The sun dipped low over the fields of Dawnmere, casting the world in hues of amber and crimson. Ren Evander wiped his brow with a calloused hand, leaning on the worn wooden handle of his scythe. The wheat harvest had been relentless this year, and though the yield promised a good winter, his body ached for respite.
“Ren!” a familiar voice called from the edge of the field. He turned to see his younger brother, Owen, waving enthusiastically. “Dinner’s on, and Ma says you’re to wash up before you so much as set foot in the house this time.”
Ren chuckled, his exhaustion lifting slightly. “Tell Ma I’ll be along shortly.”
Owen sprinted back toward the cottage, leaving Ren alone with the rustling wheat and the hum of evening insects. He lingered, savoring the tranquility, when a strange sensation prickled the back of his neck—a cold breeze, unnatural against the warm summer air.
He froze, scanning the tree line at the edge of the field. A shadow moved, large and deliberate, slipping between the trunks like smoke.
“Probably just a deer,” Ren muttered, though the words felt hollow. Curiosity tugged at him, outweighing caution. Against his better judgment, he set his scythe against a fence post and followed the shadow into the woods.
The forest was darker than he’d anticipated, the canopy blotting out the last rays of sunlight. Twigs snapped underfoot, and the air grew colder with every step. Ren gripped his pocketknife, a feeble comfort against the unknown.
A low, guttural sound stopped him in his tracks—a noise halfway between a growl and a groan. Ren’s heart hammered as he crept closer, parting the underbrush to reveal a clearing bathed in eerie silver light.
At its center lay a creature unlike anything he’d ever seen.
The dragon was enormous, even in its prone state, with scales that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Its wings were tattered, one twisted at an unnatural angle. Black blood pooled beneath it, staining the grass and filling the air with a sharp, metallic tang.
Ren’s breath caught in his throat. Dragons were the stuff of legend, tales whispered by elders to frighten children. Yet here it was—dying before his very eyes.
The dragon turned its massive head toward him, eyes like molten gold locking onto his. Ren’s legs screamed to run, but the weight of that gaze held him rooted.
“Human…” the dragon rasped, its voice a deep rumble that seemed to echo within Ren’s chest.
He stepped forward hesitantly. “You… you can talk?”
A weak, huffing sound escaped the dragon—laughter, or the closest it could manage. “We are not so different as you believe. Come closer, boy.”
Every instinct warned him against it, but something in the dragon’s tone compelled him. Ren approached cautiously, his heart pounding.
The dragon’s claws, each as long as his forearm, curled weakly around a glowing ember nestled against its chest. The ember pulsed faintly, its light casting fleeting shadows across the dragon’s battered form.
“This… is all that remains,” the dragon said, its words slow and labored. “Take it.”
Ren hesitated, staring at the ember. “What is it?”
“A fragment of our fire… our soul. The dusk will devour the sun if it falls into the wrong hands. You must not fail.”
The cryptic warning sent a chill through him, but the dragon’s plea was undeniable. Swallowing his fear, Ren reached out. The moment his fingers touched the ember, heat surged through his hand, racing up his arm and spreading through his chest like wildfire.
The dragon let out a low, rumbling sigh, its body collapsing as the light in its eyes faded.
“No, wait!” Ren shouted, but it was too late. The dragon was gone, its massive form turning to ash that scattered on the wind.
Ren stared at the ember in his hand, its warmth now a faint thrum against his palm. He had no idea what he’d just been entrusted with, but the weight of it felt heavier than anything he’d ever carried.
A sudden rustling in the bushes snapped him back to reality. He turned sharply, clutching the ember to his chest.
“Who’s there?” he called, his voice trembling.
The answer came in the form of a low growl. A pair of glowing red eyes emerged from the darkness, followed by a hulking, shadowy figure. The creature stepped into the clearing, its black fur bristling and its fangs bared.
Ren took a shaky step back. He’d heard stories of beasts in the woods, but nothing had prepared him for this. The creature was part wolf, part something far worse, its eyes radiating an unnatural malice.
It lunged.
Ren stumbled, barely dodging the beast’s claws. He scrambled to his feet, clutching the ember tighter as the creature circled him.
“Stay back!” he shouted, though he doubted the words held any power.
The beast growled, lowering itself for another strike. But before it could leap, the ember flared in Ren’s hand, its light blinding and pure. The creature yelped, recoiling as if burned.
The ember’s heat surged again, this time flooding Ren’s entire body. He cried out as fiery tendrils shot from his hand, coiling around him and forming a shield of shimmering light.
The beast snarled, pacing at the edge of the light, but it didn’t dare cross the barrier. After a tense moment, it retreated into the shadows, its growls fading into the distance.
Ren collapsed to his knees, the ember’s light dimming once more. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he stared at the small, glowing object in his hand.
“What… what are you?” he whispered.
The ember offered no answer, its faint pulse the only response.
As the forest fell silent around him, Ren realized two things. First, his life had just irrevocably changed. And second, whatever burden the dragon had entrusted him with, he was woefully unprepared to bear it.
Ren forced himself to his feet, clutching the ember tightly. The world felt heavier, his surroundings more ominous, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. He glanced toward the direction of his home, the comforting sight of the wheat fields obscured by darkness. A single thought consumed him—he had to get out of the woods before whatever else might lurk decided to show itself.
The ember’s faint warmth in his hand was a strange comfort, its light pulsating softly like a heartbeat. Despite his fear, the ember didn’t feel malicious. If anything, it seemed… alive, almost protective. But the dragon’s warning echoed in his mind: The dusk will devour the sun.
“Dusk,” he muttered, stepping over roots and fallen branches as he made his way back toward the fields. “What did you mean by that?”
The forest was quiet now, save for the occasional rustling of leaves. Ren couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was watching him. Every shadow seemed to move, every whisper of wind felt too deliberate.
He paused, scanning the trees. “I know you’re there,” he said, his voice steady despite the racing of his heart. “Show yourself.”
A sharp laugh answered him, low and mocking. From the shadows emerged a figure cloaked in black, their face obscured by a hood. In their hand was a blade that gleamed unnaturally in the moonlight.
“Well, well,” the figure said, their voice smooth and cold. “It seems I’m not the only one who heard the dragon’s dying cry.”
Ren instinctively stepped back, gripping the ember tighter. “Who are you?”
The figure tilted their head. “That’s not the question you should be asking, boy. The real question is: do you have any idea what you’re holding?”
Ren’s fingers tightened around the ember. “I don’t know who you are, but this doesn’t belong to you.”
The figure chuckled, taking a slow step forward. “Oh, but it doesn’t belong to you either. That ember is a fragment of unimaginable power, and you’re just a farmer playing at being a hero.”
Ren’s jaw clenched. “Maybe I don’t know what it is, but I’m not giving it to you.”
The figure sighed, almost pityingly. “You’ll regret that.”
Without warning, they lunged. Ren barely had time to react, the ember flaring to life in his hand. The same fiery tendrils that had protected him from the beast now erupted outward, forming a barrier that stopped the blade inches from his chest.
The figure stumbled back, startled but not deterred. “So, it’s already bonded to you. How inconvenient.”
“What do you mean, bonded?” Ren demanded, the ember pulsing brighter with his rising anger.
The figure didn’t answer. Instead, they raised their blade again, this time murmuring words that twisted the air around them. The blade began to glow with a dark, malevolent energy.
Ren’s instincts screamed at him to run, but something rooted him to the spot. The ember thrummed in his hand, a low, insistent rhythm that seemed to match his heartbeat. Before he could second-guess himself, he raised his free hand, and the ember’s light surged again, forming a fiery arc that streaked toward the figure.
The attack hit with a burst of light and heat, sending the figure sprawling. When the smoke cleared, they were already on their feet, though their movements were slower, more cautious.
“You’re untrained,” the figure said, their tone bitter. “But even raw power can be dangerous in the wrong hands.” They retreated a step, then another. “Enjoy your ignorance while it lasts. Others will come for the ember, and they won’t be as forgiving.”
Before Ren could respond, the figure melted into the shadows, their presence vanishing as abruptly as it had appeared.
Ren stood in the clearing, his chest heaving, the ember’s light dimming once more. The reality of what had just happened began to sink in. The dragon, the beast, the cloaked figure—none of it felt real, and yet the ember in his hand was undeniable proof.
Whatever this artifact was, it had just painted a target on his back.
He stumbled out of the forest and into the fields, the sight of his family’s cottage in the distance grounding him. He moved quickly, his exhaustion forgotten in the face of adrenaline and fear.
By the time he reached the door, his hands were trembling. He shoved the ember into his pocket, its warmth seeping through the fabric, and pushed the door open.
Inside, the smell of stew and bread filled the air, and Owen sat at the table, chattering away about the day’s events. Their mother, Sarah, glanced up from the hearth, her brow furrowing.
“Ren, what happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Ren hesitated, the weight of the ember pressing against his thigh. He couldn’t tell her. Not yet.
“I’m fine,” he said, forcing a smile. “Just tired. Long day.”
Sarah didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press him. “Well, eat something and get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Ren nodded, sitting down at the table. Owen launched into another story, but Ren barely heard him. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the dragon’s dying words and the cloaked figure’s ominous warning.
As the ember pulsed faintly in his pocket, Ren couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.
More coming soon to Barnes and Noble website!
Short Story Sparks 
Leave a comment