I had hated her long before I knew her. But, now, I held her body in my arms. Once my greatest enemy, she was now just another broken soul.
A burning city was the backdrop of our struggle. Embers danced in the sky like dying stars as I held her close. It mirrored the feelings in my heart. "I really thought you could save me," she whispered, her voice trembling with a ragged desperation. A painful hope. "Yeah," I said. I hadn't slept in four days, and I was beginning to feel it. "So did I." Why had we fought for so long? All the blurred lines between right and wrong, faded gray. Two weary souls bound by a cruel, twisting fate. Her breathing was getting more labored. Each inhale a reminder of the hope they shared. Each exhale a reminder of the grim mortality that both separated and connected them. I looked into her eyes. They had once been so bright and defiant, like the flames that lit up the night sky. They now smoldered with a glimmer of remorse. A flicker of regret. A moment of realization. "Why did you do this?" I just wanted to hear her voice. I didn't care if she lied this time, I just wanted to hear her speak to me. She hesitated, eyes drifting to the ruined city she'd been fighting to conquer. "I thought this would be the way to change things." "It's never too late to change, you know," I squeezed her hand. The sweat on her palm was cold and slick. "Maybe make some amends." The sound that escaped her was a bitter sort of laughter, drowned by the sounds of distant sirens. "You're so sweet to say that," she said, placing a weak hand on my cheek. "You might be scared to admit it, but it is too late for me. I've gone too far, hurt too many. You can't redeem me." I knew she was right. There was no fault in her logic. She hadn't just been battling me, it would appear. Rather, she had also been battling her own demons within. Doubts and fears that had whispered dark promises for change. It was as though I was seeing her for the first time. "You don't have to accept that," I said gently. "Maybe I can't redeem you. But, maybe you can redeem yourself. I can't define you. Because to define you would be to limit your power." For a moment that felt like a lifetime, I held her close. "Thank you," she said, her voice a harsh whisper in my ear. "For trying to save me, even when I didn't deserve it." I kissed her. "Maybe I did save you. Maybe things could have been different if I had saved you sooner."
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Of course, that’s how things would end. He’d never go out in a blaze of glory. Not quickly, but not slowly, either. One last day, they’d told him. Tried to force him to stay at the hospital for it. As if he had any intention of dying in such a depressing place.
Instead, he stood on a particular corner, of a particular street. Gazing at the point where he’d let her go. Wondering if, perhaps, those winged ravens would come for him. The black cat that accompanied him bumped his leg and trilled. He bent down, scratching her head. She’d grown so much since he’d found her underneath that parked car in the rain. So very long ago, it seemed. He rose back to his full height and placed his hands in his pockets. He took a breath that was deep, but weak. Hoping to stop the chill that creeped into his bones. He walked into the bar, found a stool and sat. The bar was dimly lit, the soft glow of vintage lightbulbs casting a warm ambiance over the patrons. It was the same spot he always chose, a corner stool with a perfect view of the room. The cat leaped up onto his lap and curled to doze. The bartender, a seasoned man with a knowing smile, placed a tumbler of bourbon before him, its rich amber hue reflecting the dim light. As he took a sip, the taste of the bourbon hit him with a nostalgic force. It was, as always, like a wave of memories crashing onto quiet shores, pulling him back to a time when she was still by his side. Like always, the seat beside him remained mockingly empty. The way she used to kiss him, gentle yet with a bite of passion, flooded his senses. It was a torrent of emotion. The very reason he’d avoided drinking in this bar for two years. Her name swam in his mind, and she had an allure that was simply irresistible. Her laughter could light up the darkest room, and her smile could mend even the most broken of hearts. The whirlwind within his heart was made of emotions bound together in a love both chaotic and enchanting. This place had been their favorite haunt, where they spent countless evenings wrapped in each other’s embrace, laughing, and savoring the small moments. And it was here that she first introduced him to the taste of bourbon. With a playful glint in her eyes, she’d handed him a glass and said, “Try it, you’ll love it.” He did. And he did. The remnants clinging to his lips now held a bittersweetness. It reminded him of the way she used to hold him close, her lips pressed gently against his, but with a passionate intensity that sent shivers down his spine. He could almost feel her presence beside him, her laughter echoing in his ears. Unfortunately, life had other plans, and their paths diverged. She was gone, now. Had been for years. Sometimes he tried to let go. Tried to forget her, but the taste of bourbon kept bringing her back to him, like an unwavering echo that never seemed to fade into silence. As he’d passed years now without her, he learned slowly how to cherish the memories they had created, even though they were colored by his pain. The bourbon became an unfortunate companion, a constant reminder of the love they had shared. With each sip, he traveled back to those precious moments, the sweetness of her lips, and the fire in her kiss. On this, his supposed last night, in this beautiful dimly lit bar, he raised his glass in a silent toast to the past. To her, and the taste of bourbon that reminded him of her deep, dark eyes. That reminded him of her arms wrapped around his chest. She had left an indelible mark on his heart, and he knew that no matter where life took him, the memory of her kiss would forever linger. It was no wonder to him now, how hard it was to let go of her that one final time. He took one last sip, savoring the taste, and let the bittersweet memories wash over him. The bar around him bustled with laughter and chatter. But in his heart, he found solace in the quiet presence of the past. The cat on his lap twisted around, adjusting her perch. The woman he loved was gone. But he could stomach one last reminder. Someone in a hoodie sat in the stool next to him, and the cat eagerly moved to the stranger’s lap. He looked over, and the stranger’s gaunt face held hollow eyes. “One last taste,” the stranger said, tapping a finger on the counter with a small, patient smile on his skeletal lips. “I can respect that. We’ll go when you’re ready." The family huddled together behind a pile of rubble, costumes tattered and faces smudged with dirt. Surrounding them, the minions of Dr. Darkstrike closed in, their menacing grins stretching from ear to ear. Zenith City was under siege, and it was down to this. One extraordinary family was left standing to save the day.
With a twinkle in her eyes and a mischievous grin, Eleta turned to her children. “Alright, kids… let’s start our final training session! Think of it like an open book test!” Her words carried a sense of excitement. The teenager, who called himself Quake, rolled his eyes. “Ugh… mom, it’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” Quake’s younger brother Gale nodded, blond locks dancing in an unnatural breeze. “Hey, yeah! These guys mean business. If we don’t fight for real now… we’re toast. Extra crispy.” Eleta’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she raised her head a moment to survey the chaotic scene. Her senses tingled with anticipation. “Listen up, you two!” she flexed her hand, fingers crackling with electricity. “Believe it or not, we’ve trained for this. We’ve got the touch. We’ve got the power. Most importantly, we have each other. Let’s give these baddies the shock of their lives.” Their father, Gravitech, stepped into the alley and stooped behind the rubble with them, gravity shield pulsing. “Your mother is right kids. It’s time to defy gravity and bring the thunder! Together, we’re unstoppable.” Quake groaned. “Can we please do one thing without throwing puns every five seconds?” “I hate to be the one to tell you this,” Gravitech shrugged. “But your hero name is a bit punny, too. Also, I’m a dad. It is my legal right to speak in puns.” “Whatever, I’m hungry. Let’s finish this and grab some burgers.” In unison, the family leaped into action, each displaying their unique powers. Quake shoved his fingers into the asphalt, creating tremors that tripped a large group of minions like bowling pins. Gale threw his hands forward, powerful gusts of wind that sent several other groups spiraling in chaos. Eleta’s lightning crackled and danced, weaving a dazzling display of power as she drew in the electricity in the air around her. With a flick of her wrist, she created an electrified force field, protecting her family from harm’s way. Gravitech activated the devices he’d placed down, reversing the gravity of different areas in an intricate web. Remaining minions recoiled in fright. Amidst the battle, the sounds of grunting, laughter, punches, crashes, and zaps filled the air as the family fought their way through wave after wave of minions. The family’s banter and playful taunts echoed through the chaos, disorienting the villains and injecting a sense of fun into the showdown. Dr. Darkstrike strode purposefully down the deserted street, a blanket of shadows billowing out further with each step. He was a formidable adversary, without a doubt, and his eyes glowed with an eerie crimson light as he summoned more and more darkness to envelop the battlefield. His sinister laughter sent shivers down the heroes’ spines. Eleta fought the tremble in her heart as she realized the true extent of the threat he posed. With each wave of his hand, Dr. Darkstrike imbued minions with his shadows, and they began to rush forward to overwhelm the heroes. These shadowed minions were absorbing and nullifying their powers, leaving the family vulnerable and defenseless. The villain’s ability to manipulate darkness and negate powers made him a force to be reckoned with, as he seemed entirely capable of plunging the city into eternal night. Not for a lack of effort, the family of superheroes found themselves on the backfoot. Dr. Darkstrike’s abilities seemed to counter their every move, rendering their own powers useless. As hope waned, the family rallied together, their determination burning brighter than ever. “No matter what, remember,” Eleta whispered to the children. “We’re a team. We’ll find a way to shine through the darkness.” The four locked eyes, a silent plan and understanding passing between them. Gravitech pulsed his gravity shield to buy them time. Quake and Gale held hands, combining their abilities for an incredibly powerful synergy. Quake caused ruptures in the street, as Gale gusted wind through the newly formed gashes. Wherever the seismic waves went, they carved a path through the darkness. Eleta seized the opportunity, drawing in as much electic energy into her body as she could manage. She channeled it down the paths created by Quake and Gale, her assault striking true on Dr. Darkstrike in a brilliant flash of energy. They smashed several more attacks into him, forcing Darkstrike to retreat. Breathing heavy in the aftermath, the family stood triumphant. United, with their determination and love for one another prevailing over the darkness. They felt a sense of true accomplishment in emerging victorious. They knew that as long as they fought as a family, they could overcome any challenge, no matter how formidable. For they were not just a family, but a beacon of hope and resilience, lighting the way to inspire others to rise above the shadows. Brian was looking forward to playing Dungeons and Dragons with his friends. Moreso than usual, it would seem, as he couldn’t stop rolling his dice on the table in the absence of the other players. The first to arrive, as usual, was Monique. He took a sip of his soda, stealing a glance at her.
Monique curled up on the living room couch, tucking her legs under her and adjusting her rectangular framed glasses. Not unlike a cat. He mused, observing the way she settled into the cushions. A nice little woman loaf. The idea amused him, and he found himself unable to suppress a chuckle at the comparison. His amusement, unfortunately, did not go unnoticed. She narrowed her eyes, lifting them from her phone’s screen to give him a withering, accusatory look over her glasses. “Really, dude. Again? What are you even laughing about?” she asked, her tone laced with a hint of curious irritation. He tore his eyes away from her and glanced over at the cat lounging on the armrest of the couch. The feline stretched lazily, seemingly uninterested in their presence, and observed them with the passive indifference that only a cat could. He arched his eyebrows playfully. “Nothing, really,” he said, unintended playfulness creeping into his voice. “Just an amusing observation.” “Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” she said, setting the phone down. There was some undiscernible glint in her russet-colored eyes. He hadn’t noticed that rich brown before, but it seemed pronounced for some reason tonight. “Share with me the source of your amusement, Brian. I’d like to laugh, too. Unless you’re just laughing at me again.” “It was just a stupid little thought I had,” he said, turning his gaze back to meet her inquisitive stare. As he looked at her, sitting there with her legs tucked under her, he felt something stir within him. Something he hadn’t quite recognized until that moment. It was something of a warmth, or fondness that welled up inside him, and he couldn’t help but feel an inexplicable connection. He cringed as she raised an eyebrow and gestured at him to continue. “Of?” she insisted. “Well, you know how cats sit like a loaf sometimes, right?” he babbled, heart hammering in his chest. His halfling barbarian character might rush headlong into moments like this, but Brian swallowed a lump. “Well, the way you were sitting reminded me of that. You’re a delightful little woman loaf.” She blinked, her eyes going wide as a faint blush spread across her cheeks. She sat back, letting the confession settle into a smile on her lips that seemed to mirror his own. “Bold words for a squishy little half-pint in melee range,” she grinned. They laughed together. After a few moments, she caught her breath and moved to sit in the chair beside his. Her usual spot. “Since we’re confessing things, I’ll admit that you make my heart skip a beat, in and out of character, just by being yourself. I guess we’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” In that quiet moment, surrounded by anticipation, a deeper connection blossomed between the two. As their friends arrived to play Dungeons and Dragons, Brian and Monique shared a knowing smile, their friendship opening into a promising new chapter, filled with unspoken possibilities, magic, and the opportunity to discover something uniquely beautiful in the most unexpected places. As the evening sun faded outside his window, Kendrick slouched at his desk, staring at the blank computer screen in front of him. There were too many things to feel; like always. Spiraling thoughts pressed down on him, suffocating his thoughts. His energy waned, seemingly sapped by the darkness closing in on his cold bedroom. The blinking cursor mocked him. A grating reminder of the emptiness inside him. A flicker of an idea sparked within his heart.
Fingers trembling, Kendrick took a deep breath and let his hands move. Words flowed through his fingertips onto the screen, building and forming into a world far removed from his own. In this story, he created a character named Mercia – a radiant and indomitable heroine who embodied everything Kendrick wished he could be. Mercia possessed a seemingly flawless beauty, captivating every person she encountered. Her vibrant eyes held secrets and depths that Kendrick could only hope to explore. With each word of description, he poured his longings into Mercia’s character. Acceptance. Validation. Hope. Joy. All the things outside Kendrick’s reality. As Kendrick delved deeper into the story, he crafted a realm of enchantment where darkness was banished, and happiness reigned. Within this world, Mercia faced challenges of every caliber. She always emerged victorious, with a smile on her face. Her resilience was a stark contrast to Kendrick’s helplessness. Throughout the tale of Mercia, Kendrick grappled with something dark within himself, assigning its formless menace into a relentless shade that pursued her relentlessly. Endlessly. And yet, Kendrick granted Mercia incredible personal strengths and unwavering support from companions who never faltered. They stood by her side, guiding her gently through the darkest of trials. A dark reflection of the connections that seemed just out of reach for him. Kendrick watched Mercia’s transformation as the story progressed – her initial timidity promptly overshadowed by a resilient empowerment. She grew further, her powers always breaking through the darkness of her enemy. It was hard to focus, but if he just let go, the words came. And with the words, some part of him trembled with cathartic release. With a final keystroke, Kendrick breathed deeply, wiping tears from his face. In the end, he reasoned, Mercia was more than just some fictional character he created. She was a call for help. A beacon of hope. A symbol of courage. As he read back over the words of his creation, Kendrick smiled. A glimmer of hope had ignited within. Maybe, just maybe, his own story didn’t have to be one of endless darkness. The weight on his shoulders seemed a little lighter. The darkness in his mind was a little less daunting. In that quiet room, under the glow of a laptop screen. And, with an absolute Mary-Sue of a character, Kendrick found something no one else could give him. He discovered a reflection of his own strength. A reminder that even in the depths of despair, there is always a flicker of light waiting to be kindled. Jack sat alone in his small dorm room; glazed eyes fixed on an ancient laptop. The sounds of laughter and muffled conversations drifted through the closed door. Another reminder of his chronic isolation. The vibrant social life that was beyond his reach.
It was Friday night. A time when most college students would be out and about, making stupid decisions and creating memories that would last a lifetime. But, for Jack, it was another quiet evening in solitude. He had always struggled to fit in. He could pretend some days, letting the infectious smiles of others bring him a grin or a laugh. But his past was marked by a quick temper and a viciousness that frightened him. Memories of pain long forgotten by others haunted him, a certain clarified guilt gnawing at his conscience. He had moved cities. He had changed. Transformed his life, even. Nothing erased it all, however, and the fear of reverting back to that version of himself loomed over like an impending storm. Jack yearned for those genuine connections. For a sense of belonging among friends who would accept him for who he was now, instead of judging him for his past. For someone, anyone, who could break through the barriers that kept him from opening up. Far too often he found himself on the fringes of social groups, smiling and laughing on the surface, while the claws of that deep-seated isolation held fast, snatching away the fleeting joys of being noticed by his peers. Hours became months, and every passing moment brought Jack more loneliness that weighed him down further and brought his reality crashing back into him. Rhythmic oceanic waves of overwhelming darkness that washed away all the good, too many times. In a quiet corner of the on-campus library, a book caught Jack’s eye. Its worn cover and faded pages hinted at long undisclosed wisdom held within. Of the difficulties of living on, in a world that pressed in relentlessly. That worn cover spoke of self-forgiveness. Of finding ways to let go of the past while holding onto the scars. Of finding peace within the pages of the story. Finding the meaning and life behind the pain. Driven by a newfound determination, Jack would need to embark on a new path of self-forgiveness. A true rebirth, as it were. He would face his guilt head-on. Acknowledge the mistakes made, and the pain he’d caused to himself and to those he’d harmed. The walls he’d built now had cracks, glimpses of light illuminating Jack’s heart. It would be difficult. But perhaps, Jack reasoned, he could find a way to break those walls completely. Slowly, he’d make his way, forming connections with kindred spirits who would embrace him with warmth and understanding. Or, more likely, he’d allow himself to see their attempts at such an embrace. Those who would celebrate his transformation, as opposed to the way he’d judged himself for his past. The quiet moments, once filled with pain, could hold considerably less. They could give way to laughter, shared stories, and genuine friendships. On some level, he’d always known that he wasn’t alone in his struggles. That everyone carried their own burdens and yearned for connection. Through his journey of self-forgiveness, he not only could free himself from the shackles of guilt, but also open his heart to the possibility of love and acceptance. Another Friday. Jack sat in his small dorm room, considering new friends, the distant sound of laughter filtering through the door took on a different meaning. It didn’t have to be a reminder of what he lacked. It could be a reminder of how far he’d come. And in those quiet moments, instead of pain and isolation, he could find something stronger. Solace in forgiving himself. Honor in accepting his scars. Joy in embracing the beauty of the present. The quiet moments didn’t have to be a burden.
Everything was shattered now, though. The scars of such a tragedy would run deeper than Summer had ever been prepared for. The weight of repressed emotions pressed heavily on her heart as she stared through the bus window. It wasn’t an easy decision, but she needed to leave. To escape the reminders that haunted her at every corner.
There was still so much that hadn’t been said. So much that couldn’t be said. Summer couldn’t help the mixture of sadness and relief that flooded through her at intervals, causing an occasional quiet sob that threatened to break her anew. She thought of Andre and swallowed back the rising guilt for leaving him behind. He deserved more than just a fading memory of yet another friend he’d never see again. Their connection probably meant more to him than it ever could to her. She’d always been surrounded by friends and family, whereas he had always been surrounded by a growing list of memorial dates and obituaries. She cursed inwardly, feeling the unbearable weight of unspoken words between them. And then, there he was, sitting beside her, eyes filled with some emotion she couldn’t quite place. Some potent mixture of longing, vulnerability, and pain. “Summer,” he whispered, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “Hey, Andre,” she said, her eyes meeting his in surprise, a sad smile on her lips. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” “I couldn’t let you go without saying something,” he confessed, fingers tracing invisible patterns on his lap. “What is it?” “I know things have changed again for the both of us. I don’t expect things to go back to the way they were,” he murmured. “But I want you to know that you’re still the best friend I’ve ever had in my life. I value that friendship. I don’t want to lose touch with you when you leave.” Her head hurt from holding back the tears welling up inside as she listened to words that brought a strange sense of solace to a broken and uncertain world. “I feel the same way, but I don’t think I’d ever be able to find the words to say it. Everything that’s happened… it’s just so hard to make sense of it all.” He nodded, the empathy in his eyes another reminder that he’d endured before, and he was preparing to do so again. “I understand. Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes, nothing at all helps. But I know that we can get through this if we hold onto the good. If you ever need to talk, I want to be there for you.” Their outstretched hands found one another, fingers intertwining. Summer felt a glimmer of hope breaking free of the pain. In that moment, she saw Andre in a new way. He was more than just a friend. He was a pillar of support. A reminder that she didn’t have to face the darkness alone. As the bus carried them away from the old playground, she clung to the belief that she and Andre would be able to navigate the uncertain future together. That, amidst the tears of summer, a silent understanding mingled between them. A blessed assurance that their friendship could be a source of strength and healing. A beacon of light guiding them through the darkness. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting its final golden rays upon the city. Summer held onto the hope that their bond could endure, guiding them into a future where laughter and joy could bloom once more. A loud noise startled Cailin awake. The village was suddenly filled with screaming and the clashing of metal. Such a strange sound to hear this late on a clear winter's night. A strange sound, period. Cailin regretted that she and Aishwarya had stayed behind this time. Their five other siblings and stepmother would be in the capital by now. And here they were, with someone or something attacking their village. Only hours after a prison cart rolled in for the night, too. In her fright, Cailin attempted to scramble from the bed in search of her older sister. Fumbling in the blankets, she fell to the floor.
"Cailin, what's going on?" Aishwarya called from her cot in the corner of the room. Getting to her feet, Cailin rushed to her sister's side. Seeing her safe was a relief. Aishwarya's right leg had shriveled years ago. No one ever knew why, but they couldn't afford that fancy magic healing folks in the city had access to. "I don't know," Cailin whimpered. The door crashed open, revealing the sneering faces of five young men. "Jackpot, boys," said the man in front. He held a long, curved sword in his hand. "I don't think they'll mind if we bring back some labor." Cailin cowered, the thumping of her heart loud in her ears. She took a trembling breath. Why had mother gone to town? Why had the soldiers come, bearing prisoners? The men spread into the room like water on cloth. Cailin reached at the wall, grabbing the thick-hafted broom they used to sweep out the house. Grinning down at her, the lead man's face changed as he noticed what was behind her; Aishwarya. "Ah, I see..." he said, brandishing his blade with a careless flick of his wrist. In that instant, he appeared hesitant. "Only one of you is useful for labor." One of the others piped up, "Shouldn't take long to take care of a cripple and collect the kid." "I don't know," said the leader. He almost sounded panicked. "He just said to grab money and stuff. These two ain't got it." The other said, "Doesn't really matter, does it? You think the Corvids will take us, we leave empty-handed?" The leader looked back. Before he turned, Cailin could have sworn there was pleading in his eyes. "We got their man out of custody. That's enough." The other said, "Catch them, use them, kill them, or leave them. It makes no difference to me. But, I will be accepted, even if I have to kill you to get a spot." The leader sighed, turning back to Cailin with the gleaming sword in hand. Stepping in, the leader's sword flashed in her eyes. She stumbled back as the sword swiped the broom handle in half, barely missing her chest. Dropping a piece of it, she swung the ruined handle with all her strength. The stick smashed into his elbow, and he grunted, eyes wide. His mouth drooped into a strange frown. The others moved in, each bearing simple clubs. One of the clubs slammed down into her shoulder. Something snapped, and she screamed as she stumbled back into the bed, barely missed by two others. She spotted a club just a moment too late. Her face exploded in pain, and everything went black. Muffled ringing in Cailin's ears brought her into a strange sort of stupor. She lay there, next to Aishwarya's bed. Her sister was cradling her body, wailing, arms covering her protectively. A dark-skinned young woman Cailin had seen with the prison caravan earlier sprinted into the house while the men appeared to bicker amongst themselves. She held in her hands a quarterstaff, wrapped in what seemed to be vibrant green vines. She smashed her staff into the leader's crotch. As he dropped, he lashed out in instinct, his blade passing across her nose, just under her eyes. The other men rushed her, swinging their clubs. She dodged, blocked, and parried deftly. That is, until one of them scored a lucky hit to the woman's torso, causing her chest to crunch. The young woman lay still, breathing ragged. She stared, a strange serenity beaming from bright yellow eyes. A man in black garments entered the room. He glared about the room at the bickering men, their leader finally getting to his feet. "What is this?" said the man in black. The others continued their argument, seeming to ignore the newcomer, but their leader knelt and said something unheard. "I see." His hands lashed out, five silver shapes flashing in the light of a lantern. Five of the men dropped where they stood. The leader looked on in horror at the man in black, as he strode to the last man and stabbed him with a blade Cailin hadn't seen him draw. "To think, only one among you shows me respect, when it is my favor you seek." said the man in black. "Does that mean I made it?" said the leader, voice shaking. The man in black stared at him, flinty eyes unblinking. "That is not a decision for a Rook. I will take you, and these two girls to the Raven with me. He will decide your fates." "And the cripple?" asked the leader. "You dare," the flinty eyes held murder. "Even the Raven himself would not insult one touched by Vrana's wing. We will leave her in safety. " The man who had been the leader deflated under the weight of this man in black. "Please," Aishwarya cried, "Leave us alone." The man in black knelt to Aishwarya, beaming a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You, who have been blessed by Vrana's wing. We will leave you in health. Your..." "She's my little sister," "Your sister, and this girl that was prisoner with me. They will be evaluated by the Raven. Be proud. They will hold a place of honor in the Corvids, for defending one blessed by Vrana." "Please," Aishwarya's voice sounded small. The man in black pulled something from a pouch on his belt. By the time she realized what it was, it was too late. Pulling a mask over his face, the man pulled a stopper from the glass vial and waved it under Aishwarya's nose. Aishwarya's body went limp, and the man in black replaced the stopper. "Forgive me, child of Vrana. But, I really must be going. Sleep well, and may Vrana use you for her mischief." Cailin's eyes closed, the world going dark, as the man in black placed a hand on her wrist and lifted her from the cobbled floor. The tall pink creature finally came home. An excitement traveled through my kin and I like an ocean’s wave. It vocalized at us in a high-pitched voice it assumed we enjoyed. On some level, I suppose we did. It meant the creature noticed our needs…most of the time. Some days, it had to be reminded. Poor, simple creature.
It bent down and tickled Moffa behind the ears. Moffa squealed and twitched her tail several times. “Did you seriously just wipe popcorn fingers on me?” said Moffa, giving the pink ticklers a reproachful nibble. “The fight is near,” the pink thing said back. “Be angry with me.” I was certain on the point that this creature had no grasp of how language worked. It used random guttural noises with its own kind, but when it spoke to us, no one could tell why it used such strange statements. Pilaf lay down next to its feet. It reached down, tickling Pilaf’s belly. Pilaf bunny kicked happily and chirped at the creature. Pilaf said, “Don’t start a tickle fight if I’m supposed to be mad at you.” I sat on my haunches, knowing what was supposed to be next. The pink creature just stared at the lot of them like it didn’t just ask them to fight with it. “Creature!” I screamed. “I’m hungry!” Its head tilted for a moment, but then it got a knowing look in its eye and smiled. It crooned and squeaked but thank Bast it didn’t try actually saying something else in our language. The poor creature just could not seem to understand the nuance of sound and inflection. Syntax, diction and punctuation. It reached in a cabinet, bringing down five bowls, which it filled with our dinner. I am unsure how it caught these meals, for it never seemed to hunt. Or, at least, it never seemed to hunt well. We kept trying to teach it that skill, for we were unsure how it had survived so long. It arranged the filled bowls around the room, and my siblings and I each chose a bowl to eat from. It was a good meal, despite not being able to feel when it made the change from prey to food. Ynorr stood at the crown of Barkhad tower, overlooking the oceans around. The prophesied day had come. Thaed’s word demanded it. He glanced once more at the darkened heap that, seven hundred years before, held the birthplace of the mighty Bodolaeth empire. Few understood the destruction of Epave. But, Ynorr had an inkling. There was a reason Emperor Matei ordered the mages to be hunted just before great Epave became a blot on the pages of history.
Looking North across the waters, Ynorr fixed his gaze on the fog-covered forest surrounding one of the surviving kingdoms of that time. Aculas, if he was not mistaken. The massacre there. Imperial forces slaughtering those with even an inkling of magic in their blood. It was no wonder to him why the Runewood trees grew there, making his order possible. He caressed the staff in his hand. “What’s wrong, child?” the voice spoke, deep and without ornamentation. “Do you have such little resolve? You, who speak of purpose. Would you ignore yours?” Ynorr turned his dark, weathered face to his Eldritchron, Akraam, who sat with legs crossed. Akraam sat still; unwavering gaze with skin so cracked and timeworn, no one was certain what color it had initially been. He glared at Ynorr with piercing mauve eyes. “This is a fool’s prophecy. Thaed’s hand has guided me here, yes. But, to betray the Order?” The Eldritchron smiled wryly. “Bold of you to question Thaed’s dark guidance. Moreso, when you bear his daughter’s mark.” Ynorr absently touched the spot beneath his robes where the mark of Sielik had been etched into his flesh. Akraam said, “Maranath, he who walked the mists, and first Eldritchron of the Order of Sineaters. He was clear in his prophecy. You are the Sineater who rejects our teaching. You will be the one to end the hunting of mages. Sielik demands it.” Ynorr looked to the moon above, it’s black coloring somehow bright against his eyes. “Sielik, Elder? The holy daughter has never been more silent. Many of the prophecies have been false.” Akraam whispered, “We men can be so hasty, that we cannot see the fortress until we have crossed on the mountain behind it. The fault is not in the prophecies. It is in your desire to see them bear fruit.” “I don’t understand,” Ynorr said. Lifting a hand, Akraam traced runes before himself. The air came alive with vibrant energy, a strange blue aura. “Whether it takes a day, or a decade, the consequences of this tower’s destruction will ripple through our world for generations. Whether you and I are here to see them through is an irrelevant matter.” Ynorr squinted in the glow of his Eldritchron. “It is true that I dislike the hunting of mages by our order. I am not the only man who bears the mark of Sielik. No man bearing her mark can work peace. There is only Order in her law.” The old Akraam appeared lifted in the air by unseen forces. “Just who are you, to define order, law, and peace. Like me, young one, you are a mere speck of dust to the holy daughter Sielik. It matters not what you wish.” “I suppose I’ll be punished for this,” Ynorr grinned. “But, of course. Though commanded by Thaed in service to his daughter, you still betray the Order of Sineaters.” Lifting his staff, Ynorr clenched every muscle, letting the power flow through to his staff. “Better to betray you, than Thaed and Sielik.” “Indeed it is.” Akraam said sadly, bringing his hands together as closed fists. Shining blue chains shot from the stones of Barkhad tower, grasping Ynorr. They did not restrict his movement, but he felt their power. Akraam vanished just as Ynorr twirled his staff overhead several revolutions, using its ornamented head to carve runes in the air above and around his body. Slamming the staff to the stones below, a surge of power burst forth, rending stones from one another. The tower, and all it held, crumbled beneath him. Above, he saw a vision. Past, present, and future all collided in this place. Buildings, plants, and flameless lights he had no names for towered above, a dark storm on the winds above. Above all things, he saw that none would study magic in this tower ever again. Indeed, his end would come soon enough. A flash of the dark blade that would take his life brought with it an odd sort of peace. |
AuthorLawrence Henry is an aspiring author with more caffeine than time. BTW, here's some of my thoughts on a few varied subjects. Archives
July 2023
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