Her silver hair fluttered by the gentle Wind as the wavering water danced inside the jar. She fondled her hands around it, kept it immobile at the top of her head, walked around the dried and dead leaves scattered through the Autumn village.

The scorching hot Sun blazed through her weary eyes. She closed her eyelids for a moment, a numbness of mind and a flash of blind pain wrapping her smooth forehead and puncturing holes in her brains.

Just a quick rest, she needed a break. It was a very hot day, more than usual. Indeed, not even the elders, with their tough skins and roughed attitudes that fumed with the ravages of war, could bear the wrath of Sun. He wasn’t kind to her people, and they were thankful for that.

The strong are born from harshly wounded wombs. Weakness was not to be forgiven.

Her eyelids slowly rose as she steeled her resolve to move on. A fierce crooked smile traced her lips, it was indeed a blessing. Pain and suffering – seeds to be planted in the human body.

Blood would nurture their roots, growing healthy, bearing magnificent flowers, fruits coming with the age.

But that day, it was hot, so very hot. Temperature was high enough to dry her flesh, to melt her skin, to voraciously lick the bones of her soon-to-be fallen body, leaving behind nothing but a pile of chalk.

She never felt like that before, it was nauseating, suffocating. Her lungs were failing her.

Her mother’s steps hammered her ears while she moved forwards, only forwards, never backing down a step. Tears could not flow down her eyes as she was taught not to cry in any situation. It would be a waste of liquid.

Sun kept her feet shackled to iron balls, her back crushed by a stone block. She stumbled, falling to the ground like a rock left to free fall. That second was divided infinitely in time, feeling like an eternity, falling to a rabbit’s hole, chasing after a turtle.

The jar broke into multiple pieces, water spattering the ground. The mother turned to face her.

“Look at what you’ve done… You know we can’t afford to waste water.” She said, eyes as cold as iron staring at the girl’s fragile body.

“Get up” she commanded, but the girl would not listen.

“Get up” again she marshaled, to no avail.

Laying her own jar carefully on the barren sands, down on her knees, she touched the girl, tried to drag her upwards.

The skin was in pure heat, like volcanic ashes, steam reeking from the covering red rashes.

“Tss… Child… Help! Indra will die!” she screamed in confusion.

Every person struck by these symptoms would not live for the day after, a sudden death with no meaning behind it.

Sun’s curse, the reaper of strong men, it was the first time it happened with a woman. Not just any woman, the last child of her stringing bloodline. The lineage would offer company as worms feasted on her rotten corpse.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The girl must live.

The mother begged and cried for help, the aide of those proud and tactless men of the curved blade, the war dogs. Only one young lad came to offer assistance.

“She will certainly die. Let’s take her to the elder, give her the last rites.” He said tragically, no man survived so why would Sun spare the girl?

“No… She can’t... My poor girl…”

“Come… Before our hands can’t hold these scars”.

They held the girl in clothes and traversed quickly through the empty village, in no time reaching for the elder’s hut. It was a dark, moist place, filled with stumbling scents and the arousing smell of herbs.

He was bald and tanned, back scarred and wrinkled face with deep black eyes. His body was uttered with dirt, his long beard engrossed by filth, the elder sat on a mat of wood beads, legs crossed, meditating.

The girl was dropped before him, he opened his eyes in thought.

“Elder… Give her a few words before she is no more…”

The old man threw an uninterested look at Indra. Her temperature was going down, body becoming stable.

“She won’t die”

The mother let herself calm down, pacing her uneven breathing and caressing the child’s silver hair. She was safe, she wouldn’t die – so said the elder, and his words were absolute.

The girl would live, yet why were his eyes so keen and inquisitive?

He glanced at the man that accompanied them, asking him for a time with the mother, and he vanished out of the room.

“She won’t properly live either”

“Elder… What is it you mean?” she asked defensively. Did he fill her with hope only to steal it away?

The old man lifted his neck, planting his eyes on the rooftop.

“Dendra, you should have noticed as well. Your bloodline is poisoned and not by any poison. It’s both a blessing and a curse, a double-edged sword crafted by the most powerful being on the universe”

“No… It can’t be… The hateful bloodline… She chose us… Why?”

“Mere mortals can’t grasp her intentions. Only a God can understand another God”.

“Impossible… We can’t let that happen… Just like the old sayings and chants pointed, the hateful blood must be purged!”

“… We won’t step in on the matter of Gods, we won’t invoke their wrath”

“Then… What do we do? What can we do?”

“… I’m afraid there’s nothing to do. Take your daughter away from all the villages and leave her to her fate.

Let the Gods decide”.