Fables/Fairytales Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ A Confused Innocence ❯ Nightmare ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Small, clear pearls, dangling from the jagged surface threatening to release them into the black abyss below, beautifully reflected everything around them. Their dim reflection was the only light for what seemed to be miles in the eyes of something so small. Their innocent, purpose-driven glisten gave a kind of pleading feel in the eerie, grim setting. And when these pearls, droplets, were released, cascading down onto what seemed to be forever... They would thud against cold, dark stone, the same that had served as their support only seconds ago. Each droplet's fall was like the descension of a life - starting out as something small, surrounded by a huge, foreign world, not as embracing or protecting as the womb. Then, once freed, the life gradually plunges towards it's inevitable demise - the reflection of the droplets, showing more as it reached a broader place, representing the growing number of experiences in a life. And when they finally hit after the fatal drop, when a life finally ends... Everything around it is tattered.

Perhaps that was symbolized by the way the dripping water splashed when hitting the ground. These were the thoughts of the humbled traveler. He had spent a full hour laying with his eyes open, staring at the hanging droplets, and letting his eyes follow them as they fell. His eyes were sea blue, like water, and he sported a pale complexion, almost as pale as a full moon in the summer. He sifted his body uncomfortably against his cloak, black as the night, it's fabric the only separation between the traveler and the rocky ground. He decided that this was the proper time to venture deeper into the cavern. The special thing about this traveler was his motives. He did not come here out of greed. To pursue a treasure, yes, but not entirely for a selfish gain. It felt more like a need to him. While eavesdropping on commoners, he had discovered that this was a popular hunt; but that was a risk he was willing to take.

The traveler's eyes, barely blinking, had adapted to the dark well for this morning. He navigated along the uneven surfaces, scaled the obstacles and evaded narrow chasms and uncomfortable footing, treading slowly, patiently. With the priority for progress he had chosen, it would be hours until he found the treasure, but he was fully aware of this as well.

What was the treasure, exactly?

It was not even completely defined as a treasure. At least, not by men of favored conscience.

Ragtag bandits, black markets, corrupt noblemen and the likes had all cherished it's description.

Local youth in neighboring villages had enjoyed telling tales to each other of it's legend at night over a fire, and often speculated on how such an artifact of awe could possibly be attained.

These people believed that it would bring them power, wealth, fame and fortune... The ultimate weapon of manipulation.

But men in charge of the government gravely feared it. This treasure remained absent on all bounties, lists, announcements and attractions. The instant one mentioned it, the authority figure would blatantly interrupt and change the subject.

While withdrawn commoners had positive beliefs about the treasure, perhaps being able to cure terminal illness, still negative emotions and unhealthy conflict or even bring ancestors and loved ones back from the grave, it was still avoided.

Not for the shady crowd that was it's main audience, but for the reputation of seeking it.

No man had ever returned after seeking the treasure.

Even the most vile, powerful, fearless man who was a regular at a popular tavern perished.

But the traveler already knew all of this.

But why?

Why seek it when the odds pointed at futility?

The traveler was not a man of regular needs.

He was not a vagabond, accidentally losing all means of necessity in an unforeseen tragedy who sought to get it back.

He was not a misanthropic hermit, who would stray to the most desolate of places for solitude, and wanted to guarantee a full life without interaction.

He had a personal connection to this treasure.

What or how he did not know, but the further he ventured into the cavern, the traveler felt a rare harmony in his bloodstream, and a seemingly spontaneous motivation to persevere. The only point of logic for this in his light, unsteady head was that somehow it was tied to an ineffable penance that he had long been in debt to.

He sought the treasure for punishment, ringing true to his self-loathing image, and a sense of identity, a destination to reach in his usually aimless life.

The traveler hungrily followed this feeling until he reached the end of the cavern. There, it stood, the treasure, and suddenly the final fable he had heard of it's dangerous existence replayed in his mind;

The treasure was a pair of swords, crafted out of a misty frost-pulsating ice, carved in the exact image of a crescent moon, standing side by side on a pedestal of soil.

However, an invisible circle surrounded the swords. Whenever the soul who dares seek the swords steps into this ring, they are trapped until they can touch both of the hilts.

It would seem easy enough a task, but is actually brutally difficult. Triggering the ring's trap also awakens the magic in the swords. The swords then reflect the seeker's deepest fears and regrets back to their senses, as well as giving them all of the pain of any kind they have ever caused others.

This excruciating curse grows stronger as the seeker nears the swords. Since no man had ever been able to touch the blades before, they would go mad, trapped in the ring until death.

The traveler was not intimidated or discouraged by this at all. So far, it had seemed to be true - there sat two beautiful crescent swords that fit the exact description of the tale. Except, now, they were sitting atop a mountain of skeletons, once rotten, barren corpses of the adventurers attempting to claim them. The grim pile even had a base in the shape of a perfect circle, which, obviously, the traveler thought, was the boundaries of the ring trap.

This was it. The traveler could not turn back. His sore legs and exhausted body were too strained to leave through the long caverns without a prize in hand, and the mysterious sensation coursing through his veins was too strong to deny.

The traveler briefly crouched, bending his knees and tightening the muscles in his legs before springing forward, leaping from the cliff towards the swords.

He was filled with both adrenaline and relief as the air cooly slid along his face while he soared above the gap. A brief grunt escaped his parched throat as he roughly hit one of the skeletons in the pile, clinging tightly to it's rib cage. The swords were still far above him, but he was determined.

The traveler continued to scale the filthy bones ruthlessly. Each passing glance at the skull's empty eye sockets sent a cold shivering feel throughout his body. His eyes brightened in a brief gleeful sense of achievement as he found himself next to the swords.

The traveler's feet scurried up the rest of a grimy spine as he hauled himself atop the corpse mountain, standing directly in front of the blades. He reached out, but then a bewildering horror struck him, threatening his balance and forcing out a cry of shock.

Terrible images of betrayal, guilt, murder and unforgivable misdeeds colored the traveler's vision with pure, unbridled pain. He quivered in agony, sinking to his knees as he looked at his own hands. 'I never meant it!' he wanted to scream, but no words would come out of his mouth.

His bones cringed. His veins bulged. Every sense spelled fear; hallucinations of hellish nightmares flashed before his eyes that seemed so real, he could smell and taste them. The traveler started to choke and writhe out of only pain and fear, the subconscious lament burrowed too far down in his soul at the time to peacefully accept it.

He started kicking and smacking at the bones around him, a frantic hand stretched upon a skull crushing it when clenched in a closed fist, rubble splitting open his palm.

Burning will filled his throbbing head, feeling as if it would break open at any moment, and echoed one command in his mind; grab them.

The traveler slowly, yet shakily, rose back to his feet, full of pain. He glared at the handles of the disastrous weapons, and reached out for them. The curse of the blades intensified.

Closest friends dying... Hated by his own kin... Banished from his lifelong home...

'IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!!!' a booming roar of fury claimed in his mind.

"No," the traveler answered himself through clenched teeth as he grabbed the swords. All of it returned at once, but he kept his body solidly placed, like a statue.

His head grew even heavier and more full of pain, veins like serpents made of agony crawling through his skin, muscles seeming to split apart as the tips of the blades chipped free from their deathly pedestal --

Dimitri opened his eyes. He rose frantically in a cold sweat before realizing he was under a soft, warm blanket on a fluffy, comfortable bed. Panting, he put his hand on his beating chest, gradually slowing down as he closed his eyes. It was only another nightmare.

Dimitri sighed, tired of his every move constantly haunting him. He lay back against his pillow and cast a loathing gaze to the swords he had just dreamt of, positioned against the corner of the room. Why can't you leave me alone? he thought.

The desire to grab them was very tempting at the time. It was downright irresistible. Not in the way a thief squeals in joy when he opens a bag to find fistfuls of gold or a drunkard's delightful urges when ogling a beautiful prostitute, but as if there was another chance for happiness.

I'll never have that again. It's unreal, and it's not for me... Dimitri thought. There were so many confusing traits about him. Dimitri's body said he was a young man, yet he felt terribly old. He had a charming, boyish face, and a lean, supple body, yet thought for some reason he was destined to be hideous. And he definitely, definitely, despised attracting attention - yet he had pointed ears and the tail of a fox jutting out of his lower back.

He was born half elf, half werefox. Elves were believed to have completely died out at the same time humanity met extinction, and werefoxes had become unfriendly secluses. Because of this rarity, Dimitri could not afford to go out in public without his black cloak hiding his traits. When that did not work, he tried to hide his ears behind his hair and wrap his tail around his waist. However, this made his ears exceedingly hot, for his hair was as dark as his cloak, and his tail was uncomfortable, since he always had to have it pushing against his pants to give it the outline of a belt.

I only always get whatever I don't want, Dimitri would think when at the sleight of his maturity.

He slowly got out of his bed and redressed in his leather stringed boots and matching fingerless gauntlets. The various grime that had spattered the boots did not exactly complement the wear on his hands, but he could care less. Beyond that were his mildly puffy dark blue slacks and a long, black shirt, kind of like a peasant's, with a blue chestplate. He donned the midnight shaded cloak once more and flipped the hood back onto his head.

This is the third Inn I've stayed at in a single month. I'd really like to stay in one place for just a little longer. Dimitri was fully aware that galloping from town to town was completely his choice, but this particular region was full of cities that annoyed him. The streets were always bustling with various denizens, and they were always having a commotion over what Dimitri saw as foolish reasons.

Dimitri pushed open his door and walked out of the Inn. He sought an old, rundown food court a few streets and alleyways down (so far the only place he even liked aside from the Inn) which was run by a kind old man, and despite it's ragged appearance was always up to baking fresh, quality bread.

Since humans were extinct, mages became the minority. This was another conflict for Dimitri because, being a foxelf, he couldn't naturally perform magic. He needed a mana pendant to aid him in what mages can, and occasionally visit a sorcerer to refill it's power. He checked it again. A third of it's usage was left.

He then reached the food court and exchanged good mornings with the old man before paying for the usual. A whole loaf of fresh, even lightly steaming, delicious bread appeared on a plate before him, as well as a glass of water with two ice cubes. He cut the bread in half and stored it in a sack as he always had to save for dinner at the Inn, and began slowly sipping the water, praising it's serene, crisp texture.

The old man was busy talking to his cooks, so Dimitri had a peaceful, lonely breakfast. He appreciated this - not that he disliked the old man, but it was hard for him to find solitude. Dimitri respectfully wiped his mouth with the cloth provided and got up to leave.

Something of an unusual morning after one of the worst memories. Hopefully the rest of the day is as comforting...

~To Be Continued~