Rise Again

For a while, I believed I was forgotten. That my skill and my hammer and my forge were all lost, somewhere beyond myths and legends. Dark in the minds of man. For a while, I believed that they’d stopped telling the tale. Stopped speaking of my works. For a while, I thought I’d never have another visitor.

And then, he showed up.

Him.

And when he walked into my forge, he knew where he was going. What he was doing. I realized then that it wasn’t a matter of being forgotten, but, rather, a matter of being feared.

Why else would you memorize a land not of your own?

For the sake of keeping your head, yes?

As he approached my forge, his eyes shifted around the room. Cataloguing everything in sight. Ready for something to pounce, to jump at him. To make an attempt on his life.

He walked into my forge—my home—fearful.

Terrified.

Determined, and yet:

Very much afraid.

…good.

At least they’ve got that much right.

My works are nothing to scoff at. My hands building only the finest of beasts. My forge brutal, a fire that shows no mercy.

Mercy makes for weak metal, anyway.

For making creatures that are not-quite-so-mythical beasts.

There is no room for a cool fire.

Not in my forge.

He walked in, afraid, and yet…

He knew exactly what he wanted.

Though I don’t think he realized what kind of hell I’d have to make first, in order for him to get it.

Ha.

Foolish mortals. Continue reading “Rise Again”

Nightwalker

The thing about being a Nightwalker is:

You have to face the terror.

Visceral, pounding blood. Bones that crack beneath the weight of too much adrenaline. An impending knowledge that you, among these toothy tombs, are as strong as a twig against a mighty wind.

You are a Nightwalker. One who walks through the dreams of the despairing. Who can clamber up, and down—move among the dwelling horrors of the twilight hour.

A Nightwalker sees a nightmare.

And he can’t look away.

A Nightwalker, in order to survive, must keep moving. Must keep burning. Must keep fighting.

You must face the terror.

Or:

Perish. Continue reading “Nightwalker”

Burning Leaves

Sniffing the air, I catch a whiff of it. Just the tiniest hint.

Juniper.

Birch.

Fire.

You.

The tug that follows runs deep. Pulling at my core, my foundation. I can feel the movement of it in the air, in the earth. This was more than a calling. More than an emptiness, or a filling. More than the physical world.

This was…

More.

Catching that whiff, feeling that tug, I don’t stand there.

I run.

I run, hoping.

Hoping to reach you. Continue reading “Burning Leaves”

Air Raid

I could hear the moaning outside. The tell-tale sign that something was happening. Growing in the dark of the night. A moaning that was not made by any person. I could hear it, the wolves howling into the night. Piercing through our houses, our homes. Warning us:

It comes.

It comes tonight.

Run, if you dare. Hide, if you can. Do what you must to survive.

They come.

They come tonight. Continue reading “Air Raid”

Thorny Fate

I am not here of my own accord.

Fate was set. Pulled into motion. Gears of time and space and virtue, all meshing together to tick down. To continue counting the seconds until the bell would toll. Until the hammer would strike.

I am not here of my own accord, I can promise you that.

However.

I am here.

And I am no fool.

And so:

I must do what it is that I was destined to do. Regardless of how I feel, of what I want, I know what I must do, and I will do it.

Pave the way.
Continue reading “Thorny Fate”

What The Smoke Says

When I see the red smoke, I count the tendrils.

Every time.

And, every time, the number is smaller. The smoke climbing higher. The days drawing closer.

They will come for me.

Three tendrils.

Two tendrils.

Tomorrow.

They will come for me.

And, when they do, I’ll be waiting.

I’ll be waiting. Continue reading “What The Smoke Says”

Burning Oceans and Scorching Seas

A blinding light that takes over the horizon. That singes the sky. Smoke tendrils curl upward, clawing at the night. Blotting out stars with its thick, angry grasp. With its red hues that dust the bottom of the skyline. That, when followed to its source, turn into something brighter. Something insistent.

Something more.

This is what we’ve avoided for so long. These burning seas and darkening skies. This lethargic smoke that curls slowly, cruelly, toward the heavens. Humans have steered clear of the edge of the world for so long. Have been afraid of it.

And this is why.

What can we do against seas of fire?

Against black angry skies?

What can we do with such light?

What can we do?

Is it worth it? Whatever lies beyond, is it something to be used? Something we’d want to find?

Who can we find in the throes of this hell? Continue reading “Burning Oceans and Scorching Seas”

Thankful Memories

I remember the chill in the air. The way the leaves folded to it. Fell before the shaking, turning as they dropped. I remember seeing the dander in the air. Small pods of pollen flittering to rest on anything and everything. I remember watching the hawks drift. Carried by it’s weight.

I’ve never seen him. Never. Not once.

Not yet.

And still.

I remember him.

I remember the wind. Continue reading “Thankful Memories”

Lost Passion

The world moves onward.

That’s what we know. If nothing else is certain, there is that one, tiny, constant.

The world moves onward.

There was a time when we ravaged the land. When we raided from the sky. When humans fought us with all their might, because of our inner fire. Because we…

We were other.

Not part of them.

There was a time when we soared. When we fought alongside the people. When we weighed mountains in hand and cast them aside, simply for the sake of making bridges. To give peace, or to bring prosperity. Humans praised us. Thanked us. Loved us dearly.

Both places exist in time.

As old as they are, they exist.

Both times exist.

Though not in this place.

Because this time is a different time. Separated from the previous. This time is the time that is in the future. The time that is forward.

This is the time in which the world has moved onward.

Forgotten.

But.

We have not forgotten.

We remember.

We move forward.
Continue reading “Lost Passion”