The cavern spanned leagues in every direction, with only a faint wall visible when viewing from the centre. Giant pyres lay scattered throughout the cave illuminating the rocky ruins. Ruined structures lay scattered about, a faint memory of a city long abandoned. Each building was constructed of a mixture of marble and sandstone, opulent in nature, common in design. The structures were forcefully packed together, occupying as much space as possible. They all towered and intermixed in harmony with the cavern's structure and jagged formations. Some ruins still stood reminiscent of their former selves, enough to reach the barbed ceiling. Chains still hang, swinging with the breeze and holding onto a bridge long crumbed, bridges meant to help traverse the city's innumerable towers. Moss and weeds grow in spots blanketed with the light of flame, grasping onto the braziers that eternally sustain them.
At the centre of the city, where a marketplace once bustling with goods, wealth and trade, sat a shallow crater, one quickly sloping and then descending a couple of meters towards the epicentre. Rock within the crater was unlike any around it, for it shone a marble white, with thick red veins running paradoxically through it. The rock beat intermittently, pulsating as though it lived.
At the centre of the crater stood a cocoon. Sheets of pearly white silk wrapped around, encapsulating the chrysalis, and then burgeoning at the tip, a blooming reminiscent of a flower. The chrysalis vibrated faintly, a slight shiver able to be seen periodically.
The city suddenly shuddered, the air fluttering. The flame laying within the eternal braziers diminished and then died out, the remnants of life bellowing a silent scream. The flames then reappeared, one by one they sprouted from the cracked pavement surrounding the crater and swelled. They each bloomed. Creating a field of flame, a meadow of fever.
At the centre of the crater, the cocoon writhed. The sheets of silk started to violently flail, reaching out and enveloping the crater, creating a soft pillowed floor. As the cocoon began to unravel, the fire danced brighter and louder, a thousand shouts calling for the coming of the thing the revere.
Within the centre of the unravelling storm, at the centre of the chrysalis, stood a singular figure. A curved naked silhouette emerging from within the chrysalis. A human figure, distinctly feminine, but also androgynous in their sex. However, the figure was undoubtedly captivating to the human gaze.
As the flailing sheets settled, the figure was clear. They stood tall; their feet elegantly placed as they stood weightlessly on their toes. Long auburn hair brushed over their shoulders, clothing their back and chest. Their thin arms wrapped their neck; their hands gently encapsulating their neck and jaw.
Their supple mouth opened letting a painful first breath in, the cold dry air cutting their throat, causing a grating, burning sound to emit. A flash of pain ran through their body, jolting them into a series of spasmic movements. Their eyes snapped open in recognition – recognition of awareness and sense. Their eyes burned hot, grasping the environment around them. The now cushioned crater suddenly started beating. The tempo rapidly increasing as the figure started to gaze around – attempting to find realisation or understand anything.
Once again the fire burgeoned, this time coalescing on the edge of the crater, grasping and reaching out towards the figure. A fevered frenzy took over the fire as each flame built a dome over the crater and merged above the figure. Merging into one singular spear of heat, it struck down towards them, enveloping them in ardour. It consumed them, invulnerable to any resistance. However the figure gave none, they stood there enveloped in deifying warmth. The flame did not burn, or mark but instead offered itself to the figure, submitting itself. The violent thriving of the spear of warmth died down, and the figure emerged, unscathed. Their skin glowed an ambered red like freshly melted steel, but slowly faded back to a pale enlivening tone.
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
The cavern was dark, the flame that had once illuminated the entire lost city was now gone – and so shadow consumed everything like a rabid plague. However a faint pure glow shielded the centre of the city, emitting from the cushioned crater.
The figure took its first step, moving towards the edge of the crater. Each step was softened by living threads of silk. Their still bare body moved effortlessly towards the edge, each step the silks lifted them higher until they were adjacent to the edge. They stepped out of the crater and onto the cracked broken ground. The sheets followed, cladding them in a pure silken dress. The silks slithered along their body, constantly taking shape and then reforming, all until they were content. As the figure continued, they moved towards a long and wide avenue – what used to be a central street – their bare feet were shielded by a constant padding of softness beneath them. Their feet never made contact with the crumpled ground, as the writhing cloth sought to prevent it. The figure was shielded from all forms of harm, as if bathed in the essence of a devout god.
The figure had felt an immediate sense of purposeless after emerging, but some insatiable connection pushed them forward, gave them the urge to begin moving. They understood now, where and what they had to do and so they walked. Deep in the distance, far away, a singular candidate lay in a pit of desire and struggle. A one sided connection was formed between the figure and the candidate and driven by a newfound realization of a goal, they drove themselves on. They now felt a need to satiate, to serve and liberate the one indentured their own ever consuming humanity. Their liberation was to be like a barrel of honey to the soured man's mouth.
The avenue drove on for leagues, each passing building as crumbled as the one before it. The memories etched into stone faded as the centre grew in distance from the figure. Each building now failed to bring forth a recollection of its previous shape, and now only the echo of passageways and courtyards were present in the bounds of rubble.
But after so long of nothing but rock, a ripple of a slow flowing river emerged in front of the figure. A Bridge was present, structurally intact, sound even.
The figure had walked nonstop through the entire city, untouched. Additionally, the silks had stopped writhing, and instead had finally taken form of the figures desired clothing, a buttoned white shirt and a plain black skirt. The bridge between a masculine attire and feminine. Still barefoot, the silks no longer protecting the figures cut yet smooth feet. They stepped onto the bridge, one hand on the low cut wall to the side.
They peered over the edge as they walked, watching the calm flow of the water. The currents chopped at each other, a fight to rush further downstream. However slow the water seemed to flow on the outside, a violent yet silent war was conducted inside these waters. Each droplet fought desperately to stay within the confines of the river, to not be forced out by the other droplets. Each one feared desperately not to be thrown onto the bank, to merge into soil, and be fed on by the grass. They fought despairingly to be within that warred society, no matter the cruelty of the droplets next to them. Even though the plants do not torture or inflict pain, the droplets still feared intensely, like a deer against the unpredictable. The figure innately understood the futility, but they did not scorn the water. For all life seemed to lead a similar path.
A light blasted ahead, blinding when compared to the greyed cavern. It was just a small walk after the end of the bridge. Inside an outcropping in the wall of the cavern, was an old mechanism. One littered with cobwebs, but pristine in preserving its function. It was a large platform, with cogs, wires and beams making up its structure. While wary of it, uncertain of its function, the figure started up at the source of the light. A tunnel overhead, the source of the light but a blip in the distance. The figure, seemed drawn to the light. Like a moth to a flame. For it unlike any light they had ever witnessed, blinding in nature, and overbearing in sense. They stepped onto the platform, now certain in the motions. They moved to the end and grasped onto the lever, quickly flicking it. They held no doubts, it was as if they had created the mechanism themselves.
The wires and cogs now began to turn and coil. The platform began to the rise. And the figure – they now wore a face of determination – confident in purpose.