Fading LightRunner-Up in The Fantasy Prologue
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.
Until the corpses were discovered, this place was considered desirable by the retiring gentry, a secluded community away from the backbiting and maneuvering of the Capitol. Reclusive, but safe. Isolated, but familiar. Bilten proper was little more than a cluster of homes and shops along the river. A short ride from town and you’d find the enclave of the formerly connected, grand homes for the withering political elite. It was easy to see why they settled here. If you could ignore the stench of charred flesh, the landscape maintained its idyllic qualities. Verdant hills stretched across the horizon. Brooks babbled, trees swayed gently, the wind whispered through the tall grass. Fields of heather spread in lazy patches, bursts of mauve among the greenery. Foursquare homes rose and dotted the shores of the river. Children screeched and chased each other around fences and crumbling stone dividing walls. They grabbed garden snakes and sliced their heads with spades and hurled the limp bodies at one another before giddily skipping away. Cats lazily watched the comings and goings, eye lids barely open, always on the lookout for mice or voles, deceptively eager for their next meal.
