Sylphs

Void and Ash

It is in this scar on the land's beauty that a man lay. The indifferent deity of field and gold had given him safety, for no scavenger had found him. He opens his eyes for the first time in days. While returning to the world around him, his mind races to make sense of the blinding light above that welcomes him from the dark realm of his unconsciousness and into a body that is elusive and numb. As he truly wakes, control of his body returns to him. The blackening ash fills the space between his fingers as he moves his palm. His eyes turn to this charring he had fallen in. Vision returns to him at once, accompanied by the familiar sound of birds singing unfamiliar tones. Now able, he recasts his head to the sky.

The heavens stand bare. No cloud graces its way above his head, but in the above distance he spies a few curious sylphs. The being's dress mimic the clouds they normally dance and play among. They use this form now to hide, feigning the bringers of wind and rain. Above him now, two took the shape of arrow birds. Their sharp wings coupled by a long beak used to swiftly cut through air and foe distinguish them as some of the fastest fliers in the sky. The last is a cloudine dragon, the most powerful of the cloud-like sky spirits. Its wings stand splaying wide, and holding power enough to cause torrential gale with a single flap. An airy trail follows behind him originating from his wingtips and tail--a radiation of majesty. Just as a king wears a velveteen cloak so do these dragons wear the wind. His head seems to be looking down at the young man. All of them appear to have their curiosity on him, though none dare to fly directly above the scar of black in this land of green and gold. The young man wondered how he had acquired a knowledge of their existence. If he had not been so keenly aware of this secret, his eyes would have passed them for the cirrus they hid among.

A few strands of delicately standing ashen blades are crushed into dust beneath his palm as he forcibly makes himself stand. Beyond the patch of scorch he found himself in, all around the golden sea expands before his sight. Little breaks the monotonicity of the fields save for the rippling gifts from the wind that create waves on the sea. With this dwarfing sensation in his sights, he begins to move forward, eager to have the despairing air of the black ash behind him.

He barely remembers how to walk, nor did his body have the strength for such a thing; and so instead, he staggers. Uneven footsteps carry the young man forward into the water-like grass. The blades tickle the hair along his legs, the tips brushing him just above his bare knees. With every step, he grows in strength. The earth was alive, and from her he takes power. A glance behind reveals a trail of browning half-dead plants where he had walked. He stops and casts his eyes to the grass-life around him. Slowly, it too was fading into an early death. He bends down to examine the damage only to find his hands more powerful than the rest; so much so, the instinct to take made the blades crumble into dust as their life was stolen for his own good.

If the stately goddesses's domain were any smaller, she would have seen the injury he caused on her land and reprimanded him by way of some feral beast. Though unaware, he is a lucky one.

The young man continues moving, fascinated by this power he holds. Now aware, he can feel the surges of life that grow within him as every step hesitantly steals from the land. Soon the trail he leaves behind became less harsh. As he is filled, the grass withers less, soon only falling to a coppery dry green. An unfortunate thrush brushes its wing along his arm as it tries to flee from his presence. The creature gives boost to his stores before sputtering and falling to the ground behind him. The young man turns his head, guilty for hurting the chitling and weary to reach his hands out to offer it aid. To his relief, within moments the stunned bird rights itself from its crash and hops away into the grass. At last when he can carry himself without struggle, he finally strides with no remnant trail of his meandering journey.
This power is something he could not help, but quickly he learns it is something he can control.

The sea stretches endlessly for days. He sleeps at night among the gold alone, concealed by the prairie. During this time as he walks along the land or rests under the stars, he tries to remember who he was. With all the time he has for thought, never is he able to make a decisive decision. Trying to remember his past, only invokes images of the open sky and rain. He could not figure out how he acquired the ragged shirt over his chest, nor did he know the place he had been given the trousers that were torn above the knee. The worn belt on his waist hold a small blade neatly tucked in place. Perhaps at one time it had been a thing to finish the hunt of animals, or protect the dignity of noblewomen. It could have been used in a treacherous murder, or been what stopped a robber from accomplishing his drastic deed.

What is to be made of the armband? His upper left arm is adorned with a silver armband, an ornate piece of jewelry embellished with a motif of feathers and ivy. It strikes him as too obscure of a combination to simply be decoration. The thing carries a strange weight far too great for such a small band of decoration. Perhaps his heart remembers something his mind did not. When moving to examine the band more one night, he finds he is unable to slip the thing off. It refuses to budge past the girth of his elbow. Unknowing what it is or if it has some meaning, with caution he plans to cover it when he reaches civilization.

Shortly after journeying, atop one of the occasional blemishes in this land--where the grass was scraped thin making the rocky bone of the earth visible--he catches sight of a silver glimmer. Hastily he follows his sight and moves to discover the material behind it. Laying with bravado against the stone, is a round coin. He picks up the valuable treasure and examines it like a thief might gorge over his day's catch. It is quite thin in shape, with a waving design along the outer rounded edge. Runes or writing--he couldn't tell which for he understood not its meaning--had been engraved and embossed on the top of the rim. Flipping it over he finds both sides to be identical. The middle is hollowed out in the shape of a six petaled flower, and lets the sun through when he holds it up to the heaven's daylight, the pattern cut of light falling on his face. The young man pockets the coin along with hopes for finding other nearby signs of civilization.