Short Story: Return Pt. I | Return Pt.II
Return: Part. I
It was an unknown force that had urged Amara to journey back. She had no desire to be here, but something burning within had whispered ‘return.’ Softly at first, like the gentle caress of water lapping at her feet on the edges of the rivers. Intensely after, driving Amara away from the Fey M’enage for the first time since she’d united them. Forced to follow the road to her homestead, Amara feared her destination, knowing well there was nothing homely about the place. It was simply an experimental centre - the last in fact - where she had been born as the final hope for the failing world.
Having arrived at the wasteland, Amara shivered despite the heat. The sun was still high in the orange sky - it would be safe for several hours yet, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding that had stalked her across the fayed lands into the Forsaken. Forbidden memories still lingered here, their scent caught softly in the breeze that whipped around her face. A storm was brewing somewhere in the distance - sand or electric, Amara cared little. She was safe for now, and if need be she’d find shelter in the homestead.
Amara remembered it being pale. White, they had told her, for that’s what the colour was. She could only remember a brilliance that challenged the sun, only less… inviting always cold and clinical. Her breath caught in her throat as she observed the ruins that stood in front of her. Once tidy and unblemished, the homestead now stood soiled, caked in red dust from years of forget. To Amara the house looked more alive than she’d ever felt it to be, illuminated by the strength of the suns rays. Her eyes traced the cracks in the ground slowly, the corrosion of the land almost complete. She couldn’t help the small smile that formed with the knowledge that the Antecedents were to blame for the death of their world. Her feet, it seemed, had followed her eyes and traced the crevices towards the entrance. Uncertainty subsided as she came face to face with the door to the past. She kicked it viciously, causing crimson flakes to rise into the air and be swept away by the wind. She allowed herself a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the hall, and for her body to accept the stench of dry decay before she stepped through the doorway.
Dust particles danced in the stray strands of sunlight that had crept in to the house. The empty hallway, intimidating as ever, caused her pale skin to crawl as she remembered their scorching touch on her bare body as they’d hauled her brutally along the stone floor back into the shadows. How many steps did it take, she thought, her mind tricked into remembering, eleven? No, they were children’s steps Amara paused to reflect; I am not a child any more. Funny then how you feel so small, she felt the walls whisper as her fingertips scraped against the cracked wallpaper. Seven, she supposed, no nine, but then she was there.
It was the only dark place in the house, she remembered while facing the door, or had it simply been that her world was always dark? Lifeless as they always appeared, even their rooms were never dark. The dark controlled her, they’d whispered when they thought she was sleeping. And light? She couldn’t remember being allowed to see it before they’d fled - leaving her to perish like the land. All these things she’d been too young to understand, it was only as she grew, as she felt the passion that the light created within her, did she come to realise the true meaning of their words.
At the slightest touch the door inched open, yet she only found the haunting darkness that had poisoned her soul. Having suppressed the painful memories for years now, Amara realised there was something she had neglected, some event or object she’d forgotten. Why else would the force have yearned for her return? She felt cold as she stepped into the room. A single window allowed little light in, but a slight crack caused a slither of wind to whistle through, as the rusted wind chimes that hung aimlessly tried their hardest to whisper an airy tune in return. Instead they simply clung together ungraciously, the smell of rust and blood permeating the room.
When her eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness Amara turned in a circle, searching for the key to silence the voice, which even then still whispered dangerous suggestions in her ear. The only object in the room was the mirror, which slowly taunted her with distorted visions of the past as she swivelled to face it. The lustre had wasted away, leaving only the dullness of a reflection that she could still not recognise. The once dark oak filled with sinister carving that used to bleed her dry of any feeling was cracked now, unable to murmur the cruel thoughts of contempt that had stalked her through life. Amara had to force herself not to look away, for although the scars from her time here were buried deep within, she still expected the open wounds to appear, ready for the sting of rejection to return.
All that was left, in this decrepit old hell, was she. There was no burning sensation this time as she observed her reflection, no lesson to be learned once more. The Antecedents had lost control of her years ago, Amara realised, as a manic grin revealed itself distortedly in the mirror. She extended her left hand and felt the blazing power surge through her core - all the pain she’d hidden inside found the release, as the voice that had guided her replied, "Yes. Now you know. Now you understand."
Fiery strands of burning heat surged from her fingertips, her entire body glowing red in the room. A spark ignited the mirror instantly, immersing it in flames. A sound released from within her - a howl, deep, tortured, as the place of her nightmares began to burn, as bright as the sun, or the moon she’d long since seen. Only now, as she stepped through the flames of revenge, did she come to understand why she had survived the war. Vengeance tasted sweet, and this was only the beginning.
Return: Part II
The Death After…
Garve’s dark eyes darted across the shadowed landscape, trying to distinguish any movement that was unwelcome in his land. He’d felt Morgana’s cross of the fayed lands into the Forsaken, but had yet to hear the hushed whispers of her reappearance. Why she had returned o their childhood homestead, Gave could not fathom. The memories he had of his time there were far from pleasant, but Morgana - the Antecedents had left her behind when it became apparent war would erupt. Something powerful must have called her back, Garve deduced eventually. Morgana was too clever to risk death to return there, especially across the fayed lands, for she knew Garve ruled them - and that he was unparalleled in his skills. Born a hunter, Garve had thrived on the thrill of the chase. Darkness had always called to him, with its dominating power. It had only been during the war, when the stench of death had mixed with the decay of the world, had he realised the hypocrisy of his actions, the self-disgust brewing, silently, ever since. As his dark eyes flittered across the baron land once more, Garve noticed the burnt orange hue that had set across the horizon, a signal of the rising sun. No one dared cross during the day, which meant Garve could stand down momentarily from his post. However his thoughts of Morgana had triggered a flow of unwanted memories, and as he sat back against a charcoal stump, visions of regrets surfaced. It was only now that he thought to blame the Antecedents, for it was they who had born him as the last hope for the dying world.
The Supreme War…
During the war Garve had become the most illusive Night Shadow, hunting down his prey as accurately as the Mutaré . The Antecedents had made him leader of the Fay M’enage , trusting implicitly in his strength - he had, after all, been born for this role. But the Fay had not accepted him as the Antecedents had hoped. To them he was a stranger who was not learned the ways of the water. After initial weeks of unrest, Garve had worked tirelessly to earn their respect - and in time it was given. In this war you were either enemies or allies, and the Fay M’enage needed to be united if they were going to survive. Together he had banded with Caelyn and Drysdan as the safeguard of the Fay M’enage and became known for their forcible protection during the Supreme War. Initially Garve had believed they were doing the right thing; he had trusted the Antecedents entirely.
Only the war had destroyed more than it had saved, and it had taken more than lives. The lucky ones had perished in the line of fire, just like the land, the less fortunate forced to live on. Garve had seen enough deaths to make his heart bleed in pain before shattering for those who had been lost. The world hadn’t been saved as the promised had foretold. Instead anarchy occurred. The M’enage turned on one another - inter-territorial wars erupted before the borders had a chance to be established. After, when control was regained, the price for passage across enemy borders became certain death.
And the land was lost to all.
The Life Before…
Garve's earliest memories were those of haunting whispers. The Antecedents had never raised their voices, only spoken softly and he was sure this had scared him the most. 'They are hungry for power Garve, for your power. You need to be ready to fight,' they’d murmured, cool and calculated; 'otherwise we shall lose everything we have already fought for.'
His sister had been his saviour, she was never afraid of the Antecedents. But she’d disappeared one day, the Antecedents acting as if she had never been born.
'Morgana is no help to us now,' he remembered them replying when he’d asked where she had gone. 'She will only serve as a distraction, and we need your mind to be clear for training.'
During his childhood it had become apparent that Gave was a natural Night Shadow, and the Antecedents had utilized this to their advantage. His training had been so intense, but then, it needed to be. Garve had searched the land, some days going without food or sleep - simply walking, seeking out the faint sparks of life, and trying to feel where she was already dead. He felt broken as he exposed the amount of land that had lost its will to fight. What hurt him more though, was the withdrawal of water from the world, as it tried to avoid the conflict. Washed away to unreachable places, its melancholy departure disturbed him. Although some had chosen to remain behind, willing to take up the fight. The undertow of a current that had once been a grand storm; the water with long standing relations with the air - joined together by millennia of destruction. This water had fed Garve their power - helped him grow from boy to man, helped him prepare for what the Antecedents called the Supreme War. If only he’d known he’d been fashioned to fight in a war that no one would win - perhaps like the water, he’d have hidden too.
It was an unknown force that had urged Amara to journey back. She had no desire to be here, but something burning within had whispered ‘return.’ Softly at first, like the gentle caress of water lapping at her feet on the edges of the rivers. Intensely after, driving Amara away from the Fey M’enage for the first time since she’d united them. Forced to follow the road to her homestead, Amara feared her destination, knowing well there was nothing homely about the place. It was simply an experimental centre - the last in fact - where she had been born as the final hope for the failing world.
Having arrived at the wasteland, Amara shivered despite the heat. The sun was still high in the orange sky - it would be safe for several hours yet, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding that had stalked her across the fayed lands into the Forsaken. Forbidden memories still lingered here, their scent caught softly in the breeze that whipped around her face. A storm was brewing somewhere in the distance - sand or electric, Amara cared little. She was safe for now, and if need be she’d find shelter in the homestead.
Amara remembered it being pale. White, they had told her, for that’s what the colour was. She could only remember a brilliance that challenged the sun, only less… inviting always cold and clinical. Her breath caught in her throat as she observed the ruins that stood in front of her. Once tidy and unblemished, the homestead now stood soiled, caked in red dust from years of forget. To Amara the house looked more alive than she’d ever felt it to be, illuminated by the strength of the suns rays. Her eyes traced the cracks in the ground slowly, the corrosion of the land almost complete. She couldn’t help the small smile that formed with the knowledge that the Antecedents were to blame for the death of their world. Her feet, it seemed, had followed her eyes and traced the crevices towards the entrance. Uncertainty subsided as she came face to face with the door to the past. She kicked it viciously, causing crimson flakes to rise into the air and be swept away by the wind. She allowed herself a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the hall, and for her body to accept the stench of dry decay before she stepped through the doorway.
Dust particles danced in the stray strands of sunlight that had crept in to the house. The empty hallway, intimidating as ever, caused her pale skin to crawl as she remembered their scorching touch on her bare body as they’d hauled her brutally along the stone floor back into the shadows. How many steps did it take, she thought, her mind tricked into remembering, eleven? No, they were children’s steps Amara paused to reflect; I am not a child any more. Funny then how you feel so small, she felt the walls whisper as her fingertips scraped against the cracked wallpaper. Seven, she supposed, no nine, but then she was there.
It was the only dark place in the house, she remembered while facing the door, or had it simply been that her world was always dark? Lifeless as they always appeared, even their rooms were never dark. The dark controlled her, they’d whispered when they thought she was sleeping. And light? She couldn’t remember being allowed to see it before they’d fled - leaving her to perish like the land. All these things she’d been too young to understand, it was only as she grew, as she felt the passion that the light created within her, did she come to realise the true meaning of their words.
At the slightest touch the door inched open, yet she only found the haunting darkness that had poisoned her soul. Having suppressed the painful memories for years now, Amara realised there was something she had neglected, some event or object she’d forgotten. Why else would the force have yearned for her return? She felt cold as she stepped into the room. A single window allowed little light in, but a slight crack caused a slither of wind to whistle through, as the rusted wind chimes that hung aimlessly tried their hardest to whisper an airy tune in return. Instead they simply clung together ungraciously, the smell of rust and blood permeating the room.
When her eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness Amara turned in a circle, searching for the key to silence the voice, which even then still whispered dangerous suggestions in her ear. The only object in the room was the mirror, which slowly taunted her with distorted visions of the past as she swivelled to face it. The lustre had wasted away, leaving only the dullness of a reflection that she could still not recognise. The once dark oak filled with sinister carving that used to bleed her dry of any feeling was cracked now, unable to murmur the cruel thoughts of contempt that had stalked her through life. Amara had to force herself not to look away, for although the scars from her time here were buried deep within, she still expected the open wounds to appear, ready for the sting of rejection to return.
All that was left, in this decrepit old hell, was she. There was no burning sensation this time as she observed her reflection, no lesson to be learned once more. The Antecedents had lost control of her years ago, Amara realised, as a manic grin revealed itself distortedly in the mirror. She extended her left hand and felt the blazing power surge through her core - all the pain she’d hidden inside found the release, as the voice that had guided her replied, "Yes. Now you know. Now you understand."
Fiery strands of burning heat surged from her fingertips, her entire body glowing red in the room. A spark ignited the mirror instantly, immersing it in flames. A sound released from within her - a howl, deep, tortured, as the place of her nightmares began to burn, as bright as the sun, or the moon she’d long since seen. Only now, as she stepped through the flames of revenge, did she come to understand why she had survived the war. Vengeance tasted sweet, and this was only the beginning.
Return: Part II
The Death After…
Garve’s dark eyes darted across the shadowed landscape, trying to distinguish any movement that was unwelcome in his land. He’d felt Morgana’s cross of the fayed lands into the Forsaken, but had yet to hear the hushed whispers of her reappearance. Why she had returned o their childhood homestead, Gave could not fathom. The memories he had of his time there were far from pleasant, but Morgana - the Antecedents had left her behind when it became apparent war would erupt. Something powerful must have called her back, Garve deduced eventually. Morgana was too clever to risk death to return there, especially across the fayed lands, for she knew Garve ruled them - and that he was unparalleled in his skills. Born a hunter, Garve had thrived on the thrill of the chase. Darkness had always called to him, with its dominating power. It had only been during the war, when the stench of death had mixed with the decay of the world, had he realised the hypocrisy of his actions, the self-disgust brewing, silently, ever since. As his dark eyes flittered across the baron land once more, Garve noticed the burnt orange hue that had set across the horizon, a signal of the rising sun. No one dared cross during the day, which meant Garve could stand down momentarily from his post. However his thoughts of Morgana had triggered a flow of unwanted memories, and as he sat back against a charcoal stump, visions of regrets surfaced. It was only now that he thought to blame the Antecedents, for it was they who had born him as the last hope for the dying world.
The Supreme War…
During the war Garve had become the most illusive Night Shadow, hunting down his prey as accurately as the Mutaré . The Antecedents had made him leader of the Fay M’enage , trusting implicitly in his strength - he had, after all, been born for this role. But the Fay had not accepted him as the Antecedents had hoped. To them he was a stranger who was not learned the ways of the water. After initial weeks of unrest, Garve had worked tirelessly to earn their respect - and in time it was given. In this war you were either enemies or allies, and the Fay M’enage needed to be united if they were going to survive. Together he had banded with Caelyn and Drysdan as the safeguard of the Fay M’enage and became known for their forcible protection during the Supreme War. Initially Garve had believed they were doing the right thing; he had trusted the Antecedents entirely.
Only the war had destroyed more than it had saved, and it had taken more than lives. The lucky ones had perished in the line of fire, just like the land, the less fortunate forced to live on. Garve had seen enough deaths to make his heart bleed in pain before shattering for those who had been lost. The world hadn’t been saved as the promised had foretold. Instead anarchy occurred. The M’enage turned on one another - inter-territorial wars erupted before the borders had a chance to be established. After, when control was regained, the price for passage across enemy borders became certain death.
And the land was lost to all.
The Life Before…
Garve's earliest memories were those of haunting whispers. The Antecedents had never raised their voices, only spoken softly and he was sure this had scared him the most. 'They are hungry for power Garve, for your power. You need to be ready to fight,' they’d murmured, cool and calculated; 'otherwise we shall lose everything we have already fought for.'
His sister had been his saviour, she was never afraid of the Antecedents. But she’d disappeared one day, the Antecedents acting as if she had never been born.
'Morgana is no help to us now,' he remembered them replying when he’d asked where she had gone. 'She will only serve as a distraction, and we need your mind to be clear for training.'
During his childhood it had become apparent that Gave was a natural Night Shadow, and the Antecedents had utilized this to their advantage. His training had been so intense, but then, it needed to be. Garve had searched the land, some days going without food or sleep - simply walking, seeking out the faint sparks of life, and trying to feel where she was already dead. He felt broken as he exposed the amount of land that had lost its will to fight. What hurt him more though, was the withdrawal of water from the world, as it tried to avoid the conflict. Washed away to unreachable places, its melancholy departure disturbed him. Although some had chosen to remain behind, willing to take up the fight. The undertow of a current that had once been a grand storm; the water with long standing relations with the air - joined together by millennia of destruction. This water had fed Garve their power - helped him grow from boy to man, helped him prepare for what the Antecedents called the Supreme War. If only he’d known he’d been fashioned to fight in a war that no one would win - perhaps like the water, he’d have hidden too.