Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
Author's Note: So, I had this weird thought randomly the other day and this is my theory on Martel's flute; that it could call all the Summon Spirits at once point, but after everything that happened with Mithos, they stopped coming.
I had surgery about two months back. I'm recovering just fine and am waiting impatiently for my brother to finish Assassin's Creed III.
My brother and I's book, the first in an alternate history/fantasy series, is now up on authonomy. Link is on my profile and I'm putting it here with some spaces. It's not completely uploaded yet, but there are about two updates a week. I would very much appreciate it if some of you guys stopped by, took a look and offered thoughts. Yes, I'm going to keep this here.
www . authonomy books / 47917 / sanctum - files - the - dragon - scroll /
Deciding whether to trust a person is like deciding whether or not to climb a tree, because you might get a wonderful view from the highest branch or you might simply get covered in sap, and for this reason, many people choose to spend their time alone and indoors where it is harder to get a splinter.
It was a sound that hadn't been heard in either world for millennia, high and sweet as it floated through the wind. And the sound made old heads tilt up to look into the sky automatically, though in the next instant, they looked away. (She isn't there anymore, isn't there to greet them and smile)
The sound was heard far below the waves, through the churning of the currents and she rose from the depths for a few moments to savor the sound before sinking back down. No longer would she answer the call.
The sound resonated in the earth and he savored the faintly familiar vibrations, the memories of a blonde boy and a steely woman in his mind. But he would not go to answer, for those memories were merely that.
The sound was carried along the winds, as was their duty, but they didn't follow it to its source, glancing at each other before flying away.
The sound flared through the sun's rays, warming the air with its melody, but he did not rise for it.
The sound shuddered through the ice, slipping through its cracks and crannies and she didn't allow herself to respond, even as a familiar nose nuzzled her, white fur highlighted with blue. (Because there had been more than one person to love that woman and now, she's gone and the only person left with that sound is mad, mad, mad)
The sound crackled along the gale winds and rumbles of thunder and he would not go. He would not allow his power to become abused again.
The sound echoed through the dark corners and reverberated through the space, playing back at him again and again, but he would not answer.
The sound whispered along the old pages of his book and the old soul—not a man, not anymore—lowered his head in remembrance and sorrow. (The world is not as it once was and to see its ruins hurts more than almost anything)
The sound slipped through the reaches of time, slid itself through ancient trees and he refused to rise, refused to be betrayed again. (For the hero had not been the only one that had been so beloved and the true hero is dead and gone)
The sound shimmered through slivers of moonlight and she only looked out past the stars. It had been a long time since she'd heard that sound and she relished it. But she did not answer. A familiar brush of feathers and she glanced over at her companion (They had been more, once, Before, but things had changed and they had changed and now everything is so very different. Except for the fact that they cannot exist without each other)
She knew that Aska knew the sound as well as the rest of them did, but she was surprised when he rose to answer it. He had been betrayed as much as the rest of them had, four thousand years ago and she could not understand why he would go, only to have himself hurt again.
What Aska did not tell her was that he would answer because he knew what it was to live for someone else, to fear their loss and so he would answer the high, sweet sound. He would brave the madness trapped inside a broken boy because he knew he could do no less.
(He does not find the broken boy, but another boy, too similar to not be wary for he sees the sister nearby, protective and holding her staff and perhaps this is a sign of times of change)