Give It To Me.

Darkness.

Not the kind you escape by closing your eyes tighter.

This was deeper. Like being swallowed whole by something that had no mouth, no body—

only endless black.

I couldn’t even feel my heartbeat. Couldn’t tell if I was breathing.

Then… a voice.

Smooth as honey poured over glass.

“This world…”

A pause, breath brushing my ear as if someone leaned close enough to touch my soul.

“…it used to be like yours once.”

From the darkness, she appeared.

Golden hair spilling like molten coin down bare shoulders, skin faintly glowing as if kissed by eternal twilight. Her amber eyes burned low and lazy, like embers beneath autumn leaves, watching me with an amusement that felt… like nothing else I’ve ever experienced.

Every step she took made soundless ripples through the void.

Where her bare feet touched, green sprouted, lush, vibrant—

grass?

And just as quickly as it appeared, it turned to gold, crumbling to dust that swirled and vanished.

She stopped just in front of me, tilting her head, lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

“Poor thing,” she murmured, voice dripping warmth and mock-pity. Her finger traced a circle just above my chest, not touching, but close enough that my pulse jumped.

“Dropped into my lap… broken, lost.”

I opened my mouth, but she pressed a finger against my lips, soft, impossibly warm.

“Shhh…” she breathed. “Listen.”

The void curled in lazy spirals around me, endless and silent.

Then—gold.

It spilled like liquid sunlight from her fingertips as she stepped forward, hips swaying with a slow, deliberate grace. When she raised her hand, the darkness bent, unfurling into a vision of swaying green fields and rain-slick forests.

Her voice was low, hushed, almost wondering aloud rather than reciting:

“Once… I think this world was alive. Not like this.” With a wave of a hand, color bled into the picture like an open wound. They all blended together, into a forest. “It breathed. It wept from the sky. Everything was… new.”

The surroundings shifted, from forest, to rain, to valleys and birds, animals that were common knowledge but have become only a memory, then snow fell from the sky. I felt as the snowflakes made contact with my skin, a cold sensation as they melted upon contact.

Shapes formed beside them, four towering figures, vague as memories seen through a fog.

“There were… others,” she whispered, tilting her head like she was trying to remember their names and failing. “Four… not kings” she lifted a finger, “not gods—something else. They… held everything together. Each… a piece of time.” She began to dance in tandem with color itself as she continued.

The first glowed green, stirring invisible winds.

The second glowed crimson, burned bright as a star, cracking the vision around it.

The third glittered gold, leaves drifting down like tears.

The last stood still and pale, so quiet the sound itself bent away.

Her lips parted, a soft breath escaping as though speaking dredged up buried pain.

“They were… harmony,” she said, touching my shoulder lightly as the vision trembled. “Balance. Until one… couldn’t bear to fade. She reached for… something beyond all of it. An eternity.”

The crimson figure erupted into a blazing inferno, drowning the others. Rivers dried to salt. Forests burned to bone-white ash. The blue sky split into searing, endless light. Sand swallowed every corner of the earth.

“Everything changed,” the woman murmured, voice softening to a near whisper. “Only the ones who clung to her light survived. The others… gone. Names lost. Gifts… stripped away.”

The scene shattered, golden leaves scattering like dying embers. The void returned.

“The era you woke into…” she tilted her head, eyes glimmering molten gold, “isn’t life. It’s her victory.”

She hovered before him, her golden hair drifting as if weightless, eyes molten and unreadable. Then, almost tenderly, her thumb brushed his jawline, full of curiosity.

“That face…” she said softly, lips curling into a knowing smirk. 

“It’s the face of someone who’s already been kissed by death.”

Her body moved closer.

A shaky laugh slipped from her lips.

“I don’t even know what I am,” she admitted, breath brushing his skin.

“But you… you don’t belong here.”

“You’ve seen something else.”

The gold light between them flared brighter, their breaths tangling.

In an instant she appeared behind me, her breath caused a he hairs on my neck to lift.

“Show me,” she whispered.

“Give it to me.”

“Show me your world…” she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. “Share with me your forests. Your skies that still weep. Your earth that still blooms.”

She leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing my skin.

“You have something they don’t.”

Her other hand curled upward, golden leaves spiraling violently around us now, rain hissing into steam.

She picked a leaf, holding it up in her palm, “The essence, the memory of what this world once was.” She blew, the leaf turned into dust.

“In return…” she murmured, voice dropping into something dark and sultry,

“…I will breathe life into you, one that glows of unparalleled beauty and value, I’ll gift you my touch.”

“You will move as the wind moves through autumn leaves.”

“Strike as rot strikes timber.”

Endure as the earth endures its autumn, its fall.”

She grinned,

“And when you stand beneath the Devourer’s shadow…”

“…the desert will remember how to fall again.”

Her voice melting like amber, strands of molten-gold hair brushing against my cheek as she closed the gap between us.

Her scent hit me, smoke and honey, like autumn bonfires wrapped in something sweeter, something that didn’t belong to this scorched desert.

Her eyes half-lidded, molten and unblinking, she whispered,

“Don’t fight me, little one…”

Before I could speak, her forehead pressed softly to mine.

It wasn’t a gentle touch.

The world shuddered.

I gasped as my memories were ripped open

Green fields of home flashing like shattered glass, watching fireflies flutter.

Rain hammering rooftops, every drop a sentiment of all that was buried beneath sand.

Gardens of time preserved by man, but defined by none.

Wind rustling living leaves:

The sound of rivers, alive and unbroken.

Every image bled from me, drawn into her like a tide.

She drew back just enough that her lips hovered above mine, her glowing eyes lidded in languid satisfaction.

“Mmm…” she exhaled, chest rising and falling slowly,

Her breath hitched against my lips, her nails lightly digging into my shoulders.

“…your world is… exquisite.”

Her thumb traced my jawline, lingering at the corner of my mouth.

“I almost forgot what it felt like.”

With that, her hand slid down to clasp mine. Golden light crawled up my arm like wildfire as she whispered,

“You’ll do,” She threw her hands around me.

“Now… let me make you mine.”

She pressed her lips against mine.

The moment they touched,

light burst behind my eyes,

searing gold and deep crimson.

I felt my pulse slam against hers, becoming one.

Heat poured into my skin,

sliding down my throat,

curling around my ribs,

wrapping itself like roots digging into earth long starved of rain.

A metallic sweetness coated my tongue,

like biting into sunlight spun into honey and flame.

It burned—not pain,

but the unbearable sensation of something

far greater than me

branding itself into my being.

When she finally drew back,

a glowing mark carved itself across my cheekbone,

pulsing golden light

like molten veins under glass.

I tasted her still—

smoke, honey,

the whisper of leaves crumbling to dust.

And then she spoke,

her breath warm against my lips:

“For I…”

her voice rolled like silk dragged through embers,

“…I am Autumna.”

Leaves of light spiraled from nothing,

dancing in silent flames around us,

each one trailing molten threads that stitched the dark into gold.

“…the Goddess of Gold.”

His body laid lifeless at the foot of the mountain.

There was no breath left in him.

No pulse.

No spark.

The boy who once laughed beneath skies of blue,

who once feared nothing but failure,

was gone.

Buried in black.

Swallowed by silence.

His body broken upon the rocks of Orati.

Yet…

Something ancient moved.

Not in the sand.

Not in the wind.

But in the threads of time themselves.

Golden light seeped from the cracks of his shattered flesh,

not warm, not searing—

but patient,

like leaves turning in late autumn,

each one falling slower than the last.

Rot whispered to bone.

Rust licked at blood.

And from decay…

life began anew.

He did not breathe.

Breath returned to him.

He did not rise.

The earth lifted him.

Flesh once torn now wove itself in strands of gold.

When his eyes opened,

they were not the boy’s eyes, no longer

They burned with a golden dusk

that had outlived centuries, waiting.

 Paitiently.