“Run, Arelah! Now!” The chilling shout tore through the dense smoke rising from the smoldering ruins of Nu’amatian port, where the cries of the dying mingled with the clash of foreign steel. Arelah’s pale pink hair, pinned back with threadbare silver combs, tumbled loose as she sprinted down the temple’s marble steps, her bare feet skidding on ash-dusted floors. The acrid scent of fire bit at her throat as her cerulean-blue eyes darted to the shadow closing in—the Black Blades had come, and they hunted no one but her.
Arelah’s dress fluttered violently as she ran, the deep azure fabric of her layered robes catching flashes of the torchlight around her. Handwoven with intricate silver embroidery by the artisans of Nu’amati, her garments marked her as the High Praetor’s favored acolyte, the ostensible heir to their knowledge. The robes, though elegant in peacetime, hindered her now. With one desperate tug, she ripped the long outer cloak free, leaving only the practical underlayer: a striking indigo-blue tunic cinched at the waist with a wide ivory belt. With her arms free, she yanked her scarf—once ceremonial—into a makeshift strap for the small satchel of artifacts and scrolls she clutched. The leather tie at her neck mimicked the ominous symbol engraved on the ancient artifacts inside, a secret that now fed the bloodlust of her pursuers.
Suddenly, the blackened frame of a toppled arch collapsed before her, its flaming beams sending fiery embers cascading toward the night sky. Breathless, she hesitated for the first time—but only for the briefest moment. Then she dove under the burning timber, shielding her face with her arms. Her heart pounded as molten ash singed her skin. She scrambled to her feet just as a shadow emerged beside her.
“Rial!” she gasped, choking back fear and a wave of relief. A tall, broad-shouldered man with dark, weatherworn features stood before her. Rial, the last of the Huskari warriors loyal to her cause, glared at the hellstorm behind her—the advancing Black Blades couldn’t be far.
“They’ll overtake you,” Rial growled, his bronze spear sweeping in a defensive arc as the ground trembled beneath their feet. His own garments—leather armor hammered with sky-blue plating that resonated visibly with light—were battered and worn, but he moved like the predator he was. “The docks are lost. Follow the eastern ridge and make for the marshlands. I’ll delay them.”
“No!” Arelah’s voice cracked with desperation as she grabbed his arm. “The artifacts aren’t the key. It’s me. You know they won’t stop—”
Rial interrupted her with a sharp shake of his head. “And that is why you must live, Arelah! Our people—whatever’s left—they depend on you. The prophecy—”
“The prophecy is a curse!” She didn’t let go, even as a faint keening sound whistled closer. The Black Blades were near. Time stretched willingly as her gaze bore into his, both of them weighed down by the truths they refused to say aloud. “Please, Rial, don’t—”
The guttural cry of battle shattered their silent exchange. Rial thrust her behind him with a strength that broke her grip. Out of the smoke emerged a phalanx of assassins clad in black chainmail, their curved swords dripping with the blood of innocents. Rial hefted his spear and charged them headlong, his haunting war cry calling down the tempest.
Arelah stumbled back, unable to tear her gaze away as her guardian fought like the last embers of a doused firestorm. Her vision blurred with unshed tears, and her limbs refused to move until far too late. The Black Blades overwhelmed Rial in moments, their laughter echoing like gravel across the ruined city’s spine.
“We’ve found you, Child of Embers,” a voice rasped behind her, and she spun to face the gaunt face of their captain. He wore black ceremonial robes offset by a blood-red sash, a tawdry reflection of her own attire. Arelah’s hand instinctively sought the satchel at her side.
“Stay away,” she whispered, voice low, defiant.
He simply grinned, exposing rows of crooked teeth. “Your death won’t come quickly. But it will be magnificent. Come now, little spark—”
Before he could finish, Arelah invoked the single word she had sworn never to utter. She twisted her fingers into a sign, unleashing a ripple that radiated through the courtyard like a tidal wave of light. For a moment, she glimpsed their faces—their triumph turned to confusion, then terror—before they vanished into ash.
But the backlash was fierce. Energy coiled through her veins and knocked her backward into the shattered temple pillars. When she woke, the ruins were silent but littered with her enemies’ smoldering remains. Yet, Rial was gone.
The bag at her side felt impossibly heavy, as if the once-sacred texts and strange artifacts mocked her. Alone now, Arelah hoisted herself up and faced the east. The marshlands awaited—or what remnants of her destiny still flickered at the edges of a dying prophecy.
Genre: Dark Fantasy
The Source…check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Pale Pink Hair, White Shirt, Blue Skirt, and Playful Tie: Modern-Vintage Cosplay Style Inspiration
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