DAWN Chapter 2: Sand, Stone, and Ash

Chapter 2: Sand, Stone, and Ash

         Rayne stepped into the smoldering remains of the village and gagged as he saw the mangled and butchered bodies strewn about. He smelt only smoke and burning flesh and saw only death and destruction as he looked about the remains of his village. Pillars of smoke and ash billowed from the flames into the sky above.
         For a few moments Rayne could not think, he merely looked about the destruction in horror. He took a step forward; the sound of the shattered pottery beneath his feet seemed to come from so far away. He continued to walk in a daze, unable to think, until from far away he felt his toe strike something soft but firm. He glanced down and was suddenly and violently torn back to reality by what he saw.
         At his feet were the mangled remains of Kerra’s father, a look of pain and terror forever frozen on his once handsome face. The sand beneath his body was deeply stained by the man’s blood and his hands clutched at his throat, which had been torn completely open.
         Rayne shook and turned away. However, the image of the man’s body reappeared into Rayne’s mind and he vomited. He wiped his mouth and stood, only two thoughts coming to his mind as he once more looked about the wreckage.
         Dad… Kerra…
         “Kerra?!” He shouted into the silence and looked about, desperately hoping against logic that he would find her alive and unharmed. “KERRA?!” He ran through the wreckage shouting her name and hoping for a response.
         Soon he reached the stone staircase leading up the Court of the Royals. Unable to find Kerra in the village, Rayne wondered if she, along with his father, had found shelter in the Court. Maybe the Court escaped the notice of the attackers. Maybe there will be survivors...
         Strengthened by this thought, Rayne rushed up the staircase to the Court.
         However, as Rayne neared the entrance his spirits dropped. Blood dripped down the walls and stairs and gathered in pools on the stone floor; bodies sprawled out on the steps and littered the floors. As Rayne slowly entered the structure he glanced around and saw a scene similar to those he saw in the burning village and on the steps.
         “Hello?” Rayne called out into the silent hallways. “Anyone?...”

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         Kerra sat motionless in a corner of what used to be Rayne’s room. She had stopped crying at least, if only out of complete exhaustion, though the feelings of pain and terror had never left her. She was alone.
         Completely alone.
         She alone had survived the massacre, she alone had lived… but after everything that she had witnessed, she almost wished she hadn’t. Her mother and father… her brother… her teachers, the magi… they were all dead. And the one person she thought she could always count on had left years ago…
         He had left her without even saying goodbye and for some strange reason that almost seemed more painful to her than anything else.
         She once again broke into tears and she buried her face in her hands.
         I’m alone… only one thought echoed in her mind and she shook as she sobbed.
         Then she heard a sound. She quieted and listened to the soft sound echoing in the stillness. It sounded like someone crying, someone familiar…
         She slowly shook her head and stood. No… it can’t be… can it?
         Kerra cautiously moved out of the room and down the hallways, following the sound, until she stood in the doorway of the High Council’s chamber.
         There, before the body of the king, a young man was on his knees, sobbing. At the sound of her footsteps he turned his head to look at her. Upon seeing her, his face broke into a smile.
         Kerra gasped.
         She hadn’t seen that smile in years…

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         “Kerra!” Rayne was overjoyed upon seeing her standing in the doorway and he rushed over to her. Happily he wrapped his arms around her and he felt her begin to melt against him.
         “Rayne,” she whispered, “is it really you?”
         He nodded. “I’m so glad you’re alright,” he smiled and began to pull her closer against him but she shoved him away. Before he could ask what was wrong Kerra slapped him as hard as she could. Rayne gasped in pain and surprise and Kerra slapped him again. His cheek burned and his hand instinctively went to it.
         He looked at her and tears ran down her face. Tears of pain, sorrow, and anger.
         “Liar,” she sobbed. Her tears burned her eyes and stung their way down her cheeks. “You don’t care…”
         “Kerra…”
         “Shut up!” she sobbed. She glared at him as he once again opened his mouth to speak. “Why did you leave then?” She waited for an answer before shouting, “you don’t care! If you did you wouldn’t have left!”
         Her tears dripped onto the polished stone floor.
         (this section is being extended at the moment)

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         The great ruins of the Dómeg glowed eerily in the moonlight and the wind whispered like the ghosts of those long gone. Frost covered the stones and rubble of the structures’ remains, smothering all new life before it could grow or adapt. The mountain range in which the ruins rested stood tall and remote, dissuading the tribes from repopulation and exploration of the range.
         However, under the moon’s cold glow, a lone figure trudged forward up the mountain-side toward the ruins, frost crunching beneath each heavy footstep. The lone Tyran’s every growling breath freezing as it left his throat and the freezing wind bit at his scaly skin left exposed by his armor. He pressed on, ignoring his pain and discomfort as he strode into the ruins and into the largest structure.
         As he stepped into the darkness, the Tyran felt a chill settle inside his chest, a chill that did not come from the cold and frost. It was as though his very soul was icing over, a frost slowly making its way through him. He unconsciously shuddered, then growled and once again pressed into the darkness of the ruins.
         At last the Tyran reached a stone altar coated in a layer of frost that lay in the center of a dark vast chamber. The air was still in the darkness and it pressed down on the Tyran, causing the icy feeling inside him to grow even stronger. The warrior strode up to the altar and gazed down at the frozen surface.
         He knew what had to be done.
         Reaching behind his back, the Tyran unsheathed his great stone sword. The blade was stained with the blood of the humans he and his warriors recently slaughtered. A few drops of crimson began to slide on the blade and the Tyran smiled wickedly at the still-fresh gore.
         He dragged the blood-covered sword across the frozen altar, leaving a crimson trail across the surface. As the blood touched the altar, it began to bubble and then to boil and the frost began to melt. Runes etched into the stone beneath the frost began the glow as crimson as blood, illuminating what appeared to be a frost covered corpse, coated in tattered rags and frozen to the wall behind it.
         The Tyran warrior then slammed his blade into the stone before the altar, stepping back as he did so.
         A serpentine hiss echoed throughout the room, a hiss that had not come from the Tyran warrior. In the glow of the runes, the frost on the corpse slowly began to melt. The body fell to the floor and lay still. Everything was once more silent.
         After a few moments, the Tyran stepped forward, furious at this waste of his time. However, he was stopped mid-step as the corpse stood of its own accord. The carcass raised one hand and placed it on the thick stone breastplate that the Tyran wore.
         The Tyran roared in pain as hundreds of worm-like tentacles bored through the stone, into his chest and slowly and agonizingly consumed the warrior from the inside out. When the corpse finally lowered its hand there was nothing left of the Tyran but a small pile of mangled flesh and skin in a pile of blood.
         The only sound in the ruins as the sun rose was the creature’s cold rasping breaths.