mOnStEr - tWo
668 Words
Grey's feet begin aching barely half way through the trail that just keeps on winding up and up. He really tries not to look down, his heart hurting the further he walks away from the sea, from his home. But the more he thinks about never returning to the waves, the more he gets motivated to keep going. He needs to get his pelt back. He needs his pelt if he ever wants to return to the embrace of the salty waters.
He sets his jaw and continues, ignoring the pull of the muscles he's barely used for such a hike. He follows silently, hiding behind trees and foliage until he sees the group slow to a stop a couple hours later, just as the sun begins to set in the horizon.
They chatter amongst each other in excited whispers that he can't here. But a guest of wind that nearly knocks him to his knees makes Grey flinch.
Quickly he looks up, his eyes following a dark shadow in the sky, weaving through the clouds. His lips part in a soft gasp when his gaze adjusts.
A swirl of fire is shot his way and he barely has the time to dodge the flames and cover his face from the heat. Suddenly he's surrounded in wisps of smoke. He can't breathe. His gills shut against his neck tightly, his lungs working twice as hard. However, the simultaneous flapping of wings makes the smoke disperse, though it doesn't lessen the sting in Grey's eyes.
Through blurry vision and the darkening skies, he'd recognize that anywhere.
His lips moving in a soft gasp.
Just as quick as the shadow overhead appeared, it disappears.
He frowns, looking toward the entourage only to discover that they're gone.
He curses his luck, looking around but finding them gone.
"f**k," he whispers softly, "f**k, f**k, f**k!"
He steps out into the clearing and looks around. He turns in a slow swirl twirl trying to figure out where to go.
Eventually Grey makes up his mind and takes a step forward only to have the grass under his feet crunch with his weight.
He reaches down, fingertips tracing the charred blades of dead grass and that's when he realizes it. Burned into the ground is a sigil. The sigil.
He gulps.
And just like that he sees everything clearly.
The Kingdom of Fyre, of Ifrit, is before him.
He takes a stumbling step back.
The chatter of village folk echoing around him and it makes him want to panic. His people despise the Ifrit. They are demons of the underworld, ruling with fear and an iron fist. Tamers of dragons and manipulators of fire.
These are the people who have stolen his pelt.
The hope he had slowly dies.
But like hell will he give them the pleasure to celebrate his pain damnit!
He wants to go home! Even if his pod left him, even if he was an outcast.
Nothing, no amount of bullying and abuse from who he believed to be his family ever stopped him from returning to the water. And no demon will stop him now.
With a sense of confidence (that he's not sure where it's even came from) he squares his shoulders and locks his jaw. His fists curl and uncurl as he takes a deep breath and another. Even if his throat dries and his skin cracks he will get his pelt back.
First, he needs a plan.
He can't just waltz inside the kingdom of fiery ruins, not without getting looks and appearing guilty of treason. And it's not like they know he still exists. His kind, he means.
After all, there was a fall out many, many moons ago.
So he waits.
He hides low and waits.
Eventually he falls asleep slumped against a tree far, yet close, to the entrance of the gate.
In his dreams he thinks of the perfect way to infiltrate the kingdom and its palace.
Tomorrow.
He'll do everything tomorrow.
- Writer
