The sky cracked as the forest below was caught up in a living blaze.

The lightning bolts held a field of sentient energy that ceased the flames below.

The armies on both sides saw their gods clash, and understood that the legends they heard did not do justice to them.

In a burst of fire which blew the trees flat, the Phoenix forced her old enemy into a form of flesh and split the storm above.

The spurs of the flaming bird whose crest reached to the tops of where the forest once stood cut into the flesh of the Fulminavis; each of its cries shook the earth below them.

The people below only saw a bright light among the black clouds, then a singular flash that filled the air with the scent of ozone for miles.

The Fulminates fled, fearful of the Immortal God of Flame.

The Fenixians cheered, their battle cry drowned out by their god’s crowing.

When the enemy army was out of sight, she finally let herself rest.

The battle was hard fought, and not without cost.

Her burning blood set the blackened trees to cinder as she laid in a hastily made roost.

The immortality which she had been known for had reached its limits, and she closed her eyes for the last time.

Each was their own daughter, each was the beginning and end of their bloodline, a species of one who was many.

The Fenixians came to find their dying god.

Each drop of blood reduced trees to ashes, yet the area was cold.

Her absorption of heat wasn’t enough to maintain her any longer, perhaps another forest would be enough she thought, but that was nothing but wishful thinking.

The men cried out, praying for her safety.

In the three hundred years of life which was granted to the majestic creature, she had come to deeply love the humans that she watched over, and she felt remorse at leaving them to her child.

Yet still, she also understood that she must leave a child for them, they were so fragile, they needed a guardian, a watchful eye.

Her body shrank as she cooed, leaving a black egg and a mountain of ashes.

They camped out around the corpse of their god; it was still much too hot to bring back.

There was much weeping from the soldiers, yet Pyren, High Priest of the Phoenix, remained dry eyed.

His skin was smooth as a newborn despite his long white hair, he was after all the closest friend of their god.

“General Pyris, have the men break down their carts, bring anything flammable really.”

“The men are tired, the carts will be needed to carry the wounded.”

“Please.”

The general could only sigh and listen to his old friend.

“Oh, and ask my grandson to come here, bring his alcohols.”

The general yelled out his orders, and the men went to work with confusion.

It took the entire afternoon, but there was now a giant pile of lumber next to the priest.

“Start throwing everything at the egg.”

“A funeral pyre?”

“Something of that sort.”

The general once more shook his head and gave the order.

The timber caught quickly, yet the flames did not rise high into the sky, rather, they began to sway in and out, then swirled as they were pulled into the ashes.

The men looked on in amazement at the life that remained even in their dead god.

Centuries had passed, not even the priest at 146 years of age had seen the supposed rebirth of a Phoenix, yet he had read the scrolls left by his forefathers, and understood the process.

Had she died in a forest not already ravaged, it would’ve been set ablaze to feed the child, so he had to make do with what he could.

There was another crying, not out of joy at the signs of divinity, but of worldly loss.

“Soldier, please smack my grandson across the back of his head.”

The man did as asked without question.

“Ow. What was that for?”

“Stop your whinging over wines and whiskeys.”

“Some of those bottles are worth-”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Alcohol dulls the mind and weakens the spirit.”

The young man maintained his whine, and his grandfather shook his head.

“Within each flame, your parents watch on, do not let them see you like this.”

The entire group sat in silence, watching as nearly everything they had burned to ash.

In the morning, they ran out of wood, paper, alcohol, and spare clothes.

“General, pull up the tents and burn them.”

“Are you-”

He stopped himself when the old man handed over his walking stick to be tossed into the pyre.

“Hold faith.”

He sighed and gave the order.

Pyren sat there on the ground, giving up the stump he sat on as well.

Night fell, and there was little change, the pile of ashes had somewhat shrunk and darkened in color, forming a second molten shell over the egg, yet it seemed no closer to hatching.

“The men are growing restless. We can’t even heat our pans to cook.”

“Hold faith.”

Pyris shook his head and the men had to eat the tough dried meats meant only for emergencies, not even able to boil them in spiced broth for flavor.

When dawn came for them, the shell of charcoal and ash began to crack.

The men once more prayed for some sanctuary from their current predicament, yet though the cracks glowed bright white, the egg would not hatch.

Pyren stroked his clean shaven face, he had cut off all of his hair the night prior to toss on the fire.

“Might I have a sword?”

“What for?”

The priest said nothing more, and the general gave up his own blade to him.

Pyren grabbed hold of it and made his way toward the shell.

He thrust the sword inside, using it as a lever to pull apart the egg.

Liquid spat forth from the opening, and Pyren’s skin began to bubble and blister as it touched him.

Still, the old man kept pushing and pulling, helping the life inside come out.

When a large chunk finally came off, the priest fell to the ground, nobody dared move closer to the heat.

Then from the opening, a new fire came out.

The flames stretched far into the sky, and cawed out a warning, a new life came into existence.

Yet what stepped from the black egg which stood twice as tall as the men was no larger than a chick, its down still wet from the molten embryonic fluid.

It looked at the man below it dressed in thick brown robes which had been treated to protect him from fire, and it smelled something familiar.

Pyren had been granted several feathers from his god, which he used to burn messages on wooden plates.

She took this scent to mean that the man who once had white hair was a friend.

The chick hopped down from the shell and crawled into his robe, finding the warmest spot to be his armpit.

Pyris gave the order to retrieve Pyren’s body, and his grandson, Flerovius, was in shock, believing that he witnessed him giving his life for the thin and ugly little creature that was supposedly their god.

Yet Pyren stood on his own, his blisters fading and his skin returning to its newborn smoothness.

He reached into robe and pulled out the little chick.

“Oh great Phoenix, I welcome your return to this world.”

She didn’t understand what he was saying, but she still squawked and flapped her nearly bare wings.

The men had once more been reduced to tears, not only had they witnessed the rebirth, but Pyren began to bring the chick around to the wounded and sick, and just a touch of her divinity brought them to health once more.

“Now we may march home.”

He put the god back in his robe, who nestled close to his heart, letting only her head poke out.

It was three days back to their city, the last bastion of the Fenixian people; the Fulminites had pushed far into their lands.

Phoenix and Fulminavis had clashed in the past and during the course of the war, yet this was an unprecedented incident where they came at one another with their full strength.

“We should travel through the Blackwood.”

“Without tents? Without torches? We used all of our pitch on reviving her, we’d be turned around and killed in an hour.”

“Hold faith.”

Pyris wanted to deny the order, but Pyren had not turned him wrong thus far, and going through the Blackwood would take their trip down to just another day, less if it distorted in their favor.

“CHANGE MARCH.”

The Blackwood surrounded the entity of Fenix, the capital city, it was a place where day and night had no sway.

If one was without light, inside or out, the forest would shift, and the wanderer would never return.

“Pyris, please ask them to stop.”

“HALT.”

Everyone was already on edge, they had to walk hand in hand just to keep the forest from splitting them up.

The ground shook, something was coming right at Pyren.

Phoenix was granting them a light forward; despite her small size, she was like a bonfire in this place.

It was moving fast, and each step came from a different direction than the last.

Finally, it stopped, and barely lit up at the front was a massive snout.

Her instincts, born from the strong feelings of her mother, told her that this was a friend.

The serpentine wolf brought its nose to her and sniffed; Pyren held her in his hands.

The inhale nearly pulled the chick into its nostrils, but all she lost was a few pieces of down.

These proto-feathers became lodged in his nose, and they irritated the membrane inside the beast.

It made rapid inhales, then finally sneezed.

It had the sense to turn his head, otherwise the priest would be reduced to little more than gore.

The sound was like thunder, and they heard the snapping of branches and the twisting of tree trunks as they were blown away.

It shook its head, then sniffed again more gently. Once it had confirmed that this was the daughter of his old friend, he howled.

The darkness split, and the men were granted a clear path of light directly through the spatial distorted forest.

“Thank you, Fenrir.”

The wolf looked at the priest, and Phoenix roosting in his robes, then faded back into the darkness.

“We may begin moving again. And you may stop holding hands.”

The priest's words had brought them to the plains outside Fenix days before they expected, and despite how long they thought they had been walking, it was still barely past noon.

Pyren asked to rest, and the men, full of renewed faith, had no issues with this.

“Flerovius, come.”

“Yes, grandfather?”

“I need a nap, one which has been coming for some time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Tell Pyris that I would like logs to be gathered.”

“Do you want us to camp here? We can nearly see the city already, just over the hill we may find the walls.”

“Hold faith.”

Pyren held her grandson’s arm warmly.

“And do remember our duty.”

Pyren found a patch of soft ground where he rolled up his robe and used it as a pillow.

After an hour, Pyris came to wake the old man.

His body was cold to the touch, the Phoenix saw no issue with taking his heat once his heart stopped beating.