Children of the Prime Box Set Read online

  The Children of the Prime Box Set

  The Complete Dystopian Series - Books 1-8

  T. C. Edge

  This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, events, and incidents that occur are entirely a result of the author's imagination and any resemblance to real people, events, and places is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2019 T. C. Edge

  All right reserved.

  First edition: June 2019

  Cover Design by Laercio Messias

  No part of this book may be scanned, reproduced, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.

  Contents

  I. THE CHOSEN

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  II. TRIAL OF THE CHOSEN

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  III. BLOOD OF THE CHOSEN

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  IV. MARCH OF THE CHOSEN

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  V. WAR OF THE CHOSEN

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  VI. FALL OF THE CHOSEN

  Chapter 110

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  Chapter 114

  Chapter 115

  Chapter 116

  Chapter 117

  Chapter 118

  Chapter 119

  Chapter 120

  Chapter 121

  Chapter 122

  Chapter 123

  Chapter 124

  Chapter 125

  Chapter 126

  Chapter 127

  Chapter 128

  Chapter 129

  Chapter 130

  Chapter 131

  Chapter 132

  Chapter 133

  Chapter 134

  VII. RISE OF THE CHOSEN

  Chapter 135

  Chapter 136

  Chapter 137

  Chapter 138

  Chapter 139

  Chapter 140

  Chapter 141

  Chapter 142

  Chapter 143

  Chapter 144

  Chapter 145

  Chapter 146

  Chapter 147

  Chapter 148

  Chapter 149

  Chapter 150

  Chapter 151

  Chapter 152

  Chapter 153

  Chapter 154

  Chapter 155

  Chapter 156

  Chapter 157

  Chapter 158

  Chapter 159

  Chapter 160

  Chapter 161

  VIII. FATE OF THE CHOSEN

  Chapter 162

  Chapter 163

  Chapter 164

  Chapter 165

  Chapter 166

  Chapter 167

  Chapter 168

  Chapter 169

  Chapter 170

  Chapter 171

  Chapter 172

  Chapter 173

  Chapter 174

  Chapter 175

  Chapter 176

  Chapter 177

  Chapter 178

  Chapter 179

  Chapter 180

  Chapter 181

  Chapter 182

  Chapter 183

  Chapter 184

  Chapter 185

  Chapter 186

  Chapter 187

  Chapter 188

  Chapter 189

  Chapter 190

  Chapter 191

  Chapter 192

  Chapter 193

  Chapter 194

  Chapter 195

  Chapter 196

  Chapter 197

  Chapter 198

  Chapter 199

  Chapter 200

  Chapter 201

  Chapter 202

  Chapter 203

  Chapter 204

  Chapter 205

  Chapter 206

  Chapter 207

  Chapter 208

  Chapter 209

  Chapter 210

  Chapter 211

  Chapter 212

  Chapter 213

  Chapter 214

  Chapter 215

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Also by T. C. Edge

  Part I

  THE CHOSEN

  1

  I've always hated collection day.

  The pomp and ceremony. The bowing and fawning. The subservience shown by the townsfolk in our little community at the edge of the Fringe.

  It's like this across the entire region, I guess, and few share the same opinion as me. Perhaps that's why I hate it all so much - to be left out, to think so differently from my friends and neighbours. There's something lonely about that. At times I wish I could just give in and accept that this is how life is meant to be.

  Right now, the people are gathering in our town of Pine Lake, one of the largest across this western edge of the Fringe, and so named because of the beautiful pinewood forests and turquoise lakes that sprinkle the area. With midday swiftly approaching, the place is bustling with an excitement that accompanies this day each month, the people assembli
ng from their homes and outlying hamlets with tributes and offerings in tow.

  Annoyingly, it's always been down to me to bring along the offerings from our household. It's as if my parents think that forcing me to endure this monthly spectacle will make me change my mind, even though they rarely attend themselves these days.

  At my side stands a girl three years my junior, her eager eyes staring up towards the sloping plains to the north of town, the sun-bleached grasses shimmering with a warm yellow radiance. She's about half a foot shorter than me, and her eyes aren't quite so golden, but beyond that - and the age gap - we could quite easily be mistaken for twins. I suspect that once she catches me up in height, people will find it hard telling us apart.

  Well, at least in visual terms, that is.

  Lilly may look just like me, all golden hair and eyes, tanned skin and slender build, but that's about where the similarities end. Unlike me, she fits in like a glove around here, and you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone of her age more devout and devoted to our self-proclaimed rulers in the north.

  I love her to bits, of course, but I do wish I had a little sister who wasn't quite so brainwashed. Then again, I could say the same about mother and father, as well as just about everyone else I know. Those who go against the grain of common thought are few and far between, and tend to do little more than grumble privately about their lot in life; one of servitude and devotion to a people who - as I see it - give us little in return.

  A smile begins to simmer on my face as I see one such grumbler now, coming our way from the pinewood forest to the west of town. He is the archetype of tall, dark, and handsome, a combination that has brought with it a roguish charm and easy smile that tends to draw a range of expressions as he passes through the gathering throng.

  Some of the more colourfully dressed grin girlishly at him, blushing as he glances their way. Others merely shake their heads and mutter something rather less polite.

  Jude has the impact of splitting his audience. Young people - girls in particular - tend to like him. Adults feel quite the opposite. Although, it has to be said, he's clearly managed to win over a few of the more seasoned ladies by the looks of those secret smiles...

  The sight of him has Lilly spinning on her heels, her keen eyesight turning from the northern, sun-drenched plains and taking in the tousled brown locks and deep chestnut eyes of my closest friend and confidant. At nineteen, Jude's a couple of years older than I am, though that age gap is probably reversed in terms of maturity.

  He carries an almost perpetual, lopsided grin to his tanned face, his chin and cheeks ever dusted with a coating of dark, albeit patchy, stubble. He's kept the look ever since he began growing facial hair, proudly displaying his masculinity despite the fact that, around here, being clean-shaven is considered a mark of respect to the Prime and his children.

  Clearly, he believes leaving the stubble fits with his image as the local rogue. He's not entirely wrong. It does suit him, I have to admit, and I do enjoy the subtle - or perhaps not-so-subtle - display of insubordination.

  "Hey, Jude," Lilly exclaims in a rare bout of enthusiasm at anything other than being a good Devotee. She clearly falls into the first category of Jude's admirers, despite her best intentions.

  "Hey, Goldilocks," he replies, one side of his mouth curling into its customary grin and chestnut eyes slanting mischievously. He hurries up towards Lilly first - really, he uses the nickname on both of us - stepping skilfully through the crowd, and draws her into a hug, picking her up and spinning her around. Then he looks over to me with a raised brow, grin morphing into a smirk as he drops my sister back down to the ground. "You look well, Amber," he says, attempting formality, stiffening his posture and standing up straight.

  I roll my eyes. Jude knows full well my feelings on this particular day of the month, when my aggravation levels tend to peak. I'm not sure whether he just enjoys torturing me, or if this is all just some cute way of helping me loosen up.

  Probably a bit of both.

  Dressed in his common hunter's attire of rugged pants and tan shirt, he steps in and casually lays a strongly muscled arm over my shoulder, turning my attention out towards the crowd, now gathering excitedly around the specially designed ceremonial courtyard at the northern edge of town. The community here isn't exactly huge, but has a decent sized population of about a thousand, a number doubled when adding in the local hamlets and other smaller settlements nearby.

  Lilly and I live in one of those, sharing a fairly simple one-storey cabin with our parents near to the region's largest lake. We're part of a small fishing community several miles from here through the pinewoods; a quiet place at the base of the mountains off to the west.

  According to our grandmother, they were once called the Rockies, though given her reputation as the local crackpot, not many people tend to listen to her. Perhaps it's a curse that I do. She's a large part of the reason why I'm about the worst Devotee across this part of the Fringe.

  "Looks like a good haul this month," Jude says, gesturing at the offerings being gathered within the courtyard and loaded onto ornately carved, ceremonial tables. His own back is laden with a heavy sack, though the weight doesn't seem to have any bearing on his strong, six feet two inch frame. "You meet your quota?"

  "Of course we did," comes Lilly's voice from the side, tinged with a note of indignation. "We always bring more than enough, Jude," she stresses, looking up at the young man with a crinkling brow.

  Jude drops a smile that eases her frown. "Of course you do, Goldie," he says warmly, prodding her shoulder playfully. "I just have to make sure. I wouldn't want my two favourite girls getting in trouble."

  Lilly's face softens into a grin, a common result of Jude's natural charm. She nods hurriedly and then looks to the bag on Jude's back.

  "What about you?" she asks, gesturing to the sack. "You going to add your tributes to the collection area? Or, you know, wait for them to arrive." She raises her eyes and shakes her head. "They won't like that, Jude. You're cutting it fine as it is."

  There it is, preachy little Lilly. Such a stickler for the rules.

  "I've been doing this longer than you, little lady," Jude replies, casually flicking the bag's straps off his shoulders. The sack drops towards the dusty earth, but he spins and catches it before it hits. Any excuse to show off his highly developed speed and reflexes. "I've got plenty of time," he finishes, eyes turning up to the cloudless skies, raging with a warm summer sun. He glances at me and then winks at Lilly, ruffling her golden hair as he passes her by, and strolling off through the crowd towards the collection area in the square.

  "He always likes to be last," I say to my sister, shaking my head and watching him begin to unpack and arrange his tributes in his assigned area. It looks like a generous haul of meats, mostly venison, rabbit, boar, and other common game. He also appears to have brought along some metal trinkets too - simple jewelry by the looks of it - clearly fashioned by his auntie, who he's lived with since the death of his parents years ago.

  Here in Pine Lake, our primary purpose is to provide tributes of food. A settlement like mine near the lake will bring mostly fresh fish. Someone like Jude, who lives in the pinewoods a little to the northwest, will bring game meats, with others focusing specifically on fruits and vegetables and certain types of crop, breads, other baked goods, and so on. However, other offerings can be given in order to gain favour if one is so inclined, or simply as a display of respect and fealty.