Athan (As the writer depicts in the story)Image Source

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Hello everyone! So I found another competition that's worth spending or wasting my time with. It was initiated by @kyrios. Tantararaaaaaaan: Fiction Comp - All writers are welcome - #1 Week 1!! The fictional short story that should be written is based from this writing prompt:

Having seen the fall and rise of empires...the death of his loved ones...an immortal tries his best to not mingle with society by holing himself up in a cave far away from any civilization. During one stormy night...his home becomes the shelter for a stranger who is the spitting image of his grandson.

I hope you enjoy my entry!

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That Winter, the Wind Blows

GIF source

ARGH! – excruciating – The pain’s really, really excruciating. I could feel the cold blade searing through my flesh every time I try to move. I was torn between pulling it out and keeping it in. I knew that if I draw it out, I would absolutely lose a lot of blood. And if I don’t, the blade would definitely destroy my insides. Either way, I would certainly die.

The well-built man with the hazelnut eyes tried to get up. The chilly wind blew against his shoulder-length sun-kissed hair. The ground, so frigid and white, where he was lying moments ago was painted in crimson. The eerie sensation in the atmosphere was intensified by the sudden howling of wind which sounded like wails of the banshees.

“Athan,” called out a redhead limping towards him.
She was pale accentuating her deep green eyes more but frail, almost dying. The hole in her stomach where she pressed her left hand drooled ichor.

Walking gently beside her; trudging through the thick snow, holding her hand tightly was a girl with a golden-brown hair tied in pigtails dangling in her shoulders to her waist. Her nose was as red as a rose and her eyes were dry of tears.

Right then, and there, Athan forgot about his own agony. He could see only them. He can’t think about anything but the love of his life, Ambrosia, and his sweet little angel, Amara. It pained him so much to look at his wife’s and little girl’s terrified faces dried with tears. He’s in a nightmare. They all are. He needed to save them. They all need to get away.

Athan impetuously pulled the sword out of his body. He tore off the sleeve of his thick coat with all his might and immediately wrapped it around his frame. He scurried to his mate when an arrow out of nowhere pierced Ambrosia in the heart from the back. She fell into the snow blanket. Amara began to bawl.

“No! No, no, no, no!” Athan shouted. He carried his child and hauled Ambrosia towards an enormous tree just in time before an shower of arrows fell in the open field. He frantically held her body against his.
“Rosia, open your eyes. Please.”

“Athan… you... you have… to run,” she said in between her ragged breaths. She reached to his face touching only his chin leaving a stain of her blood.
“Take Amara,” she whispered. “You both… must live. Promise me.”
She breathed her last breath. Tears streamed down as she closed her eyes. Life left her beautiful face and joined the wind. White icy flakes began to fall. It started snowing. He kissed her lips and pick up himself afterwards.
“I promise,” Athan muttered sobbing.

He grabbed Amara, ran as fast as he could and never looked back. An arrow lanced through his shoulder but he didn’t stop until they got into safety. There’s no way he could’ve lived after all those wounds but miraculously, he did.

Athan gave his all to protect Amara. He gave her all the love she needed in the world to grow happily and healthily with a kind heart. They moved from town to town carefully for their security till he realized her daughter isn’t living the life her wife would have wanted her to have. They found a quiet village at the foot of a mountain and chose to start a life there. Years passed Amara grew stunningly like her mother with her eyes brown like her father’s. Strangely, Athan didn’t seem to age at all.

Amara fell in love with a farm boy. The latter asked his daughter’s hand for marriage and snatched her away from him. Knowing that her dearest daughter was in good hands, Athan gave his blessing and decided to leave the village to seek out the explanation to the mysterious circumstance he’s facing. He travelled far but couldn’t find the answer only to return after a long time with nothing. Upon arriving to the village, he went straight to visit her lovely daughter.

Athan was nervous. He was really anxious and excited at once. He didn’t count the days or months that passed since he left. He didn’t know how long he was gone. He hesitantly knocked at the door, wondering how did her child’s life turned out. An old man opened the door for him.

“Who are you?”
The geezer asked upon slightly opening the door.
“I’m here to see Amara.” He replied still hesitating.
Unexpectedly, the old man’s face brightened then instantly turned into a sad expression when he recognized the familiar face in front of him.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out.
He hugged Athan and let him in. Athan was flabbergasted. The old man talked about how they were living fine and how his wife shared wonderful things about his dad. Athan was then, confused.

The old man led him to a room with bead curtains instead of a door. The room was almost empty. The single enormous bed faced the wide windows where white curtains draped and were mildly pushed by the eastern winds. There was a bedside table with a vase full of amaranth and anemone, Ambrosia’s favorite flowers. There was a single painting of a snowfall hanging at the center of the wall on the left side.

Athan noticed a young man sitting next to an old beauty lying in the bed. With her head full of gray hair and her face full of wrinkles indicating the prime of her life, the old man with Athan said, “That is my wife.”
The young man which seems like a boy to him stood up and the old lady turned and looked at him. Her sad appearance lit up and he saw that she had hazelnut eyes just like him.

“Papa,” she uttered. “You still look the same. You haven’t aged a bit.”
It was Amara. Amara, his little girl who was weak by then. Amara was feeble not because of any sickness, or of anything harm-inflicted, but of old age. Athan couldn’t believe his eyes. His little girl was dying.

And he’s still the same young man that watched her beloved princess grow from a toddler to a woman.
He couldn’t bear to lose another loved one. He didn’t want to see them go one after the other. He’s always been the one left behind. He couldn’t bid farewells, anymore. He could no longer face the inevitable.

Athan wanted to end his life even before he loses his daughter. He went up the mountain and found himself a good cave. There, he took out his knife and plunged it directly to his chest. He felt the agonizing pain again he felt the night her wife died. He saw darkness afterwards.

Then, there was light. Athan knew he was walking to the light. He saw Ambrosia floating away from him. He tried to chase her but in a blink of an eye, she was gone. He woke up with beads of sweat in his forehead. His top was covered in blood but his wound healed already living a scar. He knew right then that he was undying.

Ages passed. Trees grew and withered. Brooks sprang and dried. But Athan didn’t leave the cave he called home. He was consumed by grief, and grief alone. Until one stormy winter, an unexpected visitor barged at his den.

He wore a black hood jacket with letters T, N and F in the chest. He had bizarre pants and his shoes were peculiar, too. He carried a gigantic bag that he later placed on the ground. Athan never saw something like this before.

“Hey! I didn’t know someone lived here,” the startled outsider said upon seeing him. “Can I stay for the night? The snowstorm outside is insane!”

The stranger took out an odd-looking lamp from this pack, and removed his jacket. He turned to Athan and extended his arms.
“I’m Amaru! I didn't catch your name.” He said with a grin.

Athan froze. The man’s hair was kissed by fire. His nose was as red as a rose from the freezing wind outside and his eyes were shining emeralds. Right there and then, he knew. The stranger didn’t seem strange at all.
"Athan."

Amaru (As the writer depicts in the story)Image Source