rebellion by @stygianoia

The Golden Riddle (a poem)I have a riddle for you: Gilded and golden, and yet more elusiveTo break me so suddenly is considered intrusiveThe haunt of the thief, the friend of the pastorWhen there is no question, I am the answer.What am I?

Ambush!Scurlock’s eyes darted back and forth, searching through the pine trees surrounding the carriage he and the other trainees were protecting. The dusk sky lit up orange before dying into an indigo at the horizon, forcing the trees to cast long shadows that stretched out over their forms. His ears perked up at the sound of something crunching- was it pine needles on the forest floor? He stopped and peered closer, tracing the outline of every tree to look for abnormalities, yet the pines gave up no sign of an unwanted intruder. The crunch didn’t repeat itself, leaving only the sound of the carriage’s wheels turning and creaking. “Ambush!” A fellow trainee in the front screeched as they were jumped, a form darting forward to kick out their legs. Scurlock bolted to go help his teammate, but another Vespire intercepted him, smashing into his shoulder at full force. He instinctively tightened his muscles and dug his claws into the dirt, holding steadfast as the attacker bounced off his shoulder. “Uh, this might have been a bad target! He’s like, three times my size-” Scurlock whirled around on the attacker, confused as the Vespire seemed to be talking to nobody in particular. The Vespire bore a red coat with a black mane like Scurlock’s, though his chest shone a bright white. Golden claws tipped his feet, and a unicorn horn crowned his forehead. Even as the attacker crouched low in preparation to spring, his face seemed uncertain, eyes shifting uneasily. “Not on my watch!” Scurlock yelled, slamming one massive paw down in front of the attacker. The Vespire lept back in response, then sprang forward, using Scurlock’s leg as leverage to rush up and onto his back. His claws ripped and tore at the fur there, digging just a little too deep and lacerating Scurlock’s skin. Scurlock screeched at the pain, but his fury overrode whatever he was feeling. With a ferocious roar, he bucked, tail tip swinging in a wide arc to connect squarely with his opponent’s jaw. “Ye-ouch! I told you he’s too much for us!” “Shut it, you!” Scurlock whipped to the side, using the momentum of his weight to hurl the attacker off of him. His opponent crashed into the forest floor and rolled back onto his feet, his three tails lashing in unison. Scurlock stepped forward, black and yellow pneumir spouting from his mouth and ears. His attacker growled back at him but held his ground, both Vespires staring each other down. “STOP!” The tension in the air shattered as their Captain shouted and jumped between them, snapping both of them out of the bloodlust. Scurlock loosened his shoulders and coughed, while his opponent cowered at the shouting. That’s hardly the Vespire that was trying to flay my back two seconds ago! “This was a practice scenario, need I remind you!” the Captain scolded, looking at both of them with fury. “I expect better composure from you, Scurlock, and you need to control yourself, Eternity.” “Ah- I’m sorry, I don’t know what overcame me,” Scurlock muttered, ears flattening as he felt his cheeks flush and warm. “I-I’ll do better next time,” Eternity said, avoiding both the Captain and Scurlock’s eye. “Good,” the Captain growled. “Now go get checked out at the infirmary for any injuries, and then I want twenty laps around the lake from both of you!”

Always Gold, Part 3Shaking his head clear of the wine’s influence, Bryon perched on the very edge of a familiar cliff. Looking down, two miles of sheer cliff face stretched out before him, ending in a crystal-clear lake. The lake reflected the stars overhead, blazing a trail through the deep indigo sky and illuminating the night. Pine trees crowded around the lake’s edge, creating a dark mass of spectators for the stunt they were about to pull. “Ready?” Beside him, Scurlock scratched at the edge of the cliff, sending pebbles flying down. His older brother’s eyes glinted as he smiled at him, and Bryon shot back an equally crooked smile. He nodded, bracing himself against the cliff, waiting for his brother’s signal. “Go!” Scurlock shouted, and both Vespires threw themselves over the cliff's edge and into a free fall. Twisting in midair, Bryon’s coiled tail bounced with his maneuvers as he worked his way over to the left side of the lake and turned himself rightside up, claws facing the ground. Gravity propelled them faster and faster, both of them rocketing towards the frosty surface of the lake. Just as he passed the very tips of the treeline, Bryon’s wings shot out from his sides, sucking in air from the sudden force and pulling water up from the lake into a wave. On the other side, Scurlock did the same, and both of their waves came crashing down in the middle where they collided with a loud slap. “Ha! Perfect!” Scurlock whooped from the other side of the lake, gliding his way down to meet Bryon on the shore. The gravelly sand crunched beneath their claws as they watched the aftershocks of their stunt still rippling through the lake, coming to sit side by side. “You really know how to cheer me up, Bry,” Scurlock said. “Of course I do! I’m your brother,” Bryon said, shoving Scurlock in the side, though the behemoth of a Vespire didn’t feel the force at all. “And I couldn’t have asked for a better one!”

EndlesslyThe stars are falling from the sky and I do not know why; are they escaping the blackest void that has spread across the heavens or are they tired of shedding tears to the world below that is now full of misery? The sight of their departure is beautiful nonetheless and when I shift my gaze away from the heavens and look back at you, I can see how the starlight is reflected from your glazed eyes, your body motionless as you wait for the sign that makes our bodies move like puppets controlled by strings. It seems like tonight you do not remember our earliest memories; I can see it from the way you are looking at me. No matter how many times I experience it, it always feels like a stab to the heart. I do not know if it is better this way, I am being torn apart anyway. Either we both retain our memories and are forced to face each other in the battlefield or one of us does not remember the other and thus only sees an enemy that has to be defeated while the other one is suffering from an unbearable heartache no one should ever have to endure. It never gets easier. But this is how our lives are, this is how it has been for a thousand years. Everything around us is dead and still, we remain. The soil under our feet has been lifeless for centuries, completely dry and cracked and nothing can grow from it. There are a few dead trees standing, like dry corpses, their branches like the fingers of the deceased as they desperately reach for the uncaring sky, begging for something, a rain or a sunshine, that would rejuvenate their withered carcasses. But the heavens ignore their silent cries. The trees here are the last ones remaining of a beautiful landscape before the war destroyed and butchered it all. Now they are nothing more but mementos of the days when everything was well. Winds play with their branches, twisting them, clinging onto them like mischievous spirits, not letting their dried-up corpses rest in peace. Tonight, however, the winds are in a different kind of mood. They are blowing across the vast field of nothingness in an ominous way and I can hear them whispering. They want blood, they want misery. I do not know what kind of sadistic glee they will gain from what is about to transpire here, but they will get what they wished for. With the vile winds came legions of soldiers of the past, groups of people I have seen for the past thousand years, but whom I cannot remember anymore. In my eyes, their bodies are translucent and their facial features have been smudged like ink stains. I simply do not recognize who they are anymore. Perhaps that is how they perceive me, maybe I am like a ghost to them, too. We are all supposed to be dead and gone now, and yet, here we are. Legions of ghostly soldiers have gathered behind your back and without looking, I know that I have comrades behind my back as well. We are all standing here, silent and motionless, waiting for the sign. Soon it comes: a blast of an ancient horn rushes throughout the battlefield, reaching every corner. The battle will begin and troops of soldiers who have spent a thousand years fighting the same war over and over again are engaging in a conflict once more, and some of them have forgotten why they even are here and what they are fighting for. But I know that losing your memories completely will not give you salvation. A luxury like a free will is something we do not have. Countless times I have raised my weapon against you and it just keeps getting harder – except on those days when I do not remember you. I do not want to do this anymore! But no matter how much I have begged or demanded this to end, it never does. My body is moving on its own, swinging my weapon, causing pain to you and every time my blade cuts your flesh, it feels like I just got cut, too. I never wanted to be part of this war and neither did you. The ancient mad lords forced us into this; they called it a holy war that would purify the land. But which side was the wicked and which was the righteous? There was no answer to that to begin with, the lords just wanted an excuse to steal the lands from the other one. This never was a holy war; it was a cursed one. We are still here, in the middle of a senseless battle, and where are the lords now? Have they died or just abandoned us, forcing us to repeat the war endlessly, unable to break out of this cycle? Just like our memories, the battlefield itself is flickering. It is unstable, a lot like our minds, and is unable to stay in its current state. Like ripples in time, flashes of various shapes of the field are echoing from the past, not sure which form to take. We can see past battles through the flickering and we are dancing macabrely together with the ghosts of our former selves. We will keep fighting even when our bodies start to break down. When do we stop? I do not know. Maybe when all of it is too much for a mortal mind to take and we get consumed by madness. Maybe when the land tries to reset itself and as a byproduct, so do we. Or maybe when whoever is pulling the strings gets tired. It definitely is not death that grants us a moment of rest and soothes our restless and rotten souls. Ah, how I see death as a friend… However, I have come to the conclusion that the world will die before we do.trophy

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