It was dawn; the aftermath of a flash storm. Although the storm’s departure was just as swift as its arrival, the damage was immense. Broken streets, torn houses and lightning charred trees littered the once thriving town. The storm was like a lowly messenger summoned to their lord’s throne room, bearing sorrowful reports breathlessly. Then dismissed, and never to be known again, that one messenger had caused disruption to the everyday life of the town.
The sun peeked over the receding black storm clouds, shining its brilliance onto the ground below. The sky itself was cloaked in absolute splendor: a silken cloak dyed in hues of reds, purples, blues, and pink. It was as if the storm never occurred but was just a shadow hanging over the town that had finally passed. However, there was more to the storm than it meets the eye: it gave everyone a sense of dread; who was that maker behind the storm? Would the storm appear again? What would be next? No one could answer these unspoken questions, but fear lingered in the hearts of the citizens even if the hopeful dawn was rising.
Across the lightening land, there stood a forlorn tower made of black marble, surrounded by lush fields of farmlands and specks of grazing cattle visible towards the horizon. A pale flickering candle light shone behind a beaded dew window showing a young black haired man bent over in deep concentration on whatever he was studying. A closer look could provide one with an image of the man: short black hair that framed his rough pale face which brought out his sapphire blue eyes.
That man abruptly stood up without notice, and gazing across the circular room, he picked up a stained leather bound book from the countless shelves that were littered with novels, trinkets, and other substances. His feet on carpeted ground made the coldness of the storm fade away and replaced with warmth. He then sat down absent mindedly at his crude wooden desk and began to read. He was aware of the diminishing candle light, but the sun could almost brighten the dark room if time would allow.
The constantly melting candle wax reminded the black haired man how precious time was. Everyone was counting on him to decipher the arcane runes to a poem… and in the end, hopefully give a clue to the one that was needed to stop the destruction of the worlds and the creation of a beast an evil scientist-turned-alchemist had created.
A few hours more of intense reading, the man finally sighed contently. He was almost there: just a few more pages and he’ll have the whole prophecy, as he was beginning to call the poem, unlocked. The candle flame flickered as it made its last stretch to the bottom, and not before long, it vanished, leaving the room in utter darkness. Blinking tiredly, the man remembered how long he was there, sitting in his room, and doing what his lords required.
Hopefully that sleep wouldn’t do him wrong; the man stretched his arms above his head while his mouth parted in a silent yawn. The prophecy could wait: there wasn’t any point in working himself to death, if his logic was correct. Laying down on his bed the man closed his eyes and began to dream. But tiredness was overpowering his senses, so instead, the man fell immediately into a deep yet disturbing sleep. *~*
