Hive Knight: A Dark Fantasy LitRPG (Trinity of the Hive Book 1) by Grayson Sinclair (black authors fiction txt) 📕

She shook her head. “In the time of my people, it was known as Telae.”

“Your people?” I asked.

“Yes, the Hive.”

“So, are you the Hive Queen?” I asked again.

She flinched at the title, and a look of great sadness fell over her. She chuckled, but it was hollow and bitter.

“I suppose I am,” she said, sighing.

Despair filled her voice; it seeped out with every word and movement, and I was afraid to know the reason. I had so many other questions, more than enough to occupy me.

The girl looked up at me, and she seemed to pull herself out of her sadness. “Tell me, what is the year?”

Ah, hell. She’s not going to like my answer. “It’s Tuesday, the fifteenth of July.”

She harrumphed. “More human words. What is the year?”

“The twenty-ninth year.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Sorry about that,” I said sheepishly. “It's the best I can do. All I can tell you is how long it’s been since we arrived here.”

“That isn’t helpful. Surely you must have a record of history, of time, yes?” she asked, uncoiling herself to sit cross-legged on the floor.

Her gray clothing was torn and threadbare, showing off too much of her pale flesh. Her once-cotton pants had been torn to her thighs, leaving most of her legs bare.

“Unfortunately, not. There isn’t much in the way of history here. Plenty of books on magic or monsters, but very little regarding history. What we do have is a few stories and word of mouth.”

I’d never paid attention to what little history we had in this world since there wasn’t an accurate reference for time and recorded events. I had more important things to focus on, and besides, most of the history of this world were stories carried by the dwarves and the elves whose lives measured in the centuries. Though all of it was mired in hearsay and conjecture—and getting an elf to open up to you was about as easy as fighting a manticore with just your fists.

My answer hadn’t pleased her, and she frowned slightly. “Your lacking frame of time aside, I feel like it has been centuries since I was sealed away, maybe longer."

She held her hand out in front of her; fingers splayed out. For a time, nothing happened. Her face grew sterner, and more scrunched as she concentrated on her hand. It was as if she were focusing her entire being on that one task.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the air changed. It started with a faint whiff of pine needles and wood rot. Not unpleasant by itself, but as the smell intensified, dark green smoke dribbled out from each of her fingertips, mixing and slipping aimlessly to the floor.

Then as abrupt as it appeared, it stopped and what remained slowly dissipated into the cracks in the stone. I was stunned by the display, at the verdant mist as it swirled and broke when it touched the ground, but I looked up to see tears of frustration in her eyes. They slid down her cheeks as she fought back a scream.

“Weak. I’m weak, even more so now.”

“Why are you weak? And what was that just now? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

She barked a sarcastic laugh. It twisted her beautiful voice into something dark and ugly. “Behold my power. Nothing more than a few drops of magic, that's all I’m able to muster. All that time imprisoned has stunted my growth even further, it seems.”

Wait, hold up. That was what? “Did you just use magic?” I asked.

She jerked her head, nodding, as she ground her teeth.

“How did you just do that?”

That got her attention, enough to snap her out of her anger. She looked up, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You said you just used magic?”

“Pathetic, right?”

“What?” I shook my head. “Never mind. How did you use magic without Script?”

She cocked her head to the side again, much in the way a dog does at something it doesn’t understand. “What’s that?”

“The language of magic. You can’t cast spells without it.”

There has to be some form of tangibility to magic. You can’t cast magic without a Script circle or incantation. She still held a look of confusion on her face at my words.

She leaned over on all fours and crawled toward me. She moved lazily, but it was sudden enough that she was nearly in my face before I realized what was going on. It startled me, and I went to back up, but my balance was wrong, and I ended up falling on my ass.

It seemed personal space didn’t mean anything to her, as she kept going forward, our faces were close enough that I could count the number of hexagons in her large eyes. Her eyes lit up at my unease, and she laughed softly. Her laugh was bright and musical; it filled the room and brushed against my skin like a physical touch, sending goosebumps up my arm. It was soothing to hear, like an old, favorite piece of music I hadn’t listened to in years.

As the laughter faded, she smiled once more at me. “Really, Duran, don’t be absurd. I am not one of the lesser races. Magic is in my very blood.”

Odd, so she doesn’t use Script to cast…but, maybe that strange smoke acts as the catalyst for her magic. There has—

“Hold up! You just said my name!”

I hadn’t told her my name, and she hadn’t told me hers. How the hell does she know it? I backed up, suddenly realizing that I knew nothing about this girl, and she was inches from me. I’d let my guard down, something I never did, but I didn’t get far as my back hit one of the wooden chests that lined the room a few seconds later.

She didn’t move closer right