FATE ONE: A Prophecy
1
“Naught can be done to cease the crushing flow of era cometh. For all that they have made will in due time fade, their lasting mark be only their fall.”
He spoke to her with words cryptic and unwelcome, echoed across the large vacant chamber shared only by the party of two in conflict. His innocent voice chilled the very air throughout all reaches of the al fresco great hall that graced the top of the awesome ziggurat.
Outside the gargantuan citadel, its brick-laden steeple which spiraled up toward the golden heavens they assumed they found, an infinite number of branches canopied the highrise. A flock of white-plumed birds soared in formation; their sights set toward the clear twilight skies, fleeing the storm approaching their tails. They pass through the hundreds upon thousands of green leaves gracing the boughs, reflected upon them warm hues of the brilliant sun that finds itself consumed by ever darker clouds.
Standing with her back to the ornate pillars that divide the room from the volatile outside world, she glared sharply at this person; one she had thus thought well to confide in for as long as she could remember. A being that now wrapped itself in cloak and hat black of the void, withdrawing further from the light of their world.
It was clear to her that she no longer recognized this shadowed adviser. Nor could she take serious his guidance any longer. The rushing deluge of thoughts carried over by his tiny yet powerful words overcame her with an intense desire—a terrible urge unbefitting of her status.
He continued, smiling eerily with full knowledge that he had properly rattled her majestic composure.
“With safety cast aside, molten to profaned idol. Theirs, yours, or mine… See you must that time’s word is final.”
Her fists clenched, shaken with venom as his mouth became a toothy grin that would find charm on anyone else. Upon his visage, however, all that was displayed was pure hate-filled malice.
“Know you better these creatures yearn much in their meek little lives, yet outlast long enough…”
Lightning, a bolt mere dozen yards away, cut his statement in twain, followed by many distant squawks tinged in panic. The flash casted them both in the stark contrast of light and shadow. He patiently allowed the rumbling thunder to subside, finding a welcome beauty in its dramatic interruption as he took the time to confidently pluck his next words.
“... to crave when end’s embrace arrives.”
Two feathers gracefully drifted between the two tense parties, carried by winds of the torrential storm raging through. Whilst one, its silken white vane glimmered, its perfection frozen in time; the others’ charred barbs smoldered as ruin consumed it with each passing second. The two inevitably floated astray. A spark, seen only for an instant, abruptly engulfed the already-cindered quill in a blaze, continuing its clumsy descent until it ultimately left nothing but a small splash of soot upon the immaculate granite floor, its pure sibling gently falling beside it in mourning.
“So then, would you not agree with your current scorn…” he resumed his interrogation, bereft of care for the weight of life gone that dared part his conversation.
“that absolution is, in fact, time's purest form?”
Her eyes briefly widened at the dire implications of his suggestion as he raised his head towards her, his face still veiled in clinging shadow.
“Yes, a welcome monument to their persistence annihilation would be, but the greatest expression towards their existence."
Her anger overwhelmed her as she approached the black-dressed man, her height significantly towering over his; to be expected of Her Grace.
Where he stood, cloaked in simple darkened cloth and stole, she rose in elegant dress; her form covered in ornate decor of bronze, and a circlet with six wings empowered her brow. Her hair cascaded behind her like a billowing crimson cloud, holding her own storm within. She glared down, robbing his form of light with her closed distance. But as one who already bathed in darkness, being cast in hers left little effect.
Another bolt of lightning dressed them both in its blinding light, though neither found faze by its booming thunder. The rolling shudder lasted long enough for the silent woman to finally find her voice, tinged in a thin veneer of fury.
“Absolution!?” she lashed at him mockingly, her voice youthful yet motherly. “What you propose is nothing more than extermination!”
Her eyes, normally gradient of lilac and emerald, began to glow a deep solid violet, warming from her restrained rage that was slowly loosening.
“Such patience you utterly lack. These children I sired to claim this land, ceded for their prosperity. Abide not such deplorable acts can I, no matter the reason!”
Staring at the smoldering remains of the truant feather, her voice cooled with heavy melancholy.
“Be they not but flowers still waiting bloom, meagerly seeking the sun’s warm light? Roots must extend violently before their true beauty springs forth.”
“Even flowers, with volition, need pruning,” he reflected with a scoff, “lest they falter under owns’ ambition.”
Only the intense smile continued to be seen upon his soft face whilst the large brim of his headwear still shadowed the rest of his features.
Upon him raising his sight, however, the luminescence of his golden irises pierced deep into her soul—those shadowless amber lenses that would tremble even the most courageous of warriors. Though she retained her focused expression, inside she was shaken.
“If not now, inevitability simply waits,” he sneered as his attention shifted. He stilled his open hand, inviting the flow of embers from the dove’s immolated plumage that drifted by.
“And as their hunger drives them wild, their control found stoked and riled…”
The cinders slipped through his fingers at the attempted grasp. With a dense blink, distracted no longer, he threw open his cape with his right arm in dramatic gesture, his gaze corrected toward his subject, and an obstinate passion wrought in his voice.
“Wish you will that you had acted to save them from their fates--”
“I HAVE HEARD ENOUGH FROM YOU!”
Her rage taken her completely, she swiftly swung her left hand out to her side. A trail of light followed thereafter, fading to show a thin blade wielded within the acting hand. Its pristine and prismatic steel shone in the light as it held steadily at the end of the abrupt swing. The iridescent ribbon rang with a high frequency until both faded after a few tense seconds. The right-hand side of the indigo stole draped around the man’s robe drifted softly to the marbled tile, severed by the swipe as it flailed up from his theatrics a moment before—Followed shortly thereafter by the white-sleeved hand falling upon it, a sickening plop cast as both hit the floor.
He dropped to his knees as he began to wince in immense pain. Though scream he did not.
“Think not I to be blind to your schemes—such foul insolence,” she calls out with scathing vitriol. “You who never once held reverence toward their creation, nor respect toward their desired existence! From dawn, you saw them as merely tools to your whimsy…”
Shocked wordless by the pain, the small man looked down without retort, staring at the hand parted from the rest of his arm. No blood fell from the wound nor the severed appendage as it slowly dissipated to dust and cinder. At the sight of its deterioration, he eyed the remnants of the two feathers before. As he ruminated on her judgment, his silent seething of agony turned to increasingly unsettling laughter, echoing upon the great pillars as though they, too, shared in the bolster.
The woman began to clench her empty fist, unsure now if she fears him anymore than she does herself. As his mad cackling continued, she took a deep trembling breath and decidedly relinquished control of the failed dispute.
“Lord Gehenna!!” she called out as she turned her head to the stairwell that centered the observatory, her dense red plumed hair swayed with the jerked momentum. “Remove immediately this traitor from my presence!”
A second man arrived in haste, massive in stature with a mane hued like fire. A pair of draconic wings flowed from his back, though short in span, shared in the dense bulk of the man who bore them. He was taken aback by her demand, as well as the sight of conflict present before him—Nevermind the omnipresent cackling by the wounded man found kneeling on the floor. Two more sentries followed suit, however paused at the door—signaled wordlessly to remain outside by their captain, lest they become privy to this quarrel.
“B-by your will, Your Grace…” he stammered, stilled by her sharpened demeanor. Stunned further still by the presence of her blade, ill seen by anyone prior. Its beauty made lessened only by its terrifying use.
“Those found conspiring with this man shall be banished to the far ends of Ogelna,” she commanded. “Seal their chords. Consult Lady Zion where best to dispatch these guilty parties. They must be denied contact with each other, instead forced to survive alongside those they held ire.”
Dismissing the guard’s hesitance, she then turned her words back to the black-dressed man who, still in a doubled-over slouch, laughed evermore.
“For you, however, the cold loneliness of exile awaits… for instigating a war steeped in autocracy and genocide. An eternity of nothing is your wish? Then I shall grant it.”
With those words, his laughter finally halted.
“… By your will,” the giant man, still listening, repeats. A subtle sigh threaded the words, strung with disappointment over the dispute witnessed.
The cloaked’s silence persisted as the large guard reached down to aid them to their feet.
“Know not what exchange came between you two,” he started with a grunt as he knelt down, “But absolute are her ord--”
The remaining hand emerged from the black cloth, pressing against the sentinel’s chest, gently yet startling. Though the cloaked man’s laughter halted, he panted subtly as he whispered to the giant. “That… is unrequired.”
Standing back up of his own power, he pulled his mantle back over the then-amputated arm with that which remained. His eyes again hidden in the shadows of his brimmed headwear, only his tone of voice conveyed his dissatisfaction.
“I fear we’ve since reached finality.”
He hastily spun around, the cloak’s momentum dispersing the ashes that once was his appendage—cast aside like a broken toy and nothing more.
“You… disappoint me,” he chided as he ambled calmly over to the hulking man, now waiting nervously near the stairwell. Despite the disparate size difference, the large guard was wholly intimidated by the smaller dark-dressed man.
He tilted his head once more to the woman, removing his hat with his remaining hand as he held it flat against his chest. An unsuspected innocence worn on both his expression and in his final spoken words.
“This fate is—nay, has been—the only one granted to us. Choice forgets us, for fate will pounce upon time it wears down. Heed now this one truth: that Qidron has naught but enmity—liberty none—for them. For us.
Rest assured, forevermore shall you live in darkness of your regret.”
The two men departed, leaving the perturbed woman to dwell on his cognizant words. She eyed over to the remaining detritus of the plumage that had fluttered into the room; beauty overcome by hate. Her blade flashed in intense light before fading away, its rage dismissed as its wielder attempted to find tranquility in this newfound loneliness of her own making.
“O, though they must survive, and be allowed to revel in their agency,” she said quietly to herself, her eyes closed in somber prayer.
Striding over to the barrier peering to the outside, she looked upon the world her kin had made for themselves—a utopian paradise that stretched across three visible horizons that only stopped to worship the surrounding forests, mountains and rivers, respecting their claim of the land first. Another flock of doves flew by in rejoined formation, garnering her attention as they flew off into clearing skies of the new dusk, obscured only by the shade of the massive tree crown above.
“For those children are the ones with but one fate: To succeed us.”
Several of the birds found rest upon the peak of the grand steeple, where six ornate angels gave reverence to the heavens above in opposing directions. A gleaming orb fixed within an immaculate sculpture decorated with various wings reflected its gathered light upon the cloistered ceiling of leaves above, like the sun cast through a drop of dew.
As this calming light danced upon the golden-green foliage, few leaves began to fade to an irregular deep violet hue.
The doves that journeyed onward made way to lands far far away from that immaculate city, traversing days across seas and valleys until they made their way over a rich forest. Living among the lush trees were vast fields of grass, grain and crop. Crop not born of the soil on its own, but placed to propagate by those of human hands.
Isolated groups in time branched out into sprawling cultures and civilizations. Small tents and huts soon gave rise to domiciles, towns and kingdoms. Clumsy grunts eventually tuned to eloquent phrase and beautiful song. And hand in hand, necessary companionship gently evolved into love.
These children of the world of Ogelna, whose strides had seen terrible hardship mere generations ago, began to flourish and thrive as time continued its persistent march. Their cultural leaps and bounds always at peaceful coexistence with the natural land of which they all shared and protected.
Another dove, resting upon a treetop, molts its dead weight before joining the rest of the flock westward.
Feathers felled from the molt descend to the wood below, soon to be picked up by wanting hands. Fletched onto wooden stem, a new arrow is born, stuffed thoughtlessly into a quiver upon the crafter’s lower back. The large man bearing a darkened brown head of hair waits behind a broader trunk, a well-honed bow eased in his left hand. His steel cuirass green as the nearby grass, though prim and free of rust, its dull metal shone no luster.
Apart, another man watches upon the same clearing carefully, a pile of nuts and seeds placed in plain sight among the thickets of grass and weeds. Bait for the hunt. Light of the midday sun shines through the treetops above as acting spotlight for the decoy.
His leather-gloved hand gently wipes at his brow, sweat gathering beneath his unkempt auburn hair from waiting. Unknown if merely minutes or hours have passed, it mattered not.
“I believe they’ve moved further east at this point,” whispers a third person crouched alongside, dressed too in the same uniformed protections of the waiting archer and his current audience, his longer hair a slicked-back black, tucked neatly behind his ears. “We should probably try deeper in the wood. If anything we do get out here, be our luck just small fries.”
“Shh!”
The patient hunter dispels the doubtful spotter, the two falling silent again. And so they continue to wait in silence. But soon enough, his patience is rewarded.
A single boar, maybe a meter tall and fur thick and matted, spots the gathered offerings, sniffing at them curiously. Though its size is favorable, it wears its age without question. As the elder beast closes in to partake in the feast, the wind whizzes, a squeal rings out, and the prey falls to its side. A single arrow sticks upward from its flank, flawlessly piercing the boar’s heart.
“What did I tell you?” says the spotter. “Just a scout. These kind always send their old for this type of survey.”
The auburn hunter dismisses the comments as he quietly signals to the archer to hold, still hiding further away from the two grounded men. As the man predicted, The first boar, too, was bait for something bigger.
Another much larger swine investigates the fallen scout, its size nearly three times larger than its kin, and tusks that bow outwardly. A true predator had entered their trap. Growling as it decidedly ignores the obvious foods left out to snare them, it looks around cautiously, on to the hunters’ schemes.
“That’s our target,” the leading man speaks, drawing blade from his hip. His bright blue eyes sharpen on their prize.
As it peers around, grunting vigorously to its curious surroundings, its ears perk up to the sound of rustling foliage. From the vegetation leaps out the daring man brandishing a short sword, the blade a brushed steel with iron fittings and quillon, and hilt wrapped in fine blackened leather bandings. Landing just shy of the wild boar, he stands near eye-to-eye to the massive predator. Its attention locked solely on him, it fails to notice the two arrows that catch it on either side, rearing the beast in pain. Its momentary scream quickly tacits as the sword pierces its head downward—felled in an instant, its suffering a mere blink of the eye. It keels over, blood draining from its narrow cranial wound. With the confirmed kill, the spotter gathers at the brave man’s location.
“Just like that, boys,” he gloats with pride, sweat pouring from his brow, spots of crimson covering him from the momentary up-spray. “This should be more than enough for the dealer, I’d imagine.”
“A beast this size would feed three or four whole families for a month,” the spotter comments, running his fallen black hair back away from his face. He looks over at the small elder first slain. “Think they’ll pay us extra for him, as well?”
“Leave him be,” commands the hunter, wiping the bloodied blade with a terry cloth hung on his scabbard before sheathing the weapon. “Let nature claim him. Can’t take everything for ourselves, can we?”
“Right, Captain,” laments the dark-haired spotter. One of the archers closes in on the two as they begin to regroup for their haul.
In their eased conversation, a strange sound approaches among the brush, catching the ears of the captain. He turns to his left to see a silhouette leap toward him. A hooded man in leather armoring, his hand brandishing a small dagger. Though catching the group off guard, a quick decision by the nearby archer sees their captain pushed from harm’s way, taking the blade instead in his own lower abdomen.
“Parth!!!” the saved man shouts out, uncaring for his own safety. He redraws his blade, but finds it too late, for two arrows land in the bicep and thigh of the assailant.
He hits a dirt patch with a hard thud, crying out from the pain inflicted. The spotter runs to catch their wounded comrade. The blade pierced through, however evaded fatal damage. The second archer finally emerges from his hiding place, his stature leaving one to wonder how it could find any concealment.
“Is everyone alright here?” the gentle giant asks. “I spotted him a bit before the boar attack, but found no chance to strike prior. My apologies.”
“You did well, Tannus, thank you,” the Captain states calmly. “Please restrain the bandit for now.”
Tannus thumps his fist into his own chest before producing a thick rope from his satchel, tying the writhing criminal’s limbs together, rendering the already injured man physically harmless.
“How did you shoot two arrows so quickly?” the bandit seethes, noting that they had to have come from the same bow.
“I nocked two and prayed,” the archer replies straightly, stunning the assailant silent. “You have a name and outfit?”
The man doesn’t respond.
“He’s a loner,” the captain answers in his stead, suturing the wound of their fellow crew who appears to be stable. “A straggler from Gaea’s thieves guild.”
“How could you tell!?” the tied man reflects, practically confessing before backpedaling. “How would you know I’m not from Kabbal?”
“Easy. Bandits stopped raiding from the north ten years ago, when the town was wiped out in flame.”
The man rolls his eyes in defeat. “… Guess I should have kept up with the times, huh?” He laughs meekly, breaking into a wince as the large man snaps the stem to one of the piercing arrows.
“If you’d like, I can keep the other one there,” Tannus says with a smile. “Let the dead weight pull on the wound some more.”
The bandit sighs before gritting his teeth, groaning as the other stem is broken away.
2
Early evening begins to claim the sun as the hunters’ carriage arrives upon the cobblestone roads that welcome entry to the town of Gaf, their humble home. At the southeastern gate, the burg’s normal bustle began to thin for the day’s end where three more soldiers in similar dress awaited the cart’s halt. They are surprised to see more blood than usual coating three of the returning crew’s pale blue dusters, with one being gently carried down from the carriage. They rush to meet them halfway, taking the wounded Parth from the captain and spotter.
“Another lies in the hold,” the captain informs, gesturing to the back end of the carriage. “Be sure he and Parth both receive proper treatment.”
“Aye, Captain!”
The third jogs to help Tannus offload the bandit while the other two take their injured comrade to safety. The captain sighs as he reclines against the wagon, tousling his hair as he finally lets go of the cool demeanor he’d held since the incident a few hours prior. His lieutenant decides to join him, hoisting his arms up behind his head.
“Why don’t you let me wrap up with the client this time, Captain?” the black-haired man suggests. “You look as though you need the rest.”
The man begins to shake his head, but peers one eye open as he looks just past the cart.
“I think I may just take you up on that, Arefel,” the captain replies, staring at a distant woman standing just out of earshot. “I have a feeling I’m to be given another task, anyway.”
The spotter laughs. “Don’t let her work you too hard, Sir Terra.”
“Good work out there today,” the worn man tells his teammate as he withdrawals from his moment of peace. “Be sure the storekeep is informed of the added dangers we encountered. With that beast’s size, he should gladly add to the bounty.”
“Aye, Sir!” The man places his closed fist at the center of his chest in salute as he reboards the coach to head toward their job’s turn-in, leaving the young Terra with the woman who begins closing her distance. Her dress made up of a pair of layered robes, white with red lining overtop a blue duster similar to the hunters’, cinched loosely with a broad decorative band tied into a large bow in the back, and her arms largely covered in long detached sleeves tied with intricate floral flares below the shoulders. Her impossibly long dusty brown hair, peppered with grays throughout, flows down her back, bound by a small tie at the base of her neck, while stray bangs frame her lightly-aged face, which sports an intriguing pair of spectacles, a second pair of flip-down lenses hinging upon the outer corners of the frames.
A unique circlet crowns her brow, baring a jeweled crest with wing motifs emanating from the sides. It's bronzed and well maintained, but is nonetheless still notably a relic.
“I trust the hunt went well?” the woman assumes, her voice light yet commanding.
“As well as it could have, given an injury among the ranks,” he replies nervously. “Your sight about the stray bandit really was astute.”
She smiles slyly, closing her dulled emerald eyes. "My apologies if my info was not specific enough to avoid troubles, Sir Terra.”
He bows with shaken head. “Not at all, Miss Requiem. Without your insight, we may have been taken by the nomad with ease.” He raises his head as he observes the cart Arefel took over disappearing among the heavy foot traffic on the cobbled streets. She can see his thoughts weigh on something more personal at this time.
“I will see to it the butcher doubles your reward,” Requiem tells the stressed man, to his surprise.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Your bounty was much larger than hired for, and so were the risks.”
He’s too passive, and she saw right through that. He shakes his head in defeat.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he resigns.
“However,” she interjects, perplexing the tired man. “I do have errand to request of you.”
“Oh?” he queries despite expecting the request. “What do you need me for?”
“Not now.”
She hesitates, rendering Terra further curious.
“Come by the mansion at 5AM tomorrow morning,” she directs. “I shall have everything ready by then for you, including deposit.”
Confusion takes him momentarily, but shakes it off. Any promise of coin from her usually indicates a good payout—but paired with high stakes.
“Get your rest for tonight,” she orders casually. “May your mares keep their distance this eve.”
“Thank you, Miss Requiem,” he bows again. As she leaves, he passes a hard sigh.
“Sadly, no matter the night, that same dream finds me…”
<Well, did you find what you were seeking?>
“No… No, this isn’t… How could I expect this…?”
<Chasing this power was ‘your’ goal, was it not?>
“I didn’t know… No way could I foresee-- …”
<Do not believe yourself so oblivious to these events. You saw the outcome clearly with your own eyes.>
“No, those… Impossible that those visions would…”
<Still taking refuge in doubt, are we?>
<Our poor child.>
“Still… It matters none. I’m far too powerless…”
<So, then. You still truly believe you-->
“Of course I do! Because of me! My father! Mother…
My hometown!!”
A lone graceful feather descends against gray skies, propelled downward by the heavy precipitation. As it approaches the parched ground, blackening as it inches ever closer, the young man stands swept completely by the endless downpour. Rain trickling down his sopping auburn hair, he stares off in the distance as he argues with voices without form. Before him stands his town.
The rain continues to roll down his face, the tears shed from clouds above fade abruptly to vapor, the view ahead becomes incandescent.
In a blinding flash lasting both a second yet eternity, his quiet home changes from a sleepy burg of prospering lives, to a cacophonous explosive glow. Homes, shops, buildings, and gardens become splintered and dispersed by the growing fireball. Swallowing up the entire landscape, the flames begin to take an ominous shape—large wings of fire spread out, four in total, and consume the man’s haunted view. The lone black feather floats gently back into the sky from whence it came as, out of sheer terror, he abruptly opens his deep blue eyes.
Terra’s vision slowly adjusts to the darkness of his room as he sits up in the suddenly uncomfortable bed. His awareness soon refocuses as he wipes the cold sweat from his brow before lowering his head in silent relief. Listing his gaze out the window to the pale lit domiciles visible within its frame, sunrise yet remaining a distant moment away, he is calmed by the sight of the edging of its onset glimmer highlighting the landscape. With yet another heavy sigh, he tells himself a reminding yet unwelcome statement.
“No matter the night, that same dream finds me…”
After a moment dwelling on the traumatic images still embossed on his memory, he attempts to shake it off and lie back down. “It’s persistence grows,” he laments to himself. As he rests his head against his freshly flipped pillow, the backside still damp with perspiration, he pulls the covers over himself as he tries desperately to get a wink more of sleep. However, sleep wouldn’t come, but rather a familiar voice instead.
“Terra,” the feminine voice rings out within his mind. His eyes open widely in harsh cognizance. He springs back up urgently as he locks eyes with his bedside clock—5:19, the hands indicate.
“Damn it all, I overslept!” He curses, throwing the heavy blanket aside. Leaving his bed in hurried frenzy, he locates his shirt and trousers nearby, prepared for the early exit, and briskly heads for his bedroom door. Small lamp in hand, he leaves in haste, yet steps lightly so as not to disturb the other sleeping resident in the household, her room separated from his only by a thin one-meter-wide hallway. A note graces the door that would be in eyeshot as he leaves if his hurried state of mind could see past his tunneled vision.
“Pick up some eggs from the market, please!”
Clearing the stairwell, he grabs a belted sheath that rests aside a small table in the vestibule next to his boots, his sidearm blade holstered within. After affixing it to his person upon his left hip and lacing up the tall footwear, he finally opens the west-facing front door, stepping out onto the dew-covered grass that lines the paths among the still-sleepy town.
“I’m here,” Terra declares as he enters the doorway of the large mansion, situated at the northern end facing the market square about a dozen acres from his own abode. Being built fairly recently, it traps its warmth far better than his own home against the chilly dawn air. His voice echoes subtly off the many decorations that line the walls of the foyer, mostly unseen as the massive estate remains shrouded in the darkness of twilight.
“She still asleep?” he wonders to himself. A thought strangely answered aloud as he immediately hears a soft voice give distant reply.
“Come, Terra. I await in my study.”
A dim hint of light is seen coming from a doorframe going straight back under the stairwell. He nods to himself and walks toward the highlighted threshold.
“Should’ve known better,” he quietly chuckles to himself.
He gently opens the door, entering the room to see the town of Gaf’s personal fortune teller and self-appointed mayor sitting at her lavish desk.
“Apologies for the truancy, Miss Requiem,” he bows.
Her chamber lies adorned with many old tomes and artifacts, showing the lush history of not only the Kabbal region of which they have made their homeland, but the Judah continent as a whole. Terra is always in awe to see so many books and tomes in one place, many of which aren’t even in circulation amongst the mainland’s publishings. Multiple candelabras and lanterns keep the room well yet warmly lit.
“Your formalities are always in excess, Terra,” she scolds him. “It seems rather I should apologize for your disturbance. That terrible dream still grips you this morn, I suspect with regret.”
Genuine concern wraps her low yet gentle voice. Terra remains silent before shaking his head. For even the innermost turmoil, her vision saw all.
Standing from her chair, Requiem walks around her desk. Unbound from its usual tie, her dull brown hair waves freely with each step, and her oft-seen glasses seemingly truant. Her slight view of sensualness almost overrides her lightly aging visage as her robes are fitted more loosely than normal. She grabs a nearby book from a shelf, ordained with a silver emblem of a perfect circle surrounded by wing-like frills, and begins slowly flipping through its pages, whilst simultaneously dismissing Terra’s speechlessness.
“Besides, what I called you here for this morning is much more of a… personal errand.” Her tone seems calculated, as if she is trying to avoid her phrasing in any way that may create hesitance from the young man.
Terra takes ease from her words as she signals him to have a seat in the leather covered chair cornering her room facing toward her desk. She leans back to sit against the tabletop, book still open in one hand. A gold ring containing a single tourmaline-shaded jewel can be seen among the grasping fingers of her left hand he never recalls her wearing prior.
“Tell me, Terra,” she demands gently. “Have you heard the stories of relics known as ‘Fated Swords’?”
Her tone well displays that she almost certainly already knows his reply.
“I don’t believe so, no,” he responds inquisitively. She wears a momentarily proud expression, leading to a brief chuckle under her breath.
“In fairness to your tutelage, they are considered fable by most, and largely forgotten to the annals of our history.” Her words reassure the man, as history was not something that was widely covered in common schooling. “Though written of yore, this tale cannot be relegated completely to fiction…”
Terra piques an eyebrow before sitting himself in more listened manner as she begins her reading.
“Ancient tale, nearly a millennia old now, tells that in history’s infancy, fierce war broke out between humans and undefined gods. It tells that in the past, these so-called deities meddled with man’s destiny, attempting to shape our lives to their whimsy. However, amongst the chaos of the ensuing conflict, a true blackened evil rose up, threatening the lives of both god and man.”
Her words have Terra’s curiosity. No studies nor bibles make mention of such apocryphal tales. In fact, most schoolings only covered the last couple hundred years or so regarding even Judah’s small but rich history. Yet, knowing Requiem’s insight, her lore is not to be doubted so abruptly.
“To stop the looming threat and signal an end to the mutual bloodshed, four gods gave their lives to cease the conflict. They bestowed upon man the concept of ‘free will,’ as well as the entire world of Ogelna to live on as we saw fit… And as symbols of their sincerity, they also gave to mankind three swords forged of those gods.”
She resumes after a brief pause as Terra sits up, speechless to the enlightening lecture.
“Two of the swords represented the dueling absolutes of power in our world… “ She turns the page to ones much more illustrious than the word-heavy pages prior.
“The sword of heavenly protection, Aegis—Its blade said to be large like a shield; it symbolizes the gods’ vow to safeguard their creations. And the sword of the wrathful earth, Helgram—its fury toward any that pose harm shapes its flame-like steel…”
She turns the page again while slyly eyeing at Terra, monitoring his captured attentiveness.
“The third sword, which cost the lives of two gods to create, was made as means to balance the two opposing blades, keeping them in check, and to maintain a ubiquitous equality throughout the realm.”
Requiem closes the thick tome, dropping her head slightly for a moment as she unseats herself from her lean, walking back over to the proper side of her desk. She raises the top of the work station, with elaborate slides and clever gears guiding its ascent whilst keeping it level, to reveal a large hidden compartment within—The interior lined with padded silk, violet in hue. Nested within lies a scabbard with large wing-like protrusions wrapped around its locket. Terra slowly stands up as he notices a hilt can be seen sticking out from between the folded wings.
“W-wait, you mean this--,” he stammers before she continues over him.
“This is that medium,” she declares with conviction. “Though its name lost amongst our written lexicon, we have come to dub it ‘Dual Balance.’”
His eyes wear his shock openly.
“Once seen with my own eyes, I was doubtless of the other two blades’ existence,” she says as she lifts the artifact up to present to Terra, who has taken awe at the peculiar object.
“The legend states that the remaining pair were scattered and hidden across the land, that their powers lie undisturbed.”
Terra begins to reach for the precious heirloom as she hesitantly pulls it back toward herself. Her eyes close with deep worry.
“I know not its usefulness as a weapon…” she states. “But, as the blade that governs both the other two, it should react to their presence.”
Reopening her dull emerald eyes to him, she begins to stretch her arms out toward Terra once more, inviting him to handle the piece.
“However, depending on your will, it is written that the influences of either sword could backwash into its user. It is something one must always be aware of.”
Terra, somewhat overwhelmed, nods in feigned understanding as Requiem finally relinquishes the sword to him.
“So, simply put, you wish for me to locate the other two swords of legend?” He asks to clarify, to which she nods.
His blue eyes examine the sheathed weapon, noticing the pristine condition of the jeweled pommel and leather-wrapped grip. For the supposed age the lore claims, its steel and fabric remain as if forged today. The wings folded around the scabbard take him aback, however, for at touch they feel strangely authentic; one bearing feathers white as a wedding gown, the other fleshy and black with a bone-like claw protruding from its digit bend. Stranger yet, he finds veins visible in the thinnest parts of the skin upon the darker wing.
Observing his deep examination of the artifact, she presses her tale. “An old trade dealer scouring the Kabbal area sold this to me on a whim, likely having no clue of its legend. While I first was held in doubt, after years of studying and appraisal, I deemed it to be nothing short of the legitimate relic.”
“Kabbal… The old town ruins?” Terra replies, his eyes still scanning the sword.
She shakes her head in a corrected affirmation. “Yes, but the so-called village was still well intact at that time. It's been several years ago now,” Requiem says, almost seeming to choose her words carefully. She crosses her arms beneath her ample chest, puffing herself from her loosely fit robes as she decides to finish her prior statement.
“If the tales are to be believed as gospel, the Aegis should be somewhere in the direction of the continent of Dia to the south, possibly as close as the Metas Desert, near the oasis village of Torrah.” Her informative tone shifts to one less relaxed. “The Helgram, however, may be a more treacherous earning, out among the massive mountainous region north of Gaea…”
Terra’s held glance at her, avoiding the view of her rather buxom presence, before re-eyeing the sword. He catches a glimpse of a large gem at the center of the crossguard, unable to make out its detail hidden underneath the folded wings. Flipping it to the opposite side bears only a grayed shallow dome in the similar position, quelling his curiosity with some disappointment.
He looks back up to her, with an inquisitive tone. “If I may be so bold to ask, should the other two exist… What importance are they?”
With all the trust in the world Terra has for Requiem, even he has his hesitations with this newly recited fable. Sensing this with an understanding, she chuckles in her response. “Maybe it is just my unending curiosity…”
She then stands up again, walking around her desk directly toward Terra. She stops shy of him before leaning in, taking a more serious look on her face. Her emerald-cast eyes seem to gleam, be it reflecting the warm candlelight or something less natural.
“But I also worry about some of the events that have gone on in the world recently.”
He shifts his gaze downward and off to his side. Hesitation stills his voice, but eventually subsides. “You mentioned a ‘looming threat’… Do you think these could be connected?” He mutters. A bitter hurt carries the words.
“I am not certain,” she answers solemnly. “Some things remain outside my field of vision, after all.”
She arcs back up before turning away, striding back over to her desk, closing the hidden compartment as she leans downward upon its cleared surface.
“Frankly speaking, Terra, I do not anticipate this to be a short nor safe journey… It would be best for you to prepare adequately,” she states as she opens a drawer on the desk, recovering a small pouch from its contents.
“I have down-payment ready for you, though be it half of the total planned,” she laments as she hands him the silken pouch. Its weight is hefty, startling Terra as he tries to grasp the bottom with his other hand before it slips from his grasp.
“Half!? This alone is too much!” he says with shock in his voice.
She simply shakes her head before reiterating, “As said before, this will undoubtedly not be a swift errand. Take what you feel you need. I will tend to Lerum’s needs in your absence as the other half of the deposit.” Though this relieves any need to take care of his mother momentarily, Terra still finds worry regarding his being away from her.
“Oh, but please remember to pick up her eggs.” She replaces her truant spectacles as she looks back to him.
He snaps to realization with a sharp nod. “Of course!” He no longer questions her knowledge of such trivialities at this point.
“You may leave when you are fully prepared. However it may be wise not to dawdle,” she closes ominously as she reseats herself at her closed desk. “What lies ahead is rife with darkened clouds. Even my view of the future lies in a dreary fog.” She clasps her hands together over the desktop, the grasped fingers covering her mouth. “I feel a storm may soon be upon us…”
Terra, taking heed of her ominous words, stands up, strangely more awake than he was when he entered the briefing. His face seems beaming with anticipation.
“I cannot recall my last transit to even Gaea…” he says cheerfully as he heads for the door.
“Who knows… A good journey might be what ailes my restless nights.”
She nods with a smile and waves her hand, signaling his right to leave. As the door closes behind him, Requiem leans back in her chair, tilting it slightly. Her expression sharply contrasts his disposition.
“I pray you are prepared for the trials that lie ahead…”
3
The sun hangs high in the sky later that morning as hours pass his meeting with the mayoral figure. Rather than attempting to regain his lost sleep, Terra gives up the ghost and moves on with his routine in preparation of the long journey ahead of him.
Compared to his brief pass through the town yesterday’s evening, the streets of Gaf are now astir with people. Despite it being considered the smallest of the suburban burgs on the Judah mainland—only due to its fairly recent establishment a mere few generations ago—it still boasts quite the dense populace. And thanks to its competent organization of hunters, of which Terra helms, it maintains a central trading point with the other cities for various meats and hides not local to the larger towns or through convenient livestock. Its lack of focused industry, however, really lends to its quaint scenery. Though cobblestone roads have long replaced the old dirt paths that once wound about the sprawling homestead, smatterings of forests still surround the town on all ends especially, which adds to this coziness as though still embraced by mother nature herself.
Stopping by a large facility situated in the northeast corner of the city, he is greeted by salutes from the two sentries stationed outside.
“Captain!” they honor in unison. He reciprocates the gesture casually as he enters the barracks beyond them. Inside sits an older man at a desk, filing away his days with nary a qualm to be found. Large scars grace his face, stopping just beneath his right eye. He stops when he glances at the younger soldier’s entry, standing gingerly to salute.
“Ah, nice to see you this morn, Captain,” the old man says with dignity, creating chagrin from Terra.
“Sir Gernom, you needn’t address me so formally. You outrank me, after all.”
“Still far too passive about your feats, I see,” the elder chides with a laugh. “You really are your father’s boy in that regard. At least he had enough wherewithal to sport his proper uniform.”
The comment leaves a thin smile on Terra’s face as he decidedly changes topic.
“How is Parth’s condition?”
“Ah yes, he was actually released earlier this morning for home rest. The medics say he should heal up and be ready for action again in few week’s time.”
Relief washes Terra, knowing the worst had been avoided. He’s yet to have lost any comrades under his watch; a streak he hopes to keep throughout his tenure.
“Anything from the apprehended thief?” he asks.
“Not much beyond what you surmised, according to Tannus’ debrief,” states Gernom, rubbing his temples as he sits back down at his desk.
“I see,” replies Terra. He ponders momentarily to himself wordlessly before wandering further into the larger building within, to Gernom’s confusion.
“What is that boy planning?”
A dimly lit cell, deprived of sunlight as the great north wall remains the small barred window’s only vantage, the man sits patiently. Bandages cleanly wrap his left bicep and thigh, though the latter remain covered by his darkened trousers, the rest of his gear lie confiscated well within the prison’s storerooms. He hears the footsteps of approaching guard with no reaction, his eyes, hidden behind his shaggy blond hair, remaining closed as the target of his earlier assault enters view. Upon hearing the door open, however, his eyes peer curiously, seeing the captain enter the cell and take a seat across the small quarters. The sound of soldiers training out in the courtyard muffle upon the stone-laiden walls whilst the two gauge each other silently—A silence soon broken.
“My observations of your affiliation with Gaea’s thieves guild was correct, no?” Terra queries.
No response.
“I ask because I soon will be making venture in that direction, passing through the vast Gardenia Forest, which lies beyond where you found I and my men.”
No response.
“Surely you have folks who are missing you, right? Comrades? A family, even?”
An eyebrow piques. He called it.
“What are you after?” the detainee finally asks. “Trying to guilt me into apology? Goad me into some forced labor? I’m already your captive. Even if I broke out, captives ain’t welcome back into the fold. We’re considered a… liability.”
“That may be so,” Terra ponders aloud. “Though why would they have any inkling of your failure? Were other men with you?”
“No, I work alone,” states the gruff man. Terra closes his eyes with a smirk as he stands back to his feet.
“Good. Then this should prove beneficial to both of us.”
The prisoner remains perplexed as the captain wordlessly leaves the cell, locking the door behind him.
He arrives back home with his spoils later in the afternoon. Bought gratuitously through Requiem’s deposit, he acquired many new tools made for longer treks, along with a veritable tonne of dried rations to hold him over until the next major town, several days away on horseback. As he enters the partition, he is met with the concerned figure of an older woman waiting just beyond the threshold.
“I beg of you to mind yourself out there,” the worried matron says, her hands holding the opposing arm. It would seem she had already been informed of his lengthy errand.
Her hair covered with a faded orange cloth tied behind her head, Terra’s mother Lerum appears to have been stress-cleaning in his morning absence. The scent of fragrant soaps still linger upon her hands. “Should the road be lined with danger, hesitate not to return home…”
Carefully setting down his loot, Terra hugs her before entering the house again in loose attempt to calm the perturbed woman.
“Concern not, Mother,” he responds in a nonchalant manner. He sits in a nearby chair with a chest close by, wrapping a fresh dull blue duster over his green roll-neck top. She gazes wordlessly as he opens the cover of the foot locker and begins dressing himself in its contents—a near-pristine set of teal green armor covering his chest, large pauldrons for his shoulders, layered bracers on each forearm and hands, and greave plates and sabatons on his boots. The cuirass in particular mounts a spectacular red mantle with paired hood, both bolted to the front clavicles and draping to the back. A gold-painted seal graces the exterior—the symbol of the hunter unit. The whole set is adorned with impressive gold trim and various silver studs. His mother loses herself in awe as her son dons the proper captain’s ensemble he’d before found himself unfit to wear.
“Plenty of small towns line the roads, and Miss Requiem’s deposit was more than sizable,” he follows up as he secures the tanned leather straps of his armor before standing up again, handing the troubled woman a small pouch weighty with coin.
She begins to rebut, brushing off such petty financial concerns. “Nay, you miss my point! Worry I that—”
He places his leather-gloved hand upon her shoulder. The heft of the rings armoring his fingers jars her dead in thought.
“Mother,” he comforts calmly. “I am my father’s son. Time beckoned I finally followed the trail he blazed ahead.”
Her eyes begin to water as she looks upon his face. She finds herself lost in melancholy reminiscence.
“He would find pride, I believe, to see you like this… Carrying on in his stead…” Her voice quivers as she speaks. A red bow, neatly tied around her neck, loosens as she removes the cloth, offered now to her son in tribute.
“Carry us with you,” she smiles, “and no danger shall ever befall you.”
Terra returns the warm smile, grasping the band before hugging her again.
“I’ll be sure to visit him, too, okay?”
She grasps him tightly before the two withdraw. He ties the headband over his brow, knotting it securely before pulling the top layer of his brunette hair over it. He stores most of the purchases for the voyage into a large duffel bag, hoisting it over his shoulder via a tethered strap, and makes his way to the front door. As the partition opens, a couple of familiar men block his leave from the homestead.
“I can’t believe she’s sending you solo,” Tannus vents, his eyes filled with frustration. “It’s just like Sir Orbis’ outings all over again.”
“She must find you quite trusting, sending you on personal quests of such sort,” taunts Arefel, nudging his taller comrade with his elbow as he lets out a lecherous laugh.
Terra sterns his stance and his glare sharpens. “While I assume Gernom informed you, I‘ve placed you two in charge during my absence. Please don’t force my regret in that decision.” His voice seems more commanding than usual, snapping the two men at attention.
“Of course! Our apologies, sir,” they say, respectfully.
“At ease,” Terra replies with a soft laugh. “But do not forget yourselves. Trust in each other’s advice. You should be fine.”
“Your requested effects are waiting for you at the gate,” the larger man says, trying to regain his composure. “We’ve taken liberty of storing them on Adim’s saddlebags for you, sir.”
“You have my thanks,” Terra replies. “Did you acquire the second horse, as well?”
Both scratch their heads, their eyes dropping to their feet. “We did, sir, however…” Tannus hesitates.
“Why are you taking that murderous bandit with you?!” Shouts Arefel, sending a shock to Lerum’s prying ears. Terra steps out of the doorway, allowing the divider to close behind himself.
“Keep your tongue in check,” Terra chides. “If you need a reason… Call it leverage, then.”
“Leverage, sir?” Arefel repeats with tilted head.
“If he lies and has friends hiding in wait, his presence will likely draw them out. If not, I turn him in to Gaea’s authorities, where they may be able to pull info regarding their own city’s underbelly.”
“Ah, I think I see, sir.”
“So long as his arms stay on my horse, I foresee no bumpy travels,” Terra schemes.
“Consider it done, Captain,” salutes Tannus.
“Thank you, Sir Tannus. You as well, Sir Arefel,” their leader bows in returned respect. “Protect this town in my stead, and do her proud.”
“Sir!” they both say in unison with heavy salute.
He reciprocates the gesture as he walks away, leaving them upon his porch as they hold position. Beyond them, Lerum, from the reopened partition, silently gazes with worry as her son leaves their town for the second time.
Terra makes toward the eastern town gate where his horse Adim, along with all his gear, awaits. The dull rust-haired colt shifts its head from side to side, gently tousling its long black mane. As he loads the duffel along with the saddlebags, he takes his granted artifact from the gathering of items.
“This thing is far too heavy,” he complains to himself as he hangs the sheathed Dual Balance on the back of his large belt. Because of its lack of utility as arm, his personal short sword remains upon his left hip. Having been his tool of choice since he was fifteen, the sword has served him well for many years now.
He begins to mount his steed, seeing the fair Miss Requiem to his right as if appearing from nowhere—a feat she’s so well known for, most folk no longer bat an eye. Dressed as she had at their prior meet at the gates, she stands with her arms crossed in usual fashion.
“I trust you to take care of my mother following my leave,” Terra asks of her.
She responds, “I actually came to assure you as such.”
The two give a mild chuckle.
“Verily,” he replies with jest.
“Should’ve known you were a mama’s boy,” laughs a gruff voice entering from behind Terra’s vantage.
The prisoner, most of his gear returned save for his weapons, is tethered to another horse trotting to a stop next to the captain. His hands bound in lengthy chains, he remains unable to dismount of his own accord, simply tagging along as a guide—Or as bait.
She shifts her gaze a bit more callously. “Keep your wits about you,” she warns him. “While I wish I could subdue these curiosities, I fear something dark brewing if these relics remain to fate at large. I trust you to locate them for me… Nay, you are the only one I can entrust to these blades.”
He nods sincerely at her pledge.
“Take care, Terra,” she closes.
“You, as well, madame.”
Terra shifts his focus ahead. “Are you ready…” he queries the tagalong bandit with a pause.
“Keith,” the man replies. “If you need a name to call me. And yeah, sure, whenever you are.”
Terra smirks at the man’s reply. “Well met, Keith.”
He looks up to the sun, peaked in its rising arc, before rearing Adim back. At a snap of his reins and a loud “Yah,” Adim takes off at an impressive gallop, the leaded wingman following at pace into the woods surrounding the outskirts of town.
Requiem watches as the two men and their steeds become a blurred speck upon the landscape, eventually disappearing from sight against the distant treeline.
“Please watch over him,” she says to the surrounding air, devoid of other individuals. “What awaits will undoubtedly overwhelm him, but I can only pray we children are finally prepared for trials that have long anticipated us.”
A gentle breeze blows by as she continues to stare out upon the vast world that lies beyond the gates of Gaf.
4
Several miles out from the town he calls home, Terra strides with Adim at a mild trot, with Keith’s mount dragging a few meters behind. The two have thus far traveled wordlessly, focusing on the trail ahead rather than mindless bickering. They eventually stop at the top of a hill where the distant town looks only to be a speck to the eye, lost almost entirely to the vast sea of trees surrounding it. To the south of Gaf can be seen the small farmland town of Tirace, the region’s sole source of basic produce, though even its vast fields look to be meager plots of land from this point of view. It was a breathtaking sight, made all the more pleasant by the lightest amount of overcast. Keith ganders around as his eyes lift to the sky, noticing the sun setting below the distant treeline, taking with it the last hour or so of daylight. The two tacitly agree to take shelter in the next holt up ahead before taking on the larger forest proper the next couple days.
After entering a small secluded woodland, Terra decides to set camp for the evening. With the sun a sliver over the horizon, the onset of dense cloud cover soon mutes the vibrant environment in dreary gray.
Within the quaint clearing, the crafty hunter carefully builds a small bonfire while the bandit simply watches wordlessly, his hands and legs still bound loosely. Two bedrolls are splayed out for their overnight needs while also providing general comfort overtop the messy natural terrain. The two horses are hitched separately; Adim tethered to a growing sapling nearby. The two both nicker away while munching upon apples given to them by Terra as he feasts on his own dinner.
Over the fresh blaze warming them from the midnight dew, Terra heats some of his dried meats acquired from his earlier procurements. He offers some skewered on a stick to the obviously famished tagalong.
“It’s the boar we killed yesterday,” he claims. “Thought you might like to try it.”
The bandit smirks with a scoff as his joined hands work in tandem to take the offering from his captor. After taking a bite, the man stops, perplexed by the flavor of the simple meat strips. “What is this seasoning?” He asks, having tasted nothing like it before.
“Not used to actual cooking, are you?” Terra laughs. “Even over a fire pit, one has to enjoy even the simpler things in life. Food being such necessity, why not make the most of it?”
Keith ponders his words while staring deeper at the flesh he’s partaken, his eye catching hints of seasonings and even a base added to seal everything together. He watches as Terra prepares a few more strips, washing them in what appears to be a small bowl of melted butter, sprinkles of thyme and even some pepper flakes. Once placed over the fire, the whole combination lets off a civilized aroma that almost contradicts their natural surroundings.
“You know, I thought I had you pegged for a straight-laced grundy. But I can’t read you at all,” Keith laughs. “How old are you, anyway?”
“I’ll be 22 next month.”
“Why, you’re just a bab!!” The man exclaims, already into his early 30s. “You a prodigy or something?”
“I don’t think so,” Terra replies flatly. “Just honed by the best there ever was…”
A pause follows his nostalgic thoughts, his inquisitor caught by the genuine tone. The bandit laughs again, raising his arms to meet the back of his head.
“You just continue to surprise me, o Captain.”
“We’re all just people, after all,” Terra starts, unfazed by the pejoration. “Shouldn’t matter if some are skilled, others work hard, or more still take life for granted. We all have a desire to live, and live well… So then, why not share it rather than squander?”
The prisoner’s eyes wander a bit, not sure how to parse such philosophy.
“You asked… if I had family.”
Terra lifts his head to the opening man in listen.
“Most of my blood has passed on or left me to the streets. None left who’d love a troublemaker like me… That’s why she surprised me.”
“She?”
“Silvia. I guess you could call her my sweetheart, but… I dunno. I’ll just disappoint a gal like her.”
Terra smiles with a sigh. “She worth giving up a life of larceny?”
“Ha!” the bandit laughs. “If I was just pickpocketing, it’d be one thing. But the things I’ve done… Well, there ain’t no ‘giving it up,’ my friend.”
“How sad,” his listener laments as he bites into his food once more.
“Yeah… It kinda is…”
In his darting gaze, Keith soon notices the strange artifact gracefully set off to the shadowed side of Terra.
“By the way, what is that thing?” he asks, gesturing crudely to the relic. Terra stops in his meal as he looks over at the strange prize, picking it up as he eyes it with the same curiosity he had the morning prior.
“Stories state it to be a sword, but truthfully, even I’m uncertain,” he replies.
“A sword?” scoffs Keith in reflection.
Getting the better of him, Terra gingerly attempts to draw the mysterious blade. Despite his efforts, however, it refuses to release itself from the ill-matching scabbard. “The blasted thing might be rusted shut,” he groans. “I don’t think this sheath is an intended effect.”
He takes his time observing the strange item in the firelight, feeling along the quillon embellishments that seem to wrap around the scabbard like wings. Even through his leather gloves, the texture is far too realistic, giving him a shivering pause.
“Might not be so valuable, after all, then,” Keith says with a snort, his mind dwelling only on the thing’s resale.
Terra, disappointed by his guest’s statement, decidedly sets the sword back down above his pillow as he wraps his sleeping bag around himself. “Get your rest,” he tells the bandit. “Tomorrow starts Gardenia. Might take a few days, lest you know a shortcut.”
“Yeah yeah,” mocks Keith as he slinks into his own bag, turning away from his host as his breathing seems to calm to natural rest.
Staring into the crackling campfire, Terra’s eyes wince with a grimace. The dancing flames capture his attention as his focus draws further and further into the violent light. He forces his eyes closed, his visage pained by a torrent of awful thoughts brought on by his frequent nightmares. Something snaps his eyes back open as the world around him suddenly reflects a landscape unfamiliar to him. Standing up in hasty confusion, he spots a vague figure in the darkened distance.
“Keith?” he shouts out, calling to the man still asleep to his rear, unable to bring himself to look away from the silhouette standing before him.
As he cautiously closes his approach toward this spectre, he sees a tall stocky man with medium auburn hair, fairly lighter than his own. His eyes widen at the unbelievable sight.
“I it…?” Terra exclaims, his voice shaking. “Is that… really you?”
Though his eyes fall under shadows, the man seemingly stares at Terra, a faint smile peeking beneath his well-groomed facial hair. The entranced hunter begins to reach for the figure autonomously of his accord. As his hesitant fingers make contact upon the strange vision before him, the visage sparks. In an instant, the effigy is engulfed in a blindingly dense blaze.
“FATHER, NO!!!”
Terra falls back, screaming at the sight of his father burning away like paper alight. A brief break in the swirling flames shows Terra a blackened mask; two saucers glow a vibrant gold where eyes would be. Terra shouts once more as his eyes fly open to reality, hastily grabbing his sword as his body stands up from his sleeping bag of its own accord.
“Hey!” a lazy voice shouts from nearby. “You alright over there?”
The brazen bandit still lies facing away in his bedroll, awake but unmoving.
Terra calms down for a moment as he lowers his head to a sigh. “I’m fine,” he lies to himself, scratching his head vigorously. “Off with it, Terra. Just another dream. Routine as bootlaces by now…”
Dawn soon approaches, The campfire long expired with much of the wood in the pit reduced to crumbling soot and coal. A thin layer of mist envelops the ground from the accumulating dew, though the resting Keith seems unbothered by its chill.
Heavily breathing, Terra surveys the surrounding area, unsettled by the vague feeling that something is watching him. His eyes spot a vague figure among the trees. He double-takes, correcting the sight to mere branches and twigs jostling in the wind. quelling his nerves, he lowers his head in another deep exhale.
His heart rate begins to steady as his eyes lock to the ground. He notices a few effects missing from his immediate area. However, the thought finds no time to ferment as wind gusts pick up, causing a sudden gentle rustling in the nearby foliage, escalating into a violent torrent through the trees—and a massive shadow disrupts the darkened cloudy sky.
“What is happening?” Keith begins to stir, feeling the sudden temperature drop as a large shadow looms over, impossibly fast for cloud cover.
They both glance upon the obscuring silhouette, a gargantuan black mass lunges directly at them, forcing the two to leap from its path. Keith lands hard, his injuries forcing him to wince as he unprones from his dirt bed. Terra catches himself on the rumbling ground, looking back up in a panic to see his taking to the sky again, large gashes torn into the ground the two slept upon mere moments before. The bandit’s mount is also missing from its hitch, with faint spots of blood left where it once stood.
The large bird-like shadow loops off in the distance before lining up for another swoop, this time, coming right for Terra. With no moment to dodge again, he attempts to block its large talons from the fly-by. They contact the blade, throwing him hard aside from its powerful momentum, its claws scrape the earth below. Three small throwing knives find their way into the beast’s underbelly, causing the blackened beast to roar in pain. Terra looks over to his partner, his chains removed, holding the bandolier of knives in his left hand.
“Sorry,” Keith sneers, “but I wasn’t just going to be left defenseless!”
Terra scoffs with a smile before his eyes return him to reality; finding his hunting sword snapped in twain by the mysterious creature’s terrifying assault, the blade flying far off behind him. The beast, down black as night, continues to cry out as it seemingly disappears wounded over the treeline. The air calms, and with the threat passed, Terra takes a moment to recollect himself before coming to a startling realization. Hesitantly, he gazes back over the Keith, seen twirling one of his knives as the band has been refixed upon his left thigh.
“Seems our roles find us inversed,” the bandit says with a conniving expression, the ancient relic gifted by Requiem dangling from his other hand. Terra glares helpless as the armed man takes full advantage of his own newfound leverage.
“You’re lucky I’m feeling pretty generous right now,” the former prisoner starts, “so here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m taking this prize with me back to my boys in Gaea, along with your horse. And you can return to your quaint squabble, contemplating all that good shit about ‘share instead of squander’ while your pants reek of piss the whole way home.”
The unarmed hunter continues his fierce glance as the man heads over to the remaining steed, upset by the attack moments before.
“Calm down!” the bandit chides as he limps over to the hitch. Suddenly, the land shadows densely once more.
“What the hell i--”
A massive clawed foot lands upon the man, crushing him underfoot, the freed horse fleeing for its very life as the hitch unearths from the cracking ground.
Terra’s eyes lock in widened shock as a wave of gory viscera splashes up from the impact that buckles the ground below. A severed hand lands near his feet, the old artifact still gripped in its clenching fingers. Trembling, he lifts his terrified gaze again to meet the creature’s stare, its blood red eyes ensnaring him. Pitch black liquid trickles from the wounds caused by the three blades, however the beast roars almost laughingly, reveling in its destruction as it flaps its four massive wings violently.
The colossal creature, appearing both avian and serpentine, rears its head back, with a strange light that seems to gather at its open maw. It thrusts its head forward in a tumultuous roar, as a concentrated stream of glowing light shoots out in its path. The beam of unknown energy cuts down and even disintegrates trees in its wake as Terra narrowly rolls out of the immediate pillar, thrown further by the force of the wave. An explosion detonates where the passing energy finally hits the ground, throwing everything to and fro.
Fear consumes the man as he witnesses this unknown beast wreak havoc like none seen before. The monster lurches its head up, steam pouring from its beak as it seems to raise itself for another such attack. Terror washes over the weary man’s face as he freezes, unknowing what, if anything, he can do. He keeps looking back at the smeared, bloodied ground where a man once stood. A cruel despot of a man—but to Terra, still just a man.
Again, the creature roars. His eyes closed tightly, weary and resigned, Terra goes to instinctively cover himself with his arms in vain, hearing nothing but a piercing crash. Seconds pass as he comes to realize he had not been hit.
He brings his eyes open to an object in front of him, creating a large glowing barrier between the incandescent beam and himself. The artifact’s wings unfold from the quillon; one angelic, bearing white feathers, the other flesh-like and draconic. A symbol consisting of fitting black and white magatamas glows at the center of the crossguard that once showed only a solid gray gem.
“Terra!” A voice cries out to him.
“M-Miss Requiem?” he responds in disoriented tone, trembling as he fails to process the frantic happenings all around him.
“Terra! The sword reacts to you— your will calls to it!" Her voice speaks into his mind with urgent clarity. "Free your mind of all fear, and take hold the Dual Balance as your own!”
Terra, gaze locked to the beast’s face staring back through the dense barrier, begins to rise to his feet. Attempting to calm himself at her behest, he witnesses as the bird cries out and begins to bring its head back for another powerful strike.
“NOW!” Requiem shouts.
As the behemoth lunges its beak toward Terra, energy gathered, he scrambles to grab the hilt of the Dual Balance. Upon grip, time slows to a still as he finds himself momentarily enveloped in white light. All sound around him fades to brief silence, only two voices can be heard, speaking in perfect harmony.
<Finally we meet, O host of the Pentium.>
Reality fades back in as he takes a determined stance. Breaking the ground beneath it, he slashes the blade upward at the creature’s incoming beak. As it fires its blast once more, a dense trail of light follows the arc of the sword’s swing, extending well beyond the blade’s own length. The blade parts the wave harmlessly around Terra’s position, dispersing as it passes into opposing points of the small wood.
“I… I actually did it?” he asks himself aloud, completely held in disbelief over the remarkable encounter. Awaiting him to regain his control, Requiem speaks again to his clearing mind.
“Take heed, Terra. Such beasts may not be alone. Should it truly be close, I’d urge you to make contact with the Aegis with the utmost importance.”
Eyeing around the destruction left in its wake, the weary hunter swallows his fears as he views the unrecognizable remains of the lowly bandit. He finds the sword’s scabbard, the dismembered hand relenting its grip as he retrieves its unwitting offering.
With a heavy woeful blink, Terra lifts his head back up at the clear dawn-painted sky where the black bird was last seen, replaced by the welcome sight of the rising sun. His adrenaline eases as he turns his focus on locating his truant colt and resuming his fateful journey.
“Never dare I dream he would so quickly be on to us,” a mysterious young-voiced woman says. “His reawakening came much sooner than anticipated…”
Darkened within a seemingly endless void, from underneath her feet spots the only light. Her visible figure adorned with elegant armor and embellished cloth, flowing carmine hair like clouds extend out either side of her form.
“Perhaps he has observers, you think?” an unseen masculine voice adds, light in tone, though filled with a cocky yet truthful cynicism.
Another, gentler feminine voice follows. “His power has clearly only grown over time… Hard-pressed we may be to even outsmart him, as we are now, I fear.”
The woman nods in response to the two disembodied voices. “Worry not, for now we remain as though time be our only enemy.”
She clasps her hands together upon her chest, her voice forced to uphold its resolve.
“Chasing him now would spell only doom for them. The three must come together. Our hope lies only in them…”