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Deep in the Amphibilands, hidden behind dark foliage and the magical veil that protects the land, is a small froglet.
Draped in woven blankets of soft fabric and bright colors, and lying on a padded bed of woven mats stuffed with cotton, his small body twists and turns in his bed, wrapping the normally soft and comforting blankets tighter and tighter around him. The soft downy fabric rubs over his delicate skin, now coated in a thin sheet of sweat, as his distress becomes more visible.
In the young froglet’s mind, he dreams of a large serpent and the stories she tells him. Of gigantic cliffs coated in flames and falling into the void-like ravines below, of white-sand shorelines and the unfamiliar smell of salted air. He sees the surrounding trees fall away as his small body becomes taller and stronger.
The burn in his thighs as he leaps across branches, feeling the cool, misty air as he rushes through the forest and across the river and meadows. The rough bark under his toe pads chafes and pokes the toughened skin under him, catching on the fabric draped over his skin.
The serpent flies through the air between the trees, as if swimming in water. Her body aglow with every color the young froglet could remember seeing, and even some he hasn’t seen. The strong body that is both his and not his own chases after her disappearing form, towards the part of the canyon where the trees grow small, and the rocks sprout like stubborn weeds.
She waits for him to meet her before she swims further away, out into the desert and beyond the veil. The froglet falters, his feet barely touching the edge of the Amphibilands, and his eyes meet the endless ones belonging to the ever-shifting serpent. The smell of smoke and burning plants, wood, and cloth reaches his nose; heavy and fear-inducing.
The not-froglet turns back to his home, only to see bright fire ravaging the old wooden buildings and walkways - turning physical history into char and ash. Wiping away any signs of life within the canyon, the fire grows and grows. Tree trunks fall into the river, slowly building an unnatural dam and blocking the water; the young froglet can only watch as the rivers dry, and the shimmering veil falls into ruin.
Gone is the protection from the outside world and the scorpions that are surely hiding to feast on him and the others within the canyon.
A well of despair and fear builds up within the young frog, his too-big body tense and ready to fight in a way he doesn’t know how to yet. The heat creeps up his legs and arms, spreading to his torso as he whips around to see the curled shape of the serpent in the air.
He looks at it.
And she looks at him in return.
Her eyes piercing through him as he stumbled to speak.
His mouth opened and closed, tears welling up in his wide and scared eyes as the serpent turned her head towards the distance. In a whirl of color and motion, the froglet was back in his own body once again; his legs were the right size, his tail was still there, and his hands were not as spindly or as long-fingered as the older body was. But most importantly, the vivid blue markings along his hands, arms, and legs had returned to their original brown.
The land around them was barren and red in color; the dust swirled with the disturbing winds, and dark shadows grew across the dirt as the sun dropped below the horizon, illuminating a strange shape in front of it.
A large rock, propped on top of another, sat in a deep indentation in the earth, surrounded by large cracks in the ground - as if the land had shattered and then reassembled.
The serpent circled the small froglet, pointing away from the sun, towards the spot where the land dipped down beyond the horizon, and into the sea. The land darkened, and the sand and dust-covered dirt gave way to mud and soft soil.
The serpent guided the child towards the newly forming swamp that was growing closer with each step, which seemed bigger than they actually were. Soon enough - far too soon for the young froglet - the serpent and the froglet reached the swamp, with mist so thick that it acted as a wall against anything behind it.
The child looked towards the shifting serpent, her body still twisting in the air in a continuous, writhing circle. The fear he felt was slowly replaced with confusion as the mist covered the shifting waters below the serpent.
With a quick flick of her massive body, the serpent’s heavy tail crashed into the murky swamp water, parting the water in two. A great roar followed as the water rushed to escape the spot where the serpent’s tail crashed, creating a wide pathway to a large tree that emerged from the fog.
Underneath the tree stood four tall figures; they stood in a relaxed but ready state. They could only be one thing: Warriors.
Kulipari.
But as the small froglet took a step forwards to get a closer look at the Kulipari under the tree, his toepads touched the water.
The water rippled violently beneath the child’s feet, changing from the small point of contact with the liquid. The once murky water turned a deep red, as if the froglet was bleeding into the water, spilling blood.
The blood-water grew, and grew, and grew. Spreading like fire in dry brush and corrupting everything around it. The froglet flinched back, drawing himself away from the water-
No.
Not water.
Blood.
He backed away as far as he could, until his back hit the strong corded muscle of the serpent that wound its way behind him. The blood churned, as if something was living beneath the surface and had just woken up.
The fog thickened again, and the water path collapsed, but the waves built up again. And fell again. And built, and fell, and built, and fell.
The blood-water continued its dangerous game as a sound started to fill the swamp like an invasive but pungent smell.
Screams.
Hundreds of them.
They filled the air with a discordant music, wailing and howling their pleas and words that drowned out the others. The sounds crashed into each other in the froglet’s head, swirling and coloring the world in a new set of colors.
The waves grew taller, and soon they were ready to crash for the last time.
Up and up they built, until the young child could not crane his head any further to see the top of the wave. The sounds stopped for a long moment - everything sounded calm and quiet - then the red wave of torrential blood water crashed down.
Shadowing the child, and crashing over him with a pressure strong enough to crack rock. The froglet was swallowed by the wave and swept away in the hot and thick liquid that had come from somewhere. The child would be lost in the dark water if he didn’t swim.
But he couldn’t.
The froglet leaped up from his blanket cocoon with a gasp that sounded like thunder in the quiet of the small room. His little chest heaved as he forced breath in and out of his body, the last moments of the strange and unsettling dream still floating through his mind.
The room was empty of anything that could help the small child, as he was in the nursery with only his newly hatched little siblings for company.
Shoulders trembling, and breath stuttering - a sob broke through the child’s room. The soft sound quickly turned into full cries and sobs.
Wet and heavy, the small, brown froglet couldn’t pull a full breath. The lack of air made the residual panic even worse, as the froglet could only feel himself being pulled under by the bloody water from his dream.
Outside the nursery door, quick footfalls reached the room as the door was flung open to reveal a dark torso and legs. The froglet didn’t even notice the new figure in the room as he tried to breathe while his mind was lost in the current of the flood.
“Oh, Darel,” The figure spoke softly, his voice low but gentle. The dark-skinned adult approached the froglet, his bright stripes of color catching the moonlight. The small child looked up at the approaching figure and sobbed again.
“What’s wrong, my little warrior?” The large adult reached into the bed and lifted the child into his arms, as the froglet latched onto the man and sobbed into his chest.
“It was bad, Dad!” The froglet wailed as his father walked him towards the window, allowing the light to soothe the child. “The forest was on fire! And there-there were screams and the water was red!”
A comforting hand came up to rub against the child’s head, a soft coo coming from the adult frog. “Oh, my son, it was a nightmare. Nothing more.” The pale eyes of the male searched the room for anything to calm the frightened child.
The room was bathed in the pale light of the moon that shone through the woven windows. The froglet’s bed was a tangle of blankets, the mat a few feet off the ground, in the center of the room. The only color that could be seen was the soft lavender of the blankets and the flickering glow of the bassinet in the corner of the room, where three new tadpoles swam in a low basin of water.
“Darel,” The boy’s father murmured after a moment, the teary-eyed boy looking at his father, “Nothing can happen to you while I’m here. You know this, yes?” The father looked at his son with wise eyes.
The boy nodded.
“If anything, I’m the one who’s meant to get into trouble.” The father joked. The boy looked confused as his tears dried. “But you aren’t in trouble,” He insisted, his young voice rough from his cries, “You’re a Kulipari. A legendary poison warrior.”
The frog’s chest rumbled with laughter, a deep laughter that stemmed from the deepest parts of one’s chest. “Yes, I may be a Kulipari, but that doesn’t stop me from getting into trouble.” The father looked the boy in the eyes, pale green meeting deep sage green.
The man’s smile faltered as his gaze was drawn towards the edges of the village; the memory of the letter containing his duties arriving swirled through his mind. The adult squared his shoulders and looked back at his son again.
His eight-year-old son.
Who looked at him like he hung the moon and created the stars.
Who doesn’t know that his father is being called to war…
“Darel… I-” He hesitated, wondering if this was the best time to do this.
“Dad?” Darel asked, confused.
The father took a deep breath and continued, “I’ve been called by the Turtle King, Sergu, to fight against the scorpions.” He watched as his son’s face went from confusion to fear and sadness. “But that means…”
The froglet trailed off, “You’ll have to go, and leave us here!” His sage eyes were filling with tears again. “Don’t go, Dad! Please!”
The father sighed again.
“I must, Darel. It’s my duty as a Kulipari. But in doing so, I leave you here to look after your brother and sisters… and your mother.”
The dark frog tilted his son’s face up to his, meeting his eyes. “Can you do that for me, my little warrior? Can you protect our family when I’m not here?”
Darel’s tears leaked from his eyes as he looked at his father. Then he set his shoulders, closing his eyes and taking a breath - like his father - then opened his eyes again. “Okay.” A nervous smile spread across his face, small and timid.
The adult smiled again. “There’s that smile.” The froglet buried his head into his father’s chest again, murmuring, “But you better promise to come back.”
His father caressed his head as he walked back towards Darel’s bed. He laid the child down onto the blankets again, as gently as he could. “I promise. I’ll be back before you know it.”
The child’s eyes drooped as quiet sleep claimed him again. “Sleep well, my little warrior.” The adult whispered and pressed a kiss against his son’s head before he left the room.
Neither knew what the future had in store for the frog’s fate.
But the Rainbow Serpent watched from above, patient and waiting…