As darkness falls and the moonlight kisses the earth, the sun rises over the horizon. The first move has been made and mankind will fall. Prince Nuada awakes once more to the sound of the early morning subway car, passing by freely without a care. He stares up at the darkness and closes his eyes. He feels her hair brush against his chest once more, the smoothness of her pale, pink skin against his own of ash. Her gentle, addicting laughter in his ears is cut by the sound of a blade slicing her skin. Her light, pastel pink blood staining the forest floor. And a golden skinned face holding green pools of madness staring back at him.

He awakes and stands suddenly, blade in hand, dripping in sweat. Mr. Wink looks at him, he grunts a word of concern as Nuada places the blade back in his sheath on his leg, "A bad dream." he answers. He takes a step forward, pulling the tapestry from the wall, running his pale fingers over her face. "I will command the army," he spoke, anger rising in his voice, "And when I do, that angel will pay!" Mr. Wink roared behind him in agreeance. As Nuada, gently folded the tapestry, placing it into his leather bag, he kissed the face on the front and softly whispered her haunting name, "Daëgona."

The sun rises, casting away shadows as she lifts her veil of morning on the horizon. The air is cool and causes a faint mist to rise over the ground. These mornings remind Prince Nuada of better times. A time where a fair skinned, dark haired woman would awaken beside him. A time when love was more than just a word. A time where her voice sang like the blood in his veins. His dark, blackened blood that pumps through his blackened heart. He never thought he would become so cold. At least not colder than he used to be.

As he made his way beneath the underpass, he came upon the brick building. It was here that his father, the last King of Bethmoora, had hidden from the humans. The mortals, they ruin everything. For a moment, Nuada pauses and leans against the cool brick wall. He closes his eyes and her face comes to mind. A narrow face, that of a woodland elf. Pale pink eyes, hair the color of fresh soil, and thin, tight lips that held many secrets and sleepless nights between. Her body is small but well toned. She is raised to fight hard in her army, regardless of royal standards. She is one with her people. Protection is key.

The forest floor is stained red from that of the fallen. Quietly, Nuada leans against an emerald tree, hoping not to awaken it as he tends to his wounds. The mortal weapon was tainted with dark magic, sliced into his skin causing him to bleed. His honey colored blood dripping down his chest. For a moment, he thought he was safe until he felt the heavy scent of magic at his throat. The sleek silver blade crossed into his vision, "What do we have here?" the silken voice spoke as the owner came into view. Nuada was speechless. She was beautiful. He had had many female suitors but none of her beauty. "A Bethmoora Prince. Lost in the Vëtrigan forest." Her pale pink eyes drop as she scans his body. She blushes slightly at his physique. Quickly gaining her composure, she smiles at him as she drops her satchel, "And injured, no less." she pulls out a white and yellow bar. Soap. But it shimmers like dragon scales in the orange sunlight. She also pulls out a woven cloth; dumping the water from her pouch over the cloth that she has wrapped around the bar.

She stands, removing his leather armor and cleansing his wounds, "You could kill me easily." He says, his honey colored eyes leveling with her pale pink ones.

"That would be pointless. All elves are stronger together. Besides," she pauses as she grabs Havete leaves, covering them in mud and placing them over his wounds, "I could never kill such a powerful creature with such a fragile soul."

Nuada leaned in, his kiss catching her off guard. "My name is Nuada."

"Daëgona." she breathed effortlessly as she pulled her lips from his. Nuada opened eyes, pulling himself from his memories back to the present day.

Dawn has drawn her velvet curtains over the day as Prince Nuada retreats to his underground home. Leaning against the cool brick wall, he stares down at the golden blood of his Fathers. He loved his father, very much. The man taught him everything but he had to avenge his love. For it was his father's command that ended her life. "How could you?" his own words echoed in his mind. "You sit there and you speak of the humans being innocent when it is their plague that drove you mad! Do not speak to me of taking the life of an innocent when you yourself took one of your own!"

"My son, you could not be with her. A forest nymph and an elven prince? It's an abomination!"

"OUR LOVE WAS NOT AN ABOMINATION! They, the mortals, betrayed us. We are practically gone. So, allow the army to rise. And we will take back this world for our people!"

"You do this for yourself, my brother, not out people." Nuala spoke, uncovering the sheer ivory veil from her face. Her honey eyes, wide and full of wonder, stared back at her brother. Her small face resembled that of an owl. As did the scars that mimicked the wisest of creatures.

He could not bring himself to the truth, he was doing this mostly for revenge. He cared not about the mortal world, but more for the revenge on the angel who cute his beloved's throat. Holding two pieces of the summoning crown, Nuada shook his head. His people loved him. Therefore, it was for them. Unlike him, Princess Nuala had never has a suitor; she had never been in love. Therefore, she could never understand the pain he felt from losing his one true love. Daëgona was no forest nymph, but the Princess of the Forest. Her words spoken were that of power and precision. Her fighting skills were of grace and agility. Nuada had learned everything about what it really means to be a warrior from her.

It was his Father's decision to take Daëgona's life. It was Nuada's decision to take his Father's. "An eye for an eye." Prince Nuada spoke to himself, "yet the loss does not for fill the void within my heart." The mortals cared for themselves. It must start somewhere. "Dear, Sister," his voice echoed out in his mind, "I will find you."