Tritan Universe Bundle

Orphaned by war, alone, Mila is an enigma. A fugitive of the state, her blood runs thick with magic, teeming with untapped potential―until she betrayed. Captured. Sold.

To him...

I was eighteen when the capital city of Tritan fell.
With the element of surprise on their side, the fight was relatively bloodless and over within a week. They crushed our communication network, and it was days before we even knew who our attackers were. Once we saw the black-and-gold banners of Caledonia, however, our self-defense attempts were virtually nonexistent—they were known for being ruthless in battle. It was assumed the Caledonians had attacked Tritan for her abundant resources. And it was true, to an extent.
With the government disabled, mass panic quickly followed. Families trying desperately to escape the tattered carcass of Tritan fled north, to the country of Elora. Once our closest allies, now offered only barred doors and shuttered windows, lest they incur the wrath of Caledonia.
They were right to fear.
Our enemy had more than a reputation for blood lust—their elite soldiers could channel energy into the weapons they carried. Blasts hot enough to burn through anything it encountered. They were deadly warriors, utterly unmatched in any known arena. 
But the true horror of our invasion had yet to be revealed. Renowned for our genteel natures, slight statures, light hair, and fair complexions, our people were valued for our contributions to medical sciences and bountiful food production. Beloved for our peacekeepers and healers.
And for our priestesses.
Rare Tritan women born to sense the energy of every organic thing around them. Who could manipulate life by reshaping it as something new—trees, plants, animals—anything that held a spark of living energy. Priestesses were famous healers, using their abilities to detect and diagnose ailments in their patients. But the most powerful could direct that energy to heal any injury.
As medics, they might have been invaluable on the battlefield. Might have given our scattered forces a whisper of hope against Caledonia’s elite warriors.
But the temple was the first to fall.
The true target of Caledonia’s attack wasn’t the military, the senate, or our bountiful riches.
It was the priestesses.
By some cruel stroke of fate, the Caledonians could enslave the priestesses in chains of glittering gold. Bound to one of these elite warriors, Tritan’s cherished holy women were nothing more than conduits to the world’s living energy. Taken by the conquerors who came to enslave, to use until there was nothing left but an empty husk. Tritan burned, and from her smoldering corpse, the enemy rose in a cloud of ash.
Invincible.
Limitless power at their disposal.
There was no chance of a rebellion after that.
But it wouldn’t be a story worth telling if it ended there. I escaped the city before the fighting reached us because my father used his position as a senator to get me to safety. Just as he’d done years before, when my modest talents as a potential priestess had begun to manifest. Forbidding me from honing my craft—from wasting my life in selfless worship—was a biased decision that eventually saved my life. Unfortunately, he couldn’t secure the same for himself and my mother.
It was the last time I saw them.
Some of Tritan’s refugees managed to find a temporary haven in the vast forest separating Tritan and Elora. Not rebels—just desperate people trying to avoid the nets of those hunting them. I was among those small clusters of terrified people, and though I never met another priestess, it became obvious the Caledonians wanted even the ordinary citizens of Tritan. Our unusual coloring made us highly sought after in the slaving markets across the world.
It wasn’t long before slavers invaded the woods. Not long before they attacked.
Scavengers drawn in by the ignorance of those who knew nothing of survival in the forest and even less of the stealth needed to escape unnoticed.
It was dark when I awoke to the scent of meat roasting over a fire, serenaded by the merry sounds of popping and crackling flames. One of the men had brought down some type of fowl and had started a fire to cook it. The smell of roasted bird soon woke the remaining sleepers, and although we knew better, it was a temptation none could resist.
There was only enough for each of us to have a few mouthfuls of the succulent meat, but as the hot juices dripped off our fingers, I was sure it was worth it—until the slavers crashed through the brush, weapons drawn. The camp sounds, which moments before had been contented eating, became screams of terror as everyone scrambled for safety. 
It was my first good look at the dreaded Caledonians.
Where Tritans were slight and fair, the Caledonians were the opposite. Dark hair and eyes with considerably larger, heavily muscled frames.
I had but a moment to make this observation before my impending enslavement became apparent. I was a Tritan priestess, albeit an untrained one, and I couldn’t allow myself to fall into the clutches of an elite warrior to be used against my people in such a perverse way.
To my everlasting shame, I took the opportunity the chaos offered and slipped away. I knew I wouldn’t have long before the slavers finished subduing my countrymen, so I took to the trees. The largest branches were thick enough to jump from one to the other, effectively allowing me to distance myself from any incriminating trails.
Safe in a delicate network of branches, where no bulky Caledonian might follow.
I had a head start, and I wouldn’t waste it.
After I had almost fallen to my death, I slept the rest of that first night huddled inside a hollow log, and awoke the next morning with bugs crawling all over my skin, tangled in my hair.
Pushing aside my revulsion, I brushed away as many insects as I could while listening for any sounds that could be out of place in the silence of the forest.
Silence roared back.
Careful, I crawled from my hiding place into the brisk chill of early morning.
I quickly realized I faced more problems than evading capture. If I didn’t find a reliable food source, I would likely starve to death before the long winter months. Heavy rainfall was a daily occurrence, so water was not an issue. Being raised with the privilege of being a politician’s daughter, I had never lacked fresh meat and vegetables, though I was certainly feeling it now. As far as I knew, starving to death wasn’t even the worst of my problems. If I didn’t have access to fresh fruit with vitamin C, I could develop scurvy or other issues.
With no option but to deal with one thing at a time, I fashioned a snare for trapping a small animal. I had seen plenty of squirrels and rabbits as I made my plans. I just needed to catch one.
It was three days before I managed to trap anything. By then, I was weak with hunger and spent most of my time sleeping. With a detached certainty, I knew I didn’t have much time before I wouldn’t be able to drag my tired body to safety if the slavers found me. But to my immense satisfaction, I had a plump rabbit caught in my snare within a few hours of those dreadful thoughts.
All I had to do was kill the fluffy little thing. Placing the blade of my knife at the soft throat, I braced for the kill.
I should have closed my eyes.
Shouldn’t have looked into the inky black depths of an innocent creature’s terrified gaze. Of their own accord, my fingers began stroking soft brown fur, soothing it. Its little rabbit heart beat so fast against my palm that I began to worry it would die from fright in my hands, when I ought to have been eager for its death.
And with a whispered apology, my grip grew slack. Fingers sticking, I let it go free.
I’d showed mercy to an animal that would have made my existence much easier. But when I’d gazed into those beautiful dark eyes and saw the absolute terror I had recently had a taste of, I felt a certain brand of kinship with the creature.
And I’d failed to push the blade through its soft fur. Failed to take its life to save my own.
I still faced imminent starvation, and now I was without the strength to check my remaining snares. The chance to change my mind had passed with a breath of mercy.
I collapsed onto the forest floor, staring up at the thick foliage and squirrels as they raced along their treetop highways.
This was the end.
But as I lay there, I noticed the tree above had large green fruits hanging from its branches. Though I didn’t recognize them, malnutrition had a funny way of making one keen to try anything. Glancing around, I realized there were several of the fruits scattered across the forest floor. The squirrels certainly seemed to enjoy them, so I hoisted myself off the ground and reached for one. After all, I was beyond the point of caring if I died from eating a poisonous plant.
I bit into the green husk and promptly retched—the flavor and texture made it clear the thing was not for eating. Hurling the offensive fruit against the nearest tree in disgust, I watched with detachment as the green husk exploded, leaving behind an ovular black pit. Frowning, I crawled over to the palm-sized pit for a closer inspection.
“A walnut,” I whispered, excitement lending me the energy to find two rocks and bash the walnut into smithereens in my enthusiasm. Gleefully picking the pieces out of the shell, I stuffed the meat into my mouth, knowing walnuts were jam-packed with nutrients, proteins, fat, and vitamins and would keep well during the winter months.
At the very least, I knew they would keep me alive.
I spent most of the day collecting walnuts and throwing them against trees to remove the husks. Touching them with my bare hands produced a dark brown stain that no amount of washing could remove. But what did I care about dirty hands when I now had a food source? One that would keep well without spoiling, that I could store for months and eat well even in the winter.
It was time to find shelter.
I decided to take inspiration from the wildlife thriving all around me, where I could barely take a step without blundering it in some way or another. So, I sat and watched the squirrels and rabbits for the better part of a day, hardly daring to move for fear of disturbing them from their regular habits. I observed as they ate some plants and avoided others, stored food for the coming winter, and fattened themselves on the forest’s bounty.
Most importantly, I watched as the squirrels darted in and out of their homes, hidden in the very hearts of the trees. My face cracked in the first genuine smile I’d had since the horror of the invasion.
I had a plan.