Submission (#5639) Approved

The weather in the typically humid Kyendi was intensified by the scorching sun that beat down on Sariel’s back with a force that tempted the kittom to drive himself back to the safety of his home. However, he trudged on, familiar with the terrain and eager to ascertain the veracity of a series of rumors he had heard, and maybe even witnessed himself.

Just a few nights ago, a tremendous crash had been heard emerging from the area. The nature of the thunderous sound was unknown, but he had confirmed with neighbors that it did, indeed, had happened, loud enough to wake several of them up. While rumors abounded as to what the explanation could be—a massive daeva defeated in a secret noble or royal mission, an explosion set off by villains hiding in the woods, a large tree falling and taking its neighbors with it—Sariel’s curiosity was such that he would set off to ascertain the nature of the sound.

For years, the kittom had roamed this land in play, exploring every nook and cranny with his ever-present companion, Taiga by his side. During these adventures, the jungles surrounding his home had become something like a friend—hiding treasures and mysteries the kittoms were eager to unravel. It was such, that their reputation as boundless explorers was well-known in their neighborhood. It was partially because of this—because of his clear knowledge of the area, and his careful notes and sketched maps that would allow him to easily find his way back home—that he felt confident he would be the one to solve this mystery.

As he traversed through the familiar foliage, gently pushing large leaves and dangling vines aside, a sight caught his eye. His heart skipped a beat, and his eyes widened, lifting his head to look more carefully upon the sight—for there, shattered into pieces upon the land, but still unmistakable, was a small fallen island.

Kyendi was well-known for its floating isles. Tales, books, and even tourist pamphlets spoke highly of the marvels of islands so enormous one could safely host not just a comfortable home, but a whole city upon them. It was common for these massive isles to hold names and identities of their own, capable of nourishing life on its surface, floating by the mysterious power of the gems encrusted at their bottoms.

This was not such an island. In fact, in the grand scheme of things, it was no more than a large stone. Before it had fallen, it surely would’ve been able to comfortable hold a full-grown elnin at best, but not much more. Sariel would have easily mistaken it for a stone if it was not for the crystals—the yellow, mana-saturated gems that dotted the bottom of any of Kyendi’s floating islands. Sariel could not be sure, but he could only guess this was one of the many small formations that tentatively rose above the tree-tops in the area. A nestling, if anything, with the potential to eventually grow into a full-fledged island of its own.

But not anymore.

Something had clearly happened to the island’s former splendor. Its fragments lay shattered, creating a small crater on the spot of the initial crash, and that’s where most of the devastation lay. The spot where it had landed could be described as gray, sucked clean of color. The fragments of crystal there where dull, any light that remained within struggling to give the gem even the faintest color. The handful of grasses and plants that had grown upon the island where withered and dead. But the contaminant had not remained on the lost isle, rather, it had begun to spread into the land around it—he could see a circle of withering and dying grass and leaves surrounding the crash-site.

Sariel approached, taking one step into the clearing in shock before his lungs breathed in the tainted air. It was only then that he realized what he was witnessing – miasma. It could be nothing else.

He had never seen miasma like this. What he knew of miasma came during the change in seasons, where kittoms where encouraged to remain strictly indoors. That miasma was ever-present, like the mists of Kyendi. It hung over the land as a fact—staying to its carefully crafted boundaries. Sariel had never just encountered a spot of miasma. Wasn’t sure if this was even supposed to happen. Surely there would be reports if Kyendi’s islands were just dropping from the sky, right?

Sariel’s heart grew heavy in his chest as the implications of this grew. It would need to be reported. The miasma was spreading – the plants themselves were dying. This was extremely dangerous – who knew how far this could spread. This much had happened in only a few nights, and after a few nights more, it would easily overwhelm the whole clearing and spread to the trees that circled the monument. In fact, looking up, he thought he could detect a slight greying of the spindliest branches. Just their tips – their most far reaching and fragile new growths, but still. Did that mean the trees themselves would need to be cut down?

And would it eventually reach his town, his neighbors, his home?

Breath now coming in panicked rasps, Sariel’s eyes fixed on the crater, on the remains of the small island, of the dying land. “I’m sorry,” he found himself whispering without quite knowing why. He turned and dashed away from the sight, terror flooding his veins, adrenaline blinding him to anything but the need to escape, the need to scream a warning from the top of his lungs. Surely, there would be help if only he arrived back in time.