Sol

Born to A Mother, Descendent of Earth
Born to A Father, Descendant of Fire


Your skin smolders, bones creaking, popping, and sizzling with each twitch and stride you take through the falling ash, black and tan sand collecting between your toes. The air is humid, but saps the liquid from your mouth. You are parched.

Your steps are effortless and trailing, smoke licking off of your skin and mane like the ethereal fingers that scrape at the bone, hungry for more. You ache to your very core with warmth so suffocating you choke on it, wisps of smoke and soot fleeing your mouth with every wheezing puff you breathe.

And so, you wander. You are not lost. In the land of creation, destruction, and remaking, your home is forged anew. Go forth now, be your own creation. The gods have forsaken us, left us to bicker and slaughter each other like chess peices rebelling on their own team.

It's funny.

What kind of prophet speaks for a false god?

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Long stretches of desert lined the distance, no life could be seen other than the occasional mouse who scurried away or a lizard sunbathing in the light, it was complete deserted with only the light refraction in the distance, alongside the many dunes of ash and tarpits. One singular sound could be heard, and that were the shifting sands who moved constantly, like a hypnotising dance made from water. It was boiling hot, with the scorching sun beaming down onto the grey grounds, many would have fallen to the heat, dehydration, or simply gone mad by the never ending mountains of ashes piling themselves around them, but one Pearlcatcher wasn’t affected by it, as he himself was the pinnacle of fire, his bones creaked and sizzled with every step, dark smoke came out in puffs at every breath he took and the fiery pits of hell flowed through his veins itself, he was known as Sol, a prophet born under the hands of a false god which withheld powers he should not have, seen through the eyes of many cursed dragons as a cure to their eternal suffering, but turned his back on them as the pressure overwhelmed his very soul, and seeing the truth brought anger to his eyes.

He was born to a mother who was a descendant of Earth whilst his father was a descendant of Fire, he was never created out of love, but only as an objective, as a prophet to find the answer to break the binding curse which was put upon the small village by the gods themselves, angered by Sol’s Fathers arrogance and proclaiming himself as a god, to go to the extent of creating his own small society, they damned every living creature who inhabited the town, with the sufferance at every breath their throats feeling clogged up from fallen ash, each wheeze was one of pain. It was a sickness, poor souls who travelled to the village, would find themselves to have caught the sickness, as it spread like wildfire, feeling no pity of any who entered. Those travellers would have no choice but to stay, as they were weakened by the sickness, never having the energy to keep walking throughout the desert to fresh land, found themselves to be stuck for eternity, living off the small oasis which the village had built itself around, until the vanquishing curse was broken, or they meet the hands of death in a painful trance. Sol, a skeleton of a deceased Pealcatcher was used to create him, using the ashes from below and the fires from his father’s hands, he was brought into the world with the Earthly powers his mother beheld. He was brought alive, named Sol after the burning sun, and soon thrived, admiring life around him with glee.

Sol never grew up with love, instead under the caring claws of his mother, whilst his father treated him with nothing but the reality of facts, that he was a prophet, with a mission to complete. Never was he shown any disrespect, those who inhabited the village gifted him with food, treasures, and many other artifacts to bring him joy, all the while praying onto him, wishing he could break the torment looming over their heads. When he showed joy, disapproval was apparent on his father’s face. The Pearlcatcher tended to be quieter, keeping to himself, avoiding the dragons who wondered outside. He loved the night, even if his vision was nothing but blurry in the overwhelming obscurity, other than the little light the moon emitted onto the ash waste of a land below. It was his father who taught him the ways of life, how to act like a son of a god, to use others to his advantage by hist statues, to bring him food, to hunt in his place, and many more things he didn’t Have to commit himself. He was taught to soar through the skies, alongside use the fires which burned in his very heart as the solution to fight, and using his heat wrenched body as a defence against the attack of enemies. He was taught the Flamecaller was the enemy just like all the deities, causing suffering to innocent lives, with no reason, just like his home. Sol found joy in writing and reading, but never would his father let him do as such, as in his eyes he saw it as pathetic, knowledge was useless in a world where it was power, strength that ruled. Never would he speak of the truth behind his actions as, he knew in those books were told the stories of the deities, their good deeds, and it’ll shine the truth upon his status, so as of that, each book were burnt to ash, no pity put upon any. Sol never liked his father since then, feeling no attachment to his being, but his mother he found her dear, as when he wasn’t looking, she’d tell me all kinds of stories from the land, tell him about the outside world, but was always careful of not mumbling the names of the deities, as she didn’t wish for him to ask about them, especially since his father had told him underlying lies about them, using their name in vain. She would also let him write down his stories, happily listening to what he had to say, instead of retorquing him, as such his father. He always believed the village cared about him, but never did he realize the underlying truth until, one day.

Months passed by, Sol kept growing, but his joy slowly crippled under the pressure from the population, as they got more agitated, wanting him to find the cure to their sickness. Sickening, bubbling thoughts started to veer around his brain, things he did not want to think about, yet his head left no mercy, only these thoughts swooshing in his eyes, slowly but surely. But one day, the truth crashed upon him, when he found a book one of the residents had giving him years ago, without the knowledge to his father. It was from one of the older residents, he who has never nagged for the sickness to disperse, or bothered Sol, only keeping to himself, in his small hut beside the pond. His father wasn’t around, lost in his piles of work, Sol had taken the book, and read through it. It described the story back to front of his father, a false god made from the jealousy of high-beings and hunger for power, alongside the story of the town, how it had been made and cursed upon, up until the creation of Sol, made to be nothing but a prophet to give hope to those in the town to break what has haunted them for so long. He shut the book, and stared into nothingness for hours, thought whirl winding in his mind, seeing the real picture instead of the picturesque world his father had made for him. When it got to much, he slammed the book onto the ground, burnt it to ashes out of pure anger, for making him think so much. For making him see the truth. Maybe a lie would be better, maybe it was better to not know the truth, he thought. When the flame had gone out, he calmed himself down; decided to brush off his thoughts and continue his life as if he had never read what that book beheld.

Unfortunately for him, days passed by those thoughts never left. He watched everyone around him, he watched the truth walk by just like it was the most obvious thing, but he was so blind to it. He watched as the population thrived below, they never cared about him, his life was useless in their eyes, they didn’t want him, all that mattered to them was his name of prophet, to bring them a cure which he had no clue how to help. He watched their eyes pressure him, how they got more agitated as he grew, tired of waiting. He hated being known as a prophet, hearing the word brought bile to his throat, he couldn’t help them he didn’t know any cure to their problem, he was no god, just a normal dragon just like any other, but only because he had the name of prophet, he was seen as different. He never even asked to exist, he never asked to have to deal with problems which have nothing to do with him. The only person who had ever genuinely cared about him for being himself was his mother, but even then, she hid behind lies his father bestowed upon the village. His hatred grew, his thoughts became overwhelming, reality stared right back at him, he didn’t want to do this anymore, he didn’t want to be here anymore, he would fail the village and crumble their hope but there nothing he could do, it wasn’t his problem. And so soon, he snapped. He packed up what he could, Sol did not listen to the cries of those who watched him as he ran away, he did not listen to his fathers yells of anger, flaming up the world around him, whilst his mother watched sadly as he went, he didn’t notice the old dragon smiling at him from afar, the one who had written the book, knowing he had made the Pearlcatcher the truth. Not listening to no one, not noticing no one, ignoring the world around him, only going towards the hills of ash, as his mouth steamed with smoke from his heavy breath. And that is how Sol found himself, fa from his home, in the middle of the desert, no life to be found, with only

Weeks passed as Sol ventured alone, many others would’ve faltered to hunger, dehydration or the lack of life, but he was not phased by such things, even if hunger nipped at him, he ignored it with a strong will, knowing he wouldn’t be able to find food for a mile, he didn’t even know how to hunt. Water was not a necessity for him, as it was molten fire through slipped throughout his veins, and his loneliness was nothing, he found himself thinking of all kinds of stories, alongside the thoughts which never left his head. Sometimes he’d regret his decision, but then he re-thought over it all, and continued with a stone fae expression. He also would write down his adventures, in case he died, and his body was found, may at least someone know the story of the unlawful village with hide in the dunes, and not fall to the curse which fell upon it. When night fell, he’d find someplace to hide, as he could barely see in the thick darkness who fell upon the land, he was blind when it came to darkness, alongside hiding would keep him safe from any unwanted visitors, walking with good or bad intentions. It was on one solemnly day, where he could find nowhere to hide, he couldn’t sleep when he felt unsafe, but he had no choice but to continue walking, until he found a safe place. To no avail, nothing was to be found, only the darkness which now fell onto the land. He could not see a thing, he felt vulnerable but kept moving, not wanting to sit in plain site in the desert. He used his feet as a way to guide him, however suddenly, one wrong step set him tumbling down an ash dune, his went into his eyes and his mouth, he wasn’t able to get a grip, before finally finding himself in a tar pit, only recognizable by its stench and the feeling it had on his skin, slowly overcoming him, as his body submerged into it. Every time he moved, he sunk deeper, it worked like sinking sand, slowly bringing him downwards. Sol at that moment gave up, he stopped moving, stared at the sky, and let himself sink, before watching his world go black, all whilst struggling to breath, awaiting death.

Sol woke up hours later, it was daylight outside. He laid down confused, as to why he was life, how was he here, laying in the sand, in broad daylight? He stood up weakly, watching as most of the tar of his body had went off, only some crusts stayed dry on his skin. He sat there silently, looking in the distance but his train of thoughts broke when he saw a guardian in the distance slowly walking towards him, he did not know what to do so he just made himself look defensive, even if he had been taught to fight, he was no fighter, more so of a flighter. When he came closer, he saw the guardian looked as if hell itself as grown upon him, his feet were nothing but burning flames whilst his skin cracked with the fire glowing in between each, his wings were nothing, but stumps and an indestructible flame glowed in his menacing eyes. Sol felt intimidated, yet all the guardian did was drop a bit of food on the ground, telling him to eat as he look starve. Gratefully he took it, surprised how hungry he was, before thanking the stranger, for what he had done. The stranger named himself Deathfall, he explained if it weren’t for his glowing eyes, he wouldn’t have seen him. He had found the pearlcatcher in a horrible state, not having the heart to leave such a poor soul die to an unfortunate death, especially one who had wings, he had no choice but to help him, and so he did. The two spoke, Sol introducing himself, Guardian making the remark that he was no wanderer as he, he did not know the harshness of the desert outside nor how to live out it in, and he guessed he was a runaway. Sol confirmed it, and Deathfall made the decision he was already this far in, and he couldn’t turn back. So, he brought him along, he taught the clueless pearlcatcher on how to life out in the wasteland of ash, the secrets it held and such, all the while they became closer as days went pass.

Deathfall has always been solo, yet the company of another was quite nice, even if he saw them as an idiot. He was glad that Sol never commented on his wings, neither upon his fire-like body, as he never commented on the ash that came out of his mouth as he breathed. Sol had learnt everything quite quickly, getting the hang of it all. It didn’t take them long before they started opening up to each other, mostly Sol explaining his story, whilst Deathfall told him his story, but not the one of his wings. Sol appreciated that the guardian didn’t like him for being a prophet, but for him being themselves. Friendship blossomed between the two; but not only so, Sol had developed feelings for the guardian, so many days he’d flirt playfully with, even if most attempts ended in a deadpanned face. His thoughts which clustered his mind had mostly gone, as Deathfall would make them drown away. He could be himself.

Sol never left his side, and Deathfall didn’t try to get him to leave, the pair wondered the ash waste land together, happily.