A partly sunny lavender sky loomed over the gloomy forest. There was an oppressive atmosphere about, as if the half-open sky judged the land for its indecency. Shaded rainbows from fungal overgrowth dotted the thick foliage like drops of milk in the sky. This was the Avalonian wilderness life. A country that has not quite caught up with its own development, but this was true all over Mauve. In spite of the threat of civilization on the coastside, Ciyradyl Asters preferred the gloom. It captivated him, it made him feel whole, and although the shade did not make him feel alive, it made him feel like himself. 

    An elf of consistency and solitude sat himself on the cabin cot, whittling away at some damned piece of timber, forced to join the rest of its tree in becoming one of Ciyradyl’s disproportionate wooden creatures. In the corner there was a sack filled with various survival materials. Posters of various Avalonian plays hung on the wall, Pair of Dice Lost, Goblinbob Pyramidpants, and even Synthopian ones, like The Corrosion, the bright paints on the paper contrasted heavily with the dull wooden walls.  Ciyradyl didn’t even partake in theater, he just liked the posters. An ostentatious meal sizzled and burned on top of a tiny stove. This log being carved was to be a snake. The thin polygonal shape was finished. Details would begin shortly, until Ciyradyl heard three pounds on the door.

A giant stood in the door, red skin stretched thin over his body, the face of a goblin, arms the size of tree trunks. He had just a few strands of white hair that formed into an awful ponytail. It was Brutus, the oni that Ciyradyl had befriended. They were both the only friends they had in the world.

    Brutus was a rare breed–Only orcs born on specific islands had their red skin. These people referred to themselves as Oni. Avalon took exception to him. He was different, but that didn’t matter to Ciyradyl. They were brothers in crime, comrades, and that was all that mattered to both of them. This was one of few ways they were similar.

The elf opened the door. His skin was golden with a naturey green undertone. He was rather sickly and fragile, as were most elves. He was everything and nothing, and felt everything and nothing upon seeing his only friend.

"Mushrooms and meef?" the oni said.

    "They're on the stove." A slight smile penetrated Ciyradyl’s stone face.

    "Excellent." Brutus walked inside and sat down at the wooden table.

    Mushrooms were of course mushrooms, but meef was minotaur meat. At the time of this story, it was still legal for human races to eat the Anima Stemeni. Brutus didn't care about the politics though, he simply ate what tasted good. Ciyradyl would say he lived a simple existence, the oni's only rebuttal being that he was happy. They lightly conversated over their forbidden meal.

    "You goin' to a new market for this?" Brutus had an Archaiyan inflection, speaking quickly, over-enunciating the consonants.

    "Yes. I bought them at Duke Margarine."

    "It's delicious.”

A pause. Ciyradyl still had no idea why he was here.

    “So.” Ciyradyl had gotten bored of his presence, and finally asked. “What is it that you need?”

“There’s a feral wyrm.” Brutus looked up from his destruction of the plate. His eyes were green, steely, like copper with and without age.  “It’s here. Nearby. On the mountain.” His quick sentences were a ruse. Brutus only pretended to be serious, masking his childish excitement.

    “You must be joking. An Elder One? In this day and age? Most dragons had become the fafnir race, walking bipedally, worshiping their own gods, cultivating their own societies. Their ancestors that lived far from the reaches of society were known as Elder Ones, or to other nations, feral dragons. Although not wild at all and actually quite intelligent, they were big, with egos to match. As such, they destroyed and conquered whatever they could, perhaps out of vengeance for the death of their once-dominance over Mauve. Only a few were still around, and were so rare they became mere legends in Avalon. It took a lot to break Ciyradyl’s contemptuous poker face.

    “How close is it? Who did you hear this from? Do you have proof?”

    Brutus bared his teeth, a piece of meef stuck between his mandibles. “It’s a Kingdom job. This one’s legit. Our job is to confirm its location for as long as possible, keep an eye on it. Five thousand gold.” A tree rustled outside.

    Ciyradyl narrowed his eyes. “Five thousand. To keep an eye on a society-ending dragon.”

    “Easy right?” His long, sharp, nails tapped on the wooden table, creating a strange melody only he knew the rhythm to. The dull smell of meat wafted in the air to Brutus’ delight. “Almost too easy. You with me?”

    “Are you insane? No way.” CIyradyl crossed his arms and stared at Brutus, like a disapproving parent would. “It is a trap. You know this. The Kingdom would never offer a reward so gracious to commoners. Why do they not send their own knights?”

    “They’re in short supply. You know, the war in Elkaworm.”

    “So they’d rather sacrifice the lives of innocent civilians than their own army.” He laughed a little bit. “How like them.”

    “At 12 in the morning tonight.” Brutus stopped and looked Ciyradyl in the eye. If it’s still there, we set up a flare, and the knights come out.”

    The elf was silent.

    He stood up and grabbed the unfinished wooden block, still not yet a snake. His slender fingers enveloped the grooves of the wood, the tiny splinters, the rigidity, the pale creams all over the vague serpentine shape. Ciyradyl crouched and examined the other timber creatures in his collection, precise in each of their sculpting, almost alive. Finally, Brutus commenced his speech.

“On my island, we have a proverb. My pops taught me this one. He was an orc, just like your brother.”

    “Which one is that?” Ciyradyl’s eyes matched the murky shadows enveloping the house. His face was lit up only by the lantern, and the bioluminescence of the fungi near the window. This abode was where light didn’t shine, where the foliage protected him from the sun.

    “The dual-headed serpent shouldn’t be trusted. The dual-headed serpent can never trust another soul…” He continued. “Unless it learns to trust its other head. That’s how it becomes the dragon.”

    Sweat soaking into the wood, Ciyradyl closed his eyes.

    “You and I have always dreamed of this. Forget the job. Imagine if we can kill this thing. We’ll be the legends instead. The     Kingdom will love us. But most importantly, we’ll be able to say we did it.”

    A wavering grip on the wood, Ciyradyl continued silent.

    “Even if you don’t do this… I will.”

    Fingers encircled the animal of wood, Ciyradyl bit his lip.

    “This is how I wanna be remembered. I’d rather crumble into ash after fighting this dragon than die slowly inside walls like these.” Brutus kept his waxed copper eyes fixed on him.

    A sigh relieved his flesh right before he began to taste blood. Ciyradyl couldn’t let him do this alone. Was he wasting his life this way? Was his friend’s way a “better’ way to die? An upbringing of royalty tossed aside for a quiet life. A quiet life tossed aside     for a glorious death. With Brutus, this was a decision he made frequently, never regretting it.

    “Perhaps this time, I will finally die.”

    Mushrooms continued their colorful radiance through the window. The giant leaves rustled. The voice of the forest was ceaseless, never ending, buzzing with animation, entity, survival, instinct. Glory was instinct. Pride was instinct. And so they got busy.

***

    The previous pastel purple above Avalon was now a deep plum color. One moon, Pulailai (Short for Purgatory's Limelight), glowed in full cherry regalia. A second moon, Ashga (short for Astral Gash), half-shone in its signature cerulean. The people of the planet of Mauve never agreed on anything, but everyone thought the moons were beautiful. Soon, the sky would return to the familiar inky black, and the world could rest for another night. 

    But there is no rest for the wicked, and even less rest for the pure. Ciyradyl and Brutus advanced through a road, the stars fading in overhead. They had left the cabin a half hour before, and still were not close to their destination.

    “Are you sure this is nearby?” The walk was getting to Ciyradyl, who rarely left his humble abode. He staggered slightly, draped in a thief’s dark green cloak, designed for pilfering. Every step cleared dust off the old suit, reminding Ciyradyl of lesser pastures. He lit the lantern, attracting two moths.

    “We’re about half-way there,” Brutus said. “We should probably take a rest whenever we can.” He carried the tools they needed, including the flare for the job, but also their swords and tomes. A giant sack sat over his shoulder, slightly bouncing with every giant step under his feet.

    A silence overtook the air between them. Metal clanged on Brutus’ torso, thumps of progression beneath them, the sounds of minacious wildlife all around them. The air smelled slightly of gas and rain, warm for Ciyradyl, cooler for Brutus. Curiosity coursed through the elf, and so the tranquility died quickly as they approached their goal far in the horizon.

“Brutus.”

    A grunt.

    “What have you been doing this whole time?” They hadn’t seen each other in three years. Before now, they had silently agreed to get out of the position of “mercenary” after the last job. Some people never changed.

Brutus contemplated the question. He wondered why Ciyradyl would wait until now to ask, but nonetheless responded honestly.

    “I’ve been here and there. I went back home and spoke with my mother since I left.”

    “All the way to Mikazuki Island?” Ciyradyl asked. “Quite the trip. What did she say?”

    “We had mushrooms and meef. Then she asked me to stay.” There was a small anguish in Brutus’ swift remarks.

    “And now you are here. Why?”

    “I… I don’t know” Brutus stumbled, a rare sight. “I couldn’t do it. Settling down is not in my nature. This adventure, walking down these roads, this is what I live for. One house couldn’t contain this desire.”

    “So you returned to Avalon and took jobs alone, I presume?”

    “Yes. I have more money than I could ever need.”

    “So what are we doing now? Why bring me along?” Ciyradyl was puzzled.

    “Well. I was having near death experiences almost everyday. I was ready to go. About a week ago, though, I thought to myself. ‘If I die tonight, it will have been for nothing.’ Then I got to thinking about you, all the good times we had. If we joined up again, I thought… If we don’t become revered for killing this dragon, maybe I can go down protecting Ciyradyl. Maybe that’s enough.”

    “Perhaps it is.” He was moved, but he knew he had to lay down the law before this continued. “As much fun as it was, I am not that man anymore. I’ve grown beyond that point.”

    "Yeah. Sure, Cyl. But I know deep down…" He trailed off, failing to hide the stab wound of Ciyradyl's words.

Seemingly out of nowhere, an ancient woman waddled slowly on the side of the road opposite to them. She came from the direction they were going. The dark veil over her face along with her robes were caught by the wind like dreams, or in this case, nightmares. She walked with a literal cane, but also the walking stick made of a wise, mature confidence, lacquered in experience, touched in a golden finish.

    “What the devil is she doing out this late?” Ciyradyl said.

    “You think she’s up to any good?”

    “Not likely. Not in this country.”

    “You want to…” The oni silently insinuated one thing; Mugging.

    “...I’m not doing that.”

    They approached. “I will handle this,” Ciyradyl said. He knocked on the door three times. The wind blew chilling air from the north, dragging dead leaves to his feet. A short decrepit orc woman answered the door, clad in black.

    “Hello miss!” He had turned on his smooth-talking elf voice, just like the old days. “What are you doing out at this hour? There’s devil hounds out this late. Avalonian horrors, I tell you.

    The woman was silent, but she watched Ciyradyl with affixed, deep, cold intent. Her eyes were like a frozen lake, making Ciyradyl’s veins frigid, his heart trying to defrost. Brutus did not know how to react. It seemed so arbitrary. Who on Mauve was this woman?

    Finally, she spoke.

    “I’ve seen this a thousand times, young men.” She spoke in verse, like an ancient poem. “One of you wanted to rob me. You no longer will.”

    Brutus and Ciyradyl exchanged looks. “Should I…? No, I’ll do it.”

    “And you definitely won’t kill me.”

    Her eyes were still freezing. She shivered, but didn’t yield her strong stance to the biting wind that gnawed on Ciyradyl’s neck.

    “Lady. Can you see the future? Can you read minds?” Brutus interrogated in swift, child-like inquiries. They watched her expectantly, waiting for a satisfying response. She rubbed her sickly fingers over her cane, a dilapidated twig with a stick of dynamite for a handle. Soft, old laughs vibrated from her collapsing-by-the-second throat.

    “Oh, you young souls. Your deaths will be such a grand comedy.” She pointed toward the direction she came from—The direction they were headed. “Do not go that way.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    “What? Why?” Brutus’ looked slightly like a child who was told there was no holiday gift. He bared his teeth in preparation for bad news.

    “There’s nothing there you two want to see." Jubilant, the woman wheezed, laughing to the same cadence of an old wooden floor, and continued her slow stride, cane penetrating the dirt in every step.

    "Hey wait a minute!" Ciyradyl grabbed her shoulder, canceling her walk. Confusion within him turned to dull anger. "What in the world are you on? Explain to us, how do you know so much?" The color of the flame within his lantern turned to a deep blue.

    "Ho-ho! Look at you, so afraid of what you do not understand." A toothy grin extends across her flabby, meltingly old face, whispering her next words of nonsense."Settle down, you're getting out of character." For just a moment, her eyes seemed to glitch into black and white swirls. Neither of the two caught this.

    The ambiguous response frustrated Ciyradyl rather than cause him fear. It reminded him of his own parents, never clear in their intentions, never really parenting him, always laughing at him. His heart wasn’t warm now, but boiling. Some strange feeling of defiance materialized within the bottom of his heart as he watched the crone shuffle into the night. He turned back north towards his destination, his green eyes sharp like summer leaves.

    Brutus had taken the brunt of the frigid feelings. His people were very superstitious, and this encounter was just strange enough to evoke fear in his not-so gentle giant heart. Boundless questions connected with each other within his neuron thoughts. How did she know? What did she mean by this? What's her past?

    “Do not listen to that babbling witch. We are getting this done” Ciyradyl tried to reassure his old friend.

    "...Yeah. We are."

    It wasn't difficult for Brutus to understand his friend's change in demeanor. He had heard bits and pieces of his partner's short-lived royal past. His parents were ruthless with belittling him, his inheritance robbed from him by his younger brother, creating a dark defeatist within him. And so Ciyradyl became a petty thief, stolen dreams acting as his unlubricated engine to keep on walking.

Nonetheless, Brutus was pleased with the elf's newfound (albeit temporary) determination to plunder for glory. Hah, finally back to your old self, you old fool. Still, he struggled to shake the uneasy thought.

    Am I walking to my death?

    They continued far down the road, inching ever closer to the dragon they so desperately chased. The sky was an all-consuming dark, dotted only by the holes poked into the universal ceiling known as stars. Full and half red and blue moons hung above the world of Mauve. The cherry moon seemed to wink. The blue half-moon seemed to frown. Crimson lantern light slugged along far below the swirling clouds above.

***

    "Hello David," said a conniving, robotic voice.

    Mercurius Cheerio the First, the 7th and youngest President of Synthopia, war criminal, sat warmly on a leather throne in his colossal office chamber. A wall that created one giant window was behind him, and so were the technological glories of Synthopia. Skyscrapers and dubious lights advertising what you didn't need; a constant and never-ending rush that every citizen felt; dance music playing from a device that no one could ever find. These were the encompassing aspects of Funk City, the capital of Synthopia, the biggest city on Mauve. Mercurius wore a large disco helmet, computerizing his voice on the phone with King David IV of Avalon, a country of far lesser advancements, a country that refused to evolve.

    "What in the world have you done, Mercurius?! Do you have any idea what trouble you've caused? The horrors you've unleashed?!" King David was furious… and afraid. So very afraid.

    "No, Your Highness. I don't know. Please tell me." The President smiled underneath his spinning mirror ball helmet. He kicked his feet underneath the desk, rotating his chair to face the rainbow cityscape, phone still in hand.

    "Your 'bomb testing' created an entire mile of space no one understands. It's nothing like the magic storms we're used to, far more potent. Amaranthine is an incredibly dangerous magic, what the devil were you thinking, harvesting it into explosives?! We'll all fall down as a species!"

    "If I remember correctly, you greenlit the whole operation. You're the one who wanted that nasty apparition on your land… for the glory of Avalon, yes? You wanted to be able to say you made the first Amaranthine bomb. I was going to give you all the credit for making the thing, even though it was all us."

    "If I knew it would be like this, I would have threatened war. You are far too powerful for your own good, you foolish child. Synthopia's decadent nation will crumble underneath your greed and ego."

    "Just say it's a no-go zone. Or send in test subjects on false pretenses, so your backwoods… 'scientists'… can figure out the technology without alerting the knights."

    "This is not over, Cheerio. Avalon is not something to toy with." His thick Northern accent sharpened his words.

    "Everything has a simple solution, David." But no normal knife could penetrate steel. They didn't know how to do that yet.

    "Rot in your concrete hell."

    "See you soon, then."

    The phone hung up, and the line was cut permanently.

***

    "Strange. The map says we're very nearby, but I don't see signs of dragons around here."

    "Fascinating."

    Brutus shielded the papyrus map in his red hand from a sharp heavy rain. The land was desolate, tree skeletons and rotting carcasses lying about on yellowed grass. Darkness had been replaced by a dim violet that shrouded the cadavers of what used to be the Valley of Fantasies. What fell from the sky was dark, not like rain, more like murky oil that left no sensation. The stagnant air wasn't cold nor warm, but an uncomfortable medium that seemed to be too hot to dress up for, and too cold to remove anything. Scents of maggots and the dead marked the two travelers, forming a putrid taste in their mouths. From all directions, the sound of foreboding traveled the valley, the thick buzz of a quiet wind with the audio reversed.

    Ciyradyl wanted to leave immediately, but he knew he had to finish what he started. Brutus depended on it. His old self depended on it. He raised his head to the rain, and felt his gut whisper to him.

    "We have the right place."

    "What makes you so sure?" Brutus cracked his knuckles, producing a harsh sound that echoed in the valley.

    "Just a hunch."

    "We have another 30 minutes before we need to set off the flare." He paused. "Let's tread lightly."

    "Rather strange words coming from you."

    "Because I'm big, or because I'm loud?"

    "Both. Do you remember Arthrus City? When you ruined the burglary because you stepped through the floor?"

    "It wasn't my fault they had paper floors."

    "They were dwarves! You could have just stayed outside." Ciyradyl raised an eyebrow. "You just had to insist on coming along."

    Brutus chuckled for the first time since meeting Ciyradyl again. It felt like old times. They both grinned as they kept walking. The mood died off quickly, just like everything else in this small wasteland.

    "You are correct though, Brutus. Let's be careful" Ciyradyl said warily. "This place… I don't like it. At all."

The violet light that clutched the land loosened and tightened its grip on their cognition. What used to be dead grass faded into a wave of thick black and white lines that seemed to guide them.

    So began The Sights. The Sights were a legend passed on by those who had come back alive from certain parts of Synthopia. Bombs infused with a certain type of magic, Amaranthine, created dead zones that killed its victims in ways not even the best scientists of this age understood. It was a topic of classical debate among chemists, biologists, thaumaturgists, and religious leaders. Amaranthine Bombs were the ultimate proof of a filter, that there was always something beyond the scope of a mortal’s glory.

Some chose to fear, others chose to respect, but nature is always neutral.

    Brutus had collapsed, fallen victim to The Distorted Mile. They now understood that there was no dragon to kill. There was no glory to be won. They had been stripped of everything except their instinct to survive. The sky looked like an optical illusion, swirling, manifesting waves upon waves, wheels within wheels within wheels, faces of faces within faces.

    He tried to stand up, bucking his knees to a kneel immediately. He felt a constant drainage, as if his life energy was being siphoned off. Only heavy rain. Only psychedelic scenery that whispered bitter nothings to his mind. A theater began to form, and he began to make a small amount of sense of what he saw. But what he understood only confused him more.

    Ciyradyl, in the form of a wooden idol, appeared high above him, mountainous in size. His thunderous voice was like fuzzy reverb.

    You idiot. Brutus, you absolute fool.

    Brutus continued to kneel as the black rain fell on him. It grew stronger, stronger than a monsoon, stronger than a hurricane, stronger than the planet knew, never ceasing, ever-siphoning. We were never meant to face infinity.

    You failed them. You failed your mother. You failed me.

    "What?"

    You will kill me. You have already killed yourself.

    "I'm… dead?"

    You died for nothing.

    Brutus was silent.

    You lived for nothing.

    Brutus was silent.

    You died for nothing.

    Brutus was silent.

    You dreamed nothing.

    Brutus was silent.

    Until Ciyradyl wasn't.

    Somewhere to his left, muted screams could just barely be heard. Brutus felt a shaking on his shoulders. Someone called his name. His eyes were fixed on the idol of his friend in the sky, black snakes coming out of every corner of the carving.

    Kill him.

    Retain some of your Orcish Oni pride.

    Incomprehensible mutters were uttered from Ciyradyl's mouth. The cacophony of his family screeching in pain like banshees surrounded him.

    Finally, Brutus turned to Ciyradyl, his aged green copper eyes now cloudy. His white mustache, his white hair, they flapped in the windless winds. He watched Ciyradyl closely, his subtle movements, his retractions. Was he seeing the same things?

    "Life of glory, Ciyradyl… That's all that matters right?"

    "Eyes up, brother. This is it. We walked into a trap." He looked up to see Brutus' face, a disgusting amalgamation of snakes, slithering, dripping, squelching, never-ending. The draining continued. So did the conversation.

    "Life of glory," he asked again, desperately looking for confirmation of how he lived.

    "No. Life of happiness. You were always blind to this." Ciyradyl maintained his coherence. Unbeknownst to Brutus, he saw the kingdom palace. A golden city, burning, exploding, ever-siphoning his joy. His birthright wasn't royalty, but instead his hatred. "But the walk was fun."

    "Damn bastard… You always were right about this kind of thing."

    A pause. They thought of the old woman they passed on the way here. Brutus looked down and watched the flesh painlessly melt off of his bone. He began again.

    "So this is it?"

    "No dragon." Ciyradyl sat down and sighed, watching the faces of his parents float in the sky, crying flames of disappointment. His skin turned the palest of whites. Painless. Blue blood pooled around him.

    "This is not how I envisioned this happening," Ciyradyl said. Brutus sat down too, ignoring the snakes chewing and snapping their jaws at his flesh, tearing it off. Painless.

    "Did you bring the mushrooms and meef?" Brutus asks.

    "It's at the bottom of the sack in a container."

    Brutus reached his long arm of bone into the sack of tools he had carried to plunder, pulling out a tiny box of leftovers, handing it with a fork to Ciyradyl, bone contacting bloodless flesh.

    They place the box on the striped, spiraling grass, right next to the disfigured and bloody faces of their loved ones, right on top of the northwestern end of Ciyradyl's lake of blood.

    "I apologize for leaving you."

    "Hah. I apologize for dragging you out here."

    "Is this death to your liking?"

    "It isn't alone. That's enough."

    "Likewise."

    Nothing else had to be said. They both understood. At the end of life, they ate. At the end of the dream, they ate.

    The voice of the forest whispered bitter nothings to the abandoned cabin.

    Somewhere, a war raged, fighting for scraps.

    Somewhere, an elf king dropped a plate, breaking it.

    Somewhere, a village burned down, cooking memories in a stew of nature's discontent.

    Somewhere, a young woodcutter carves a wet and tiny log into a fully-fledged dual-headed snake.