The Last Night

Out of Character:

Closed. Also note that this is with Level Zero Kryos.

The evening sun crowned the distant peaks with fire, a blinding halo of celestial light descending upon the legendary land of Scara Brae. Even from here, several miles from the enticing shore, the scene took one’s breath away. The Windlacer Mountains dominated most of the landscape with streaks of radiant clouds filling the endless sky above. The deep shadows cast swallowed up the golden shore and sparkling ocean, transforming the sea into a priceless gem, waving in constant motion. The rays of the half-visible sun raced over mountains and ocean alike, as if they were competing to see who would reach the eastern horizon the soonest. All the while, the Water’s Nymph, amber sails billowing in the wind, carved through the glistening waves.

Aboard the ship, activity was slow and close to none. All the preparations for the night had been complete in the past hour, and only those sailors who were on shift strolled atop the deck. But that isn’t to say that there were not others above deck. In twos or threes, the passengers walked about, talking quietly about their hopes and dreams and their plans for their new lives; what they would do when, after three months at sea, they would finally dock in Scara Brae and be free of the cramped life aboard a ship.

For on the morrow, the Water’s Nymph would glide into the grand harbor of Scara Brae, the magnificent walls and buildings of the famous city signaling the end of the long journey across the ocean. This, of course, caused great excitement to those aboard, passengers and crewmen alike. Reminisces about the past journey and hopeful gossip about the future could be heard everywhere. People moved about, finding some and leaving others in their excitement. Well, most everyone, that is.

Resting against the ship’s starboard railing, a young man gazed toward the far peaks, eyes distant as he pondered. He leaned gently against the smooth railing and the light silhouetted his slender shoulders. His stance spoke of an elegant beauty known of the fair folk, but it seemed blended with mortality. The dark clothes that graced his form rustled in the calm breeze, but remained pinned to his body by the long, black sheath and hilt of the blade that was strapped comfortably on his back. Slim scars laced his arms, highlighted by the setting sun and two rings, one on each hand, sparkled like the purest flame. The fine lengths of his hair glowed like the final stages of twilight, revealing subtle traces of indigos and blues as they danced in the air. And yet, the most captivating feature to the man was his eyes. Fitting perfectly with his slender face and accentuated with light impressions of shadow, the two portals gleamed as red as freshly-spilt blood in the crimson light. He stood alone, always giving off a foreboding aura that seemed to speak of mystery and hidden power, warning others to keep their distance. But in reality, he simply did not seek out companionship. He preferred to watch and listen, learning as much as he could without becoming involved and so adding to the layers of the mysterious shadows which veiled his form.

But now, Kryos simply pondered, entertained by errant thoughts as the land of Scara Brae slowly drifted past him. The time he had spent at sea had caused him to really ponder what he had been doing the past five years and the reasons that he had come aboard this vessel in the first place. He believed that his choice to leave his homeland had been correct, but where exactly he felt that he needed to do such a thing he did not know. The option had just presented itself and he took it. He had left Alerar, and everything he had known, behind him. Perhaps it was that he was tired of constant failure there. That maybe just being in the same country of his home had been too much for his subconsciousness. Perhaps, it was just time he simply moved on.

Anger, regret and revenge had been his driving force for the past five years. He had spent that time surviving, learning and planning for revenge, to undo what had been done. Ever since that incident, when he had been brutally forced into reality, he had chased the shadows of his past with relentless determination. And every time that he had thought that he was making progress, that he was approaching his goal, he would lose sight of his target and he would have to deal with the horrendous feeling of loss. Somehow, he had managed to push on.

It wasn’t until recently, during the voyage to Scara Brae, that he had realized what he had done. Nothing. In effect, Kryos had wasted five years chasing something that he could never catch, no matter how hard he tried. In his pursuit of redemption, he had gained nothing.

So he readjusted his priorities. Revenge still lay on the front of his mind and drove him on, but now he would pursue this in a different way. He would experience the world, learn as much as he could. In doing so, he would gain more in a month than he had in five years of his past life. By learning more, he reasoned, he would be able to act more efficiently when the time came to set things right.

The evening grew still and calm. Those walking along the wooden planks on the ship stopped, pausing in their conversations, and looked to the west. Even the wind and waves seem to calm as the last sliver of the sun bravely shone. It was as if the entire world were holding its breath in respect to the source of all life in Althanas, showing its gratitude and wonder as the sky alighted with all shades of amber and gold, cerulean and scarlet. In a moment that seemed to stretch on to eternity, the world seemed at rest. Then, the sun disappeared. The day was finished and the sun surrendered its sway over the land to the brief reign of twilight.

Kryos watched the sky and land as they blossomed with color. He watched how, after the sun had descended beyond view, the vast expanse above him retained the captivating iridescence even though the author had gone. And he saw, that as time passed the luster and life of the burning sky dimmed and grew faint, draining of color, just as his eyes now faded in intensity, slowly changing from the smoldering scarlet of the day to the subtle silver of night. As the transformation drew closer to its completion, the air thickened with the invading darkness and it embraced the ship, along with its many charges, with the trust that the night would watch over their journey as it drew to a close.

A warm, orange glow flickered from around the bend at the landing of the stairs where cheerful conversation could be heard. Kryos silently descended the clean, wooden steps that led into the bowels of the Water’s Nymph, his dark cloths merging into the fading darkness. His hand glided along the railing that descended alongside him and his eyes, obscured by the shadows of his hair and the dim light, swept along the passageway. The conversation became discernable as he arrived at the landing. Without a pause he rounded the corner.

A group of five passengers sat atop waist-high wooden barrels that were arranged in a loose half circle. These seats opened toward the stairwell which, at his entrance, caused each member of the circle to have a clear view of the Dwiilar. In the center of the gathering, a lantern stood and orange light spilled through the shutters. On the far left of the group sat a younger couple, the woman was leaning against the shoulder of her bond and their hands were entwined and rested on the man’s left leg. He was a taller fellow, with disheveled brown hair cropped rather short. His thin face was complimented by narrow eyes; they often glanced down at his entangled digits as if he couldn’t believe that she chose to be with him of all people. She, in turn, was a good half-head shorter, with shoulder length black hair falling about her face. The way she held herself, even as relaxed and reclined as it was, held the unmistakable air of nobility and wealth. The eldest daughter of a merchant, perhaps. Both of them wore dark green and blue clothes, although the woman’s was of a higher quality; the edges of the cloth were accentuated with fine silver thread. As the young man looked up, his eyes filled with recognition and his face lit wup with pleasure.

“Kryos, come join us!” he called, motioning with his free hand to come and sit next to them.

The Dwiilar paused for a fraction of a second before nodding to Jason. “All right, then.” He quickly crossed the gap between himself and the group, sliding an empty barrel across the floor to take a seat next to Myla, the woman who had recently been wedded to the Jason. Kryos had met the two about mid-voyage, by accident, really. He had been returning to his quarters when the two had been passionately devoting themselves to each other in their room. Luck just had it that they decided to get some fresh air as he was passing. Unfortunately, Kryos had overheard their soft gasps and whispers and, as they opened the door, they were naturally embarrassed. The next day, Jason had come to apologize. They had been on good terms ever since.

Jason grinned at him as he took his seat and Myla offered a warm smile. The instance of their meeting had been forgotten and there was no unease between the three. The man gestured with his arm to the other three that made up the circle.

“We were just talking about tomorrow,” he said. “This being our last night and all.”

Kryos nodded in understanding and turned his silver gaze on the others. One was a young woman, maybe twenty or twenty-one, with long and tangled red hair held back with a strip of simple, white cloth. And yet, that did nothing to alleviate the fire that radiated from her presence; it glowed like the forever present light of the stars on the coldest night, filling her with the drive necessary to live. For in her arms she held a small child, his eyes closed in the sweet embrace of slumber that whispered the promise of safety. A single mother, she had left after the father had abandoned her and his unborn child; he had left as soon as he heard his love was pregnant. Well, perhaps his lust would be more appropriate. Either way, she had left in the hopes that Scara Brae could be more generous to her and her babe. She did, however, convince her brother to come with her.

Sitting next to his sister and Myla, he added a flare of life and joy to the circle, unlike the burning determination of his sister. Perhaps it was the way his face was built, with big eyes and eyebrows that almost seemed to dwell near the crown of his head, hidden partly by his disheveled, curly brown locks. As natural as the sun in the sky, his smile beamed with ceaseless mirth. He nodded to Kryos as they made eye contact.

“Kryos, right?” the young mother asked, her voice calm, but inquisitive. He nodded. “What will you do when we arrive? Got any fun plans?” She leaned forward, interest bright in her countenance.

He shrugged. “I’ll do what I feel would benefit me most. Probably do a few odd jobs here and there. But I’m not to sure.”

“So, you’re a mercenary, eh?” the gay man said. He laughed quietly. “Wish I could do that. Living the good life. Going where the wind takes you. Looking out for no one but yourself.” He nudged his sister, smiling. “What’s it like? Is it as grand as I’ve heard it is?”

“Yeah, c’mon Kryos,” Myla encouraged, voice soft and gentle; the touch of a dove. “Tell us some stories.”

But Kryos couldn’t. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, for he did wish to pass the time. It was more that he couldn’t come up with a tale grand enough that would measure up to their expectations. It was true that he, and most of those who did the tasks that utilized their various skills, lived at the whim of fate. But in his experience he had never taken part in any epic battles or adventures that the little ones would hear around the fire at Festival, or any other celebration. Life, even one dubbed as “adventurous” and “exciting,” was predictable. And that lack of surprise made things considerably more dull than one may like.

“I’m sorry, but I’m at a loss,” Kryos said, not knowing what else he could do.

The bushy-haired lady adjusted her hold on the sleeping child, one finger brushing across the smooth skin of his cheek in a touch of intimate affection, before looking back at Kryos.

“You mean, you call yourself a mercenary, but in all your years, you haven’t done anything at all?”

The words cut deeply into his heart as their truth and, while unintended, accusation stung his mind. He shifted slightly, recoiling inward as if struck, and he cast his eyes downward. He tried to deny it.

“That’s not what I . . . I mean . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

Strangely enough, it was Myla who came to his rescue. She lean up, off of Jason’s shoulder, and looked at Kryos with meaning, as if she couldn’t believe that he was acting as such.

“Kryos,” she said. “She didn’t mean it like that. We all know you’ve done more exciting things than we, even if they are not as grandiose as the old stories. Just tell us about something you’ve done. It will be more exciting than what I’ve ever done.” Her eyes looked at him with expectation and perhaps a little bit of envy.

He thought back to his earlier days of life on his own, as they were the more thrilling ones. Or at least, that is how they seemed to him. He remembered once when he had to track a rare bird through a forest a night. The exotic avian had been a pet to a rich family in Ettermire which had escaped its captivity while the family had been out. The good thing about the job was that the bird glowed faintly at night, and it could not fly. The downside was that it moved exceptionally fast. He smiled as he remembered getting tangled and caught in the trees in an attempt to catch it before it hopped to the long, worn branches of the neighboring plants.

He straightened up, sending a small glare at the woman that sat across from him, before turning his focus to the lantern that flickered happily at their feet. He took a breath and spoke.

“Well, one time, when I was in Ettermine, I was hired by this rich family. I don’t know how they could have been so careless, but stupidity has found a way to survive through generation after generation. My task was simple. The actual job was a whole other story, as it involved . . .”

As silently as a cat stalks closer to an unsuspecting mouse, Kryos walked down the wooden hallway. Along his right side, starlight poured in from the rounded windows which threw sharp shadows on the adjacent wood. When he passed by them, he saw the waves, rolling tides of the night sky, silhouetted by the rising crescent moon. Silver eyes shining more brightly with the luminescence, he looked back to the black surf. The water pushed against the hull of the ship, sending the sleeping passengers toward their future, and Kryos’ body swayed in response to the ship’s rocking. Even here, in the confines of the corridor, separated from the sea, he could smell the bitter air. It wasn’t refreshing as it had been above deck, nor did it have that strangely alluring fragrance. He missed the gentle ocean breeze on his skin and face, and it was these times when he wished that his room had a window that he could prop open during the long hours of the night.

Still, he supposed, it isn’t as bad as it could be. At least he didn’t have to put up with another person.

He left the hallway that held the moonbeams slicing through the shadows of the ship, and made a left down another passage, this one devoid of light. He knew the way, and fifteen steps and three doors later he stopped. He twisted the brass handle on the door and pushed it open, hinges squealing, before shutting and locking it after he slipped through the narrow gap. He didn’t move.

Absolute darkness engulfed him.

He moved in the pitch, familiar with the layout and reaching with his hands; his left brushed against the cotton bed sheets and his right bumped into his drawer. He swung his sword off around and placed it against the wall and within reach of the bed. Although he doubted someone would try to get in during this hour, better ready than unprepared. Next, he undid his belt and placed it in the lower compartment of the drawer. With a quiet rustling, his shirt was place, folded, in the top of space, on top of all his other belongings.

Arching his back and extending his strong arms above his head, he stretched, inhaling deeply and feeling his back crack in two places with quiet pops. He held his posture, enjoying the extension of his muscles, before releasing his hold. Rolling onto his back, not bothering to cover up as the air was warm enough for comfort, he closed his eyes to the darkness. A thought occured to him, and he laughed inwardly.

Funny how, even when seeing is impossible, people still keep their eyes open. The simple realization shouldn’t have been something to merit humor, but as tired as he was, he didn’t care.

Time dragged on. Kryos didn’t know how long he’d been lying there, measuring his slow breathing and the calm shifting of the ship. But no matter how he wished, his mind wandered, keeping sleep at bay. He’d arisen early that day, roused by the clamor outside his door as a little girl screamed about being tired of the life at sea. Then his aimless walkings about the deck, as their journey being so close to finished left him with nothing to do. No place on the ship could accomadate his needs of training, but he wasn’t worried that his skill would lessen. Rather, that he would go crazy with the little activity. He’d walked and ambled and strolled, all day, doing nothing. Nothing. . .

Sleep finally pressed down on his mind, but his brain hadn’t quite given up. As the fog of slumber washed over his body, pressing it deeper into the padding of his bed, the glowing eyes of the mother he had talked to earlier drifted through his thoughts. And the words that, even in his tired and almost unaware state, made him freeze in shame.

“You haven’t done anything at all.”

Five years ago, deep in Trenvar’s Forest, bordering the Mountains of Dawn . . .

The air was crisp and sharp, as if laced with alpine snow as it flowed down from the mountain peaks and through the dense maze of conifer and aspen trees; ripening leaves of gold and scarlet, and the slender tendrils of sage swayed in a choreographed wave of motion. The sweet scent of earth and sap, tinged with honey, permeated the air with the whisperings of peace as the sturdy boughs sighed. Even in the woodland clearings, the sun, try as it might, could not win out against the cold breeze.

Kryos shivered as he felt the wind trace his face and skin and play with his white clothing as he sat, cross-legged, in the cool grass. His ebon hair danced with dark and vibrant indigoes flashing with the light, framing his slender face. His shoulders, built from training, but still lean with youth, were relaxed. His chest moved slowly with his breathing, calm and steady. His lips tightened minutely as he struggled to concentrate, to clear his mind. To Fargaze. To enter into the hidden realm of souls that existed within Althanas.

Minutes moved through the clearing with the breeze. All through it, his mentor sat across from him. She wore clothes that matched his, only hers had a personal flair of violet in the pattern. Long, silver hair cascaded down her shoulders and her face was calm, if not stern. Her deep red eyes watched Kryos’ every move, perceiving his struggle for success. They didn’t move, frozen in time as the sun began its decent toward the mountains. The shadows on Vinyara’s face changed, became more sharp than those upon Kryos, testifying of her age and wisdom.

The wind died, and the trees grew still, and the silence left in the wake of it was replaced by the whistling and calling of birds in the trees. Soon, the mountains and half the clearing were darkened in shadow. Vinyara closed her eyes in disappointment.

“Kryos,” she murmured. “Open your eyes.”

Sighing heavily, the weight of failure pressing down on his shoulders once again, did as instructed, squinting in the evening light. His normally bright crimson eyes were muted, as if mixed with a light shade of granite from his futile efforts. Avoiding eye contact with his soul trainer, he waited for a lecture. No doubt it would be one of perseverance and self-discipline as it had been in the past. He looked rather pitiful and childish, really; midnight hair obscured his downcast expression. But he couldn’t help it. Years of ridicule had all but destroyed his ego, and that in combination with the pressure of becoming the Raldian, the one person whose authority was held above others, was too much for him to handle at times. Because of that, he didn’t look up the first time Vinyara asked him too.

“Kryos, look at me!” Her voice, tainted with irritation, held that hidden warning he knew all too well. “I asked you what the problem was today.” He had no choice but to obey, or face the consequences. Their gazes met.

“I don’t know. I just, couldn’t do it.” The quiet words rang with a careless tone, a stream humming across rocks as it raced down a mountain.

“And why do you . . .”

“I don’t know!” Kryos almost shouted, letting all his frustration and grief rush out in a furious tide. “Nothing seems to work. I can’t find that ‘place of vision’ you keep telling me about, and relaxation doesn’t help either.” He folded his arms, glaring at nothing. “Maybe I’m not cut out to be the Raldian. Maybe I’m just a waste of time.”

A moment of quiet passed. Kryos took that as a confirmation - that his teacher did think that he was a waste of time. It hurt. It was as if someone had taken the small piece of faith he still had in himself and torn it asunder, with him still not completely knowing what that meant. He scrambled to collect the fragments, to piece back together the possible future which had stalked him for three years, driving him forward through persecution and doubt. It wasn’t enough, though. Against his own belief of uselessness, the determination, no, the desperation, was powerless. Shoulders sagging, his head dropped in defeat. It would be over. His time was up.

A slender hand stroked his cheek, fingers sliding under his chin and lifting his gaze. Her expression was tender, her eyes warm and soft. Vinyara kneeled closer to him, arm frozen as it linked them, student and teacher.

“Don’t give up,” she said. “Don’t ever give into those feelings. I know you can do it, and I’m here to help you, no matter how long that takes.” She smiled - the one that could chase the clouds away on a stormy day - and the sight of it brought a flicker of trust to his heart. “Will you do that, Kryos?”

There wasn’t anything he could say besides, “Yes, I will,” after something like that. A little bit of courage had been restored unto him, and he would go on till he finally won out against the darkness. Or until it consumed him.

“Get some rest, then. I’ll expect you here at midmorning tomorrow. And come prepared to duel.” Withdrawing her hand, the elder dwiilar stood and adjusted her clothing, flicking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Nodding once to Kryos, she turned and walked away, back toward the city.

He took a deep breath as she disappeared into the trees and rolled onto his back. The fragrant grass pressed into his arms and neck, soft pinpricks along his skin. The pressure gone from his legs, he straightened them, extending the stiff muscles with a groan. Above, clouds began to form, painted golds and ambers and blues and grays by the retreating sun. As he watched, the troubles and worries melted away to make room for the present. This was something Kryos enjoyed beyond end - watching the sky, with no cares of the world. In the few seconds of silence, he felt content.

Still, the heavens grew darker by the minute, so he needed to be heading back. He gracefully rose to his feet, taking up his sheath and blade as he did, and walked swiftly along the path Vinyara had taken. Open space changed to wooded paths; the soft flattening of lush grass to the snapping of dead sticks and dried leaves. The sound reminded him of rough parchment. All around him, the birds that were still living the northern region of Alerar at this late time of the year, settled in, preparing for slumber. He could almost feel the wood as he passed through it - the stillness that settled. As if the land were holding its breath for the sunset as it neared the hidden horizon.

Still, Kryos made it back to the city before the sun was finally laid to rest. The elegant houses and shops of Evalintal glowed in the last rays of sunlight, creating a relaxed atmosphere. Thin spirals of blue and green trim boarded white, and light the color of silk honey poured from the windows in strips. The trees and radiant leaves, at least the ones that still clung to their branches, anyway, framed each dwelling in perfect harmony with the season’s splendor. Between the buildings and trees, pathways and benches, people moved about - some of whom he recognized, while others he still did not know - each finishing their last chores for the day or just emerging from their duties, eager for the night’s potential. Already, along the pathways, boys and girls around his own age raced from lamp to lamp, carrying a flame atop a long pole. As they arrived at each new lantern, they reached upward and lit each beacon as quickly and precisely as they could. It was well known that the job of illuminating the city was in fact a fierce competition among the workers. Hearing footsteps approaching from his rear, he glanced over his shoulder before moving out of the way. A boy carrying a lighting pole raced by, eyes fixed on his goal.

Kryos smiled. Such was life in Evalintal, the native home of the Dwiilar. Each day was filled with peace and growth through the trials of life. Each morning they arose to the same city, the same people. Each night they remembered the new experiences, the new people they met, the strength they had gained. Their solitude reinforced the bonds that held them together, that protected them from other, and perhaps more violent, races. Most of the outside world didn’t even know their kind existed, hidden as they were in the depths of the forest and along the base of the treacherous mountains, secluded and hidden from the global happenings. But it wasn’t as if they cared. His people preferred to remain secret, drifting in the myths and rumors of Humans and Elves and Dwarves and Dark Elves as a kindred race who held power over the souls of Althanas. So it had been since the dawn of their race, and so it would continue to be. They would watch from their sanctuary, waiting until the time came that they should go forth and play in the shadows of history - continually present but never seen. But until then, life would go on in Evalintal. And for most of the Dwiilar, they were happy.

A cry broke his reverie. “Kryos!”

Turning, he saw a young man jog toward him, face alight in the dependable smile that Lorin always wore. His brown hair was disheveled, as usual, and his eyes sparkled. The youth grinned as he fell into step besides Kryos.

“Hey, what’cha been up to today?” He asked, voice at the edge of humor and moroseness. “Learning how to become a great warrior?”

The future Raldian glared at his friend. “Shut up, Lorin.” He almost growled the words, irritated as he was at his recent failure.

“No, no, I’m serious,” Lorin defended, hands raise to his shoulders. “How did training go today?”

Kryos didn’t respond at first. He didn’t like telling others of the sacrifice his teacher was making to help him. But Lorin was one of his friends. He should keep him updated. Besides, saying nothing could turn out to be worse for him later on.

“Still no progress.” He shook his head in defeat. “I just can’t figure it out. I knew that my Gazes would be harder activate, as my combination is the rarest, but still. Even you can use yours, and we share one of our Gazes.” He let the words fill the silence before them, spending a moment to become absorbed in self-pity.

“Yeah. That’s terrible. But,” Lorin’s voice began to fill with that happy-go-lucky tone again. “Just think how completely amazing you’ll be once you get it down. I mean, you being the talented person you are, you’ll have no competition.” He shook his head up and down, confirming to himself what he spoke. “You still are the best swordsman of our age.” His sides shook as he doubled over in a bout of laugher, the pleasant tones ringing throughout the plaza they had entered and earning the couple of stares from bystanders. “Yeah, you’ll get it down in no time. I know you will.”

“Does anything ever get you down, Lorin?” he teased, elbowing him in the ribs to get him to shut up.

“Maybe a bruised rib,” Lorin pouted as he stubbled away with the blow. “You’re mean sometimes. You know that?”

Kryos laughed, really laughed when he saw his face, an attempt between sulking and anger. But as expected, Lorin’s expression broke into his usual smile now that he had gotten his friend to laugh. He adding a few chuckles of his own.

Lorin was a great friend, and Kryos knew that. Sometimes his unnaturally happy attitude that could withstand the most solemn news did get annoying, but Kryos supposed that it was precisely this outlook on life that really made Lorin fun to be around and really defined him as his own person. Sure, there were always the suck-ups to the teachers, the group of the popular, incompetent crowd, and the class clowns. But Lorin had a personality that was all his own. Kryos liked that. Most of the time, anyway.

Their humor died quickly, however. The sun had just vanished under the horizon, and now, as their power waned and changed, the air changed. Kryos looked into Lorin’s eyes, and saw the fated gray hue smother the blue, and Kryos knew his own were in a similar condition. No Dwiilar could escape the effects of the Transient State. Even a race with such foreboding power as theirs had restraints.

“So, any plans tonight, Kryos? A date, maybe?” Lorin prompted.

Kryos scoffed. “Now you’re just being ridiculous. Besides, if Vinyara finds out I’m up too late for such a silly reason, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“So, you’re just going to stay at your place and be boring, huh? You wouldn’t want to, oh, Fargaze, or anything like that?” As he spoke, he wandered a little ahead of Kryos and clasped his hand behind his back. Taunting him.

“I already told you . . .”

“Wait, Kryos, hear me out,” Lorin rushed, spinning around to face him. “I know what you think. But I heard some interesting news today.” He snuck closer and talked quietly into his ear. “I heard that some advanced students are going up to Darken’s Cave later tonight. So I talked to some friends, to see if they wanted to come check it out, you know? Maybe learn a trick or two?” He shook his head, backing away a little bit from Kryos. “Apparently, they all have plans tonight and can’t go. So, it was just going to be me, until I saw you. Come on!” he urged, eyes begging and betraying his hope for excitement. “Come with me. Maybe something you see can help you learn to Fargaze! Then you can be rid of all those snide comments from the kids.

Kryos couldn’t deny it. The prospect of Fargazing now, as opposed to later, was very tempting. He took a second to weigh the benefits and gains.

“When were you planning on going?” he asked.

“I’m was going to leave in an hour. You want to meet me up there?”

Kryos nodded “That sounds fine. But I still don’t think anything will change, just so you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got you already,” Lorin replied, brushing him off and rolling his eyes. “Well, I have to pick something up real fast, so I’ll see you up there.” He took off at a jog, pausing to look back at a corner of a street. He waved, smiling brightly. His eyes reflected the joy and life within, now restored to the pure, metallic silver that mirrored Kryos’ own. He nodded in reply, and his exuberant friend shot down the street and out of sight.

So he had one hour before he left for one of the cave systems that was home to the Twilight Mountains. He didn’t really know what to do, as he had planned on just going home, perhaps write an entry in his newly acquired journal, and then turn in. Days where he fought against Vinyara guaranteed that he would be exhausted afterwards. He didn’t look forward to it in the least.

I guess I’ll just enjoy the night while I wait, he thought. Watching others had always been one of his favorite activities, especially at night. Not to mention that if he was perceptive, a single night could be more educational than an entire day with Vinyara. Not that they ever discussed the night life of Evalintal, or the romance that could be more easily found in the safety of darkness. Their relationship was strictly teacher and student. Perhaps with time, they could become friends. But not now.

Wandering down a well-known walkway, stones hard and bright under the work of the lamp workers. He saw an unoccupied, wooden bench near the outside of the library. The massive walls rose up and darkened windows stood out against the illuminated white. Rows of trees raced along them, and it was between these that the bench sat. He approached and sat down, letting his right arm rest on the back of the bench, while the other lay on the black metal that served as armrest. His pose spoke of elegance, beauty in a moment of leisure. He watched the square before him, the people moving about, couples holding hands. He watched his friends, his elders, and his rivals. His black hair cast shadows on his face, covering his watching eyes. The eyes that shone silver. The tears of the moon.

The mountains stretched up and away, fading under a straggle of moonlight into a haze of shadow--rising, rising, wreathed in pines, but never reaching their summit. An infinite climb. One which held the mysteries of the night, and the devices of the cunning.

Under the cover of the scented pines, and the watch of the masked stars, Kryos stepped lightly up the secret path. The wood whispered in the wind, but the oppressing silence filled the groves with the maleficent traces of his own imagination. He never feared the mountains, nor the creatures within. But on this night, the unease that pervaded through the darkness, as if the trees had eyes, watching his every move, just as he watched them. His white clad form slowly ascended, ever nearing the cave that waited at the top. Walking through sparse ribbons of moon and starlight, he measured the time by each ethereal beam, and the time of darkness which followed each one.

He began a gradual turn that signaled the entrance. Up, up, and a little further. He stepped over a fallen branch, careful not to make much noise. Rounding a large, stone boulder that seemed to erupt from the ground like lava from a volcano, he stopped.

The darkened maw of the cave stood out against the dim background, the black more eternal than any shadow could hope to be. There was a reason this maze of stone was named Darken’s Cave. The obsidian that formed the ceiling had a strange effect; it almost cast a spell of darkness, blinding the faintest light to those trapped within. He could see it at the entrance, the point that was the cave, but not within the cave. Its smooth surface glinted. As it traveled down the walls, slate took over the black glass. The stone at the beginning of the cave was lined with cracks. As he crept closer, he could almost see the impact that created them.

“Lorin?” His voice was subdued, quite in the night. His eyes darted left and right, looking for a sign of his friend. But nothing was out of the ordinary, no sign of the young dwiilar. His brow furrowed in confusion. He had left twenty or so minutes late and he never passed Lorin on the way up. Something was amiss. Besides from that, he couldn’t find any traces of the “group” that was supposed to be up here. If only he could Fargaze, then he would be able to tell if anyone was near him.

He glanced behind him, doubt and uncertainty raging in him. Now that he stood at the mouth of the cave, he wished he hadn’t come. But he could not turn back. He needed to find Lorin. Steeling his nerves, he approached the cave, and entered the thick blackness.

The darkness was complete. The sharp smell of dry rock and salt and dust was fresh in his nose and mouth, as if he could taste the change from the clean and wooded smell of the forest. Only when he summoned the small, white flames of the Charity spell could he see where he stepped; they flickered weakly, with the strength of a single candle pitted against the entire night. Still, it was enough that he could see. Ducking under a table of granite and around a pillar, he strained his ears for a sound. Anything that would let him know that something dwelt in the darkness. If anything, the silence grew louder, save his own soft footfalls and the occasional tinkling of a pebble. The temperature dropped as well. He had no doubt that he would be able to see his breath soon, if he kept going on. Still, there was no other option. He pressed deeper into the cavern, and deeper into his growing doubts and despair.

Where was Lorin?

The sides of the cave converged, blocking his way but for a narrow gap. He swung his sword harness off so that he would be able to fit. Just before squeezing into the space, he shrugged off the sword straps on his shoulder, gripping the sheath with his left hand. Turning sideways, he moved in, slowly sliding through the narrow passage as the black stone pressed into his chest and back. He kept his leading, right hand at shoulder level so he could make out the stone that tempted to crush him. His fear blossomed to more than it had been, in the darkness and the closed space, with nothing but darkness and loneliness as the companions in his solitude. Something pulled at the corner of his thoughts, but he couldn’t place it. Focus was crucial.

He breathed deeply once he made it through the crevasse, glad to be out of the confines of stone. Swinging his weapon back into place, he stretched, spine arcing, before coaxing a little more life from his spell. His body grew tired from the continual use, but the power didn’t tax him too much.

That thought came again. The question of a thought. He couldn’t figure it out, besides that something wasn’t right. Taking a few steps forward, the black stone became predictable. The endless path, with cracks branching off here and there. He hoped that he would be able to find his way out.

An abnormality along the wall. Several thick, glossy smears caught his eye, and he moved closer, lifting his illumination closer. A dark drop slid slowly down the stone. He touched it.

Blood.

His eyes widened in fear, realizing the danger that came with stumbling upon fresh blood with no source. The insistent thought finally came to full realization. There was danger here, and he needed to leave. Get himself out of this forsaken cave. His breathing intensified, magnified by the cave. His eyes darted left and right, backing up near the narrow gap. Mind-numbing fear flooded his body, and he missed the shadows that moved. It wasn’t until the glowing orbs of gold, lavender, and silver surrounded him.

“Take him.”

His eyes rolled back and he let out a silent yell as something hard and unrelenting cracked against his head.

Blackness.

~~~~~~~~~~

First, he felt the bands. Thick rope that wrapped around his chest, his arms, and his legs. Pressing into him. Holding him with their rough grasp to cold stone that dug into his back; the uneven rock made his shoulders ache and burn. He breathed, acutely aware of the frigid air rush into his lungs, searing his throat and holding the damp smell of chipped rock. Coughing brought to his attention the sense of hearing. Feet shuffled about him, and his own hoarse cry flooded his ears. Blood came next. In his mouth. The dry texture along the inside of his cheek, tasting of rust and salt. Moving his tongue against it, fresh with saliva, worsened the sensation as the dry coating became sticky.

He opened his eyes last.

They stood in a circle around him like jackals watching their weak prey, eyes glowing with power and malice and hatred. They were consumed by shadow; he could only see the vague outline of their bodies and the glowing eyes that were set in the darkness. Each one wore the same black and white cloaks and none of them so much as move a muscle at his arousal.

He glared right back at them. The pools of fire and hate. He didn’t dare speak, breaking the silence only to spit out the excess blood. Rage boiled in his soul, but also dread. He was wise enough to realize that he was doomed. He couldn’t win against this. He couldn’t even use his abilities to the fullest.

One of the figures finally moved, hopping down from the ledged he’d been perched on. With a flick of his wrist, the hood that shrouded his face moved. But even then, the absence of light made recognition impossible. Only the pools of infinite mercury could be seen in detail. They made his own spirit cringe. The person hopped down from the ledged he’d been perched on and quickly crossed the distance. The rasp of steel and the icy edge of a blade along his neck.

“Kryos.” His voice was strong and deep. Pleasant too, but filled with spite. “Kryos. Kryos. I believe it is fate that you came here tonight.” The pressure against his skin and blade increased, and he caught his breath. “How I’ve dreamt of having you at my mercy. Fantasized your death. But I never imagined you would come to me.”

Kryos’ body began to shake as fear totally consumed his being. He fought against it, to keep his head. The edge moved along his neck, not quite breaking the surface of his skin, but succeeding in realizing how serious the situation was.

“But killing you. That is too easy.”

The sound of snapping fingers, and another figure moved. Crouched. Sparks erupted with more clacks, showing for the briefest instant the hands who created them. A woman’s hand. A tender flame waved into existence, anchored by the head of a crude torch. The cloaked woman slid it closer to what Kryos guessed was the leader and backed away to her previous position. She slumped to the ground between two others. In all, Kryos counted thirteen total. Thirteen deadly weapons, skilled in harnessing the soul, no doubt.

No!

Next to him, now noticeable in the new light and in a similar state as he, was Lorin. His face was covered in blood, probably the same that had been on the walls, and his eyes moved beneath closed lids.

His enemy walked closer to his friend. He slapped his face. Once, twice. No response. Only when he plunged the serrated dagger into Lorin’s arm did he cry out in pain, matching Kryos’ own sob of frustration. Lorin’s eyes opened. They were crazed, blind with agony and anger. They locked on his target, before blossoming with color. He roared, before gasping as the weapon came free from his arm, tearing the skin and muscle, and entered his side. Lorin chocked in shock, blood flowing from him steadily, and feel unconscious once again.

“So it comes down to us, Kryos. The future Raldian of the Dwiilar, and the one from whom you stole that right. Now, come at me!” He darted forward, cutting him sharply. Both arms, and along his cheek. Laughing as Kryos yelling in pain as his skin split like seams being pulled apart. Chaos ruled his heart, mind, and soul. Fear at what was happening, dread for what may, and shock. His yells only made the monster laugh more, earning the jeers and chuckles of those around them. And then, he found anger.

It started in his heart, growing stronger and stronger until it overpowered everything. His loathing for the ones that hurt him and his friend became who he was. An entity of hate. His screams stopped, replaced by a savage growl that ripped and tore at the cold air. The blood that trickled down his limbs didn’t faze him. Instead, he stared down at the man. His vision blurred, before focusing again. The sensation felt good, almost natural. He focused, bringing the instinct under control. The twirling fire of hell upon the floor smeared into the surrounding black. Shots of moonlight appeared in his vision, and he hurled himself into the abyss that opened before his soul. At last, he could see. The Fluenta, realm of the souls. His surroundings were made of a lifeless gray, but not a gray. More of an absence of life. And around him, the black souls stood, and everything seemed insubstantial. Colors were present, but in an almost secondary way, vibrant and without hue at the same time.

He was free as well. His own arms were a bright white under his shadow-covered skin. Chains bound him, but not his soul. In his confused and chaotic state, he wouldn’t separate spirit and body, couldn’t change his awareness of them. They merged together. Looking up into the silver eyes of his adversary, he remembered his purpose. His one goal in life. Flames whose blackness rivaled the obsidian ceiling above bursted into life on his hands, and he dove forward, death in his eyes. Flames met flames, and they fought.

He fought with all the skill and strength he could muster, kicking, punching, even trying to claw his opponent. Nothing seemed to work. His opponent was too fast, dodging out of the way at the last second, appearing five feet away in the same second. He charged again, fingers outstretched, teeth bared. The man met him head on, grabbing Kryos’ spirit hands with both of his. He grinned, and yanked downward with his left hand. The flames Kryos had summoned vanished, and he yelled as two of his fingers broke. He heard his physical body recoil, and felt for the second time, if only diluted, the cracking of bone. He was thrown against the wall and struck in the face. Along the sides and crashing to the floor once more. Smashed in the face. Bruised ribs. He heard the injury list grow as his body thrashed against its bonds, recoiling from the spiritual beating.

It was over. He never had a chance at winning against the man, his own angel of death and persecution. Not to mention that twelve others watched from the shadows. What had been the point? He couldn’t hold out any longer. He closed his eyes and returned to his body, the silver glow within dimming as his power waned.

Blood flowed freely down his cheek, neck, arms and sides. Into his clothes and over his chest, the smell all but gone for him in his state. He couldn’t do anything but stare blankly forward as one of the men approached. His smile was visible in the burning of the torchlight. Grabbing Kryos’ hair, the creature of the pits yanked his head up, forcing the youth to look at him.

“You never had a chance, Kryos. The moment you stepped into this cave, your death was insured.” He grinned. “That includes your friend here. We, the Shadow Riders, never overlook anything.” He glanced back to the others, nodding toward the bound figure. “Take him.” The wraiths converged upon Lorin, cutting him free and silently watching as he fell to the floor. Knives and flames materialized, and they descended like vultures. That was when the screams began. They issued from the middle of the Riders like a soul in the fiery clutched of Hell, agonized by eternal torture. The screams echoed through the caverns, amplifying the sound tenfold. Echoed through the recesses of Kryos’ heart.

Defiance flared in him, raging against his will and physical limits like a beast. He struggled against his thick bonds in a desperate attempt to save his friend. But the jackal before him simply smiled. Tightening his grasp on Raldian’s hair, the man brought his other hand near to Kryos, dark flames licking the little air between them. But Kryos had nothing to fear. Dwiilar were immune to their own magic. Or so he had previous thought. When the flames touched his skin, his eyes, his soul, pain seared through him like a river, pain so intense it felt like he would cease to exist. Death would be welcome next to this. Vaguely aware to it, he saw the man’s eyes narrowed in concentration, and the flames enveloping his vision darkened further, becoming so solid and real than he would have thought possible. A new wave of pain cascaded through him, so intense it threatened to cut its way to his heart, his mind, his soul, and rip them apart into shreds. His jaws opened, blood falling from the roof of his mouth and across his tongue and teeth, and he screamed as the obsidian flames tore across his soul.

Mind reeling with pain, he fell inward. Deeper and deeper into his being, each moment filled with unbearable agony. Seconds dragged onward, and he screeched for deliverance. For the release from the living death. Tears of blood ran down his cheeks. He fell deeper still. He heard voices. Yells and whispers of invisible wonders and horrors. Images filled his mind’s eye, hallucination of the most wretched kind. He begged for freedom, sobbing uncontrollably. As he crashed through another level of his being, the imaginary world shattering into droplets of pure silver.

Everything stopped. No pain, no movement. Just him, alone in the darkness. Alone, until he was joined by the presence of others. They whispered into his mind.

Kryos. Kryos Ralshyn, carrier of the noble birthright, answer!

I’m here.

Release yourself. You must give us control. We can stop this, if only you let us.

Who are you?

We are the great ones, the line of knowledge and wisdom through time. We are the past generations, your elders and the future heirs to our calling, our destiny. Death holds no power over you, nor us. We live on, through time, and outside of it. We are the line of the Raldian from the beginning. We live through you. Now, let us out!

Peace filled his soul; the assurance that he would survive. He was certain of that.

Come. Do what you must.

As the knowledge, experience, and souls converged upon him, he disappeared. Not completely, but pushed from his home, squeezed into a tight place to allow the power and might from the past and future flood through him. Above, in the real dimensions of Althanas, the young boy, tied to a stone pillar, smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~

Kryos’ empty eyes, a moment ago lifeless and broken, whirled. The man stared back, surprised and confused. The prisoner snarled, teeth exposed and covered with blood, and struggled against the ropes. The Rider pulled out his dagger, blade flashing in the firelight, and stepped forward, planning on ending the pitiful existence of the boy. But then, the youth’s hand came free.

It shot forward, grabbing the knife in a swift grasp. Two of the stained fingers moved erratically, flipping this way and that as he tried to pull the dagger away. Flames exploded on the hilt of the knife and on the man's shirt. The corrosive power seared his soul. He yelped, backing off and releasing the knife. The others turned, staring. Ropes dropped to the stone floor at Kryos’ feet. He stared at the group before him. Pure, white flames ignited on the tips of his fingers, growing and traveling up his hands, arms, then cascading down his body. They engulfed his head as well; drops even fell through the air and landed on the stone floor. The figures in the cavern backed away, eyes darting from the flaming kid to their leader. Kryos’ arms lifted, reaching his chest level, before flipping and extending out toward the retreating figures. A wall of black fire shot upwards from the stone ground, consuming the Riders in shrieks of pain and horror. They ran, sprinting in every direction to escape, darting through tunnels and passages alike. And still, Kryos’ power chased them, licked at their heels as it drove them deep into the mountain side.

He turned, the white flames on his body still dancing with life, and lifted his friend. Multiple wounds littered his body, faintly, ever so faintly, he could feel Lorin’s heart struggle to beat. His body ran. Ran as fast as it could, through caverns and cold passages alike, not bothering with anything else; he barely noticed the air grow warmer as he approached the surface. He bursted from the cave entrance, into the night, so full of detail with the moonlight, and raced down the trail. Never had he gone so fast. Glancing at Lorin’s face, his subdued soul stirred with the anger and horror of the other entities within him.

Lorin’s eyes held no shine, no life. Only emptiness. Fear grasped and squeezed his heart.

Ahead, through the trees, the lights of the city pierced the shadows. The pearly flames subsided along with the presences within. Legs still moving on their own, his own soul climbed upward. Closer and closer to full awareness. His hand lifted, pounded on a door. Whose door was this? It opened. Vinyara stared at him, shock and concern clearly written on her face. He fell. The wooden floor rushed up to meet him. His vision went dark, his entire being spent. He could do no more. In the void that filled him, he clung to one thought before that, too, was swept away into uncertainty. One memory. One face. One name.

The time when he and Lorin watched the sky and the clouds and the shifting colors of the setting sun.

In the blackness of his room, Kryos awoke, eyes searching wildly and hands groping. He breathed in, air flooding into his lungs, full of the salty scent of the sea. It called to him, the hint of open air and the vast ocean. He needed it more than anything. Throwing the covers off his body, he stood, shivering slightly as the air caressed his damp skin. He stumbled, still shaken from the dream, and found the drawer, and the fabric within.

Clothed and in possession of all his belongings, he made for the door. In the second where his world consisted only of the wood beneath his boots, he doubted, feared. What if there wasn’t a door? What would happen then?

But his hungry fingers found the metal handle. He twisted, pulling quickly. Into the dim hallway, down another corridor. He ran, now. Past the windows, framing the dark waves and silhouetted clouds. Up the stairs, and around a corner. And upwards. He could smell it. The vast expanse of the sky.

He stopped.

Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, calming himself and banishing the haunting visions of the night. The memories. With each large pull of air, his body calmed in tangible degrees. He became aware of the strong ocean wind, filling the gray sails above and pushing them onward. He felt the rocking of the ship, swaying gently side to side in harmony with the lullaby of the ocean waves. The starlight that glimmered from above as he reopened his eyes.

No danger lay in wait for him.

Sufficiently calmed, he went to the ship railing, leaning against it gracefully. Before him, the sea went on and on, ever eastward to the point where sky met water. And there, at that spot, the sky glowed a little warmer. With every passing moment, the light spread, burning brighter in the center and expanding outwards. Orange flared in the sky, and yellow, striking the backsides of the clouds. Then, with the majesty of the moon and elegance of the stars and sea, the sun breached the horizon. Rays of craved light raced over the water, illuminating the ship, the land, and Kryos. The hidden blues became apparent in his clothing, flapping gently in the wind, and in the sun’s presence, his rings became twin flames of silver. With the dawn, his presence seemed to absorb a part of the sun’s power, making it as his own. In this moment, the sable strands of his jet hair were swept back from his face, letting the pure light stroke his face. Showing the changes he’d gone through.

The young boy in his memories had grown, become stronger. No longer did the hopes and desires of innocence fill his gaze. Nor did that smile show itself as often as it once had. And around his eyes, shadow dwelt. Feather-light imprints of ebon flame testified of his journey and his pain. His past, and his sin. The life which never saw another sunrise. The life he had failed to protect.

His head lowered, allowing his hair to dance in front of his eyes once more. It was the past that controlled the present, past deeds which influenced today’s actions. He had believed this since that night. But now, standing here at a new dawn, with a land full of opportunities before him, he questioned himself. Did the past really govern the future? He had always thought so, but the pain was too great. He wouldn’t be able to go on believing this. Change was the only option next to losing himself. Change, and forgetting what had happened. He breathed deeply, letting the concept sink in. He could do that.

Opening his vivid, crimson eyes to the burning sunrise, he turned. He turned his back on his past, on that last night that had haunted him for five years. He left it all behind him, because before him lay the beautiful land of Scara Brae, full of hope and promise and adventure. A smile broke out on his lips, for his future waited, finally free of the chains of the past.

Out of Character:

Just for clarification, when Kryos escaped from the cave, he was barely conscious. The spirits and existence of the previous Raldians were responsible for his escape, as well as the powers and abilities he used. This is possible because the realm of the souls, of which Kryos fought the head Rider in, has many different levels. The deepest are timeless; thus he was able to communicate to the past and future Raldians.

The Last Night

STORY (22.5/30)

~ Continuity ~ 7
The only qualm I have is that I have no clue what a “Raldian” is… it wasn’t explained well enough

~ Setting ~ 7.5

~ Pacing ~ 8


CHARACTER (22.5/30)

~ Dialogue ~ 6.5

~ Action~ 8

~ Persona ~ 8


WRITING STYLE (25.5/30)

~ Technique ~ 8.5
“But that isn’t to say that there were not others above deck.” [1] ~ You shouldn’t really start a sentence with a conjunction, and the sentence itself seems lower diction and quite close to second person without the word ‘you’ involved.

‘Well, most everyone, that is.” [1] ~ Same thing as above, seems a little lower diction for where it is, as well as if you jumped from in the story to telling it outside of the scene.

~ Mechanics ~ 8

“Wandering down a well-known walkway, stones hard and bright under the work of the lamp workers.” [4] ~ This is a fragment, if you had put “[the] stones [were]…” it would have made it better.

“One of the figures finally moved, hopping down from the ledged he’d been perched on. With a flick of his wrist, the hood that shrouded his face moved. But even then, the absence of light made recognition impossible. Only the pools of infinite mercury could be seen in detail. They made his own spirit cringe. The person hopped down from the ledged he’d been perched on and quickly crossed the distance. The rasp of steel and the icy edge of a blade along his neck.” [5] ~ You had ‘hopped down from the ledge he’d been perched on’ twice, the exact same way, in one paragraph. It’s best if you write something different so that it doesn’t stand out.


~ Clarity ~ 9


WILD CARD!!! 9
Brilliantly done

TOTAL

(79.5/100)


GAINS/REWARDS!

Kyros gains: 1490 exp | 145 gold

This thread will also be put up for JC recommendation!

Exp and GP added!

Welcome to level 2!