The Lost Flame

Chapter One

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Time before this used to be peaceful, and yet chaos now existed throughout. The sky was filled with darkness, and smoke billowed from the thatched roofs of the town.

Randil made his way from the woods to his house. With him he carried a deer on his back and stopped at his doorstep. The house was covered in protective runes, which scared the locals, and gave little protection against the Dragons’ magic.

His home wasn’t a mansion, but to him it was a place of peace. He entered his humble abode, and placed the deer on the table. He ventured over to his sink, washing away the filth and grime that existed on his hands. His hands were calloused from hard labor, and hardened from the wars of the past.

Nations used to wage war against each other over land, resources, trade, and plunder. Now, no one hand enough manpower or will to fight one another. The dragons dominated the sky. On land the people were like lamb herded, and slaughtered like cattle.

Randil skinned the deer and removed the organs. He place some meat into the pot over the fire for stew. Crushed fresh herbs and added to them the pot with carrots. Finally, adding the potatoes to the stew with some wine he had left over from the night before. The rest of the meat would be turned into jerky as he prepared for the hard winter season to come.

While the stew cooked he sat staring into the fire listening to the cracking of the logs. He wondered if there was a safe place beyond this valley. Perhaps, across the sea to a foreign nation or a remote island. The pot began to boil over, and he scrambled to remove the stew from the heat.

He ate in silence in a somber way with a feeling of doom. It’s not that he didn’t adapt to the new way of life, but feared that there was no end to this turmoil. He was about to clean up when there was a knock at the door. He never had guests for many years and he found it to be suspicious.

He grabbed a dagger from his belt and slid it silently to his hand. The knife was made from metal from the sky with magic infused into it. Randil opened the door enough to see out but not enough to see in. In front of him stood a girl in a blue cloak looking up at him earnestly. She said nothing and handed him a scroll sealed with a peculiar wax symbol. He opened the door further and slit the letter open.

It read:

“Greetings old friend, I hope this letter finds you well and you are filled with spirit. Unfortunately, if you are reading this now it means that I have departed from this world. The girl that stands before you is my daughter and her name is Clarissa. She is a bright girl and gifted in ways I cannot describe. I leave her in your care.”

Sincerely,

Rufus

Randil closed his eyes for moment and gave out a vocal sigh. After a few moments to himself, he motioned for Clarissa to enter his home. She walked into his house and sat at the table looking at the left over stew with hunger. He ladled another portion into a bowl, and placed it before her as he reread the letter.

The seal was of his design and only used within the confines of his friends. He need not to question the authenticity of the letter. Nor did he want to know what have led to these circumstances. He knew nothing of how to care for a child especially in the world as it was.

Clarissa ravenously ate the food, and looked at him for guidance of what to do next. Randil noted that she was obedient, but had yet to utter a single world upon arrival. He wondered if she was mute.

Randil showed her to his bed and instructed that she sleep and only wake him if need be. He slept on the ground in a pile of blankets and looked at the stars late into the night. Eventually, he drifted into a slumber and dreams carried him into distant memories.