For this post, I’m not using any prompts. My brain refused to be led in the direction they were kind enough to provide. I’m giving it a free reign this one time. I’m actually much more comfortable writing fantasy than reality. I’ve slipped back to the comfort of my favourite genre here.
Three distinct little stars fell from the night sky, grabbing Cirdan’s attention. ‘Just an airplane,’ he thought, letting his gaze wander back to the horizon. He was familiar with them by now – the metal birds that the Daylighters created. Their world was full of colour and he wondered what that felt like. All his life, he had only known shadow and light. The Veil that separated the Night Walkers’ world from the Daylighters’ had no holes. He could only get a glimpse because of his Sight. ‘A blessing,’ he told himself, but he sometimes wondered if it was. He reflexively scratched the side of his face where a few of his people had something called ears. He shook his head. Sight was infinitely better, he decided.
He scanned the sky for signs of the Monster. The Sensor had been sure he had felt a pulse, a warning of its arrival into their world. Yet, as a faint light began to fight its way through the darkness towards the east, he couldn’t spot anything out of the ordinary. A few Daylighters still milled about. They were becoming bolder, burning their strange little lights through the night, stepping into the shadows that was once the sole dominion of the Night Walkers. However, they never spotted him and they unconsciously seemed to steer clear of him. None of them seemed to have the Sight, but their instincts were remarkably good.
Cirdan knew it was time he went back to the caves. Daylight was inevitably coming. It would burn his skin and blind his Sight if he stayed where he was. He studied the ground beneath him and checked his posture before he jumped. Even if it was slightly off, he would plummet to his death. He couldn’t feel his landing. Only a Sensor could do that. He would have liked to be one. Sitting in the sidelines, not risking his life every time he left his home would be a welcome change.
There was a hint of a movement above him. He tensed, making sure his defences were up and rose to face the Monster.
A wispy creature hovered inches from the earth. Its outer edges were pure shadow, but a fierce light glowed in its core. It pierced his sensitive eyes and he snapped them shut, flinging his hands in front of them desperately. A Mist Wraith was a Level 5 Monster, the kind that only Masters could kill. Stumbling as his Sight failed him, he fell face forward into the dirt, accepting his doom.
I’m uncomfortable leaving my hero in such a bad situation. As always, I have questions for my patient readers. Would you like to know more? What did you think of the first sentence? Did it compel you to read more? Let me know in the comments.