then looked to her father, doing the same with his sapphire blue hair, his purple crystal, and his orange eyes, hoping that maybe he would take up for the Cotly.
       "Eat it," Bremeg and Crooton answered in unison, then flashed a smirk, finding humor in the situation.
       Honesah didn't bother arguing, knowing that when both of her parents were against her, the attempt was futile. She took a glance at Freero, seeing him hungrily devour the portion of roasted Beglon that he had on his plate, and cringed at the wonder of how or even why he liked such a detestful food. Staring at her plate, the sapphire and gold Cotly furrowed her brows at the much smaller portion of the roast - only four bites, four agonizing bites.
       She aimed her fork, hand trembling, and gulped. Then, her hand shot downward, and with one foul swoop, the first piece was shooved into her mouth. Honesah quickly chewed, twisting her face so that everyone could see just how much she hated its taste. No one bothered to care, though the Cotly swore she heard her brother chuckle just faintly while gorging himself with the food. Finally, Honesah gulped it down and stared at the other three pieces; she wondered why her parents were so cruel as to make her eat what she didn't like.
       Soon after dinner, Bremeg took Freero outside to the lake. They sat on the frozen bank, not minding the cold, and stared at the icey layer that covered the once lively lake.
       "Have you decided?" Bremeg continued to take interest in the random designs of cracks within the ice. He didn't receive an answer as soon as he had hoped, which worried him. "I know this is a hard decision to make, and I understand that you are still quite young." Still Freero said nothing. "If you make your decision at the last moment, that is fine. I had only hoped for one tonight to assure myself and be ready for the worst."
       "Make sure Honesah escapes," Freero stated.
       For a few moments, Bremeg didn't answer; he soon did, however, knowing what to say. "I want both of you to escape, in the least. So, you sense it, too - the Savior." He smirked a bit and shook his head, "For some reason I had expected you to be the Savior."
       "I will go," Freero inputted, "I will protect Honesah from a distance. She will need to learn to fight for herself."
       Bremeg nodded once, never locking eyes with his son, his only son, the Prince and hier to the Sarachoo throne. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and snatched Freero into an embrace. "Do not die. Take my place in the throne once your sister revives the village. It will be my time to retire by then." He knew his plan of attack against the Crimps would end in disaster - there was no possible way of victory. Bremeg didn't want to admit defeat to his son, though. Just the thought of being unable to hold his symbol as a hero clutched his heart with an icey hand far colder than the lake in front of them.
       It was then that Freero knew just how serious the Feast was. "Father," he tightly returned the embrace, "I will not let you down."

       Only two days until the Feast.
       Bremeg was up to something - a project that seemed futile. Many Sarachoo were digging deep trenches wherever they could fit them within the village; trees were cut down and split in half, then sharpened at one end. The trees were not enormous, variously the height of their homes. Ropes and switches, springs and pulleys were set up around the village in a secretive manner, not wanting the Crimps to see a trap. The giant spears were buried in the trenches, along with the springs required for the devices to work. All trace of any traps were carefully hidden and returned to the natural state of non-disturbance as closely as before. Bremeg grinned as he oversaw his plan finishing up within the late afternoon. This Feast was going to be the ultimate Feast, and it included a lot of wood.