phoenixhyperion

**READ ME**

THIS BOOK WILL BE UNDER REVISION.

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My name? Lance Augustus
Age? 15
Nickname? Five. 
Why they call me that? Because the mark tells us so. 
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"Don't be stupid, steer out of trouble, and whatever happens, stay alive." 

I really don't know why Dad always repeat those words to me everyday. I take heed of his words. Play by his rules, never dared to go against him except if it's extremely necessary.

He's all that I need to get by. Our life was ordinary. Everything was perfectly fine, perfectly normal, just an everyday routine we get used to live. But then this guy calling himself 'The Seeker' came... And he start making a mess out of my life. 

He said I have powers. - Who believe that crap?
He said I have extraordinary abilities. - Cool! I want to be Superman.
He said I was chosen. - Who? The god of newbie bullies? 
The mark of five imprinted deep into my skin proves that I am one of the TWELVE. - You sure it's not a tattoo? I firmly believe it's a tattoo. 

I never believe him. I drove him out. I did not listen. I wish I did. Maybe he could have help me. Maybe he could have save me from the trouble of falling right into their trap. I know nothing. Because of my stubbornness I lost everything. So now I'm all alone. But she stretch her hand to me. She gave me hope. She invited me to come. And I did. 

So our search began. For the remaining TEN.
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They called me FIVE

"Take a look Jesper." Magnus said. "This is the proof she's the real Princess." I almost fall on my feet. Confusion, perplexity, bafflement is etched in my face.

"What do you mean?" Lancelot got the question ask before me. And I find myself nodding after him. Magnus smiled.

"You ask me why I have blessings right Princess?" Magnus is looking straight to my eyes. The moonlight and ray from the heather is illuminating his face. His face is chiseled, sharp jawline that suppressed the area below his eyes. He has high cheekbones, his sharp nose pointed straight to the empty dots of atmosphere. As if he's breathing, and sniffing the breeze has to offer.

"The Elm Elder that ingrained his blessing of Control on you? That's my father."

There's no sound to be heard except the ruffling of leaves, the swaying of branches, the strong breeze that whispers lowly in our ears. Making its presence known. My head is splitting into pieces, my tongue is frozen in place.

Were doomed huh