Interregnum | #Wattys2019

The Meeting Before the End of the World

I T   B E G A N, as it usually did, with the dragons.

They came from every possible direction, swooping in and out of large, lazy circles, the sound of their dark, sinuous wings beating out a song with a terrifying rhythm. It was a commotion loud enough to stifle the screams of those below. As they watched in horror, one of the larger beasts began its dizzying ascent directly upwards, slicing a path that was black as midnight directly between the glow of the twin suns. The curling black cloud that lay in its wake spread through the sky like ink on parchment, writhing and growing until it had blotted out the light completely.

At once, the hills were cloaked in the deepest of darknesses, and the only thing more eerie than the blackness was the silence that gradually fell over the land as each and every human life in the monsters' range was snuffed out. The dragons killed as if by accident, felling each victim without so much as a scream, or so little as a desperately whispered prayer. It was almost a courtesy, to put them out of their earthly misery. Life brought only hardship and tragedy. Death would be a welcome respite.

The girl felt the pull of those traitorous thoughts, felt her own mind being drawn to the collective consciousness of the cloud of beasts. She had heard stories of such creatures, but they were only stories. This was a monster much different— and much more dangerous— than a simple swarm of dragons.

She pushed herself up and off the scorched patch of meadow grass where she had fallen. She needed to find her family. As she turned in a slow half circle, trying to get her bearings in the darkness, a blinding flash of searing white light illuminated the sky.

The light danced around in the air, coming from all directions and pooling together where it met itself in wells that shone like a maze of exploding stars. One by one, the dragons were swallowed up by the light, absorbed seamlessly into it as the light grew more defined. Finally, it collected itself into one pulsing streak, too brilliant to look at directly.

In a fraction of a second, the light was honed into a sort of scythe, which descended and struck the earth with a thunderous crack, five feet in front of where the girl stood. She felt her chin start to tremble as it began to take shape in the shadows that lay before her.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the light was gone, as were the shadows, and in their place on the hill stood a small boy, so thin that an unexpected gust of wind might blow him away. He wore torn breeches that hung loosely off his slight frame, and his skin was so pale that it was almost translucent. His face was sallow, his cheeks gaunt and dirty, his bones much too pronounced. Most startling, however, were his eyes; they had no pupils or whites, but instead were pools of black that seemed to absorb any light in his immediate surroundings. His scraggly hair was of the same color, and it seemed to float in the air around his head like a warped, shadowy halo.

The Orphan stood there, unmoving and unblinking, as the girl willed herself not to cry.

She had only one thought, and it was this:  she needed a weapon.

Torris awoke with a start, the comfort and safety of her current environment coming back to her with screaming clarity. She clutched at her chest, her bicep, her thighs and feet, feeling the familiar hard places in which she hid her weaponry and allowing herself to breathe normally again. She was armed. She was safe and in bed. She felt the sweat cool on her forehead as she sat up straight. 

She must have dozed off after coming back from the forest with Berrach. She grasped at the fleeting images from the nightmare she had been having, but as with most of her frequent dreams, they were more of a vague feeling at this point than any sort of distinct memory. She could never hold onto them for much more than a couple seconds, but she couldn't shake the feeling that they might be important.