Recollections
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Firmament's Eye
Their first taste of fire was out at the edge of the forest.
Dark shapes loomed in the dusk, behind twisted trees blackened with ash and soot.
They marched endlessly on, barely noticing the gathering, curious crowd of wildfolk hiding out of the sight of the stars. Some carried torches, some swords, some dragged the bones of animals half-gnawed and stained with blood.
There was a town in the north. A modest settlement of the Silver Kingdom, the tallest building a lowly shrine's dome, the throne and resting place of a local saint.
Perhaps that was their prey?
The wildfolk had yet to see what the war and the light would bring.
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"How many?"
The Knight Astronomer grimaced, leaning back from the lens and stroking his temples.
"Too many to count. From where have these demons sprung? What dark pit have we yet to discover down there?"
"We shall send word north," replied the Knight Cardinal.
"Whether we falter alone or hold the line, the Throne must know what approaches."
Soldiers in faded blue heraldry arrayed themselves at the southern border. Some were nervous, some resolute in their faith and fealty. All were armed as best as could be found at such short notice.
It would not be enough.
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Harrowing days pass as the fleeing tribe searches for some way to stall their attackers.
Though they had not interfered, never even had the thought crossed any minds among them, they found themselves under the ire of the gold-stained and bloodthirsty army marching north.
There had been whispers of betrayal flowing down to the edges of the Silver King's domain, of black ships sailing for something forbidden.
How the rumours began was anyone's guess, but these kinds of secrets oft have a life of their own once revealed, even reaching the ears of the foxes in short order.
The foxes were now where the tribe was headed, in hopes that there would be answers and sanctuary in their starless night.
It would be enough, but they would have no way of knowing until the last fires died.
There would be sanctuary, but there would be no answers.
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An eyeless shadow flits about the periphery of the betrayer's blackened chamber. He swats at the annoyance with fire that could burn a soul to nothing, but the shadow has none.
Behind eyes that once beheld the majesty of Silver, now only a quiet, cold fury dwelled.
Shining like the stars, his gaze turns from the shadow, for no more can be taken from it.
Once again his attention is drawn back to the mundane.
He steps out across the ash and takes his place at the head of the rampant army, restlessly marching north to devour the cold light of the civilization he once called home.
His hunger will not end. For war, for destruction, to burn it all down.
Until all is not.
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At the behest of none, a star is cut into the sky.
A jagged, hungry thing, gazing down at the massing army.
The Dragon stirs for the first time in eons.
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The old grey fox reels back, gasping and coughing sweet smoke from her lungs.
Though she could not remember what she had seen, the wordless voice of its terror spoke in the back of her mind.
Silence. Brilliant white, aching, starving.
Can something die, which was never alive?
They are not warnings, nor messages. They do not describe our fate.
They are a threat. Sewn into the firmament, with countless searing threads.
The sky cracks, a shower of starglass heavy enough to shatter mountains.
Another village is struck from the maps.
For what purpose?
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Only the dead can say.
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