Unseen

The world had taught him to be invisible.

This story was created for Scoot’s ‘Flash Fiction Friday’ event. It’s a fun way to worldbuild and expand this vast fiction landscape. This is the 1000 words or less ‘SUPERNOVA’ challenge. Yeah,…I failed by 300 words. Enjoy it anyway.

Cyril’s hands were numb before he saw the Chasm.

Not from cold exactly… from the kind of damp wind that steals heat. The air smelled like wet stone and iron-rich mist. Somewhere down below, freshwater and magma argued until the whole world sweated.

The Dragon’s Chasm didn’t announce itself with a cliff edge.

The land simply stopped.

Cyril crouched behind a boulder and looked out into the haze. Rumors told him a thousand feet down, was a world, wide and dark, swallowing the sky’s reflection in broken pieces. Mist rolled over everything, soft and constant, turning distance into a lie.

Weather here wasn’t background. It was an active force.

A living filter.

It decided what existed and what didn’t.

He tightened his cloak and checked his crude map again. He didn’t have a compass. He had something better… and worse.

A small brass box.

The gnomes called it a sensor.

Humans called it black magic.

Cyril called it proof that the world wasn’t as simple as the priests pretended. The box he’d ‘permanently borrowed’ from a gnome merchant, clicked faintly in his palm, like a nervous insect. A green needle twitched, then steadied.

He swallowed.

Finley Greenhopper was a name whispered among gnomes venturing out in the world. Gnomes admired this zoologist, and for good reason. His outpost was supposed to be hidden just inside the rim… a research station anchored into the rock, shielded from sight by mist and angle. A secret vessel for studying dragons, carnivorous plants, and whatever else survived down there.

Cyril had no business looking for it.

That was the point.

He shifted his weight and a loose stone rolled. It clattered into the fog and vanished without an echo.

…until something screamed far below.

Not a human scream. Not even a dragon scream.

Just a thin, sharp cry that made Cyril’s skin tighten.

He stayed still, breathing through his nose like he’d taught himself in orphan alleys when fighting wasn’t an option. He loved animals. Loved them enough to learn their rules.

Predators notice panic.

Prey survives by not advertising.

He waited until the wind changed.

Then he moved.

The path down…wasn’t a path. It was a series of wet ledges, narrow breaks in the cliff face, and what looked to be old trapper holds carved by desperate hands.

Cyril didn’t rush.

He couldn’t.

The mist made everything look closer than it was, until you stepped… and found empty air.

Halfway down, the weather turned sharper.

Warmth rose from below in sudden waves, like breath. Then cold slapped it away. Mist thickened. Water condensed on his eyelashes. The cliff face became slick.

His fingers slipped once.

His stomach fell.

He caught himself on a root that shouldn’t have existed at this altitude. There was no turning back. So he held on and kept going.

That’s what being an orphan teaches you.

Clarity.

Sharp bluntness.

The truth that if you stop, no one comes.

He reached a shallow shelf where the rock folded inward, protected from the worst wind. His sensor box clicked twice. The needle swung hard left, then trembled, almost afraid of what it was pointing at.

Cyril looked.

A shadow sat in the mist.

…and it wasn’t a natural shadow.

For a second his heart lifted, stupidly hopeful.

Then a voice spoke from the haze, calm and irritated.

“Hold still. If you move three inches left, you’ll trigger the net.”

Cyril froze.

A small shape stepped out of the fog. The gnome wore weather-stained work clothes with goggles pushed up on his forehead. His thin beard was neatly tied, which told Cyril more about him than any introduction could.

He held a short device in one hand, and in the other, a notebook.

The gnome looked Cyril up and down. “Human,” he said.

Cyril nodded once. “Cyril.”

The gnome’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not from here.”

“No,” Cyril said. “That’s why I’m here.”

The gnome stared at him, unimpressed. “That’s not how that sentence usually works.”

Cyril swallowed. “Are…you Finley?”

The gnome didn’t answer right away. Behind him, the mist shifted and Cyril saw it… the outpost. A structure anchored into rock with metal ribs and sealed panels. A hidden mouth in the cliff face. Lights glowed behind narrow slits. Not torchlight. Not lantern light. Clean, steady illumination.

Black magic, the world would whisper.

Technology, the gnomes would say.

Truth, Cyril thought.

Finley finally said, “Yes.”

Cyril exhaled. “I need help.”

Finley’s expression didn’t soften. “No you don’t.”

Cyril blinked. “What?”

“You need permission,” Finley corrected, blunt as a hammer. “Help implies you already belong in the conversation.”

Cyril forced himself to hold Finley’s gaze. “I know about your station.”

Finley lifted his notebook slightly. “Obviously.”

“I know you study dragons,” Cyril pressed. “Not as legends. Not as curses. As animals.”

Finley’s eyes flicked, just once, toward the Chasm. Something large moved in the mist below. A silhouette. Wings, maybe. Or just fog pretending.

Finley spoke quietly. “Why did you come?”

Cyril’s hand tightened around the sensor box. “Because the weather is wrong where I’m from.”

Finley’s brow raised a fraction.

Cyril hurried on. “It’s hunting. Not like… a beast. Like a pattern. It comes when certain things happen. Animals know before people do. I… I know before people do.”

Finley looked at him for a long moment. Then he said the sentence that cracked Cyril’s hope like thin ice. “Who do you think will notice?”

Cyril’s throat tightened. “I will.”

Finley’s voice stayed flat. “And?”

Cyril didn’t have a clean answer. That was the cruelty of it. The world had taught him to be invisible. Now he was trying to be seen by the only people who could explain what he’d found… and even they didn’t want to see him.

The weather surged again. Warm mist rolled up, carrying the smell of lake water and minerals and something like burned flowers. Cyril tasted copper on his tongue.

Finley stepped closer, eyes sharp now, not unkind… just exact. “This place isn’t built for hero stories,” he said. “It’s built to keep dragons from noticing we’re here. If you’re seen, you’re a risk.”

Cyril’s voice came out steady, even when his hands shook. “I’m already a risk because of what I see. I’m also alone. And I’m not scared of what people call black magic.”

Finley’s head cocked to the side, his expression softening. He studied the boy for a long moment…the outpost hummed behind him, quiet and alive.

Below, something moved abruptly, massive enough to disturb the mist.

Finley’s jaw tightened.
Decision.
Calculation.
Mercy, maybe.
He leaned over and pointed at Cyril’s sensor box with one finger. “That’s not yours.”

Cyril pulled the device closer to his chest. “I found it.”

Finley’s eyes narrowed. “You stole it.”

Cyril’s cheeks burned. “I borrowed it from people who were going to burn it.”

Finley snorted once. “That’s called stealing with a conscience. It’s still stealing.” His expression returned to serious. “You’ll be leaving it behind.”

Cyril held his ground. “Then you might as well throw me off the cliff.”

That’s when Finley smirked.

When the gnome shifted, Cyril flinched. But Finley stepped aside, exposing a narrow doorway in the rock. “Get inside,” he said softly. “Before the weather decides you’re interesting.”

Cyril didn’t move. Not yet. “You’re…going to help me?”

Finley’s voice was sharp, blunt, but somehow… not cruel. “I’m going to observe you,” he said. “Help is earned.” He nodded at the door. “When I’ve come to my conclusions about you, well make the next decision. Alright?”

Cyril nodded once. That was enough.
Behind him, the mist shifted.
For one breath, the Chasm felt like it leaned closer. And Cyril realized, with sudden clarity, that the question was never about finding the outpost.

It was whether, once the world noticed him… would it ever let him go unseen again?

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