#creativtwins

The first time he gazed upon the sky was when the sun began rising from its slumber. It was not anything like the sterile white glow of the cavern lights. In stark contrast, it painted the sky in a rosy hue, as pricks of starlight yielded to its dominance. Bright and unrelenting like fire, as it continued its ascension, his eyes began to water. 

“Beautiful,” Roman whispered, “Truly a beautiful sight to behold.”

There was a screech in the distance, long and lilted. Roman startled, a hand clumsily falling to the hilt of his sword. A shape formed in the sky, soaring through the air with ease. Another one joined it, answering its screech with a call of its own. But they were not adorned with scales—a softer visage enveloped their frames.

“Hawks,” Roman’s hand loosened its grasp on the hilt, “how magnificent.”

He’d only seen them in illustrations of the long past. While some livestock was kept underground, there were many creatures that did not fare well below. 

‘Even if hawks could be kept,’ Roman thought, ‘it would be wrong to keep such creatures confined and constrained away from the sky.’

Roman shut his eyes, inhaling sharply. The air was stale, tainted. When he reopened his eyes, he was met with an unending darkness. There was a cinchness in his throat, a dull ache in his stomach. Surely, it had been at least a day since he became trapped. 

Pressure built from within Roman’s chest. Separate from the strain of the wreckage that kept him immobilized. 

“Dragon or not, they will honor my sacrifice, I will be immortalized in the Remembrance Stone.” He murmured. Yet the words, ones meant to be self-soothing, tasted like ash in his mouth.

Every fourth month of the year, individuals would be selected to participate in a pilgrimage to the world above. For some, it was a repentance of guilt, a rite of cleansing. For others, it was a noble sacrifice, the willingness to risk one’s life for the common good.

For Roman, it was both.

“Remus, Remus, you’re back!” Roman shouted, running as far as his legs could take him.

Standing up ahead, his head leaning backwards with a voracious laugh, was his big brother. His tunic and breeches were filthy, his hair long and ragged, but Remus was back.

Of course he was back, Remus was the bravest, coolest knight that the settlement had ever known. Why else would he be selected for the pilgrimage every year? He’d even been selected for special pilgrimages outside of the annual ones.

Before Roman could reach Remus, a pair of arms snagged him back.

“Sir Remus must be sanctified before you may be in his presence.” A templar intoned.

“Oh.” Roman’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. In his excitement to greet Remus, he’d forgotten the rules. All those who ventured outside must be cleansed upon reentering the kingdom. It was necessary to ensure the safety of everyone. Roman knew this and yet, selfishly, he wanted to hug his brother whom he hadn’t seen in months regardless.

“Hiya, bro,” Remus gave him a wave, “see this nasty scar on my arm? Isn’t it sick?” Roman nodded, mouth agape. “How’d you get it?”

“Chimera. I’ll tell you all about it, but later.” “Promise?” “Promise,” Remus reached his pinky out for a contactless pinky promise, “Now, go.”

Roman shifted a hand outwards, his pinky raised up high. “I’ll see you soon, Remus.”

There was laughter in his throat, but it quickly dissolved into dry, heaping coughs. He didn’t want to die. Not like this, not when there was still so much life for him to experience. But if it meant he’d get to Remus sooner, at least he could finally apologize to him.

When he stood in front of the crumbling building, the thought of it becoming his tomb had not crossed his mind. It was rectangular in size with spiraling pillars supporting its sloped roof. At its base, the pillars were intricately detailed with floral adornments. 

He brushed a hand against the carved stone, feeling every groove and furrow of the stone. There were sculptors back in the kingdom, artisans who crafted wondrous things for the temple. But this? Was it truly made by human hands? It looked like a flower Roman could pluck out of the ground.

“There must be incredible relics here–something I can bring back.” Roman said, pulling himself away from the pillar and towards the depths of the building itself.

Those chosen for the pilgrimage traversed the overworld, seeking lost relics and precious resources. They were not to return until three months’ time, when the greenery of the trees shifted color and the winds held a biting cold.

There was a chill in Roman’s spine, it pricked and prodded its way from the dip of his shoulder blades to the tips of his toes. Yet the air was crammed and contained in the imprisonment of stone and dirt. It was not the wind that doused his body in an icy embrace. It couldn’t have been–the trees were still green–the most vibrant green Roman ever saw.

“Y’know the color of fresh blood? Everything out there–the sky, the plants–it’s like that.” Remus once told him.

“It’s all red?”

“No, no–though it’d be cool if it was!” Remus grinned, “It’s just–so big. It’s loud like the running waters of the Tumis. You can’t ignore it! It's like watching maggots festering into decaying flesh.”

Roman had never fully understood what Remus meant at that moment. But that was because it was difficult to describe colors to a person who has never seen them. Even though Remus had gone on countless pilgrimages, he’d never been able to bring back something for Roman.

“Blueberries, I just wanted to give you some fucking blueberries,” Remus slammed his hand against a cavern wall, “they made me offer them to the King. I hope he chokes on them and dies.”

“Remus!” Roman gasped, “You can’t say those things! The King is the walking manifestation of–”

“He’s a walking manifestation of shit, and so are all the Templars,” Remus growled, “They don’t care about us, Roman.”

“You’re a knight, why–why are you–”

“Because it’s the truth. The shit collected from the pilgrimages? None of that gets shared with us. Doesn’t that seem unfair to you?”

“B-but the sacrifices aren’t meant for us, we’re not worthy of them.” Roman’s little voice quivered, tears stung his eyes.

“Fuck, c’mon here, Ro.”

“N-no! I’m not gonna hug you–not unless you take those words back.”

Remus wouldn’t answer him. He stood there, unnaturally still. He didn't understand. His brother was supposed to be a hero. A knight of the King–how could he say such blasphemous things? Why wasn’t he grateful to the King? After all that he’s done for them? They had a dwelling and food to eat. Roman was allowed to learn at the temple. 

Anger seized every breadth of Roman’s small body.

“I hate you!” 

He turned and ran back to their dwelling, hiding underneath the only blanket they owned.

Roman cried, his chest clenching up with each sob. In spite of those words, he wanted a hug from his big brother. He needed Remus distracting him with a harrowing tale of the world above, describing the guts of his kill in excruciating detail. 

“Remus, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He hiccupped.

Shortly after Roman had left his brother, he’d been summoned for a special pilgrimage. He never returned. He died thinking Roman hated him. Even though he never understood why Remus said such things, Roman didn’t hate him. It was words said out of vexation, words he could never take back.

Warm tears dribbled down Roman’s face. Some of them wetted his mouth, leaving it tingling with an acidic salty taste. His limbs felt weak. He was starting to doubt he’d be able to move even without the weight of the literal world on his body.

There were books in the decrepit building. Musty and nearly illegible due to faded ink, but books all the same. Roman had only the honor of seeing books kept within the temple a few times in his life. It was because they were old and needed to be carefully maintained to preserve the knowledge in them.

He never touched a book before. Let alone hold one within his hands. He’d picked up a book, straining his eyes to make out the nearly illegible words. Even if the ink was fresh, the language transcribed was one of the forgotten ones. There were only a few words that Roman recognized.

“The…knowledge…alchemy?” Roman muttered, turning the last word in his head over and over. Alchemy. There was a legend involving that. It wasn’t one taught by the Temple, but rather it was one his brother told him–

The floor beneath his feet shook. Roman dropped the book as the walls, the ceiling, the whole building trembled around him. 

“A cave in? Here?!” Never had it crossed his mind that was a danger to consider in the world above. He ran towards the exit as fast as his legs would take him. It was a futile attempt, because he could not outrun the ground which swallowed him whole.

He awoke to darkness and the certainty of death.

His sobs quieted it after a while, abated by the lack of tears from his eyes. He could hear his heart pounding steadily in his chest, his lungs still seizing with air. It was nothing like the furthest depths of the kingdom, where one’s body vibrated loudly in one’s ears. Even so, in the silence of his tomb it was deafening. 

‘If I must die,’ Roman thought with finality, ‘let me at least sing my own dirge.’

“Traveling through this world below,” Roman began, his voice thin and reedy from weariness, “deep caves and dreary caverns, let this soul find its peaceful solace–”

“Hello?” 

The words died in Roman’s throat. Was that a voice? Surely, he was hallucinating.

“Hellooo?” The voice called out again, louder than before.

“HELLO?!” Roman shouted back, stifling a cough. Truly, was he going to live after all? 

“Hello!” The voice called out. He could hear something shifting above him.

“Hello, I’m here! DO YOU HEAR ME?” Roman asked. He wanted to say more but he couldn’t hold back the coughs this time. Liquid of some sort gurgled in his throat. 

“Heowoo?” The voice responded. Now that it was closer, Roman could hear a strange lilt to its voice. Was this perhaps someone from a different kingdom on their own pilgrimage? It would explain the odd accent.

Roman tried to answer, but he was caught in the throes of a coughing fit. The voice stopped speaking. For a nauseating few seconds, Roman feared the stranger had abandoned him.

Then the weight of the stone shifted as something tore into it. It was careful, deliberate movements, Roman realized. The person was doing their best to unbury him without further harm. As the biggest slab of stone was dislodged away from Roman, dust flew into the air.

Roman coughed until the liquid in his throat was dispelled. He tried rising upwards, his body unburdened by stone, but his joints remained stiff as a corpse.

“Heowoo?” The stranger asked. Something nudged his body–it was a light touch but Roman screamed from a wrenching, reeling pain.

“I apologize,” Roman said, blinking his eyes rapidly to clear away the irritation from the dust, “I’m forever in your debt, thank you for saving my life, but I am–”

A dragon. There was a dragon looming over him, its maw inches away from his body. It was dark as an unlit cavern at first sight; but its scales glimmered an iridescent blue wherever the light danced upon it. Roman could feel its breath ruffling his hair.

“Heowoo?” The dragon rumbled, staring at him. 

Roman couldn’t breathe. The dragon…spoke. In all the tales, in everything Roman had ever heard–dragons didn’t speak. They were ferocious beasts, intelligent yes but not capable of grasping human language.

His sword. He needed his sword, but it wasn’t in his scabbard. Where could it be? Did it even matter if he had it? He could not even lift his body off the ground, much less raise a blade against a dragon.

The gods certainly had their sense of humor–granting his desire to face a dragon before his doom. Only, it wouldn’t be in the epic throes of a fight but as a predator partaking in an opportunistic kill.