It took a while to write this first bit of the book because I had writer's block and was busy with other things.

Quick PSA about this book.

This book, A God Named Sin, is my senior project. A senior project is a big project every senior in Idaho has to do in order to graduate. Every school does it differently. My school has the seniors do an actual physical project for their senior project, whether it be painting a shed, teaching a class, or raising money. I chose to write a book.

Part of my project is that I'm going to post the book online on the YWS and Wattpad for people to read. And I'll be reviewing other people's works on the Young Writers Society for my project as well.

So, if you leave a review on this work and the works that follow this one, I would appreciate if you let me know if I can use your review in my final presentation, if I can use it but you want your username blurred out, or if you don't want me to use your review at all.

Thank you for the support, and without further ado, here's the Prologue and Chapter 1 of A God Named Sin. Hope you enjoy.

A God Named Sin

Prologue

The wind shook the leaves in the trees high above the Dead Forest. Eona and Ryn shone bright against the dark sky, the couple waxing together in the sky. Their silver light trickled down between the branches of the trees, grazing the forest floor below. Stars sprinkled across the sky, and the bright colors of distant galaxies shone down on the earth.

Somewhere in the forest, people were waking up, walking like a cult to a meeting ground. A poorly assembled castle stood among the trees, hidden in their height, but the black stone stood out against the green leaves. In front of the grand castle was a circle of stone with a large altar in the center, silver chains resting against the stone.

The people gathered around, eyes darting to the altar and whispers filling the air. Among them, Sinder stood. His hair was a mix of deep purple and bright pink, much like the fur on his cat-like tail and ears. He flexed his hands, black veins creeping up his arms like the black from his fingers was spreading through his very blood. His eyes shone purple in the light that caught them, much unlike the brown they had once been.

He whispered anxiously to another next to him, who shared the same eyes and black fingers, tail swaying anxiously. A sound caught everyone’s attention.

The front gates of the castle swung open, a tall man stepping out, flanked by 2 others. He looked like an angel. His hair was a majestic white, messy but well-kept. His wings were feathered and pure white, with only the black edges to stain the flawless appearance. A small pair of horns curved from his forehead, one of them broken and cracked. His hands were folded neatly behind his back, skin stained so dark it was hard to tell if he was wearing gloves. The black crept up his arms, disappearing under his sleeves, and black veins crept up the sides of his neck, towards his deep purple eyes, pupils shattered like glass under the weight of a rock.

He walked gracefully up to the altar, the crowd parting for him and keeping their distance around the stone out of respect. Hundreds gathered now, using whatever means to see their prophet. Sinder stood tall, on the tips of his toes to see over the crowd.

One of the two men flanking the man stepped forward, raising his hands and speaking. “Brothers and sisters of the shadows,” he boomed, his voice echoing through the silent forest, “we gather once more under the watchful eyes of Eona and Ryn to embrace the power that flows through us, to acknowledge the gifts bestowed by our divine leader. Tonight, we gather to hear from our glorious leader, Renvar G’Klair. To be uplifted by his wisdom, and to witness the sacrifice that will strengthen our cause and bring us closer to true dominion.”

The crowd roared in response, their voices filled with feverish devotion and unyielding loyalty. The man stepped back, and the angelic figure — Renvar G’Klair — stepped forward, his eyes surveying the assembly with a calm intensity that silenced the crowd. A subtle, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips as he raised his hands.

“My ascended,” Renvar began, his voice low, with a slight hiss that still carried across the vast clearing, “Aethryndor has spoken to me once more… They have told me of a fracture in the weave of this world.”

He paused, a murmur rippling through the assembly.

“A sign. A gift. A breach. A vessel untouched by the light of our enemies.”

He paused again, letting the silence stretch on.

“There will come a being not born of this soil. Not shaped by this magic. Not bound by the unshaped’s fragile laws.”

Renvar stepped forward, his wings spreading slightly, casting colossal shadows over the eager crowd as he continued, “Aethryndor has named this gift… Seth’Vael. Seth’Vael will walk in our world, unseen by our detection, untouched by our spells. Aethryndor will guide Seth’Vael to us.”

A pause.

“And when they do, we will not treat them as the unshaped do. We will not cast them aside. We will not squander what the Eternal has entrusted to us.”

His voice sharpened.

“We will embrace Seth’Vael. We will nurture the power they hold, and together, we will usher in a new age.” His voice grew louder. “An age where Aethryndor’s magic will reign supreme, and the shackles of the old ways will be broken forever. Through this gift, the war will end. Through this gift, the unshaped will kneel. Through this gift, every being will understand what it means to be chosen.”

The crowd erupted into a thunderous roar. Renvar raised his hand again, and the silence returned almost instantly.

“Prepare yourselves,” he said quietly. “For in due time, Seth’Vael will arrive. And the world will bow before Aethryndor.”

The crowd roared again, and this time Renvar turned, his gaze sweeping over the eager faces with a profound, almost prophetic intensity before turning to the altar, a faint, chilling smile playing on his lips as he surveyed the silver chains.

“Now,” he said, the assembly behind him quieting once more, “Let us offer Aethryndor the tribute they are due.”

A figure, bound and gagged, was brought forward by the two flanking men. Their hair was long, ears pointed, and clad in simple, torn garments. Their face was firm and stoic, as if they had accepted their fate. Their eyes met Renvar’s for a second, a silent challenge in them, before their hands were unbound and they were forced onto the altar. The two men secured the individual’s wrists and ankles with the silver chains.

Renvar approached the altar, a sacrificial dagger appearing in his hand, shadows writhing around it like eager serpents. The crowd watched in hushed anticipation. Sinder shivered, the black veins on his arms pulsating visibly, excitement humming through his very being as Renvar raised the dagger, its polished blade reflecting the eerie purple glow of the surrounding magic.

Renvar spoke once more, his eyes fixed on the bound figure, “Aethryndor, accept this offering. May their life force fuel your ascent, and may their sacrifice pave the way for Seth’Vael’s arrival.”

With a swift, precise motion, he plunged the dagger deep into the captive’s chest, a muffled scream escaping from their lips as their body convulsed once before falling limp. The assembly again erupted into a feverish roar, their voices a cacophony of praise and bloodlust.

Sinder watched as Renvar removed the dagger, now covered in blood, and produced a silver rag, wiping the blade clean before tucking both back into his robes. He shivered, not entirely from excitement. He then turned around and started walking back up to the castle, the two flanking men following closely behind, leaving the bloodied altar and the sacrificed body behind.

The crowd, still buzzing with renewed fervor, began to disperse. Sinder was ecstatic, despite having had trouble seeing the ceremony due to his short height — he was only 17. He pushed through the crowd, towards the forest edge where 3 others were gathering, their purple eyes lingering on the altar.

“Did you feel that?” one of them, a young teenager with a shock of blood red hair and blackened fingertips, whispered. “During the ritual, that surge of power?”

“Indeed,” another individual, a girl with long, flowing black hair and pointed ears, mused, her voice a low hum.

“Do you really think this ‘gift’ is coming? How would-” A boy with grey hair and bull-like horns started, but was cut off by Sinder.

“How can you doubt Renvar and Aethryndor? Have you not seen the miracles Renvar has performed under Aethryndor’s guidance?” Sinder hissed. “Or are you doubting our leader’s divine insight?”

The boy with horns raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. “No, no! I would never question Renvar’s wisdom! But… a being from another realm? Surely such a thing is unheard of, even for Aethryndor.”

Sinder’s ears flattened against his head. “Are you forgetting the prophecies, Theron? The ones Aethryndor has already fulfilled. Surely this one will be no different. It seems you are doubting Aethryndor’s power. That is a dangerous path to walk, Theron.”

The other 2 in the clearing nodded in agreement with Sinder, murmuring. Theron’s head lowered, and he mumbled an apology to Sinder and Aethryndor. Sinder merely grunted, turning back to watch the last few of the crowd disperse.

The four moved deeper into the forest, away from the fading echoes of the ritual, their hushed conversation continuing as the forest canopy closed around them, obscuring the moonlight and deepening the shadows.

Chapter 1 | Misplaced

Rylie’s pencil moved across the page of her sketchbook, adding the finishing lines to a picture of her cat. At the front of the classroom, Mr. Lawson unfolded a flag as he talked about the Confederate States of America. Most teachers would’ve assumed she wasn't paying attention, but history was one of the few subjects that could hold her focus. The Civil War was just another chapter in her endless fascination with the past.

“And this was the flag of the Confederacy,” Mr. Lawson said, holding up a flag before the class.

Rylie glanced up. Mr. Lawson was holding the familiar blue cross and stars of the Confederate battle flag. Her pencil stopped moving. That… wasn't right.

That was the Battle Flag of the Confederacy, not the national flag.

Rylie hesitated. She wanted to say something, but it wasn’t that important. It wasn’t that big of a deal. It wasn’t-

“Mr. Lawson,” Rylie said, raising her hand. Mr. Lawson paused, and some of the kids who hadn’t been paying attention perked up at the quiet student saying something.

“Yes, Rylie?” Mr Lawson asked.

Rylie hesitated.

"That's… not the flag of the Confederacy. That's the battle flag. The Confederacy actually had three national flags. The first one was the Stars and Bars, and the Blood-Stained Banner came later. That one was mostly used by the army."

Mr. Lawson paused, blinked, checked his notes, then looked back up at Rylie with a chuckle. “Well, I’ll be. See class, this is why I keep Rylie around. Sometimes she’s a better teacher than me.”

Rylie chuckled awkwardly, her anxiety climbing a bit. Mr. Lawson turned back to his lesson, and the attention on Rylie slowly died down, much to her relief.

She lowered her head and returned to her sketchbook, though a small smile tugged at her lips.

A few minutes later, Mr. Lawson wrapped up his lesson and dismissed the class. They always left a few minutes before the bell because it took a few minutes to walk from the portable where his class was to the school building. Rylie packed up, waiting for the rest of the class to walk out the door before saying goodbye to Mr. Lawson.

“Don’t leave me hanging when we get to World War 1. I’m counting on you,” Mr. Lawson called out after Rylie.

Rylie chuckled and walked out the door, feeling the familiar cold Idahoan air hit her face. Most of the other students were already down the ramp and crossing the small service road used by delivery trucks. Rylie followed the familiar path, walking through the doors right when the bell rang.

Rylie made her way to the cafeteria, going through the break line and grabbing food before heading towards the band room. She tried the doorknob when she got there. Locked. She turned around, leaning backwards against the wall to wait for the teacher.

But there was no wall. Rylie fell backwards, instinctively reaching out to catch herself. Her vision went white, and air rushed up around her as she fell. Her vision returned, and she saw the open expanse of a blue sky above her. She had no time to comprehend what was happening before she collided with a tree branch that snapped under her weight, sending her tumbling further. The ground met her with a loud thud and crack. A white-hot pain flared from Rylie’s leg and chest, and she let out a scream, the sound echoing through the unfamiliar woods, sending nearby birds flying up into the trees.

Rylie lay there, gasping for breath as black spots danced across her vision, the searing pain in her leg intensifying with every shallow gasp. Rylie felt herself slipping into unconsciousness, seeing a flash of blue before everything faded to black.

***

Rylie slowly opened her eyes. Everything was dulled. The pain in her leg was now just a throbbing ache, but her chest hurt with every breath. Above her was a creamy colored ceiling, illuminated by a soft orange light.

Rylie looked around. She was in a tent. A large tent, lined with a few large wooden shelves filled with various objects, including bundles of plants, pouches, bowls of orange-colored berries, and jars of an amber-hued liquid.

Rylie tried to move, but a sharp pain shot up her leg. She gasped, which caused an equally sharp pain in her ribs that made her breath hitch and a quiet groan to escape her. She looked around slowly, when a flash of movement caught her eye. She looked at where the movement came from, seeing winged figures flying near a large wooden shelf. At first, Rylie thought they were birds.

Then one turned.

A person. A tiny person, barely the size of Rylie’s hand. With tiny, brightly colored wings like a butterfly’s. It looked like a fairy. All the little figures looked like fairies.

The one that turned dropped a bundle of herbs it was holding. The others noticed, turned towards Rylie, and froze. They stared at Rylie, and Rylie stared at them. None of them moved. One moved closer, towards Rylie. It crossed some invisible line and immediately dropped out of the air, its wings no longer working. It let out a loud squeak, and the other immediately dropped what they were carrying and scattered around the tent.

Some of the fairies darted behind the shelves, others zipped behind buckets and piles of supplies around the tent. The one that fell scrambled backwards until its wings started working again, and it also darted behind a shelf. Rylie heard sounds coming from them – it took a moment for her ears to register the sounds of quiet, panicked voices.

"It moved!”
“It broke Poppy’s wings!”
“It didn’t break my wings!”
“You fell out of the air!”
“Someone get the healer!”
“Don’t go near it!”

Rylie sat there, confused, listening to these little fairies speak. Then she heard louder voices and footsteps approaching from outside. The fairies quieted, and Rylie saw a few peek out from their hiding spots. She turned towards where the voices were coming from, her heart starting to pound in her chest as she attempted to sit up despite the pain piercing her chest when she moved.

The footsteps stopped just outside the tent, and the voices hushed. Rylie pushed herself back slightly, wincing as another sharp stab hit her sides and leg as she moved. The flag of the entrance to the tent was pushed aside, and two figures walked in. Rylie’s breath caught at their appearance.

The man who entered was tall—taller than any teacher or high schooler Rylie had ever met. His skin was deeply tanned, his features sharp, and his blue hair looked perpetually windswept, as though he'd just climbed off a battlefield instead of walking into a tent. The rest of him was covered by what looked like an old soldier's uniform. Cream-colored fabric embroidered with bright gold and silver patterns disappeared beneath dark leather straps and worn armor plates. But it was his other features that caught Rylie’s attention.

Wings. Large leathery wings folded loosely against his back. A long tail with a heart shape at the end that swayed softly as he moved. And long, ridged horns curling up towards the sky from his forehead. All these features, along with his hair and eyes, were a bright blue color, like someone had taken the brilliant blue of the Puerto Rican oceans and painted it across his entire body, swallowing all other features of his person.

Behind him, a woman of shorter stature walked in, whose skin was a fair color like Rylie’s own, with deep brown hair pulled up into a neat bun. Her ears were long and pointed, her facial features angular and delicate, and her eyes were a deep emerald green. She wore a long, pale dress, stained with faint greens and dark reds. A belt sat tight around her already snatched waist, with various bags and bottles hanging off of it.

They looked as if they’d been pulled straight out of a fantasy book from Rylie’s bookshelf. Rylie’s breath hitched, her heart hammering in her chest. Every fiber of her being was screaming that she was in danger, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

The two people looked at her and froze. No one moved for several seconds. The man shifted, his leathery wings spreading outward and his tail stiffening. The woman stepped back slightly, looking at Rylie with fear and uncertainty. The man eyed Rylie, his gaze roaming over her. Studying her with the same fear and uncertainty as the woman, but it was laced with… curiosity? Like he was studying a rare exotic bird.

At that moment, the fairies darted out from their various hiding places, flying towards the man and hiding behind his wings and the folds of his uniform, saying warnings about “the creature being awake” and how it “broke Poppy’s wings.” The man glanced at the tiny, frantic beings fluttering against his armor, then back to Rylie with a scrutinizing expression, as if assessing a threat.

The woman whispered something to the man, who thought for a moment before responding. He hesitated, glancing toward the woman before taking a cautious step toward the cot. Every movement was slow and deliberate, as though approaching a frightened wild animal. The fairies fluttered away from him, settling to hide behind the woman, who watched the man approach Rylie.

Rylie watched him approach with wide, unblinking eyes, her eyes pounding in her chest. Fear coursed through every fiber of her being at this strange man in front of her. She had to be dreaming. She must’ve fallen down the stairs outside the band room and hit her head. She’d just wake up in the nurse’s office and be able to laugh about this bizarre hallucination with her friends.

But every breath sent a stab of pain through her ribs. The cold air hit her skin, and the coarse, rough fabric of the blanket on top of her felt far too real to be a hallucination. She wanted to believe she was dreaming, but everything felt too real to be a dream.

The man stopped a few feet away. He knelt down, keeping his hands visible in a gesture of non-aggression, as though trying not to scare Rylie. His eyes swept over her, cataloguing every detail of her appearance... and Rylie found herself doing the same with him.

The silence stretched between them.

Finally, Rylie found her voice. At the same moment, so did the man.

"What are you?"