March Vignette

[Saz Eristrad]

A pool of crimson at his feet reflected the vacant stare etched on his face.

Saz stared at himself, both fascinated and terrified. The visceral image of himself hoarded the heat that fled from his fingertips as numbness set in. They flinched infrequently, a testament to his ebbing resistance. His shoulders sagged forward and his back hung limp, pitiful. His spine was folded in two uneven halves, either side of him cascading over a blade, thrust through him and buried in the ground.

More of his essence flooded from his lips, and every effort he made to breathe ended in a fit of coughing. He could feel the warmth in his lungs, unnatural, every heartbeat filling them will fluid. After long, he would drown if the wound failed to end him first. "M...other," he rasped, but the word came weakly. He barely heard himself. "Fa...ther?"

Salty heat washed down his face and dripped to the floor, distorting the image that held his attention. Saz could feel the life racing from his veins, every stroke of the clock an agonizing reminder that his time was at hand.

I don't want to die.

Ripples writhed in front of him. The image he focused on was gone, replaced with something erratic, intense. He tried to lean closer, but the pain wracked him again. "I... wan...t..."

Saz blinked. He stared hard into the crimson lake, certain that the sulfuric gaze that stared back at him was a mirage.

You seek life.

It was not a question. The question reverberated as it echoed in his mind. It grew in volume and ferocity, and with it, he felt something else. The heat seeping out of his body felt cold by comparison. "Yes," Saz answered breathlessly. The Heart of a Forge ignited within the youth as he gulped greedily at the air. His lungs threatened to burst as he filled them to overflowing, and the heat of his breath sent an agonizing ripple through him as it scorched the amassed viscera.

"My chest," he gasped. "My lungs!"

Saz was fire. The sensation ripped through his body as a sensation like acid seared the inside of his respiratory system. Tears on his face dissolved as steam roiled upward from his pores, and when his eyes threatened to water, he felt the same intensity jump from his chest to his face. "Aaaaargh!"

This is life, boy. This is my life. Our life.

His fingers coiled around the metal impaled through him. They blossomed a familiar color as the weapon dug into his flesh. Saz stared angrily down at the offensive blade, prying at it like a mild inconvenience. His palms sizzled as he slowly ripped himself away with a sick pop. He slid along the edge and lowered himself to the floor, until he was on his knees in his own vitae. The broadsword clattered to the floor in front of him.

Everything stung. His mind was beyond understanding now, so he questioned nothing. A simple, instinctive revelation struck him truer than all of the suffering. "I live," he whispered.

All the braziers in the room flickered out at once as thought left him. Blackness consumed his surroundings. Saz dreamt of fire.