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Hi @imwritehere1920 @obrian-of-the-surface-world @anne_the_noob14 @irishcelticredflowercrown *hugs for everybody <3*
I guess I have an audio now and a OneDrive…actually I’ve been procrastinating posting it for while but I guess…if ya wanna hear it…</3
Edge of Fire: Book 1: chapter 1 [words: 2104] link
<p style=”text-align: center;”>I am not the hero of this story</p>
<p style=”text-align: center;”>But the villain</p>
It’s the sort of rain like icicles that melts your bones. Been two years and nothing’s changed. Every sloshing clip clop sends a roller coaster through his heart. The shadowed lad coughs as his dripping cloak clings to his skin, clutching his sides and trying to muffle the sound. Everything a blur by now like looking through a foggy mirror. Down a dark street, mud tripping his torn boots. A susurrus echo rumbles under the pattering sound like fingers thumping on glass.
Dead if they find him. Used like a child’s doll.
One of the only things he can see is the blur of dancing constellations in the sky. Stars visibly rove across the night in Casumbra. The town, Tertumbra, is no place to be after dark, not that he has a choice in the matter. If no one’s about he might slip through, stay the night. It’s far better than the ghoul-haunted woods.
Can’t see a thing with every small light refracting on his brain, if there’d been a rewind he’d never–It doesn’t matter. As he feels along the wall of a house, he rubs his sooty forehead knocking his thumb along a scar that hooks to an end at his left eyebrow; just one more proof that something can seem like love, and only be a game.
His body tenses before he consciously hears the sound behind him. It’s the noise of soldiers, a patrol to ensure curfew, especially during the war. Spies wander at night, and people who are hiding. He’s the latter but it doesn’t make a difference if they find him, everyone’s grave is six feet deep. Don’t move or keep moving hoping they won’t notice?
Swish. There’s something in the shadows. Can’t move, not sure what part of him still exists other than feverish pain. Somewhere through that cone of dissociation he can hear heavy soldier boots clip clop along a different set of shadows. He just has to keep moving but his body won’t let him. Too numb. Keep moving. A knock and his feet drop under him into broken pottery he hadn’t noticed. Another swish, there is definitely something in front of him.
“Prrreow” He nearly flinched out of his skin but it’s only a wulfling [Footnote: Wulflings used to be feline breeds intended for highborn nobles. During the Great War they were trained as bloodhounds but now they’re mostly strays living in boroughs and shires. Very dangerous in packs.] With a shaky gasp of relief he staggers up a little, his knees gouged bloody with fragments of ceramic and clay. The sleek predatory feline’s glowing eyes curl suspiciously, its bushy tail whooshing floppily behind it.
“It’s ok…” He murmurs, his own voice foreign to his ears, husky and inaudible as if as counterfeit as his own survival. Without meaning to he sinks into the wall, cold feels like fire at this point, biting harsh. “…I’ll be out of your way in just a notch…”
He stares tautly with glazed dark-gold eyes, breathing slowly. Blinking, his gaze slides to the scraggly creature glaring at him, batty ears prodding up and down like a flappy sign in a hurricane. So tired, too tired. He knows he should keep moving.
“Don’t worry…I won’t hurt you…right now I don’t think I can…” He chokes, a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough. Tenitively, he makes a move to scratch the wulfling’s ears but it hisses at him. His hand withdraws a little, he can count its ribs through mattes of fur. “Sometimes people just hurt you…just because…because they can…”
He swallows, his knees curling into his chest, watching the creature he tries to smile. Everything looks and feels blurry. It’s so cold it burns into his bones.
Another noise. More footsteps. He tenses, listening in and out of awareness.
“…somewhere that way.” Footsteps. Clip clop, clip clop. Under his baggy hood the lad traces a hand along the wall for support. Have to keep moving. But they’re too close. His gaze shifts back to the wulfling, hopping off its barrel with a careless, nauseating motion. Show off.
“It n’t matter anyway, ready for a good round a the uby Gryphon.”
He shifts a little, wondering how much longer he can stay conscious. Blazing hot skin, it’s like a fire-born game. No…it’s raining, freezing out here. Not thinking he touches the wulfling’s furry side so gently the animal isn’t aware of the intrusion. Fuzz clings to his fingers, stiff lumps are the bones that press into its skin.
“…just want to see your pretty little ribbon.”
He scratches the wulfling a little too stiffly and a clawed smack rakes into his arm. “Ow!” Tottering back he wrenches some semblance of balance before falling hard enough to make a noise, staring at the creature with a hurt look. Something hot oozes into claw marks on his arm. Fuzzy silhouettes outline soldiers in an all-too-bright light cast by the dual moons. A few yards away now. He can even see the muddy steel-tip of their boots.
Have to get out, not enough time. Splintery wood gnaws into his hand as he leans hard into the barrel to drag himself up. “Just my luck,” He pushes up only to back up a few steps and topple against the mud and stone wall. “48,000 gods in Casumbran mythology and not one decided to create wood without splinters…or maybe give humans impenetrable skin.” His olive-tinted hand slides to the bow in the quiver underneath his cloak. It holds more than two years of regret, a present from his brother when he was nine.
They’ll kill him if they find him. He’s going to pass out soon he needs to act now and he can’t run. Necessary. Only a coward would wait instead of seizing his chance, his father would’ve told him.
‘Honor, duty and crown, Alessio. This kingdom can’t afford weakness.’
Two soldiers. One lagging behind just a little. Only generals and knights can afford good armor. Alessio could land an arrow through the man’s neck and fire another before his companion had time to react and it’d be over. If he doesn’t know he won’t miss, it might have been easier.
The slender cord and the arrow between his fingers notched with red feathers like the Thayer ballad.
‘No weakness.’ He doesn’t pull back the arrow, it remains frozen in his hands.
“See, and I told you, nothing here. Haha, let’s get you a good drink, eh?”
Alessio doesn’t move, eyes poised on the slightest shift of shadow that might turn to his hiding place. When something brushes his leg he jumps.
“Preeoww.” Its thick tail whooshes around his legs. Alessio’s eyes instinctively drop to it. “Oh, now you want to be friends? You realize you just lacerated my arm a few notches ago?” It is the first time in a long time he felt any even slightly reassuring physical contact. He still wants to be angry at the wulfling, instead of crumbling at the first fragment of warmth. “That’s not even slightly cute, not even a little.” He thinks at it, almost feeling betrayed again. Even so he brushes its ear softly and it gives a low purr.
They’re so close he can see their faces.
Alessio nudges the creature a little, but it ignores the hint. “Please move…” Carefully, he tries to step over the wulfling but it darts between his legs knocking him so hard he lands on its tail and it shrieks with rabid fury.
“Hey! Out of there!”
Panic jolts through Alessio like a hot stake in his spine, barely regaining his balance in time. He ducks in the corner, closing his eyes and praying for a merciful end.
“Devils, to death and darkness, it’s just a bastard wulfling. Get out, you!” Thunk! With a yowl that makes Alessio flinch. “It didn’t do anything to you!”
“Right here! I told you!” A steely thrust suddenly yanks him up. With a frantic slash Alessio quakes backwards into the wall, knife already escaping his shaky hand by the time the soldier wheels back at him, cursing while his companion laughs.
“Why you little–” Alessio ducks but not in time as his body jerks forward, bunched knots of heavy-soaked collar wrenching weight with the force. Thick moist breath chokes the air, blazing white panic like an unstable narcotic. Sword in the soldier’s hand and precious little time, Alessio pushes back, a burning current sparking through the nerves of his hand.
Both soldiers jump back. Without thinking Alessio glances down to see fire curling through his fingers, intoxicating smoky warmth winding through his bones. No nono no, not again, he can’t–no.
“An aberrant…” Real fear creeps into the soldiers voice, fear and prejudicial hate. Alessio backs, then runs, whipping into an alleyway almost collapsing into a stone and mud structure, probably a house. Every nerve rattles inside him. It’s too dark. Blotches of color obscure his vision, it’s fever-hot outside even the rain feels like sparks of fire.
He can hear them cursing, they’re right behind him. Alessio tries to feel what’s in front of him but it singes his hand. A cleft in the wall, or maybe it’s the side of a wagon, a–shutters! Wood shutters. He has to get off the street, he has to now. Snatching for his–oh no, the knife he dropped it. Without time Alessio jabs an arrowhead between the small wood doors. Clip clop clip clop! “Please open, please please open.” Twisting the arrow up and down, jamming it into the lock he abruptly catches a snap vibrate into his fingertips as the lock breaks. He whips a glance back before scrambling inside. In the process he drops the bow he hadn’t realized he’d still been holding. He slams the shutters closed and flinches at the noise it makes.
Footsteps. He can still hear them. They’re…they’re passing. They’re passing, it’s ok, it’s ok, everything’s…

Numb to the point of passing out, Alessio hangs on the windowsill panting softly. Stiffly he runs a hand through his hair. Something stuck on his skin rubs into his soppy dark curls. He just broke someone’s shutters, he thinks, fumbling through his pockets. All he can find are three marveti. Not enough but it’ll have to do. He sets it on the windowsill and doesn’t move. Closing his eyes the sound of his own breathing lulls him into a partial anesthesia.
“I don’t want to die yet.”
“Ehem,” From some part of the room and Alessio flinches upright. “Most people…most people actually use the front door…”
Alessio freezes, all the adrenaline punching him into a daze. The owner of the house, assumably, how’d he wake up so soon? Maybe time is so skewed right now. The man is in his sixties, seventies, leathery skin, very tired…wait, focus–
“Not a, erm, not a very pleasant night for a walk, is it…” His voice is wandering, gravelly…Alessio blinks back a sheet of kaleidoscope dots. He shakes his head slightly, finding it hard to breath. Can’t back out, nowhere to go. Have to find a way out. Stay conscious.
“You’re…you’re, erm, bleeding all over the floor…”
Alessio glances down, but everything’s a blurry haze of brown, black and red.
“I…I’m sorry, sir…I’ll cl-clean it up…”
“I don’t think you quite heard me, I said you’re bleeding on the floor.”
“I’m sor–” Alessio blinks, trying to think of anything to say to make it stop and–bleeding? “I’m not about to die, am I?!”
“It’s…it’s ok…just calm down, son…and…put down the arrow…”
Alessio hadn’t realized he’s still clutching the arrow he broke the shutters with. His knuckles ache, he consciously loosens his grip and there’s a tiny thunk as it drops. The stranger, whoever it is, clears his throat again, like a nervous tick, his voice bleeding a forced cheeriness or reassurance or whatever it is to try and get him to follow his lead.
“It doesn’t…look too bad…erm, it’s just a small gash…” That’s bleeding on the floor…! He can’t hear anything over the pounding of his brain, and everything looks as distorted as a reflection in a pool during the rain. Hands reachi–Alessio jars back as the stranger tries to take him by the shoulder. Crystal blue eyes, no…no it’s not him but the bl–Stop!…just breathe…you’re not there anymore…just breathe…
“…alright…it’s ok…let’s…we haven’t started off very, ehem, well…just…what is your name?”
Alessio tries to focus on the man, trying to find out whether or not it’s safe, and he can’t quite understand what he’s saying yet. He wants to trust him, he can’t, he needs to get out before…
“What’s your name, son?”
“I…it’s…Ky…it’s Alessio…” He can’t hear what the man says next. A dizzying web over his eyes is the last thing he remembers.