When I was a child, my grandma used to tell me stories. At the time, I never gave

them much thought. Thinking they were just that… stories. Growing up, I soon realized that they weren’t lofty fantasies and fairy tales, but memories of her past,memories of our ancestors before our world turned to shit. You see, what comes

from legend, no matter how exaggerated the story becomes, there is always a sliver

of truth. You just need to weed out the fiction from fact.

My grandmother used to tell me stories of the Chosen One. The one who would save

us all. When I was younger, I used to believe that what she said was true. That eventually someone would be born, just as the Oracle predicted. Someone who

could save our souls and bind us back to our magic. Once I grew up and saw the world unfolding around me, I no longer believed in salvation. The chosen one seemed

to be more of a prayer than reality. Some dream we wanted desperately to come true. Something for which we all prayed and prayed. Something in which we needed

to find hope when there wasn’t any left.

When our ancestors turned their backs on us, how were we expected to believe in this so-called salvation? Especially when all we witnessed was death and carnage

ever since the great war. Nothing except pain and poverty. I used to believe the stories, used to pray for the mysterious chosen one that would rid our world of its evil.

Now though, I see it for what it really is, just a dream of hope. Some out of reach fairy-tale. A story to create hope. Hope is dangerous; it makes you believe things will get better. I stopped hanging on to hope when I witnessed firsthand that it caused nothing but heartache.

When the uprising happened twelve years ago, all Fae creatures fought alongside the elves and the angels trying to right the wrongs of our ancestors from the great war, trying to restore the balance back to where it was meant to be.

My parents were among those who fought bravely. I was nine at the time. My grandmother hid me in

the bunker under our house, promising to watch over me if they didn’t return.

Only when we came back up, the world had changed, and so did my life. My parents

were gone. Not a single person who fought in the war survived. No Elves, no Fae, no Angels. Even the humans were mostly wiped out, including the Oracle. Her death

was the biggest blow because with it, we lost not only lives, but our magic.

I was part of a dying species. There were hardly any Fae left. A few hid, but we tried our best to keep to the shadows, trying to go unnoticed. I had never met another Faeother than my grandmother, yet I refused to believe we are the only ones left. We were on the bottom of the food chain now, next to humans. Ruled over by the Dragon Kingdom.

The Dragon Kingdom was different from any before it, and those that ruled were merciless and cruel. No one was allowed in or out without their say so. I have never left the city, forced to hide amongst those that live here, hoping that we remain unnoticed. Because being Fae was a death sentence. If caught and discovered, you prayed your death was quick and not the torturous death that so many were forced to suffer in the uprising.

At the top of the food chain were the Dragons, then the Lycans and Vampires. We used to be next before the Elves and the Pixies, then the Mermaids. Right at the bottom were humans. Now we were right beside them, the scavengers of the world, taking what was left after the rest discarded what they didn’t want. Fae without magic might as well have been human. We look like humans except our eyes, each unique to our bloodline. Mine were the color of amethyst, like my mother’s bloodline. My bloodline was all but eradicated. We used to be among one of the largest Fae families, helping to rule among our kind. My bloodline was royalty, now gone, just like our ancestors, leaving only me and my grandmother.

My grandmother said our bloodline used to be among the royal Fae, that our ancestors achieved great things. Now I was the last one of our bloodline and possibly the second last Fae. Once I go, that’s it. The survival of my bloodline rests entirely upon my shoulders. Yep, the future didn’t look great for my family, soon to be snuffed out of existence.

My twenty-first birthday was coming up. I had been dreading this day for as long as I could remember, the day when they would hunt me down and drag me to the castle.

There weren’t many job opportunities for Fae, just like the humans. Fae were now nothing but a distant memory people refuse to believe existed, so we disguise ourselves by blending in with the humans.

Most humans were sold into the sex trade

or into slavery, unless, of course, you were caught and proven to be Fae.Then you only earned the right to die painfully for the sins of your ancestors. That iswhy no Fae exists. That is why my grandmother and I keep to the shadows, blending

in with the humans, so we remain unnoticed.

Turning twenty-one was a significant day for Fae creatures. It is the day when our magic is supposed to manifest. No Fae have been found since the uprising, at least not that I know of. It’s believed when we lost the war, then the Oracle it angered the fates, and they shunned the Fae stripping us of our magic. The ancestors turned their backs on all of us. My grandmother told me it was to try to stop the extinction of our kind, yet I believe they just gave up on all of us.

Confined to the shadows, while a hopeless existence, was probably for the best.

Remaining powerless meant that our true abilities could not be yielded by the evil forces that now plagued our world.

These days, the Dragons and Vampires summon all humans on their birthday.

Humans would line up and stand before the rulers, who would ultimately decide their fate. If you showed any magical ability, they killed you instantly, whether or not you were Fae. And if they were unsure? Well, you would die anyway. My grandmother said it went against everything she believed in. That magic was sacred and meant to be something celebrated, not condemned to death for having.

In one week, they would summon me. My grandmother and I have remained hidden in the hopes I go unnoticed. My grandmother refused, point blank, to let them find

me. She could not imagine me being sold off to the highest bidder. Yet, deep down, I knew she was powerless to stop them. Sure, she had power, the only Fae on earth with ancient magic still flowing through her veins. The magic that had kept us alive.Yet her magic was slowly dwindling. It would eventually die out. Then, we would truly face our demise.

My grandmother coughs as she comes up behind me, pulling me from my thoughts. I

was lost in thought, reliving the stories of my childhood and the tragic events that

unfolded in the years between. She grabs my hand, making me look at her. Her pale

face holds a knowing look, like she knew what I was thinking. I never doubted her

ability to read people. She often knew me better than I knew myself.

I dry my hands on the towel before letting her drag me to the broken table that sat in

this tiny rundown kitchen, the place is falling apart, the paint peeling on the walls, the

benches made of chipboard were flaking and crumbling, the place falling apart, none

of the appliances worked but the fridge, not that it had much in it. Even the roof was

sloping inward from the water damage caused by the last storm. Rundown was an understatement, this house was condemned and abandoned a long time before we

stumbled across it, in a search of somewhere semi-dry to sleep.

Sitting in the chair across from my grandmother, the legs wobble and I sigh heavily,

worried about her deteriorating health. Her purple eyes had lost most of their light over

the years. When I was a child, they used to burn brightly, almost glowing.

Now, they look dull and lifeless, almost hollow. Yet also knowing and wise, as she

had seen a lot over the years. I knew her memories haunted her like a bad dream.

We hide our eyes mostly, hoping to blend in with the humans that survived the wars.

Better to be human then hunted down and killed like they did with the Witches.

Her once shiny black hair turned white as snow, hanging to her hips. My grandmother

used to be the strongest person I knew, but years of hardship had taken its toll on

her. She was now frail, barely able to walk without support, her muscles shrinking to

shadows of their former selves, leaving her looking like a skeleton with skin.

“What are you thinking, my child?” she asks, her eyes softening as she looks at me.

“Nothing grandma, but I will go get something for that cough. It has lasted too long,” I

say worriedly.

I can’t afford to lose her too. She was all I had left in this world. My

grandmother shook her head, but I stood up, not taking no for an answer.

“Elora, we can’t afford medicine, dear. I will be okay,” she tries to reassure me. She is

right, we can’t afford medicine, but I know I can find a way. I always do. Grandma

must have known what I was thinking as she tries to stand up but sat down quickly,

her coughing taking her breath away as her body heaved with each breath.

“You can’t, it was your mother’s,” she says, before coughing again. I rub her back,

trying to help before grabbing a glass of water and handing it to her. She sips slowly,

trying to catch her breath.

“Here take this,” she said, pulling her wedding band from her withered old finger, it

slipped off easily, much too big for her frail finger. The ring was one of her most prized

possessions, with intricate vines wrapping around the band.

“I won’t allow you to sell any more of your mother’s things for me.” I hold the gold

band in my hand. It was another family heirloom that was given to her by her late

husband, my grandpa. Passed down from his mother. I close my hand before dropping it

into the pocket of my jeans.

“I will be as quick as possible, grandma. Try and stay warm,” I tell her, trying to put her

mind at ease.

I grab my coat, throwing it on as I walk outside. The snow is sinking into my holey

shoes, making my toes go numb. Winters were always unforgiving, and this winter felt

extra cold. We lived in the city in an old abandoned shack. It isn’t much, but it at least

keeps us dry and away from the elements. I say shack because it certainly isn’t a

house. One side had collapsed in on itself after a storm, making only half the place

liveable. On the bright side, it has running water and a working toilet, so it is better

than the last place we lived.

We wanted to leave the city, but the Dragon lords refused to let anyone leave. Guards

are stationed at every checkpoint, and in our opinion, it wasn’t worth the risk. The

Dragon Kings had killed off the last two elders when they tried to escape and she

was the closest one to the castle, forcing us to live in rundown abandoned houses.

We have been lucky enough to go unnoticed for as long as we have.