~Prologue~

The azure moon shone in a partly-cloudy sky, shedding its icy, bright blue light on the canopy of the forest. The grass was dimpled by the moonlight and the long shadows cast by the dark, looming trees. Silence hung in the air, at first broken only by an owl hooting in the perch of its tree. But there was another disturbance, one that pierced into the midnight scene like an unforeseen claw plunging into exposed flesh.

Countless shadows dashed through bushes and behind trees. Their paws began to pound on the ground as they ran, sending sprays of leaf-litter fluttering to the earth. A rainbow of eyes lit the forest as many creatures swarmed through the woodland. Some scraped bark as they climbed trees, and others’ pawsteps silenced as they halted and began prowling the land below. Fierce gazes locked with one another as they crossed paths, though not with the caution or care of comrades quickly exchanging messages. While they swarmed in a ragged cluster, each of these creatures headed down a path of their own.

Some of these creatures—cat-like in contour—were lean, others larger and muscular. Pointed ears topped with tufts of fur sat on their heads and long, thin tails with glowing, pointed tips streamed behind them. Each had two large glowing eyes that sat vertical on the face. Some had horns on their heads; some had a number of spikes running down their backs. As the colored eyes lit each creature’s pelt, an array of fur colors were revealed: orange, brown, black, white, gray, cream, red, silver, golden. Some were dappled, others striped. Some were solid-colored, and others were patched.

Whiskers and noses twitched. Trails of their quarries, as clear as though they could see them, were revealed before them, and the soft breathing of resting animals funneled into their swiveling ears.

Cries of fury and anger rose up among these creatures, followed shortly by shrieks of fear. The hunting animals charged into caves and under bushes, pouncing at the sleeping residents curled in their nests. Dreams were broken as the sleeping ones were plunged back into the waking world. Every so often a wail would be cut off abruptly as an attacker sank its teeth into its victim’s flesh and sent a river of blood pulsing from the wound. More of these cat-like creatures scattered into the open.

Away from the onslaught, along a cliffside up north of the territory, stood a gloomy cavern with a wide, yawning mouth. One of these animals crouched in the shelter of the stone structure, his dark gray tail flicking as he watched the entrance. He glanced to his side at what he had sworn to protect: a jet-black egg with white and gray patches gleaming like pieces of crystal. He at last settled his quivering tail around his unhatched offspring, pressing it closer to his soft flank as a particularly loud caterwaul boomed over the rest.

I’m sorry, the cerrien thought. I’m sorry I couldn’t fight for you, but I had to get our egg to safety. The Hatchery is just too close…

A head poked from outside, sending a long shadow down the length of the cave.

The cerrien sprang to his paws, hissing.

“Shh!” snapped the new arrival, her yellow eyes glittered with anxiety. “I’m not one of those traitors! A friend of your sister sent me. This…whatever it is… is getting too serious. We’re getting overrun. The Hatchery has just evacuated. You must take your egg and leave the territory, for both your sakes.” She gestured to the egg with her tail, not once taking her eyes from his.

“But what about the rest of my family?” the cerrien demanded. “They went off to help the defenders ward off the traitors. I can’t just leave them behind!”

The distraught messenger shook her head. “They have already taken hold of them. There is nothing anyone can do for them now. You must leave so that you both stand a better chance of surviving.”

No! His anger fell away like a stone. They’re gone?

“Go now, before things only get worse!” Her voice climbed to a desperate tone. “You can grieve later. Do you want your kitten to die?”

His heart dropped. “Never.”

“Then go,” the cerrien hissed, then heaved a sigh, her voice softening. “You are the Spirit-Watcher. You must not forget that. No one can forget that. You can see ghosts and are the only one who can see ghosts until the next century. Some of the spirits of the Spirit World have lived since the dawn of Fintaria; they might know something that could help us. Keep an eye out for them, and if they find you, you must listen to what they have to say.”

As if I’ll ever listen to some long-dead cerriens I’ve never met! the male cerrien turned to his egg. Fury rolled off of him in waves, itching at his claws and forcing the hairs on his pelt even further upright. What could cerriens that lived generations ago—completely separated from this time period—know?

"You know how important this is, don't you?" the female cerrien continued. "The spirits could give you answers. When it's safe, you can come back and tell us what needs to be done. If you move fast enough, you might just be what saves us."

What saves us? Dead Moorestians, even if they made it to me before I left the territory, wouldn't know enough about a tribe they no longer live in. What would other tribes know about a revolution in Moorest? And, if out of some miracle I was able to get an answer from a ghost, how would I be the savior of our tribe by just passing on information?

"Hurry!" The female cerrien pointed her tail to the wide cave opening. "Before they make it this far!"

"I'm going, alright?" With his forepaws, the male cerrien rolled the egg into a leaf-woven travel bag that lay previously abandoned upon his arrival at the den. The cerrien grasped the handle of the bag in his mouth and swung it over his shoulders so it could rest up on his back. He lifted himself up on heavy paws and slipped out of the cave, whisking behind it.

“Good luck, Spirit-Watcher,” the other cerrien whispered to him as he passed her, her dim, orange pelt a blur.

Turning away from her, the cerrien hurried away with his cargo. The moon touched his fur for a few moments, turning the dark gray cerrien to silver before he dipped into the shadows, pelt still spiking along his back. The cries of battle and anguish could still be heard in the background behind him. He quickened his pace.

My family is gone. I’m alone. But at once he shoved away his grief and glanced behind him at his travel bag. There’s no time for sorrow. It’s up to me to keep you alive. You’re all I have left here in the Living World. Their memory will carry on with me, and with you.

He would head to the eastern border, across the moor. This kitten had to have a chance. This kitten was his future.

A loud, pained yowl echoed from the trees, filling the air with fluttering birds as they fled in terror.

That sounds close! He stiffened. I have to get out of here.

He broke into a run, his paws pounding against the grass. His breathing quickened into shallow puffs, and blood roared in his ears.

You must take your egg and leave the territory. To the border, then where? Maliterria's almost tempting. I'm sure cerriens there don't meet up to discuss what others call magic. But it's too dangerous—filled with cold-hearted brutes. Thermoterria? No. Those cerriens are lazy and weak, and Glaciterria is hardly any better! What kind of father would he be to surround his kitten with cerriens who didn't know how to defend themselves? If this night had proved anything, it’s that danger could be lurking anywhere, even within a cerrien's own tribe. And my kitten will need to know how to fight that danger.

So the only option left was Scorpoterria.

Those cerriens pride themselves with their fighting abilities. After all, it’s what they’re known for.

Something hard stubbed against his paw and hot, stabbing pain shot up his leg as the cerrien stumbled and fought to regain his balance. He lifted his paw and licked vigorously, eventually soothing the sharp throbbing until it was nothing more than a dull ache.

But the load on his back had shrunk.

The egg! The cerrien swung his head around, spotting his cargo laying on its side pawsteps away. He bounded to it, nosing the egg all over and squinting his eyes to shield the piercing white light radiating from patches on its surface. Quick breaths swept across the egg. It can’t be broken! It’s all I have left! He felt the fragile shell, aware that just one push would be enough to split it open. The egg was as smooth as the round pebbles that rested at the shore of the beach.

No cracks. No dents. The cerrien heaved out a sigh of relief. It’s safe. He twisted and released the bag from his back, allowing it to slide into the grass.

I must tread more carefully. He nudged the egg safely into the travel bag and sighed. How can I keep you safe for such a long journey, and with all these enemies? He closed his eyes, the weight of responsibility threatening to crush him like a series a boulders pounding down on his body.

His question was answered with another wail of terror from the distance, cut short abruptly.

When his load was secured once more, the cerrien kept moving—this time by a quick trot. His gaze glided over his surroundings, and he swiveled his ears forwards and sideways. He kept his claws out, and could feel them shredding the grass beneath his paws with each step he took.

He nearly stumbled forward as a pale glowing shape flashed from behind one tree. Moments later it emerged, delicately illuminating the shadows which attempted to engulf its form. The figure was brightly outlined against the night, as if generating its own radiance with a lustrous white layer over top of its transparent, black pelt. A smoke-like material rose from it as though it was burning, flickering in the slight breeze surrounding them in the darkness. It hurried to intercept the cerrien with a clear, pale gray stare begging its attention be drawn to it.

“Stop,” the eerie shape ordered urgently.

The cerrien turned away. Just ignore him and it will go away.

“Stop!” The ghost again blocked his path.

The cerrien rolled his eyes. “I have to get my egg to safety!”

“This is more important! I am a spirit, and you must listen to me. I have come to warn you!”

“Warn me?” The cerrien’s glittering eyes narrowed to slits. “What about?”

“That egg of yours.” the spirit pointed to it with his gleaming, yet dark-colored tail. “Beware of what you make of its future. That cerrien was never meant to be here. Nor should it be.”

The cerrien stiffened, his fur bristling at his neck. “Never meant to be here? Why?”

“This creature will bring great destruction, so long as you let it live." Urgency burned through the spirit's words. “It may be the end of all Fintaria if it remains in the Living World!”

The cerrien stared at the ghost, his fur spiking up and his eyes wide as moons. He thought of quickly spinning the bag around to his front and clasping the unhatched kitten tightly to his chest.

Some sensation tingled at his claw-tips—more than the presence of the spirit before him. Over his bewilderment and anxiety he sensed another soul flickering from the undergrowth.

Someone else is here. He swung his gaze, fixing it on a pale shimmer of blue light filtering through the ferns like a pool of moonlight. Was there another ghost preparing to show itself? But the light grew dimmer as whoever was hiding withdrew.

Even without meeting the spirit's gaze, there was a clear, fierce intensity rolling off its form in waves. “The kitten must die.”

At once the Spirit-Watcher flung his head back towards the apparition. “What!?” His jaw clenched and his outstretched claws flexed into the earth. “Just what do you think you are meowing about? It’s the last of my family left from this mess! Of course I’m letting it live!” What do I have if not this egg?

“Then you are making a great mistake!” The spirit’s silver-white eyes blazed. “That cerrien could nearly cause the destruction of cerrienkind!”

“Could and nearly? You’re fear-mongering about something that might not even happen! Where does an idea so preposterous even come from?”

“I was born a cerrien of great power. I feel the emotions of the future in my dreams. I sense pain when there will be war and contentment when there will be peace.” The spirit lashed his tail. “I have seen great danger ahead from that egg. There is no goodness inside of it.” He narrowed his eyes, desperation and anger mingled within their pale depths. “Please trust me.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just some nonsensical dream?” The cerrien rolled his eyes, his fur still stiff. “So-called abilities are just fantastical works of imagination.”

The spirit let out a long sigh, muttering under his breath before speaking to the Spirit-Watcher once more. “If that’s so true,” he retaliated. “Then how do you explain the fact that I’m a ghost standing right in front of you and that you can see me? I'm the one who's the ghost here, yet my words go right through you!"

The cerrien shook his head. “Seeing ghosts is not a power, not magic. Every century or so, a cerrien is born with just the right equipment in their brain to perceive the presence of the dead. There's no such explanation for seeing the very future."

“You think I’m lying to you?” The spirit took a brief moment to thrash his tail, whipping it with such intensity that for a heartbeat the dark gray cerrien could only imagine the tip cutting across the shell of his egg. “You have an interesting mind, Spirit-Watcher. After all, the Spirit-Watcher's powers are those desired by every cerrien in Fintaria. Any cerrien must treat you like the most powerful cerrien alive. But, if you believe yourself to be powerless..." Thoughtfulness swallowed the rage that had bubbled in the spirit's expression only a moment ago. "Then, by your beliefs, the Spirit-Watcher can see ghosts. They are a rarity, but that doesn't make them the bearers of magic. Their power doesn't come from the act of seeing ghosts itself, but from what they can do with that ability and what other cerriens make of it."

"Our kind has been brainwashed," the Spirit-Watcher growled. "Throwing the Spirit-Watcher onto a peak of a mountain for all to see just for the ability of seeing ghosts, when in reality the true power comes only from what that cerrien chooses to make of these abilities."

"Then maybe you can prove yourself as powerful by fulfilling this simple command." The wonder escaped the ghost as quickly as it had come. “You must kill the kitten, or leave it to die. I ask this on behalf of all the Spirit World. I’m sorry." There was a long pause, then, "My plea is not one of ill-intent.”

Liar!

“If you do the right thing, it can still lead a happy life as a ghost in the Spirit World.”

A happy life in the Spirit World? The cerrien snorted with contempt. Does death of others mean nothing to those who have already gone?

The spirit watched him for a reaction. “It just can’t stay here,” he said. “I believe that you know that…in your soul.” His eyes bored into the Spirit-Watcher, daring for a counterargument.

"How could a single cerrien possibly hold enough more to cause the destruction of all of us?" the Spirit-Watcher challenged. "No cerrien has that much power."

The spirit paused, as though his words had finally seared a hole in his thinking. But when the spirit's gaze refocused, it was full to the brim with raging fury. "No cerrien should have that much power! I have seen just what would happen if enough power fell into the wrong paws! This is exactly why I am warning—no, telling—you of all of this. You must kill your kitten to prevent this horrible outcome from even getting the chance to breathe!"

"You're getting stuck in your own head! It's not possible for a cerrien to gain enough power, let alone any power! Powers and magic don't exist. No cerrien can travel through time or create tools in the afterlife. It's all lies."

"You really think so?" The spirit's voice became ominously soft, like the whistling of a breeze just before a storm. His claws glinted where they extended past dark, transparent paws.

You can't hurt me. You're a ghost. Though the dark gray cerrien could bet that if this cerrien were alive, he would gladly threaten to spill blood.

“I’m not letting the last of my family go!” the Spirit-Watcher declared. “After all I’ve been through, don’t you think I deserve a life worth living—a life where I can raise a family, or at least one kitten? It hasn’t even hatched yet—it doesn’t know any better. If I raise it with love and support, it won’t do any harm. Just like any kitten. Surely you must see that if you’re so all-knowing.”

“Easier said than done!” The ghost scorned. “That cerrien is more powerful than you think. Trust me, I've seen it myself. Don't you care about the fate of Fintaria? No one will live if you keep that egg alive. It'll be the end for all of us.”

“Even if you speak the truth, that'll never happen!” The cerrien insisted. “I’ll take the egg to Scorpoterria to ensure its safety. I shall make sure that it’ll be raised in a safe, supportive tribe.” He remembered the fragility of the egg, how easy it was to break. “You stupid ghost with your fake little powers!”

“Scorpoterria? You're willing to travel across the continent rather than going to Thermoterria? Even Glaciterria would be better!” He gave a snicker. "Perhaps you aren't even fit to raise it, either!"

“Outlandish!” The cerrien interrupted. “Thermoterria and Glaciterria do not offer the proper way for a cerrien to live. I’ve heard that those cerriens are too soft and cowardly for their own good. No kitten of mine will be raised by such weaklings. By moving to the desert, I shall ensure my kitten will be brought up in a community of strong cerriens, noble and cunning!” Why would I waste time in either of those places when I could raise a kitten in a place known for their fighting skills? I will not let my young’s potential be wasted! The skill it picks up will prove to the ghosts that they have made a great mistake in wishing harm upon any more of my family!

“When our entire species nearly falls apart, don’t say I didn’t warn you. You are a dumb cerrien, Spirit-Watcher.” The voice sharpened, like claws running down a cave wall. “All of the land on this continent and all of the land of the spirits might even cease to exist and it will be all your fault!” For all this spirit’s terrified words, the dark gray cerrien could detect no fear in this cerrien’s demeanor. The ghost held himself upright, tail still lashing to and fro, flexing his dark, faded paws. Eyes of silver fire attempted to spear themselves into his soul.

“You don’t look as frightened as you sound,” the dark gray cerrien muttered.

Fury erupted in the silver eyes for just a heartbeat—so fast it wouldn’t been easy to miss had the cerrien not been staring so provokingly into the spirit’s eyes. “I’ve had enough fear,” he said. “I’ve been a spirit for so long—nothing needs to sink its claws of fear into me anymore. I am telling you for the good of those who may not feel the same way. The blood of your whole species could be upon your paws.”

The dark gray cerrien dove to the side and sped through the trees, towards the moorland. After the ghost’s insistent yowls had blended into the bloodthirsty cries ringing throughout the territory, he skidded to a halt and caught his breath.

Leaving the territory means I may never see the ghosts of my family.

The cerrien unmounted his bag from his back and glanced inside it. The egg was tucked snugly at the bottom, safe and sound, but something was not right. The cerrien gently nudged the egg aside and peered closer.

The glow radiating from his eyes lit up a pink cone hat sitting on its side, the letters S and W marked in black. Clumps of dust had fallen on the hat, as though it had not been worn for some time. A fresh wave of fury coursed through the cerrien’s body—so much that his claws itched. How did that get in there?

The cerrien took a moment to stare at it in disdain.

All this ability has done is cause me pain. The Spirit World is powerless. The Spirit-Watcher is powerless. I will never wear upon my head a hat symbolizing a world of lies.

His earlier bout of grief had quickly subsided. Perhaps it's for the best that the ghosts of my family can't reach me, if they truly are dead. A strong tug pulled his paws behind him, back towards where he might find his partner and siblings, still alive and searching for him.

No. The messenger had told him to leave, that this revolution had been getting too dangerous. I won't put the egg in danger, but I hope that you will all be safe.

A growl rose up in his throat. How dare the messenger suggest he had any real chance of finding the answer?

The cerrien lifted his head to stare at the horizon ahead of him. The stretch of moorland ahead was bathed in blue moonlight, and the trees beyond were dark and gloomy in comparison, as though hidden from the moon’s glow.

A steady glow crept itself way into the corner of his eye once more. The Spirit-Watcher whirled himself around with extended claws, ready to yowl into the foliage for the ghost before his eyes to leave and never return.

But he froze before this new visitor. Wide eyes gleamed in his direction, staring at him intensely, critically, before they winked away as the newcomer ducked into the thick vegetation.

And the last he saw of this cerrien was the shimmer of a pink cone hat.

Letting out a huff of bitterness, the Spirit-Watcher turned back towards the moorland.

Is no other ghost going to stop me? Surely if this was so dire, half the Spirit World would be swarming at him, demanding the shattering of the egg at once.

He inhaled a deep, slow breath and focused on the world ahead: the moonlight spilling onto the grass and the swath of dark, lush trees dancing in the night. The beauty of it seemed to whisper in his ears, taunting him.

How can such an awful disaster, followed by an outrageous plea, occur on a night so alluring?

The cerrien blinked, musing for a moment. No…it’s not taunting me, it’s showing me the way out of the darkness. Someday, my family, I hope that you somehow learn that I am safe, as well as the egg.

The cerrien took a pace forward.

It is not the end. I hope that you learn of the cruelty that this world and the Spirit World has brought us.



The kitten must die.

The loud screech of an owl and the sound of fierce, beating wings thrust Echo back into wakefulness.

I’m okay, he reassured himself. I’m back under the bramble thicket, and it’s not like I can get hurt when I time-travel.

The light gray cerrien blinked open his sky-blue eyes and lifted his head.

What bad thing was going to happen? He repositioned himself in his warm, cozy nest for a moment as the scene replayed in his mind.

I wonder what happened after that. It must’ve been years—decades ago, since there was a Spirit-Watcher then, and whatever revolution there was clearly must have been resolved a long time ago. But nothing catastrophic has happened.

A deep pang of sympathy for the Spirit-Watcher rang in Echo’s chest. He must’ve had to kill his kitten. He sounded so distraught; he suffered so much. He pushed away the sad thoughts that curled around his heart like talons. He’s dead now. I hope he’s been reunited with his family in the Spirit World.