Elian — Chapter 1: The Errand
I’ve been developing this world through music for a while, and recently started turning it into an actual story. This is an early draft of the first chapter.
Here’s the accompanying music track. Enjoy!
Elian was running.
Golden plains stretched as far as the eye could see, shimmering in light and shadow as the morning breeze danced in the grass.
The cool, dry air almost felt charged with electricity as it was quickly but steadily passing through the young man’s lungs, fueling his every step.
His only company was the red scarf that loosely wrapped around his neck, lazily trailing behind, as if struggling to keep up.
A giant, overgrown structure of stone and metal loomed in the distance - an ancient machine, a remnant of the world long lost and forgotten - lying dormant.
No one dared disturb it.
Some - out of the unexplainable fear of it waking up, others - to not enrage the Keepers, who considered the monuments sacred.
Elian was running.
No one in his village had ever been so close to the structure. He had heard stories of people disappearing next to them, and of strange sounds coming from them at night. But those were just stories, right?
He wanted so much to stop and properly look at it in awe.
But he had no time.
He had an errand to run.
“No airship, too risky” - the old man’s words kept surfacing in Elian’s head - “you must go on foot”
Elian didn’t really understand the purpose of the device he was carrying, nor why it warranted such secrecy. Was it dangerous to carry it through the port customs, or even just having it on a sailing airship? Or perhaps - both?
“The Council is stubborn, but even they should be convinced when you show it to them” - the echoed words continued - “I wish I could go with you, but I hold influence there no longer.”
“And besides,” - he paused as if he was about to add something important -
“I’m old!”
Everyone in the gathering chuckled.
“Can’t really expect me to run a marathon with you, can ya?”
Uncle Herbert was one of the most respected village elders.
He was a former naval officer and a member of The Council, but was cast out for reasons unknown - one of very few stories he was still reluctant to tell.
Along with how he ended up in Branlowe, a tiny secluded mountain village where Elian was born.
When his parents’ merchant airship crashed before Elian turned 10, the old man took the orphaned boy under his care. He taught him languages, air navigation and, more importantly - tinkering with machines and creating inventions. He didn’t teach him combat, but he trained him how to be fast and agile.
Elian was running.
As the curved hillside road took Elian even closer to the structure, he suddenly felt warmth in his coat’s pocket.
It was the device.
Elian stopped. He felt light-headed for a moment from the sudden change of forces, the ears rang as if his vestibular system was complaining to him for not giving it a proper warning. His entire being was pulsating as the heart kept beating quickly with force, and his previously steady breathing was now staggered.
He ran for 5 hours.
He took the device out of the pocket with a shaking hand.
A perfectly symmetrical cube the size of a palm, with beveled edges and strange markings on its otherwise smooth surface. Its material was neither metal nor stone - something in between.
The markings were glowing dimly with a warm light, like there was a candle inside that was about to extinguish.
They weren’t doing that before.
Suddenly, a deep, screeching, mechanical but non-metallic sound emanated from the distant structure, as if two mountain-sized gears turned a few notches inside.
The morning breeze froze still and the birds took off from the fields, flying over the monument. An eagle cried in the distance.
The device glowed for a few more seconds and then turned off, while the sound was still reverberating through the valley.
The breeze returned.
Everything was quiet again.
Elian was running.