We march out of the darkness
We revel in the flames
The mission is accomplished
We're ready for the change
and the only thing that will set us free is living through the pain
and the only thing I'll guarantee, we'll never be the same
Papa Roach - We March Out of Darkness

The low drone of hushed conversation nearby dragged him out of the lethargic state he had fallen into. He didn't know how long he had been there, drifting in and out, as he fought the influences of darkness that sang to his very soul. It made his struggle twice as hard. What was even worse was there was a part of himself that beckoned him to give in. It tempted him to relent as his blood sang with ever-growing energy. It took some effort on his part to pry open one pale blue eye, for it felt weighted rather as if it was glued shut.

Shadows danced around him, moving and ever shifting, as he sought to gather his bearings. He still heard the voices. Words, like feathers, drifting through the air with some falling from understanding and others almost screaming in his pointed ears. The name ?Laerilla? seemed thunderous and his bruised features twisted from the intensity of it. It took him a few moments to realize that his typical emotional response to his Mother's name lacked the usual antagonism. Instead, a hand touched him and he felt the heat of it explode over him, drawing a ragged snarl from blood coated lips as he was thrown into into a fleeting moment of recall.

Hawkstorm had been born of both worlds and yet, often wondered if there was actually any difference at all. His mother was hardly a creature holding a loving nature. In fact, his memories of the woman were ones of cold cruelty often claimed by those of the Unseelie. All through his youth, he watched an array of men pass through his Mother's life. She even had more children, two half brothers and a half sister. He had once asked why she kept him while letting the others be raised by their fathers and the answer had stunned him. He was nothing more then a tool to anger his father with. A father he couldn't even remember. Her fury was so great, he had never been allowed to learn the name of the one that had sired him.

Now, here in this cold, dark place he could hear voices speaking. The pain had subsided, leaving him numb and disconnected from himself. ?Yes Uncle, I am sure he is your son. Aside from the hair he looks much like you.?

Those words brought another touch as a cascading fire raced over him, bringing a ragged scream that was barely above a whisper from cracked lips. The pain surged to near excruciating levels before it was turned off. Cut like water from a facet. So abruptly, he was left reeling in an even deeper confusion. Both eyes were now open but he was unable to move, so they darted about in a wild panic. A feminine voice spoke softly and carefully. ?Calm yourself, cousin. Your father wishes to get a look at you.?

?I have no father!? So harsh and dry were the words, he wasn't even sure he had spoken them. Within, his mind was screaming for answers. The touch that followed felt . . . wrong. He was here in a place that rivaled the human ideal of hell and still the hand that pushed damp hair from his face was almost caring. It merely enhanced his bewilderment.

Silver-blue eyes that nearly mirrored his own peered deeply into him. Piercing, searching and sharp with intelligence. The air held the scent of ancient magics. The male drew ever closer, his features reflected his own yet were drawn into stern, austere lines. Moments ticked by and then a smile broke over the chiseled visage. ?You found him. Snatched him from the claws of that two-faced bitch I was once so besotted with.?, the aesthetically dressed elf stated with tones that seemed almost honey coated; so warm were the inflections.

Is this some kind of game they were playing with him? Hawkstorm thought while continuing to struggle, straining against the unseen bonds that held him so tightly. He stopped instantly the second the man placed fingers against his face. ?I have been searching centuries for you. She hid you from me, behind walls of spells.? The words tapered off as he turned and spoke to the sorceress hovering just out sight. ?Release him.?

?That would be unwise, uncle.?, came the instant reply. ?He is close to turning. If I release him, he will attack. Can you not feel the rage of ages growing inside of him?? Persuasion and a soothing tones normally used to calm the now seething Lord, but there was truth in her words. ?Let me finish, and then I shall turn him over to you in time. But you know well enough, Uncle Xavorin, he will need to feed the fury.?

Even as he felt himself drawn back into the bleak blackness, he pulled that name into memory. He had sought it for all his life and it now joined another before he allowed the darkness to consume him. He would have answers soon enough.