Young Writers Society

It’s as if the earth in its entirety is ablaze. A red fog shrouds the kingdom, firelight dancing under the low-hanging clouds. The palace, which has stood there for centuries, crumbles as flames engulf it. This kingdom was not built in a day, but it burns in a night.

How startlingly simple it is to bring ruin to the immovable, the unchanging.

No one escapes the fire ravaging the kingdom; the warrior among the flames ensures that.

His blade glitters coldly, bathed in blood, mirroring that of his eyes. They are crimson, dark with the newly exacted vengeance, and void of any emotion. He is the sole cause of the kingdom’s fall, and he bears no regrets.

He walks through the ruins of the kingdom, a flicker of satisfaction sparking. Justice is now known, and he can rest—for a time, at least. It’s inevitable, however, that peace will lose its luster, and he will take up the blade once more.

This kingdom, his victim, is no stranger to peace. Its position nestled in the foothills of a mountain protects its people well. Without conflict, the kingdom fell docile, losing both bark and bite as it grew secluded from the world. It made easy pickings for the god they angered.

He came from the mountain, and to it he shall return, bringing news of the kingdom that is now rubble. Anyone nearby can guess, of course; the air smells of burning flesh and smoke, both scents easily identifiable. The mountain’s sole other inhabitant had moved to watch the carnage from a better vantage point. There was no one around to see how he reacted to the devastation below.

The warrior leaves the fallen kingdom behind as he begins the trek home, though that’s a rather general term. He’s discovered that, for him, home is a person, not the cave in which he currently resides.

And when he arrives, his home smiles gently at the warrior and extends a hand. The man, dripping blood, lets the blade fall from his hand as he collapses, and his home is there, catching him, cradling his face. Calluses litter his hands, akin to those from the warrior’s countless duels, though it’s been a while since he was allowed a blade. Still, the warrior sinks into his familiar touch. After the destruction, he yearns for a moment to breathe, and the universe mercifully delivers it.

They press their foreheads together, and the warrior relaxes, shoulders dropping and eyes closing. The stain of battle falls away, his bloody aura of power fading until he is mortal once more. When he opens his eyes, they are blue, pale as ice but filled with warmth as he meets the other man’s eyes.

These aren’t eyes that you can compare to a cloudy night sky, darker than dark, whispering the universe’s secrets when the moon is gone. They aren’t blue like the warrior’s, not even like the ocean, ever-changing, shifting with every fractal of light. No, they’re green, green like emeralds, not a hint of any golds or silvers in their depths: only green, rich and warm and feeling for all the world like home.

The warrior sits back, but he doesn’t move far, keeping their fingers entwined.

The other man gazes back out at the kingdom, and the warrior searches his face for approval, a hint of joy. His heart freezes as he can’t find it; is his partner disappointed with his actions?

“I know how much you hate them,” his home says softly, gaining a hint of amusement as he continues, “but was burning down their entire kingdom necessary?”

“They hurt you. Not even a god could get away with that.”

An unbidden blush rises to the man’s face, and he fidgets with his leg splint. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” the warrior asks. “I’d take on a god any day for you.”

“You think I can’t hold my own?”

“I know that you’re far less merciful than I am.”

The man chuckles. “Says the man who just burned down an entire kingdom.”

“What, can’t I do something nice for someone I love?”

A smile twitches on his face. “We’ll roast marshmallows over the rubble.”

“Of course,” the warrior agrees, squeezing his partner’s hand reassuringly. “Only the finest for you.”

“I’m spoiled.”

“Perhaps.”

The man rolls his eyes, smiling. “No, really. I have a boyfriend who’d take on an army and win if I asked it of him.”

“So do I,” the warrior, “hopefully.”

His partner scoffs. “Duh.”

“Duh?”

“Yeah, duh,” the man says, grinning. “You really think I’d let anyone get away with hurting you?”

“You tried to kill me when we first met.”

“And now we’re dating. How the times have changed.”

The warrior shakes his head, biting back a smile. “Truly.”

“I mean, look at that!” His partner gestures to the fallen kingdom choked in crimson fog, hiding a massacre seen only seen once a lifetime. “A whole kingdom, gone in a few hours.”

He smiles shyly. “I had a good incentive.”

There’s a pause before, “You can’t say romantic crap like that!”

“Why not?”

“Because I—” He makes a gesture with his hands, speechless. “I’m supposed to be the romantic one!”

The warrior chuckles, arching an eyebrow. “What, I can’t be romantic?”

“Not without warning!”

“Oh, then I’ll be sure to give you a head’s up next time I say I love you,” he deadpans.

“Please do.”

“Then here’s your warning.” The warrior places a light kiss on the other’s forehead before standing, keeping their fingers intertwined. “I love you.”

His partner blushes, mouth dropping open slightly. “I—” He buries his face in his free hand. “I think I need more time before a grand romantic gesture.”

The warrior chuckles softly. “A’ight. I’ll go get us something to eat, give you some time to plan your revenge.”

As he moves to leave, his partner’s grip tightens, pain flashing in his eyes. One would wonder—why? What premonition has he had? Perhaps he’s seen a glimpse of their future, how they drown in their own blood and tears, the sins of a god and his warlord finally catching up to them.

To the warrior, though, it’s merely a plea to linger a moment longer, and he is happy to oblige. Their eyes connect, and upon seeing the warmth in those icy eyes, the man lets his grip loosen, and the warrior slips away.

“I won’t be long,” he promises.

And he isn’t. Within the hour, the warrior is back, carrying a goat’s body.

“Wil, I’m back!” he calls.

There’s no response.

His heart drops. “Wil?” he tries again, picking up the pace.

Again, no response.

He can hardly hear anything over his heartbeat. He drops the goat and climbs.

“Wil!” he shouts, voice shattering.

He already knows.