Fires of Autumn Twilight is a Book Collection sold by Amazolli at Idukan's Trove.
Vol. 1[]
As they walked along the winding path toward the storehouse, withered leaves falling around them like gentle rain, she quietly observed his profile, attempting to reconcile his features with the image she had of him in her memory. It had been years since they had last met, and he was not only taller now, but dressed in much finer clothes. The latter was hardly surprising — after all, he was now a Recording Officer of the Grand Alliance, and had come to receive the banner of the Flower-Feather Clan in the name of the Holy Sovereign. It was only natural that he would dress well for the occasion. He had changed, she thought, but how could a person not have? The only thing that had not was his sluggishness. "I assure you that the cook's skills will suit your taste," he said, pausing as though he expected a reply. She remained silent, so he continued, "Once we reach Cinder City and meet with His Majesty..."
Unable to bear the ceaseless chatter any longer, the dragon let forth a thunderous roar, cutting it short. It could smell that repulsive scent on her, the kind that even all the springs of the south could not wash away. These lowly insects, it thought, puny bugs deluding themselves into believing that they could seize control of these scorching plains through the tricks of a traitorous lunatic. It chased her unrelentingly, intent on piercing her with its claws, smiting her even to the sand with them, though she had avoided out of its presence twice.
She pretended not to care what he thought, responding only with a gentle smile. He studied her for a moment, hoping to read some subtle emotion upon her lips. As always, he found no trace of resistance on that mask of indifference she wore. Ever had she been so, he mused sympathetically. Since the day they first met, she had always been this way — quiet and compliant, never one to resist, as docile as a Capybara down by the riverbank, accepting without question all that fate had in store for her, the exact opposite of her hard-hearted mother. "Do not worry," he suddenly said. "Even if they are all gone, I will stay with you forever, until death parts us." She looked at him, smiled, and took his outstretched hand, seemingly submissive. "Until death parts us," she repeated his words softly, as if speaking to herself. For the briefest of moments, a crack seemed to appear in that perfect mask of hers, but he did not notice. In fact, he never noticed anything. Poor man, she thought, always so eager to play his role, yet never having been praised for it... What lousy luck.
But luck was not the deciding factor, merely a footnote in this prolonged hunt. For years now, following the trail of its wicked scent, she had hunted this giant dragon. She understood its vanity and how it could be seduced with words, so certain of its mastery of fate that it was convinced it could resist the inevitable conclusion that awaited. It was this delusional fantasy that had drawn it here, just as her slender fingers now drew the bowstring taut. Perfectly still she remained, eyes fixed upon the approaching beast, its frame so gigantic that it almost filled the cave's entrance, as if it were oil seeping out from a jar. She could feel its gaze, its predatory stare. Standing there, she was nothing to it — as insignificant as a mere insect, a feather caught in the wind. "What is this place, you insidious weasel?"
Vol. 2[]
"This used to be my mother's favorite garden," she answered softly, her slender fingers gently caressing a flower, the name of which now escaped her. Her detached tone belied a hidden intensity, flammable as the oil she had buried beneath the warehouse. Purposefully she avoided his gaze, already knowing what he would say — those smug, tired metaphors, those irrelevant words of comfort, well-meaning yet utterly hollow. He would urge her not to grieve too much over what had already happened, trying to convince her to join him in dreaming of a future that would never come. Then, as had happened on countless nights before, he'd reach out and gently touch her cheek, just as she now caressed the flower. Yet she felt agitated, oppressed by the autumn evening's lingering heat and the insects' incessant chirping, so before he could speak, she snapped the flower's stem and turned to look at him. Seeing him surprised, she smiled, then carefully tucked the fiery flower into his gilded collar. "Come now, let us be off. I'm sure someone will take care of all this."
The dragon hesitated, its eyelids narrowing like sheets of iron as it surveyed the stifling darkness. It had not fallen for her trap, not even for a moment. Yes, she had lured it here, into this narrow cave. But what of it? It looked down upon her with a scorn that was as terrible to behold as its own proud plumage. She was nothing like her mother, not like the archer by whose arrow had pierced its throat decades past, the woman who had driven it into the depths of the dark forest like an alpaca, who had deprived it of the simple pleasure of ravaging human villages — the woman who had earned its hate. No, this trembling whelp before it was nothing but her frail echo who could not hope to stand against its claws, much less her ghastly, fearful fate. Her very existence was a mockery of her bloodline, an insult to the ancient lineage of dragons. What absurd notion led her to lure it here? Such a childish stunt could lead only to her death. It was in this moment that the dragon caught the faintest whiff of a strange smell lingering upon the air. For a brief moment, its thoughts were troubled by a flicker of unease, yet this faded quickly beneath the weight of its arrogance.
Pushing open the old wooden door, he caught the faintest whiff of a strange smell, like oil, or perhaps dry wood. He paid it no heed, simply taking her hand and leading her into the dim recesses of the warehouse. No matter what happened, he would guide her forward. Silently, he thought to himself that someday he would lead the entire Flower-Feather Clan the same way. Without thinking, he glanced up at the massive dragon skull suspended above them. He did not remember such a relic having been there before he'd left the Clan, but that was irrelevant. Lianca and her chosen successor were both now dead, and her soft-hearted second daughter lacked the strength to rule the tribe. Only he, who had accompanied that daughter since their youth and was deeply trusted by the Holy Sovereign, was worthy of leading these ignorant people toward the future that the Holy Sovereign had described. Elder Nyamgondho had no objections to this — he too was a child of the Flower-Feather Clan. After the wedding night was over, all opposition would be silenced.
In that silence, a strange notion stole upon her, like a new and unfamiliar dream. She wondered, what if the young man she had once yearned for, the one who was once her companion, what if he had never left the Flower-Feather Clan, and what if he had not gone to serve the Holy Sovereign, but instead had stayed to witnessed her change, the growth of her defiance — would he have been pleasantly surprised or dejected? The beast's smoldering eyes locked onto her in the darkness, its pulse entwining with her breathing so that the two could no longer be distinguished. An almost imperceptible movement; and with that, a spark shot down the fuse, racing towards the oil barrels not far from where they were.
Vol. 3[]
As soon as they turned the corner, they saw that banner, the symbol of authority. Almost instinctively, he tightened his grip on her hand, a surge of searing excitement rushing through his veins. He did not notice the flame that slipped from between her fingers. Within a moment, a great conflagration began to roar up on all sides, engulfing the entire warehouse, the narrow space transforming instantly into a blazing crematorium. "Quick, that way!" he yelled out in panic, yanking her arm as he tried to find an escape route through a cascade of falling flames. Yet the intense heat began to blur his vision. "There's no way out," she murmured softly, allowing him to hold her arm without resistance, just as she always had. "I've sealed off all the exits."
Knowing now that it could not escape, the dragon let out a furious roar, shaking the narrow cavern like a drawn-out roll of pealing thunder. She watched on as it struggled in vain, flapping its wings as if this might extinguish the blistering inferno. But it was too late, and the very desperation of the beast's resistance betrayed it. Containers of liquid phlogiston were shattered by its frantic movements, its flesh consumed by the fire that rained down. Thick black smoke began to rise, suffocating the few remaining dim slivers of light that crept through the crevices in the stone walls, as if it were trying to devour the faint sun of the autumn twilight.
She struggled on in vain, choked by the black smoke that enveloped them. Crawling over to his side, she clumsily reached out to cradle his face and give him one final farewell kiss. "Not even death can part us," she whispered, attempting to raise a hand which had now lost all feeling.
But still her hand fell; and with that, the long-taut bowstring let out a piercing twang, a joyful release of pent-up urgency. A feathered arrow shot through the chill of the autumn's evening air, careering towards the giant dragon that writhed in agony among the flames below.
Through the searing tongues of fire, which at this point had nearly obscured the light of the dusk, she saw a group of people hurrying toward them. She smiled and looked up at the dragon's head, imagining the scene that would ensue when the flames were extinguished, picturing the expressions on the people's faces.
Reinforcements from the Flower-Feather Clan, she thought — heroes who had once followed her mother into battle. Even with wings, this dragon she had hunted for so many years now had little hope of escape.
And in the end, she thought to herself, there was indeed to be no escape.
"Dead already," muttered Elder Nyamgondho. After wiping from his forehead the beads of sweat that glowed with the light of the burning oil, he pulled down a half-burned curtain from the beam above, then tossed it aside. Around him were the young men who had rushed over to help put out the fire, all at a loss as to how the tightly guarded warehouse could have suddenly gone up in flames. He sighed, then scanned the area again, searching without much hope for a clue to the blaze's origin. But just as before, aside from the two charred bodies, there was nothing to be seen except for the dragon skull that hung high above them — a relic of the beast that she, singlehandedly, had slain some years past. Everything in the warehouse had been burnt to ashes.
Other Languages[]
| Language | Official Name | Literal Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| English | Fires of Autumn Twilight | — |
| Chinese (Simplified) | 秋暮之火 | |
| Chinese (Traditional) | 秋暮之火 | |
| Japanese | 秋暮の炎 Shuubo no Honoo | Fires of Autumn Twilight |
| Korean | 가을 황혼의 불 Ga'eul Hwanghonui Bul | |
| Spanish | Las llamas del crepúsculo otoñal | |
| French | Les feux du crépuscule d'automne | Fires of Autumn Twilight |
| Russian | Пламя осенних сумерек Plamya osennikh sumerek | |
| Thai | ไฟแห่งสายัณห์ฤดูใบไม้ร่วง | |
| Vietnamese | Ngọn Lửa Hoàng Hôn Mùa Thu | — |
| German | Feuer der Herbstdämmerung | |
| Indonesian | Api Senja Musim Gugur | |
| Portuguese | Chamas do Crepúsculo de Outono | |
| Turkish | Güz Şafağının Ateşi | |
| Italian | Fiamme di un crepuscolo autunnale |
