Cillian sat by the fire. The cold from before wasn't there. He sat on the rug in the center of his home. Something felt off. Everything seemed bigger than normal, or maybe he was smaller now? Cillian didn't mind. He had his toys to play with, a small wooden horse and a little human-shaped figure. Cillian held one in each of his tiny hands and swung them around. He placed the figurine on the wooden horse and paraded it around as if the little wooden man was riding the horse.
As he played with the toys, he watched as their natural brown hue began to darken until they looked to be completely charred. Black. Cillian stopped playing for a moment. Black. Something about that color seemed interesting. It didn't matter, he thought. He resumed playing and imagined that he was the black silhouette, charging through the land without care.
After some time, the sound of rain on the rooftop gave him company. It was all so nice and peaceful. So relaxing and familiar. Familiar? Cillian thought for a moment.
Wasn't this the day that-
A woman suddenly strode into the room. She was tall, had long black hair, and was carrying something wrapped in cloth.
"Cillian darling," the woman spoke in a sweet voice.
"Yes, mom?" Cillian said, looking up from his toys. She crouched in front of him while holding the bundle of cloth tight to her body.
"I want to show you something." She thrust her arms out, presenting the bundle of cloth.
Cillian looked at it for a moment, unsure of what to do. His mother gave him a warm smile and Cillian took the bundle cautiously. He looked down at it and saw that the cloth was wrapping an infant.
“It’s alright. Come on, hold her,” she told him.
Cillian set down his toys and looked nervously at his mother. She gave him a nod of approval, and Cillian carefully took the infant into his hands. The baby let out a soft cooing followed by an exaggerated yawn. The newborn had pale green skin and wispy white hair.
“Meet your sister Amalea.” Cillian’s mother said. As if on cue, the baby opened her eyes to look up at her new older brother.
“Why is her skin green?” Cillian asked.
He looked back at the baby and saw that her skin didn’t have the same green hue as before. Now it appeared pale, if not gray. Cillian stared puzzled, and he felt the form in his hands lighten. The newborn withered into ash and drained onto the ground.
“M-m-mom?” Cillian stuttered.
His heart was pounding as he looked up for his mother, only to find that she wasn’t there. Roaring flames filled the room and surrounded Cillian, stopping in a circle at his feet. Cillian shrieked from the pain of the fire searing his skin.
The flames swirled together into the shape of a gigantic figure. Cillian watched as the towering humanoid of flames bent down to bring its face in front of Cillian’s. Cillian fought against the sting of his watering eyes to keep them open. In the moments that he could see, Cillian saw the blank orange face transform. It morphed and sharpened until the striking features of the commander became clear.
“You are weak,” The flame giant bellowed from its newly made mouth. Cillian’s childish body was motionless. He couldn’t even scream as the face of the commander opened its mouth wide and swallowed him whole.
The heat was gone. Cillian found himself sprawled on cold cobblestone. He sat up and was surprised to find his body returned to its normal size and free of charred skin. Green flamed torches mounted on the walls struggled to illuminate the room he was in. It was small and the ceiling was only a few inches above Cillian’s head. The room was homogenous except for one side that had an archway outlined into it. Before Cillian could even know what he was looking at, the area outlined by the archway erupted in green shimmering light. It was the same hue as the torch flames and formed a filament-like consistency.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Help me,” a voice rang. “Help me,” it chimed again. It came from the archway wall, beyond the green light.
Cillian slowly walked toward the cries. He knew the voice. It was Amalea’s. It only took one more call for Cillian to reach into the light and step through.
On his first step through Cillian lost his footing and fell. The floor was no longer solid and he slid down after his fall. It only took a moment for Cillian to recognize the array of skulls and bones that lay around him. He screamed and shot to his feet, doing his best to balance and stay upright.
As far down as he could see were bones. He was on a mountain of shattered skeletons. Its base grew wider as it descended, and it extended into a valley that reached beyond what Cillian could see.
A sudden feeling of dread and guilt formed a nauseating pit in his stomach. The feeling built till a dead man’s hand gripped his ankle.
“Why,” a moan came from the mountain of the lost. More hands reached out to grab Cillian, moving up his body from the legs. He did not try to fight them off him.
“Why,” more voices moaned. They rang out more frequently, in disunion, till they formed a deafening discord of noise. The arms pulled Cillian down now till his knees were submerged into the mass of bone.
“I’m sorry,” Cillian whispered. “I’m so sorry.” The apologies turned into tears. His head was the only thing not submerged now. “I’m sorry,” he said one more time before he drowned in the endless mass of death.
Cillian woke with a gasp. He was sitting up and found himself struggling to breathe. Cold sweat permeated his body, and the thin sheet he was laying on provided no protection against the freezing stone floor. His face and body started to throb as his breathing steadied and his heart slowed.
Cillian was nude from above the waist, except for the bloody bandages around his head, torso, and right arm. A small fire crackled, providing light to the cavern he was in. The only other thing in the cavern was a rolled-out piece of white cloth with blood-stained rags and two glass bottles filled with a shimmering, almost glowing, scarlet-colored liquid.
“Hey! Lay back down,” a yell came from the cave entrance. “Don’t get up,”
A short dwarven man carrying a bucket of water in each hand rushed towards Cillian. He was old, evident by his wrinkled skin and gray beard, but with a powerful muscular frame visible through layers of robe.
“I said down,” he commanded as he dropped his buckets and forcefully pushed Cillian down to his back. “Thank the stars above you’re awake. I thought you would be gone for sure, boy.”
Cillian tried to sit back up and speak but the elder dwarf shoved him back down.
“Don’t try it, boy. Your blood was pouring out like a keg during Aftermine.” The dwarf took one of the bottles of red liquid and popped open its cork.
“Aftermine?” Cillian asked, puzzled. The dwarf stared with his mouth open for a moment before shaking his head.
“Forget it human,” he brought the bottle to Cillian’s mouth, propped his head up with his hand, and said, “Drink this. All of it. Don’t spill a single drop.”
Cillian hesitated and then obeyed. Up close, the red liquid seemed to swirl and let off wispy red fumes. It had a thin consistency and was sweet with a spicy aftertaste. A sudden thirst drove him to drink without stopping to breathe.
“Not as tasty as mead, but it hits the spot don’t it?” The dwarven man walked toward the fire and warmed his hands. “Feel better boy?”
Cillian looked around at his body. The aches and pains were slowly ebbing away and some of the cuts and marks on his body rapidly healed in front of his eyes. “Yeah, I feel better. Thank you.”
“I was just on my regular evenin’ walk when the stench of smoke filled my nostrils. When I ran over here, I saw everything ablaze. I don’t know what you got yourself into but you were beaten bloody and taking a nap in the middle of it all. Lucky too cause that fire kept you from freezing, but if I showed up any later it would’ve swallowed you.” The dwarf paused and stroked his beard. “What in the gods happened to you boy?”
Cillian closed his eyes and let his memory come back to him, chasing into the forest after Amalea, the house on fire when he got there, his sister being taken away from him, and being beaten within an inch of his life. His body felt better and the cuts and bruises around his body were gone, but there was a distinct, almost black scar in the shape of a hand wrapped grasping his wrist that did not leave.
Cillian spoke, “the Black Empire.”
----------------------------------------
Image [https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/976997370132848640/1006889493468545064/iiiooooppppllkk_round_glass_potion_botle_filled_with_scarlet_li_5c6861e7-a236-4a22-9158-efd9886b2ac8.png?width=1068&height=1068]
Bottle of healing liquid