Shadow Lights and the Forbidden Crossings

Chapter One: A Leap in the Dark

Argos plummeted. The smell of death lingered in the bright, glittery sky. Suddenly, the diamond ring on his right index finger turned into a ruby—his memory stone, the storage of his memories.

His glowing, piercing blue eyes muted; the sky glooming. The day melted, turning to night. Up in the sky, the clouds, fluffy and bright, became murky, torn to smaller bits till they were only a breath. In the dark blue, the bright, numerous sparkles faded away, becoming distant stars. Humid wind caressed his skin, causing him to sweat. Following the stars, the sweltering air left; the wind becoming fresh and abundant, cool to the touch. On the horizon, the dead mountains of yellow and gray grass, burnt and dehydrated, regained their color. Grass sparkled, a healthy green, touched with fresh dew; the mountains seemed like heaps of emeralds at first glance. The sickness of the blighted canopies, malnourished and barren, seemed to melt away. Leaves sprouted from their branches in bunches, immediately coloring to reds, oranges, and yellows. Watching these healthy changes with heavy eyes, gravity pulled him down, his wings surrendering and helpless against the natural pressure of his fall. All around, time seemed to rewind, everything reversing to their original state. Taking in the picturesque landscape, glee welled up in his chest. However, his mind was anxious, leaving him stuck between joy and worry. His memory stone, sparkling, put him back into the night of the massacre, where he would watch the healthy landscape, a usual sight that was adored, begin to lose its glamor.

Shrieks and death rattles resonated in his mind, filling his pointed ears as the only sound echoing in the vicinity. His eyes, falling heavy, snapped wide open in the next instant, accompanied by a gasp escaping his lips, awakened to a nightmare. The sky, duller than it should've been, was jammed with Luceres, flying away in panic to escape. Their memory stones, of various colors and gems, were flashing in distress, all signalling a Mayday. His own mimicked the behavior of theirs, blinking in alarm too. From a distance, rainbow lights shot into the air, like beacons: more flocks fleeing.

A trumpet blasted loudly, reaching everyone's ears.

"Treason!" a terrified voice in the sky shouted.

"Flee to your City of Refuge!" commanded another voice.

The whirring wings turned turbulent.

Yet, I didn't go into hiding, Argos remembered doing, his present mind departing like a fading echo. I went back to the ground to find the traitor. I wanted to kill them! His angry voice boomed from his memory stone.

Dust flew at his landing; his freshly-oiled, stork-like wings spread out behind him, about eight meters in wingspan. Eerie silence greeted him, the nests emptied. Yet, he felt a presence. His flaming sword left its sheath promptly, ready to draw blood; the blade making a shrill noise while bleeding yellow flames.

The treetops shook. A shadow moved behind them, lurking in wait.

"Show yourself, traitor!" Argos snarled, his protruding canines showing. Wind gathered in his wings; his feet leaving the ground. The grip on his hilt, a gilded wing filigree, tightened, his sword blazing wildly, feeling his fury. Reaching the canopies, a bright light, like a comet, blazed down from the sky. It zoomed past him, heading toward the plain below the uphill, three kilometers away. His leafy ears wiggled.

"Argos! Argos!" his name echoed, called out by many frantic voices.

Argos abandoned the tree. About to fly down, the light transformed into a flock of badly wounded Luceres upon impact. A soft, white light covered their right hands, their healing hands resting over their bleeding wounds. Their memory stones blinked faintly. His wings halted, stunned by the sight. Landing, the ground shook.