A small fire flickered as the wind howled. The flame seemed to struggle to give off any heat, barely holding back the shadows outside the campsite. It was a dying fire. One that would eventually fade, a final flame gasping for life until it too was extinguished. Smouldering embers, nothing more than a faint memory of the blaze it had once been, until even those would dull from their fiery red. Eventually the wind would blow the ash away, and unless someone was looking for the remains of the fire, it would be like it never existed at all. The flames tapered down further, a desperate struggle against the bitter wind.
The darkness around the campsite seemed to stretch to the ends of the world. Outside of the small range of the campfire, darkness seemed to swallow everything in sight. Even the light from the stars and the moons in the night sky seemed to not even reach the ground. It was the type of night that anyone around the campfire wouldn’t dare warm their hands to the fire at the fear of leaving their backs exposed to the dangers of the dark. The edge of darkness seemed to be slowly tightening around the campsite. As the fire fought and flickered, the shadows would greedily take the space trying to get to the source of what opposed it.
A laugh. No, not a laugh. A giggle, or maybe even a cackle broke through the sound of the wind. It seemed to reinvigorate the fire and burned a little brighter casting long shadows around the campsite. Caught in the illumination was a man, an old man. He didn’t look like a man that time had forgotten about, he looked like a man everyone had forgotten about. He looked wretched. He was old. His face was covered by long dirty grey hair, unkempt and lifeless. He was clothed in robes that a casual observer may have said at first glance were brown, although they could have been originally any colour and stained through dirt.
Another laugh, this one a closer to a bark that faded into a giggle as he jumped to his feet. He held in his hands a slate that glowed faintly in the firelight. With another cry he jumped to his feet, clutching the slate to his chest. He had done it. Finally, after all this time he had done it. There was still time. There was still –
“It’s too late Old Man”. A sorrowful voice broke through the night.
The voice continued.
“It’s too late, there is nothing more that can be done. You have tried, and you have fought valiantly, but it’s finally time.
The Old Man spun around, the joy that lit up his face moments ago turned to stone as he sought out the source of the voice. Eyes that possessed more life than you would think for a man his age scanned the darkness looking for the speaker. The Old Man tried to pierce the darkness, looking for who he knew was there. He gripped the slate closer to his chest. Not this. He wouldn’t risk this being lost somewhere in the darkness.
“It’s a very clever last attempt but it’s not going to work. You know that. It’s just delaying the inevitable. Don’t you think it’s been tried before?”.
That damned voice, it was closer. The Old Man spun around, and sitting on the log just behind him by the fire was a Young Woman. Of course it was always going to be her. Her blue eyes pierced him as she waited on an answer. Not that one was coming, but she left the silence there as she slowly unwrapped the woven scarf from around her neck and placing it beside her. A pair of unsettling green eyes stared out, framed by a pale porcelain complexion and a wave of red hair that seemed to almost make the fire flicker lower out of jealousy of its vibrancy.
The silence hung a little longer.
“Are you not going to answer me?” she inquired. “After everything, you will go silently? After everything we’ve been through?”
The only response she got was an exaggerated sniff from the Old Man as he shuffled around to the far side of the fire.
A laugh, but this time from the Young Woman as she clapped her hands together.
“I forgot just how infuriating you can be at times. No wonder I stopped coming to visit”.
The Old Man sat down opposite her, keeping the fire between them like a barrier.
Another moment of silence hung in the air, both staring at each other. The wind seemed to pick up, threatening the fire a little more. The ring of shadows grabbed another inch.
Pop. A fresh sound broke the silence. A cork being popped, pulled out of the bottle and held between some of the last remaining teeth of the Old Man.
A derisive snort was the only response from the Young Woman, which was responded to by the clinking of two glasses being taken out. One was offered across the fire.
A nod.
The glugging of liquid into the glass, and it was passed over the fire.
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The Young Woman sniffed the glass, and almost visibly recoiled. Even the smell alone almost made her light headed. This was a drink made for the effect, not for enjoyment.
“Really? At the end, and this is what you saved?”
The only reply was a shrug.
A sigh, followed by a theatrical holding of the nose, the Young Woman raised the glass to her lips and took a sip.
The Old Man downed his and poured another.
“You know what? Maybe you were actually right about this. It is slightly an acquired taste, and I dare say that sip wasn’t too bad” demurred the Young Woman.
“It’s just such a shame it’s the first one, and the last one we’ll be able to actually enjoy the together” she continued, her green eyes challenged teasingly over the fire looking for a response.
The only response was the glugging as a third glass was filled for the Old Man.
The Young Woman was in no rush. The outcome was inevitable so she would allow him a few more moments. She lounged a little further, watching the fire dwindle. It wouldn’t be long now. The flames flickered. Every now and then the flames would flicker and illuminate the face of the Old Man. It was gaunt, and grey. Pallid and almost devoid of life. This wasn’t the man she had once known, the one full of life, of fight. The only sign of that man was something she could see in his eyes - that spirit that would never be broken was still there. She had seen it when she heard him laugh, despite the flames about to turn into embers, he laughed.
She sighed, turning her eyes back to the fire. The fire was almost dead. The last few arms of flames were flickering. It was any moment now.
She stood up. “Come on. You don’t want to be here for it. Let me give you this at least. Come with me now and save yourself the pain of seeing it die. I’m sure I might be even be able to get you another bottle of tha-“
“It hasn’t been tried before.”
A pause.
“At least, I haven’t tried it before”.
The voice was raspy, and hoarse. The voice of someone who has said their first words for a very long time.
The Young Woman sat up, her eyes half lidded as she stared across at the Old Man. She knew the Old Man was clever, but predictable. The hand on her side slowly crept around to her back where it found the hilt of a dagger. It was inevitable, but she had to be be careful.
“Of course it’s been tried before, I’ve seen many slates like it. It only buys time; it doesn’t change the inevitable” she responded.
His head drooped. She was right of course, the slates only bought time, and it felt like each one only bought a little less before the fire began to dwindle again.
“Please, we were friends once. Give up this folly and come with me. I know you don’t trust me but I would never lie to you. Let it go, come with me and you can be at peace, I promise you that.”
His head seemingly nodded.
The Young Woman smiled, and began to stand.
The Old Man began to sob.
The Young Woman felt a spike of anger. Now? Now? Now the Old Man finally broke? After all these years, right before she had won anyway? Was he expecting pity? Was he really this pathetic all along? Was he not the enemy that she had built him up to be?
“This behaviour is really beneath someone like you. Stop crying, and finish your drink. Actually, don’t. It’s probably what’s causing you to-“
Another spike, except this one of uncertainty. A prickle ran up her neck. Some long forgotten instinct was screaming at her. Danger. An alarm bell was ringing in the background of her mind.
The crying grew in pitch, and the Old Man threw his head back. Tears streaming down his face.
“I need you to stop right now, otherwise I’ll have no choice but to do this the unpleasant way“
The uncertainty grew to dread. The Young Woman realised now. He wasn’t crying, but laughing.
Laughing maniacally, the sound being picked up by the wind, drowning out the crackling of the fire, drowning out even the wind itself. The Young Woman saw the Old Man she had once feared as he stood up. As frail as he appeared, he looked stronger. Prouder. Unbroken and unbowed by the challenges he faced and what he knew lay ahead.
The Young Woman stood across from him, the dagger now drawn. A wicked black blade curved at the tip.
“We could have done this the easy way Old Man, yet you continue to mock the inevitable. We are done waiting. If you do not come with us now, you will be taken. Your. Slate. Won’t. Save. You.” Each word punctuated as she spat them out.
The laughter slowly ended, as the Old Man bent to put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He straightened, wiping a tear from his eye as he did so.
They stood across from each other. The Young Woman with her dagger pointed, and the Old Man with a slate in one hand and a bottle in the other.
“I haven’t had a good laugh like that in ages, Daiai” he said as he winced feeling at his side. “I think I’m actually after pulling something from laughing”
His eyes gleamed as he saw her wince when he used her name.
“If you think this is some way to delay the inev-“
“Yes yes, the ‘inevitable’ that you won’t stop mentioning, I know I know.” he interrupted waving the slate at her. “It’s a really good slate though.”
She narrowed her eyes even further.
“They don’t work. I don’t see why we go around in circles like this. You throw that slate of re-kindling on the fire, and you buy a few more cycles. You grow older, and weaker, and the next buys you less time.” Snapped Daiai, frustration rising as she felt the situation slipping away from her.
The Old Man paused, head cocked and eyes closed.
“I agree..” he murmured “… but what if this slate was different?”
Daiai almost didn’t register the slate being tossed to her at first, and had to drop her dagger to barely manage to catch the slate. Void help her if it had accidentally fallen into the fire and started a new cycle.
A moment of hesitation hit her. Why on earth had he thrown the slate to her? His one chance? She could just throw it into the darkness and it would be over. Had he truly gone mad? Was it a distraction?
Daiai looked up at the Old Man, yet he still stood there exactly where he was, disheveled and frail, bottle hanging loosely in his hand and yet there was a spark in his eyes.
Look at it is what his eyes said.
She glanced down.
A white slate, intricately carved with runes upon runes, charged. Her fingers brushed over each rune, feeling the care and intent carved into each one. It seemed to vibrate in her hands, actively seeking something. This wasn’t the work of any journeyman, it wasn’t even the work of a master. Any master enchanter who even held this would weep for they would know they would never compare. It felt like she was holding one of the Suns itself in her hands.
Her breathe caught.
“This isn’t a Slate of-“
“Re-Kindling? No. What a sad way for a fire to go, dying into embers and ash. This Daiai, is a slate of Combustion.
Daiai looked back up, and time slowed. She saw it. She saw the mistake she made. She should have thrown the slate as soon as she had caught it. His arm was already on the down swing. The bottle still half full of alcohol flew towards the fire.
“A fire Daiai should burn bright enough for the whole world to see” the Old Man laughed as the bottle smashed, arms of flames greedily expanding and roaring outwards following the accelerant it had been given
A scream tore from her throat as she threw she slate into the darkness. It just needed to be beyond the fires reach and the game would be over. The slate curled threw the air as the shadows grasped hungrily towards it. It was nothing more than a race now as she felt the heat of the flames roll over her, singing her skin and clothes. Burning outwards pushing the darkness away from the edge of the campsite in one final moment of glory, in one final moment before it would be gone forever.
The Old Man and Daiai’s eyes tracked the slate. Both eyes tracked the expanding arms of fire as it hungrily took in everything around it. The Old Mans eyes closed as the smallest tendril of flame licked the slate.
Runes clicked, aligned, and a charge containing the power of a Sun was unleashed.
The world went white.