The Weight of the Past
The journey through the remnants of Aretz unfolded in oppressive silence. Charred bones and shattered statues peppered the terrain like forgotten memories. Ereshka hated how familiar she’d become with the smell—cooked flesh mixed with the metallic tang of scorched electronics. It disquieted the soul in a way that words couldn’t capture.
Her thoughts drifted to what Aretz had been, before the Cataclysm. The shimmering towers made of woven crystal, the floating gardens that bloomed under twin moons, and the festivals where songs brightened even the most closed-hearted citizen. She remembered the markets, the spiced wines, the whispers of lovers in darkened alcoves. It was a city of possibility. Now it was dust. Dust and fire.
Baltren broke the silence first. “Do you still believe… in some kind of ‘after’? For people like us?”
Ereshka’s hand tightened around the strap of the bag. She didn’t look at him, though she felt his eyes boring into her. “I can’t afford beliefs anymore.”
“That’s not an answer,” Baltren pushed. “You were a Priestess before all this, weren’t you? Back when belief was your entire purpose?”
“And look where that purpose led us,” she snapped, turning to glare at him. Her features were sharp, angular, beautiful in a way worn down by pain. Her raven-black hair spilled wildly from beneath her braided circlet of faded red leather. It might've been ceremonial once; now, it was simply practical. “Everything I believed in—everything I served—betrayed me. Betrayed all of us.”
Baltren shrugged, but didn’t reply. The conversation died, suffocated under years of unspoken grief. The ruins swallowed them whole as they pressed onward.
Ambush in the Shadows
The attack came without warning. They had taken shelter in the skeletal remnants of what had once been the Grand Archives. Rows and rows of disintegrating books still clung to shelves, their stories erased by time—but the predators stalking the library cared nothing for literature.
Ereshka had just unslung her pack, easing the weight from her shoulders, when the air grew unnaturally still. That was the only warning. The first Automaton lunged from the shadows, its sleek black body trailing an oily mist, claws raking the stone floor where she had been just moments before.
“We’ve got company!” Baltren barked, his prosthetic arm snapping upward to unleash a bolt of concentrated plasma. It struck the mechanical beast in the chest, but it only stumbled briefly, its glowing red eyes locking onto him with murderous intent.
Ereshka was already moving, her cloak flaring like spilled blood as she drove her rune-blade into the Automaton's back. Sparks flew. The thing hissed as mechanical fluids sprayed outward, drenching her gloves. But there was no time to celebrate. More shadows emerged, some crawling along the walls, others dropping from shattered skylights above.
“There’s too many of them!” Baltren shouted, ducking behind a stone pillar for cover.
“Then stop wasting air and start fighting!” Ereshka retorted, spinning and cleaving through another attacker. Her blade danced with light, a blur of fire and emerald luminance. She fought like a phantom of vengeance, muscles taut, every movement a masterstroke of survival. But they were being overwhelmed.
That’s when the Orb began to glow—brighter than ever before. The faint hum she’d grown accustomed to now crescendoed into a deafening roar. She felt it through the bag, the relic pulsing with an almost unbearable intensity.
“Ereshka, what’s it doing?!” Baltren yelled over the cacophony.
Every fiber of her being screamed to run, to drop it, to let fate decide. But she didn’t. She gritted her teeth, pulling the Orb from its protective casing. Its surface shimmered like molten quicksilver, streaks of sapphire and violet swirling in hypnotic patterns. They didn’t have a choice.
She raised the Orb above her head and screamed, “Cover me!”
The Choice of Light
The Automata seemed to falter, their sleek frames pausing as if in recognition of the object now radiating in her hands. Ereshka’s voice took on a guttural tone, ancient and raw, as she began to chant words she didn’t know she remembered. Her runes flared hotter, branding her like iron against flame, but she didn’t stop. Energy erupted from the Orb in waves, flooding the room with blinding light.
Baltren shielded his face, shouting something Ereshka couldn’t hear. The Automata screeched—an otherworldly, ear-piercing sound—before collapsing into heaps of silenced machinery.
When the light dimmed, when the chaos ebbed, when the final echoes of her chant were swallowed by the deathly quiet, Ereshka collapsed to her knees. The Orb, now dark and lifeless, rolled from her grip and onto the cracked floor. Her hands shook, her breath ragged.
“Tell me we’re done,” Baltren murmured, approaching cautiously, his weapon still raised. His silhouette looked otherworldly against the dust-choked light filtering in from above.
Ereshka didn’t respond. Her hands were blistered, her vision swimming. But she managed to meet his gaze, her voice hoarse but resolute. “Not yet.”
Baltren sighed, then extended his mechanical hand to pull her back to her feet. “Then let’s finish it.”
Genre
Action/Thriller with Science Fantasy Elements
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: If You're Skeptical About Whether or Not You Can Change, Do Not Watch This Video
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