Dave stumbled out of the sweltering smithy. His senses had been besieged on all sides; the oppressive heat of the forge, the acrid stench of the metal bugs and his gnawing hunger conspired to confound him. He collapsed onto the grass, seeking solace against the sturdy wall of the lighthouse. The cliff side breeze caressed his flushed cheeks, relaxing his battered senses.
He walked for at least forty kilometers today and felt increasingly irate and unberably exhausted, in dire need of a nap.
Propping himself up on a weary elbow, he looked over the clearing with the bleary eyes of a man who'd seen the inside of a dragon's lair and lived to tell the tale. A fat cloud, as if summoned by an unseen sorcerer, rolled forth from the chasm, casting a diffused, dreamlike glow over the haphazard, medieval town.
Surrendering to exhaustion, Dave yawned and allowed his heavy eyelids to flutter closed.
When he opened them again, he was met with the imposing figure of Remicra, who stared down at him with molten gold and violet eyes that held the promise of danger. Her iridescent scales served as a living canvas, reflecting the rich hues of the continent-filled sky above and the verdant meadow below.
"I thought you would've scampered off to the market by now to impress idiots with your magic," she sneered.
Dave managed a weak chuckle. "No such luck, I'm afraid. I'm not really sure where I'm supposed to go next. Or what I'm supposed to do."
Without graveyards, he couldn't even bug the dead for information. He didn't see anything resembling a hospital either, nor spot the telltale ghostly trees. It seemed that people didn't die on the streets of Shandria.
"Typical clueless manling," Remicra finally muttered with a derisive snort. "Always looking for someone else to tell them what to do."
Despite the weariness, Dave couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Yes, typical clueless human. Am I meant to be asking you for guidance or wisdom, since you're so well-versed in those areas?"
"I could snap you in two right now, human," she threatened.
Dave simply shrugged. "Go ahead and make with the snapping. I'm too tired and scratched up to move. Pretty sure that damn bat broke a rib or two when it dropped me from the sky."
With a deep growl, Remicra stormed into the smithy. She emerged a few moments later with bandages and a few leaves, hurling them at Dave.
"Here. Take these and leave, before I change my mind and decide to roast you for dinner," she snarled.
Dave looked at the bandages. "What...?" he inquired.
"These are, quite evidently, bandages and aloe leaves, you insufferable dolt," Remicra retorted. "You are absolutely covered in cuts! The City Watch might impose a fine on the smithy if I let your corpse rot here!"
"Thanks," he murmured.
Remicra emitted a guttural grunt of acknowledgement, while refusing to display any further semblance of warmth. Dave proceeded to wrap his wounds.
As he completed the task of binding the cuts left by the metallic insects, a magical luminescence blossomed throughout the town nestled beneath the cliff side. Dave gazed at the idyllic scene below, a tide of melancholy surging within his chest.
The violin residing in the recesses of his soul commenced an incredibly mournful serenade.
It was a peculiar sensation, to be simultaneously spellbound and wistful. Involuntarily, as the sad violin played on and on his thoughts drifted to Lari, Lillianne, and the host of other countless, lost souls his magic had touched in the accursed realm of the Dragon Emperor.
He blinked, only to find that his cheeks were dampened by tears.
"Are you crying?" Remicra asked.
Dave looked up at her. "Uh, no. No, I am not," he said, swiping the tears away.
God damn it, Sherlock, why?
"Ha," Remicra interjected, amusement infusing her tone. "You ARE crying!"
"Fine, I am," Dave admitted. "Yesterday, I saw more deaths than I have in the entirety of my life. It seems that the local deities just love murder and madness."
"Oh, they do," the dragoness agreed. "Look up."
Dave looked up.
The momentarily parted clouds revealed to him the vast skies. The inverted landscape was illuminated with stars that ignited and dimmed in random sequences. A rising tide of astonishment enveloped him in a spellbound awe.
"What... but there's land there," he uttered. "What are those lights?"
"You cannot see the fires of war during the day," Remicra intoned. "Each star represents a city or a nation reduced to cinders."
"What?" Dave repeated.
"Fire magics. The God-Emperors and their archmage mutts engage in endless strife over territory," Remicra said darkly.
Dave swallowed with difficulty. The distant skirmishes sent a disquieting shiver coursing through him – the local gods exercised no restraint in the wielding of their power. As he stared at the incandescent display, the violin within him abruptly altered its melody, evoking an air of tension.
These distant pinpricks of light were akin to thermonuclear detonations.
"Some God-Emperors can summon endless armies into being," Remicra added. "Some build thousands of citadels across the land and the others turn it all to ashes in the blink of an eye. The war between the Gods never ends as nations rise and fall."
"Could they annihilate this town too?" Dave gulped.
"They could," the dragoness responded with a shrug. "But it is unlikely. Shandria is under the wings of the Shadow Empress."
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
"Meaning what?"
"Her sorcery shields this town from harm," the ruby-haired blacksmith said. "It is her domain."
"So, this Shadow Empress is essentially safeguarding us from other god-like warlords capable of obliterating entire nations? Seems like Shandria isn't so bad then. I'm starting to like this town more and more," Dave mulled.
Remicra rolled her eyes, a gesture she had clearly perfected. "I daresay you would prefer to hide yourself within some subterranean recess for the duration of your existence rather than confront the world."
"Hey, I resemble that remark," Dave replied with a smile.
. . .
Dave reclined on the grass, the events of the day catching up to him like a marathon runner finally out of breath. Remicra paced back and forth, her eyes flickering between him and the town, as if she were a metronome ticking away the seconds of their strained acquaintance.
"Are you planning to sit here forever and chase paying customers away?" she grumbled, her tail twitching in annoyance.
"I'd love to move elsewhere, but I'm dead tired," Dave replied. "I'm not blocking your entrance. If someone wants to, they can go around me."
The dragoness squinted at him, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Dave couldn't help but think that she looked like a disgruntled cat preparing to pounce upon an unsuspecting ball of yarn.
"You have a nice lighthouse," he said, offering a weak smile. "It's nice here. I'll just rest on this meadow a bit… until my legs start working again."
Dave closed his eyes, soaking in the tranquility of the meadow like a sponge. Despite the tension between them, he was grateful to have met Remicra, for all her rough edges and abrasive exterior. He sighed deeply, musing over the strange turns his afterlife had taken.
As he lay on the meadow, enjoying some much-needed respite, Remicra paced around, her frustration palpable, like a storm cloud threatening to unleash its fury upon the unsuspecting world below. Suddenly, she blurted out, "It's not my lighthouse."
"Oh? Whose is it, then?" Dave asked without fully opening his eyes.
Remicra stopped pacing and glared at him. "Shouldn't you mind your own business? It doesn't concern you," she hissed.
"Hey, I was just asking. No need to bite my head off," he said. He was getting good at ignoring Remicra’s frustrated tone.
The dragoness snorted. "You are so nosy," she muttered.
The world darkened further, as if the universe itself had been blacklisted. Whatever functioned as the local sun dimmed like a dying lightbulb – and Dave suddenly felt an odd sense of unease rising in his chest, like a tide of cold, dark water threatening to drown him.
A massive flare ignited above the white tower at the center of town, bathing the landscape in red tones like a malevolent sunrise. Red dots, like spots of rust, ignited all over town over the doorways of distant buildings and doors, marking them with ominous symbols.
Dave noticed a pyramidal rune above the doorway of the smithy, and before he could ask, Remicra grabbed him and dragged him towards the lighthouse, her tail thrashing behind her like an angry serpent.
"In," Remicra growled as she slammed the door shut. Dave's heart raced as he stumbled into the dark interior, trying to catch his breath.
"Why?" Dave gasped.
The dragoness glared at him, her eyes glowing with distrust.
"It's nightfall," she said finally.
"And?"
"This is the domain of the night. The children of the Shadow Empress come out to play," she replied. "Clueless, useless idiot," she hissed under her breath.
In the fading twilight, the knot of trepidation in Dave's gut swelled, sour and uneasy.
"Children of the Shadow Empress?" He echoed.
Remicra rolled her eyes, a gesture that conveyed that Dave was being particularly obtuse.
"Cease your yapping and don't touch anything," she advised tersely, her tail flicking with irritation.
Dave nodded, a sudden flashback to his elementary school days washing over him, when a stern teacher would chide him for his excessive chatter. He attempted to render himself inconspicuous.
With her characteristic brusqueness, Remicra vanished into the stairwell, abandoning Dave to the crimson-tinged gloom. Anxiety gnawed at him as he waited, pondering the peculiar situation he found himself in. After several tense minutes, she reemerged, gnawing at a bone laden with meat.
"Here," she remarked as she handed Dave another leg. He accepted it, his hand trembling ever so slightly.
"Thanks," he expressed with genuine gratitude as he bit the meat. "What is this, by the way? It has a distinct cow-like quality."
Remicra sighed, snatching a glass bottle from a nearby shelf. "It's wyvern meat."
Dave hesitated for a moment. "Ah, well then, wyvern bone it is," he conceded.
As he nibbled at the wyvern bone, a curious unease mingled with his mounting intrigue. The red runes adorning the walls cast a light that was completely devoid of shadows, prompting him to question the nature of the magic at work.
"So, was there a sea nearby, or..." Dave ventured after a long pause, only to be met with a derisive snort from Remicra.
"What does that even have to do with anything?" she snapped. "Just chew your bone and be quiet."
"I was simply asking a question about the lighthouse," he retorted. "There's no need for you to be so grouchy all the time."
"One more word and I shall expel you," she warned, her voice icy and resolute.
Dave could feel Remicra's eyes burning into him. Despite her grumpiness, he couldn't help but find her fascinating, like a wild animal trapped in captivity.
Dave made a mouth-zipping motion.
He resumed nibbling on the wyvern bone, savoring the juicy meat and trying not to make any comment that would trigger Remicra's short fuse.
The smithy was eerily quiet, aside from the crunching of bones and the occasional rustling sound. Dave wondered what was so scary about the outside and shadow children as he finished the meal, drowning it with offered water.
"Follow," the dragoness intoned as she stood up and grabbed a bundle of cloth from a corner.
Obediently, Dave trailed behind her as they ascended the narrow, winding stairwell that coiled like a serpentine spine within the ancient tower.
"This is your room," she announced as they entered a room shrouded in the musty pallor of disuse.
"This is not a tavern. Don't think about staying here beyond a single night. Do not attempt to make yourself at home!"
Dave surveyed his newfound surroundings, noting the glaring absence of a bed. The loft looked long forsaken, the passage of decades evident in the layers of dust that blanketed every surface.
Remicra gestured towards a dark mound of moss nestled in a corner beneath a red pyramid-shaped rune, tossing the random assortment of old cloths on the floor.
"Rest there. Do not make noise, lest you incur my wrath. Do not go outside. The bathroom is in that corner. Depart at daylight. Understand?"
Dave nodded.
With a final flick of her sinuous tail, the dragoness took her leave. Dave sighed, a weary exhale that seemed to echo through the forgotten chamber.
Dave sighed as he looked around his temporary dwelling, feeling like he had been transported into a fantasy land with questionable hygiene standards. He laid down on the mossy lump that was supposed to pass for a bed and contemplated how he ended up here.
He could feel the dust particles tickling his nose, and the air was thick with the musty scent of decay. Dave wondered if he was going to develop some kind of respiratory disease but shrugged it off.
As he pulled a ragged blanket over himself, he glanced at its questionable texture and considered if any unwashed creatures had used it before him. The toilet was a hole in the wall that faced a chasm, which made going to the bathroom an unusual adventure.
Dave wrapped himself in the rough and questionable fabric, gritting his teeth as it scratched against his skin.
"Well, at least this place has a roof," he muttered to himself, trying to find the silver lining in his current predicament.
He spotted glittering lights of distant thermonuclear detonations through a few holes in the roof.
With a heavy sigh, he finally surrendered to sleep, hoping to dream something a little brighter than his current reality.