It was hot.

Damningly so.

He stared up at the sky through the holes allotted him by the canopy of leaves.

Wylen wiped at the back of his bronzed neck and drew back a palm slick with sweat. His boot hit a rock as he took another step issuing a muttered curse from his dry lips.

The cicadas hidden in the snaking branches of the trees sung louder than he ever heard them. It made it that much harder to even think clearly for the weary and tired warrior. Finally, he stopped beside a wide tree trunk and turned his back to it. Wylen leaned against the rough bark and tried to gather as much saliva in his mouth before attempting to swallow.

He was damn thirsty.

The water skin hung empty from his belt like a useless trinket. Wearily he closed his eyes and steadied his breathing as he tried to grab some respite. Like a snail he slid down the tree trunk. Once his rear met the cool moist earth below, he grunted like a grizzly bear and relaxed his arms.

He had been travelling for the better part of the day. Allowing himself not a sliver of rest until exhaustion threatened to overpower him.

Now with not a drop of water or even a bite to appease his growling stomach he winced into the light and moved his head to the side where the shade was a little more prevalent.

As he sat there catching his breath, his thoughts ran back to the cause of his unforeseen quest.

“You must find the fallen sun with three thorns.”

Wylen winced and scrunched his nose as he recalled the Priestess’s repetitive chant. Like a storm she had blown into his village and demanded a council with his father. Being the superstitious man that he was, the Chief immediately heeded the request. Like the dutiful son he was and as the next in line as leader of the Aldor clan, Wylen was right there beside him. It was there, in the hall of their home that he first saw the unnatural shade of blue in the woman’s eyes.

Like any warrior he instantly drew his sword—only to have seven later pointed at him when the woman’s army melted in from the walls.

He recalled as his younger brother had scowled at the intruding party. Yes, Minow was not the welcoming sort. If it were up to him, the whole troupe would have been shown the door, prophecy or no. His brother believed in facts and in things the eye could see. However, his father and the rest of the clan were of different mind.

He grunted again and lifted his shoulder length hair in hopes a passing breeze would blow on his neck and help cool his baking skin. Almond eyes opened wearily as he blinked before staring at the ground blankly. His mouth askew as he yet again found himself puzzled over the prophesized words.

“You will give rise to a nation, a people to be proud of for generations to come…a son…”

His clan.

His people.

A predecessor to some prophesized power of the future…

He leaned forwards and rested his forehead on the bony prominence of his knees. He…the one to give rise to a mighty nation…his clan…Aldor….

And all he had to do was travel all the way North and find the mountain of seven peaks, bathe in its waters and capture the fallen sun with three thorns. Easy, right? He snorted to himself and gave his head a light jostle before he decided to finally rise to his feet.

Only the Gods knew what this fallen sun with three thorns could be. Sadly, he had not even an inkling as to what it could mean.

A riddle?

An allegory?

Or was it actually a physical fallen sun with three thorns?

Or maybe yet something that resembled a fallen sun with three thorns?

“Argh!” Wylen ran a hand through his tangled locks in frustration before he dug his heels into the ground, pushed off and stood erect.

First thing was first. He had to find some running water before he was to die of thirst. After all, dead men could not fulfill any prophecies. Deciding that was that he grabbed his empty water skin and marched forward, careful as to where he stepped.

Who knew, maybe he would find lunch and dinner as well on his hunt for water.

For the next hour Wylen crept through the wood like a shadow. His movement silent as a stalking cat through the brush. The green color of his tunic and the rich brown of his trousers made it easier for him to blend into his surroundings and therefore remain unnoticed.

The cicadas continued to play their repetitive song while a flock of birds lifted from the ground into the trees, thrashing the vibrant green of the leaves with their wings as they sought to reach the sky.

Further on Wylen trekked. He grew more hopeful when he noticed the ground below his feet was softer here than it was a few paces back. His booted foot sunk into the earth just a tiny bit deeper than before. He grinned to himself, teeth flashing a brilliant white as he continued onwards.

Just a few more meters forward and he could hear the rushing sound of a creek. In his eagerness he quickened his pace. The image of a cool crisp forest stream already blossomed in his mind. He could almost hear the refreshing waters tumble over stones, smoothed down to perfection by years of runoff.

As his booted feet stomped through the forage the sound of running water grew louder. The wind rustled through the leaves, blowing gently against his heated skin as he shifted the strap holding his quiver in place. The sword from his belt bounced as he crept closer still.

Then he saw it.

The beautiful brook ran briskly over the various sized slickened stones, heavy with tufts of growing moss. He could see the white foam on the surface gathered at the top only to be washed away as the current drew it down the slope. The stream twisted and turned like a snake down the forest floor and disappeared behind a bend he did not care to explore.

Wylen broke through the brush. His feet touched the first couple of stones when he stopped short, eyes catching sight of a bent over form in the distance. His hand immediately reached for his sword out of reflex as he took in the figure bowed over the stream just several paces away. For a few seconds he just stood frozen and observed. However, when he reckoned there was no threat, he let his hand slip away from the hilt. Tentatively he inched a little closer.

His breath left his lungs in one fell swoop as his thirst was momentarily forgotten by what his eyes beheld. He stared awestruck at the beautiful form taking a sip from a cupped palm, slender fingers wet with cool water. Wylen swallowed and crept ever closer as his eyes raked over the long flowing ebony hair tied at the crown with a sash of crimson.

He painstakingly followed the path of one drop of water as it trailed down the expanse of a smooth ivory throat, leaving behind the full peachy pout of the woman’s lips. He inched even closer and blinked once, and then again. The familiar feeling of arousal had begun to grip his loins the longer he stared.

She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Like the Goddess of the Ubal river herself had come out to greet him and quench his thirst.

Feet now rooted to the spot he openly stared as the girl lowered her cupped hands back into the brook and brought them to her lips. Her eyelashes fluttered closed as she drank the cool waters. Then with moistened hands she lightly patted her face and then her neck, cooling her heated skin.

Wylen licked his lips and watched as those slender hands pulled the front of the tunic down just a bit, cooling the alabaster skin beneath the navy folds with an open palm. His eyes readily followed that hand as it brushed against the smooth contours of her jaw and tucked away the locks of loose hair behind a small ear.

Almost as if he were possessed, he took another step forward, eye glued to the vision of perfection. Not particularly careful of where he stepped, he loosened a stone. It tumbled down the small slope and dropped into the rushing brook with a loud plop.

At the sound of an intrusion, Jaelan darted to his feet. His eyes flashed in the direction the noise came from. Immediately he drew his sword from its scabbard and thrust it forwards at the interloper. Ebony eyes narrowed as he closed the short distance between them in less than three leaps.

“Who are you?” He growled and pointed his sword at Wylen with every intent to maim if threatened.

Wylen gasped. His jaw fell open as he stared into the face of his Goddess.

His Goddess…who in fact…

...Was a man….