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”

Glimmer of Moonlight

I thought it was…

Amusing.

Cute, in a way.

She stood with her shoulders back, braced for anything. Ready to get hit with rejection, to get hit by a gust of wind, to get hit with a tree that I conjured from the ground.

In that moment, she was ready for anything.

Except:

Acceptance.

“For now,” I say, leaning over my boulder, elbow resting against the rock as my palm props up my face. “You may be my apprentice.”

And so it began.

Our spiraling stars.

Sputtering, glowing.

Burning out.

Giving all that it can give.

Giving all that I can give. An exhale in the dark. A whisper that tapers into echoes. A single word given.

And it’s all that I am.

What a glorious night. Continue reading “Glimmer of Moonlight”

Last Hope or the Edge of the World

There was an island.

Lonely, isolated. Off to the east, right before the world dropped, there was an island. A waypoint.

Last Hope, they called it.

A place where one could turn back, turn away from the edge of the world.

If you let yourself survive it. Continue reading “Last Hope or the Edge of the World”

Landing Among Stars

It was dark here.

It’s been dark for a while.

The sky swallowed us one day. Decided that we weren’t worth its greatest gift. One night, the sun went down—just as it always does.

And it stayed that way.

That was all it took for us to be consumed. Trapped.

Eternal night.

Continue reading “Landing Among Stars”

Flying, Falling, and The In-Between

It’s not that I’m afraid.

…I’m not.

…really, I’m not.

It’s just that…

Well.

What happens if it doesn’t work? What happens if I fall and I don’t catch myself?

What happens if I jump, and don’t fly?

Continue reading “Flying, Falling, and The In-Between”

Bone Dragon

It rose.

From the dark that separated the lava’s dim light and myself. Rose up, from the burning earth. A tan color, singed at the edges, that poked through the folds of red, glowing earth. It rose steadily, meaningfully. It’s sockets were empty, dark. I could feel death seeping from them. Hades itself spilling from the empty holes.

It rose.

The bone dragon.

Continue reading “Bone Dragon”

Wish Maker

Every floating rock knows:

You might be a meteor someday.

If you’re not a comet—already spiraling, turning to ash, leaving a trail behind you—then you know:

You could be a meteor.

You float around, simply stuck in the void of space. Unable to stop your trajectory. Unable to change things. Unable to take control. You live your life knowing:

You’re just floating in space.

Just floating by.

Control? That’s so far out of sight, it’s not even an illusion. If you’re a rock floating in space, you don’t kid around. Don’t pretend with yourself. You throw all that useless, make-belief trash out the window because you know.

You have no control.

One day, something might catch you. One day, you might feel that tug, that pull. One day, you might not be floating. You feel the gravity of it, and you have no choice in the matter. You’re no longer floating.

You might be falling.

Crashing.

Burning.

And there’s nothing you can do about it, except to hope.

As you fall from the sky, begin turning into ash, begin building fire, don’t think about the end. Don’t close off your senses. Don’t be overwhelmed by the falling, by the fire. Don’t allow yourself to miss it.

Listen.

Do you hear it?

Do you hear the last sound?

Do you hear that hopeful plea?

Do you hear?

Have you made a wish? Continue reading “Wish Maker”

Gryphon’s Disciple

“That’s not my name.”

Those were the first words you said to me.

To me.

The Mighty Gryphon. A beast like no other. Lord of Magic, Watcher of the Mountains. Harbinger of Fall and Beast of the Rising Tide. Timeless Warrior. Champion of Valken. Raiser of Scourge.

I gave you a name.

And you—a tiny, puny human without a single light in your sky— you tell me:

“That’s not my name.”

Forgive me for laughing, but, I know.

This is going to be one long, hard task. Continue reading “Gryphon’s Disciple”

Hopeful Lights

I was not interested in the humans at first. Not at all.

Thousands of years—or, perhaps, it was the blink of an eye, I can’t be sure—passed before I finally found out why my kind were so enamored by them. Why they found them amusing. Entertaining. Why they risked their lives, and our secrets, in order to interact with them.

After a good long while, I figured it out.

Such small, delicate creatures. So powerless. And yet:

So hopeful.

The beauty of humanity was locked into that fact. Showcased in their faces as the sky lit with stars in the chasm of the night. How enamored they were with the world. How wondrous they found life, even in the darkest of nights.

Such helpless creatures. Unable to grasp their circumstances, unable to withhold the hand of death, and yet:

Still hopeful.

Always hopeful.

At least:

The strong ones were, anyway.

Continue reading “Hopeful Lights”