CYAN | ONC 2022

02

There was a point in the forest where he had to stop and turn back around for the sun would have long set and it would be too dark to continue on. But that was not the case for tonight. The moonlight was a steady companion, enough to illuminate the pathway for him. He took in a deep breath when the cold breeze caressed his face. The rustling of leaves and the crunch of grass underneath his boots were more melodic to his ears than the mumbling sounds of those in the banquet.

Somewhere along the way, he even lost his cloak. It didn't matter, his tailors would deem him needing new clothes when he got back anyway.

The deeper he went, venturing without a proper direction, the less he actually knew where he was going. Perhaps he would take a turn to the right after one particular tree where spikes resembling tiny horns emerged from its bark and another left after a bush carrying venomous berries.

His lips twitched upwards and his fangs ached to lengthen at the thundering excitement flowing through him. The further he got from the land he had grown up in, the more the scent of moss and earth filled his nose. No longer were there any subtle hints of ashes and smokes and fires, but rather something calmer — fresher.

The colours of muted greens and blueish shadows were akin to a balm to his eyes after having to stare at dazzling whites and neon shades at the banquet. He gentled his steps, deliberately keeping count of how his weight landed on one foot and then onto the next, trekking up a small hill. His fingers occasionally brushed a tree, feeling the rough texture underneath his tips — a reminder that he was nowhere near the vicinity of other Dragonkind.

It felt like ages had passed, but he was sure it had been less than two hours when he decided that instead of following the tiny path that Mother Moon seemed to be pointing at, he would take a detour. He stopped and scanned the area, taking in each nature made alcoves and spaces crafted by twisting branches of trees. It was when he tilted his head to his left and gazed at the darkest parts of the forest did he spot a blackened spot right underneath two large branches.

Moonlight could not reach in there, it seemed.

Aryzath took a step in that direction.

How could Mother Moon's light not reach this specific part of the woods when she had covered every inch of this land in her light as far as he could see?

Peculiarly enough, the shadow seemed to waver the closer he stepped toward the alcove. Standing at the edge of the space, he squinted his eyes. If he looked really carefully, he could detect wispy shapes of grass swaying through another blow of wind in there. But that was all there was.

There was nothing else he could see.

And while a wise creature would turn around and walk away — there was something weird about this — Aryzath's sense of adventure had a vice grip on his person.

He outstretched his hand and at the same time, took a big step into the abyss.

His fingertips made contact of what seemed like a barrier — clear and it rippled a millisecond later into tiny waves that distorted further the image before him. As if he was ripping through it.

It was not a moment later that the shadows twisted and slithered towards him in a way that reminded him of Her Majesty. Eyes widening, he tried to yank his body back but he was too late; one tendril wrapped around his wrist and with a force he hadn't expected from something so wispy — yanked him through the barrier.

His voice got caught in his throat when the ground before him vanished into nothingness.

The darkness was more prominent now.