-----
Herai lays back, his eyes wide. The sounds of dragon wings fade away. The grass filled mountaintop exhumes heat, steam fogging the air. True fear set in. For the second time in his short life, he feels truly alone. The monastery sits somewhere in the distance. He takes deep breaths. His muscles relax, the tension leaving.
Deciding nothing is to be done, he closes his eyes. Dreams of dragon fire and leathery wings fill his mind. The green light fades to a light glow. Wolves prowl around him. The light of the staff wards off the dangerous beasts.
Sometime in the night, an explosion of red light fills the sky. Fiery birds in the night, swooping about the still air. They race overhead towards some unknown location. Then screaming starts. It rises into the young child’s ears. Herai opens his eyes, the heat singeing the grass around him. His clothes begin to smolder. Sweat breaks out upon his forehead. He sits up. Stiff muscles stretch as he stands. The flames burn his skin painfully. He grabs ahold of his staff for support. The heat instantly vanishes from his senses, the pain diminished and the screaming reduced to a dull roar.
In the distance, the monastery rises up among the moonlit hills, now bathed in a deep red glow of flames. The flaming eagles and falcons flew on, the sky filling with others. Soaring wildcats and dragon-like shapes danced above Herai. They rush onward, the screaming rising in intensity. Hundreds of the demons fly onward, desperate to destroy their target.
The red shapes curled into the distance, circling each other in flaming loops. Flames dancing over the still landscape. The horde of demons circle Herai’s home once more, before falling upon the castle. The creatures had passed Herai, leaving the bright moon and dull staff to light up his misery. Horror and regret fills him. Tears leap from his eyes. His childhood home destroyed. The only people he had ever called his friends would soon be gone.
He screams in hatred at the gods of the sky. Anger for allowing the demonic beasts pass through their presence. He turns his face toward the battle. Tears continue to run. His friends would die without him. They would die bravely while he stood and watched from the distance. If it wasn’t for the dragon, he would be there to fight.
Than the pounding of horses and beasts fill the ground. All thoughts of home vanish from the boys mind. The sounds of thundering hooves drown out the dull roar of screams. A small army rides onto the plane. Herai sprints toward the trees bordering the clearing. First those on horseback gallop into sight, followed by sprinting giants, flowing a dull red. Half man and half demon. Only the darkest of magicians and kings used the half bloods.
Herai sprints harder, determined not to die. Revenge for his friends and family burns inside of his young heart. He stays his feelings, a fight would result in quick death. The horses gain on him. He whips his staff at a nearby horse. It collapses, a deep burning gash in its chest. He spins and leaps, acrobating beneath a horse and soaring over the saddle of another.
Then the giants thunder around him. The ground shakes and flames leap at his clothing. He tries to leap upon the back of shorter demon. He lands upon the beasts shoulders, swinging his dragonfire staff. He hangs for a moment and falls. His robes are black and burned. His skin remains whole, protected by his staff.
A horseman grabs his arm and tosses him toward a speeding chariot. The driver catches him and grips his arms tightly. As they drop into a valley, the horizon lies clean against the moonlight. The monastery is already gone, stripped to the ground by the demon horde. The lives of hundreds gone in moments. Herai breaks into sobs as the army flies into the night.
-----
The dust swirled to a stop. The fiery animals crept into the shadows and dissolved into ash, and the dust settled upon the ground in feral shapes. The curiosity of the young child had long since disappeared. Fear and awe decorated his face. His eyes shone with revelation. The acts of the king, they were the works of a summoner. His eyes turned in wonder to the two trembling figures in front of him.
The old man’s tattoos were glowing a deep green. His staff lay under his hammock, glistening dully in the dim light. His eyes remained closed. Scars from his captivity decorated his back. Reminders of what had happened years ago. Most startlingly, the visiting warrior’s eyes were glistening with tears.
The young warrior swallowed loudly, choking on his own breath.
“It really happened. We’ve been ruled and destroyed. Laid low by the demons we are told not to speak of. And you. Saved by a dragon. The last monk. They used half bloods... Thousands of them... And demons. Hordes of demons.”
The old warrior slowly opened his eyes.
“They never had a chance. Demons and the summoner reached them in their sleep. They tortured me for years, decades. They kept me as their prize. Their trophy of when they finally destroyed their last foes. I won’t ever know how he got the half bloods to cooperate.”
His voice shook with the effort. The tattoos were no longer moving. Stiff figures stationary on his sweaty skin. The magic seemed gone, despair filling the room. The monks had kept the demons at bay. The demons couldn’t be seen unless they allowed it, and nothing but a summoner could bring them together. And there they had went. Filling the streets and villages of the kingdom. Obeying only the king. Attacking the weak and pillaging the poor.
“We are ruled by demons. There’s no overcoming this. The council has suspected it for years. We needed your power to prove it. At least I can see them now.” The young man sat back, worry etched on his forehead.
The young boy leapt to the doorway, one thought in his mind. He peered into the sunlit street. A flaming cat slunk along in the shadows across the now silent road. The sun now burned a blood red and the sky turned to black. The creature faced the short doorway, its eyes meeting the childs. The demon narrowed its eyes and screaming wracked the boys mind. He leapt back, breaking eye contact and stumbling against the visitor. He scrambled back, leaning against the damp wall.
The old man smiled.
“You know why I stay indoors. With the world dark and the demons present, I wouldn’t last long. Best you stay hidden now.”
The young warrior shook with realization.
“So I can see now. I’m no longer safe, and we’ve been living inside of this lie for generations,” His throat caught, “I must warn the council. I have a long journey, thank you for showing me. We needed to know.”
The elder nodded his approval as the warrior slipped to the door, starting at the state of the sky that only he could see, and slipped silently into the dark world.
The minutes passed quickly, the red sun setting and the dark sky turning black. Still the child sat with the old man. Silence pervaded, other than the occasional sob from the child, or shift of movement from the old man. After several hours, the old man turned his eyes toward the weeping child.
The boys mind was still in shock and needed something to occupy his attention. The old man shifted position, crawling the several feet to the boy. He leaned against the wooden beams and touched the child's shoulder as a father would his son.
“I know how you feel,” He said, “I really do. I was nearly you’re age when they came. I lived with several refugees. They finished my training and, although never masters, were able to teach me. I can teach you, if you would like. You can’t live in this world alone now. If you can see them, they’ll see you.”
The boy looked up, tears still glistening in his small eyes, and nodded slowly.
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