The Crimson Egg

By Eliza Stewart

Clutching his small lantern, Arthur ran through the forest. The ground was dry underneath him, and his hurried footsteps echoed like battle drums in the mysterious woods. He was fleeing again — something he was known for having done several times. And each time, he had always returned to the village. But this time, Arthur knew there was no going back. He would not return to his homeland, not after what had just happened.

He heard some sort of command in the distance. The soldiers had mounted their horses and were chasing him. Arthur knew those soldiers would stop at nothing to capture him — and most likely kill him. He did not want to be punished or murdered when he was innocent … but he did not want to fight them either. He lacked a weapon anyway. Running was the only option.

Arthur looked over his shoulder and saw a faint glow from the soldiers’ lanterns. They were getting close. He did not know this forest very well, though he had attempted to run through it several times. What if there was a cliff nearby? What if there were wild animals? Anything could be out here. Trying desperately to keep ahead of the soldiers, Arthur ran faster, gasping for breath. These might be his last breaths, his last steps, the last scene of his life. But they did not have to be, if only he could outrun his pursuers.

Arthur suddenly tripped under his own feet and landed face-down on the ground. He tried to get up, but the pain in his leg — oh, that excruciating pain! — was too much to endure. It felt like a bolt of lightning had struck him. He looked behind him once again. He could see the soldiers clearly now, riding their horses and carrying their torches. Arthur studied them as he lay frozen in fear; they were fierce and full of anger. Arthur hoped they would somehow lose control of their horses and pass him by, but a lantern swung his way, followed by a call to halt. One of the soldiers dismounted and started toward him. The fire from the soldier’s lantern cast an ominous glow over his face.

“Arthur Hayes!” the soldier called with judgement. Arthur recognized him somehow; he thought he had seen his eyes before. But now, those eyes were alight with enmity, so too his voice. “What do you have to say for yourself? Stealing a precious, prophesied object from its resting place?”

“Please…” Arthur whispered weakly. “Please, I can explain…”

“Don’t bother lying. We have evidence,” the soldier snapped. “My army and I were patrolling the village this evening. We passed by your house and were shocked to see the Crimson Egg of Ignisia lying there in plain sight!” He drew his long steel sword. 

“No, you don’t understand,” protested Arthur, still lying on the ground with his hands raised, begging for mercy. “Someone put it there. I never touched the egg. It was a setup. I’ve been framed!”

“Stop with your ridiculous excuses, Hayes,” sneered the soldier. “We all know it was you. The villagers are speaking of it already. You were so entranced by the egg that you intended to keep it as your own!”

Part of what the soldier spoke was the truth. Arthur had seen the egg in a beautiful nest filled with colorful flowers just days before. He had been entranced by its shimmering beauty and bright glow. But Arthur Hayes was not one to steal, especially not a perfect object that contained such glory. Never mind the fact that it was guarded by the fire dragon, Ignisia, who would surely stop at nothing to kill any intruders who stumbled upon her nest.

“P-Please, sir,” he stammered helplessly. “I … I did not do it!” He began to stand up, but the soldier pushed him down.

“Silence! We shall escort you back to the village,” the soldier snapped. “With a crime as serious as this, you’ll be kept in prison to await the ultimate punishment. You surely deserve it after what you’ve done.” 

Ultimate punishment? Arthur went pale just envisioning it. He could not grasp the thought of being tortured indefinitely, possibly for the rest of his life. Whoever stole the Crimson Egg and placed it in his house was trying to frame him, but the soldiers would not believe him. He could not plead anymore. Saying nothing, he searched his mind for a plan, but found no helpful ideas. Arthur began to lose hope. Even immediate death was preferable to the fate that awaited him back in the village. Two soldiers reached down, each grabbing one of his arms and yanking him up with immense force.

Arthur’s adrenaline suddenly flooded his body, and with a surge of newfound strength, he let out a yell and broke free from the soldiers’ grasp. He did not waste a second; he was already sprinting to his fallen lantern. They chased after him, but it was too late for them to stop him. Arthur threw the lantern as far as he could at some nearby trees. The glass broke, and the fire devoured the grass at the base of the trees, producing small yet frightening red flames.

“So this is your plan?” the soldier who had first spoken scoffed. “Are you daft? A little fire won’t—”

The fire interrupted him, erupting into life and spreading up the tall trees, growing to the size of a house. The sound of wood crackling felt almost like a threat, as if the fire was commanding everyone to follow its orders. Arthur stared in shock at the soldiers on the other side of the fire, a desperate hope blossoming in his heart.

“Retreat! Retreat to the village! Leave the man!” the soldier cried. The men mounted their horses and raced away. Arthur, still filled with the surge of adrenaline, scrambled to his feet as the now-burning tree began to fall. He threw himself forward as the tree hit the ground behind him with a loud thud. Arthur ran deeper into the forest, away from the danger that had nearly condemned him. As he fled, the glow of the dangerous fire illuminated the vast forest behind him.

Arthur did not know how long the fire would go on, or if the soldiers would find him again. He did not even know where he was going. But he was glad to know that for now, he was safe. As he continued to run, the sound of the crackling fire faded. He did not hear anything except the frantic racing of his own heartbeat and footsteps.

He did not hear the distant thumping sound approaching.

He did not hear the soft growling of a dragon who tracked him in the darkness.

He did not see the ominous glow of red scales and the flash of snow-white fangs.

And he did not know, even with everything that had just happened with the soldiers, even with being named the prime suspect in the theft of the Crimson Egg, that its owner wanted revenge.

In one swift movement, Ignisia leaped out of the shadows and lunged for him.

1st Place Flash Fiction

13-18 Age Group

Read the piece in “Detroit Voices” featuring the 2025 DWR Award winners.

Eliza Stewart, age 14, has loved to write ever since she could hold a pencil. Her best superpower is coming up with new, creative ideas. Eliza has published a zine and is currently working on several full-length novels. When Eliza is not writing, her favorite hobbies are video editing, karate and drawing in her sketchbook. She also loves to hang out with her family, friends and dog. She is a student at Ignite Learning Academy.