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masterserris · 2 years ago

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Asha'veha (Short Story Chapter 1)

Authors note: The sudden urge to write a short story based on a dream I had last night was overwhelming right now at midnight, so here is chapter 1 at least, all done in one sitting. Open to continue maybe, maybe not. No editing no nothing we die like beings.

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence/blood, mental distress

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The young king was bewildered by the actions of his two brothers. The orb that had been given to him by their father had been for him to coalesce his power. The heart of his magic and yet they coveted it from him. Dark desire and greed in their hungry faces, they seemed like strangers to him as they drew their blades against him, against his land and stole it away. He was left bereft and confused. In his disheveled state, he hurried after them, chasing, crying to have it returned to him. He could not understand why on earth they would behave like this, it was not like them! What could possess them to act this way?

It was the evil that wormed its way into the heart of any mortal man. The urges born with and by them.

Once the brothers returned to the capital they found their father waiting for them with his forces. In a stony rage, one might confuse his actions for retribution. The truth was far more foul. As the battle unfolded, he wrenched the orb of power from them and claimed it for himself. Yes, the very gift he had made by his own hand for his beloved Asha’veha he claimed for himself. Asha’veha finally arrived at the scene of chaos and was struck by the violence and hatred. They had loved and lived in a peaceful land, they didn’t have any rivalries or wars between them? How could this happen?

The man went to his father, dazed and stricken by everything unfolding. Seeing the orb and the pain being caused, he pleaded to him to stop this. To return it to him and cease the pointless violence. His mother felt the same, but she was unable to draw close, afraid of adding further confusion to the disaster. To his brothers’ dismay, as they had been coming to their senses, they noticed the vile air in the breeze and the danger to their younger brother. They called out to him to flee from their father’s wrath, to not engage or draw near. But how could he take their advice when this was his own dad? The one who loved and nurtured him, the one who taught him many things and had always been kind to them? He was no longer a king, but a self proclaimed emperor of all the lands and would burn away the other kingdoms to start anew. But why? Why this blinding madness? What could make a parent turn into such a monster?

It was the evil that wormed its way into the heart of any mortal man. The urges born with and by them.

Asha’vera’s eyes widened in horror seeing the violence in his father’s eyes, and yet he did not raise a hand against him, but knelt before him, begging and pleading for him to stop. It would not stop. It would not stop the father’s blade from rending the son asunder, slashing down across his left collar bone, through his sternum and ribs, and cutting through his soft flesh to his abdomen on the right side. The icy steel of the blade made the man gasp as it tore through him, then it was stolen from him as his lungs gave way to cruel metal rending them open. With what strength he still had in his body, he clung to his father’s robes, pleading yet still for him to stop. The blood stained his hands and the cloth that he clutched, until he fell backwards moments later against the unforgiving stone. Asha’veha died with his father staring down at his body and all the sound of the chaos around them seemed deafeningly silent. His mother cried out and the cacophony of the battle below still raged.

There was the sound of shattering glass as the world sphere broke and all stopped to gaze skywards only to see another reality threatening to come crashing down upon them. Some may claim it was the death of the young king that caused the sphere to fail. Others say it was the unbridled chaos and wanton destruction that had caused reality itself to have an aneurysm from the completely senseless, pointless infighting. Their world and the one falling upon them would destroy one another on contact, and it took no hesitation for the brothers to combine what might they had to try and hold it back. It was pitifully not enough. Not even with their mother, not even with their father and the orb he had stolen. Not all of the people and soldiers fighting, nothing would stop them from being squished like ants. No, as the wind stole the last breath from Asha’veha, as his body was dead and growing cold, his shadow was not. His last vigor and emotion given form surged forth from his corpse and took to the sky.

A great twisting serpent glowing in a pale blue light headed for the falling star with a singular purpose: to protect and save what he had loved dear. Alone with its might, it held the star in the sky and with great effort even began to push it back. Back, back into the heavens and onto a course where it would not collide with any other reality. With the invader gone, the world sphere could repair itself and heal. It was truly a miracle, but it would not last. With its singular purpose complete, the fragment of Asha’veha wailed in silence. It screamed and tore at its own face with its talons in agony without a single sound. It had nothing left. Everyone he had loved, everything he had tried to protect was gone from him, turned into a horrid mockery of what he once knew. No, this was not Asha’veha, but his sorrow and pain given form and it fled skyward. Far and away from everyone and everything. Crying with no voice.

His father gripped the orb with all of his strength. Not to crush the object, but rather hoping his own fingers would snap under the strain. They did not. He cursed. He cursed and he cursed as he awoke from his living nightmare. His son, his beloved son was dead by his own hand, and over what? A trinket he had made for him as a boy, a symbol of magic and strength. Leaving everything and everyone behind, he walked after the spirit.

Asha’veha’s mother knelt by her boy’s body, carefully taking him into her arms and kissing his tender forehead. His blood had run cold and spilled onto her fair dress, staining her hands. His brothers came to his side as well. They had much to do.

One: tend to the injured and wounded. Evacuate survivors.

Two: Bury the dead.

Three: Rebuild.

Asha’veha’s body would be entombed in his own fortress’s throne room within a glass casket crafted by his mother. His mother who became empress over his father’s kingdom and his own. She would place a spell upon the grave that would keep his body from ever decaying, and it was sealed air tight for all to see. His body was not cleaned, his clothes not changed. His bloody demise was left as is for any who could bear the sight and open to the public whether they wanted to pay their respect or voice their own miseries.

The brothers worked diligently to repair the damage to the four kingdoms, a heavy burden had been placed on them and their mother. The king, the father, had left that day with nothing. Nothing at all except for himself, the clothes on his back, and the orb. His only companion was his grief and the specter twisting in the sky. He followed it relentlessly. Until his sandals gave way, until his feet were bloodied and sore. He was no ordinary man, even as his feet were torn open by stones, in time they would heal despite the constant movement, and eventually they became tough and leathery. His robes became tattered and worn at their edges. He would not stop. Not for rain nor snow. He kept his head pointed skywards even in the midday sun, eyes transfixed on the shadow of his beloved child as it flew tormented towards the heavens. Day and night, he would only rest for a couple hours as was absolutely necessary and eat whatever was around. Then he walked. He climbed. He swam. There was no obstacle that would be in his way as he carried the orb. Was it a desperate attempt to return the heart he had stolen from his son? It wouldn’t matter. He had no means of flying and even if he climbed the tallest mountain, it would not come relatively close to the fragment at all. And yet, knowing all of this he walked. How long had he walked? Years? A century? A thousand years? It certainly felt like it. His skin grew tan and his body gaunt and lean. His muscles were strong, but the rest of him was frail. His eyes had sunken into his disheveled face, obsessed orbs that only reflected the living sorrow above him. Even as it finally tore itself to shreds and faded into the starlight he continued chasing after it. After a distant twinkle on the horizon, he would march his path endlessly.

Was it centuries? Or no time at all? Both perhaps? Time moved, the world still spun, the seasons turned, but everyone’s lives were at a stand still. The opposite of love was not hatred, but apathy. And the world was stricken by it. No, that is not the correct diagnosis. The world, the people felt as if they had lost their passion. A part of themselves. The artist could draw a vista in a hundred wonderful ways, but if they tried to make something new, they always found it lacking. The bard could recite song after song, and dance to the most wonderful of plays, but in finding fresh lyrics, their words fell like lead. In any other time these works could have been masterpieces, but now they were worthless to the creator and viewer alike. The scientists studied and studied, they taught and shared in their wisdom to many, but in researching anything new, in discovering the secrets of the world, their work fell short. The explorer did not wish to sail far and away, the hunter kept to the trails. The world had its peace, there was no more conflict. Outside of surviving the trials of nature’s whims and the beasts of the land, there was little drama. Outside of petty squabbles and the rare wonder, few people found satisfaction in their lives. Their long, long lives as a millennium passed slowly. As kids took decades to age in body and mind. As a new generation struggled to find meaning in life.

It was an unremarkable night when Asha’veha awoke with a start. As if he had been dreaming that he was falling and falling only to come to a sudden stop. He had been dreaming, yes? About many different things, sights and sounds, people and places, or was it nothing at all? An abyss of rest, only to be abruptly shaken from it. He could not recall anything specific, only vague vestiges of thought and feeling. But where he lay was padded and comfortable. Cozy. He could sleep for a bit longer… yes, he always looked forward to a good night’s rest. He did not mind a nap. He could rest just a bit more before daybreak. And so for a few more hours he fell back asleep before finally awakening fully. His body was stiff as he flexed his muscles, slowly he stretched his hands skyward only to have them unexpectedly bump into an invisible wall. Except it was no wall, but the lid of his glass casket. He saw the dark smear against the glass and noticed his hands covered in his own blood, the horrid gash running down his torso and he remembered his last moments. The wind ripping the last bit of life from his body and feeling so far away from everything he had given his life for. He was in a state of panic, but rather than thrashing about, he slowly tried to calm himself.

His blood had not dried in these long years. The seal on the coffin was air tight, and the spell kept him from rotting and his blood from turning foul. It was stagnant and separated, but still liquid. Eventually, Asha’veha placed his hands on the glass and carefully pushed the heavy lid upwards, opening the casket a crack and letting the cool fresh air flow in. He breathed deeply with his sundered lungs, thankful, before mustering himself a bit more to shimmy out of the tomb entirely. He recognized his empty throne. But would he recognize much else? And what of himself in his destroyed state? How did he get to this point? What force brought him back? In truth, it was nothing. Nothing at all.

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