In the middle of a raging war in Europe is orphaned Siani, adopted by a family who was once her enemy. Years pass, and she quickly finds her place in her new countryside community, but the time inevitably comes for her to leave home and start a life of her own. When she ventures outside her little village, however, she finds that the rest of the nation isn't as accepting of her as her adoptive family was. If she can't be seen as an equal, as one of them, maybe it's time to start acting like the enemy she was born to be...
It's about forty-five minutes before class starts and I'm the only one in the room. It's just a general education European economy and politics class, but it's my first in the morning on Mondays, and I like the time to myself to get any last minute work done that I sloughed off over the weekend.
I’ve just peeled my notebook open when something strange catches my eye. I don’t know what at first, and it takes me a few minutes of scrutiny to figure it out. I’m drawn to a section of my notes that seem out of place, like they’re in the wrong spot or something. Then, I realize that I never took these particular notes. It’s my handwriting, but I’ve never seen this material before.
After the dissolution of the European Union and the subsequent collapse of the global economy, many European nations regressed to more authoritarian forms of government to maintain control over the rapidly deteriorating rule of law. While ultimately unsuccessful—as evident by the resulting Anarchy Wars—these pseudo-governments would eventually lay the framework for many of the modern hybrid governments in Europe today, including the Coalition.
It reads more like a textbook than anything I would write; my stuff is barely readable to outside observers. But how did it get there? It’s identical to the chicken scratch in the rest of my notebook, but I know I didn’t write that. I look to the edge of the page and see another hastily scribbled note:
Meet Owain at 1500 on Monday! Music study room 32d.
The room is so quiet that it’s almost like the walls are listening in, peeking over my shoulder at the notebook. I don’t know any Owains, certainly not spelled like that. The only time I’ve ever seen that name was almost a decade ago, back before the invasion of my home. We learned about Owain Glyndŵr, the last ruler of an independent Wales. The memory of the name sends shivers running up my spine making all of my hair stand on end, though I’m not entirely sure why.
I turn my notebook over and look on the back cover. There’s my name, Siani Morgan, marked in black ink in the corner. It's definitely my book. Maybe someone else mistakenly wrote in it? It seems odd, because I’ve had it in my possession since Thursday of last week when I used it last. I set it aside and pull out my tablet to do my homework.