Hopeless

A.H. 341

18th of Soaawden

A young child of the forsaken, who knows not of his origin, only his first memories are of sullied and tattered garments tossed aside from disease, and blistered feet along an endless trail. His father’s back ahead and corpses behind him, gazing into the canopy of the darkest of forests for a glimpse of the two suns.

“We’ve almost arrived at The Edge,” his father claimed with a whisperous and coarse voice. The child uttered not a word of discontent, only observing the degradation of his kin’s dull and tattered cloak. Among the last of these raiments, the little one bore a trinket held by a thin worn string around his neck, glimmering in the seldom spots of sun with a silver hue in a shape resembling a rearing stallion.

“Where’d I get this?” He prodded at his father.

To which his question was met with a coarse reply, “You’ll know before the day of days, when the suns cross paths, for that is your birthright. Now savor your breath my child, for the water here is naught but poison, and the forest’s boon is merciless to those who covet it.”

The forest became broken, showing signs of an end to the darkness, glowing sunlight shone between the sparse canopy and lit the scars on his father’s chest and wrists, revealing the incandescent skin beneath the dull garb.

Out of the forest brim, the child caught sight of a large meadow, reflecting a lavish green hue and rolling out into a stream of hills topped with golden flowers. Atop the highest of these hills laid structures in ruin, with no indication of what they used to be from a distance.

The child’s father stopped and grabbed the little one’s soft hand with his callous grip and pointed towards the ruins.

With his rough voice he muttered, “Walk, walk to the golden hills my son, for the day of days will be upon our lives and the time of the trial will be nigh, for when the two suns cross paths, you, Navin, shall never forget your birthright. Now go, should you look back before you arrive the forest will swallow you whole.”

With this, the young one took a couple steps forward ever-so-cautiously as his father slipped his hand from his grip and began to walk more confidently towards the stone-topped hills basking in the sun. Time grew irrelevant as the child drew closer to the yellow mounds, all he remembered was the golden rays of the twin suns illuminating the sea of gold, and the blades of grass between his toes.

As his consciousness became founded, Navin observed the distant forest that used to be at his back, staring into the distant darkness and searching for his father, who was now nowhere to be seen. The young Navin remained expressionless, clinching his trinket in his hand as his gaze drifted to the large stones laying in ruin at his feet.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Remnants of the past of course, accompanied by brittle sunbaked bones and skulls these ruins remained. Lying in the center of the weathered bricks and bones was a sigil, resembling a phoenix in flight, spreading its wings in majesty from edge to edge of the remaining vine-strewn walls covered in grass and flora, peeking through the cracks of the forgotten architecture. Alas, this was all that remained within this spot of ruin atop these golden hills, basking in the suns through the ages past.

21st of Soaawden

The past few days became a blur for little Navin, feeding on grass to stave the hunger, and sucking the glistening morning dew off of the vines for the little nourishment that could be offered. As small as his mind was, the little boy had many questions, for all he knew was that he would one day claim his birthright, or so it was said.

The afternoon came, and a shuffling was heard which forced Navin to hide away behind the large stone steles which were no longer legible.

A hooded figure, donning a dark red robe accompanied with a golden shimmering chain around its neck, emerged from behind the stones toward the dark forest and made its way towards the phoenix sigil, shuffling across the stones and grass barefooted, revealing iron locked shackles on its wrists and feet, sliding their heavy weight across the pavers and smoothed sigil stone, only to come to a standstill for a brief moment in the center of the phoenix’s breast.

The figure eventually sat down cross-legged, shifting and clanging the metal chains around, and began to mutter an inaudible dialect with its hands clasped together tightly.

The child remained hidden behind the steles with a watchful gaze fixated on the hooded character, until it was the last thing Navin saw before he succumbed to fatigue and nodded to sleep.

22nd of Soaawden

In and out of consciousness, Navin could smell the scent of dirt and sweat, of the forest’s blooms and hear the winds through the leaves. The rattling of chains and pattering of feet were ever present as the few glimpses he caught of the dark red robed figure were embedded into his dreams.

When the young child finally woke from his exhaustion, blinded by the shimmers of gold reflecting from the character’s chain, he rose to the soft scent of herbs and gamey meat being stirred in a crude cauldron by the hooded persona. Navin reluctantly sat upright amongst a rickety wooden bed topped with hay and reeds, covering his eyes from the rays piercing through the roof of the drabby shack he found himself in.

The robed figure spoke quickly and fluently with his hands clasped over the cauldron in the center of the small space, “Aeso aeou ka noae so, muk noae mukae ou aee ae kamuk aenosi oeka muk si.”

The man then removed his hood and slowly turned towards the boy, revealing a face half-mangled and a silvery blind eye on his left side and ashen white hairs strewn in patches along the scar-ridden chin, the right side of his face was pale and leathery, strangely harmonious with the gray hairs that formed a beard and a radiant blue pupil.

The man eloquently spoke to the boy in High Imperial dialect, “What is the name you are given, young child?”

A brief pause, then the child reluctantly and softly replied, “Navin.”

“Well little Navin-” the man tosses a dark brown lump at the boy’s chest with chains rattling around his wrists, “-you have found yourself far from home, have you? Eat that in small bites, let it soak on your tongue first, for you are starved.” The man said while turning to face the cauldron.

Navin hurriedly pinched bites from the ugly lump of bread and stuffed his mouth full of half the loaf, swallowing before the man could take notice. To his surprise, the boy quickly vomited a substance of green mush of the past few days’ meals of grass and chunks of grain onto the rotting wood floors near the bedside.

With a light chuckle towards the noise and without a movement, the man told the boy, “Slowly, child, I said you have been starving and you shan’t eat quickly, or it will come up again, just like that. If you heed my words, then I shall help you to some of this stew.”

The man turned and set a wooden bowl full of water, no larger than a hand, next to Navin’s bedside and crept back to his position nearest the cauldron.

Now with incentive, Navin ate slowly, soaking the dark chunks of bread on his tongue before gulping them down and following with sips of water.

“Do you know what you are, boy? Your ashen skin would pay for an entire family’s luxurious life in the imperial capital, and your soft-hued eyes even more. Maybe three generations.” The man spoke hurriedly and with a lowering tone.

Navin looked at the man expressionless, with nothing to reply.

With now a dark tone, the man told the youngster, “I shall tell you a story, since we’ve now the time.”