Sethlans

If a forest could scream, it would have been shrieking then.

Mere moments ago darkness blanketed the branches and brambles, only the silver moonlight gently nudging it apart in some places. The occasional pair of eyes glinted among the trees as those with nocturnal tendencies crept through the shadows. Silence reigned above all, the steadfast rule of the Tangled Wood.

But now the world crackled. It split apart, too bright and too orange. The darkness shrank at the advance of rapidly growing flames. These intruders that continued to devour this once peaceful existence. As they ground their fangs against bark and brush, sparks flew. And with them remnants of shadow were rendered wisps of smoke.

Yes, the forest could not scream. Its denizens, however, did.

This is what jolted Arran awake. The young pearlcatcher had settled down for the night, his Wind background making him still unaccustomed to his new clan’s less diurnal habits. In fact, it was amazing that he had been capable of snoozing at all. The last he could recall, a card game had been taking place at a nearby tree stump. A group of mainly coatls, their hums were a chorus of ear-grating disharmony.

What greeted him now as he rolled over to face that spot was most certainly not them.

A behemoth loomed over Arran, smoke pouring forth from his nostrils. If not for the armor he wore and the glare of his red eyes, the large guardian could have almost been mistaken for the burning forest in the background. His scales were striped with shades of orange and black.

A squeak drew Arran’s attention to one of the guardian’s mighty paws. Beneath it laid the familiar gleam of his pearl. The noise came once more as the guardian stroked a claw over its surface.

The guardian let loose a low and rumbling laugh. He bared his jagged teeth at the trembling pearlcatcher. Arran could glimpse something glowing warmly between their gaps. Embers. It was then that a name arose from his jumble of fearful thoughts.

“You’re the Fire-Eater,” he whispered. “Sethlans.”

Smoke spewed into Arran’s face, making his eyes water, from the guardian’s amused huff of agreement. Sethlans ran his claw over the pearl again.

Arran winced. “Why? What did I do?”

And again.

“Please.”

And again.

“Stop!”

Sethlans was unmoving. His gaze remained fixed on Arran.

“It’s a test, right? That’s what the survivors say.” Arran flinched in anticipation of another squeak. When it did not come, he pushed on. “So on what?”

He spoke. His voice rasped, heavy with smoke like that which he expelled through his nostrils. “A trial, Windspawn. A trial to prove one’s worthiness to Mother.”

The words of a fanatic. At least that’s what Arran would have concluded if not for his eyes. They did not burn with the same intensity as the flames Sethlans spread.

Sethlans looked down at the pearl he held. “Such a sturdy pearl you have.” He lifted it up and brought it to level with his eye. “It’d be a shame if you lost it.”

He flung the pearl deep into the raging fire.

Arran screamed and fled in pursuit of it. Mocking laughter followed him as he plunged into the scorching heat.

“Better be quick. Wouldn’t want to fail your little test, now would you?”