.

.

.

The discovery of the White Flame, and the truth of its magic only present within the blackest of darkness, gave man and Kin the first step into true civilization. Even today, the discovery is recognized as the most monumental in history.

The story of the church of flame begins long ago, before even the advent of the angels, when dark things stalked the wilds of the first world and beyond. Preying upon our ancestors, these crazed spirits seemed invulnerable to us defenseless mortals.

But soon into this seeming despair, we were rescued. Not by the angels, who arrived far later, and not even by each other. Instead, we were blessed by the White Flame itself, the original guardian of mankind. It noticed our struggle, and moved by our determination, granted us its fury. Given the task of defending mankind, the priests of the Flame armed themselves with divine radiance, delving into the vilest of places and returning with the trophies of ancient foes.

Civilization spread quickly as we gathered in various settlements, each person guarded by the flame. We fashioned great bastions of enlightenment, tall colleges, temples to the brilliant fire beyond; the divine shepherd of the day.

But the Angels saw the Flame as a threat to their power. They outlawed Its worship, banning the use of the White Flame by mortals. Only after the great war could our true religion finally return to its rightful place, the capital of the priesthood overseen by the towers of Eirithal. To this day, the gift of the church -the gift of fire- is passed down between us and used to extend the domain of the sun far into the night. The creatures of the darkness flee, knowing their place.

With our ancestral enemies defeated and banished to the ends of the first world, our divine beacons continue to burn within the walls of all civilizations, everlasting until the end of time.

.

.

.

The boy closed the book lightly, his eyes rising to see the damp form of the man striding towards him through the blackened trees, away from the banks of the river, still pulling his undershirt on over his bare chest- revealing the multitude of scar tissue and deformities on the pale skin for a moment.

“You done?”

“...Yeah.”

“I still think you’re crazy for actually bathing in that blighted water, you know. We have no idea what’s in it.”

The man stared at the boy before slowly raising an eyebrow.

“Rush. You might want to say that before putting it in your waterskin.”

His younger companion huffed, tucking the book into his pouch and quickly standing.

“Yeah, I get it, I get it. I just… I don't like the idea.”

“...Today’s the last stretch, kid.”

“I know.”

They started moving soon after, though not before the man finished pulling on the various layers of cloth and leather covering his body, the new metal pauldrons strapped well to his shoulders, alongside other small pieces of mismatching armor.

The boy tucked his book into his pack, the normal pouch on his waist folded away. The multiple items normally hanging off his body were also hidden beneath his clothing.

That day would be too strenuous for any overhanging items. They needed to think ahead.

The two travelers left the banks of the river, both pairs of eyes looking high above, through the barren treetops over their heads, staring at the rising ground that continued upwards into the mountains before them.

The journey would be especially difficult on that day. Both of the travelers knew that, though neither spoke another word.

It was the same cold chill as always that began to raise goosebumps on the boy’s skin, even through the thick cloth that covered his body. He didn’t show it on his face, but the return of ice brushing feather-light over the bare skin of his cheek was enough to quicken his beating heart.

He kept his eyes resting on the figure in front of him even as the two stepped carefully, ascending upwards through the countless dirt switchbacks. That side of the mountain was steep, the boy almost forced to climb with his hands while stepping between the blackened trees that seemed to lean against the slanted ground, their roots twisted and clawing into the crumbling earth below.

The wind rushed up the hill just behind them, whistling in between the branches that reached out for the two travelers. It hit their backs, almost pushing them upwards and supporting their weight- an insidious support, one with a hollow base, ready to fall away and disappear as soon as they trusted it with more than too much weight.

The boy breathed heavily, his face already red from the exertion of the trail, and a small part of him still retaining something other than apprehension towards the unknown was happy to feel the cool air blow around his body.

If there was anything to like about this dead place, it was the constant flow of air. In a normal forest, it might be windy, but that airflow would be hampered by the leaves. This place had no such obstruction, and the wind was free to flow between those charred wooden trunks like a breath through an enormous instrument.

While the wind did whistle through the branches, creating almost harmonious melodies at times, it did not ever lose the creeping feeling that only chilled the boy. There was something else in the air, that much was certain.

The boy turned his eyes up towards his companion once more.

“How… how much longer…?”

“...We’re almost at the top. Don’t worry.”

The man’s voice was steady. He breathed heavily, but his face remained stoic.

It was like a cloak that almost clung to his shoulders, shrouding his body in its embrace. A cloak of confidence. Even with tired bones and sore muscles, scarred skin and an old body, the man seemed utterly composed, holding up a stern, emotionless face like a banner to the world. A rejection of the struggle that such a world had forced onto him.

But the man couldn't stop his knees from trembling.

“Kid, stop.”

Their upward movement along the steep hill slowed, and both let out sighs, leaning against whatever pillars might support them. The man turned to the boy slightly below him, reaching into a pocket on the side of his pack and retrieved two small lanterns inside, each one able to fit into the palm of his hand.

While still holding the two miniature lanterns, nothing more than unlit yellow candles held inside of wire and glass cages, the man’s dark eyes peered down the slope of the hill, watching for any sign of something below. He set the lanterns down onto a small flat section of the ground, quickly taking out a pair of flint and steel, lighting the candles inside. Although the violent winds were strong, buffeting their cloaks and hair, those lanterns were utterly still.

“Here. Take one and don’t let go- don’t let it go out, either. Not here.”

The boy immediately climbed up and grabbed one of the lanterns, holding it with both hands even while still breathing deeply.

“How many lanterns do we have left?”

“We’ll get more at the coast. I’d rather waste ‘em then die because we risked it.”

The boy’s eyes widened, briefly looking down the slope in the same direction of the man, before nodding wordlessly, clutching the lantern tightly within his raw, windcut palms. The light illuminated his chest in the meager light of day.

“Okay.”

The man nodded and picked up the remaining lantern, taking one last moment to look down the slope before continuing upwards.

“...I just hope they aren’t needed.”

While the two moved upwards on the side of the hill, hesitantly grabbing black trees as handholds to help pull themselves up, they kept their eyes on the lanterns always held in at least one open hand.

The two had been wary before, tension filling their bodies and steps, but now those mostly solemn composers had been weakened. They eyed their candlelight carefully, looking behind their shoulders to the surrounding trees. The man’s open hand occasionally crept towards one of the multitudes of small pouches on his belt, passing over them almost unconsciously. Sweat beaded on the boy’s face, though not caused simply by the exertion of the trail, which only became more unstable over the day.

As they clutched the lanterns close, however, a silence began to grow in the forest, the gusts of wind fading away slowly.

The forest crowded them from all sides, but the quiet winds that had become so common disappeared into an utter quiet. The sounds of animals, of distant action, of birdsong, were all gone. There was no distant splashing of a brook, and the quiet air was brought to a still. Such a silence in that strange place was mostly normal, but something about it continued to unnerve the boy.

It was an almost oppressive force that began to push down over the two figures, one they could do nothing about besides hold the candles in their hands closely, and step as quickly as they dared to without falling down the slope.

Not even the footfalls of their climb made much sound, due to the complete lack of dead leaves on the ground that might have been found in common forests. All they could walk over was mud, gnarled roots, and slick rock. Perilous steps without traction that could easily see them slipping, falling head over heels in a tumble that sent them all the way down the slope.

The light of the day began to fade from a distant, muffled light through the thick clouds above them to a dim glare that seemed to disappear more by the minute.

A frantic energy filled the two- both knew there would be no safe way to set up camp in a location like this one.

“No…”

The boy looked up at the man above him, still moving as they both continued to climb upwards.

“We’ll make it. I recognize where we are. Trust me, kid. We’ll make it.”

He looked around, staring up from the dim candlelight between his hands for the first time in what must have been hours, and peered around at the dying day around them.

The boy didn’t respond, but his pace quickened along with the man.

Soon afterwards, the slope finally rounded, the steep hill falling back onto flat ground- the many boulders covering the muddied forest floor disappearing. The air was thinner in this place, with the boy’s breathing reduced to a pant, and the trees were also much less common, the distance between each almost twice as much as before, and all were much shorter than their intimidating heights in the forest proper.

But just as they stopped, placing their packs on the ground, their tension faded and grabbing the various wooden torches from their packs, their eyes widened.

Both of the two travelers whirled around, the boy grabbing the small crossbow from his waist and the man holding one of the pouches, this one specifically strung of red cloth, ready in his hand. The travelers still tightly holding onto their respective lanterns, the stress of their grips resembling chokeholds. Each candle had begun to burst with light, their flames flared within the lanterns.

The wind roared.

Whistling through the dead trees from a hundred different directions, it came with the force of a hurricane, battering into the two travelers as if it was trying to physically carry them off.

Such force through the air was enough to rip through the branches of the trees, and unlike the previous music of shaking whistles that blew through the forest, this sound was a scream.

The day was almost gone- light fading at a pace unlike the previous hours, unlike the previous night's where they had camped, the dim afternoon almost instantly replaced with dark dusk.

“The torches, kid! The torches!”

“O-Okay!”

The two began to move with mad energy, pulling out the bundles of wood folded down from the torch poles, and threw each one out of the packs. The boy grabbed a first, planting it into the ground and striking his flint and steel, but the furious wind was too violent, and he wasn’t able to truly light a fire.

The boy turned to his companion, still handling the rest of the torches, a frantic fear etched deep into the red skin of his face.

“Hey! I need the burn-powder, it’s-”

But his frantic yell was cut off in a choked noise, his throat locking shut in fear.

Chills burst across his body in a wave warning that made him tremble, his hands weakening, dropping the flint and steel to the ground.

Both travelers felt an alien presence rear its awareness.

They made eye contact for a brief moment.

The man spoke, unable to truly keep his voice from shaking.

“Get the torches going. I’ll deal with them until you’re done.”

He threw a small black draw-string pouch towards the boy, who was just barely able to catch it through the wind and his own trembling.

“Wait, Alvo-”

“Shut up!”

The boy closed his mouth, all his senses still focused on the thing he could sense, just on the edge of his awareness, before nodding.

He poured a stream of black powder from the pouch onto the torch, quickly picking up the flint and steel and lighting the top instantly.

Underneath its light, furiously blazing almost in response to the terrible winds, he felt the deep-set chill in his bones slightly fade away.

A scream, a real scream, from the throat of some terrible creature, cut through the wind, shooting frigid ice straight up the boy’s spine. He didn’t stop, though; running to the pile of torches to pick a second one up, planting it into the ground.

“Kid! When you get those torches up, don’t you move! No matter what you hear, understand?

The man grabbed both of the lanterns they had been carrying, holding one in each hand, and looked towards the wind. The rest of the forest stood before him, the scream still ringing in his ears. His face was blank.

He walked into the night.

.

.

.