Markin gazed over the holy Mesytah, as it gleamed and shined in the moonlight. He wore a gold cloak and a gold hat, true to his reputation. God of Gold, as he was called by the humans who lived in their little clusters beneath the holy Mesytah. The Mesytah had been an illusion, a blockade, so the humans couldn’t see their place, gods as they were called. But there was a problem. The Mesytah originated from the Malkake, the huge lake in the middle of their kingdom. And the lake was drying up. If the Mesytah stopped flowing, it would only be a matter of time before the humans found out their secret kingdom.
Markin gazed at the beautiful sight. The water flowing down. The ground was of gold, made by him: Markin. He stood there now waiting for Luhmsik.
“Hello Markin. I got your message. What was so urgent?” appeared Luhmsik in a dark coat
“I hope you had no trouble finding me?” asked Markin
“Its tough to miss a man in a gold cloak in a moonlight.”
“Haw haw. True. Well, I’ll skip to the chase. I am sure you know about the Mesytah crisis.”
“Without it, we would be found in no time by the humans.”
“Well those humans are sending more of those tin boxes near our land day by day. If the Mesytah dries up…”
“Precisely. However, there is good news! I have found a way to save the Mesytah.”
“What?! Amazing! I must inform King Shan about this.”
“I can save it right now. This instant. With some help from you.”
“Wait what! Really?! Anything to save the Mesytah! What do you need?”
There was an awkward pause.
“Well?” asked Luhmsik
“Your life” paused Markin, hesitating just for a moment as he saw the horror in Luhmsik’s eyes, before freezing him in gold.
“Your sacrifice shall not be forgotten, Luhmsik” sighed Markin, looking up, a single tear escaping his eyes.
Markin stood near the Mesytah, sitting on the bench. The river had been saved. How? It had been a mystery. A mystery, Markin hoped that he took to his grave. He mused at the events of last night, his eye meeting the gaze of Luhmsik, who looked at the Mesytah and remained a part of the great wall adjacent to the Mesytah.
“And done!” exclaimed the writer. He looked towards the waterfall and the broken rock which looked like a face before letting out a sigh. “My story about this waterfall should entertain my readers. And now to publish it to my followers.”
“Stop!” came a voice from behind. A man in a blinding gold coat stood behind the writer.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” questioned the writer.
“No, but I know you. Only I. Not anyone else from this moment on.”
“What?! Look, I really don’t have tim-“
A man in a gold cloak zipped through the sky holding another man who was petrified.
“I do not know how you know my secret but I shall not let you share this knowledge with anyone else.”
Those were the last words the writer heard, standing in a barren landscape with a single bench and a waterfall the colour of the sky.
// This fictional story has been penned by 13-year-old Shreyas Saboo and has been chosen as the featured post for this week from the weekly submissions //