SwornSlayers: A Burden of Sand (Short Story) - dying earth fantasy short story

"The Weight of Promises"One-Line Summary: Soraya accepts her burden while Mithra senses the darkness already taking root in her heart.

Part 1 – "The Commission"

One-Line Summary: Soraya receives the crystal and mission details, immediately feeling the weight of responsibility.

1. Soraya (focused professionalism, accepting wrapped crystal): The merchant's trembling hands pass her a bundle wrapped in blessed silk, its weight settling into her pack like a stone in still water. Heat radiates through the fabric, and she adjusts the straps with practiced efficiency. Another job, another road—but this one feels different.

2. Merchant (desperate urgency, pressing gold into her palm): "Samarkand dies by degrees," he whispers, coins clinking as they fall. "Each day the blight spreads deeper into the city's heart, turning gardens to ash and children to hollow-eyed wraiths." His fear tastes like copper in the stifling air.

3. Soraya (calculating assessment, shouldering her pack): The weight distribution feels wrong—too much concentrated in the crystal's compartment, throwing off her usual balance. She shifts the straps and tests her stride across the dusty floor. "Three days to Samarkand, standard rate plus hazard pay."

4. Mithra (alert concern, perched on windowsill): Golden eyes track the merchant's nervous gestures while his tail twitches in rhythm with the man's stammering words. A pulse of unease flows between cat and courier—not about the job, but about something darker stirring in Soraya's thoughts. The weight she carries isn't just crystal.

5. Merchant (final plea, grasping her wrist): "You don't understand—without this, my city becomes another ruin in the wasteland." His grip leaves dusty fingerprints on her sleeve as she pulls away. "Promise me you'll see it through."

6. Soraya (cold commitment, stepping toward the door): "I keep my contracts," she says, though the words feel heavier than usual on her tongue. Sunlight streams through the doorway, revealing the endless expanse of badlands ahead. Promises are just words until the road tests them.

   
   

Part 2 – "The Dissent"

One-Line Summary: Soraya discovers a scavenger's map leading to black market traders, sparking Mithra's immediate disapproval.

1. Soraya (methodical preparation, unfolding weathered parchment): The scavenger's map crackles between her fingers, its edges brown with age and marked with symbols she recognizes from her darker dealings. Red ink traces a route that veers sharply east, away from Samarkand's dying spires. Just information—knowing your options isn't betrayal.

2. Mithra (sharp alarm, leaping onto the map): His claws pierce the parchment as images flood their connection—a closing fist, a broken chain, the taste of bitter ash. The telepathic rebuke hits her like a slap, carrying the weight of his disappointment. He sees through her rationalization.

3. Soraya (defensive irritation, brushing him aside): "It's just a map, Mithra," she mutters, but her voice lacks conviction as she traces the eastern route with one finger. The path leads to a crossroads marked with a jackal's head—a symbol every courier knows. "I'm not planning anything."

4. Mithra (persistent worry, pressing his forehead to hers): Warm fur touches her skin as he projects a memory—her younger self, eyes bright with purpose, swearing to help rebuild what the blight had taken. The image wavers like a mirage, replaced by her current reflection in a broken mirror. Who have you become?

5. Soraya (growing conflict, folding the map away): Her hands shake slightly as she tucks the parchment into her belt pouch, the crystal's weight seeming to double with each heartbeat. "We have a job to do," she says, but the eastern route burns in her mind like a brand. Options. That's all they are.

6. Mithra (resigned sadness, settling onto her shoulder): His purr carries no warmth as he positions himself for travel, golden eyes reflecting the wasteland's harsh light. A final image drifts between them—two paths diverging in endless sand, one leading to a dying city, the other to darkness. The choice is already made; she just hasn't admitted it yet.

   
   

Part 3 – "The Argument Within"

One-Line Summary: As they journey toward Samarkand, Soraya battles with Mithra's silent judgment and her own growing doubts.

1. Soraya (restless movement, adjusting pack straps): Each step sends the crystal's weight shifting against her spine, a constant reminder of the burden she carries. The morning sun beats down mercilessly, turning her sweat to salt crystals on her skin. Three days to Samarkand—or one day to the crossroads.

2. Mithra (watchful silence, scanning the horizon): His usual chatter of images and emotions has dwindled to essential warnings—a distant dust devil, the scent of brackish water ahead. The absence of his warmth feels like a wound in her chest. Even he's giving up on me.

3. Soraya (internal justification, speaking aloud to empty air): "The city's probably dead already," she tells the wasteland, her voice cracking in the dry heat. "What's the point of delivering medicine to a corpse?" The words taste like ash, but she forces them out anyway.

4. Mithra (gentle reproach, touching her cheek with his paw): A single image flows between them—the merchant's desperate face, lined with hope despite his fear. The memory carries the weight of trust freely given, now balanced on a knife's edge. You made a promise.

5. Soraya (bitter laughter, stumbling over loose stones): "Promises don't pay for food or shelter," she snaps, though her voice wavers with uncertainty. The eastern route tugs at her thoughts like a lodestone, offering freedom from duty's crushing weight. "Survival first, principles second."

6. Mithra (deep sorrow, projecting shared memories): Images cascade through their bond—her family's caravan burning, her first successful delivery, the pride in her eyes when clients called her reliable. Each memory feels like a nail in a coffin she's building for herself. This isn't who you were meant to be.

   
   

Part 4 – "The Dying City"

One-Line Summary: A distant view of Samarkand's magical decay reinforces Soraya's doubts about the mission's worth.

1. Soraya (grim observation, shading her eyes): The city's spires shimmer on the horizon like broken teeth, their once-golden surfaces now mottled with spreading black veins. Even from this distance, the blight's corruption is visible—a cancer eating away at architectural beauty. How do you cure something already dead?

2. Mithra (shared dread, pressing closer to her neck): His fur stands on end as acrid wind carries the scent of decay and twisted magic from the distant city. The telepathic connection fills with images of withering gardens and empty streets. The sickness has spread further than anyone admitted.

3. Soraya (calculating despair, counting the crystal's weight): She shifts the pack again, feeling the healing stone's warmth against her back—a single spark of hope against an ocean of corruption. "One crystal for an entire city," she whispers. Like trying to fill a lake with a teacup.

4. Mithra (stubborn hope, projecting healing light): Golden radiance flows through their bond, showing the crystal's true power—not just healing, but purification, capable of cleansing the blight's source. His faith burns bright against her cynicism. Small lights can banish great darkness.

5. Soraya (crushing realism, turning away from the city): "And if it fails? If we're too late?" Her voice carries the weight of too many disappointments, too many promises broken by circumstance. The eastern route whispers seductively in her mind. At least The Jackal's coin is guaranteed.

6. Mithra (quiet determination, meeting her gaze): His golden eyes hold depths of ancient wisdom as he projects one final image—a single candle flame refusing to die in howling wind. The message is clear: some things are worth the risk of failure. Hope is not about certainty.

   
   

Part 5 – "The Zealot's Faith"

One-Line Summary: Soraya encounters Temir, whose fanatical devotion to the mission only deepens her alienation.

1. Temir (relentless pursuit, emerging from heat shimmer): His lean form materializes from the wasteland's dancing mirages, moving with the mechanical precision of absolute purpose. Dust clings to his weathered clothes, but his eyes burn with unshakeable conviction. "Courier Soraya—we must speak."

2. Soraya (wary defensiveness, hand moving to her knife): The blade's familiar weight offers small comfort as she studies this stranger who knows her name. His Samarkand tattoo catches the light, marking him as either ally or threat. "You're following me."

3. Temir (formal declaration, pressing his tattooed hand to his heart): "I am Temir of the Third Circle, sworn to ensure the crystal reaches its destination." His voice carries the weight of religious fervor, each word precisely enunciated. "The elders sent me when they learned of your... reputation for pragmatism."

4. Mithra (instinctive distrust, arching his back): Fur bristles as he senses the fanatic's single-minded intensity, projecting images of iron chains and closed doors. This man's faith leaves no room for doubt or mercy. Zealots are dangerous to everyone, including themselves.

5. Soraya (cold professionalism, adjusting her pack): "I have a contract. Your elders' paranoia isn't my concern." But his presence feels like a weight added to her burden, another set of expectations pressing down. Now I'm being watched by both sides.

6. Temir (unwavering certainty, falling into step beside her): "Samarkand's children count each breath while we speak," he intones, matching her pace with mechanical precision. "Doubt is a luxury the dying cannot afford." His faith makes her cynicism feel like poison in her veins.

   
   

Part 6 – "The Mercy of Betrayal"

One-Line Summary: Soraya convinces herself that selling the crystal is actually merciful, sparing it from waste on a doomed city.

1. Soraya (twisted logic, staring at the eastern horizon): The crossroads beckons like salvation as she constructs her rationalization, each thought carefully placed like stones in a wall. "The Jackal has connections—he could find someone who actually needs it." Lies dressed up as wisdom.

2. Mithra (desperate intervention, projecting the merchant's face): The old man's desperate eyes fill their shared consciousness, his trembling hands and whispered pleas echoing through memory. Trust given freely, now about to be shattered for silver. Remember who believed in you.

3. Soraya (hardening resolve, shutting out the images): "Sentiment won't save anyone," she mutters, forcing herself to look away from Mithra's golden gaze. The crystal's weight feels different now—not a burden, but an asset to be liquidated. Business, not betrayal.

4. Temir (distant pursuit, visible as a speck behind them): His relentless form follows their trail like a curse made manifest, never gaining but never falling behind. His presence adds urgency to her decision—act now or lose the chance forever. He'll never understand.

5. Soraya (final justification, turning toward the crossroads): "At least this way, someone benefits," she tells herself, each step eastward feeling like a small death. The dying city fades behind them as she chooses profit over principle. Survival is the only truth that matters.

6. Mithra (heartbroken acceptance, settling into resigned silence): His purr dies completely as he recognizes the finality in her movements, golden eyes reflecting not anger but profound sadness. The bond between them grows cold as winter stone. She's already gone.

   
   

Part 7 – "The Silent Journey"

One-Line Summary: Following the scavenger's map, Soraya travels in oppressive quiet as Mithra's sadness weighs heavier than any crystal.

1. Soraya (mechanical movement, following red-inked directions): Her feet trace the map's eastern route with automatic precision, each landmark passed without celebration or regret. The wasteland stretches endlessly ahead, offering no judgment for her choice. Just another job, just another road.

2. Mithra (profound sorrow, projecting only essential warnings): His telepathic voice has dwindled to bare necessity—danger ahead, water to the left, shelter behind that ridge. The warmth that once filled their bond has frozen into professional courtesy. Even he's given up on me.

3. Soraya (growing emptiness, adjusting to the silence): The absence of his usual chatter creates a void in her mind that echoes with every footstep. She finds herself speaking aloud just to fill the crushing quiet. "This is better. Cleaner."

4. Mithra (distant observation, watching vultures circle): His golden eyes track the scavengers overhead with detached interest, no longer sharing the sight through their bond. The birds' patience mirrors his own—waiting for something to die. We all become carrion eventually.

5. Soraya (defensive anger, kicking at loose stones): "Don't judge me," she snaps at his silent form, though her voice cracks with uncertainty. "You don't understand what it's like to carry everyone's hopes." But the weight on her shoulders isn't hope anymore—it's guilt.

6. Mithra (weary resignation, closing his eyes against the sun): Sleep offers escape from the growing darkness in her heart, his dreams filled with memories of who she used to be. The bond between them stretches thin as spider silk. Some distances can't be crossed.

   
   

Part 8 – "The Transaction"

One-Line Summary: Soraya meets The Jackal and completes the sale with professional detachment, feeling nothing.

1. The Jackal (urbane welcome, emerging from his hidden bazaar): Silk pavilions shimmer into existence around them as his smile cuts through the desert heat like a blade through butter. "Soraya, my dear—punctual as always." His cleanliness in this wasteland feels obscene.

2. Soraya (cold efficiency, producing the wrapped crystal): The blessed silk falls away to reveal the healing stone's inner fire, its light casting rainbow patterns across the merchant's calculating features. "Standard rate for a Class-A artifact." Just business. Nothing more.

3. The Jackal (appreciative assessment, weighing the crystal): His perfectly manicured fingers trace the stone's surface as power hums between them, testing its authenticity with practiced skill. "Exquisite work—the artificers of old knew their craft." He sees only value, not the lives it could save.

4. Mithra (final protest, projecting images of dying children): Hollow-eyed faces fill their connection one last time—Samarkand's youngest victims, counting breaths while salvation slips away. His desperation tastes like copper and ash. Last chance to remember who you are.

5. Soraya (deliberate numbness, accepting the coin purse): The gold's weight feels different from the crystal's—heavier somehow, despite being smaller. She forces herself to feel nothing as The Jackal's smile widens. "Pleasure doing business."

6. The Jackal (satisfied completion, making the crystal disappear): With a flourish, he secretes the healing stone within his robes, already calculating its resale value to distant collectors. "Until next time, my dear—may the road treat you kindly." Another hope commodified, another future sold.

   
   

Part 9 – "The Severed Bond"

One-Line Summary: As Soraya leaves The Jackal's bazaar, Mithra's final memory of her childhood idealism forces her to deliberately cut their telepathic connection.

1. Soraya (hollow victory, walking away from the bazaar): The silk pavilions fade behind her like a fever dream, leaving only empty desert and the weight of gold in her pack. Freedom tastes like dust and bitter regret. This is what I wanted—why does it feel like death?

2. Mithra (desperate final plea, pressing against her mind): One last image flows through their bond with crystalline clarity—herself as a child, eyes bright with purpose, swearing to help rebuild what the blight had destroyed. The memory burns like acid against her current reality. Remember who you were meant to be.

3. Soraya (searing recognition, stumbling in the sand): The child's face in the memory looks nothing like the woman she's become, innocence replaced by cynical calculation. The contrast cuts deeper than any blade. "That girl was a fool."

4. Mithra (heartbroken love, touching her cheek one final time): His paw is warm against her skin as he projects not judgment but pure, unconditional affection—the love that has sustained them both through years of hardship. I still believe in you.

5. Soraya (deliberate cruelty, recoiling from his touch): "Stop," she whispers, then louder: "STOP!" The word echoes across the wasteland as she forces walls up around her mind, shutting out his warmth. I can't bear his faith in me.

6. Soraya (final severance, cutting the telepathic bond): With surgical precision, she severs the connection that has defined her adult life, feeling something essential die inside her chest. Mithra's golden eyes widen in shock and pain before going dull. Now I'm truly alone—just as I deserve.