Returning Home

Justin stared at the night sky, the glittering stars bringing a smile to his lips despite the winter cold. He had walked a good many paces away from the fires of the camp. It was quiet away from the groups of people, the small war-band making its way eastward. They had lost at Siannodel, suffering great losses to surprise attack by General Nikoli's army.

The bard sighed heavily. That wasn't why he was out here. He had come out here to get away from the battles had and the battles to come. He was here to find peace amongst all the war.

Footsteps of someone approaching pulled him further from that peace he sought. With another sigh, he turned to look at his follower.

Celeste's blond hair shone in the moonlight fantastically, matched by the entirety of her slender and pale beauty. The mage came to stand next to the bard before speaking.

"I had meant to ask what reason could bring you so far from camp, but now that I am here, I understand completely." She smiled slightly, letting the gentle chilled breeze flow through her hair. "'Tis peaceful."

"Peace has become much of a luxury of late." While Justin did enjoy the company, she had interrupted his peace.

"I know quite well of what you speak, bard. Dare you forget I once called Bal Azar my home?" Ah yes, Bal Azar, where it had all begun. Actually, it had begun hundreds of years ago, but this chapter in the story of the world began there. The peaceful city's fall had been what triggered the wars.

"A bard never forgets the details," he said, forcing a smile. "Now what brings you all the way out here?" Funny that her smile should fade as if he had stolen his from her.

"I begin to wonder if we shall not succeed in our mission. I begin to think we may fail." Her expression was the same she'd worn when she saw the carnage that had fallen upon Bal Azar. As it had been then, it was hard for Justin to keep smiling. She needed it though.

"I assure you, we cannot fail. The Guardians will be stopped, and I will travel the world telling of the parts we all have played in keeping the world safe." His words did little to change her mood. She knew that his smile was lacking the sincerity it had at the fall of Bal Azar. He truly believed every word then. Now, even he was not too sure.

"Positivity aside, I believe everything will turn out alright. There is much gone wrong, but much is still right." He again looked to the stars above, letting their image put his heart at ease. "We will make it. The snows can only slow so much, and winter has yet to reach its worst. We can reach our goal before the final battle." Celeste let her gaze rise away from the bard toward the stars.

"How can you know the battle shall not begin without our presence?"

"I know a few friends," he began, his usual grin returning to his face. This smile was sincere. "Fate guides more roads than we give her credit for. I know the heroes will return to Liathdale."

The End of Time

The cosmic winds mustered every bit of their remaining strength, blowing a final weak breeze through the universe. The Great Dragon, the one remaining light in the infinite blackness of space and time, felt the brush against its cheek, smiling one last time. All the worlds, the countless stars and suns, the moons, all of space and time were faded away except what little the dragon could keep alive around him. His friend, the Phoenix had long since turned to ash, never rising again. Now the cosmos had breathed its last.

He sought the words to whisper a final goodbye for all things that had faded, but found none. Language itself had died, yet the Great Dragon never realized. It had been so long since he'd last spoken. His breath came short now as he gripped the scythe of the reaper, who had faded away as well. This old rusted thing, the gnarled and rotted wood gripping to a blade that hadn't shone in ages and ages, would reap the dragon by his own hand.

The Great Dragon found no more breath would come to him. He was choking now, infinite sadness clogging his throat. He gripped the scythe tighter as his own light faded. It was the end, as had been told, but this wasn't how he had wanted it to be. He still wanted to say goodbye.

A single tear formed at the edge of his old gray eyes. It was the end of all things, space and time and gods and dragons. Nothing would be left after this. The Great Dragon closed his eyes one last time, his light gone. The scythe found its way into his soul, both fading simultaneously, save the tear.

All was gone. Infinite nothing surrounded the tear, but with the reaper's blade gone, the tear would exist for an eternity alone, exiled to the nothingness remaining in existence's wake. The tear found itself wishing to cry, but could such a thing be done.

It tried.

Light and stars burst forth from the tear as it began to bring light to the darkness that permeated all. It shone with a light brighter than any had ever existed, for nothing had before the tear. More tear-stars flew into the darkness.

In a mighty explosion, a rain of sorrow, nothingness became existence once again. The tear, which could not remember where it had come from, found itself surrounded by lights and stars and friends to be had. Happiness and hope found their way to the tear, which now shone brighter than any of its children. It spun and swirled and danced, shedding its sorrow and form.

Soon, a new Great Dragon was now fluttering about the cosmos, lights and stars dancing with it. Some stars darkened, becoming planets and worlds, wishing to bear life.

Time and space had been reborn. Of dark ashes sprouted a new Phoenix, burning just as brightly as the Great Dragon. One roared and the other chirped, flying together to spread their light and warmth. Their joy would have been unending, but the sorrow shed from the tear had found a form of its own.

The great lights stopped their flight at the foot of Death. A new scythe reflected their radiance. They knew now that one day, all would end. Eternities would pass until then, but one final moment would come. The Great Dragon would be the last, for it was the first.

"I would say goodbye to all," the Great Dragon swore. "Only after that will I go."

Fall of Winter

The last warm wind of the southern sea passed over the capitol of the Sapphire Kingdom, flowing north over the castle.  Through the windows it could hear the cries of the ladies in waiting, the sighs of the noble lords.  What it couldn't hear was the chamberlain's quiet contemplations of that night's events.  The queen had died a peaceful death after a long and fruitful life, but she had no heir to pass the crown to.  Without someone to wear the crown, the council would convene, mourn, discuss, then bicker over who should be the new ruler.  That bickering would assure dark times ahead.

The last warm wind of the southern sea passed on, following the messengers bearing these dark tidings.  Together, they rode north, but one by one the messengers took different roads until only two remained.  When the road could no longer went north, the two split.  One would ride to Celdine, the other to Bal Azar and beyond.

The last warm wind of the southern sea followed the road to Bal Azar, flowing toward its resting place in the cold northwest.  It kept this lone messenger warm, for his was the greatest of tasks.  He would ride to Bal Azar,where he would board a ship destined for Arenloch, the farthest reach of the Sapphire Kingdom.

The last warm wind of the southern sea filled the sails of the messenger's ship, hoping to make the journey swift and safe.  The dark waters were known for the many dangers deep below.  Given the urgency of their mission, the crew made a straight course for Arenloch rather than follow the coast.  That would be their folly.

The last warm wind of the southern sea grew cold as it pushed the ship north.  The dark waters watched and waited until the dark of night as the ship pressed onward.  It was on a cold and windy night that the waters swallowed the ship, the crew, and the messenger all in one, but the written declaration of the queen's death floated on.

The last warm wind of the southern sea grew weak, but it blew on the message, trying ever so desperately to deliver what the messenger could not.  Onward it floated on the dark lake's surface, the parchment soaking in the water.  The inks faded as the days passed, yet still the message survived.  It would not arrive in Arenloch, however.  The cruel waters watched and waited until only a day remained in the journey.  Finally, the message was swallowed itself.

The last warm wind of the southern sea continued its own journey alone.  Arenloch came and went below; its people enjoyed the last ounce of warmth within the breeze.  Beyond the city, within the forests north of Arenloch, a man fought a losing battle for his life.  The man fought with all his strength against the Herald - a giant cursed with immortality - who had come to recover his enchanted  axe.

The last warm wind of the southern sea died alongside the man.  They would be buried under the coming snows of winter.

The first frigid wind of the northern mountains flew southward, bringing with it that snow.