Transvine
The city of Transvine was a jewel set in a dusty crown — a place of cracked stone roads, bustling market alleys, and wind-beaten buildings painted in fading blues and yellows. It had once been a proud trade hub, but in recent years, poverty had seeped into every corner. Among its weary citizens was a small family living on the edge of the city, their roof patched with old cloth, their meals few and far between. They were not strangers to hunger or the shame of begging.
But on that morning, the day began like any other.
"Kelvin, time for your field trip! It's almost past eight!"
The voice came from the kitchen, belonging to a young woman in her mid-thirties. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun despite the steam from the boiling kettle trying to loosen it. Her tone carried the familiar mixture of affection and urgency only mothers seemed to master.
"Okay, Mom!" Kelvin's voice called back from upstairs.
A moment later, he came thundering down the creaky wooden stairs, his satchel bouncing against his side. At twelve years old, Kelvin had a chubby, endearing face framed by brown, silky curls that caught the sunlight like threads of gold. His eyes, wide and eager, held the kind of curiosity that could make even the hardest heart soften.
His mother smiled faintly as she dusted off his shoulders. "Mind your manners, and stay close to your teacher," she said, pressing a small cloth-wrapped snack into his hand — a rare treat in their home.
Kelvin nodded enthusiastically and stepped outside, where a flying carriage awaited. The carriage was drawn by a winged drake-beast, its leathery wings folded as it clicked its beak impatiently. The rider, a broad-shouldered man in a faded uniform, glanced down at Kelvin.
"Transvine Middle School?" the rider asked.
"That's right," Kelvin's mother confirmed. She squeezed her son's shoulder one last time. "Go on, and learn something worth telling me tonight."
The drake's wings beat powerfully, lifting the carriage into the sky. The wind tugged at Kelvin's curls as he looked back to see his mother waving, her small figure growing distant.
---
Far from the mortal city, in another dimension where clouds burned like silver fire and the air shimmered with divine energy, a council gathered. Five figures sat around a circular stone table that floated in an endless void.
"You all know the people of Transvine have drifted far from us… from their gods," said the eldest, his long white beard flowing like smoke. His voice was deep, resonating through the air.
"So what do you suggest?" asked another — a lean, sharp-eyed man whose fingers drummed against the table impatiently.
"I say we send beasts to slaughter them," snarled the third, a burly figure with arms like tree trunks and a cruel smirk.
"Settle down!" The elder's voice cracked like a whip. "Let Cia decide."
All eyes turned to the youngest among them — a woman with hair like strands of dawn and eyes that shimmered with the sorrow of centuries. Cia, the only female present, lowered her gaze briefly before speaking.
"I think we should warn them… give them a chance to repent," she said softly.
"Ah, there you go again," the burly god scoffed. "Always so merciful."
"With Ronin gone, you've all become reckless!" the elder snapped, his tone heavy with disapproval. "We will send a warning. In three days, if they do not change… she will end them." His gaze lingered on Cia.
The council chamber faded into silence, the decision sealed.
---
Three days later.
Cia descended from the heavens, her presence like a tear in the sky. She appeared above Transvine in a cascade of golden light, her flowing robes shifting like the morning clouds. Yet her eyes were heavy with grief.
"I'm sorry… but you have to die," she whispered, her voice trembling.
In her raised hand, a sphere of flame the size of a three-story building ignited, its heat scorching the air. Screams rose from below as shadows stretched across the city. With a single, pained motion, she released the fireball.
It fell like judgment itself.
---
Meanwhile, in the east wing of Transvine Middle School, laughter filled the air. Children darted between classrooms, teachers struggled to corral them, and Kelvin was in the middle of telling a story to his friends when the ground shook violently.
The roof above groaned before a section collapsed, and the fireball's shockwave tore through the school. Stone shattered, beams splintered, and in an instant, the joyous noise turned to screams and choking dust.
Kelvin stumbled, clutching the edge of a desk, his ears ringing. When his vision cleared, the hallway he'd just been in was gone — replaced by a smoking crater. Bodies lay strewn across the debris.
He didn't stop to think. He ran.
Dashing through the burning wreckage, Kelvin spotted a flying carriage in the courtyard, its drake panicked but still tethered. With trembling hands, he untied it, clambering into the seat as the beast launched into the air.
From above, he saw it all.
His home was a sea of flames. The market was reduced to blackened rubble. The great fountain in the city square had cracked in two, its water boiling away. People — his people — lay still in the streets.
When the drake descended near the outskirts, Kelvin jumped off and ran to where his house should have been. It was gone. Only smoldering ruins remained.
He fell to his knees.
The wind carried the scent of ash and blood. His fingers dug into the dirt as hot tears streamed down his face. Somewhere deep inside, something shifted — the soft boy who had left home that morning was gone, replaced by a fire that would never go out.
"I'll get stronger," he whispered to the silence. "Stronger than any god. And I'll make them pay."
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