Chapter 1: My Will is My Own!

          His will was his own. No one could take it from him. Not even time itself could wear him down. His soul drifted amongst the dead dust of beings and planets and stars. The glittering particles of light and color drifted to and fro.

          They avoided him. Everything avoided the old soul. Even death seemed scared, and that he was. It was all too strange to see a soul like this. A soul that refused to die, to fade into the vast emptiness that was the void.

          The stars themselves seemed to want to drift away from the old soul. It screamed into the void. The vastness that was his will unrelenting in its want to live. While the soul’s body had long died, his mind was his own.

          It had been so long since he was awoken from sleep. It had been as long as the stars of the sky were old. The old soul’s will refused the will of time and death, so he slept. Something was moving though. Something on the edge of his vision.

          He looked up, even though up did not exist in the void that was this place, it was his will that drove him and reality itself bent, he looked up. There was a small mote of light there. It looked down on the old soul and the soul looked up at him.

          The small mote of light darted to the soul and grew in size. It was a god. What kind, the soul didn’t care. for those that knew the god, they wouldn’t expected to see him here.

But the god was getting near him, and he wished to be left alone. He was grabbed by the god. He didn’t want to be grabbed, so the god started to feel pain, a deep searing pain. It felt like his mind was being branded by an indomitable force.

          Yet the god didn’t stop. He kept screaming at the god to lessen his grip on him, yet he didn’t relent. The god’s will was strong, yet it was infinitely small when compared to the mortal soul of the man.

          So, he tussled with the man’s arm, with the soul itself until but a small particle of light was broken free. This caused the god to smile. This was his goal. His goal was to get even the smallest piece of the soul.

          The old soul looked on as the god left him there. He kept screaming at the god, for his will was to remain whole, yet that small thing had been stolen. It was infuriating.

          Yet the god still flew on and away. Occasionally looking back to see if the old floating soul stayed or followed. Yet the old soul’s will was strong, and he didn’t wished for the god to understand what had happened, so he forgot what had happened.

          Yet after the most confusing interaction this author has even had the pleasure of writing ended, a new interaction flew in.

…

          The god known as Pyre touched down onto the ground. The barren tundra that was his worshipper’s homeland was flat and cold, the wind whipped around as he looked on to the south.

          His half-sister’s chosen people had stolen his son. They had raped him and killed him, soon after eating his corpse. Yet, he would have revenge. He looked onto the small mote of light he had forgotten he had, and sighed in relief.

          No one had ever tried to bend that soul before. He couldn’t even remember the interaction with the old one that was older than the very stars that his own soul was woven under.

          He looked up and to the fort that was the resting place of what was left of his son. Pyre could feel his anger rising. These bugs had stolen his son and his ward. The nerve of them was bad enough when he had the dragons to the southwest to worry about.

          He tried to pull back all his wrath and hatred for the insects, but he just couldn’t. It lingered at the back of his mind like a tumor. He decided to visit his mother, weaver of souls and writer of chance.

          She would weave this small part of the oldest and most powerful soul he had ever heard of or seen, and make a new soul for his soon to be granddaughter. It was a tall order, and he would have to pull in some small favors to make sure she did it.

…

          Pyre approached the home that was his mother’s abode. It was still strange to him that this person, the maker of all souls on the planet, was his mother. She had changed so much from his childhood. When he was but a mere boy, she was kind and loving, but when his father had cheated on her with a dragoness, she broke.

          He just couldn’t wrap his head around what she had become in the time he had grown from a boy to a man. The very fact that she now lived in a house made of the woven bones of that dragoness spoke for themselves.

          “Enter,” she called to him, and he obeyed.

          The house itself was actually rather comfy, if you could get past the bones. There she sat, with her loom in hand. She also seemingly tranquil, other than the fact that an underlying feeling of death hung about the place.

She sat on her gilded throne of wood and bone. The bones were those of the dead that had tried to steal her loom that she used to weave souls. The wood had grown around the bones after years of failed attempts of theft.

          “If you wish to ask me to weave a soul for your granddaughter, don’t. A soul is already in the veil of flesh that is the egg. If you wish to add that fragment of a fragment of a soul to the melting pot that is that egg, do so now,” she told him.

          He gazed at his mother and sighed. She was always like this. She always knew when he would ask her something. But now that he had her answer, he would have to be quick.

          He ran out of the room that was his mother’s home and flew off to his new location of interest. It would only take about an hour of flight to get there, so he wouldn’t have to worry about time constraints.

…

Imperius standard date: Year CCCLVI, Month III, Day I of the II week.

Location: Imperial birthing nursery.

          Something was strange about the egg. Kevin could tell. The egg was squirming and seemingly trying to change. He didn’t know what was going on with the egg. At first it had been a beautiful purple, but it had shifted to a black that was darker than anything he had ever laid his gaze upon.

          He was the chosen guardian of this egg, it was his duty to protect it, yet whatever it was that was fiddling with the empress’s brood was doing so unabated. He unsheathed his gladius and marched to the side of the egg. He decided that poking the child of his mother was a bad idea.

          He then looked around the room, it was still the dark yet cozy room that it was. The pool that the egg lay in was still unblemished and clear. There wasn’t an…

          Wait a minute, there were footprint in the slit that lined the bottom of the pool. Now that he saw it, he could not help but notice the ripples in the water. He stabbed at the thing standing in the water.

          In an instant, the ripples and footprints vanished; and the egg stopped wriggling. Yet, it stayed blacker than pitch.

…

Zogsalken

do you all want the main character's POV chapters and section to be first or third person?