The Arrival of the Stranger
“Sialla, what makes you hesitate?” Her mother’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. Matriarch Yahltil looked regal in her elaborate headdress of quetzal feathers, the emerald plumes haloing her sharp face. Her mother’s tone was measured, but there was no mistaking the note of urgency beneath it.
Sialla opened her mouth to speak but stopped short when she spotted him. The stranger stepped out of the shadows like one of the obsidian jaguars etched into her tunic, his movements fluid but deliberate. He was clad in traveling leathers uncommon to her people, the intricate runes stitched into his cloak strange yet enticing. His long hair, black as the sky after a storm, was tied loosely at the nape of his neck. A single scar ran over his right eyebrow, disrupting the perfection of his angular face.
“Elder Yahltil,” he called out, his voice reverberating through the charged air. “Will the gods not wait for a moment’s clarity?”
The murmurs were immediate. Disdainful. But Sialla felt her heart skip in recognition. For she had seen this man before—in dreams that had haunted her since childhood. Dreams where silver rivers crossed blood-red skies, and two moons hung side by side above an unfamiliar horizon.
The Mission
The elders met behind closed doors that night, leaving Sialla with only the stranger and her thoughts. He introduced himself as Tahren, a wanderer from beyond the empire’s borders, and though he spoke cautiously, his piercing gaze suggested he knew more about her than he was letting on.
“You’re not meant to be here, not like this,” he had said, his voice dropping to a whisper. They sat beside the temple steps, the stars now veiled by gathering clouds. “You feel it, don’t you? The fracture in your soul?”
Sialla stiffened, but it was futile to deny it. That strange ache that had been with her since she had grasped the blade—it was not mere trepidation but something deeper, something wrong.
“What do you know of fractures?” she said finally, each word forced from her lips.
Tahren reached into his pouch, retrieving a small, obsidian shard that pulsed faintly with an inner glow. Its colors shifted and moved like liquid fire within the stone.
“Because I’ve carried one,” he said, his voice almost wistful. “This fragment was once part of something whole, something alive. And so are you, Sialla. Your fate was cleaved long before you reached this temple, and I’ve come to set it right.”
The Decision
By dawn, the elders reached a verdict, but it was Tahren’s words that lingered the strongest in Sialla’s thoughts. He had spoken of a path away from the altar—a way that would return her fractured pieces and free her from the constraints of destiny.
But the price was everything she had ever known.
The dawn ceremony began with solemn grandeur. The fire had been revived, its heat biting at Sialla’s skin as she ascended the temple steps. The entire village had gathered to witness—their faces masks of expectation. Her mother stood at the base, as proud and resolute as the first matriarch of their line. It was tradition, she reminded herself. Duty.
Yet, as she approached the smooth obsidian surface of the altar, she felt it: the pulse. The whisper of another fate calling her.
“Do it!” one of the elders intoned. The blade slipped in her sweating hands. But even as the chants grew louder, demanding her compliance, her eyes found Tahren upon the periphery. He gave no sign, no indication of alliance, but the faint smirk on his lips was an anchor—a challenge.
Sialla raised the blade—not over the sacrifice waiting before her, but toward the heavens. There was a collective gasp. Tahren’s hand shot into his cloak, retrieving a second shard. For a fraction of an instant, time frayed. She felt her body sunder, her soul pried from the bonds of her physical form.
When reality returned, the flames were gone. Elders scattered. But she—and Tahren—stood unscathed amidst the ashes. Her tunic had changed; now it bore the same flowing symbols that adorned his cloak, threads of obsidian and crimson interwoven like veins beneath skin.
He offered her his hand. “The gods are not what you think they are, Sialla,” Tahren said. “Now, will you follow me to discover the truth?”
She hesitated for neither breath nor heart’s beat. Just as she had known this stranger in her dreams, she knew her answer in her soul.
The winds carried the crackling remnants of the pyre into the jungle as the two disappeared into the dense foliage. Somewhere far beyond the hills, another destiny awaited.
Genre: Fantasy Adventure
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Sick of your life? TRANSFORM IT NOW. #Shorts
Disclaimer: This article may contain affiliate links. If you click on these links and make a purchase, we may receive a commission at no additional cost to you. Our recommendations and reviews are always independent and objective, aiming to provide you with the best information and resources.
Get Exclusive Stories, Photos, Art & Offers - Subscribe Today!
Post Comment
You must be logged in to post a comment.