Embers in the Dust

In the void, there was nothing. He existed only in the scarcest of senses, among many, swirling in the vast space of the cosmos. He had none of his senses to guide him, only his memories which came to him in a repeated but muddled fashion. As if on a loop that he had now seen so many times that he had lost count, he watched from the beginning again.

The wood elves typically had red or brown hair with green or brown eyes. They were covered in freckles; many had no true homes but places built and shared amongst the many in the world’s forests. At a young age, he remembered being an orphan, not knowing much of his family but the community that raised him. At ten, he joined the caravan traveling out from the forest and remembered moving through the world with little care. He lived a glorious life while away from the many cities and villages they passed by. Hunting and gathering with those next to him, listening to music made around many campfires, and especially enjoying the thunderstorms that rumbled in the sky over their carriages, where he had hidden inside during the rough weather, staring out the window in awe of its terrifying beauty.

At fifteen, he received his first dose of reality. Near one of the cities, a group of bandits made their way stealthily into their small encampment and took what they could, killing two elves in the process. It was that next day, helping to dig their graves, then that night where they held a ritual over their bodies before placing them into their shallow homes, that he learned of the world’s cruelty.

He had not grown cold to the world, as there was still so much beauty, but a pit of ice formed inside him that threatened to freeze his heart if he was not careful. For the next three years, he fought the freeze inside of him, hoping to find something to warm the hole left behind. It wasn’t until they made their way to a small village that he felt something tug at his heart, though unsure of what.

The village had a name, but it took him over a year to remember it, and soon after, it did not matter. It was only a momentary glimpse amongst the many things keeping his attention, and the memories moved with a fog obscuring many of its details. What he did see was another person next to him. A young gnome, only a year younger than he was sitting near a grouping of trees, trying to keep the sun off of them as they looked over a book.

The book, one of the only things his blood relatives had left behind with him, was written in his native language, which he was teaching to the boy. Unlike most books, though, it was filled with strange sigils, with writing underneath, explaining how the strange symbols worked or things that were needed for them.

“It was my father’s.” He explained to the boy.

“I’m certain this is a spellbook!” The gnome replied, his eyes wide with excitement.

“I’m not sure why anyone would need a book.” He said with a hint of sarcasm.

He brought his hands together, causing brief flashes of light to pass from one to the other, lightning racing across his hands and back until he conjured a small orb that crackled inside of itself. He left the lightning in one hand and picked up a small rock beside him. He clasped his hands, causing the lightning to glow between his palms. After a moment, he held up the rock, now changed by the magical force that ran through it. At the top, a small hole had formed, which he looped a chain through and handed to the gnome.

“So you can always remember me.”

“You’re not going anywhere, are you?” The gnome asked, a look of concern growing on his young and innocent face.

“The caravan is set to come back soon. Staying here during the slow months is wonderful, but living at the inn isn’t cheap. I’d have to find some way to work if I was to stay.”

“You could talk to my father and brother! I’m sure they could find work for you at the smithy.”

“Yes, but you haven’t even told them about us.”

“I know… I-I don’t want them to know.”

“Because they would disapprove?”

The memories moved quickly, changing to months later. It was after the peak of the summer months. The cold had not found its way down from the mountains or the areas North of the village that stayed snow-crested all year round. It was late into the night, and the elf couldn’t find the sleep he desperately needed. His heart, which had grown warm toward the gnome, was filled with guilt for leaving, but after the many fights that his family had, the elf knew it would be better to go for now and come back when they were older when his love would be under less control of his family.

He was unsure of how it started, only that the smell of fire and shouting caused him to open his carriage door to investigate. The heat caused him to step back from the door as he saw many of the carriages ablaze. Outside, a group of men with various weaponry attacked the elves that made up the caravan. The same ones he had considered family for so long. Rushing to grab his wand, which he had made in the last month to hone his abilities, he ran out and readied attacks at their attackers.

Nizzre’ b’luthel!

Lightning shot from his wand, arcing through the air and shooting between three targets. Screams came, then silence as his enemies dropped to the ground, smoke rising from their scorched bodies. He turned to see another and aimed.

Fer de’ Arshes!

A roar of thunder burst out in front of him, forcing the other bandit back into the flames he had started. His clothes caught fire immediately, causing him to shriek and run. He heard the sound of a bolt being let go from a crossbow, and he turned to see it soar past his ear. Ducking behind, he prepared another spell and ran around the other side of the carriage, hoping to catch his attacker unprepared.

Coming out from behind the side of the carriage, he was stopped by a slight pain in his neck. The wand fell from his hand, and he reached up to feel the blood first, then the bolt deep inside his shoulder. He swallowed, the copper taste coming to his mouth. Falling to his knees, he looked up at the man with the crossbow, his green eyes staring back at him. He tried to reach out, to understand, but couldn’t find the energy to speak. He collapsed to the ground, watching the man step over his body, then move between the trees as shouts echoed faintly in his ear. He closed his eyes, then felt the hands of someone small kneeling next to him.

“No… No. No!” The young gnome cried out.

He tried to open his eyes, to let him know that everything would be okay, but he lost the ability to. He could hear the gnome stand, rushing somewhere, then casting a spell.

Fer de’ Arshes!

His last thought was of his love, his friend, his little gnome. After almost a year in the small village, his heart felt full, proud to have witnessed his first spell, even as he lay at death’s door.