FLASH FICTION – FOWC/RDP/FSS #204

Carla sprinted from the archaeological site, clutching an artifact that could either save or destroy the world.

The desert wind tore at her coat, slicing her cheeks with grit and heat. Behind her, the canyon bellowed—low, deep, the sound of stone waking from sleep. She didn’t look back.

The artifact pulsed in her palm—black stone, veined with silver that moved like quicksilver, coiling and recoiling. Cold as ice, yet burning her skin. It didn’t make a sound, but its pressure settled in her jaw and spine, like a voice she couldn’t quite hear. A warning. A dare.

She had read the glyphs. Scratched into bone, buried beneath layers of false chambers and cursed earth. Left twist: seal. Right twist: release. A simple choice.

Until it wasn’t.

A sound cracked the sky—a roar too wide to come from a throat. Carla reached the ridge and turned.

The site had vanished. In its place stood a figure made of shadow and ruin, shrouded in strips of black that bled smoke. It held a scythe that scraped the air, hissing with each movement like it sliced through time. Beneath its feet: a field of skulls. Beyond it, the expedition fortress, aflame, its banners melting mid-flap.

Her legs went numb. Her breath caught in smoke. She wanted to run. To cower. To vanish. But the heat from the artifact anchored her. Reminded her: she had opened the door.

She had let it out.

The spirals on the artifact shifted. A recess opened. The mechanism waited. Her thumb hovered over it, trembling.

It was her sister’s voice she heard next. Not real. A memory, maybe. Or a trick.
“The world’s been broken before, Carla. Someone always seals it shut again. Someone just like you.”

The creature stepped forward. The ground cracked. A second sun burned in its wake.

She twisted left.

The silence after was total. Not peace. Something worse.

Then, screaming. From the air itself. The creature reared back as spears of molten light stabbed down from the clouds. Chains wrapped its limbs. It shrieked, stumbling, clawing at the sky—but the light yanked it downward, tearing the world around it like cloth.

Then—nothing.

Carla collapsed to her knees, chest heaving. The artifact lay in her hand, cracked down the center, the silver threads gone dark. The sky was still red. The smoke still stung. But the screaming had stopped.

She stood, slowly, scanning the charred remains of the site. The fortress. Her team.

Gone.

She was lost now. A savior with no witnesses, no one left to remember the choice she’d made.

And just as she turned to leave, the wind shifted. Cold, sharp.
Somewhere far off, something laughed.