Lamplighter of Collosorium Chronicles

Chapter 2: An Epos to Dichotomy of Fire

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Chapter 2.
A flash. And a tearing wind of thunder swept through the valley beneath the hill where the nameless village stood. Michels did not see the figures flying over the village. He did not hear the curses of awakened merchants a mile away. The only thought that remained in Michels when he saw the source of the sound was one — run.

A gigantic plume of smoke glowed above the yellow dance of burning rooftops in the south of the town. White dots above the roofs slowly descended toward the village like falling stars.
And as one of the starts touched a rooftop – explosion. Scream. Two more explosions. Silence. More screams again. Michels stopped counting the explosions from each fallen star.

Not stars. But definitely something with the same deadly force.

He ran on. And the thud of his boots on the soft grass was the only sound not filled with pain at this hour.

The stars kept falling.

His senses returned halfway to the village. Without breaking his stride, he noticed the burning pulsation of the book. He had long been accustomed to the barely noticeable throb of the lit staff in his right hand, but this time the sensation was in his left. The red book was tearing itself in a rhythmic... heartbeat.

Still sprinting through the gardens between the village gates, he flipped open the first pages and looked inside the book. The bookmark seemed to hear him and nudged the pages to open at the required spot. Under the last read words, sparkling ruby letters were being burned into the page. Michels was too panicked to panic even more from a prophetic book and the appearing words. But the next lines were ready to drive him mad.

The hero ran downward, not just down the hill. His heels flashed. Toward a choice that would take the immortal and give in return only the perishable. Fire saves from everything, but not from the dichotomy of destinies.

Immortal for perishable? Dichotomy of destinies? What did that even mean? He didn't have time for riddles—his village was burning, and he needed answers, not poetry. Michels furiously snapped the book shut and dashed further down into the village, racing through the gates, finally hearing the first familiar accents.

Two villagers stood on either side of the gate's balustrade, finishing the melody of closing the gate's runes with yodels. In vain. In vain. In vain.
If he hadn't gone beyond the village boundaries, none of this would have happened. Light must not be taken beyond the streets' edges.

Grandfather had taught him. The lamps were not only a source of youth for the inhabitants. They were also a self-protecting mechanism. Each lamp completed the runic circle beneath the village. And it worked only when all the drops of fire were inside the village.

Michels had doomed the village to flames by taking the flame out of it. He rubbed his eyes, assuring himself that it was all the wind slowing his run.

A halfling guard in orange pajamas ran out from the corner of the balustrade and yelled:

"Hurry up and race to the fountain! Return the last drops to the chalice, and the fire itself will incinerate them for the attack. We'll close the gates and stay here. The other guards are already approaching the center. Join them for protection! Run!"