Into the Morning Sun

His name meant 'Sun-Chaser.' His wings were strong, his beak sharp, his feathers sleek. He'd made a game of it when he was barely old enough to be out of the nest: flying as far as he could into the west, seeking the morning sun in those far distant lands where it dwelled before rising in glory at the break of day. His elders had told him that such pursuits were unwise, but Sun-Chaser was sure that if only he flew a little bit further, he would find the golden lands where the Sun dwelled. Where the Dusk Sages had gone. Every day he had turned back, flown back to his nest before he had gone too far out over the ocean to return. And every day, there were fewer Vorax in the nest-village.

As he grew into the fullness of young adulthood, the young Vorax found other concerns to occupy his time: the search for others of his kind, the daily needs of survival on Karia, his own training in the ways of medicine, in herbs and roots and salves, but he never forgot, and each time he saw the sunrise, his heart yearned for the far green country he was sure lay just beyond the horizon.

The night his nest-village burned, Sun-Chaser was wheeling far afield, soaring over the woods south of Stardown. There was a rabbit somewhere in a clearing far below, and he was sure it would make a tasty treat. His first clue that there was anything wrong was a line of smoke rising on the horizon. A sudden updraft of warm air gave him the lift he needed to pull out of his downward spiral. He flapped his wings once, twice, three times, and soared off towards the line of smoke, thoughts of the rabbit pushed from the forefront of his mind.

When Sun-Chaser came within view of his nest-village, horror struck him like a physical blow. He landed on a nearby ridge, shifted to human form, and looked down upon a scene out of a nightmare, utterly silent. His nest-village was simply gone. Something had burned it, but this had been no ordinary flame. The very mountainside on which the village had been perched had melted. The rock itself had become liquid, and of the nest and the one other Vorax who had dwelled there with him, there was only ashes floating above patches of molten rock. He glanced about in panic. Two nests on the edge of the village had been spared, including the nest of the old lorekeeper, but the rest... the rest was gone. There was a pattern to this destruction. The lines of now cooling, hardening magma ran out from the heart of the village in a radial spiral. But what could cause this? What would cause this? Was this some new Cheldrun weapon? Why would they use it here? His nest-village had never opposed the Cheldrun! ... No, surely even the children of steel could not accomplish destruction on this level. It was as if the Sun herself had settled here.

The Sun was rising, there, the faintest gleam beyond the mountains. Grief rose up in Sun-Chaser like a tide, each wave washing higher and higher until he could see nothing, feel nothing but pain and loss. His eyes burned with tears. He shifted, sprung up upon the wind, and letting out a mournful call, he turned and flew away into the morning sun. He knew not how long or how far he would fly - he only knew that he had to get away, and now. Far away. Perhaps somewhere out there, beyond the horizon, he would find what he had lost. He flew.

Into the morning sun.