THE FORSAKEN LANDS | SOLVANEL’S DREAM

  599

  ‘Not’ used the abilities stolen from Solvanel to manipulate the space many times over. Sequencing memories after memories to display the relationship between the entity and Dunreach village’s lightbringers over the years.

  Clarity was sparse even after the fact.

  Most of what he saw was much of the same—gold-haired, white-robed men and women standing before cloaked figures in the plains outside of the village.

  At first, he thought it, too, was a descendant of the first of its kind, but he soon realized that although his family members came and went, in all kinds of and all kinds shapes and sizes, ‘Not’ was an eerie unchanging in the rolling of the times.

  In every scene, he towered over the lightbringer like a pillar of ash and smoke rising into the air—cloaked in a garment made of pitch.

  Not one had rejected his various offers, Likely out of fear rather than earnest.

  And after that night, Solvanel was no different.“I promise.”

  What kind of demon seals a vow with a promise, anyway? He thought to himself, resigned to taking the first step off the well-paved stone path of his imagination.

  I suppose my ancestors upheld theirs to the very end. Is that why this thing is satisfied with words alone?

  Solvanel breathed in the sprawling landscape of the monster’s imagination.

  A sky stitched with impossible colors rose over mountains carved from dreams older than breath. The sun hung low, bleeding itself across the horizon in slow surrender. Gold spilled into orange, orange into a bruised violet, every color stretched thin as if afraid to vanish.

  The clouds were fragile strokes made for idle watching, drifting oh-so slothfully across the heights of their dream.

  Yet even so, his pasture was well preserved—fairly incorporated into its flowery paradise of sweet scent and vibrant hue. The beauty of the devil’s dream was far more enchanting than any of his own. Every existence shimmered at the height of its creation.

  Solvanel hated the way it stirred something warm in him—something he had only just smothered.

  One thing is certain. It doesn’t have to take that risk.

  This thing far surpasses the ranks mentioned in my grandfather’s bestiary. If it’s capable of invading my mind, controlling my actions is within its natural abilities.

  He knew all this, but he was far from content just being the next in the cycle.

  So he continued, “I promise to do whatever you ask of me if you make me a promise in return.”

  The flowers swayed inquisitively.

  Solvanel made eye contact with them. “You worked with my ancestors, then you watched them die at the end of their lifespan. To you, I’m probably just the next in line. But I think you’ve done enough watching.”

  He knelt, catching petals come loose from the breeze.

  “You know my name. You know my goals. You know my strengths. And you know my weakness. If you’re planning to be there when I die, then I expect some compensation for all the things you get to witness while I’m still breathing.

  What I mean is, help me make this paradise a reality.

  Help me banish the evil that haunts this land. Plant the seeds that bloom this pasture so that the sheep may inherit the earth before I go.”

  The sunset dimmed in their wake, like a candle before a greater flame.

  Or a fire prepared to be extinguished by its own shadow.

  “My grandmother used to tell stories about men who made deals with the devil—riches and glory at the expense of their souls. But I’m a man now, and I’m old enough to make my own decisions. I’ll do anything that you want from me, demon. So in return, all I ask of you is this…”

  He stepped closer, unafraid of the darkness that lingered on the horizon.

  “I want you to make a promise. Promise me that everything will be fine.”

  ‘Not’ went silent with the world it inhabited.

  The trees were pondering the contents of his request.

  Then came its real voice—the one it used when they first met. And it said:

  [Everything would be fine. I promise.]

  ***

  THE FORSAKEN LAND OF GENèSE | LOST KINGDOM | TOWER | BASEMENT

  ***

  Solvanel was hurt

  His entire being throbbed in various pains. The fall was a series of looping tumbles that went on for many minutes. Between that and the tortures, thirst, and starvation, he was not surprised when his body refused to listen.

  I can’t move.

  Part of the deal with ‘Not’ was to make him stronger.

  That’s why he’d been so headstrong in the past few days.

  Perhaps he’d been wrong about that dream. He’d been far too rash in the past few days. Sacrificing many parts of himself over and over inside his head to make up for the recent loss of his beliefs.

  But the last thing he wanted to do was cause more deaths.

  His sacrifice was meant to be selfless. Yet somehow, he’d wound up sacrificing others again.

  And possibly about to die at the bottom of some nameless staircase.

  Trusting the devil so soon after the failure of The Heavens.

  Ever again should he place his faith in another being, whether of the divine or profane, then he would have to change his name to Simpleton, the fool who fell upon his face.

  Which is exactly what happened.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  He blacked out.

  When his eyes fluttered open, his body no longer rebelled against him.

  “Oh, dreamer~” Footsteps echoed sharply down the stone stairwell. “You dead?”

  “Don’t say shit like that, man. What if he is?”

  Chris emerged first, nearly slipping as the last step vanished into the golden floor. Behind him, Dixon muttered something reverent under his breath as they stepped into the chamber.

  “What in the heavens…” Chris exhaled, turning full circle to behold the armory’s untouched splendor. “This… This ain’t real.”

  The two of them had descended into gold.

  Not sunlight—there was none.

  The chamber breathed with a steady luminance, a golden stillness that filled the air like honey on the tongue. He lay upon a stone floor veined with inlaid quartz, the light dancing across its surface in slow, rippling patterns. As if the glow itself had been cast from the memory of the sun, trapped here for generations.

  Weapons lined the walls—dozens, perhaps hundreds—each distinct in make and spirit. Blades that hummed faintly in his presence, spears with feathered shafts and darkened tips, halberds made of metals no longer known to the world above. Not relics, no. These were preserved, perfect, untouched by rot or ruin.

  Armour gleamed beneath glass that had not shattered through all the centuries—steel with burnished inlays, breastplates too ornate for mere battle, helms crowned with symbols long devoured by time.

  Crates and shelves bore strange bottles of liquid suspended in thick gel, satchels marked with the red threads of healing, bundles of dried herbs bound in silk. Some gave off fragrance still.

  This had been an armory—no doubt of it.

  A vault not only of coin, but of hope. Of last resorts. A room reserved for the end, when all else failed.

  And yet, for all the grandeur, it was left untouched in the face of their harshest times. Perhaps the end came so quickly that the people didn’t even have the chance to take up arms.

  Dixon strode further in, his wide eyes locked onto the rows of weapons lining the walls. “All this just sitting here? All this while we—while we’ve been scraping by with rusted iron and bone?” His voice cracked, halfway between wonder and grief. “Saint was right. If we had half this shit in the valley, those lady-bugs wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

  Chris touched a breastplate encased in crystal. “None of it’s rotted. Look at this. Not even dust.”

  "I know, right..."

  Still, their eyes were drawn beyond all these bright and shining things.

  To the very centre of the chamber, where the light was warmest.

  There stood a tree, elevated high upon its highest mound.

  Its bark was smooth as pearl, ivory fading to bronze. Its leaves shimmered like flakes of living gold, swaying gently where no wind stirred. Light didn’t fall upon the tree; it bloomed from it.

  A miniature sun hanging from the branches, casting slow circles across the marble walls.

  “What is that?”

  There was no answer.

  The three of them stood in stillness, the tree’s golden light brushing their skin like the final warmth of dusk. And though they stood in a vault of gold, it was the living thing at its center that felt most eternal.

  Dixon broke the silence. “You think it’s safe?”

  “Let’s just uh… forge- Let’s just forget that for now. See if we can find something for the burns.”

  “Forget what?” asked Solvanel, turning to face them. “What do you see?”

  Oh, right.

  They forgot the kid was blind.

  Or… mostly blind.

  Whatever the illness was, he couldn’t see the treasures strewn before them.

  Chris and Dixon exchanged a taciturn glance.

  “It’s—”

  “—Nothing,” interrupted Dixon, clearing his throat. “Just a few old weapons and armor scattered about the place.”

  Solvanel nodded hesitantly. “I see. Might any of it be of use?”

  “I dunno,” he went on with a sigh. “They must’ve been in bad shape even before this place was abandoned. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have left it all behind. Tell you what, kiddo. Chris and I will search through the junk. See if we can find any arms. You sit here and listen out for anything out of place, okay?”

  Dixon scoffed at the silence the little dreamer left hanging.

  A kid frowning at being called a kid. No wonder Saint didn’t like him. The two of them were too damn alike. Whatever. He was itching to dive in and see what he could find. “Let’s get going, Chris. Don’t know how long it’ll be before the oaf wakes up.”

  “Sure…” He said, still half-dazed by the tree. “Uh… oh. Right. Saint wanted me to give you this.”

  Chris held out his hand, the cyan needle, weightless, upon his palm. “It was a good call, getting some use out of the oaf instead of stabbing him, but we know it’s just cause a part of you feels sorry.”

  “Chris!”

  “Yeah, yeah! I’m right behind you!” The young man shouted.

  He pushed the weapon into Solvanel’s grasp.

  “But if you wanna make it far in this world, you’re gonna have to make that choice again. Might as well have it just in case you choose otherwise.”