The roar of waves crashing against jagged volcanic cliffs filled the air as the sun set, bathing the horizon in hues of crimson and gold. The wind carried the scent of sulfur and salt, whispering through the obsidian spires that stabbed skyward from the blackened sands of ancient Atlantis. She stood there, solitary and commanding, her red cape billowing like tongues of flame in the turbulent breeze. Smoke curled up from distant fissures in the earth, a reminder of the city’s fiery doom waiting beneath its surface.
Aurelia Veyra adjusted the crimson headpiece resting atop her flowing brown hair, each horn-like tip gleaming in the dying light. Her bodice, strikingly glossy under the molten glow of the sky, hugged her form with an elegance that belied its fierce practicality. The long gloves she wore extended past her elbows, their texture like molten rock hardened instantly by cooling waters. Her lips, painted the same deep red as the tempestuous skies above, curved into a frown as she scanned the empty ruins before her. This was not the Atlantis of lore, thriving and majestic—it was Atlantis in its twilight days, enslaved by hubris and shadowed by catastrophe.
Aurelia paced forward, each step deliberate on the black sand, her boots crunching over fragments of what had once been an opulent palace. Her eyes, sharp with purpose, darted to her side, where a shattered mural depicted an assembly of Atlantean scholars kneeling before an orb glowing with an unnatural light. The Orb of Continuum—a weapon, a relic, a curse—had lured her here.
“You’re wasting time, Aurelia,” a voice crackled through her auric comm-link pinned beneath her cape. The voice belonged to Malric, her mentor, equal parts sage and cynic. “When the moon aligns with Triton, the final fissure will open. If you don’t find it by then—”
“I know what happens then,” Aurelia snapped, her voice low and firm. Her fingers traced the edges of the mural, feeling its grooves. “The city sinks. The flames consume it all, leaving nothing but ash and legend. I need more time.”
“Time isn’t a luxury Atlanteans gave themselves,” Malric replied, his tone softening. “Careful, Aurelia. Power has a way of clouding judgment.”
She ignored him as the flicker of memories swept over her. She saw herself as a child, pitted against others in trials of magic and wit in the city of Halcyona. Her gift had been a double-edged sword her entire life, present but uncontrollable until Malric trained her. She could create illusions so vivid they felt real, bend reality’s threads with her will, and project her fury as an unyielding red force. But her power had always come at a cost—one that the Orb could eliminate if she claimed it for herself.
A sound cut through her thoughts—something foreign in this dying place. Sand shifted, and the faint clink of metal echoed from behind her. Aurelia whirled, the red fabric of her cape forming an arc of brilliance as her hand shot forward. A glowing red sphere of energy appeared in her palm, crackling with untold force.
Out of the shadows stepped a man, dressed in silvered armor tarnished by sand and flame. His spear, jagged and weather-worn, pointed toward her as his face revealed both exhaustion and defiance.
“I don’t know who you are,” he began, his voice steady despite the tension, “but if you seek the Orb, you will fail like the rest.”
Aurelia’s gaze narrowed. “Move, or you’ll discover how far failure can fall.”
The man laughed bitterly, lowering his spear just enough to lean on it. His eyes, the color of forgotten storms, were battle-hardened yet weary. “I am Cassian, last captain of the Atlantean Watch. I buried my men with those cliffs, fighting to keep the Orb from hands like yours—a fight that cost me everything. Tell me, sorceress, why I shouldn’t end you now.”
“Because,” Aurelia said, her voice laced with a grim tenderness, “you and I have both lost everything. And I have something left to lose if I fail.”
The tension hovered like smoke between them. Cassian tilted his head, studying her as she let the red energy dissipate in her hands. He saw her resolve, carved as if into stone, but also something raw, emotional—a vulnerability he wasn’t expecting.
“The Orb is not salvation,” he warned, his voice barely louder than the whistle of wind. “You seek to wield it, but it will wield you.”
“Then why are you still here?” she asked, stepping closer, the cape brushing against the sand like a tide pulling forward. The reflected glow from a lava-fed rift engulfed them both in eerie light. “If it’s so dangerous, why not destroy it yourself?”
“Because it cannot be destroyed,” he replied bitterly, “only guarded.”
Aurelia’s heart twisted. The righteousness in his spirit mirrored her own inner conflict. She’d always believed her powers were meant for salvation, to protect those she loved, but fear and ambition haunted her like ghosts of a darker path.
“Then let me help you guard it,” she offered suddenly, surprising even herself. “Together, we can bury it so deep even the gods forget this place.”
Cassian’s eyes searched hers for deception but found none. The crackling rift behind them roared louder as the ground beneath their feet began to tremble—time was running out. With a reluctant nod, he moved toward a nearby passage littered with rubble. He gestured for her to follow.
“If you’re coming,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “try to keep up.”
Aurelia smirked. “I lead.”
The two figures cut through the ruins, leaving footprints in ash and shadow as the last remnants of Atlantis smoldered under the wrath of the earth. With time slipping through their fingers, they raced into the unknown, bound by fragile trust and the hope of atonement. Deep beneath the surface awaited the Orb, glowing softly with infinite promise and peril—a silent witness to humanity’s eternal struggle with ambition and restraint.
The sun dipped beneath the waterline, and Atlantis roared anew, its death throes a symphony of fire and oblivion.
The Source…check out the article that inspired this amazing short story: Scarlet Witch Cosplay: Channeling Mystic Power in a Vibrant Red Outfit
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