Holly Greyhead (Maiden Name: Holloway)

Rayburn sits in my lap, the tiny toddler chewing on a peice of my sleeve sleepily. I stroke his hair as I stare out into the window. My eyes are met with the mute twinkling of stars and the never-ending darkness of the night sky. The breeze is cool, refreshing against the tight fit I have to wear in front of the powerful aristocrats of this city.

“Ma?”

I look down, a pair of grey eyes, the same as my own, looks back up at me. Rayburn’s golden curls flop around his face; yellow and shining, just like the stars.

I tuck my son closer to me. It would only be a matter of time before time itself ran out. I lean down to kiss his cheek gently, my lips meeting with jutting bone. He is too thin now, as a two-year old. He will have gain some pounds or else people will become suspicious.

“My sweet Lanvard,” I stand, holding Rayburn in one arm and closing the window sill with the other, “It’s time for you to go to sleep.”

Rayburn turns red. “No.” I chuckle as he says some incoherent nonsense then says no again, all the while making my way towards his crib.

I place him down gently, not surprised when he starts to thrash. “If you go to sleep,” I say, tucking him in despite his attempts to stop me, “I’ll give you pudding and pie in the morning.”

“Pud? Pie?”

I laugh. “Yes, pudding and pie. You like them, don’t you?”

Rayburn settles down, tugging the cover to his chin. “Night night.” He closes his eyes.

I pause. “Rayburn.”

When he opens his eyes again they are curious at the expression on my face. He lifts his arms to me. “Ma.”

I place my hand on his small chest, right over his heart. It’s beating, unlike mine, and that’s good. He can stay hidden. “Guard this with your life, understand?”

I can tell that he doesn’t. Who thinks a toddler, no matter what breed, can understand the words of a near insane adult? I shake my head, kissing Rayburn’s forehead before I leave, a turn the gaslights off in his room. Rayburn whimpers for a moment—I stand there as he does so, wary—but he quiets after a moment, the whimpers replaced with loud snoring.

I make my way to the bedroom I share with Percy. He wouldn’t be here yet; late night work and such of the sort.

That’s good. I’ll have time for a midnight stroll.

I take my clothes off until I’m bare, then open the window up to my room. My false skin sheds and my body thins, becoming more lithe, more strong, more me. I launch myself into the midnight sky, my true skin changing the outer layer to blend in with my surroundings.

The wind is sharp against my even sharper features. I smile, teeth glinting in the moonlight. It has been many long months since the last time I could be free. Those months caring for Rayburn in case he changed suddenly were stressful, even for a Higer faerie such as I.

I stop suddenly, standing up to my full height as my skin prickles. “Hello, Fleece, how are you sister?”

She comes out from the forest, still in her tight human form. A young lady, older than me of course, with her skin pale and her brown hair pulled back into a bun. “I don’t go by that name now. It’s Florence.”

I roll my eyes. “You really do want to be a human, don’t you? I just don’t understand.”

“And you never will,” she stops in front of me, green eyes stern as she looks up to meet my own black eyes, “but that’s not what I’m here for.”

I tilt my head. “Then what are you here for…Florence.”

“I’m here to talk about Lanvard…well, Rayburn.

“Where is he going to go when you die?”

“Guard this with your life, understand?” I swear I uttered those words. The warning. Because you held the gun… And I know that you know, It was loaded. The clip not missing a single bullet… The warning laid across my shirt, My chest, My heart… Yet still you unloaded it. Slowly, And then all at once. Shot STRAIGHT through me… No mercy. Every bullet knicking away a piece of my soul… That I beared to you. Fully. Finally allowing myself to be me. It was freeing. Until you killed me. And I became something else. Someone else. And I’m not quite sure… If this girl I’ve become Is better Or worse.

Ailee rushed down the steps, her bare feet skidding on the well-worn stone. "Father, troopers -"

"I know." Her father moved about the shop with purpose - turning this switch off, covering that console with a thick canvas. As though he were simply closing up for the night, though his tense shoulders betrayed him.

"What do we do?" Ailee's teeth chattered as she spoke; she pressed her tongue against them to keep them still.

Her father paused by the window, switching the "open" sign off. "You run. I stay."

"But -"

The front door shook as a fist slammed against it, three times in quick succession. "Open up!" An electronic voice came from the other side. "By the authority of the Emperor!"

Ailee was staring at the door, and so it seemed as though her father suddenly appeared in front of her, startling her just as much as the noise from outside. He clasped his large, rough hands around hers, pressing something small and hard into her palm. "Guard this with your life, understand?"

She tried to open her fingers, just to see, but he just shoved them closed again with a low, "Don't you dare drop it."

"What is it?"

"It's hope. Someone's destiny depends on it. It cannot fall into the wrong hands." His gaze shifted towards the door as the banging resumed, before returning, landing sharply on her eyes. "Understand?"

Ailee squeezed her fingers tightly, so the edges of the thing dug into her skin. "Yes, Father."

He pushed her towards the basement stairs. Later, she would wonder why he didn't say goodbye. Sometimes she even resented him for it. In the moment, though, there was nothing to think about it. Her father had always made it clear what was important. And so she ran - down into the tiny room where she didn't need a light to find the spot on the wall to press her shoulder, opening the secret door. As she stepped into the tunnel and the soundproofed door slid shut behind her again, the last thing she heard from above was the sound of the door coming off its hinges in a volley of blaster-fire.

She forged ahead, ignoring the urge to go back, doubly ignoring the desire to open her hand. It was too dark down here to see, anyway, and if she dropped it here she would never find it again. So she just squeezed her hand again - it felt like a little rock, trapped against her fingers - and kept walking.

Ailee counted her steps, and lost count, and started counting again, and one of the times she reached three-hundred-and-four, her foot hit metal. The bottom step, up to the sewers. She exhaled and started to climb, ignoring her worries for her father, ignoring the sounds of dripping and the increasing stench, ignoring her own wondering if anyone would be coming to fetch her at the rendezvous point, or if she really was on her own, after all those drills.

Her adrenaline had finally flagged, and so it took multiple tries to shove open the grate at the top of the steps, and even more effort to close it again, as quietly as possible, unable to avoid causing a small clang to echo through the wide undercity pipes. Aille froze, peering around in the dimness. There was moonlight filtering down from somewhere, reflecting off the metal all around her, enough that she could tell that besides her, and besides the water at the bottom of the massive pipe, nothing was moving.

She sat against the curved wall, just above the waterline, her tunic squishing beneath her in the dampness. Her closed fists trembled against her legs, and she waited for them to still before she dared to bring them close to her chest and slowly, carefully, peel her fingers away from the object her father had given her to protect.

It was a crystal, tiny and blue. It had a rough oval-ish shape, and its edges were not overly sharp, though she had held it so tightly there were now thin red lines across her palm, sore and smarting.

Someone's destiny depends on it. Her father's voice echoed in her ears. Ailee looked up to the ceiling. Though her legs ached at the thought, she had to keep moving.

Y’kara stared down at the small blue, thick, rose emblem held between her fingers. A small frown adorning her puzzled face as she fumbled with the emblem. Her finger drug over a split in the metal, an old wound which was inflicted long before the emblem had come to her possession.

Her mind shifted back to earlier that morning. A sentence which seemed to have flipped her world upside down.

“Guard this with your life, understand?”

It all happened so quickly. One moment the old woman was there, and the next she was gone-as if she had dissolved into dust. She spoke with such urgency, so much panic seeping from her words; it made Y’kara’s chest seize up just upon hearing them.

What did she mean?

Why her?

Why now?

Many questions swirled in her mind. But not one could be answered.

She ran her finger over the split again, and then again. The roughly filed down jagged edges slightly catching the ridges of her finger tip. A thin blade caught light between the two pieces. Nearly overlooked had she not been studying the emblem so intently.

She flipped the emblem over, and her eyes immediately found the light seem which was nearly identical to the split on the other side; however this side had not broken.

“Huh.”

She quickly flipped it over and brought her two fingernails between the split. With more force needed than expected, the two pieces broke apart. A thin gold sheet slid out from between the two pieces, and it fell into her hand.

Bold, black lettering was brought to her attention.

WESTMINSTER PALACE

“Guard it with your life… why would I-“

“Hey! You there!”

Y’kara jumped, her line of sight training immediately on a lean man stalking towards. She pocketed everything and snatched her bag. She darted off to the left, the bold lettering now ingrained in her memory.

WESTMINSTER PALACE

Her eyes widened.

What. Did. That. Woman. Do.

The woman who’d introduced herself as Elizabeth Sewell—Scholar and Explorer of all things forgotten—gestured to the wooden chair in the corner of her tiny office, and I took it. A rugby-sized object sat on her desk. Draped over it was a crisp, white covering, obscuring any of its details. “What can you tell me about this?”

The cloth seemed to fall in slow motion, cascading from the object like a delicate sheet of water. Never in my moments had I wished for somebody to pinch me.

Cradled carefully in the rings of a dwarf-iron stand was a dragons egg. A real—whole and very much alive—dragons egg. Iridescent pearl scales encompassed the eggs shell, bending around and spiralling up to meet the sharp point at the top. A beam of light shone down from the skylight, pouring over the egg like a divine shield, giving it the illusion of an almost perfect halo.

I reached out to touch it, but Elizabeth’s words finally settled. Their meanings burrowed deep into my mind, and I snapped out of my stupor. Reluctantly, I dragged my eyes away from the egg, clamping my hands between my legs.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, “I don’t— I mean, I don't know anything. Nothing about... That type of stuff.” The edges of Elizabeth’s lips curled into a disarming smile. Dressed in her ruby red gown, she didn't suit the dusty, decrepit manner of her surroundings, nor the title explorer. She looked more like an elegant princess suppressed to her room to protect her from the harm of the world. I took note of the tear in the fabric of my green skirt and the stain on my blouse—what a mess.

“Come now, Iya,” Elizabeth tucked a curl of blonde hair behind her ear. “I know that is not true,”

“What do you mean?” I blurted, “I’m not— I mean I’m not— I don’t—” I dug my nails into my palm and closed my eyes, trying to calm the erratic presence of nerves. I took a breath and said, “Why haven't you turned me in?”

“Why would I? Would you rather I did?” “No, no! But, it's the law,” I checked the door behind me, the skylight. Both appeared secure. “Because I’m a, you know...” I didn't want to say it out loud. After many years of hiding it, it felt wrong. My father had taught me not to, to keep it hidden, suppress it, and I supposed I now thought it was a bad word, that I was bad.

“It’s alright. You can say it.” “A dragon,” I said finally. My skin rippled with disgust. “See, that wasn't so hard. Now,” Elizabeth said, inclining her head. She lightly touched the egg, and her hand appeared to glow. “Will you take the honour of care? I would love to, of course, but as is lore, a dragon will only hatch in the presence and comfort of another dragon. But of course, if you have any objections or any grievances to its displacement from where it was discovered, my team and I are more than happy to return it.”

“How long has it been in stasis?” “We can only guess, but judging by the surroundings we found it in, it could be anywhere from five hundred to one thousand years old. And in the eyes of the council, that makes it a Great,”

“One that can’t be killed,” I whispered. I gaped at the egg. At the saviour, the new hope for my dying species. This wonder had survived, suspended in its foetal state, safe from the outside world. It was a miracle, a blessing to all.
“You can’t put it back,” I said sternly, more confident than I felt. “They need to be free.” Elizabeth grinned. “Oh, how I hoped you would say that! Where will you take it?”

“They need to hatch somewhere sacred,” I said, my mind running over and through all the places I knew. “somewhere special to my people, where they can be remembered.” “May I join you on your expedition? I’m a good hand at swords and am not opposed to hand to hand combat should the situation arise. I can log data and carry supplies, and I know a little—” Her eyes darted over the hundreds of books stacked on the shelves. “—well, a lot about dragon lore and the different mythical genus. I can be of use, and with my team’s resources at my disposal, anything is possible.”

“Why me?” “Pardon?” “Why have you chosen me to—you know—care for the egg?” Elizabeth twitched uncomfortably, and a pink tinge crept along her flawless pale skin. “To put it bluntly, Iya, we had no one else. With your father gone, you are one of the last dragon's alive on the continent. We have a dragon in our team, Jonah, but unfortunately, over the last year, he has grown weak, his age having caught up with him. We don't want to give him more struggle than we have to.”

I nodded. A weight rested on my shoulders, but it didn't feel uncomfortable or like a burden; instead, it felt like a need—a must to keep my species alive—a revolution against the council. I nodded again. “I’ll do it.”

Elizabeth jumped to her feet, and despite my legs feeling as if they could collapse, I joined her, my chair scraping out under me. Chewing her lip, she gently lifted the egg from its cradle. “Guard this with your life,” she said, “understand?”

Warmth curled over my hands, vibrating through my skin. I could feel the subtle thump of a heartbeat, the buzz of new life. It was wonderous. A sob burst from my throat, and I smiled. “I never thought I'd get this chance,” I looked at Elizabeth, tears a blur away from falling. “Thank you,” “Thank me when that beauty is alive and free.”

They knew it was to happen for a very long, long time. But who wants to think of that—-the end of the world. The sun had become sullen and swollen, an ugly crimson giant in the sky. The days for more than a century had only risen in a blood red light. The nights were so cold, the children thought the twinkle of the stars was the shiver of light. The Earth herself—-funny how after so many millennia they still thought of her as their mother—-no longer could nurse her children. All that they had was grown under the domes, everything they drank was purified through metal tubes rather than stone. Only the ceaseless wind and cold dust smoothed her dry body. Some were happy to be leaving, others held their heads low. The lottery had decided who must stay and who should go.

He was one who should go. He was on the ramp standing at the gate. The gate out to the ship outside of the dome. He had never taken a step that far away from home and now he had no choice but to fly out among the stars. He stood. He waited. Nothing anymore seemed to be fair. The lotto had been by chance, none of their data had been fed into the machines, only their names, randomly pulled without any consideration. He was 52. His wife 48. His one child—-that was all they were allowed—-had just entered her 20th year. Her new boyfriend only one year older. He had lived twice as long as either one of them. He would have gladly given her his token. A token of longer life. But it had been etched with his name and DNA code. There was nothing to do—-but go. His wife had already left them. In her dark despair of losing her love, seeing her daughter with no future and the end of the world—-she had opened a hatch and walked out into that inhospitable world. They never found her in the wind and cold. Dust to dust.

He tried to focus his thoughts, to bring them back, here and now. He tried to remember that it was important that any of them survived. Just as he was ready to pull himself through the gate, he turned. His daughter arrived and caught his eye. What else could they say. A thousand times of ‘I love you’ and ‘farewell’ had a heavy gravity of its own. It pulled him down, made it harder to go. But she wasn’t there for that, she let him know right away. She held out a silver cylinder and smiled, “Guard this with your life, understand?”

“What is it?”

“The first dividing cells of your grandchild.”

There was no time to think, no time to thank, no time to say a thing. Not being yet born, it did not count as one of the number allowed on board. There was a last squeeze of their bodies, the hold of love. He let go. It was last call for blast off and he wanted his grandchild to live more than anything in that world , more than anything among those stars and beyond. He cradled that cylinder as they shot away. Boy or girl, he thought of a million names as he left his whole world in search of another.

I don’t give my heart to just anyone I gave it to someone before And it was broke I wish they would have guarded it with their life But the didn’t Now I’m giving it you Will you guard it with your life. I don’t think i can deal with a broken heart again Please just guard it with your life Please Please Please. If you don’t I don’t think I can give it to someone else So please Please Please guard it with your life My heart is yours Guard it with your life.

It’s a Friday night and Ned and I have all the candy and sodas my mom would let us take up. Plus a few fun size bags of chips I snuck up while hacking up a lung. A beautiful piece of acting if I do say so myself. We are over halfway through our campaign of The Mystic Galaxies.

Ned has been the game master since the time we could read. I’ve never had the knack for creating stories that he has but fortunately Ned also plays since its only the two of us. 

“Yonae the mystic forms in the mist and states in her all knowing voice “know this traveler, only one of a pure heart or a crafty mind can make it through the Vale of the Dusk”” Ned croaks in a muffled almost ethereal voice.

My character is a space cadet dressed up in a similar outfit to Starlord. Wearing a Burgundy leather jacket with navy blue canvas pants and a tool belt with an assortment of tools. He has a cyborg style mask with a single slit that radiates his red light and a phaser style hand gun. He is the ideal crafty galaxy merchant with a high level of intelligence. 

“Due to your high intelligence its more likely you make it through the vail using a crafty method. You need a 12 or higher to make it through the Vale that way or an 18 to make it through based on honor due to your neutral alignment.” Ned informs me.

“What can I do to ensure we both make it through the Vale?” I say through nervous teeth. Neds character is a space marauder with low intelligence and an evil alignment. It’s very unlikely he can continue the quest with me, which would make the game less exciting.

“There may be a way” Intones Ned in deep thought as he flips through his artifacts. “Back in the Galaxy Montrose I acquired an Orb of Micro Space. It allows a user to be inserted into a Micro Space and carried for a short duration of time. By my calculations you need to roll an exact 20 for this to work.” Ned says in the most serious of tones.

We can’t afford a setback like this if we are to complete the campaign before school starts, so it now or never. “Do you trust me Daga?” Neds character name.

Ned stares at me with thoughtful eyes while mimicking the face of a scoundrel. “Big words coming from a Hustler” He says in a thuggish tone.

“It’s about time you took a chance instead of letting me do all the heavy lifting” I reply.

Ned stares at me for a long time. I can’t help but scoot closer to him in anticipation. I can almost feel the cool mist of the Vail as we determine the fate of our adventure. It’s possible I don’t even roll a 20 and we lose.

“Ok. Guard this with your life, understand? Ned says with intense eyes. I can feel the power of his character through them.

“Have you made your decision?” Says Yonae the Mystic. It’s now or never. With shaky hands I give the die a roll. It spins across the board as we both lean over in anticipation. It begins to slide with the number 14 up. I’m practically on top of the table in suspense. Luckily the die catches the edge of the board and flips one last time. I can’t see the die as it’s just slid behind Ned’s soda and I stare at him in anticipation. 

Ned stand and places his hands on top of each other across his chest as if they were hidden within a robe as he begins in the voice of Yonae. “Traveler. It seems you have chose the most dangerous of routes. To carry another is no simple task, especially through the Vale. It will test your mettle in every way and you may be found wanting.” Ned pauses for effect and I can feel my heart pounding as I squeeze the table for life. “It seems the Galaxy is beginning to move again. I look forward to seeing what you and your companion are able to do if you make it through the Vale. You may pass.” At this Ned slides over his soda to reveal a perfect 20. 

I did it! Adventure awaits us on the other side of the Vale.

“Guard this with your life, you understand?”

Blake presses the tiny black booklet into my fingers. His hands are bloody, his fingers trembling.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“I... I can’t risk it,” he shouts, glancing around the smoke-filled room. The alarms are blaring, beeping, screaming. “Head deeper into the bunker. Stay close to Avita. Stay alive. And remember what I told you.”

“You’re lying to me! You’re giving this to me because you know you’ll die out there!” I shriek hysterically.

He plants a kiss on my forehead. “I love you, Danny.”

“BLAKE, NO—“

He sprints down the hallway before I can stop him. “Blake,” I whisper, my voice broken. “Blake...”

“She’s over here!” Avita calls. She is coming for me despite the smoke. Coughing, she yanks on my arm. We run farther down the hallway together.

“C’mon, faster, faster, faster,” she mutters, dragging me as we go.

But my entire body has gone numb. Blake is going to die out there.

Smoke blurs my vision and fills up my lungs. I barely register it.

“He’s going to be okay, Danny,” Avita shouts over the alarms. Her grip on my arm is so tight my skin is discoloring.

“He’s going to die,” I say over and over. “He’s going to die, he’s going to die...”

We duck around a piece of debris that has caught on fire. A part of the roof caves in and barely misses us. She drags me through another hit, cramped, hallway, and at the end of it sits the heavy bunker door.

Avita coughs heartily enough that for a second I think she might throw up her stomach. But she manages to fumble for her keys, and jams them into the lock. The door swings open, and together we stumble inside.

“You guys are back! It’s about time!” Our supervisor yells from the other side of the bunker. Almost immediately, he and his assistants run towards us, with blankets and stretchers and other emergency supplies.

Warm arms wrap around me, and suddenly I feel very lightheaded. I didn’t realize how much air I had lost. Avita has passed out on the other end of the bunker, where more assistants are trying to get her conscious again. She looks pale and sweaty, and her face is streaked with ash.

The world swims. I lean against whoever is holding me, but it’s not enough. Avita is dying. Blake is dying. I’m dying. I collapse farther into the person’s arms, and vaguely register my grip going slack on the black book.

“Linda!” Our supervisor barks to one of his assistants. “Grab the book. Danny,” he looks directly at me, but my vision is so cloudy it seems like there’s three of him. Or maybe it’s not him at all; I can’t really tell anymore.

“Danny, listen to me. Don’t fall asleep yet. We’re going to let you rest, but before that, you have to stay conscious long enough to tell me what this is,” he raps on the book.

He says something else, but it feels like I’m underwater and I can’t understand him at all. I struggle to stay on my feet. Everything goes dark for a moment.

Someone throws water in my face. I’m fighting to stay awake, but it would be so nice to sleep, so peaceful...

“Stay with us, Danny!” One of the assistants screams. I force my eyes open. My throat feels all scratchy and dry.

“It was Blake’s,” I croak, my head bobbing up and down as I try to stay awake. “He told me to... guard it with my life.”

Our supervisor runs over again. “I’m sorry, what did he say to do?”

“Guard it... with my life,” my eyes flutter closed again. I can’t help it; they just feel so heavy...

Sounds muffle. The world swims again.

Then someone slaps my face, and my eyes pop open.

“Blake? Blake gave this to you?” The supervisor demands. I nod in affirmation.He suddenly turns white as a sheet.

“No, no this can’t be... that was our code phrase,” he says quietly to his assistant. “It means... they’ve found the bunker. They’re coming for us.”

He squeezes my hand, his face filled with sympathy. Defeat. “You can let go now, Danny.”

I’m too exhausted to protest. One of the assistants presses a needle into my arm, and I immediately sink into unconsciousness.

The Flame Master walked out into the snow. The snow seemed heavy out in the outer wooded area. His apprentice followed obediently. He shrouded deeper into his cloak to shield against the blistering cold winds. Thankfully, the cover of the dense trees kept direct snow to fall on them.

“Ambrose.” The Master stood in a mountain stance. “Summon the flame.”

The apprentice, who was barely an adult raised his hands and spoke the sacred words. The palm of his warmed a red glow but immediately dissipated to its cold former state. Frustrated, he tried again but louder. Again, it warmed and reached the base of his fingers but faded yet again. It took a lot more effort to do this. The Master shook his head, not out of disappointment, but he already knew this would be the outcome.

“The ice element is your greatest foe. And in weather like this, your ability to conjure flames in these conditions are near impossible.” From the inside of his cloak, he retrieves a flask. “This is why I will give you this.”

Ambrose approaches his Master and and takes the flask and examines it. A black liquid swishes within.

“You have come far in your training and this flask contains magical fire accelerant. Only a drop is needed. Apply this to your sword and conjure flame to it.”

Ambrose does as instructed and unscrews the small lid. He cautiously pours and although the liquid moves fast to the opening, only a drop falls onto his blade. The liquid expands across and consumed the steel in a slick coat of oil. Ambrose speaks the words and the sword blazes triumphantly.

“This will also provide a longer burn and a resistance to ice. Passed down from master to apprentice. Guard this with your life, understand?”

Ambrose nods in amazement. He feels a great proudness of his progress and a great fondness to his master.

There is a sound of hoofs galloping. Not close but evidently audible enough to be heard. The Master frowns.

There is a shrilling shriek.