Skyborne

A faint version of consciousness reaches a long hand into my slumber as I break the outer atmosphere, the inner depths of what can be called my mind now touching awareness. It is the first time I had truly been aware of anything for what feels like aeons within my own darkness. The way of the Dreadkon. My body is a lone missile within the eternity of space, a humanoid rock, a stone bound to the stars. I am not a man as you would call me. 

During my cosmic travel stage, my limbs retreat into the angular mass of my torso, and I soar for one entire solar cycle, or to you, earth year. 

At this precise moment, heat beyond the clouds of the planet I advance on begins to wrap around my protective armour, creating a blue trail. This shell has been mine since I was born. We Dreadkon’s are a solitary species, destined to travel the stars over a lifetime of a thousand years, bouncing from one planet to another. Our bodies are near unbreakable in this state. There are exceptions of course; suns with insurmountable gravity, black holes, massive asteroid fields. The void of space is vast, however, and the paths we take are cast into our spirits by an instinct we cannot truly understand. 

As my body pulses through the protective shield that wraps itself around most planets, I awaken, my limbs unsheathing themselves, my head rising from the stone crescent that forms over my spine. I am grey from the distance I have travelled, my outer armour worn in colour but still holding strong. I must have travelled faster than ever before. 

I spend minutes falling through clouds and precipitation, the planet's two suns warm on my back. Slowly, the lush green earth beneath me comes into view. 

I would have a softer, easier landing than usual. The worst of them was rock, days of picking myself out of a mountainside, hunger becoming a problem for the first time again in a year, not knowing where my body began and ended. The concept of fatigue would once again rear its ugly head. Water, the oceans, was a close second, although oxygen is not entirely necessary for my species to take in, it feels nice. 

And swimming, well, that's impossible for us. I had sometimes spent weeks walking the dark of the ocean floor, fighting what lurks beneath and usually consumes beings far bigger than myself. But grass, vegetation. Easy to pull myself from. Not clean, but easy. As I approach, my sight darts into the distance and I see a glimpse of civilization ten or so miles away, surrounded by what looks like an endless forest. My sight would remain focused on that which was miles from me for some time before my eyes adjusted. I soon approach, and so I lengthen my body into the shape of a piercing blade, slicing into the earth. Soon, I have pierced this new world, the place that will be my home for the next ten years. 

I have fallen deep into the ground, feeling masses of soft soil and few stones upon my back. I smile. It will take me only moments to rise from this depth, and I know the texture of the earth means the planet is lush with vegetation. We Dreadkon are herbivores.

For a moment, I lie still. I absorb the energy of the earth around me, drawing sustenance from it, revelling in the feeling of being totally stationary instead of hurtling through the darkness between worlds. But then, my messages find me. The faint cry of what we call a softskin, a woman in distress, born in royalty. A softskin is a normal human being to you, I might add. You people have no idea how vulnerable you are, even in the scope of all humanoids. I must rise. 

As soon as I have breached the world above I take a deep breath in, eyeing the crater I have created. No softskins, one hundred paces each side. I am surrounded by nothing but burned rubble and more nature. Excellent. The instincts of our kind lead us into solitary areas, inflicting as little damage to sentient beings as possible, but we are not perfect. 

Our life's purpose is to follow these instincts unknown to us, and spend ten years in servitude to them upon a planet before we once again take flight into our starbound slumber. Sometimes, this means being the lead general of a brutal war. Sometimes it means helping forge dams and bridges, allowing agriculture to flourish. Our work is never really done. We are the humble servants, both violent and gentle.

‘It's a bleeding beast!’ a voice cries, the language being deciphered by another instinct that I possess within me but do not truly understand. I sigh as arrow heads crush into my back. It itches, and I utter the first sentence of this small planet's language as I stretch my limbs high, truly utilising them once more. 

‘You need not fear me, young humans. You will not kill me, and I mean you no harm’ my voice booms. This language is strange, despite its simplicity, I like the taste of it. The arrows cease and I see nothing but the light of the two suns shining down as the heads of twenty or so men peer from beyond the ridge of the crater I have created. 

‘State your allegiances demon!’ another voice cries. I laugh this time, the sound echoing across the steaming rubble as the men recoil with screams. I forget how loud my voice can be.

‘I am of a kind beyond the limits of your skies. My loyalty is to the instinct of order, balance. I cannot harm you, unless your being strays into the darkness of evil, which I know it has not. Do not fear me’              

One man stands proud, revealing himself and making his way into the crater despite the protests of his comrades. Soon he is within fifty paces. 

‘How are we to trust you, being of stone. You fall from the skies as though you have been cast from heaven. A man within his right mind would call an army upon you’ he says. The man has long black hair, an unkempt beard and wears simple armour of a planet still not able to properly mine simple metals. 

Despite this, he possesses the gaze of a king. Some kings are uncrowned. In fact, most are. This is the way of all planets. 

‘You speak plainly, king of the forests. I know you serve the one born into the crowns of men. There is nothing you can do to harm my kind, and your planet is within my grasp. You would come under my hand as sweeping ash if I meant you to. But now, as I stand before you. It is only in servitude’ I say, meeting the man's gaze. He cannot look me in the eye at first, and I remember the emerald light that spills from them. I withdraw it and he looks at me with warmth, so I bow before him onto my knee. He walks forth, footsteps crunching under ash. He offers a hand so I stand once more. 

‘You fell from the heavens and have no scratch from the orders finest bowmen. I cannot but take you at your word’ 

We march through ferns and shrubbery, the forest king by my side, his men weaving between the trees around us with their hands at their bows. I have seldom seen trees bigger than those on this planet in three hundred years, a forest of them never in my lifespan. It is beautiful here, moss upon the roots of the giants as big as men, flowers alive with luminescent colours. It would be a haven for my kind, if they could live together. The only pain of our species is that we must be separate to survive. 

‘With your permission, I would require a small rest to feed upon one of your great trees. It has been a long journey, and I am hungry’ 

The forest king looks at me with an amused chuckle, smiling. 

‘You are too polite for a monster’

I halt, feeling the distant tug of a humanoid emotion I am unsure of. My mind becomes symbiotically aware of the beings before me and their processing systems as I am in close proximity. Softskins are the most complicated, the most beautiful. 

The forest king looks at me with a frown, unsure of my reaction to his words also. 

‘Of course. The men need rest too’ he replies as he meanders towards his comrades. They gather around at last, still at a considerable distance. I hear their faint protests of his allegiance to me, feel their fascination and fears. I then stumble upon my feed. A tree within a clearing, sprouting dark violet petals. Its roots stretch far, I feel them as I breathe deep. Soon I am beneath its canopy and I ask for its permission. 

My hand reaches into the trunk and I speak in a language beyond words, of the energy I will take and give back in my endeavours, what the fusion will mean to me. The great being grants me, and I withdraw its energy source, withering the trunk, leaves and roots into a crisp white shell. The canopy falls like snow. I will not need to feed for another solar cycle. 

‘You like killing our trees, do you rock?’ a gruff voice says to me from behind. 

I feel the faint slither of what the softskins call humour tug at the edges of my mind, and turn to see a man almost as tall as me, the biggest of them. He has vibrant orange hair, a large stomach, larger arms of battle-forged muscle. 

‘This tree is to me a thousand meals. I will honour it’ I say in response. The large man holds an axe with two hands, frowning.

‘If you come near my garden and do that I’ll break you into pieces and build myself a new fireplace, getting awful chilly real soon’ he retorts as he steps forwards with his axe, humour now finally conceptualised within my mind. Although I am not sure why, as the softskin seems angry. 

‘Enough. Our new friend has assured us this will not happen again for a long time. Take him at his word’ the forest king says as he advances. The rest of the men are still paces behind him, a look of pure fear in their eyes, their hands upon their swords now. 

‘We must move, rock. Night soon falls’ 

Metal clinks, slowly and with steady rhythm as the gates of the city are lifted for our arrival. The most elite fighting force had been sent to investigate what the shaman in aid to the king himself had deemed ‘a stone cast by god’. 

The entire population within the great walls had either seen or felt my flight above them, the light blinding, its impact shuddering the very foundations of the ruling King’s compound. He had demanded they go armed, and reluctantly they obeyed him. I must have taken longer than I had originally surmised to surface. 

As I enter, I look upwards to see a tunnel of dark metal, an entranceway covered in bars and spikes. The faces of the city’s people beyond are stacked high in crooked thatched cottages of many floors. This tunnel is something they are accustomed to gazing at, the chance to catch a glimpse of the city’s fighting forces a happy tradition for them. Now, instead of cheers, I see nothing but a web of vacant and disbelieving faces gazing upon me.

‘You fools make pacts with demons!’ one cries, and it sparks uproar. One after another they cry obscenities at me - they dare not throw anything in fear of hitting the royal fighting force and so their words are laced with extra spite. The forest king withdraws his blade and clangs it into the dark metal tunnel above.

‘Enough’ he says simply; absolute silence follows. I have seldom seen obedience like it, meaning their actions are born from either intense fear or respect. If I am to meet the King, I hope it is the latter. 

Days pass and I am taken from one dark room to another, men around large tables arguing well into the night about how I should be dealt with. The talks go on for so long that bread is broken, ale drunk, fights and arguments erupt. I stay in my place, watching, observing their nature, their allegiances to their gods. A few men attempt to attack me, and I watch them as they clang their swords into my skin, recoiling in pain, injured, swords broken. The forest king watches on. He knows I cannot be harmed and wishes to test my true nature. 

The King of the crown is a man with a pointed white beard and sharp eyes, only meeting with me to tell me how I must serve him, the spears of a hundred men pointed and ready to advance at his word. I am to remain heavily cloaked at all times. My stone nature is hidden and called upon only when the King himself asks of me. I am to stay in my quarters, a dungeon beneath the castle. When I ask to be cast into nature, the King refuses, but allows me a day per month to wander under the supervision of the forest king. 

These people possess a beautiful planet, ruled by a man of iron fist. He is both cruel and efficient, strong and wicked. A paradoxical humanoid, as nearly all softskins are. 

I will obey him for a time. It is very easy to offend this kind of man, which will make my messages harder to receive if he resists my words, my next flight into the stars tumultuous, my karmic fate undone. There is not a planet that does not benefit from the help of a Dreadkon if we have our way, but this is often met with resistance. We cannot use our wills to force any beings. This is the way of evil. 

One day, I walk between the great trees of the forest. The un-crowned king walks by my side, now comfortable in my presence. He is solemn, and I sense the will of the message I had when first arriving here once more. Something binds me to the forest king, to the sound of a scream as of yet unidentified. 

‘Your spirit dips today, forest master’ I say. He looks at me as though I have intruded on a thought deeply hidden within him, something private. His face then softens. 

‘I wouldn’t think a rock would be so in tune with the emotions of men’ he says as he loosens his bow from his waist and notches an arrow. 

‘I observe your kind. You are not as complex as you may sometimes think’ 

He laughs and lets the arrow fly, catching a small mammal. He does not know I must return here tonight, beyond the King’s orders. A message calls me to the forest that I cannot miss. 

As I walk under the light of the moon, I feel the spirit of the forests rising within me. Pure freedom lies here - why the beings beyond the walls choose to stay within them will not be something I will be able to answer within my thousand years. With each step, the message that has called me to this planet awakens. Soon I am before a circle of trees, and in the middle a large stone lies under a slither of the pale moon’s light as it pierces the canopy above. On the rock, a woman within a white gown lies. Her hair is pale blonde, her features soft and beautiful. The King’s daughter. Before her stands the king of the forests. He casts pale blue magic from his palm, into her abdomen, sensing something. I retreat into the darkness and remain still. My message requires that I see this. 

‘A boy…he holds the light as I do. We must never speak of this, my love. They will kill him for it. We must never speak of this’ the forest king says as the light from his palm continues to wash over the princess. She begins to cry, flinging herself into his arms.

‘We must go. There can be no future for us here’ she says.

The forest king turns and looks into the darkness, unsure of how to tell his lover that they will both be executed if the truth is revealed, that his son will have to spend his life suppressing his gifts, as he had. 

‘You must tell the King of your misdeed, and I am to die, my love. It is the only way our son stands a chance of life’ he finally replies. She runs to his arms, now frantic. 

‘It is not a misdeed to have a child with someone you love’ she cries.

I withdraw myself from the shadows, startling them both as my message is now clear. 

‘The King will not see it this way, unfortunately for you both’ I say. The emerald light of my eyes reveals itself once more as I reveal my full height, opening my magic to the sky. It illuminates their frightened features.

‘You great fool… the King will have your head’ 

Despite the forest King’s words, I sense relief within him. 

‘The King and all his men could not fell me. Sorcerer’ I say. He smiles faintly. The princess advances and touches my arm, sensing something. 

‘You have my word, young King. The magic you hold shall return to these lands, and your son will be born into it free’