Thud!
In an instant,
Borne on a whispering night breeze, a lithe form tumbled into Draven Zorathar’s embrace.
“Hm?”
Draven arched a brow, steadying the figure in his arms.
Before words could pass between them,
A hulking man pushed through the throng, his face twisted with malice, clad in a chef’s stained apron.
Wielding a cleaver, he fixed a venomous glare on the figure in Draven’s hold, snarling: “Foul Dusk Elf thief, caught at last! This time, I’ll see you bound and sold!”
Bathed in the glow of magical lanterns, the one in Draven’s arms came into view.
A girl, her skin a burnished bronze, her long, pointed ears quivering faintly. Draped in threadbare roughspun, her life was etched with want. Her white hair, once radiant, hung brittle and tangled, her form streaked with grime, her feet bare. Yet her delicate face, though marred by soot, shone with an undeniable beauty.
A Dusk Elf!
Sprung from the tainted Tree of Elvenkind, this race embraced the shadows and moonlight. Stripped of the elves’ bond with nature, they were forged in cruel survival, blessed with peerless agility and an affinity for curses and dark arcana. Cast out by elven realms, they wandered without a homeland, unprotected. Their haunting beauty and exotic hue made them coveted prizes in the underbelly of slave markets, claimed as trophies by the mighty.
…
So warm…
How could this embrace glow with such warmth?
Like a hearth’s tender embrace.
Dwelling in the dust, scraping by in a precarious existence,
Klyra had not felt such comfort in an age…
In days gone by, she might have surrendered to this warmth, drifting into a dreamless slumber.
But alas,
Her plight screamed of doom.
The worst had befallen her!
She had been seized!
A Dusk Elf must never be caught!
“Let me go!”
She writhed, her small feet flailing, desperate to break free,
Yet her strength waned, unable to flee the embrace she secretly yearned to linger in.
At that moment, the brute’s venomous taunts pierced her ears.
Clinging to her savior, her ruby eyes blazed defiantly at the man, her voice sharp with protest: “I’m no thief! I took nothing! I only glanced at your pastries! Your wretched cat devoured them! You seek to sell me to slavers!”
The fat man faltered, his face flushing crimson with rage, spitting: “Lies! Cunning Dusk Elf thief, aren’t all your kind shadow-skulking rogues?”
Turning to Draven, he growled: “Sir, my thanks! Surrender this vile Dusk Elf to me!”
“No… no! Please, don’t hand me to him! Brother, I swear I’m innocent!”
Klyra quaked, her hands clutching Draven’s robe in desperation.
The fabric, silken and exquisite, stood in stark contrast to her tattered rags.
She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes, her plea fervent as she gazed at Draven.
Caught in this sudden tumult, Draven stood unmoved.
He neither delivered the girl to the man nor released her fragile form.
His obsidian eyes locked on the brutish chef.
Those eyes bore an otherworldly power,
Deep, weathered, as if spanning eons, cradling a cosmos of stars.
Their gaze pierced the soul,
An unyielding weight, like a mountain pressing upon the heart.
The cruel man felt dread rise unbidden, chilling his bones.
His bravado crumbled, his fury wilting under that stare.
“A chef whose hands are stained with vile deeds can craft no dish of worth.”
“Do you understand?”
Draven’s voice, soft as a breeze, met the man’s eyes.
Yet to the chef, it thundered like a storm, a hammer striking his soul.
His breath seized.
He froze, his fleshy face drained of color.
What… was this?
The world stood unchanged, the youth before him unmoved.
Yet time seemed to still, space to congeal. The world shifted!
What had he seen?
He could not name it!
An unspeakable terror!
A despair that clawed at his core!
As if that gaze had torn his soul asunder.
He was afraid. He was terrified. He was undone!
Never had death felt so near.
Clang!
The cleaver slipped from his trembling grasp, ringing sharply against the stone.
“I… s-sorry, sir… I… I erred! I’ll… I’ll go!”
Panic-stricken, the man bobbed his head, heedless of his fallen blade. As if fleeing a nightmare, he turned and stumbled away, not daring to await a reply.
“Brother… do you… do you believe me?”
She… was saved?
Klyra had braced for ruin!
If surrendered to that cruel chef, her fate was unimaginable.
Yet, against all hope, salvation had come.
This stranger, this warm brother, had chosen to trust her over the brutish foe!
And banished him!
Her heart surged from despair to joy, overwhelming her senses.
Warmth welled within, spilling into her eyes.
Her crimson gaze burned brighter, aglow with emotion.
Born to a cursed race, her Dusk Elf mother and human father long lost to the grave,
She was an orphan, trapped in Solspire’s gleaming sprawl, scavenging its alleys, vying with strays for scraps.
She knew only the sting of scornful glares.
But now, for the first time in ages, she felt the embrace of trust and warmth.
At this thought, her grip tightened on his robe.
She knew not what the morrow held,
But tonight,
This moment would be etched in her heart forever.
my book now available on https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FK53D4WY,amazon The Cataclysmic Dragon's Dawn
Comments (0)
See all