[Short Story] The Man who cried Wolf
Artea ran through the fields, his six year old self frolicking through the golden wheat and the dew-filled grass. His mother watched, a her beautiful smile spread across her face as she watched him lay. He was careless and free as he kneeled to watch a tiny insect crawl across a blade of grass, the wind causing it to sway back and forth as it attempted to reach the top. He watched it curiously, then stared in awe as it spread it’s wings and flew away. What a curious creature, he wondered. Why couldn’t he fly? It was a dream he wished upon nightly.
The wind blew, and six year old Artea was washed away in a swirl of muted greens and blues. The breeze was cold, and was not delightful in any sense of the word. The wind washed away, and Artea was fourteen. While his dream to fly was gone, he had received something even more meaningful. He laughed as his little sister waddled around the house, falling down on her rump. He didn’t remember when he was her age, but it didn’t matter. He loved her with all his heart.
As he watched her play, he heard in the other room his father walk into the house, slamming his fist into the table. Artea flinched at the sound. He heard his father yell in outrage at his mother, so drunk he could barely stand. He flinched as he heard the loud slap as his father hit his mother across her face. Artea felt the tears well up in his eyes. He grabbed his sister and ran into the other room to hide. Through the window, two pairs of eyes watched curiously, pondering the fate of the boy. The wind returned, and the world became a blur once more.
Artea was twenty-four now, and his mother was gone. Her pale, moony face, her striking blue eyes and her calm, loving smile. He had a dark blotch on his forehead, a dark memory he swore he’d never return to. His father was out on the battlefield, shedding bloody murder upon the victims of Noxus. His sister had been taken from him, by a plague so horrid he would never remember her face ever again. He held his hands in fists, a calm silent fury encompassing his body.
He realized he was walking through the fields he had waddled through once before. He reached the forest, and punched the trees, his fists bloodied by the rough bark. He screamed, and slammed his fists into the trees once more, then slid onto the ground. He held his face into his arms and cried, the pain never-ending. In the leaves, two pairs of eyes watched him again, waiting for a decision. It didn’t come. The wind blew again once more.
When the wind stopped, Artea stood in full armor, standing beside his father on the fields of Noxus, watching the oncoming army march towards them. He stood tensely, dreading the moment to come. His father raised his sword. He yelled a scream of fury, one to inspire the great Noxian army. The cry was cut short. The sword fell to the ground with a clang, and the field fell silent. Artea looked at the sword he’s embedded in his father’s chest, slicing easily through his armor. He let go of the sword and watched his father’s body fall to the floor. The pairs of eyes watched from afar, knowing the time had come.
The wind came once more, and finally, Artea's vision ended, and reality returned. He was on the ground, the battle lost, his comrades casualties of war. A cool mist covered the ground. He smiled as he realized what he had accomplished. He had avenged who he had cared for. He had done well, but he hadn’t given up yet. He tried to get up, but he yelled in pain. An arrow was pierced through his leg. He screamed in anger, as he attempted to get up, to find someone to help him, but unbeknownst to him, his fate had already been sealed. He didn’t want to die, he wanted to live, to settle down, he wanted to be a father. He began to crawl, his will to live stronger than the pain mutilating his body. Suddenly, he stopped. He felt the air around him drop and frost began to cover what was left of the grass. The mist began to move, becoming darker and darker. He watched as the mist pooled slowly, becoming a dark soupy puddle in front of him. He recoiled in horror as eyes opened within the void, the black mist taking the shape of a wolf, it’s maw wide in a horrific grin.
“Wolf!” he screamed, as the Wolf leapt at him, ripping what was left of his fragile life to pieces, as a white figure watched from afar, basking in the deathly glow of the moonlight. No one escaped the Kindred.
Hey guys! Chauvin here! This my first story here posted on the Boards. It is obviously about Kindred. Even though i don't play her, her short stories are some of the best, especially, even though it's short, Forest for the Trees. Hope you guys enjoy it!
-Chauvin