Chapter 2: Roadside Fires

THEY HAD BEEN TRAVELING for about a month now after leaving Lucid when everything turned for the worst. Two days before, their horses had run off in the middle of the night. This left Derian Burns and his companions to make a what would have been only a three day journey on foot. Luckily we didn’t bring more than we could carry, Derian thought with a sigh. However, his two traveling companions seemed to be rolling with the punches, keeping any comments they had to themselves. Then again, they are two of the youngest Elemetrists. They should have more energy than an old man like me. Derian knew this was far from the truth though.
    Although he felt older than he truly was, Derian was only in his late thirties; however, in those thirties years he had seen more than most at the Elemenary. His open leather vest showed the silver scars that had accumulated on his torso over his long years in as a soldier. Those years he had spent raising up the ranks and becoming a well known leader. A well known leader now complaining to himself about walking on foot for a few days. An audible sigh followed these thoughts from Derian.
    “Do you need to rest, Commander Burns,” his female companion asked stopping along the side of the road. “The sun is low. We could set up camp now and rest before heading onward tomorrow.”
    “I’m fine, Artemis,” Derian replied. “And please refer to me as Derian. Or Burns. Even Mr. Burns if you have to be formal. Also if I remember correctly there should be a town only a little ways down the road. We can make it by nightfall and have a nice bed for us to sleep on.” Artemis continued without question or reprimand. Always the soldier.
    Artemis Gail was one of the best soldiers that Derian had ever met, especially considering that she was only eighteen years of age. She had mastery of her abilities as an elemetrist far younger than most people awaken. Furthermore she did not flaunt it. Most officials would have loved to be in commanded of so bright a talent. Unfortunately, being a great soldier did not equate to being the most sociable of persons. Artemis tended to speak only in the most formal of terms to him, never dropping her guarded demeanor. In a squad, this would not pose a problem. However this one just containing the three of them, Derian felt that she was not the easiest person to be around, since this mission was not necessarily military in nature.
    “An inn sure would be nice,” their male companion replied with a whistle. “Some nice beer. A few nice girls. None as stiff as our little Arty over there.” Artemis’ body stiffened in response to being called a nickname which they all knew she despised.
    “Gage, behave.” Derian sighed as he continued walking. The girl was too professional to have actually assaulted Gage, yet Derian was not sure just how much she could take of the incessant teasing that she was given. Sadly, Derian knew his attempts were spoken as if to a wall, unheeded. Where Artemis excelled in self constraint, Gage Latian was crude and uncontrollable. More often than not, people such as Gage would have been thrown from the Elemenary long ago, yet he had proven to excel far beyond even the Councilmen in control of his abilities, making him an asset regardless of how degrading the young man could be. Unfortunately Derian had been stuck with the two extremes, neither of which had gotten along from the beginning of their trip.
    “I will go ahead and make preparations at the inn,” Artemis commented. She stood there waiting for permission that came with a nod of Derian’s head. Luckily before Gage could further antagonize, Artemis was gone.
    “Isn’t she the go-getter,” Gage smirked. “Well that just leaves the two of us for a bit then, doesn’t it, Commander.”
    “Haven’t I already told you to behave once,” Derian answered. Annoyance had found its way into his voice. Gage took the reprimand with mocking obedience, which Derian knew was the best that he could get out of him. No matter the punishments ever laid on Gage, he had never changed, so many officials had decided to just deal with the nuisances as they came up no matter how harsh, which had led him into Derian’s care.
    Now that they had a specific destination for the night, energy crept its way into Derian, if only for the last leg of the night. Perhaps this new town would be able to sell them a few horses. The idea of beer that Gage had placed in his mind had struck some chords within Derian. He hadn’t had a decent drink since the beginning of the journey. A few more people would be nice as well. Someone to talk to besides his young compatriots. It was on these thoughts, drifting softly in his head, that they were attacked.
    A giant ball of fire sprang forth out of thin air from behind them. The heat licked their backs, as the leapt to the sides, their innate training having saved their lives. Derian’s mind turned from his pleasant thoughts and began to calculate, his short sword alread unsheathed, gleaming in the flame stricken light of the now fiery road. He became the soldier that had made him so famous within Lucid.
    “Their shouldn’t be any golems this far in,” Gage shouted, his own twin daggers resting in the palms of his hands. Derian did not have time to think on why or how.
    “Circle around, see if it truly is a golem.” Unlike before, Gage followed the command with no resistance, disappearing into the wooded areas besides the trees.
    Derian slowly advanced, his eyes darting quickly yet focused on any disturbance. The fireball had set aflame the trees immediately on the sides of road they had been travelling. Flames reached hungrily out to burn his body, while heat coated his body in a cool sweat. The golem had to be close, yet the flames distorted his own senses. Luckily they would not distort Gages. Now where are you.
    Derian’s free hand lightly tapped along four small containers that hung on his belt. Each contained a few rounded glass balls that Derian could need at any moment. Each held power as different as the other. Each was precious. Each was a weapon. Derian calcultaed which choice to make, when a rustling sound interrupted. His feet were already moving when the noise began, twisting his body to the side to face his new enemy. The blade in his hand bit at the air, awaiting fresh blood.
    “It’s only me, Commander,” Gage said, stopping short of Derian’s sword.
    “Next time annouce yourself,” Derian commented. His attention turned back to the direction in which the fireball had originated. Nothing moved except for the wreathing flames.
    “It is a golem sir,” Gage continued without prompt. “A Flare, if you couldn’t already tell. I had been keeping watch and there was no sign of it before the fireball. I’m not sure where the hell it could have come from.”
    “Calm down and lead me to it. My vision is not as good as yours.” Gage ran forward with precision. Derian followed, finger still ready to grasp at one of his containers. From Gage’s direction, the golem had seemed to back track slightly into the woods. Due to the smoke that had crowded the immediate vicinity of the road, Derian was unable to see the new trail of flames now present to his eyes from the woods. A fresh breath of air also allowed him to clear his mind once more to the task at hand.
    “What are you Boosting?” Derian questioned Gage as they ran after the now moving Flare.
    “Air,” Gage replied. “I still have a good amount stored up. Almost tempted to Breathe the fire around, but never a good idea.” The last was matter of fact, anxiety evident in his voice. Although Gage was considered one of the best in his field, he had little to no experience in action.
    “Good. Keep up.” Derian sped forward, his target now in sight. A renewed sense of youth flooded his veins. Battle was something he knew well, and een though he would never admit it, Derian reveled in it. Instinctually, his fingers wrapped around one of the Vitrium, the sphere glass container stored along his belt. Although it appeared empty, Derian knew the power it held. Every Elemetrist knew this. The Vitrium shook lightly in his hand as he brought it close to his chest. In a swift practiced movement, Derian cracked the glass with the pummel of his sword releasing its contents.
    Another splitting roar echoed the simultaneous gust of Air that burst forth from the container. Without slowing down, Derian dragged it into himself. The Air rippled and cascaded around Derian’s body, filling him with the now common store of power within his chest. Tendrils of it curled in perpetual motion around his arms as Derian leapt forward to finally catch up with the Flare. To anyone else’s eyes it would seem that his body was the same as before, no motion different than the movement of charred leaves at his feet. Yet within Derian, a maelstrom of wind was kept at bay only from sheer force of will, something every Elemetrist had to master for fear of the alternative.
    “You come in from behind it,” Derian shouted at Gage, aware of the beasts close proximity. “If I can not defeat it, you will have to deal the final blow.” With a quick nod, Gage disappeared once again from his sight. Now it really begins, Derian thought a smile struggling to creep onto his lips. He did not want to enjoy battles because he knew all too well of the destruction they caused. However, Derian could not fight the feral part of himself that took enjoyment in the hunt. The smile finally won out as Derian laid eyes on the golem that had attacked them before.
    A Flare was one of the most grotesque looking golems he had ever faced. It stood there as large a small house, the entirety of their mass covered in flames that dripped off the thing like dead skin. Burning flesh became the predominant scent around these creature. It held the deformed shape of a man with horn-like protrusions poking out from the base of its skull. Flames cracked the exterior of the charred skin. Derian almost felt pity for the beast because the pain seemed to emanate from it. Almost.
    When it saw Derian, the creature’s charred lips curled into a toothy grin. Derian countered with one of his own, letting the tip of his sword circle the space between them. The moment slipped by setting the tone for the dance about to be performed. Derian kept his feet light on the ground, bracing for the strike. The Flare took a few steps forward with fire trailing the path it left behind. A roar leapt from its lips announcing the start.
    Derian responded in kind as he side stepped effortlessly to dodge the first sweep of the monster’s claw. Although the creature was big, it was fast. Luckily Derian’s battle experience knew this. His sword followed in a quick arc at the base of the Flare’s flame-ridden shoulder. A scream of pain echoed the soft sizzle of the now exposed blood. The beast turned with fury, fire leaping out at Derian as he rushed backwards. With a quick sweep of his free hand, the tendrils of Air blew forward, scattering the flames and propelling him farther simultaneously. Fire slowly crept its way back along the parts of the beast’s arm that the push of Air had dispersed.
    Derian did not wait for a counterattack before jumping straight into the air, anticipating the fireball the Flare spat out. Throwing more tendrils of Air towards the ground, Derian was pushed higher off the ground. Releasing his throw, Derian fell back towards the Earth. His store of Air within his chest only slightly depleted, he began to fling bursts of wind down at the beast, who was responding with fire of it’s own. As he closed in on the ground, Derian twisted away from a large claw that attempted to swat him and brought his sword to fully sever the Flares wounded arm. Feet slammed into the ground, causing him to take a quick pause that he had believed to have one himself. Derian was mistaken.
    The fire that covered the golem’s body swung out from its arm as it turned to grasp at him. Although jumping back would have been an option, Derian could not have done so without being engulfed in the extended flames. Instead, Derian reacted by twisting his body and tapping into the last portion of his store of Air. Derian threw the wind out from one side of his body. This helped dispersed the flames that hungrily jabbed toward him. His body spun in a low turn under the Flare’s claw. Derian’s sword arm was flung at the passing beast’s forearm, the familiar hiss of newly spilled blood erupting from the golem’s charred skin.
    The spin of wind completed, Derian found his moment to jump back again out of reach of the Flare’s grasp. An almost human scream of pain leapt from its lips as fire ate at the new wound. Searching within himself, Derian found that he had used up the last of his store of Air to dodge that last attack. Quiet curses drifted from his lips as he brought his sword up once more. He didn’t want to waste anymore of his Vitrii on this one lowly golem. Derian was more angry with himself. If he had just rested a bit more, this would have been all too simple, yet the tiredness ached at the back of his eyelids.
    The silent buzz of an loosed arrow broke him from his thoughts. Derian had not noticed anyone in the vicinity, but was almost certain who shot the arrow. It had found its resting place in the Flare’s head, ending the battle.
    “Artemis,” Derian sighed. “I thought I told you to find the inn.” Derian turned to find that just a ways behind him stood Artemis, bow drawn. She held no quiver, but then again why would she need to.
    “I had seen the smoke rise from the direction I had left you,” Artemis replied, speaking loudly, yet calmly so that Derian could here.”I thought it was strange for you to have risen a fire when a town was in the vicinity, Commander. I apologize for disobeying orders.” It was one of the longest speeches Derian had ever heard from her; nevertheless, he was all too glad that the Flare was now dealt with and they could rest.
    “I knew you had it handled,” Gage laughed as he came from behind a tree. “I was getting a little worried there at the end there, but you pulled through.”
    “Well wouldn’t want you to help now would I,” Derian said exasperated. The forest remained lit aflame where the Flare now rested. Now that the golem was dead, Fire would burn the corpse that had once been its host. The wildfires that had been lit by the fireballs would also have started to dissipate. I’m really losing my touch, Derian thought. Or you were just having a little too much fun. This last thought slightly disturbed Derian as they turned back to take themselves to the town.

    WHEN THEY REACHED the inn, the sun still hung low in the air. To anyone in the little town, Derian felt that he would look like a beggar. Ash from the burning wood had clung to his skin in patches. His singed clothing did little to help this appearance. Artemis and Gage had fortunately been a fair distance enough to avoid much of the flame and ash. I was not so lucky. Hopefully the innkeeper does not hold it against me. Either way, Derian was hoping for a nice quiet meal and bed.
    Unfortunately neither were granted when they opened the door to the inn. The inside of the inn seemed to work doubly as a local tavern, and on this day, people were crowded into every corner. The cacophony of voices counterposed by upbeat music crowded their ears. To one side, women in long white and deep green gowns danced in an informal manner with men in similarly colored, loosened suits. Laughter and drink took over the other far side of the inn.
    “Looks like we walked into a nice little party,” Gage hollered in cheer. However this brought attention to them, an attention which quieted the noisy hall. Derian realized at this point that not only was he dirt ridden, but they also carried with them weapons and leather armor that distinguished them as Elemetrists. For once, Derian wished Gage would leave his mouth closed. It was too late for that.
    Soft whispers riddled with religious doctrine crept its way into the silence. In the eyes of the people, Elemetrists were holy acolytes of the Gods. They were rarely seen in public except on very important festivals. Derian knew that this was an over exaggerated function of his duties, but some took the religious portion of an Elemetrists duties. After all they were the only organized association that existed outside of the national separations and wars that broke out.
    “Could we trouble your festivities for a few beds for the night and a warm meal,” Derian said in the friendliest demeanor he could muster. He had come to realize that rather than a beggar he looked like a battle-scarred priest, which would frighten the people. “I’m sorry for my appearance. Our horses fled the other night and we have been forced to travel more by foot then we had prepared.”
    “Of course, forgive us, Holy Ones,” the innkeeper, who had been dancing with one of the older women, replied promptly, running behind the bar. “We have not had travelers in many cycles. I am honored to have such distinguished persons here.
    “Please, don’t treat us any better than you would anyone else,” Derian asked.
    “Speak for yourself,” Gage retorted unprofessionally. “I love being treated special. Some attention from those lovely women wouldn’t be too bad neither.” Derian shot a glare at Gage that immediately quieted him. It was more on reflex than reprimand. If anything, Derian did not anyone to take them all too seriously, especially since that would just lead to more work on his part. Sleep was calling his name however.
    “I’m sorry for my companion. Sometimes he can be a little more of a nuisance. Please do not stop on our behalf. It seems like much the joyous occasion.” Some of the younger women blushed with repressed giggles at Gage’s comment, which helped to break the stunned stiffness that had seized everyone. Slowly as Derian and the others approached the bar, the reception continued on its way. Only now some of the them had something new to gossip about.

Chapter 1: Heirlooms

     HE WAS FALLING, reaching out towards something, anything that would break his unending descent. A scream longed to leap from his throat, yet the rushing wind choked off any breath. Scenes of unknown origin flashed by him in sequence as he passed the level after level. People carried on their lives in each scene. A bird in flight over a large oak. A robed figure hanging over the edge of a cliff. A girl clad in white with judgment in her eyes. They passed him in his descent, claiming familiarity where there was none. Yet the young falling man had little time to consider these as the ground began to rush towards him, malice lingering int the soil.His body longed for release from the plunge. A hand reached out one last time for some support, as word whispered through the air. "Take my hand and I will grant you flight.” The ground raced hungrily toward him.
    “Wing, wake up already!” An annoyed voice yelled from over his body. “We are going to be late at this point.” Hands pressed against Wing’s chest in a punctuated rhythm to drag his body from sleep.
    “I’m up,” came the grumbled response as Wing slowly began to lift himself from his bed. Aches and pains throbbed around his body in an incessant harmony of a dream now lost. Shaking off the memory of last night’s nightmare, Wing brought his eyes over to the origin of that miserable voice. “For someone who is saying we are going to be late, you don’t look like you are ready for anything, Aron.” The words escaped with the type of vexed venom only one brother was able to have for another.
    “Well, at least I’m awake.” Aron stood there in defiance of any reprimand from his half awake older brother. Although they were only about two years apart in age, the differences between the two siblings were striking to anyone looking in. Aron Blackburn stood at an average height for a boy of seventeen, on the cusp of majority, yet his features remained almost awkwardly boyish. His rounded cheeks and other soft facial features never suggested that he was more than fourteen years of age, something that was a point of brotherly humor when the time called for it. Hair the color of a dark oak draped down his neck and the sides of his face, curling only slightly at the ends to augment his established young features. The rest of his body seemed to be trying to change from that of a boy’s to that of a man’s, with increasing muscle tone and mass in their respective places; however, the softness of his features and pale tones of his skin seemed to inhibit him from looking anything more than a overgrown child.
    “Just go get dressed before father kills us both.” These words were followed by a quick shove of the air in Aron’s general direction as Wing massaged his scalp. With a few mumbled curses, Aron left the room, rushing off to take care of what he needed to get done. Wing, or Wingin Blackburn as his father had named him and his brother so lovingly shortened, sat upright in his bed watching as his younger brother leave. He was almost the opposite of his younger brother. Where Aron’s face was rounded and soft, Wing appeared to be cut from stone, his features oddly rough, as well as a thin layer of unshaven scruff ever present around the jawline. Raven black hair was cut short in a militaristic fashion, something his father had insisted on once he reached majority. His skin held a more brown complexion, one only hours of work in the hot sun could bring. As a whole, Wing resembled a man of about thirty years more than one of only twenty. It was only reasonable that Aron and Wingin seemed more like distant cousins in appearance rather than siblings if not for the obvious brotherly rivalry. However, they did share one common trait between them. Their eyes were the pale grey of swirling quicksilver, the same color as his mother’s. At least that is what Father always told them.
    Once Aron had left the room, Wing noticed that the pale yellow light of the rising sun had begun to enter his room. Usually that light would have been enough to left him from the night’s sleep, but the importance of this day would insist on something going wrong before the main event. Wing sighed as he began to think of the hurried voices and rushing hands as soon as he left the house. Meridy, who was getting married on this very day, would not be all to happy that her closest cousin was running late.
    Shaking off the last piece of lingering grogginess from his face, Wing swung himself from the bed and began to dress. He hadn’t bothered to shave since his light beard was becoming a trademark of his. After putting on the traditional white shirt and pants, Wing looked himself in the thin mirror that leaned against the wall of his room, another one of his mother’s heirlooms. The white shirt fitted the straight lines of his body with silver painted buttons running down the midsection. The cuffs hung loose around his wrists. Fortunately the pants were a decent fit as well.
    Well, Wing thought, this is not so bad, for what I could afford. After straightening out the shoulders of the shirt, Wing grabbed the colored portion of the outfit: the waistcoat and cravat. Both held the deep green of the forest, the chosen color of the bride and groom. With a smile, Wing knew that if Meridy had had her way, they would be having the wedding in the middle of the forest. That idea actually appealed a little more than the stuffy, local Light Chapel.  She was the wild child of the family. Maybe that was why Meridy and Wing had always gotten along so well.
    “Are you ready yet?” The exclamation was followed by Aron’s head popping into Wing’s room once more, his own forest green cravat tied horribly around his neck.
    “No, but it doesn’t look like you are either,” Wing mocked. Aron’s face colored with embarrassment. Being the impatient boy he had always been, Aron had never bothered to learn how to tie one, especially since in their small town formal attire was not  called for frequently. Before Aron could retort to his brother’s taunt, Wing had set his own cravat aside to fix his brother.
    “You really should learn how to do this yourself,” Wing continued, his hands working mechanically around his brother’s neckline. “But since you are dressed minus this piece of work, go head over to the chapel. Tell Father that it is all my fault. No need for both of us to get in trouble, eh.” Wing knew that Aron needed no prompting to make Wing the scapegoat.
    “Well, it is your fault.” Aron’s last words were cut off from the final tightening of the tie.
    “You should watch what you say when someone’s hands are around your throat.” Wing laughed menacingly as he let go of his brother, patting him on the shoulders. A reluctant smile crept onto Aron’s face as well as he left the room.
    “Don’t forget your jacket,” Wing called after his sibling. Turning back to his own clothes, Wing reached for his cravat. Tying it quickly, yet gently around his neck, Wing remembered how as a child he would watch his father prepare the cravats of not only himself but his sons as well. Alberr Blackburn had always done it so perfectly; however, being the independent child he had always been, Wingin had taught himself how to do it, which took many failures that Alberr found quite humorous and encouraged. A soft early winter’s breeze awoke Wing from his daydreaming.
    A shiver crept across the surface of his skin as the air filled the room. Winter’s breath had come a few months earlier than usual, pushing up the wedding date. Chaos erupted at how there would be no time to prepare for such an event. Memories of old women moaning and groaning about what still needed to be done. All the while, Meridy would sit joyfully completing one thing after another without haste or worry. Her husband-to-be on the other hand was not so mild-mannered. Brandle Tanner had been the epitome of stress, his meticulous nature challenged by the change in events. The two of them meshed well, however, balancing each other’s differences rather than aggravating them. Wing thought on these things as he fastened the last button of his waistcoat.
   

    JACKET IN HAND, Wing walked into the side door of the Light Chapel. On the sound of a door opening, all eyes in the room dashed over to him. Luckily it seemed that a few other pairs were missing at least to his last count. A man grabbed his arm, pulling him in. Light spilled into the small side room through the many small windows adorning the walls in a circular pattern.
    “Where have you been, Wingin?” Alberr asked, grasping his son’s shoulders firmly. “Meridy has been calling for you, and you know how she is. Her mother has been nagging my ear off to get you here. Now you know how I enjoy making your aunt angry, but on her daughter’s wedding day, I’m not sure if it was wise.” His father looked tired, his green eyes pleading for Wing to go to his cousin. Aron stood at the side of the room with one of the younger groomsmen chatting about who they were going to dance with later that day. Since it seemed that he was needed elsewhere, Wing nodded.
    “No worries,” Wing replied, nudging his father’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of Meridy. You hold down the fort here.” Alberr nodded his thanks, letting his son pass without further interruption
    The main hall of the Light Chapel was filled with the townspeople, with more drifting in on the far end. Voices filled the high walls and ceiling, coming together as a whole as a constant hum where many voices became one. The building itself had always captured Wingin’s artistic sensibilities. Paintings, depicting ancient battles in sequence, covered the side walls. As the battles raged, they led the watchers eyes to a central statue behind the altar: The Bringer of Light, his legendary sword, Lumin, in hand, raised in victory. A small oculus carried a cylinder of sunlight that drowned the statue, encasing Slyvin in a pillar of light, as the story told. Unfortunately, these were musings for a different time.
    “Wing, there you are,” Meridy shouted, running into Wing’s arms for a loving embrace.
    “Hello to you to, Meri.” Wing choked out the words through unnatural strength of Meridy’s arms. “You needed to see me?”
    “Yes, yes.” Meri backed over to a chair, where it appeared she had been slouching until Wing had arrived. She was the image of beauty on her wedding day. For a woman of humble surrounding, Meri represented more elegance than any noble Wing could ever imagine. An ivory white gown folded in waves of cloth that gave her the illusion of perpetual motion. Her torso was covered with an intricately lace bodice depicting morning glories. Golden hair fell along the edge of the bodice, dancing lightly on the fringes with every movement. Wing could only smile, even though worry lines etched Meri’s face.
    “Close the door,” Meridy continued, an unnatural seriousness in her tone. “There is much to discuss.”
    “No need to sound all dramatic,” Wing chuckled awkwardly. “It isn’t like we are in the middle of a Collapse. Or demons have rained fire from the sky.” Wing exagerrated each with his tone and gestures meant to urge some laughter out of his cousin.
    “Wing, stop that,” Meri half-heartedly giggled. “I wish I could play around a little bit, but there is something I have to talk to you about.”
    “Alright, then spill.” Wing leaned against the closed door. His eyes wandered to Meridy’s hands, which were gently rubbing against something small in her hands.
    “You make it sound so easy.” Meridy bowed her head with a pause. “This began a few days ago, and I didn’t know how to bring it up to you. Wing, it deals with your mother and I know how talking about her makes you.”
    Wing had no idea what to say. Just at the mention of his mother, tears formed at the sides of his eyes. Flor Blackburn died when Wing was only eight years old. She gave her life protecting her son, and Wing had never forgiven himself for that. Meridy must have sensed his feelings through the silence for she decided to continue:   
    “A few days ago my mother came to me in my bedroom. We chatted about the upcoming ceremony. You know, girly things. This damned dressed was dragging too much. You should have seen me trying to walk in this thing. It took hours before I was able to do it with any grace. My mother’s wedding circlet fell off my head with every motion. The whole thing was a disaster.” Meridy shook her head as if to throw off her thoughts.
    “Yes, yes. I’m getting off of topic.” Her tone returned to the solemness that still pervaded through her brown eyes. “Well as my mother and I were talking, she took me to the side to give me something she said was a family heirloom.
    “‘Meridy,’ she began. ‘You have grown into majority more beautifully then I ever expected. This marriage has made your father and I so proud and joyful. We actually were not sure if this day would come. You had always been a wild one, running off into the woods to play with your troubled cousin, Wingin. However, he couldn’t even hold you back from making a good match. There is something I want to give you in commemoration of these events.’ Before I go on, I want to remind you that our mothers were never the most loving of sisters, and please don’t be too angry with her.
    “‘This is something passed down from eldest to eldest in my family.’ My mom held out a small wooden box. I was already suspicious at this point since as we both know, Flor was the elder of the two, but I don’t think she was thinking through this too much. Anyway, let me stop interrupting my own story, so she continues:
    “‘Since you are now setting out to form a family of your own, as well as being my only child, I am happy to give you something that has been in this family since even before The Collapse. As it was told me, this heirloom was given to our ancestors by none other than The Light Warrior himself. Isn’t that wonderful? When I took - I mean - was given this, I felt as if I was actually there, being handed this simple gift by Slyvin himself. You can only imagine the excitement in my young heart. Our ancestor received this pendant after being the sole survivor of the Battle of Shadow’s Keep. After defeating Tazinon the Demon, Slyvin was only able to save one child, Gabriel Morningrose. And it is this gift, that I give to you now, Meridy.’
    “She left soon after that spiel. I had seen the loophole in her story, even though she might have thought I would ignore her slip up. This wasn’t meant for my mother. This heirloom wasn’t meant for me to carry. Even though the story was fantastical, I couldn’t keep it from you.” Meridy took a breath, turning her eyes to the floor.
    “It was my mom’s.” Wing only let out the softest of whispers. Anger began to pool inside his chest, choking him. A yell begged his lips to part. Fists yearned to be flung. Despite this, Wing stood still, any movement ready to snap him.
    “Yes. Yes, it was supposed to be hers.” Meridy stretched out a hand in which lay a small, redwood box. The box was no larger than her palm, with rounded edges rather than pointed. Something seemed to have been carved along these edges, but Wing didn’t give them much thought.
    “Thank you,” Wing said, forcing a smile. He took the box into his own hands. Surprisingly the box was unnaturally smooth to the touch, so much so that Wing almost lost his grip. He looked for an opening that would reveal what the box held, but no such thing was present. It was almost as if it was a puzzle. Wing hated puzzles.
    “I’m not sure what is in it.,” Meridy continued. “She never told me how to open it. I don’t think she knows how to. I know the story sounds far-fetched to say the least, but those engravings along the edges prove it is very old. It is in some language I don’t know.”
    “Thank you again Meridy,” Wing repeated. His anger slowly faded to a dull throb in the back of his mind as he placed his mother’s heirloom into his pocket. “Usually the bride is the one receiving the gifts not giving them. Now my gift will not seem nearly as meaningful.”
    Meridy laughed softly her less serious demeanor returning. “Well I’m sure Brandle will at least appreciate it.”
    “Good, somebody should enjoy my hard earned gift.” Wing replied as if the unsettling story had never been told. Today was for Meri, and Wing intended to let nothing more disrupt, especially not his own feelings. “On another note, have I told you how beautiful you look in your pretty little dress.”
    “Oh there it is, the flattery I have so longed for today,” Meri teased. “It is not as if I have not heard my share of it from every passerby. In all serious, I feel very silly in this pretty little dress.”
    “Well it is the day where any woman must be told she is more gorgeous than the moon,” Wing continued jokingly. The two of them continued in this fashion for a while more before the other women were asking after the bride. Meridy sighed as they fussed over how late the wedding was becoming, how everyone was waiting in frustration, and al the other things Wing was glad to be not at the center of.
    Wing entered the main hall once again looking up at the statue of Slyvin. He stood victorious. Light drowned him. This was the man that saved them. The man that had apparently once given something to his ancestor long ago. Unconsciously, Wing’s hand reached inside the pocket that held the heirloom. As he pressed against it, the redwood box felt hot against the palm of his hand.

What's Coming Next

So the time has come to finally post the first chapter I have written. The prologue doesn't really say much, but after this chapter has been up a few days, I may make another page to start listing characters and What not.

So I hope you like this next installment. It's rather long so I may split it into two posts. Enjoy

Prologue: A Meeting With an Old Friend

      A MAN STOOD at the edge of the cliff, looking out unto the world beneath him. His eyes coasted the scenery with lackluster determination. They were the amber eyes of a man fighting a never-ending war, yet they were the mahogany eyes of a man who had grown tired of these years of persistence. As he closed out the world from these eyes, the man took it in. The Air rippled slightly, throwing his tattered robe into a gust, sending it to float down into the open air. Air curled up against his body, caressing him like a long lost friend. The wind whistled sweetly into his ear the stories of its travels. If anyone had been watching him, the wind would have seemed to be flowing in a light gust around him, taking a translucent visibility. However as the man released his store, the Air no longer caressed him and continued its travels down the cliff to the rest of the world. A smile began to curve its way onto the man’s stoic face. It had been a long time since the Air greeted him as a friend.
       As his attention turned to the world beneath, the warrior began to ponder on the future of his world. At least the future he had planned. Unfortunately Slyvandra was more focused in the past. Through the ages, the world had rebuilt itself from The Collapse, an event that destroyed the Old World. Religion dictated that it was Slyvin, The Bringer of Light, that stopped The Collapse, giving mankind the Age of Rebirth. The man held a grim smile as this mythology ran through his head, yet that was a matter for another time. As of now his mind was set on a course to revive everything they had lost. Everything he had lost.
      “Master Janus.” A voice rang out to the man from behind him. As he turned to greet the newcomer, Janus opened his amber eyes once again. His smile soon disappeared at the sight of the land behind him. Too most it appeared barren and dead: the trees a black brown, grasping at the air with leafless branches. However, these cold trees contained a gem of hope and beauty to Janus. It was the land he was trying to protect from those who would destroy it. The landscape reminded him that loss.
      “Master Janus,” the voice rang from behind one of the trees. A young girl in a dress the color of a dried leaf ran out from behind the tree.
      “Yes, Ava.” Janus voice called out in a sweet tenor, contrasting with his rough features. His skin was pale, yet littered with dark scars on his exposed torso. Ava was the complete opposite. Her skin was the color of dark mahogany, with the tender smoothness only youth brought.
      “The Council needs you,” Ava replied with a playful bow. Her voice carried an air of maturity that no young child of ten should have. “So they sent me to fetch you. I knew you’d be up here.”
      “I apologize for keeping them waiting.” Janus sighed. Things were becoming desperate. “If you don’t mind, tell them I’ll be with them in just a minute. There is something I must do first.”
      “Fine,” Ava laughed. “It’s not like they could start without you anyway. Just hurry down when you’re ready.” Ava skipped towards the edge of the cliff where Janus stood as she spoke. Her bare feet graced the ground like notes being played for a ballad. Once she was at the farthest edge, Ava smirked. “I’m going to take the shortcut.”
      Janus let himself smile as he patted the child’s head before she stepped off the edge of the cliff, into the Air. Into the arms of their friend.

Prologues and Beginnings

Well as I have prefaced, this is a work of Fantasy. Also I have also said that I am new to the whole blog thing, this will probably be a jumbled together at first. I apologize for that now.

Either way, this work is untitled as of yet mostly because I am horrible at titles, but it will come to me at some point. So to introduce to this world of my creation I have a prologue of sorts. It isn't long and it is more cryptic than anything. But it is where I choose to begin. So this is just the presentation post because I don't want to put these two posts together. I will probably add more to the Blog once more of the world is revealed, so as to neatly organize things.

Well, hopefully you find this Prologue intriguing, feel free to either comment on how you loved it or how bored as fuck you were. If the latter is your opinion, I bid adieu to you, sir.

By Jove, What is this!!

Well, you may be wondering to yourself: "Who the hell is this guy and why should I give too shits?" Maybe you didn't say shit, but that isn't the point. The title says it all. At this point in my life, I am, Luis Velasco (not the most interesting name I know), pretty much a wannabe writer as the title suggests. Whether I be the quiet nerd that sits on home with dreams of grandeur or those dreams actually become something is not something I decide. 

So you've come to my blog, a place I hope to use to post some chapters on something that I am working. Yes, I know that sounds like a horrible idea, but no one is reading it now, and the internet is a good a place as any... right? But as I was saying, this is a place to put the words that would never see the light of day otherwise. Pictures and shit aren't my style, and computers otherwise hate me when I try to do anything but write.

 So that lead me to this. Those of you who know me may or may not know I am a nerd. So the chapters that will be produced here are of a fantasy nature. If that's not you're cup of tea, run now and never return. Or do, I don't mind. Either way you will see this as "OH MAI GAWD this shit is amazing!!!" or "What kind of dumb fanfic is this?" Hopefully there is some middle ground that might not stab my creative heart so badly. Since I have no more to say at the moment, I will say this. The work and this blog are works in process. I'm not very good at the whole blog thing so hopefully that will become better at some point.

 Anyway, Farewell to all. Don't stay away for too long.