The Skylan

Prologue

The ocean was choppy and dark as a sailor navigated the small boat through a wall of mist. The only glimmer of light in the increasingly dark mist was on top of the boat, where something unfathomable to most people was happening. The top of the mast was raging with fire, yet the fire wasn't spreading and turning the vessel to ashes. Instead, it was contained in the crow's nest where some sailor should have been yelling, 'Land Ho!!!'

Even more intriguing about the flame was that it was violet— not similar to the delicate flower, but instead somehow dark and foreboding. It flickered and waved on its own accord, ignoring the wind and sea's efforts to quench the potential.

The sailor in charge, in fact, the only sailor on board, played no part of sailing the boat because it moved on its own, slicing through the dark waves.

Eventually, the boat could not go any further. To many sailors this would cause panic, but this particular sailor was only comforted by this. The barrier between him and his destination meant that his source of information was not a traitor.

It meant that this wall was the only obstacle on the path to victory.

It meant damage would be caused.

The dark sorcerer, because the sailor was a dark sorcerer, reached into a worn leather pouch by his waist and poured the contents onto the deck and knelt down. He began to whisper, and the boat slowly began to sail through the blockage.

When the boat was clear, the boat swiftly regained its fast pace and sped towards an island coming into view. The island was covered in trees and beaches and even boasted a small mountain, but compared to the main attraction that was nothing. The tops of the five largest trees were much taller than the ones below. In fact, they must have each been a mile high.

The trees were only part of the sorcerer's mission, though.

The island was now within the length of a small rope after about fifteen minutes, and the sorcerer was ready. After a moment in the cabin, he returned with a torch wrapped in cloth that dripped oil. Sprinkling on more of the dust within the pouch, the figure smiled. Everything was going according to plan— and it would stay that way.

He lifted the torch to the top of the mast and directly into the odd flame. The cloth around the top immediately caught fire, and the sorcerer lifted the flaming torch triumphantly, as if to show to all that lived on the island how their island would burn.

As the torch was lifted into the air, the sorcerer saw the silhouette of a young woman under the full moon. The sorcerer was confused at why she was still awake, but hardly paid any attention to her. She was just one more person among all the other people and scurrying life on the island. Soon, she rushed off into the tree and was forgotten.

The sorcerer leaped off of his boat into the water and swam toward the nearest of the caves, the torch held below water, but still burning fiercely. According to the traitor, the cave would conceal a secret harbor where the only escape was hidden.

When the sorcerer had hauled himself onto the deck of one of the ships in the harbor, he climbed into the cabin.

Mumbling inaudibly, he set fire to the nearest empty bed, then avoided burning himself while running helter-skelter towards the exit. The fire devoured the bed and floor, and from there to the next boat.

When the cave had begun to heat up and glow with purple light from the burning ships, the man came out of the cave. He went directly to the nearest of the large trees, a dark tree with golden orange leaves. He quickly gathered a bundle of twigs and branches that had fallen and dropped the torch on to it.

He immediately ran away, having no doubt that the sticks would catch fire. Swinging back onto his boat, the sorcerer began to sail away, turning to see the fire gleaming brightly, licking the trunk of the trees. In only a few minutes, most of the trees would catch fire and hundreds of people and animals would swarm out of the trees. The figure could only smile at the thought as he sailed off, cruelty showing bluntly.

The island of Rode was on fire.