Breglio and the Light in the Glass

Whimsical Creatures in a Dimly Lit Stone Tunnel
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  • Michael Wischniewski's avatar Artist
    Michael Wi...
  • Prompt
    Read prompt
  • DDG Model
    FluX
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    Public
  • Created
    1d ago
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More about Breglio and the Light in the Glass

The passages beneath the Shadowwood weren't empty—they were silent. So silent that even the ticking of drops echoed like hoofbeats. Breglio, the shapeshifter, walked carefully, barefoot as always, but the stone beneath his soles was cold and whispered to him things no one had spoken for a long time. He carried a small lamp whose light dripped like honey. In his other hand, he held a map of molten bark, on which no lines could be seen—only waves of memory. He didn't know why he'd been called. Only that he remembered. The glass. The light within. And the name whispered but never spoken aloud: Klyne. As the passage widened, there stood a figure that looked like a spark that had learned to walk. Shaggy, thin, with ears like questions and eyes like half-shadows. In his hand: a glass. Inside: a flicker, greenish, alive. Breglio stopped. She tilted her head slightly. "Is this...?" "Yes," said Klyne, the Lightbearer. "A breath from within the echo." She didn't hand him the glass. She held it tightly, with a mixture of caution and wistfulness. The light within didn't move like a flame. It flickered. It lurked. "How did you catch it?" asked Breglio. "I didn't catch it," said Klyne. "It let itself be found." Breglio stepped closer, but not too close. "Why?" Klyne looked at him. "Because you are someone who can forget what they were—but remember why they became." He didn't quite understand, but that was often the case with Klyne. She spoke in loops, in half-sentences, as if her words were constructed of moss. "What do you want from me?" Klyne held the glass higher. The light cast no shadow. "It wants form. One to carry it. But not as a burden." Breglio felt something begin to hum inside him—not in his hands, not in his head. In the space between his forms. Where he wasn't one. "And if I take it?" he asked. "Then it will need you. And maybe change you." "And if I let it go?" Klyne looked at him, for a long time. "Then it will stay here. And begin to fade." Breglio slowly reached out. His fingers changed, becoming longer, more translucent, as if they already knew what they would hold. The glass was cool. The light within it trembled, then it leaned against him, as if his nearness was enough to shine. He felt no pain. No weight. Only warmth. And a memory of a day he had never experienced—of a song in a language not spoken. "What am I to do?" he asked quietly. Klyne stepped back into the darkness. "Go back. Not to places. To meanings. Where you first knew you were more than a shadow. There the light will know what it needs." Breglio watched her until even her scent had vanished from the air. Then he turned and left. Not faster. But brighter. Behind him, the corridors began to hum. Not loudly. Just enough for the light to know it wasn't alone

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