“And then the sun went out.”

“Grandpa!”

The old man had loose rags covering most of his body. Under that, he had loose leathery skin and creases covered nearly every inch of it, like he was a pug put in human form. As the young boy in front of him cried out he took his shaky hand and stroked his wrinkly chin. “Hmm? Yes, what is it?”

“You were telling that old story again, but no one else is here yet." The child shook his head as he readjusted the cloth around his mouth to better keep out stray sand.

The old storyteller nodded. "Ah, so I have. Sorry young one, there is much on my mind."

Indeed, there was much on his mind. He lowered his cloth mask and spat on the ground, as he took in the ruins around them. The stories had been passed down to him, about the rise of humanity, and how they had been the top of the food chain once. This was supposed to be one of their greatest triumphs; a massive fortress that lived in the skies. Now it was nothing more than temporary shelter from the storms and hunters. Still, it always impressed him how well the metal held up against the constant barrage of the desert.

"So, are you going to tell that same story about the sun again?"

The boy's question shook the old storyteller from his reminiscing. "Hmm? Oh, yes. It's a good one after all."

The boy scoffed. "You should tell one that's more realistic."

The storyteller stroked his chin as he glanced around at the long-forgotten runes that covered the walls. "More realistic? Oh, and I suppose you know exactly the kind of story I should tell, do you?"

"I mean," the boy fidgeted around as if his hands would miraculously find the answer he was seeking. "It just doesn't seem all that helpful you going on and on about the past, with these fantastical stories."

The storyteller kept quiet a moment as he leaned back against the rock he was suing as a chair. He crossed his bony fingers over his chest as he groaned. His grandson reminded him far too much of himself in his youth. If that was true, the boy had a lot of suffering ahead of him. "Come now boy, I'm sure you can think of the words. Something is bothering you. Now figure out what it is, and why the past seems to irritate you so."

The boy twisted his face under his wrappings. It was like trying to figure out a word he had never heard before. This was yet another impossible task from his grandfather, and it only served to increase his frustration. "I don't know! It's just...it feels useless. Like it doesn't apply anymore or something like that. Things aren't as bright as they are in your stories. Things don’t end well just because of good intentions."

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

The boy's grandfather pulled out a small, rusted tin. With a small grunt he managed to force it open. Inside was a mix of glowing sand that radiated every color of the rainbow. The old man dipped his finger in it and then rubbed it on his gums before resealing the container. With a long sigh the old storyteller closed his eyes and leaned back on the rock even more.

"Fine! Just ignore me."

The boy was clearly frustrated and kicked a loose pebble as he turned away to sulk. The tiny rock flew up and clanged against the metal structure. It knocked away some dirt revealing a set of runes on small squares. The old man opened his eyes and stared up at it as his eyes started to glow faintly, a side effect of the dust. The image of those runes filled him with a nostalgia he shouldn't have. Without a word, he stood up and brushed his hand against the blocks of runes. As he touched them, they pressed down before springing back up, their ancient mechanisms still somehow intact. A smile crept onto his face before he turned back to his pouting grandson.

"You know, maybe you're right." he said softly.

"About what?" the boy's answer was short and full of venom. It was obvious he was still frustrated with his grandfather's riddles.

"Why don't I tell a different story tonight? One that is more relevant to a bold young boy like yourself." he mused as he continued to press in various runes. The clacking noise they made seemed to ease the old man's mind. It was like listening to a horde of Beezles surrounding their prey, but from a safe distance of course.

"Yeah?" much of his anger seemed to drop at the promise of a new story.

The storyteller rubbed his chin again as the glow faded from his eyes. "I was thinking. You've heard the story of when the sun went out, right?"

"Yeah, tons of times. With the hero, Slim, using his mighty sword to hunt down the unkillable beast who ate the sun."

"That's the one." The old man turned away from the runes and looked towards his grandson. Covered in his protective layers of cloth, he couldn't help but see his younger self. Brash, adventurous, eager, and heading towards more trouble than he could handle. "But I never told you how the sun got captured, did I?"

"What do you mean? the sparkling beast envied her power and so he ate her to gain it for himself."

The storyteller chuckled. "Yes, that's true, but there is more to it. After all, it would take bold action from the beast to devour something stronger than himself. Didn't you ever wonder how he got a hold of her?"

"Well, I mean..." the boy rubbed the back of his neck as a cold breeze rushed through the cracks of their shelter and sent a chill through him. "I always figured it was just a dumb story. It didn't have to make sense."

The old man let out a loud laugh that echoed around them. "Fair enough." he wiped a small tear from his eye and shook his head. After a moment he let out a sigh and composed himself as he added, "Well, this story does have a reason, and I'd say it's about time I told you it. After all, if you're going to take my name someday. You'll have to learn as many stories as you can."

At this the boy had completely perked up. "Your name, are you serious? You think I can be the storyteller?"

The old man nodded. "You've got the right kind of curiosity the storyteller needs."

"But..." the boy kicked his foot into the sand as he looked down. "What about my sister? She's a lot better than I am."

The boy's grandfather smiled. "Sometimes the better choice isn't the right choice. Not everything is so black and white you know."

"But that’s stupid. Why wouldn’t you want the best? Besides, she loves stories, she'd..."

"Sit down by the fire child," he cut off his grandson and pointed towards a hulking round piece of metal. It had sharp bits dangling towards an ominous dark hole in the center.

The boy threw himself down next to circle and crossed his legs over each other. "I don't..."

"Hush now," he cut him off again. "I'm old, and it takes me a good while to remember the details." he pulled out his small tin again, and as he brushed some against his gums, his eyes flashed with inspiration. He walked towards the wall and flipped a small switch. There was a roar followed by a series of growls from deep beneath the black pit the boy was sitting by. The old man walked over and kicked the side of the hunk of metal. After some more sputtering it turned into a low humming and a bright orange flame poured out of the top. It smelled of old metal and gasoline. The fire sent a wave of warmth out and warmed the two of them down to their bones.

"Isn't it a bit early to light the fire?"

The storyteller dismissed his grandson's concerns with a wave of his hand. "It doesn't feel right to tell a story without a fire. Besides, the others will come soon enough. They'll appreciate the place being warmed up for them."

The old man pushed his back forward until it cracked, and he let out a small groan. He twisted this way and that as his old bones cracked more and more, until he finally seemed satisfied. "Now, listen close as I tell you the story of the Sun and her brother."