The Depths of Rivillin – Short Story
There are still some alive in Rivillin. It’s said that only the people with the strongest magic can survive a dyvion burst. That’s why Avrin didn’t make it. That’s why almost none of the children made it. I think back to the kid at the Antique’s shop. He must be powerful.
I realize he might be scared, alone. I sigh, tossing the brick from hand to hand. Pretending like everything in Rivillin is fine is making me overlook things. Like a kid who needs help. The only kid I’ve seen alone since the burst. On my way back into town, I take the same route that led me out, and every minute or so I heave the brick as far forward as I can and pick it up wherever it lands. It’s not gonna hit anyone or break anything. There’s nothing there.
The letters that say Antiques above the shop aren’t falling off the storefront as much as they are crumbling like stale bread. I peer through the wide window and find it mostly empty save for about thirty lamps and an octagonal counter with massive white shelves behind it. There’s still an old money register on the counter. Probably wasn’t open even before the burst.
I try the door, but it’s locked. I knock as hard as I can for ten seconds, then I sit with my back to the shop and wait to see if the boy shows up. He has to be in there. That’s where he was before and he’ll need someone to help him if he’s alone. I run my fingers over the surface of the brick, then press my knuckles against the window.
I wait an hour and he’s still not there. It hits me all at once that he’s not gonna come. There was the chance to help him, and the chance is gone. Things fade. The whole world is fading.
An older man, somewhere around sixty, comes out of the alley across from me. He calls me boy and asks what I’m doing.