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Here it is. The mythical story I've been waxing poetic about for years now. This is just the first chapter, and it's essentially a draft, but I wanted to upload it just to get it out there. I hope you enjoy!
It's 21 pages, and 6,522 words.
We are at the edge of a spiral galaxy, far from the galactic core. A brilliant rock looms languidly in the expanse. This planet, Isekai, is a refuge. Home to millions of peculiar creatures that can only be grasped by the imagination. Others, more familiar. For millennia, these creatures have gritted their teeth at one another, and made their daggers sharper. But there is one shining beacon of hope whose grand central Citadel stands tall as a greeting for those who are willing to put their differences aside, the great city of Concordia. Underneath the gleaming streets stood a grand basilican hub of trade and technological development. It was a testament to the ingenuity of the furfolk. However, during the Great War which ravaged the world 200 years ago, it was reduced to ashes. In a grandstanding feat, it attracted sympathies from even the most marauding of dragons. A collection of the world’s greatest minds came together to rebuild, in hopes all of Isekai could live in unity, living anew. It was in the pursuit of the hunt that they had expanded their potential, and found it within themselves to build new, unimaginable creations. Only now do they tackle the endeavor of living amongst each other. They have learned to live, to feast, to build, and to fight.
On the outskirts of Concordia, over the rolling green plains, two furfolk invite the cracking of mahogany into their minds. The striking from their rapid synchronized movements spurted out and kept them in their tranquil bedlam. It was Vincent, the furfolk eagle whose youthful talons for feet snapped the training boards cleanly in half. He followed after the one who had trained him thoroughly over the past year, Youya, whose furfolk bovine hooves likewise maneuvered around Vincent, to guide her student, where to strike, what speed, and what angle. Watching the splinters pile up beneath the sandals of the soaring eagle, she could tell, that her years of assertive counseling were paying off.
She reached for their discarded materials to pick up a wooden sword for him. “Very well, Vincent! Now, let’s see you put it all together while we still have some time.”
Vincent responded with his wintry parol, “Very well.”
With the imaginary blade of timber in his hand, he struck the propped up dummy with all the coordination he could muster. He still had a ways to go, but the blows he dealt were enough to knock the dummy out if it were real. Combined with the kick of his talons, he was unstoppable, as long as they didn’t fight back. Everything he had practiced today culminated in this. All his focus was on the form he had slowly shaped. Even the ocean’s dazzling reflection of the sunrise in the corner of his eye couldn’t take his mind off.
But the unexpected arrival of his friend, and part time partner-in-crime, Alister, caught him off guard as he meandered his way towards them along the gravel road succeeding the rigid fence posts.
“Hey, Vincent! Are you just about done?” He shouted with little regard for the aether’s tranquility.
“Alister? Don’t worry, I’m almost-” Once he laid his eyes off his foe, the linkage of his body with his mind was broken, and the cascade spread through his body, leaving him in an awkward position, and sending him tumbling to the grass below.
Youya stood poised with her displeased arms crossed. While she glared at Alister, her normally tangy and honey-sweet voice oozed like vinegar in pedantic condescension. “Vincent, why did you fall?”
Vincent picked his beak up from the dirt he ate. “I… I lost my… focus…” he mustered in his abashed stupor.
“I will be sure to take note of that next time.” She ambled over to offer him a hand to help him up, and took a beat, reassuring herself of her affirming nature towards Vincent and his progress. “But don’t let it get to you, the rest of your performance was stunning.”
“Thank you, again, Youya. It’s always a pleasure to train with you!” His timid smile returned.
“Always, my dear.” The two of them tardily shook hands.
Vincent directed his gaze back at Alister, through the eyes of ambivalence. In this moment, he could serve as a target for his vitriol. “Alister! You interrupted my move!” He exclaimed with a shouty rasp, his voice’s equal and opposite.
With his fox’s wit, he rebutted, “Don’t look at me, you’re the one who should have kept your focus.”
Vincent sighed to himself and leaned his elbows on the fence posts.
“Fine. Fine.”
Alister lifted up his mutineering legs above the fence, climbing it, and hopping to Vincent’s side. His scheming eyes pressed time harder than time itself. “Well, cheer up bud.” He said with his signature sly snark. “Do I have an opportunity for the two of us!”
Vincent’s eyes sparked with a tiny bit of enthusiasm. “What is it this time?”
“I overheard an ‘old friend’ of mine talking about an artifact so legendary, yet so forgotten, almost no one knows of its existence, and it’s supposed to lie just outside of Concordia.” Even his body language was giddy at the thought of it. Vincent, however, was unimpressed.
“How many times do I have to risk life and limb for something you want? We’ve been through this before. I want no part of it. And besides, how do you even know it exists?” He interrogated his desires.
“Let’s just say I paid my old friend a visit. By that, I mean I overheard him and two others, one I think was this famous historian, who brought it up. Now, he’s on a quest.”
Vincent nodded while listening to his screed. “What do I get out of this?”
“We can sell it, and split the money, fifty-fifty. I promise you.”
Vincent laid his elbows on the posts, and the sides of his hands running along the bridges over his eyes, while they were shut, as if protecting them from the world, to ponder in solitude.
“Fine. I’ll help you. Just give me some time to get my bearings.” He said while limply swaying over to his puissant belongings, which were begging for use outside of his and Youya’s sparring. Here was a katana handed down to him by his father, and white drapery he dressed himself in on casual outings. He wasn’t the best suited or prepared, but that never seemed to stop him.
“Okay. I’m ready to head out.” Vincent said, in his regular deep humdrum.
“What a lovely Miss we have here!” He wheezed and chuckled at his own disregard for Vincent’s traditions.
The more quips Alister made, the harder Vincent rolled his eyes every time. Pretty soon, his responsive light punts might have to start turning into full-fledged punches. Regardless, the two of them headed down to the icon of Concordia itself, the Citadel. In the first few floors was a library, filled with the most arcane knowledge of the world, the most captivating of magic, and the most frightening of terrors. The captives of these enchanting memories painstakingly wrote down their lively stories on books, to carry on for generations, and benefit all of Concordia.
At the gates of the Citadel, tall white and gold pillars stood. So grand, like they were open arms to the world. The gift of knowledge lay just inside, but would said gift be what they were hoping for?
A refined and dandified kirin, named Chen, whose jade features caught the eyes of both the fox and the eagle, moved his attention away from his archiving duties amongst the shelves, and to the newcomers.
“Greetings, dear furfolk. What brings you here?” chimed Chen with the smile of mental wanderlust.
“Hello, we were jus-” Vincent was interrupted by Alister’s hasty needs.
“We were looking for books… no, just any information on the Sword of Evren.”
The kirin lay poised and befuddled, with hazy eyes, and chuckled. “Oh, quite the expertise for such youngsters. But I’m sure the two of you are aware that the Sword of Evren is merely a myth!”
Alister crossed his arms with impatience while Vincent inquired further.
“We know, we just wanted to know more about the tales.” he says with shifty eyes.
“Very well, then. Follow me, they should be down here somewhere.” As he trotted down towards the mezzanine, filled with lofty seats for all manners of creatures to read upon, three figures simultaneously lowered their books. Vincent could see their movements in the corner of his eye, implying their demands for his attention. His mind was being stirred up from what these three strangers could want with him, with their eyes peered on him. After a couple seconds of dead silence, he realized their eyes were actually trained on Alister behind him.
While Alister followed Chen, Vincent ambled sideways, with his head turned to eye their movements.
The faces revealed themselves to be three furfolk, one red panda, whose ragged buccaneering clothes showed as much edge as he did, a tall and lanky griffin, carrying around a showboat of a longbow, and a wise looking goat who trailed off behind them, attempting to avoid conflict.
The red panda was the first one to penetrate the tangible intensity of silence.
“Alister. Oh Alister, I never pictured you spending your time here. Seems you have a new friend?” sounded the words from his trap.
Alister greeted him with an expression the opposite of what was reserved for Vincent, a half pitiful, disagreeable glare. “Moki. I never missed those dead fiery eyes of yours.”
The windows to his gleefully irreverent soul opened wider. “Take a good look at them, before they end up being your last sight.”
Alister stood poised with his fists curled up in frustration, and pupils so compressed they could converge, while Vincent stood baffled and worried, trying to break up the situation.
“Listen, we’re just here for some books about historical sites.” Vincent chimed in.
“Like a certain sword? We know what you two have been up to. I just saw Alister snooping as usual while we were out in the plaza.” said Aspen, matching the vague flare in her griffin eyes.
Alister would have to eat his words, and rope in Vincent even further into his personal dilemma. This was a habit of his, but this time, it would leave Vincent with rope burns.
“Moki, if you would do anything for this sword, you would stoop to measures much lower than that. I know you.” His voice dropped to his lowest baritone when he wrapped his statement up.
“I don’t have to stoop very low, Alister. Unlike you, I have connections. A connection with only the wisest scholar and historian in all of Concordia, Mr. Hembel!”
The ram, who was shied away from the pair of boisterous treasure hunters, cleared his throat and spoke up. “Erm, I’m just helping them out with the details of-”
The ferocious griffin wrapped her arm around Hembel’s mouth, and pushed him back, sending him stumbling to regain his posture, and showing how much they truly cared about Concordia’s heritage.
Silence once again performed its intermission around the quintet of desperados. Swirling in silence around Alister and Moki, edging them on into further tension, until they were almost snout to snout. Aspen and Vincent continued to give awkward, second-hand associated looks at each other, while Hembel stood back, wanting no part of this.
Moki chuckles in the face of Alister. “I’ll tell you what. You go and take that book, and your little eagle friend of yours. Let’s see all the good that’ll do for you. But don’t you forget, that sword is mine!” All the rasp, spit, and contained fury a red panda could muster came out on his last, selfish word.
Alister jolted back at his utterance, and Vincent followed him to the front, not saying a word. The infuriating chuckle of Moki stirred up something within Vincent. The glare he gave back at Moki from the side of his eye was just a sign of things to come. He wanted to pierce him in more ways than just his stare. He would for Alister. For Concordia.
After leaving with the book, Alister and Vincent sat on the bench of a stone pavilion in the shade, overlooking the shore. Here, they laid out their plans. The proposed location, based on the anthology they acquired, was across the westward mountains, and into a dense forest, which despite being so close to the inhabited Concordia, was relatively uncharted. There laid the X.
“This… is ridiculous… but doable… I think.” Vincent claimed with poignant uncertainty.
“Yeah. Especially with the Gandava Trail. That will save us a lot of time and effort.” He eyed a nearby supply store. “Now, it’s supposed to be located inside a cave. I don’t know how much caving you’ve done, but we can get some supplies. Hell, if we hitch a ride on a mount, we could be there by tonight.”
“Caves? I’m not sure about this.” Vincent hesitated with mild shakiness in his voice.
“Okay. I guess you’re going to have to follow my lead. How about guns? You know how to work them?”
“I do, but I don’t have any.” Vincent replied.
Alister sighed at all the hands-on experience Vincent could have obtained, yet lacked. He covered his eyes in overwhelming plan management.
“I say we just go in there. I have a spare rifle, or pistol, or whatever you need to borrow.”
“Oh yes, that’ll do. Thanks again.” Vincent said, reassured.
“No worries. But I suggest we prepare soon. Who knows how far Moki and his ragtag team are.
“I’m just going to run home real quick. I need to get my own supplies too. I also need to tell my mother I love her very much” he coveted with his eyes in contemplative closure.
Alister scoffed. “Just be at the mounting post in about thirty minutes, alright? We gotta get a move on.”
“Understood.” Vincent hurried back to his house.
When he returned, the mounting post waited for the two of them like an inflexible teacher waits for her students. All over, various mercantile, and ultimately altruistic creatures who amulated on their four legs, yet with all the same sentience and intelligence as the furfolk they served, stood to carry their passengers to their desired location. Not without a handsome pension, of course. Alister wilfully paid a bag of coins for a mount, this one being a reluctant dragon. Some of these creatures were more willing than others. Every dragon they came across seemed to be doing it for personal reasons, or desperation, or anything besides altruism for furfolk.
Before they hitched themselves on, Alister whispered to Vincent. “Now remember, do not mention anything about the sword. It should only be about a twenty minute flight. You can hold on, right?”
Vincent’s eyebrows curled in displeased confusion. “Of course I can.”
With their priorities straight, they hitched themselves onto the burly scaled figure this dragon featured. Given how lucrative and archaic, yet widespread this practice was, every one which volunteered to be a mount could get away with all the sorts of furnishings they could embellish themselves with, as long as they had an accommodating saddle approved by Concordia. The dragons, not so much. They’d rather ride in silence with their mind shut to the demeaning necessity.
The feeling of the wind brushing their face like a waterfall, the speed overtaking their bodies, and the defiance of gravity was an immense marvel for all furfolk. Taking in the sights of Concordia below, with a horizon expanding to limits they never knew were possible, Vincent clung with a small, delighted smile.
He was alone with Alister, the dragon, and the refreshingly breezy zephyr. He could not contain his youthful wanderlust. “Concordia is so beautiful from up here.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Alister said, with his lack of appetite for any hint of sappiness, and his desire for the sword.
Minutes pass by. Over the mountains, the bereft dragon comments on their desired trip with a grand, gravelly voice.
“So, tell me more about your little trip. What’s so special about this place?”
Vincent and Alister look at each other in disquietude for several nerve wracking seconds.
“Well?” The subservient dragon queried.
“We’re just… headed to the Glengully Forest for… a little trip, just the two of us.” said Alister.
“Romantic'' he bantered. “Wonder what’s over there that would make a pair of furfolk yearn to visit, for just a little trip.”
“We’re just looking for some old artifacts.” Vincent said, with the persuading power of honest vagueness.
“Old artifacts, huh? Sure, that place might be enchanted and everything, but if you think you can just walk in, wade around, and take your time in there without getting yourselves hurt, or whatever the Mavericks know can happen down there, think again. The amount of riders I’ve taken there who have never come back… it would pain me to lift all of those coins.” Was he just trying to scare them, or was he just too jaded to give a genuine response about helping furfolk. There is no way to turn back now.
Alister pulled lines and struck nerves like he did in many regards, responding “You don’t scare me.”
Vincent guffawed in a worried stupor at his travel partner, wondering how much gumption he had to brazenly laugh in the face of danger, let alone give justifiable suspicion to a dragon of all creatures. Did he really deserve such a prized sword? He would rather turn back and go home. Nevertheless, their journey had just begun.
The sylvan expanse of Glengully laid anticipating them underneath the clouds. The dayglo of green had turned to gold with the setting sun. Ripe for their consumption, and pillaging. With their magnanimous ride coming in for a landing, and stopping at a loud and forceful thump into the ground, carving out a skidded path from his paws, they had been greeted to Glengully’s bounty. Yet out of the bushes, they saw the three silhouettes of the rival fossickers. Even more eager and bloodthirsty than what they had encountered back in the library. They were here to let them know, they wouldn’t let them merely get away with what was rightfully theirs.
Moki stepped forth, concealing danger behind his back, occupied by both of his hands. He spoke with the same acuteness. “I didn’t expect you would come out all this way, Alister!”
“Did you think I was just bluffing?”
“Calm down, old friend” the red panda slyly remarked, with a mien so cloudy and jovial, it was hard to tell if it was sarcastic. “It’s just that you always relied on me. I was always the one to make the first moves, right?” The façade of friendliness had been juiced dry within seconds.
Alister’s eye twitched with frustration, blurring him, like he was reducing him mentally to ash with his stare. His deepest desires shone in his vision.
“Come on, Moki, let us not waste time with these idiots.” Aspen’s eyes shined brighter. She was ready to make her way into the labyrinth of the cave. Moki quickly followed suit. The several seconds that passed them by felt like minutes, with the sun setting further on their competence.
With the chagrined Hembel following the feistier fiends on his fine hooves, Alister rushed in, with Vincent on his shoulder, attempting to slow him down. Inviting at first, the catacombs immediately opened up to a bright expanse of sparkling gemstones. It was a wonder to behold, and so ready to make any visitors rich. This cavern was lucky to stay out of sight within the forest. Into the welcoming abyss the five furfolk trekked.
Once they had passed the crystalline expanse, Vincent broke out his flashlight. Seed-coated lava tubes greeted them, with only small blue hints of light here and there, shining on the serpentine-like walls. These tubes laid dormant for a long time, yet something seemed fresh about them. Like something or someone had graced them before. It’s hard to know if anyone had come this way before.
Their musing was answered from the sight of near-east Aneriad runes. Vincent didn’t think much of it, and he had forgotten most of what he had read about their former empire. It was interesting seeing their ruins all the way on the next continent over, however. Neither of them knew what they meant, so they pressed on. That was until they reached a turn with golden light coming from the other end.
The pathway exited to a pillar with golden rails surrounding it, with their own inscribed runes. The only thing more daunting than its preternatural glow was the three other openings in the cave that stood juxtaposed to them.
“Do they know where we are?” urged Vincent, trying to make a mental map of their whereabouts.
“I hope not. Quite frankly, I hope they get lost.” Alister groused.
“What about us?” urged Vincent once more with his claws on Alister’s shoulders.
Something stirred.
The ground began to rattle while they stood in the presence of the Aneriad ruins, with their judgment at stake. While the pathways remained open, they were metaphorically closing on their prospects, ready to swallow them up. These entire caverns had been touched and tampered with. Whatever has claimed this place as its domain does not take kindly to trespassers, given the jagged areas around the most tampered caverns. This is hallowed ground.
“Let’s just head this way. If it’s a dead end, we come back. Trust me.” Alister promised. There was nothing else to do in this situation. Just trust.
Vincent silently nodded and followed in his mangy warm footsteps. Surrounded by seedlings, succumbing to solitude, and sweatered in shudder with every step they strode in search of the sepulcher. Somewhere, something stirred. The seething roar trembled the rocky lepidote walls. They were cracking. Cracking in front of Vincent’s step. Farewell, Alister. The ground was hungry for the eagle, and swallowed him up, the fall taking Vincent’s soul and giving it a throbbing he never knew he was capable of feeling, moments before his fate increasingly few meters below, all in his own slow motion.
Wind swept around his eardrums; omniaudient, yet overwhelmed. No matter what forces of magic may roam this world, gravity would always win in the end. It was up to nature to spare Vincent mercy. With a sudden shocking splash into a pool of murky water, drowning out his sight and his sound, nature held him in safety with an iron grip. In a panic, he flailed his arms in hopes of the hazy cavern air. Out of this maledict lagoon, he was surrounded by darkness. Darkness in every corner. Only vague mazarine shapes, what must have been stalagmites, gave him a sense of coordination. Once his eyes adjusted, and he crawled out amphibiously, he could see them more clearly, with only vague crystalline lights, yet still alone.
From across the lake, he heard the scratchy mutterings echoing through the cavern. He saw the glowing glare of something. Something with its eyes trained on his most gentle and frail movements. He was not alone. It was Moki, and he had been seemingly dragged through the mud, and his garb torn and ragged. How long has it been? Such worldly questions couldn’t be unanswered. The closer Moki drew, the more Vincent lost his grasp on more than just time. With the gentle steps of his paws, he came into full view, illuminated by only one solitary purple crystal, commemorating their standoff.
Two steps closer from Moki, one step back for Vincent. “Where’s your friend?” he questioned.
Timid silence kept him at bay, still recovering from what he had just experienced.
Moki snapped. “Where is Alister?” exclaiming so loud, his lungs could have given in, while the cavern repeated it for what must have been several seconds.
“I don’t know! I just fell down here, and we were separated!” he said with his eyes showing the cringing within him.
Moki looked up at the tiny pinprick of light, with radiating cracks. Alister could have been ensnared just the same. Vincent followed suit, only to be met with the barrel of Moki’s revolver. Vincent was paralyzed in cold trepidation.
“I’m going to have to kill at least one of you. I’ve had plenty of chances to do this.” Moki proclaimed.
Something stirred, faintly. The faint rumbling did not stop.
“Moki, please don’t do this. I’m pretty sure we have to be nearby at this point. If I find it, I’ll give it to you.” Vincent pleaded pitifully.
The stirring only grew, so much as to shake Moki off of his balance, on the slippery rocks of the cavern floor. Vincent dived back into the murky water, in hopes of another exit. As Youya told him, it was better to avoid a fight if possible. If this is all there is to the cave, he would be trapped with the thief. As pitiful as it was, death was a better option than surrender, and Vincent knew this deep down. He believed his white lie would free him.
Moki’s clawed hand penetrated his right elbow, and pulled him up once more. It was the end of the road.
“You little bird-brain. Don’t think you can hide from me!” blurted Moki, with his revolver pressed to Vincent’s chin.
Vincent held his breath for four seconds. In a flash of his own movement, he wrestled his gun enough to point it away, while Moki shot off two shots in his attempt to fill his skull with lead. Both deafening. Whatever motions Moki was making with his mouth, they were rendered moot. In quick succession, Vincent punched him underneath Moki’s chin, wrapped his arms around his head, and likewise with each other’s legs, and threw him into the water face first, in one fell swoop. With his opponent’s senses being deprived, now was his chance. The small crystals guided his path enough to find another tube-like passage at the far end of the cave. The vague splashing of Moki stopped, and he heard another shot behind him. He didn’t look back. Only forwards.
At the seam of this passage, two choices, both pitch black. He could not go back the way he came, unless he felt a desperate sorrow for self-flagellating, and his pitiful attempts at lying. He pulled out his flashlight. The structure of these three pathways seemed like one of them was the entrance Moki came in through, with one passage to the left, and to the right. Seemed like he chose the right, so the leftward passage, just in front, was the one he neglected to choose. Dampish footsteps followed. Don’t let him see you. Run.
He quickly shut off his flashlight to not give away his position, and bolted down the corridor. If his soles gave into the slipperiness, he would slide if he had to. The further he was from the baffling former friend of Alister, the better. Everything is so endless. Sounds so personally harrowing they were tangible. No turning back. Here he was with only hope he could escape his wrath. That was when the cavern opened once more. The vague silhouette of Aspen and Hembel stood in the other corner. He froze, covered his mouth, and hid on the side of the cavern’s opening, trying to train his ears on their conversation, without being discovered.
“I can see a light! An opalescent light.” Hembel gawked.
Aspen stared dumbfounded. “Opal? Looks more blue to me, but hell, whatever color this treasure is, I’ll take it.”
Vincent inched forward.
“It might be nearby, unless it is merely super bright, reflecting off the cave walls.” Hembel observed with his acclaimed wits.
Step by step, Vincent approached with a knife in his hand.
“Get ready. Anything can happen down here.” Aspen commanded.
Vincent could take both out, but it was truly Aspen he desired. She was an uncanny reflection of Moki, while Hembel was renowned, intelligent, and in this case, helpless. Vincent did bring a small carbine, but it would give himself away quickly, and he figured he might need it on the way out. As the two partners in crime commenced forth, Vincent’s skittering footsteps sped up, and he plunged his knife right into Aspen’s back, and left it there, while he swiftly hopped behind Hembel to tackle him to the ground. The ram cowered and gave in before he could drop unconscious.
“Please! Please spare me!” The ram’s cries were bleating in nature, and so feeble, he would feel bad for inflicting worse upon him.
With Aspen on the ground and writhing, he pulled the knife out without a word. Only her cries eased his mind. He carried into the opaline tunnel, while Hembel picked himself up and followed timidly.
Here it was. A massive glimmering azure chasm, with various narrow entrances, for only the most stalwart of adventurers. As Hembel cowered up behind him, Vincent shoved him off. In the center was a gleaming blade which all the light in the room emanated from. The treasure was so intricate in its design, it couldn’t have been forged by any mortal being. Inscribed spirals and strange runes wove their intricate fabric into the sword itself. It was divine. It was a masterpiece. The sword itself was surrounded by more of the same Aneriad frames and structures. Clearly the gutsy spelunkers were not the first ones here, but it seemed whoever found it first left it here for them to find. He inched closer. As he drew near, his talon hand became warm. Pleasantly warm. No matter how hot he felt, he felt a personal affinity for the sword. It’s as if it was meant for him. He was becoming shrouded in the opaline glow, and right before he laid his hand on the hilt, Aspen and Moki rushed in with their guns, and bows, aimed at the center. But it was too late for them. Vincent’s mortal talons laid their dominion onto the artifact.
That was when it stirred once more.
Not only did it stir; its light only emanated brighter, like it was begging to be set free from its vexing metallic prison.
Laying there in all his propped up divine status, like on a grand azure pedestal, time seemed to slow down. No one could resist the sword’s power. Alister stepped in, somewhat damaged, and coated in silk. No one knows what horrors he had seen out in the caverns but him. Now his partner had been thrust into entanglement with something no one could have foretold.
A nebulous dragon appeared before them. Evren himself. One whose entire body, while seemingly covered in periwinkle fur from his string-like sinewy tail, all the way up to his face, that of a white wolf. A grand display of antlers donned his head, converging at the top. His chassis wrapped around the circular dome of the room, enchanting everyone with the arabesque of stars and blue nebulae encased within him, as if he housed them within. Vincent tried to reach to feel his majesty, but his hand phased through. The inside, however, granted him an otherworldly feeling of bliss and energy he couldn’t pinpoint. Everyone bowed. He shall wake.
He lifted his head up towards the roof of the cavern, and boomed with a voice he felt from inside. “Who has woken me from my arduous slumber?” His all-seeing eyes opened their eyelids to the labyrinth, eyeing these spawn for the first time.
“You, Vincent.”
Vincent stood paralyzed in awe, and so did his kinsmen. All of them discerned. Discerned from shadows of echoes on the cave walls. The all-hearing ears recollect.
“It shall be you who will free me from this state of anathema.” This deity spoke of its final demands with an inquisitive tongue, yet an oversoul showing eons of degradation.
Vincent stared dumbfounded and befuddled. Why him? What exactly was this deity asking of him? His mannerisms seemed peculiar for a divine being, especially one as notorious as Evren. Hembel, Concordia’s finest scholar, could not shake the tension rolling inside his head on the potentially insidious nature of this forgotten deity. Maybe Vincent made a mistake laying his hands on his relic of a sword.
“I knew someone like you would come. Your moment of glory shall arise, and I shall grant you much favor. So much favor. More than you can imagine.” Evren’s snout leaned right up to Vincent’s torso, lingering for what seemed as eternal as the dragon’s enclosure in his sword.
“I do not understand.” interjected Hembel. “Have you been imprisoned? Have the Mavericks above banished you?”
“I will have none of this!” replied the draconic overlord. “Vincent shall guide this world to redemption, and he shall free me. Leave us to our own devices, at once!” Once again, the cavern stirred. Pathways crumbling and closing in. Echoing the sound. Vincent was the first to scarper out of the enclosing grotto. The only choice was the path Alister chose.
Immediately, they were greeted with the shadow of the legs of one of the Great Laceserelli. The ground was coated in its forbidden silk, and its legs stretched to ensnare any unfortunate prey. Its screeching was horrid. So horrid. Alister could hardly stand the moment it shrieked. Cowering on his knees, Vincent carried him forth. The holy sword would gleam, and lead their path. The creature was so dark and smooth, it was practically featureless. They mustn’t make a single sound, so Vincent held his breath while covering Alister’s mouth, who had his eyes trapped forever with the beast the moment he laid eyes on it.
Vincent was essentially chained to this sword, a divine piece of metal he couldn’t begin to understand, let alone use. It was unlike the one he donned at home. As long as no one trusted him to save them.
The quietude of their footsteps came to a shrieking halt as one of its legs penetrated the abdomen of Aspen. Twice battered. At once, gone. Shredded by darkness.
The rest of them scurried off with their lives at stake. Within one of the lava tubes, an unholy sight. The side had been blown open to reveal a nesting ground, with the enormous sludgy sac of the queen the only thing illuminated, simmering by a trail of lava. The four took a long look. If burning this mental image into their mind wasn’t enough, the queen took notice, and spattered out corrosive phlegm, corrosive enough to burn the rocks behind them. She defended in tandem with her spawn. The remaining four scrambled out. Unfortunately, Alister remained on the long route to Evren’s chamber. The journey back may not be perilous, to the best of the group’s hopes, but it will wear them out. Hembel was not one for physical tasks or strength, and had been so thoroughly traumatized by the entire trip, keeping on seemed out of reach.
The entire return trip was silent. Minutes upon minutes of grueling, stressful, excruciating dread. Each one ready to fight the other. Bloodthirsty. Envious. Worn. Across the swallowing chasm the quartet leapt. The tunnel echoed the crying of humiliation. Look at what they had been reduced to. Only Vincent was able to keep on with the determination Evren invigorated him with.
Moki pierced Vincent’s heart with his threats. “Vincent, just so you know, your God cannot protect against your own idiocy.”
Vincent trudged on, this time with his eyes firmly shut to the realities right in front of him.
They returned not to sunlight, but moonlight. Hours had turned to sand. The aquamarine fluorescence of the sword shines brighter on the grass than the moon. Even Vincent had been worn down by the escapade, and slowly but surely his hands gave in, sweating from the damp heat, from the blade’s incredibly heavy burden.
Once outside, the vitriol Moki carried within his heart was unleashed before Vincent could sheath Evren’s divine falchion. Immediately, Alister was struck from behind by a dagger Moki carried. He was able to carry on, and ran in fear, in spite of his aching wound.
“You can run all you want! I will find you!” Moki yelled. In the heart-pounding moment both Vincent and Moki drew their guns. Alister remained aching.
The intimidating power behind Moki’s rifle, every time he pulled the lever, and bumped the stock against his torso was enough to quell Vincent’s hysteria, and allow him to focus on his draw. With a slow and steady arm, he greeted the trigger with his finger, ready for a kill. But suddenly, a shot rang out, and struck Vincent in his left leg. The anguish shot out throughout his whole body, separating his soul from his body in a flash. He trembled to his knees, and joined Alister behind a bush where he began bandaging himself up. His wound was nasty enough to yearn for running home. Vincent stuck his leg out in hopes Alister would at least try to heal it. Suddenly, shots flew through the bush, Moki knowing they were cowering from his ire.
“You wanted this, Alister! If you wanted to rope your giddy little friend into this, fine by me. Now I have to stamp both of you out.” Moki threatened.
Vincent had the advantage of not needing to pull any levers. Just pull to shoot. There was a narrow opening within the bush that allowed a sight of Moki. In that instance, Hembel appeared from behind. His sudden appearance alerted Vincent, who spontaneously laid a few bullets into Moki, and one into Hembel’s arm. While Moki was injured enough to remain incapacitated, breathing, but unconscious, the ramifications of shooting Concordia’s most renowned historian would not go unpunished. In shock and anguish, Hembel ran bleating.
“Let the sheep be.” muttered Alister into Vincent’s ear.
The circumstances overtook Vincent, who collapsed from his debilitation, and the slow loss of blood. In that moment, he felt the magical aura from his prized sword dissipate.
“It’s okay, bud.” Alister smirked.
In the night’s last few waking moments, he saw the ochre moon begin to set. The sun was not long for this night. He could see the blurry image of Hembel inching his way towards Vincent, as if he were a savage animal. From the other corner, Alister’s paw reached for his sword, and ran away into the woods. All Vincent could do was let out a chilling cold whimper of his betrayal. His scurrying footsteps demonstrated the cunning stampede of malice he knew Alister possessed. It’s amazing how he ever trusted him. Even if Hembel leads him towards imprisonment, it would be better than letting Alister ever take hold of his trust once more, never to betray it again. As the light started to fade, and his eyes closed, the embrace of the satin coated Hembel offered a bizarre comfort in the harsh Glengully wilderness.
Thus concluded Vincent’s first revision. Everything has been set in motion.
Be sure to stay tuned for the next installment– Act 1, Chapter 2: Entanglement.
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It's 21 pages, and 6,522 words.
We are at the edge of a spiral galaxy, far from the galactic core. A brilliant rock looms languidly in the expanse. This planet, Isekai, is a refuge. Home to millions of peculiar creatures that can only be grasped by the imagination. Others, more familiar. For millennia, these creatures have gritted their teeth at one another, and made their daggers sharper. But there is one shining beacon of hope whose grand central Citadel stands tall as a greeting for those who are willing to put their differences aside, the great city of Concordia. Underneath the gleaming streets stood a grand basilican hub of trade and technological development. It was a testament to the ingenuity of the furfolk. However, during the Great War which ravaged the world 200 years ago, it was reduced to ashes. In a grandstanding feat, it attracted sympathies from even the most marauding of dragons. A collection of the world’s greatest minds came together to rebuild, in hopes all of Isekai could live in unity, living anew. It was in the pursuit of the hunt that they had expanded their potential, and found it within themselves to build new, unimaginable creations. Only now do they tackle the endeavor of living amongst each other. They have learned to live, to feast, to build, and to fight.
On the outskirts of Concordia, over the rolling green plains, two furfolk invite the cracking of mahogany into their minds. The striking from their rapid synchronized movements spurted out and kept them in their tranquil bedlam. It was Vincent, the furfolk eagle whose youthful talons for feet snapped the training boards cleanly in half. He followed after the one who had trained him thoroughly over the past year, Youya, whose furfolk bovine hooves likewise maneuvered around Vincent, to guide her student, where to strike, what speed, and what angle. Watching the splinters pile up beneath the sandals of the soaring eagle, she could tell, that her years of assertive counseling were paying off.
She reached for their discarded materials to pick up a wooden sword for him. “Very well, Vincent! Now, let’s see you put it all together while we still have some time.”
Vincent responded with his wintry parol, “Very well.”
With the imaginary blade of timber in his hand, he struck the propped up dummy with all the coordination he could muster. He still had a ways to go, but the blows he dealt were enough to knock the dummy out if it were real. Combined with the kick of his talons, he was unstoppable, as long as they didn’t fight back. Everything he had practiced today culminated in this. All his focus was on the form he had slowly shaped. Even the ocean’s dazzling reflection of the sunrise in the corner of his eye couldn’t take his mind off.
But the unexpected arrival of his friend, and part time partner-in-crime, Alister, caught him off guard as he meandered his way towards them along the gravel road succeeding the rigid fence posts.
“Hey, Vincent! Are you just about done?” He shouted with little regard for the aether’s tranquility.
“Alister? Don’t worry, I’m almost-” Once he laid his eyes off his foe, the linkage of his body with his mind was broken, and the cascade spread through his body, leaving him in an awkward position, and sending him tumbling to the grass below.
Youya stood poised with her displeased arms crossed. While she glared at Alister, her normally tangy and honey-sweet voice oozed like vinegar in pedantic condescension. “Vincent, why did you fall?”
Vincent picked his beak up from the dirt he ate. “I… I lost my… focus…” he mustered in his abashed stupor.
“I will be sure to take note of that next time.” She ambled over to offer him a hand to help him up, and took a beat, reassuring herself of her affirming nature towards Vincent and his progress. “But don’t let it get to you, the rest of your performance was stunning.”
“Thank you, again, Youya. It’s always a pleasure to train with you!” His timid smile returned.
“Always, my dear.” The two of them tardily shook hands.
Vincent directed his gaze back at Alister, through the eyes of ambivalence. In this moment, he could serve as a target for his vitriol. “Alister! You interrupted my move!” He exclaimed with a shouty rasp, his voice’s equal and opposite.
With his fox’s wit, he rebutted, “Don’t look at me, you’re the one who should have kept your focus.”
Vincent sighed to himself and leaned his elbows on the fence posts.
“Fine. Fine.”
Alister lifted up his mutineering legs above the fence, climbing it, and hopping to Vincent’s side. His scheming eyes pressed time harder than time itself. “Well, cheer up bud.” He said with his signature sly snark. “Do I have an opportunity for the two of us!”
Vincent’s eyes sparked with a tiny bit of enthusiasm. “What is it this time?”
“I overheard an ‘old friend’ of mine talking about an artifact so legendary, yet so forgotten, almost no one knows of its existence, and it’s supposed to lie just outside of Concordia.” Even his body language was giddy at the thought of it. Vincent, however, was unimpressed.
“How many times do I have to risk life and limb for something you want? We’ve been through this before. I want no part of it. And besides, how do you even know it exists?” He interrogated his desires.
“Let’s just say I paid my old friend a visit. By that, I mean I overheard him and two others, one I think was this famous historian, who brought it up. Now, he’s on a quest.”
Vincent nodded while listening to his screed. “What do I get out of this?”
“We can sell it, and split the money, fifty-fifty. I promise you.”
Vincent laid his elbows on the posts, and the sides of his hands running along the bridges over his eyes, while they were shut, as if protecting them from the world, to ponder in solitude.
“Fine. I’ll help you. Just give me some time to get my bearings.” He said while limply swaying over to his puissant belongings, which were begging for use outside of his and Youya’s sparring. Here was a katana handed down to him by his father, and white drapery he dressed himself in on casual outings. He wasn’t the best suited or prepared, but that never seemed to stop him.
“Okay. I’m ready to head out.” Vincent said, in his regular deep humdrum.
“What a lovely Miss we have here!” He wheezed and chuckled at his own disregard for Vincent’s traditions.
The more quips Alister made, the harder Vincent rolled his eyes every time. Pretty soon, his responsive light punts might have to start turning into full-fledged punches. Regardless, the two of them headed down to the icon of Concordia itself, the Citadel. In the first few floors was a library, filled with the most arcane knowledge of the world, the most captivating of magic, and the most frightening of terrors. The captives of these enchanting memories painstakingly wrote down their lively stories on books, to carry on for generations, and benefit all of Concordia.
At the gates of the Citadel, tall white and gold pillars stood. So grand, like they were open arms to the world. The gift of knowledge lay just inside, but would said gift be what they were hoping for?
A refined and dandified kirin, named Chen, whose jade features caught the eyes of both the fox and the eagle, moved his attention away from his archiving duties amongst the shelves, and to the newcomers.
“Greetings, dear furfolk. What brings you here?” chimed Chen with the smile of mental wanderlust.
“Hello, we were jus-” Vincent was interrupted by Alister’s hasty needs.
“We were looking for books… no, just any information on the Sword of Evren.”
The kirin lay poised and befuddled, with hazy eyes, and chuckled. “Oh, quite the expertise for such youngsters. But I’m sure the two of you are aware that the Sword of Evren is merely a myth!”
Alister crossed his arms with impatience while Vincent inquired further.
“We know, we just wanted to know more about the tales.” he says with shifty eyes.
“Very well, then. Follow me, they should be down here somewhere.” As he trotted down towards the mezzanine, filled with lofty seats for all manners of creatures to read upon, three figures simultaneously lowered their books. Vincent could see their movements in the corner of his eye, implying their demands for his attention. His mind was being stirred up from what these three strangers could want with him, with their eyes peered on him. After a couple seconds of dead silence, he realized their eyes were actually trained on Alister behind him.
While Alister followed Chen, Vincent ambled sideways, with his head turned to eye their movements.
The faces revealed themselves to be three furfolk, one red panda, whose ragged buccaneering clothes showed as much edge as he did, a tall and lanky griffin, carrying around a showboat of a longbow, and a wise looking goat who trailed off behind them, attempting to avoid conflict.
The red panda was the first one to penetrate the tangible intensity of silence.
“Alister. Oh Alister, I never pictured you spending your time here. Seems you have a new friend?” sounded the words from his trap.
Alister greeted him with an expression the opposite of what was reserved for Vincent, a half pitiful, disagreeable glare. “Moki. I never missed those dead fiery eyes of yours.”
The windows to his gleefully irreverent soul opened wider. “Take a good look at them, before they end up being your last sight.”
Alister stood poised with his fists curled up in frustration, and pupils so compressed they could converge, while Vincent stood baffled and worried, trying to break up the situation.
“Listen, we’re just here for some books about historical sites.” Vincent chimed in.
“Like a certain sword? We know what you two have been up to. I just saw Alister snooping as usual while we were out in the plaza.” said Aspen, matching the vague flare in her griffin eyes.
Alister would have to eat his words, and rope in Vincent even further into his personal dilemma. This was a habit of his, but this time, it would leave Vincent with rope burns.
“Moki, if you would do anything for this sword, you would stoop to measures much lower than that. I know you.” His voice dropped to his lowest baritone when he wrapped his statement up.
“I don’t have to stoop very low, Alister. Unlike you, I have connections. A connection with only the wisest scholar and historian in all of Concordia, Mr. Hembel!”
The ram, who was shied away from the pair of boisterous treasure hunters, cleared his throat and spoke up. “Erm, I’m just helping them out with the details of-”
The ferocious griffin wrapped her arm around Hembel’s mouth, and pushed him back, sending him stumbling to regain his posture, and showing how much they truly cared about Concordia’s heritage.
Silence once again performed its intermission around the quintet of desperados. Swirling in silence around Alister and Moki, edging them on into further tension, until they were almost snout to snout. Aspen and Vincent continued to give awkward, second-hand associated looks at each other, while Hembel stood back, wanting no part of this.
Moki chuckles in the face of Alister. “I’ll tell you what. You go and take that book, and your little eagle friend of yours. Let’s see all the good that’ll do for you. But don’t you forget, that sword is mine!” All the rasp, spit, and contained fury a red panda could muster came out on his last, selfish word.
Alister jolted back at his utterance, and Vincent followed him to the front, not saying a word. The infuriating chuckle of Moki stirred up something within Vincent. The glare he gave back at Moki from the side of his eye was just a sign of things to come. He wanted to pierce him in more ways than just his stare. He would for Alister. For Concordia.
After leaving with the book, Alister and Vincent sat on the bench of a stone pavilion in the shade, overlooking the shore. Here, they laid out their plans. The proposed location, based on the anthology they acquired, was across the westward mountains, and into a dense forest, which despite being so close to the inhabited Concordia, was relatively uncharted. There laid the X.
“This… is ridiculous… but doable… I think.” Vincent claimed with poignant uncertainty.
“Yeah. Especially with the Gandava Trail. That will save us a lot of time and effort.” He eyed a nearby supply store. “Now, it’s supposed to be located inside a cave. I don’t know how much caving you’ve done, but we can get some supplies. Hell, if we hitch a ride on a mount, we could be there by tonight.”
“Caves? I’m not sure about this.” Vincent hesitated with mild shakiness in his voice.
“Okay. I guess you’re going to have to follow my lead. How about guns? You know how to work them?”
“I do, but I don’t have any.” Vincent replied.
Alister sighed at all the hands-on experience Vincent could have obtained, yet lacked. He covered his eyes in overwhelming plan management.
“I say we just go in there. I have a spare rifle, or pistol, or whatever you need to borrow.”
“Oh yes, that’ll do. Thanks again.” Vincent said, reassured.
“No worries. But I suggest we prepare soon. Who knows how far Moki and his ragtag team are.
“I’m just going to run home real quick. I need to get my own supplies too. I also need to tell my mother I love her very much” he coveted with his eyes in contemplative closure.
Alister scoffed. “Just be at the mounting post in about thirty minutes, alright? We gotta get a move on.”
“Understood.” Vincent hurried back to his house.
When he returned, the mounting post waited for the two of them like an inflexible teacher waits for her students. All over, various mercantile, and ultimately altruistic creatures who amulated on their four legs, yet with all the same sentience and intelligence as the furfolk they served, stood to carry their passengers to their desired location. Not without a handsome pension, of course. Alister wilfully paid a bag of coins for a mount, this one being a reluctant dragon. Some of these creatures were more willing than others. Every dragon they came across seemed to be doing it for personal reasons, or desperation, or anything besides altruism for furfolk.
Before they hitched themselves on, Alister whispered to Vincent. “Now remember, do not mention anything about the sword. It should only be about a twenty minute flight. You can hold on, right?”
Vincent’s eyebrows curled in displeased confusion. “Of course I can.”
With their priorities straight, they hitched themselves onto the burly scaled figure this dragon featured. Given how lucrative and archaic, yet widespread this practice was, every one which volunteered to be a mount could get away with all the sorts of furnishings they could embellish themselves with, as long as they had an accommodating saddle approved by Concordia. The dragons, not so much. They’d rather ride in silence with their mind shut to the demeaning necessity.
The feeling of the wind brushing their face like a waterfall, the speed overtaking their bodies, and the defiance of gravity was an immense marvel for all furfolk. Taking in the sights of Concordia below, with a horizon expanding to limits they never knew were possible, Vincent clung with a small, delighted smile.
He was alone with Alister, the dragon, and the refreshingly breezy zephyr. He could not contain his youthful wanderlust. “Concordia is so beautiful from up here.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Alister said, with his lack of appetite for any hint of sappiness, and his desire for the sword.
Minutes pass by. Over the mountains, the bereft dragon comments on their desired trip with a grand, gravelly voice.
“So, tell me more about your little trip. What’s so special about this place?”
Vincent and Alister look at each other in disquietude for several nerve wracking seconds.
“Well?” The subservient dragon queried.
“We’re just… headed to the Glengully Forest for… a little trip, just the two of us.” said Alister.
“Romantic'' he bantered. “Wonder what’s over there that would make a pair of furfolk yearn to visit, for just a little trip.”
“We’re just looking for some old artifacts.” Vincent said, with the persuading power of honest vagueness.
“Old artifacts, huh? Sure, that place might be enchanted and everything, but if you think you can just walk in, wade around, and take your time in there without getting yourselves hurt, or whatever the Mavericks know can happen down there, think again. The amount of riders I’ve taken there who have never come back… it would pain me to lift all of those coins.” Was he just trying to scare them, or was he just too jaded to give a genuine response about helping furfolk. There is no way to turn back now.
Alister pulled lines and struck nerves like he did in many regards, responding “You don’t scare me.”
Vincent guffawed in a worried stupor at his travel partner, wondering how much gumption he had to brazenly laugh in the face of danger, let alone give justifiable suspicion to a dragon of all creatures. Did he really deserve such a prized sword? He would rather turn back and go home. Nevertheless, their journey had just begun.
The sylvan expanse of Glengully laid anticipating them underneath the clouds. The dayglo of green had turned to gold with the setting sun. Ripe for their consumption, and pillaging. With their magnanimous ride coming in for a landing, and stopping at a loud and forceful thump into the ground, carving out a skidded path from his paws, they had been greeted to Glengully’s bounty. Yet out of the bushes, they saw the three silhouettes of the rival fossickers. Even more eager and bloodthirsty than what they had encountered back in the library. They were here to let them know, they wouldn’t let them merely get away with what was rightfully theirs.
Moki stepped forth, concealing danger behind his back, occupied by both of his hands. He spoke with the same acuteness. “I didn’t expect you would come out all this way, Alister!”
“Did you think I was just bluffing?”
“Calm down, old friend” the red panda slyly remarked, with a mien so cloudy and jovial, it was hard to tell if it was sarcastic. “It’s just that you always relied on me. I was always the one to make the first moves, right?” The façade of friendliness had been juiced dry within seconds.
Alister’s eye twitched with frustration, blurring him, like he was reducing him mentally to ash with his stare. His deepest desires shone in his vision.
“Come on, Moki, let us not waste time with these idiots.” Aspen’s eyes shined brighter. She was ready to make her way into the labyrinth of the cave. Moki quickly followed suit. The several seconds that passed them by felt like minutes, with the sun setting further on their competence.
With the chagrined Hembel following the feistier fiends on his fine hooves, Alister rushed in, with Vincent on his shoulder, attempting to slow him down. Inviting at first, the catacombs immediately opened up to a bright expanse of sparkling gemstones. It was a wonder to behold, and so ready to make any visitors rich. This cavern was lucky to stay out of sight within the forest. Into the welcoming abyss the five furfolk trekked.
Once they had passed the crystalline expanse, Vincent broke out his flashlight. Seed-coated lava tubes greeted them, with only small blue hints of light here and there, shining on the serpentine-like walls. These tubes laid dormant for a long time, yet something seemed fresh about them. Like something or someone had graced them before. It’s hard to know if anyone had come this way before.
Their musing was answered from the sight of near-east Aneriad runes. Vincent didn’t think much of it, and he had forgotten most of what he had read about their former empire. It was interesting seeing their ruins all the way on the next continent over, however. Neither of them knew what they meant, so they pressed on. That was until they reached a turn with golden light coming from the other end.
The pathway exited to a pillar with golden rails surrounding it, with their own inscribed runes. The only thing more daunting than its preternatural glow was the three other openings in the cave that stood juxtaposed to them.
“Do they know where we are?” urged Vincent, trying to make a mental map of their whereabouts.
“I hope not. Quite frankly, I hope they get lost.” Alister groused.
“What about us?” urged Vincent once more with his claws on Alister’s shoulders.
Something stirred.
The ground began to rattle while they stood in the presence of the Aneriad ruins, with their judgment at stake. While the pathways remained open, they were metaphorically closing on their prospects, ready to swallow them up. These entire caverns had been touched and tampered with. Whatever has claimed this place as its domain does not take kindly to trespassers, given the jagged areas around the most tampered caverns. This is hallowed ground.
“Let’s just head this way. If it’s a dead end, we come back. Trust me.” Alister promised. There was nothing else to do in this situation. Just trust.
Vincent silently nodded and followed in his mangy warm footsteps. Surrounded by seedlings, succumbing to solitude, and sweatered in shudder with every step they strode in search of the sepulcher. Somewhere, something stirred. The seething roar trembled the rocky lepidote walls. They were cracking. Cracking in front of Vincent’s step. Farewell, Alister. The ground was hungry for the eagle, and swallowed him up, the fall taking Vincent’s soul and giving it a throbbing he never knew he was capable of feeling, moments before his fate increasingly few meters below, all in his own slow motion.
Wind swept around his eardrums; omniaudient, yet overwhelmed. No matter what forces of magic may roam this world, gravity would always win in the end. It was up to nature to spare Vincent mercy. With a sudden shocking splash into a pool of murky water, drowning out his sight and his sound, nature held him in safety with an iron grip. In a panic, he flailed his arms in hopes of the hazy cavern air. Out of this maledict lagoon, he was surrounded by darkness. Darkness in every corner. Only vague mazarine shapes, what must have been stalagmites, gave him a sense of coordination. Once his eyes adjusted, and he crawled out amphibiously, he could see them more clearly, with only vague crystalline lights, yet still alone.
From across the lake, he heard the scratchy mutterings echoing through the cavern. He saw the glowing glare of something. Something with its eyes trained on his most gentle and frail movements. He was not alone. It was Moki, and he had been seemingly dragged through the mud, and his garb torn and ragged. How long has it been? Such worldly questions couldn’t be unanswered. The closer Moki drew, the more Vincent lost his grasp on more than just time. With the gentle steps of his paws, he came into full view, illuminated by only one solitary purple crystal, commemorating their standoff.
Two steps closer from Moki, one step back for Vincent. “Where’s your friend?” he questioned.
Timid silence kept him at bay, still recovering from what he had just experienced.
Moki snapped. “Where is Alister?” exclaiming so loud, his lungs could have given in, while the cavern repeated it for what must have been several seconds.
“I don’t know! I just fell down here, and we were separated!” he said with his eyes showing the cringing within him.
Moki looked up at the tiny pinprick of light, with radiating cracks. Alister could have been ensnared just the same. Vincent followed suit, only to be met with the barrel of Moki’s revolver. Vincent was paralyzed in cold trepidation.
“I’m going to have to kill at least one of you. I’ve had plenty of chances to do this.” Moki proclaimed.
Something stirred, faintly. The faint rumbling did not stop.
“Moki, please don’t do this. I’m pretty sure we have to be nearby at this point. If I find it, I’ll give it to you.” Vincent pleaded pitifully.
The stirring only grew, so much as to shake Moki off of his balance, on the slippery rocks of the cavern floor. Vincent dived back into the murky water, in hopes of another exit. As Youya told him, it was better to avoid a fight if possible. If this is all there is to the cave, he would be trapped with the thief. As pitiful as it was, death was a better option than surrender, and Vincent knew this deep down. He believed his white lie would free him.
Moki’s clawed hand penetrated his right elbow, and pulled him up once more. It was the end of the road.
“You little bird-brain. Don’t think you can hide from me!” blurted Moki, with his revolver pressed to Vincent’s chin.
Vincent held his breath for four seconds. In a flash of his own movement, he wrestled his gun enough to point it away, while Moki shot off two shots in his attempt to fill his skull with lead. Both deafening. Whatever motions Moki was making with his mouth, they were rendered moot. In quick succession, Vincent punched him underneath Moki’s chin, wrapped his arms around his head, and likewise with each other’s legs, and threw him into the water face first, in one fell swoop. With his opponent’s senses being deprived, now was his chance. The small crystals guided his path enough to find another tube-like passage at the far end of the cave. The vague splashing of Moki stopped, and he heard another shot behind him. He didn’t look back. Only forwards.
At the seam of this passage, two choices, both pitch black. He could not go back the way he came, unless he felt a desperate sorrow for self-flagellating, and his pitiful attempts at lying. He pulled out his flashlight. The structure of these three pathways seemed like one of them was the entrance Moki came in through, with one passage to the left, and to the right. Seemed like he chose the right, so the leftward passage, just in front, was the one he neglected to choose. Dampish footsteps followed. Don’t let him see you. Run.
He quickly shut off his flashlight to not give away his position, and bolted down the corridor. If his soles gave into the slipperiness, he would slide if he had to. The further he was from the baffling former friend of Alister, the better. Everything is so endless. Sounds so personally harrowing they were tangible. No turning back. Here he was with only hope he could escape his wrath. That was when the cavern opened once more. The vague silhouette of Aspen and Hembel stood in the other corner. He froze, covered his mouth, and hid on the side of the cavern’s opening, trying to train his ears on their conversation, without being discovered.
“I can see a light! An opalescent light.” Hembel gawked.
Aspen stared dumbfounded. “Opal? Looks more blue to me, but hell, whatever color this treasure is, I’ll take it.”
Vincent inched forward.
“It might be nearby, unless it is merely super bright, reflecting off the cave walls.” Hembel observed with his acclaimed wits.
Step by step, Vincent approached with a knife in his hand.
“Get ready. Anything can happen down here.” Aspen commanded.
Vincent could take both out, but it was truly Aspen he desired. She was an uncanny reflection of Moki, while Hembel was renowned, intelligent, and in this case, helpless. Vincent did bring a small carbine, but it would give himself away quickly, and he figured he might need it on the way out. As the two partners in crime commenced forth, Vincent’s skittering footsteps sped up, and he plunged his knife right into Aspen’s back, and left it there, while he swiftly hopped behind Hembel to tackle him to the ground. The ram cowered and gave in before he could drop unconscious.
“Please! Please spare me!” The ram’s cries were bleating in nature, and so feeble, he would feel bad for inflicting worse upon him.
With Aspen on the ground and writhing, he pulled the knife out without a word. Only her cries eased his mind. He carried into the opaline tunnel, while Hembel picked himself up and followed timidly.
Here it was. A massive glimmering azure chasm, with various narrow entrances, for only the most stalwart of adventurers. As Hembel cowered up behind him, Vincent shoved him off. In the center was a gleaming blade which all the light in the room emanated from. The treasure was so intricate in its design, it couldn’t have been forged by any mortal being. Inscribed spirals and strange runes wove their intricate fabric into the sword itself. It was divine. It was a masterpiece. The sword itself was surrounded by more of the same Aneriad frames and structures. Clearly the gutsy spelunkers were not the first ones here, but it seemed whoever found it first left it here for them to find. He inched closer. As he drew near, his talon hand became warm. Pleasantly warm. No matter how hot he felt, he felt a personal affinity for the sword. It’s as if it was meant for him. He was becoming shrouded in the opaline glow, and right before he laid his hand on the hilt, Aspen and Moki rushed in with their guns, and bows, aimed at the center. But it was too late for them. Vincent’s mortal talons laid their dominion onto the artifact.
That was when it stirred once more.
Not only did it stir; its light only emanated brighter, like it was begging to be set free from its vexing metallic prison.
Laying there in all his propped up divine status, like on a grand azure pedestal, time seemed to slow down. No one could resist the sword’s power. Alister stepped in, somewhat damaged, and coated in silk. No one knows what horrors he had seen out in the caverns but him. Now his partner had been thrust into entanglement with something no one could have foretold.
A nebulous dragon appeared before them. Evren himself. One whose entire body, while seemingly covered in periwinkle fur from his string-like sinewy tail, all the way up to his face, that of a white wolf. A grand display of antlers donned his head, converging at the top. His chassis wrapped around the circular dome of the room, enchanting everyone with the arabesque of stars and blue nebulae encased within him, as if he housed them within. Vincent tried to reach to feel his majesty, but his hand phased through. The inside, however, granted him an otherworldly feeling of bliss and energy he couldn’t pinpoint. Everyone bowed. He shall wake.
He lifted his head up towards the roof of the cavern, and boomed with a voice he felt from inside. “Who has woken me from my arduous slumber?” His all-seeing eyes opened their eyelids to the labyrinth, eyeing these spawn for the first time.
“You, Vincent.”
Vincent stood paralyzed in awe, and so did his kinsmen. All of them discerned. Discerned from shadows of echoes on the cave walls. The all-hearing ears recollect.
“It shall be you who will free me from this state of anathema.” This deity spoke of its final demands with an inquisitive tongue, yet an oversoul showing eons of degradation.
Vincent stared dumbfounded and befuddled. Why him? What exactly was this deity asking of him? His mannerisms seemed peculiar for a divine being, especially one as notorious as Evren. Hembel, Concordia’s finest scholar, could not shake the tension rolling inside his head on the potentially insidious nature of this forgotten deity. Maybe Vincent made a mistake laying his hands on his relic of a sword.
“I knew someone like you would come. Your moment of glory shall arise, and I shall grant you much favor. So much favor. More than you can imagine.” Evren’s snout leaned right up to Vincent’s torso, lingering for what seemed as eternal as the dragon’s enclosure in his sword.
“I do not understand.” interjected Hembel. “Have you been imprisoned? Have the Mavericks above banished you?”
“I will have none of this!” replied the draconic overlord. “Vincent shall guide this world to redemption, and he shall free me. Leave us to our own devices, at once!” Once again, the cavern stirred. Pathways crumbling and closing in. Echoing the sound. Vincent was the first to scarper out of the enclosing grotto. The only choice was the path Alister chose.
Immediately, they were greeted with the shadow of the legs of one of the Great Laceserelli. The ground was coated in its forbidden silk, and its legs stretched to ensnare any unfortunate prey. Its screeching was horrid. So horrid. Alister could hardly stand the moment it shrieked. Cowering on his knees, Vincent carried him forth. The holy sword would gleam, and lead their path. The creature was so dark and smooth, it was practically featureless. They mustn’t make a single sound, so Vincent held his breath while covering Alister’s mouth, who had his eyes trapped forever with the beast the moment he laid eyes on it.
Vincent was essentially chained to this sword, a divine piece of metal he couldn’t begin to understand, let alone use. It was unlike the one he donned at home. As long as no one trusted him to save them.
The quietude of their footsteps came to a shrieking halt as one of its legs penetrated the abdomen of Aspen. Twice battered. At once, gone. Shredded by darkness.
The rest of them scurried off with their lives at stake. Within one of the lava tubes, an unholy sight. The side had been blown open to reveal a nesting ground, with the enormous sludgy sac of the queen the only thing illuminated, simmering by a trail of lava. The four took a long look. If burning this mental image into their mind wasn’t enough, the queen took notice, and spattered out corrosive phlegm, corrosive enough to burn the rocks behind them. She defended in tandem with her spawn. The remaining four scrambled out. Unfortunately, Alister remained on the long route to Evren’s chamber. The journey back may not be perilous, to the best of the group’s hopes, but it will wear them out. Hembel was not one for physical tasks or strength, and had been so thoroughly traumatized by the entire trip, keeping on seemed out of reach.
The entire return trip was silent. Minutes upon minutes of grueling, stressful, excruciating dread. Each one ready to fight the other. Bloodthirsty. Envious. Worn. Across the swallowing chasm the quartet leapt. The tunnel echoed the crying of humiliation. Look at what they had been reduced to. Only Vincent was able to keep on with the determination Evren invigorated him with.
Moki pierced Vincent’s heart with his threats. “Vincent, just so you know, your God cannot protect against your own idiocy.”
Vincent trudged on, this time with his eyes firmly shut to the realities right in front of him.
They returned not to sunlight, but moonlight. Hours had turned to sand. The aquamarine fluorescence of the sword shines brighter on the grass than the moon. Even Vincent had been worn down by the escapade, and slowly but surely his hands gave in, sweating from the damp heat, from the blade’s incredibly heavy burden.
Once outside, the vitriol Moki carried within his heart was unleashed before Vincent could sheath Evren’s divine falchion. Immediately, Alister was struck from behind by a dagger Moki carried. He was able to carry on, and ran in fear, in spite of his aching wound.
“You can run all you want! I will find you!” Moki yelled. In the heart-pounding moment both Vincent and Moki drew their guns. Alister remained aching.
The intimidating power behind Moki’s rifle, every time he pulled the lever, and bumped the stock against his torso was enough to quell Vincent’s hysteria, and allow him to focus on his draw. With a slow and steady arm, he greeted the trigger with his finger, ready for a kill. But suddenly, a shot rang out, and struck Vincent in his left leg. The anguish shot out throughout his whole body, separating his soul from his body in a flash. He trembled to his knees, and joined Alister behind a bush where he began bandaging himself up. His wound was nasty enough to yearn for running home. Vincent stuck his leg out in hopes Alister would at least try to heal it. Suddenly, shots flew through the bush, Moki knowing they were cowering from his ire.
“You wanted this, Alister! If you wanted to rope your giddy little friend into this, fine by me. Now I have to stamp both of you out.” Moki threatened.
Vincent had the advantage of not needing to pull any levers. Just pull to shoot. There was a narrow opening within the bush that allowed a sight of Moki. In that instance, Hembel appeared from behind. His sudden appearance alerted Vincent, who spontaneously laid a few bullets into Moki, and one into Hembel’s arm. While Moki was injured enough to remain incapacitated, breathing, but unconscious, the ramifications of shooting Concordia’s most renowned historian would not go unpunished. In shock and anguish, Hembel ran bleating.
“Let the sheep be.” muttered Alister into Vincent’s ear.
The circumstances overtook Vincent, who collapsed from his debilitation, and the slow loss of blood. In that moment, he felt the magical aura from his prized sword dissipate.
“It’s okay, bud.” Alister smirked.
In the night’s last few waking moments, he saw the ochre moon begin to set. The sun was not long for this night. He could see the blurry image of Hembel inching his way towards Vincent, as if he were a savage animal. From the other corner, Alister’s paw reached for his sword, and ran away into the woods. All Vincent could do was let out a chilling cold whimper of his betrayal. His scurrying footsteps demonstrated the cunning stampede of malice he knew Alister possessed. It’s amazing how he ever trusted him. Even if Hembel leads him towards imprisonment, it would be better than letting Alister ever take hold of his trust once more, never to betray it again. As the light started to fade, and his eyes closed, the embrace of the satin coated Hembel offered a bizarre comfort in the harsh Glengully wilderness.
Thus concluded Vincent’s first revision. Everything has been set in motion.
Be sure to stay tuned for the next installment– Act 1, Chapter 2: Entanglement.
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