The Weight of Prophecy

[Kugar]

(( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=usSLEP-PVfc ))

The air was thick, high up above, where the winds gathered to congregate on Pauldron's Peak. Gray stood there, a weathered sentinel, clutching the staff that acted as a scorching embodiment of his power. The staff twisted and contorted like the very black soul of its bearer, its ornate carvings etched with the tales of a thousand battles, each telling their story of the eternal war.

The weight of his own charred, decaying, and battered corpse lay heavily upon him. Gray’s skeletal form quivered in the biting wind, and in the flickering light of the embers at the staff's tip, he could see the shadows of his past. Death's Stench and Snakehead Bay lay far below in the distance, mere remnants of life that had been swallowed by the sands of time. The Kantabi Desert stretched out like an endless scar, and beyond it loomed the Nameless Mountains, silent witnesses to the devastation that had unfolded over the decades.

Eighty-four years of prophecy. Eighty-four years of war. These are what had led him to this moment. His humanity had been chipped away, year by bloody year, until it completely ceased to be. Infamy and notoriety had followed him, tales of grand victories overshadowed by miserable defeats. In the end, all of it had been stolen, never to return. What was it all for? He pondered this question, the bitterness of it settling like ash in his throat.

As the winds howled mournfully, Gray’s mind drifted back to a different time, to a place where a higher calling still flickered like a dying ember.

05. Malas 28 (Flashback)

"It is good to be back," Jefferson mused, the sound of his voice barely breaking the stillness of dawn. He sat on a weathered rock, carving an apple with a broken dagger. The Sirani island air was sweet and fragrant, a balm for his weary soul. He watched as the skin peeled away from the apple, lifelessly cascading down into the golden sand, and for a fleeting moment, he felt a semblance of contentment, a perverse joy in the simple act.

Leaning his head back then, he closed his eyes to enjoy the feeling of the sun's warmth upon his smooth face. He was at peace.

But that moment was soon interrupted by the arrival of a cloaked figure, draped in black and white robes, standing tall above him. The figure's presence was a stark reminder of the burdens he carried.

"Enjoy this rest, Jefferson. You have earned it once, at least," the figure spoke, its voice a low, raspy whisper, laced with an authority that demanded respect.

Jefferson glanced up, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "Mh, you again?" he sneered, a faint smile teasing the corners of his lips. The figure's pale arm extended, revealing a multitude of faded scars that told stories of their own. It dropped a rolled parchment at Jefferson's feet.

Curiosity piqued, Jefferson picked up the parchment and examined it closely. "This some sort of map?" he asked, his tone dry and uninterested.

The figure knelt beside him, tracing its ancient finger over the lines etched into the parchment. To Jefferson’s astonishment, the lines began to glow—a faint light emerging from the depths of the paper before vanishing again in flickers, leaving charred holes in their wake.

"This, Mr. Gray, is the Quadrinity," the figure instructed, rising to its full height once more.

Jefferson sighed, slicking back his disheveled black hair. "Curious much... But this parchment puzzles me still..." He began to pace, lost in thought.

He saw these tasks from the robed one as a challenge, daring not to ask too many questions. After a while, however, he failed to contain himself. "What makes you think I shall know how to reach this... Quadrinity?"

The cloaked figure paused, gesturing with its hands, forming the shape of a diamond in the air. "It is not about finding... but collecting," it emphasized.

"The diamond, Jefferson..." The figure pointed to the scar on Jefferson's forehead, "You were born to walk this path."

As the figure began to walk away, it proclaimed, "It is no map, Mr. Jefferson... It is a key."

Back in 22. Bras 75

Gray’s heart, if he had one left, would have been heavy with the weight of his coming revelation. The key. The Quadrinity. The path of the diamond. Four Earthquakes toll success.

The power of the diamond had now been released by the Gods. The prophecy had come true.

The winds howled around Pauldron's Peak, echoing the cries of those who had fallen along the way, their faces swirling in the tempest of his memory.

He looked out over Pauldron's desolation, the remnants of an existence that had once thrived, and felt the embers at the staff’s tip flicker violently, resonating with the turmoil of this place.

What lay ahead was uncertain, but the path of the diamond had been laid before him.

The journey was far from over, and the weight of prophecy would guide his steps into the unknown.

He had no eye nor flesh to weep.