Scars of Yesterday


By Evan Drake


© 2020, Evan Drake, All Rights Reserved

The blood-red sun sat high in the cloudy sky, only granting
the occasional peek through the small gaps in the cover overhead. It had been
cloudy for weeks now as if the sun didn't want to look upon the horrors of the
world. The same could be said for the wind and the rain. Silence was the
weather of each passing day. Silence and loneliness.

Slynthus used to like the solitude during
his morning training. It allowed him to reflect on his thoughts. Now he wished
for anything else. Not that the current location helped with that. A cabin in
the middle of the woods was not the place to go when one didn't desire peace
and quiet. And now that he had given up being the protector, continuing his
training felt pointless. So he made a habit of keeping himself busy. Hunting,
collecting firewood, making repairs, building furniture, anything that could
keep his mind and hands busy.

He stacked the last of the chopped
firewood against the side of the cabin and wiped some of the dirt from his
scaled cheek, letting out a heavy sigh. Normally some hard work was a great
start of the day, but now it only annoyed him. It felt as if the pile of
chopped wood was mocking him. Taunting him with the vainness of his completed
task. Chopping dead logs helped no one. It changed nothing. He was still a
coward, a failure. He spun away from the pile of logs, striking it with his
thick tail. As if in one last act of defiance, the pile of logs crumbled to the
ground. He stopped and another heavy sigh escaped him and he gathered them up again.

Once the logs were neatly piled up
again, his gaze was drawn to the ax placed next to the pile. It had been so
long since he had practiced his weapon drills. The cabin didn't have any
training rooms, and his weapons were locked away in the basement. He was no
longer the guardian that others admired so he had hung up his weapons.

He gripped the handle of the ax and
adopted his combat-ready stance. An ax meant for chopping wood made for a poor
melee weapon, but it would have to do. Immediately, he felt the difference as
he went through the motions, his muscles adjusting with ease during each slow,
deliberate swing. His chest swelled with pride as he continued the motions, one
last chance of glory filling his heart. Each spin, step, swing, and counter wiped
away the annoyance at today's troubles. He could almost see the monster before him.
His stance wavered a bit, but he quickly recovered and moved in reaction to the
imaginary beast's blows.

This was how their battle should
have gone. He should had stood his ground and tried again, not run home with
his tail between his legs and mewling like a fresh hatchling. The anger fueled
his strikes as he went on the offensive. Each blow was sharp and precise, not
leaving any openings. The beast weathered the hail of blows, but it would not remain
standing forever. It was strong, but he was stronger. It would die today.

He would make up for his failures. Then
his life could go back to the way it was instead of living out here in the
woods, forced to a living that no one could understand. He dodged each strike
and blow with the deftest precision, waiting for the proper opening. The chance
for a decisive blow came when the beast made one simple mistake and
overreached, exposing its back to attack.

“Grandpa?"

He froze just as he was about to
deliver the final blow. Slowly he turned to see his eldest grandchild, Mavek,
standing nearby. The teenage Tirandi looked the spitting image of Slynthus
during his youth. The same square jaw and bright yellow eyes that held a strong
warrior-like gaze. But his scales were rustic-brown like his mother's.

Slynthus quickly lowered the ax and
cleared his throat, cheeks burning as he played with his hands. “H-Hello,
Mavek. What are, um, are you doing out here?"

“Just wanted to tell you breakfast
is ready," the teen replied slowly. His eyes never left the ax on the ground. “Grandpa
are you feeling okay?"

“I'm fine. I was just chopping
firewood."

Mavek pointed to the pile of
chopped wood against the side of the cabin. “I think we have enough."

The burning in his cheeks
intensified. With a meek nod, he headed for the front door. “Yes, good eye.
Come, we should go inside before the breakfast gets cold."

“Can you teach me how to fight?"

Slynthus stopped walking. This was
a conversation he had been dreading and eagerly anticipating at once. Of all
the Tirandi, Mavek looked up to him the most. Even after Slynthus' defeat to
the beast and his decision to flee in fear, the teen had never lost faith in
him. He wanted so badly to redeem himself and be the hero he was imagined to be.
But that time was long gone. A true warrior did not seek praise or glory. As he
was now, he was not fit to teach anyone. There was no denying the eagerness and
desire for revenge in Mavek's eyes. It was a look he had seen in his own eyes
many times. It was his duty to steer his grandchild away from that path. He had
seen too many warriors fall to those emotions. “I'm sorry. I can't do that."

“But why—"

“You know why. I won't have you
chasing after that thing."

“But they're asking for volunteers!
I just want to do my part and help! This is my home, too, and I want to protect
it! I'm tired of hiding in the woods while everyone is out there dying."

It was clear Mavek was Agonry's son
and his grandchild. He never liked standing by and letting others risk their
lives for his sake either. But as someone who had faced that monster in combat
and knew exactly what it was capable of, he knew Mavek would die if he allowed
the teen to go.

Mavek walked around Slynthus and
grabbed him by the shoulders. “Grandpa, please. With the two of us, we can beat
it. I know we can. I know you want another shot at that thing. You think I
don't see you sneaking out here every morning to practice?"

Slynthus said nothing. True, he
wanted nothing more than go back out on the battlefield. To redeem himself and
save his homeland, his family. He hated the life he currently lived, peaceful,
quiet, free from worry or fear. But the fear kept it all at bay. The fear of
losing everything because he couldn't set himself free from craving the one
thing he couldn't have inside of him.

“All right, Mavek. I know you're as
stubborn as I was in my age, so there's no dissuading you. We'll start your
training after breakfast." He quickly interjected at the wide smile at appeared
on Mavek's face. “However, you have to promise you'll stay here. I'm teaching
you so you can protect your family, not so you can run off and play hero,
understand?"

Mavek nodded vigorously, looking
just as he did when he was a child, before running back toward the cabin. Slynthus
couldn't help but smile. In a different life, Mavek would have made him proud.
This was his plan from the beginning, to pass on his teachings, his experiences
to the next generation.

“But is it all a waste of time?" he
mumbled to himself.