Anthology drafting
Originally meant for the Kyanite Anthology Challenge, though I'm too busy to really focus on it and probably won't make the deadline. Might get finished eventually.
"Why does it have to be this way?"
"Fire demands sacrifice."
[...]
Her hair looks like something from an old painting- pure white streaked with purples more vibrant than he'd ever seen. If a dye managed that, it definitely wasn't one from around these parts.
Tears run down her face as she chews, mingling with the blood trickling from between her lips and staining her shirt. This was suicide, and the entire crowd knew it. Yet she takes another shard from the basket, and continues without slowing. The entire square watches in silence, save for the muffled sounds of grinding glass.
Minutes pass, and the girl's still not done. He can't watch any longer, muttering as he pushes past the crowd. He's got fresh stock to sell, and [something about shipment due dates]
By the time he returns, the girl is gone. Blood stains the ritual site.
[...]
He saw the girl again yesterday, that painted hair just over the ridge. This wasn't the first time that he'd seen somebody overreach in the glass-eating; why did this case bother him so much? Was it guilt, for recognizing the signs and not acting to stop her? The sacred rite is one of sacrifice- it wasn't his place to intervene, even if it meant saving a life. If he refused to step in to save his own children, why would a stranger be any different?
[...]
Better deal than usual, the valley's in a good mood- something about a mirage dragon passing by. He's witnessed a few supposed sightings in his lifetime, and always wondered why a streak of light could be so special. Blink, and they're already miles away. For all anyone knows, it was just an odd reflection off a surfaced glasswyrm.
Yet he doesn't question his luck. A whole load of extra ground bone at practically no extra cost. It's actually been decades since he got a deal anywhere near this good.
[...]
It seems he's underestimated his endurance while carrying the extra weight, and now there's a great scorpion after him.
[...]
This is, he supposes, as good an end as any. The scorpion ambles outside, likely aware that there's only one entrance to the cave. He has maybe a knuckle left to burn. Even if he makes it out at this point, he'd starve before reaching a rest stop.
Before long, he begins entertaining the idea of dying on his feet. Perhaps it would be some sort of redemption for the cowardice that had ruined him. He rises with more confidence than he feels, and begins making his way out the mouth of the cave- likely into the scorpion's before long.
[...]
The scorpion spots his exit almost instantly. It dashes straight for him.
Blade held high in the only stance he can vaguely remember, he readies himself. They say scorpions always lead with their sting. The trick is supposedly to pierce the stinger on the way down. What a joke- his hands are trembling so much that they barely stay in front of him, and he's supposed to intercept that? By his measure, he's got about two seconds before the moment of truth. Would it be too much to hope for old instincts to kick in?
A flash of {white-purple} in the corner of his eye again. He should've saved the girl, traditions be damned.
One second passes, and it's closing in fast. He's pretty sure he's underestimated the thing's speed at this point. He steels himself for the moment of truth, hands vibrating rather than spasming, and angles his blade. The scorpion is clearly reaching out with its claws. He's been lied to. Or maybe he shouldn't have taken so much stock in a drinking story.
A massive shape whistles past him, impaling the scorpion with a visceral crunch. Is that glass? On the crest of a nearby dune, he spots the girl he failed to save, surrounded by a pool of molten sand. She appears to be speaking, but he can't hear anything at this distance. Visibly annoyed, she marches closer, and finally he hears her speak.
"You idiot. <>"
Her voice is scratchy and raw, barely louder than a whisper. The accent seems foreign, yet its words flow like something from the old writings. In such a surreal situation, he responds in the only way he can.
"no u"
"smh" A/N: not final dialogue
Ah, it seems like she recognized him as well. The pair spend some time berating each other over their respective suicidal tendencies.
What a joke. Did he really just plan to risk his life with a plan based on something he'd overheard while drinking?
[...]
Making the return journey on a carpet of glass was not how he expected this to go. To think that this time last year, the girl had so little Fire within her that she couldn't even look at the sun.
[...]
Seems the girl isn't from around here after all. She really had meant to kill herself in the glass-eating, but instead gained what she'd always felt was missing.
She recognizes how lost he seems, as she'd not been so different just a few months ago. She's still got some more sites to visit in the desert before heading home. Her traveling companion is dead, and she's been rather lonely ever since.
While he recognizes the value of the offer, he can't shirk his sacred duty to the land- it's perhaps the one thing he has left. So he accompanies her during the rest of the time in the desert, and parts with fond farewells when it's time for her to return home. She has a duty of her own, even if it's one that nobody expected her to be capable of.
[...]
A few years later, he hears stories of the Crystal Dragon, who destroyed an army from miles away with a rain of glass shards.
[...]
Then he hears that she's been murdered by her own sister.
Another child he's outlived.
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