3700 curved steps down into the earth. 3700 broad, tall steps built for something much larger than a man. 3 & 7 - lucky numbers in many cultures. They didn't feel lucky to Raspe as he slowly walked across the cracked & uneven floor of the cavern at the bottom of the well.

He lifted his staff high & swept it around trying to take in the crumbling pillars that marched into the distance; the shattered statues that guarded the dark corners.

And then he found her. At last. The archangel Chamuel.

In the caldera, her torch burned green. She kept walking until her companions' voices faded.

Here. It spoke in each footstep across the scree-covered mosaics.

She stopped at an enormous platform. At eye level sat a swordtip. Higher, draped cloth and rounded hips. Above, a face of terrifying perfection looked out.

You have come.

It rang through her like the baying of wolves, the cry of a falcon, a weeping figure over a crow-pecked corpse.

Zenobia claimed godhood.

This was one.

#promptodon

@Michaelvaliant “You are grace in stone. Even now.”

Ric stood in front of the giant sculpture looking benevolent yet distanced.

“Still young, still unblemished, still beautiful.”

He looked around.

“Did you even notice what happend here, what happened to us?”

#writing #WritingCommunity #FlashFiction #fantasy #Promtodon #WritingPrompt

@Michaelvaliant The hoary Codex of Nahltus speaks of 8 celestial demesnes, the tome crowded with parables of the soul-sages championing those transcendent spheres.

But, no heavenly power acted to save the city-state of Ryngos when puris locusts swarmed up from the storm-fields, nor intervened in the plague that came after.

No soul-sage, no godling championed the peoples of Ryngos as their children melted to pus in their arms.

No mortal feet had returned to this land-until my echoing steps.