The Dying Source

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. Instead of the crystal clearness that flowed through the land for thousands of years, the water was now so murky, you couldn't see the rocky bottom, much less an inch into it. The trees were withering away, turning the branches into daggers to stab at the darkening sky. Skeletal creatures roamed about, snarling, hungry and ready to pounce on anything. Veins of power, all coming from a single spot, once an illuminating golden, were now gray. Thick fog blanketed the nightmarish landscape, more smothering than comforting.

The Source was dying, and along with it, its home - a small, hidden island not on any map. (If it had been on a map, it would be a dot, easily overlooked, which, of course, was the point.) What was more, no one would know before it was too late, when their powers started to fade and they disappeared, just like the island before them.

***

The Queen had went on her daily walkabout days ago before the sun rose above the island as it did every day before. For the first time since she was chosen to guard the Source, there was a chill in the air and she felt a shiver running deep in her bones. Instead of seeing it as a sign, the Queen rushed back inside her tiny hut, grabbing a cloak to shield her from the cold.

She then went up the same path as she had many times before, going on autopilot, until she reached the Source itself. It wasn't as bright as it usually was, but not enough to be noticeable to the Queen and so she went along with the rest of her day.

Throughout the next few days, there had been more slight abnormalities, some so subtle the Queen could easily trick herself into believing they hadn't happen. She had a few moments where concern caused her mind to race with worry, but she shrugged the disconcerting thoughts away. "The Source never dies, never fails, never wavers," the Queen had mumbled under her breath before she went on the rest of her duties.

By the eighth day, there wasn't any doubt in the Queen's mind something was wrong with the Source. In all her years guarding the Source and caring for the island, the Queen had never seen anything like it. A flicker, like the fading flame of a candle. For a very brief moment, nearly imperceptible to her eyes, the Source dimmed before roaring back to life.

The Source's strength had continued to wane in and out as she raced toward the heart of the island. Why hadn't she listened to her gut before?

When the Queen then reached the center of the island, the Source was turning pitch black. She had used to think black was an amazing color, a perfect backdrop for the stars and glow of the Source running through the land. Now, it was Death leeching into ground, flowing through the veins, as something else flowed through the Queen's.

Fear. Because as this darkness continued through the island, she had seen how it stole life, transforming paradise into a nightmare. It had been the last thing the Queen last felt as she watched the last bit of gold vanish before the same happened immediately afterward.

***

Over the years, under the surface, the veins continued to turn gray. Unlike the quick death on the island, it was slow, the loss of power crawling through the layers of the inner Earth like a snail.

A pair of eyes slowly opens, taking in its surroundings. It can feel the cage weakening, but not enough for the creature to break out. No matter. It has been waiting for centuries to be free.

It can wait a little longer.