You slide the bag across the table, the hooded figure opposite you peers inside. “Where the hell did you find this?!”

You smile. “It was in Faylea, a small town off the coast of Esir Isle. I had a few casualties, but they have been delt with.”

Behind you is four men, spitting insults and foul profanities, being led out with shackles heavy on their wrists.

The hooded figure nods. “Good, good… You found our moles.”

You raise your eyebrow, “Where is my reward?”

The hooded figure barks out a cold laugh, “It will come when you complete your next assignment.”

You slam your hands on the table.

“You promised me two hundred thousand credits!”

The hooded figure rises from his throne. “You dare question me? After everything I have done for you? After I took you in and raised you to be the best assassin and thief this side of Ayluiria has ever seen? If I say that the money will come, it will come. Don’t question me again.”

You back down and take a deep breath. “Forgive me, Lord Zantorian. It won’t happen again. What’s the new assignment?”

Zantorian pulls back his hood and steps into the light. “You have been called back to Eldirii. My son needs help training the recruits. I have been recently notified that there is a promising new Revalorian.”

You gasp. Revalorians are extremely rare and there has never been two alive within the same century.

“She was found under the care of Adeleah Wolfsbane, headmistress of The Sanctuary, an all girls orphanage.”

_“Just like me” _You think to yourself.

You begin to walk out of Zantorians Throne Room when he speaks.

“Oh, and Natiriya? Her name is Aneirin. Aneirin Aetoris.”

Name: Vox

Scientific Name: Voxus Mortis

Pronunciation: V-Ox

Description: The vox is a Volcanic Fox, and is completely made up of Molten and Hardened Lava. They usually are red and orange, but in some cases and biomes, they can come in Blue and Silver. The Red and Orange breed goes by the Voxus Rotannis, and the Blue and Silver is the Voxus Azurai.

Location: The Rotannis breed lives in the high mountains of Feylea, Engardia, and the Azurai lives in the ice caves of Igala, Elondrya.

Disposition: Rotannis are often friendly, but should not be touched, due to their molten skin, but they extremely loyal, often to a fault, if treated correctly.

Azurai are not friendly but can be touched, their skin having been hardened by a crystaline encasing they develop when they reach adulthood. They are fairly aloof, and mistrustful, but if you make a bond, they are incredibly loyal, much like their sister breed.

Ever since I was old enough to remember, my main goal in life was to be normal. Who knew that would be the biggest backfire of the century.

My mother always talked about how I would be this amazing leader. That someday I would be brave and daring, saving lives and being front and center in the spotlight, with the world singing my praises. She wouldnt talk about him much, but my dad was the same way. He was the kindest soul I had ever met, and I’m not being baised. Everyone talks about how incredible he was, and how he saved the world with only two other people, one of them being my mother. The amount of pressure to live up to his greatness scared me. So to my mothers dismay, I stayed in the background, hoping that nobody would notice what my mother saw in me. What everyone saw in me.

My dad died four years ago, a hunting accident, or thats what people told me. Before he left, he gave me my final birthday present. It had been my thirteenth birthday, and he had woken me up with the biggest smile on his face. He was always so enthusiastic about birthdays. He never had a proper one growing up, so he had always tried to make mine special. Every year I had gotten a cool book from one of his travels or maybe even a welded sword from his glory days. The only thing that was consistant was the letters he had written to me. They always started the same, “To my brave Kiandra, stay strong.” I had always been confused at why he had written that, but now looking back, maybe he had meant it as a comfort?

We live in a land, Where the footprints, Of ghosts linger.

Some fade with time, But if you look closely, You can still see.

The divots in the sand, The crushed leaves of the forest, The melted snow in the alps, Even where its warmest.

The stories of old Tell of the days Where the footprints
Of ghosts linger And the remnants Of their ways remain.

How do I tell a well structured story when life is absolute chaos?

Two weeks ago, an envelope showed up at my door, with only five words gracing the front in looping cursive.

To Kiandra, my warrior.

Inside was a will, signing a mysterious zoo to my name. The Menagerie of Unlikely Creatures. In Ireland.

Yesterday, my son, Wyatt and I flew out to Ireland. We stayed at a small tavern called The Rusty Bucket about twenty minutes away from the zoo. We were welcomed in by a lovely couple, Jakob and Renae McFaddon, who the previous owners of the zoo had given the key to. Nobody knew who they were, only that the man had a scar in his chin and the woman had a tattoo of a Chimera on her arm.

The next morning, or today, we took a bus to The Menagerie. Wyatt was beyond excited, acting like a little kid again. It made me smile to see him happy agan. High school has been rough on him.

We walked through the gates, and I gasp, my eyebrows shooting up in shock. What we found could only be explained by magic.

The gate was an entrance to a whole other world. The entire landscape had changed once we had stepped through. The sky was clear and a beautiful ocean blue, and trees stretching towards the heavens. But, the thing that shocked me the most was the animals. In large beautiful enclosures, were mythical creatures only found in fairytales.

Minataurs, Griffins, Dragons, Kelpies, Unicorns, Chimeras, Manticores, Basilisks, Phoenixs. They were all there.

Amazed I stood, and watched as a man approached me. He was tall, with dark brown hair, and kind light gray eyes. He stopped in front of me, and then smiled, holding out a giant notebook, a fountain pen, and a small indescribable object. He handed me the notebook and pen first.

“I take it you are Kiandra Jarvik? Can you please sign here?”

His voice was deep, but smooth, a slight accent hinted throughout his words.

I signed the form he had in the notebook, and suddenly the landscape changed again. Now the man, Wyatt and I were sitting in a small living room, the walls painted a faded blueish-gray. I stared at the man incredulously.

“What just happened?”

He chuckled.

“Just a simple transportation trick.”

I smile and nod, internally freaking out. He winks at Wyatt and then turns back towards me.

“I can tell you haven’t been briefed. My name is Walter Chesterton and I am the Head Animal Caretaker here at the Menagerie of Unlikely Creatures. You have been named owner of this place and it seems as if you didnt even know that this place even existed. Did your parents ever tell you of this place?”

I look at him, taken aback.

“My parents? Ha. No. They never told me about this place. I didnt even know them. The last I heared was that they have been dead for the last 32 years.”

He scratches his chin in thought.

“Hmm. Well, thats where you’re wrong. They didn’t die 32 years ago. They died three weeks ago. They built this place from the ground up. I was with them when they died, and they told me to deliver the envelope in your bag to an undisclosed address in North Carolina, USA. So I did. And here you are.”

I laughed, panic clawing up my chest.

“Huh. Ok, Walter Chesterton, of the Menagerie of Scary Animals I Only Read About In Books, there has to be a mistake. I can’t be the one you’ve been looking for.”

Wyatt looks at me like I’ve gone crazy. Hehe. Maybe I have?

“Mom! This is our chance at a new life! A chance to break away from the restricting grip of Raleigh! Please mom!!!”

I sighed at my son.

“Fine.”

Walter’s face lit up and so did Wyatt’s.

With that, he handed me a small object. It was a key, with my last name embossed into it’s handle.

“Well then ma’am, welcome to the Menagerie.”

I’m single, and its all my fault. Today is Valentine’s Day. Most people are happy and in love. Me? Not so much. All because I thought I was amazing. I thought, “I should have a boyfriend by now.” And then I got one. Two months later, I was admitted into a mental asylum for speaking to an imaginary person. The end.

“You’re just a little butterfly.”

His face inches from mine, I could smell the alcohol on his breath. His eyes, crazed as a drunken stupor glazed over.

Butterflies. In all of history, butterflies have been regarded as weak and helpless, and nothing but a beautiful thing. Moths however, were strong and resilient, born of night and were graced with wings of death.

I cracked my knuckles, and a scowl bloomed across my features.

“I am not a butterfly, I am a moth.”

My fist connected with his temple and he fell to the floor, unconscious. A voice cried out above the cheers in the bar.

“Thats the seventh time today! How many times do I have to tell these idiots to stay away from my bartenders!”

My boss starts cackling with laughter and I grin.

“Not enough I guess.”

Captains log: 04-28-1427 Captain Maris Thryfer speaking. I have been absent for twelve days due to pirates. The Nightshade suffered damage from the Crimson Dagger and we lost a good man. Lieutenant Jaxon Starbird will be greatly missed. We managed to dock at the Halauirian Dokks for a week, and were lucky to find a repairman on such short notice. We now left the Dokks and are adrift the Elondryan Ocean. While in Halauiri, we found a new man to replace Lieutenant Starbird. His name is Roland DiCartha. He hails from a fairly respectable family. The DiCartha’s have been known to be some of the most influential names in the Atlastian Navy for sixteen generations. I am pleased and greatful to have him on The Nightshade. Yesterday, Roland entertained the crew with a couple merry tunes to keep everyone’s spirits high. This morning I charted a course for Esir Isle to check up on an old friend of mine. Admiral Joralai Morai. She wrote to me a couple months ago, telling me of some trouble she had recently had to sort out. I am sending in a request to check in her. The last time I heared from her, she had told me that her brother Tariq had gotten tangled into some Spanish Uprising, and had been sent to prison. I sent my condolences and told her of my plan to come see her, but I hadn’t heard back. We are expected to land on Esir Isle in about fourteen days. Anyways, my lamp is burning low, and I must attend to my evening affairs. Goodnight to all, Signed, C. Maris Thryfer.

Captain’s Log: 04-29-1427 Captain Maris Thryfer speaking. This morning I was woken by the sounds of swords clashing, and I was terrified that I had slept through a call of alarm. I hurried to throw on my clothes and grabbed my sword, ready to fight, only to find Roland DiCartha commanding sword drills with the crew. My fears having been put to rest, I decided to have a little fun and thought of a little challenge. A duel to see who is best with their sword. Whoever won got an extra set of rations that day. The rules of the game were, no backstabs, and no limb chopping. The rest was free game. The tournament started at 4:40 A.M. and ended at 10:45 A.M. Criss Glem, our cabin boy, won. I was very proud seeing that he was my nephew, son of my brother Criss Thryfer. I took him on two years ago when he had freshly turned 14. Now, at sixteen, he has grown into a fine young man and I am happy to call him family. Criss Jr. decided to keep his mothers maiden name in her honor. Miranda Glen has always had my respect, she was the kind of person who always knew how to brighten someones day. Kind of like Roland. Two hours ago I caught Roland teaching Criss Jr. how to make Rabbit Stew from scratch. We had it for dinner and they did a wonderful job. It makes me smile watching how quickly the crew has accepted Roland as their own. Well, enough about Roland. Today’s weather was clear and sunny, with a good breeze flowing through our sails. We have thirteen days to go till we reach Esir Isle, and by then we will be out of our last rations so we will have to restock. Unfortunately, due to our run in with The Crimson Dagger, we will not have enough money to buy enough rations to last us through winter, so I will have to make the hard call and let some of my men go. As I look out the port windows, I see than the sun has dipped beneath the earth. Indeed it’s my time to retire. Goodnight to all, Signed, C. Maris Thryfer.

Between the green glimmering light of the forest and the dull melancholy brown of the dirt road, a carriage rolled up to Myrtlewood Manor. Out stepped a woman that we must follow, who was by no means a threat. At least that's what she would like you to think. There was nothing striking about her, except a slight contrast between the holiday cheer of her clothes and the defensive fire burning in her eyes.
Her clothes included a dark blue gown, a white shawl, and a straw sun hat with a silver ribbon. Her lean face however was dark by contrast. Her eyes, emerald green and determined, were lit with burning flame, a fire that only grew as seconds passed. Her auburn hair was curled into elegant ringlets, gracefully framing her face. There was nothing about her to assume that in a hidden pocket of her dress was a loaded revolver, the high neckline of her dress was covering a locket with a picture of her dead husband, and under her straw hat was one of the greatest minds in history. No one would even suspect that she was going to sneak into Lord Zantorian’s private study and steal the ring of Alestra, a ring that could harness the power of the North Wind, and hopefully by the end of the night leave Lord Zantorian lying cold, dead on the floor. With her pretty face and joyous attitude, no one would guess that the leader of The Eboncrest Insurgence had snuck in right under their noses and left without a trace. For this was Evonley Leondra Winterbourne, the greatest mastermind of the Kingdom of Eldirii, and she was coming to exact revenge on the man who had murdered thousands.

If someone told me that today would be the day my best friend found out that I was a superhero, I would’ve laughed. I have been so careful to keep my secret identity under wraps, but today called for desperate measures.

My best friend, Walter Jarrenson, was at my house for the third time this week. It was a friday afternoon, and like usual, a knock sounded at the door at 2:00 p.m. sharp. Walter liked to be punctual, always had been.

Unfortunately for me, I was in the middle of an interrogation. My head whipped towards the front door, and I sighed in frustration. I loved Walter, but he had a knack for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. I looked back at the man strapped to my kitchen chair. “Wait here, and don’t move. Well, at least don’t scream.” He nodded quickly.

Satisfied with his answer, I strode to the door and eased it open, my body covering all hopes of seeing inside. I faked a grin. “Walter! So good to see you! Maybe you could come back at another time?” His eyebrows furrow, “Of course! Do you have company? Are you feeling unwell?

Great, he noticed my strange behavior. “No, I dont have anybody over, I’m just not feeling the best.” His eyes widen. “Raina! Why didn’t you tell me! He pushes past me and goes into the house, and to my dismay, heads straight for the kitchen. “I’m going to heat up some chicken noodle soup. You should head upstairs and rest!”

I follow quickly after him, my heart leaping into my throat from panic. “Walter wait-!” I call, but its a second too late. We round the corner and Walter sees the man tied up in my kitchen. He stops short, and a bewildered look crosses his face. “Uh, Rai. Why is a man tied to your kitchen chair?” He looks a little freaked out, which is understandable, and so does the man.

“Walter, this is Larry. Larry, Walter. Larry was robbing a bank on fifth street this morning, so I brought him back here for questioning.“Raina, why didn’t you call the police? What are you? Some sort of vigilante?” A dawning realization crosses his face. “Shoot Rai, you’re the Silver Shadow aren’t you!”

I blanched, shock growing across my features. “What makes you say that?” But I already know that my cover has been blown. “There are thousands of people in this city and you thing I’m the Silver Shadow?” He responds with a deadpan remark “Who else has a bank robber tied up in their kitchen?” “Fair point.”