The Child of Cataclysm

Chapter 2

Hello everyone!  Here is the second chapter!  I realized I forgot to mention one other thing: some things in the story can't simply be explained due to my "word budget" for each chapter.  In lieu of this, there may be an additional part to the story at the very end where I explain any confusing matters, particularly with how the magic works.

That is all, enjoy the chapter!

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The air was deathly silent. Sure, the tweetings of birds and the buzz of insects still filled the air. But they were diminished by the nearby village, which offered no supplement for the silence.

Martier nervously glanced around as he stepped onto the beaten dirt path leading to the village. Fear constricted his chest as he looked towards the village gate. Banners hung on either side of the gate, dark blue with an icy-blue silhouette of a dragon's head. A puff of wind stirred up some of the dust on the ground as he steeled himself. "It's okay, Martier," he said to himself, "just get in and get out, nobody will notice you...in an otherwise empty village..."

Still hesitant, he walked forward.

The late-morning sun shining overhead did little to lighten the darkness that seems to have fallen over this hamlet as Martier made his way through. The streets were eerily quiet. The cobblestone paths between and around the buildings were vacant. The windows, boarded up and sealed, were dark. Inside the houses, Martier could see the shadows of the village people hiding in their homes. He could feel their eyes watching him.

Where is that fluming blacksmith? He thought forlornly, though he doubts he'd find someone managing it. Not when they could be hiding in their homes instead.

He rounded a corner and stopped with a hiss. Up ahead was the town square. Across the stone-paved plaza was a tavern, the flickering light of torches pouring out the entrance. A laugh floated to him through the otherwise still air.

Martier watched the tavern for a few moments as he contemplated his options. He could go back to Skirin and fly as far away from here as possible but look for a new village...or...grab what he came for and then leave and fly as far away as possible...but risk being found...

I doubt Skirin would let me leave without the supplies anyway... he thought ruefully. Well, I came this far he thought, walking the rest of the way to the plaza, still watching the tavern for movement. Once at the end of the street he was on, Martier looked around and, spying the blacksmith, began making his way around the outskirts of the open space. He was still watching the pub and so did not see the shadow step into his path.

He and the other person both let out a grunt as they collided. Martier staggered back dazed before he was suddenly pulled forward by two strong hands gripping his tunic.

"Watch where you're going twerp!" a voice bellowed as Martier was shaken violently. He could only gurgle in response, unable to form words. Suddenly the shaking stopped and Martier was thrown to the ground. He had to wait for his brain to stop bouncing before he looked up in fear.

His assailant was adorned with dark blue robes. Jet-black hair framed the man's smooth, fair-skinned face. His eyes were blue and his nose was crooked, likely broken at some point in the past.

He glared at Martier, fists clenched by his side. Then his eyes shifted downward. He froze, eyes wide. Martier followed his gaze to his chest. His tunic was torn, revealing the mark. Oh no...

"Oh! I am sorry, brother!" the Child apologized, reaching a hand down to help him up. Martier glared at him and got up without accepting the gesture. The man stepped back as Martier got to his feet. "I didn't recognize you at first, I thought you were one of these feeble townspeople. Where is your robe?"