The kingdom glows golden under a starless sky, radiant and ethereal. The white stucco of the buildings, once a show of opulent wealth in the city center, now reflects the light back upon itself, multiplying until the horizon glows with it. As far as the eye can see, the city is awash with light, shadows thrown up in stark relief as they dance and flicker in the wind.
In any other setting, any other situation, it might have been beautiful.
But smoke rides on the same wind that rustles the trees and screams echo in the distance, carried like the ash that drifts from the sky like lazy, midsummer snowflakes.
The kingdom is burning and Yeosang only has himself to blame.
A gust of wind pushes the heat of the flames against Yeosang's face, ruffling the sweat-soaked strands that curl at his temples. Yeosang closes his eyes to it, grieving, reminding himself, silent and devastated, that this is his fault, his greatest, most grievous fault—
Yeosang opens his eyes to the dark canopy of his bed and predawn pooling like liquid silver across his floor. Despite the window remaining shut, Yeosang's throat is dry and his eyes itch as if he'd been breathing in polluted air, and he is reminded of the nightmare that must have woken him.
It seems ominous, to have had such a dream, and Yeosang hopes it's not a prelude for what's to come.
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/“The village of Covia has been burned to the ground, your majesty. No survivors have been recovered.”/
/“The corn fields east of Sellkirt were burned. Preliminary reports suggest we’ve lost the entire crop. The villagers won’t have the necessary foodstuffs to survive the winter without assistance from the crown.”/
/“Falcons from the fisherfolk at Lake Evendim have reported unusual figures on the edges of the lake. They haven’t attempted to cross the waters yet, but the fisherfolk have reported a decline in the fish being caught. We might want to consider the possibility that the lake might be poisoned.”/
/“Your majesty! New reports are coming in of what appears to be an army south of the capital. Descriptions match those sent to us by the Evendim fisherfolk.”/
/“They don’t even appear to be human. Humanoid, maybe, but far from human. Bulbous heads, additional limbs, unnatural joints. Even many of the smallest reported are taller than an adult man. What are these things?”/
/“Majesty, the army has been put on alert, and guards posted along the exterior wall to the city. If those things try to breach the wall, we’ll be ready for them.”/
/“I’m sorry, your majesty, but the council has forbidden us from letting you leave. What would we do if you were to go out there and fall to the invaders? The people need their king, and the kingdom needs its ruler.”/
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The people need their king.
The kingdom needs its ruler.
Yeosang stares out over the kingdom, eyes fixed on a distant point of the horizon. Distantly, beyond the wall meant to protect the city and its people, Yeosang can see the glow of fires. Hours of lessons hammered into his head tell him they’re campfires, and not the livelihoods of his people burning – no, those fires would be bigger, brighter, and far more noticeable – but Yeosang also can’t help but note that the merchant village on the great road leading out of the city, the one Yeosang can usually see from the falconry tower on a clear night, is dark. The entire horizon, usually pecked with glows of distant fires and life, is dark, save the fires of the enemy camp.
Yeosang wants to hope the merchants had fled, that all of the citizens in the horde’s path had fled….but reports from the smaller towns and villages between the capital and the border had stopped coming in just before dusk as new reports of the enemy camp had begun coming in, and–
…and on the air, as Yeosang squares his shoulders and breathes deep, desperate to maintain that facsimile of strength his council swears he needs to present, he can taste acrid smoke and ash.
It comes to him then, oppressive and terrible, the awareness that this is the end.
If Yeosang does nothing, this will be the end of him.
If Yeosang doesn’t find a way to level the field, his kingdom, and all of the people under his protection, will burn.
The memory of the dream that had woken him returns. Yeosang can almost see it again now, the fire a white-hot brilliance against the stucco, reflecting light that illuminates their attackers and casts menacing shadows three times the size of the creatures that made them.
In that moment, Yeosang knows exactly what he must do.
The palace is quiet as Yeosang scrambles through the hall, a quiet that is haunting and altogether too ominous, reminding Yeosang of what’s at stake should he fail.
/“Once upon a time, when the world was still wild with wondrous beasts and magic lived in the very air we breathed, your many-times-great grandfather came into possession of a creature of fire that scorched the very earth it walked upon. The kingdom was still new then, struggling to find its footing and establish itself, and your grandfather was a careful man. Wary of the world and its wilds, and in the best interest of the kingdom, he sealed the creature away in the furthest-most level of the dungeons. Despite its supposed power, locked away in the dark catacombs from both light and the energy of the wilds, the creature was quickly forgotten about.”/
The first time that Yeosang had heard the story, he’d cried. His mother, the queen, had scolded his father, asking why he would dare tell their son such a scary story when everyone knew that such stories were nothing more than just that– stories.
She had not understood that Yeosang had cried at the thought of never seeing the sun again, of being locked away in the dark, damp depths of the dungeons.
In the years that had followed, Yeosang had stopped crying as his father retold the tale, largely maturing past his fear of the dark and never seeing the sun again. But as Yeosang aged, he’d never stopped wondering about the story’s legitimacy, and his father’s dedication to it.
Fictional stories were always elaborated on, details added over the years for flourish and fun. His father had loved such tales, and asked the traveling bards for anything new they might have heard. But the creature that scorched the earth had always remained the same, steadfast and unchanging, more like a legend meant to guide than a story to strike fear.
Yeosang hits the door to the dungeons at a run, and the sound of him hitting the wood and iron door echoes around him, reverberating off into the darkness. He half expects a guard to come for him, seeking the sound of the disturbance, but none come, and Yeosang is reminded they’re all on the city’s walls, preparing to protect the kingdom or die trying.
Grabbing one of the torches from the wall beside him, ignorant of the way his haste leaves the flame guttering, Yeosang opens the door and pushes forward in search of the stairs. If his father’s story is right, he needs to seek out the furthest level of the dungeons, the darkest pit one can be tossed into and still, in theory, survive.
It takes Yeosang several minutes, not just to find, but to descend. The dungeons are vast, leftover from a time when enemies of the kingdom were taken in and held at the palace, then swiftly punished before the public to make a show of force. There had been other kingdoms that tried to invade, allies that were enemies, and enemies that attempted to force their way in. And in theory, at the bottom of it all…
At the bottom of the stairs, far beneath the palace, and with the cold leaching through Yeosang’s tunic and into his skin, he finds a door. It may have been locked once, or even chained, but now those restraints are gone. It appears as if previous wanders had removed them, as if the thought of being left in the dark, abandoned and forgotten about, would have been enough to contain it.
But that’s strange, isn’t it? What do they expect, that the scorched earth creature of old had just been napping down here all these centuries, biding its time? Is that what the darkness did to it, put the creature into a state of sleep due to lack of light?
Yeosang won't complain though, because he has no keys for heavy chains or padlocks, and he has no desire to no desire to ask anyone else for assistance. The council would stop him, certainly, assuming he could find them at all, but the kingdom… Well, the kingdom must survive.
Bracing himself, trying to prepare for whatever he might be faced with, Yeosang unbolts the lock and pushes open the door. The torch Yeosang holds shakes as he steps into the room, but his voice remains steady even as he lifts the torch higher, peering into the gloom.
“Hello?”
Steeling his resolve, Yeosang squares his shoulders and steps in further, pitching his voice in the way his mother had showed him to in order to be heard above a mob in full cry, “Is there somebody down here?”
