Ransoms and Ramblings

flames of the forgotten

Shadow giants, everywhere. We didn't stand a chance, even before the demonic black-and-grey wyvern exploded out of the night sky, barraging us with violet acid and wreaking havoc among our forces. The few remaining warriors, the fifty or so who stand where once thousands did, continue to fight back, unyielding against even the greatest odds.

I dodge under a giant's massive sword and slice upward, removing its hand. The blade clatters to the earth and vanishes from existence as its owner raises its other fist and slams it down at me. A well-timed stab from another fighter is the only thing that stops it from pounding me into the ground. "Thanks!" I shout, but they're already gone.

Bren appears next to me, panting, face shining with sweat under a head of pale brown and green hair. Without a word in exchange, we begin to fight as a team, dancing around one another and holding off the giants as best we can.

A hoarse cry erupts from my throat as a freezing-sharp pain erupts along my leg. My head flies upward with shock, and I see the wyvern rocketing toward us, its indigo eyes shining with strange light. Its mouth opens, and acid rains down, falling toward us faster than we can run.

Iron and blue blocks my sight, and my head turns to see Bren holding his shield over the two of us. A faint hissing is audible in the sound of acid falling. We're faced with a lull the giants, who retreated a few steps as they saw their fell beast's attack, leave in the battlefield, at least until the wyvern starts attacking another warrior.

"You all right?" Bren asks, nodding to my leg.

"I won't die of that, I hope," I respond.

When the rosy-colored rain stops, he lowers the shield and charges the nearest giant, ramming its abdomen. It's pushed back with a forceful exhalation that is sharply cut off as he stabs through its chest. The crowd surges inwards, and we're separated, fighting on our own once again. The giants concentrate their attacks on my left, the side of my injured leg, forcing me to retreat, step by step.

"We need to get the wyvern!" another survivor near me shouts, pointing to the flying beast with one of his two swords. "She's the source of their spawning! We need to-" His voice is abruptly cut off, and his sword arm falls into the hordes.

If only there was a free mountain, or a tree, or something of the sort nearby! Our forces could use those, could send up archers to try to shoot down the wyvern. But no; the shadow giants backed us into a wide-open field and surrounded us, slowly crushing us.

I'm nearing Bren again. He's completely discarded his shield and is relying on a second sword, wrapped in lightning by a long-dead sorcerer's enchantment, to help stave off the legions of giants.

As I draw closer, a demented screech rocks the battlefield, stilling the combatants and raising our eyes to the sky. The wyvern, a sword buried in its leg, is flying a distance over the heads of the tallest giants, screaming for all the world - what's left of it, anyway - to hear. An ominous, repulsive purple glow from inside the beast illuminates where the anonymous sword is stuck. Its head tosses side to side, acid flying from its mouth and raining on giants and survivors alike.

It doesn't have any chance to attack further.

A figure wreathed in crimson and golden flames plummets from the sky, a battle cry tearing from its form. It collides with the floating wyvern, grappling with the beast in midair as the battlefield looks on in awe. Fire meets shadow in an awesome display, neither side giving the other the tiniest foothold.

The combat rages for the better part of a minute, before the wyvern gives a final shriek of pain and pushes the fire-bound being away from its now-freely-falling form. The flames flicker and die, and our savior tumbles backward through the sky. Brown feathered wings tipped with white begin unfurling from her back - for we can tell now, she is a she - but they fail to release in full, drawing back in and disappearing once more.

Bren recognizes her the same moment I do. "Aroyn!" he shouts, pushing past the unmoving shadow giants to where she will fall, sheathing his swords as he goes. I follow close behind, limping as I run, and we reach just moments before her. He reaches out to try to catch her, but the impact forces them both to the ground.

"Aroyn," he says again, softly, tearfully. "Where did you go?"

The brown-haired woman breathes shakily and smiles faintly at him, her golden eyes opening the slightest bit. "You made it," she says quietly. "I knew... I knew you could."

"Aroyn, no," comes the whispered response. I kneel next to the two, tears welling unbidden to my eyes.

"I'll see you both on the other side. Take care of each other, okay?"

As the sun rises for the first time in the months since the first attack, it illuminates tens of thousands of stone statues where once was a wide-open field. Near the center of the army, two rough circles stand open. In one, a great stone wyvern twice the size of the other statues lies, its wings splayed and mouth open, forever roaring its final breath. In the other, the humans who survived the onslaught stand together and watch the sun rise over the immortalized battlefield. Of the thousands who once lived, of the fifty-one fighters of the final hours, only fourteen remain living. The bodies of those who died in the fight lie before them, soon to be buried in the earth but never to be forgotten.

Now, only a tablet of marble remains in that second space, inscribed with the words:

To those who fought bravely until their final hours.
To those who sacrificed themselves to ensure others would survive.
To the Fighters of the Endless Night.
To Aroyn, She of the Burning Wings, who defeated the Shadow Wyvern as her very last act.
May your sacrifices never be forgotten.
May the stars watch over you.

—Ruby