(Completed)
Two assassins were set to kill a girl. No questions asked. Just kill her and claim their prize. That was their mission. Except one of them was not supposed to visit Volney, the land of the dead and the other fall in love with a girl and...
Happy New year, My dear reader! Have a blast! I have so much to ramble and I will ramble it in the end. :)
Thank you @tothetuneofYMCA for the votes and comments! This person is rad ;)
Heir of Fire
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Warmth pulsed inside him. His body was a burden to him. After experiencing the freedom of his soul, he did not want to tie his soul down. The warmth was turning to scorching heat. He wanted water to quench his thirst. Yet he did not want the cool liquid.
In his slumber, he dreamt of flames and the beauty of its petals. The hue of yellow to orange to red. How he loved it. His vision was filled with it. He could not see anything else. Just flames, fire, and embers.
He wanted it to burn him, to free him from the world. And he let it burn. It started with his heart. Jumping and squealing, the liquid fire flowed like the crystal cool waters in summer, along with his veins. When their stop came, they reached out and then reeled in. In his fingers, they made a new home, yet they never stopped. Mixing with his blood, the embers became his flesh; the fire his breath and flames his blood.
He could not move his legs. The raging fire calmed down when his ears heard a voice. Trystan. He never gave on him even when he himself gave up on him. He tried to pry his eyes open and assure him that he was not going anywhere, but his voice failed him. His lips would not part.
When Trystan left, the fire intensified. Despite the winter, his body craved for more cold. He could feel his lips dry and cracked like a drought-ridden earth. The fire traveled to his head. The final stop, he just knew. He wanted to severe his head due to the intensity of the heat, but who was there to listen to his plea? Who could hear this silent scream?
The yellow dancers brought the memories of his childhood days, the only image of his younger sister as a baby. How his mother had frantically ran, and how his father tried to protect him. The veils in his mind opened as he saw himself forging Falak with Trystan seated next to him. The memories burned, giving definition to everything he had done in his life. He could tell what the shadow was and what the light was. The clarity came to him.
The fire subsided. The light waned away. All he could see was darkness. His ears heard a music he had never heard before. Melodious and soft filled with melancholy. Like a wanderer, he wandered in his mind, determined to find out what was happening.
The edges of the night broke of, giving way to shades of green. The sides took the colour of black and brown. The music became the melody of birds sitting on the tree. The before painted black sky, shredded that cloth and prided itself in various tints of oranges, the clouds adopting the colour of yellow, the dusk setting.
The ground beneath gave way to grass and tiny plants whose flowers filled the air with sweet fragrance. His body was completely healed here. No scars and abrasions. He was as smooth as a new-born baby.
