Hi everyone! This will be my first longform fantasy book that I'll be writing on this site. I'm already almost finished with Legends: Gladiator, my Wings of Fire Fanfiction (Thanks to the help of many dedicated reviewers like Horisun and others), and I guess The Legend of Ikor has completely disappeared from outside scrutiny :D .First, I have found in this piece of work, that it yet again is moving way too fast. (I have had trouble writing in a slow pace for a pretty long time.) If you review it, I would like to request that you place your thoughts on this matter. Thanks! I also have no issue with grammar mistakes, which should not appear, since I proofread this many times (Never too much proofreading!), but if you DO find a grammar or punctuation mistake, do not hesitate to notify me.
Thanks! Hope you enjoy the first chapter/installment of . . . wait a minute . . . I have not found a title for this. I'll just put it now as . . .
"Yoshi's First Longform Fantasy | Chapter 1 | Yay!"
What were the chances of something significant happening in such a small village like Argus? That was what Silvan was wondering the night before his birthday. He had momentarily forgot about the most glorious day of the year. However, his worries were not dumbfounded. The village, Argus, was so minor that many times, Silvan suspected that it wasn’t even shown on maps. There were a total of around fifty families in the neighborhood, and Silvan knew every single one of their names.
Silvan had always hoped that some seasoned adventurer would travel to his lonely, almost-deserted, little village and invite him to join as a duo. However, his wishes were never met; Nothing ventured into the tiny village.
Nothing but the wind.
Silvan hurled himself over a short wall, narrowly dodging rock crumbs that threatened to scrape him. It was a perfectly normal windy day. Very windy, in fact, that almost everything was moving, from leaves to pebbles, to bushes and even trees. The huge pine trees swayed furiously and Silvan thought that they would surely snap.
But the screaming gusts of wind were not abnormal. No one knew what the causes of the loud winds were. When Silvan got to get a peek at a TV in a wealthier home, all he saw was news reports about some guy attempting to run for president. Not a single thing about the crazy wind.
Silvan read almost every book he could find about winds and tornadoes. In fact, Silvan spent his time studying the strong Argus winds, and he considered himself an expert at it.
It was a few hours until noon, and unable to contain his excitement, Silvan began sprinting towards the shoemarket, swerving around any passersby. Since it was his thirteenth birthday, Silvan’s mother allowed him to get actual shoes. His feet were stiff and crusty from a lifetime of running barefoot. He had only worn shoes when his friend Spinner let him borrow his.
Glancing at the entrance of the shoemarket, he calmed himself down and walked in, attempting to look distinguished and enigmatic. The shop owner, Marge, smiled as he walked in. Marge was of medium height and Silvan believed that she had an aristocratic heritage.
“What will you be having today? Had enough time looking at shoes?” joked Marge. Silvan had spent his last few weeks crooning over which shoe he should choose. He didn’t want something too fancy and flimsy, but he didn’t want something ugly and stiff. Marge, apparently, had noticed.
“I already chose one,” Silvan replied confidently. He walked over to the boys’ shoe racket enigmatically and slowly pretended to ponder which to get. Marge grinned at the theatrics.
When Silvan finally chose one, he showed it to Marge and she nodded, “Great choice. This one will improve your running. Not too stiff though. I believe it should fit you.”
Silvan tried it on, and it did fit him. He handed Marge some silver coins and hastily put the shoes on. He couldn’t wait to show it to the gang.
After thanking Madge whole-heartedly, he sprinted over to the gang’s regular meeting spot: the Old Stump. The Old Stump was the remnants of a large three-yard-wide tree that Silvan had found when he was exploring the forest. After finding it, the gang chose it as their meeting place.
When Silvan finally reached the Old Stump huffing and puffing, he felt like a new person.
“Anyone here?” asked Silvan, raising his voice. No one answered except for the leaves, who rustled in the nice mid-morning wind.
“You can do better than that,” replied Silvan, shaking his finger, “You know that leaves don’t rustle right after I speak.”
Leaping down from a tree, a tall figure alighted down next to Silvan, “Whoops. I just wanted it to seem ominous.”
Silvan laughed, “I was scared out of my wits. I was just screaming from the fact that leaves were rustling.”
Gorban boomed a hearty laugh.
Silvan held up his foot, “I got shoes!”
“Wow!” cried Gorban, “That is so cool! I envy you!”
“I want to show it to the other gang members!” said Silvan excitedly.
“They’re all in the Avalog Ruins lookin’ for treasure. I’m the guard today,” said Gorban. The gang operated in a very complicated way. Argus was known to have abandoned gold mines beneath it, so the gang spends their entire days digging for gold. In fact, the gang had already found real gold ore. The problem was, they could not split the gold nor could they decide who would keep it, so the members decided to put it in a big chest and stuff it deep underground. Every single time the gang goes on another expedition, they leave a guard behind to watch the gold just in case there is an intruder. The guards usually go off to play during their guard time, but Gorban was very honest and honorable, so he always hid in the trees loyally. That was why he was usually chosen for guard duty.
“I’ll go to the Ruins then,” said Silvan. The Avalog Ruins were the abandoned complex a few acres west of Argus and used to belong to the renowned scientist, Perseus Avalog. Avalog had worked on manipulating time and space to travel between dimensions and timestreams. However, he never published his work before he passed away. Many speculate that he succeeded at his work, but others argued that he was trying the impossible. Either way, the Avalog Ruins were filled with interesting things, and when the gang didn’t find anything good, they would go to the Avalog Ruins.
So as anyone could see, the gang went to the Avalog Ruins alot.
After a few hours of panting and running and getting out of breath over and over, Silvan reached the Ruins. It was just as looming and terrifying as ever. Every time Silvan looked at the giant grey main building, he shivered with dread.
Climbing through a hole in the wire gates, which may have been electrified a long time ago, Silvan began running to find a gang member. There was no one in sight.
He heard a whirring noise somewhere and ran towards it hopefully. The whirring noise was very small, and only Silvan’s accurate ears could detect it from the loud, gushing wind. The whirring led into a trapdoor, and Silvan climbed through reluctantly. He ended up on a long stairway and began to descend. Am I on track? Thought Silvan, descending tentatively.
He came in front of a large, wooden, antique-style, wooden door. Pushing hard, the door creaked. Perspiration leaked down Silvan’s face. After opening a crack in the door, Silvan entered.
Finally reaching the source of the whirring, he regretted coming down.
Directly in front of him was a giant, glowing, red dragon with its mouth wide open. Inside the mouth, where the throat should have been, there was a metal door and a panel on it.
Glancing back, Silvan thought that if the robotic dragon attacked, he probably couldn’t run up the stairs in time.
Making his decision, Silvan sprinted towards the stairway, but before he even reached it, the trapdoor at the top automatically closed. He groaned, I’m not even going to try opening that trapdoor. It’ll be locked.
After he tried screaming for help, Silvan returned to the dragon.
Looking back at the dreaded doorway, Silvan put one foot in the dragon’s mouth. After a long moment, nothing happened. The silence was deafening.
Tentatively, he put his other foot in the dragon’s mouth, but when he did, the mouth closed in on him, trapping him inside the mouth of the dragon.
“AHHH!” shrieked Silvan, leaping away just in time before the teeth clattered together fiercely. Shakily, he stood up and looked back at the metal door.
“It’s my only exit,” murmured Silvan with a lonely sense of doom. He thought he was going to faint.
He stood there, massaging his temples and trying to make a decision, muttering to himself.
“If I don’t go in there, I’ll die of starvation. If I do, certain death. Well, I don’t know if certain death awaits right over there, but it sure seems like it. But if I don’t go in there, the dragon might force me in. No. Who am I kidding? This is a robotic dragon designed to close its mouth when someone walks in. How can it swallow?” As if the mere phrase awakened it, the dragon suddenly grumbled.
“AHHH!” shrieked Silvan again. Now he had to make a decision quick. Either get swallowed down the door or walk through the door.
The choice was obvious, of course, but Silvan thought he was going to regret it if he wasted the last moments of his life by walking into a volcano.
“Wait a minute,” said Silvan, the puzzle pieces of this problem connecting, “I’m in the Avalog Ruins, and Avalog studied time." Could this be? "A time machine!”
Bubbling with excitement and fear, Silvan made his decision. He lunged over to the door and looked at the keypad. It said:
DO NOT CODE NINE APPROX. 3000 - 4000 YRS. UP. DO NOT CODE NINE
“What does that mean?” wondered Silvan as the dragon began shaking violently, evidently trying to swallow him. “Do not code nine” seemed weird. It was probably something Avalog used. “Approx. 3000 - 3300 yrs. Up.” was slightly straightforward. Approximately 3000-3300 years probably meant how far he was going to travel in time, but Silvan couldn’t think of what “Up.” stood for.
Silvan felt a new sense of prideful excitement within him. He could be the first person to travel through time! If Avalog already did it, then he could be the first kid to travel through time! It was still a frightening prospect. He could travel to the time when Wind Turbines were made. Silvan had never seen a Wind Turbine, but he had read about it.
“Well, here goes nothing!” yelped Silvan excitedly before he could argue with himself. Turning the knob of the sturdy door, he jumped through the door.
Silvan was overcome by many sensations at once. It felt like he was freezing and burning at the same time. It felt like he was elongating and shrinking at the same time. It felt like he was simultaneously living one hundred lives. He could suddenly see and feel so many different feelings, but it only lasted for a moment.
After that moment ended, Silvan’s eyes were closed with relaxation. It felt . . . numbing. . . almost. Silvan really wanted to sleep; he felt groggy from exertion. He thought he could sleep right there. It was almost the best cushion in the world. So soft, he could barely feel it.
Wait! Silvan’s eyes popped open, and he found himself staring at a huge blue sky. It was so beautiful and blue, like a calm morning ocean.
When he regained full consciousness, Silvan felt a harder wind than usual. Hm, it must be the weather today. It’s windy.
He turned around on the soft, fluffy cushion, he found out that it was not a cushion at all. He was on thin air.
Then, the realization struck him like a dragon clobbering him with its tail. “Up” didn’t stand for anything. It simply meant “Up”. He had been transported high up in the sky. It was probably because the dragon was in a basement, and Avalog wanted to program it to place him somewhere not underground.
As the adrenaline coursed through Silvan’s body, he didn’t dare look below.
He was falling.
In the sky.
Plummeting to his death.