The Air Smelled of Singed Copper
Darian leaned against the battered archway of the Temple of Voan, his fingers tightening around the scarred hilt of his gladius. His forest-green tunic was torn at the hem, streaked with ash and the deep russet of dried blood. The ochre sash at his waist, once a proud marker of his station, flapped dismally in the wind. His thick black hair curled with sweat, framing a gaunt face marked by days of battle and sleepless nights.
The sun, a monstrous red orb, hung limply in the twilight sky like an omen. Behind him, the city of Avaris smoldered. Once a sprawling maze of sandstone and lapis lazuli towers, it was now reduced to a graveyard of rubble, its streets slick with the blood of rebels and soldiers alike. The rebellion had come at a terrible cost, and Darian—commander, betrayer, savior depending on who told the tale—had paid his share.
The clinking of chains snapped him out of his stupor. He turned sharply toward the sound, gladius raised, only to find Astera stumbling into view. Her once pristine white stola was stained with grime, the golden embroidery frayed and trailing. Her wrists and ankles were raw from iron manacles, and her silken black hair hung in disarray over her face. Yet, her golden eyes burned with undiminished resolve.
“We don’t have time for this, Astera,” Darian said, his voice harsh to mask the tremor beneath. He turned away and scanned the burning horizon. “They’ll be here soon. If we don’t get to the labyrinth—”
“You still believe in that old myth?” Her voice, though cracked, sliced through his resolve. “The Star of Kildres doesn’t exist, Darian. And even if it did, it won’t absolve you of what you’ve done.”
Darian flinched. The words were knives, cutting clean and deep. He didn’t need a reminder—not from her, not from anyone. He carried his sins like the sword strapped to his back, always present, always heavy.
“You don’t understand,” he said, stepping forward and gripping her by the shoulders. “This isn’t about absolution. The Star is our only chance to save what’s left of Avaris. You didn’t see the priests talking about it in their journals. It’s real. It has to be.”
Astera didn’t pull away, but her expression hardened. “And what of Talrik? What of my brother? My people?”
A gust of gritty wind tore between them, carrying ash like ghosts made visible. Darian dropped his hands and looked away. He had no answer to give.
Three Nights Earlier
The rebellion had begun as whispers in the taverns and burned-out markets of the lower district. Darian, then a loyal captain of the High Patriarch’s army, had been charged with quelling unrest with a firm but fair hand. Fair, however, proved to be in short supply when the Patriarch decreed that taxes would double to fund the construction of his Ecliptic Tower. The people had no more to give, and the riots turned into something darker: revolution.
Astera had been the spark—quite literally. She had infiltrated the grand storehouses along with other rebels and set the great granaries ablaze. Darian had been the officer on duty that night, chasing her through the labyrinthine alleys of Avaris. He had cornered her beside the Withering Canal, sword drawn, ready to deliver justice.
But she had laughed. Laughed, even with his blade at her throat. In her defiance, Darian saw not a criminal, but a reflection of himself, back before years of service had dulled his edges and made compromise his creed. In sparing her, he had set the stage for his own undoing. And hers, perhaps.
The Labyrinth
Now, they stood on the threshold of the mythical underground maze. Overhead, the stars glimmered faintly—a welcome sight against the soot-filled sky. The entrance was a crumbled gateway, its sides etched with reliefs of a great serpent coiled around a blazing star. The labyrinth had always been a tale for scaring children. Until now.
“If it kills us, you’ll have wasted the last of Avaris’ hope,” Astera said coldly, her manacles jangling as she stepped forward.
“If we don’t try, hope is wasted anyway,” Darian replied, gladius in hand.
The passage descended quickly into darkness, the air damp and rank with ancient limestone. They moved cautiously, guided by the flicker of a torch Darian had salvaged during their flight. The walls seemed to close in, narrowing until Astera had to press uncomfortably close to him.
“Do you have a plan? Or is this your usual charge-into-certain-death approach?” she asked. Sarcasm had become her armor, Darian realized.
“Find the Star,” he muttered. “Survive long enough to use it.”
“Inspirational,” she said dryly. But there was fear behind her quip, and Darian could feel it as palpably as the damp walls at his side.
The Serpent
They found it—or it found them—in the heart of the labyrinth. The chamber was vast, the ceiling stretching beyond the reach of their torchlight. In its center stood a pedestal, upon which a crystalline artifact pulsed with a faint, otherworldly light.
They barely had time to breathe before the walls began to shift. Stone ground against stone as a monstrous serpent, its scales shimmering like black opals, slithered into view. Its eyes glowed a fiery orange, and its hiss reverberated like a war drum.
“This is what you wanted?” Astera screamed, retreating as the serpent coiled itself menacingly.
“Keep it distracted!” Darian shouted, darting toward the pedestal. He had no plan—only instinct and desperation. The serpent lunged, and Astera, bound and exhausted, somehow managed to roll clear, grabbing a fallen spear from an earlier adventurer’s remains.
Darian reached the Star, its warmth pulsating through his palms. As the serpent lunged again, Astera hurled the spear with a feral cry, the weapon embedding itself in the creature’s exposed underbelly. It shrieked—an unholy sound that made the ground quake—but did not die. It turned its fury to her.
“No!” Darian roared, clutching the Star tightly.
The Light of Redemption
The artifact reacted to his anguish, glowing brighter until its light filled the chamber completely. It burned away the serpent, the walls of the labyrinth, even the pain in Darian’s soul—leaving only silence.
They stood outside, bruised and battered but alive. Astera, crumpled at Darian’s feet, stirred and opened her eyes. “You did it,” she whispered.
Darian said nothing. He cradled the Star, its glow dimming slowly, wondering what price they would pay for this victory.
Neither of them noticed the new constellation forming in the crimson sky above.
Genre: Mythological Fantasy/Adventure
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: What Kind of Person Do You Aspire to Be? | Personal Growth Shorts
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