Hello, my name is Riku and I'm a passionate writer from Finland! I mainly write original fantasy, horror and male/male romance (sometimes even NSFW) stories! I sincerely hope you'll enjoy my writings!
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Songs Into Stories: MastermindA black midnight strikes and with it comes the winds of malevolence. They howl dreadfully like a pack of hounds from hell, desiring to bite any poor creature that would dare to wander outside at their mercy. In fact, there was a lone figure defining the harrowing breezes, veiled in a dark cloak. Carrying a bucket filled with ice, he hurried among the corpses of abandoned buildings to find the one he had taken as his lair. A cold rain started to pour from the black sky while the man was on the move, causing him to move faster. The shrieks of the wind sounded outright eerie and sinister as they blew throughout the area of forsaken buildings that were left to rot, sounding like cries of spirits. The man had seen apparitions during these many years, so it wasn't farfetched to think that these grounds were haunted. Such a reputation was totally fine with him; it would keep most curious eyes away and not meddle with his work. Through the labyrinth of rust and debris, he eventually managed to reach the building that was in decent shape, at least when compared to its decayed brethren. A weak light above the entrance was trying its best to cast away the surrounding darkness, but was barely able to do so. It kept flickering in an unnerving way, sometimes going out for several seconds. Still it managed to guide the man to this huge warehouse. He opened the rusty metal door that let out a horrible creak as he forced it to move; it almost sounded like somebody had screamed. Once the man had passed through its frame, the metal door became a guardian once more, closing behind the man with a loud thud. The warehouse concealed a terrible secret. A huge part of the building was occupied by a noisy machine, the finest work of the man, although it wasn't perfect. Most of the metal pieces were covered in rust and there were many spots that were either sparking or smoking. The whole contraption looked like it could fall into pieces at any moment. But against all odds, it still stood there firmly, waiting for the moment when it would be able to unleash its powers and fulfill its purpose. It was a doomsday device. The man had been working on it for years, in the solitude of his warehouse. He was a genius, though not one of a sane kind. With this machine, he would make the whole world kneel before him and he would rule as the supreme lord. He could see this grand vision in his mind, and had been seeing it for years now. He wasn't like the other miserable dwellers of the world, he was different. Once the machine would be completed, he would claim the world as his own. And he had tried, tried so hard to be one with the masses, but hadn't felt comfortable in his skin of false fellowship, especially after the tragedy took his dearest away from him. Now bitter and hateful, he shed this skin like a snake and strived to become the one who would mold this world anew. One strike of the heaven's fire was the last thing he needed for his machine to come alive. For this purpose, he had installed a long and crude antenna on the roof. It was reaching for the heaven like a hideous mechanical hand, desperate for power. The genius was looking upwards, gazing at the black heaven through the couple of windows there were in the ceiling. The rain was starting to pound harder on the glass and he pondered if a storm was approaching. The water from the sky was relentlessly tormenting the warehouse and the gusts of wind were growing stronger, violently toying with the antenna. Still, it was able to remain there even at the mercy of the black heaven. The genius held high hopes that night for it really seemed like he would get the final powerful touch that would make his visions of greatness real. He opened a hatch in the machine and emptied the bucket of ice in there, then he observed the weather, staring at the windows above him. He waited and waited, but he wasn't exactly the most patient man in the world. The harsh wind and rain were there, causing some sort of storm, but there was no lightning, the one thing he required. He was pacing around the warehouse for a while, but he needed something to do. He noticed that a part of his machine was barely functioning, the cogs were loose, and so the genius grabbed his tools and started to work on the doomsday device. However, one thing led to another and soon it occurred that he was dismantling the grand machine, bit by bit. It wasn't as perfect as he wanted. The warehouse was getting more and more quiet as he tore the device into pieces, only the clanking of metal echoed within the confinements of the building. The truth was that this machine wasn't the first one he had created and it wouldn't be the last. During his years in solitude, the genius had built many different versions of the doomsday device, mostly following the same pattern but some of them being slightly different. Perhaps this was because of perfectionism. Or maybe just a result of his mind's obsession with being occupied. He was stuck in a cycle, building a device he could use to conquer the world, just needing to capture a single strike of lightning in order to unleash the machine's potential, but he would never be able to wait long enough for that to happen. He had a brilliant mind for sure, but it was also his biggest downfall. Constantly getting distracted and bored, he would repeat building the machine, only to break it down a while afterwards. For years the genius had been doing the same thing over and over again. So many years later he managed to finally realize this. The warehouse was eerily silent since all the sounds of the machine were gone. Shadows were lurking in every corner, kept in their spots by the flickering of lights. The outside world was engulfed by darkness, and so was the mind of the genius. He was on his knees on the cold floor, holding his head and crying, while the broken metal was scattered all around him, their stillness telling the tale of his ultimate failure. All his tools and the pieces of machine, they were all the same, just useless debris with no function in their shattered form. Years of work. He had sacrificed so many years of his life into making the machine, but for what? He didn't even want to rule anymore. A portion of his life, wasted just like that, having all these visions of grandeur, but losing his desire to make them reality. Bitter tears in his eyes, he just wished he could go back in time and prevent himself from wasting all these years. An idea sparked in his mind. While the last of his tears were rolling down his face, he stood up from the floor. He could do that, go back in time. He was a genius after all. He would make the impossible possible. The genius rushed to his worktable to scribble down blueprints. A little bit of designing, a little bit of time and he would be able to travel back to the days when he hadn't yet wasted his potential. He committed to this project completely, nothing else mattered. Once he was fully focusing on something, he couldn't think of anything else. Eating or sleeping, he barely allowed himself to enjoy these necessities. Day and night he worked on his newest device and if it worked, it wouldn't be his last one. He scavenged new tools from the neighboring buildings, finding just enough and in decent condition for him to wield. But it's not like anyone would miss them anyway; they were left to decay. Now they would aid the genius in his finest work yet. And one evening, it was done. The genius looked at the object that now lay on the worktable, on top of the blueprints that had given the start for its existence. He felt rather surreal as he stared at his new device, but he was also proud of himself, even though he wasn't sure if it was going to work or not. But he was quite confident that it would function as it should. The object didn't really look like much; it was a rusty cube with wires and screws sticking out of it and was the size of about an alarm clock. Inside its core, it let out a blue shimmer. The genius was admiring his own work and he carefully picked it up from the table to give some late inspections on it. He eyed the cube thoroughly, but didn't find anything that should be fixed. It was ready to be used. He stood up from his seat and held the cube with both hands delicately as if it was the most fragile thing – though it would be a major setback if it happened to break. The genius let his gaze wander around the warehouse, feeling oddly sentimental about all this, like he was leaving and never coming back. But maybe that was partly true. He wouldn't see this exact state anymore. The genius activated his gadget by pressing a button on one of its sides and the device started to whirr. The blue shimmer spread from its core to all its external parts and from there, it kept devouring everything in its way, engulfing the genius inside its glow. A vortex of blue light dominated the warehouse for a short moment until it suddenly disappeared with a loud boom like if something had exploded. The genius was gone and so was his device. All that was left behind were the broken metal clutter and the curious little shadows that had followed his work for so long. A black midnight strikes and with it comes the winds of malevolence. They howl dreadfully like a pack of hounds from hell, desiring to bite any poor creature that would dare to wander outside at their mercy. In fact, there was a lone figure defining the harrowing breezes, veiled in a dark cloak. Carrying a bucket filled with ice, he hurried among the corpses of abandoned buildings to find the one he had taken as his lair. There was a scent of storm in the air and he wanted to get indoors before it would unleash its full might. A little bit of drizzle started to soak him already as he moved like a shadow around the cemetery of deserted buildings. It wasn't hard for him to find the warehouse he was residing in. The only light in this accursed darkness was hanging above the entrance of the man's lair, acting like a beacon that would guide him home. This light remained strong even before the might of the incoming storm and smothering night. The vile winds on his trail, the man opened the door to the warehouse and slipped inside, safe from their cold and ruthless fangs. The grand contraption that used to claim most of the space in the warehouse was no more. Or more like, it hadn't been built yet. The genius had successfully traveled backwards in time, years before he had started to work on his doomsday device. Sadly, his little time machine gadget had broken in the process; he would have liked to go even farther back. However, this was enough for him and he felt content, being years younger now. The genius walked towards a new kind of machine he had recently created. It was a rather crude mass of metal and wires, though the most notable part of it was a mechanical hand it was able to move. The device was placed next to a table and on the table, there was a chess board. The genius pressed a button to turn on the machine and it rumbled a little as it came to life. His opponent was ready. The genius sat down on a chair and contemplated his first move. He grabbed a bottle of beer from the bucket of ice and got immersed in the board game. It was one of those things he had always wanted to learn. And now, as he was years younger, he thought it would be a perfect opportunity to study chess. His little robot here would aid him with this. He had his whole life ahead of him, and if he wanted to pursue world domination again, there was time for that. But for now, he would keep playing, and the world could sigh in relief as the one madman had something else to do with his time. But the world was inside his head, his sense of reality fabricated. His spirit is bound to his own personal hell, unable to perceive life beyond his little plane of existence. Though you can't long for something you don't know anything about. Trapped inside his dark bubble, he would keep building his machines and living his life drenched in madness. He was all alone and being held in a cage.Suffering In SilenceA thick fog had shrouded the town in its cold and dreary embrace. It felt unnatural, giving to the townsfolk the sensation that nothing could thrive inside its miserable guts. The radiant sun that had blessed the town just a while ago couldn't penetrate through the mist with its holy and life-giving rays, and so the town was trapped in dimness, for not even their artificial lights managed to bring illumination to their dwelling. The fog was like a dormant grand beast, sitting on the town's chest and smothered it, because the air seemed to stay completely still, there wasn't even a single gust of wind to be felt. The haze also silenced all the noises and within the weak-minded, it felt like they had entered a spirit realm as a punishment for something they didn't even remember doing. Not many people believed in spirits or any other supernatural things whatsoever anymore, but sometimes even these nonbelievers were left to ponder whether there was something behind the strange happenings that couldn't be explained by logic. No matter what their stance was regarding the existence of spirits, the eerie gloom the fog had brought over their town made everyone wandering outside look like lost souls, condemned to seek something they would never find. The mist had transformed everyone into dark figures that were unable to recognize each other and would just drift through the haze like nothing mattered to them. However, there was one individual who was constantly like this, not just on this particular foggy day. Milanvi had lived in this town for years, but still, nobody could recognize him. He was like a ghost, sometimes wandering outside, but not interacting with anybody. He was so dull that nobody ever paid any attention to him. And that day was no different, not to him. But that day, he was one of the many, he was part of the town in a strange way, since everybody was like ghosts to each other. But every day Milanvi blended in perfectly and no one could tell that he was there, had been all along. Milanvi was a very quiet young man. He seldomly started conversations with anyone and even when he did, he tried his best to get out of the situation as fast as he could. He just didn't want to waste anyone's time; he wasn't worth it. He was a stranger to everyone and thus, no one would miss him, no one would wonder how he was doing. He was an unseen background character, not someone people could remember or care about. Just a bland man you would forget within the same day. And since there was no one who could be considered as part of his pathetic lonely life, there was no one who could help him. Maybe it was his own fault, being so wretched that nobody wanted to be around him. Milanvi was carrying a lot of anguish inside, sometimes it felt crushing. But being the oddly silent man that he was, screaming his pain was something he was unable to do, it was like a curse and his lips were sealed. Sometimes he wanted to call for help, reach his hand from the pit of misery where he was dwelling, but there was no one out there who was willing to listen or grasp his hand. In the end, Milanvi had accepted his role as a living ghost. He remained in his pit that was getting deeper and filled with black water so he could drown. From the outside, he was a regular young man you would expect to bypass in the streets. Maybe you would occasionally see him inside the apartment building where you lived, maybe pondering who he was. But since he was so plain, you wouldn't waste any more time thinking about him. He just kept to himself, not wanting to bother anyone. From the surface he looked calm, like the water of a pond. But from the inside, there was a relentless chaos, deep under that still and calm water. It was killing him from within, and yet, he couldn't ask for help. He had understood that he had failed every aspect of his life and there were no brighter days ahead. He had suffered all his life and that would never change. He was tired of it all, so very tired. People tend to go for walks when they want to calm down and clear their head, but in Milanvi, it had the opposite effect. His mind was a busy one, and if there was nothing for him to focus on, darkness would easily veil it. But even with this risk, he still possessed a particle of the will to just go outside instead of counting the shadows on his walls or being mesmerized by the television. On some days, he was glad of the sight of fellow people. But sometimes, he was afraid of them all, unable to stay out for long as he was filled with the desire to get back home, to safety. He would just sit there while his soul would rot, suffering in silence. This foggy day, it was strangely ordinary for Milanvi. He breathed in the still but fresh air, enjoying how it filled his lungs, even if the air would poison him. Under the cover of thick mist, he would dare to glance around more as he didn't have to worry about accidentally making eye contact with people. They were just dark figures, ghosts just like him, wandering around immersed in their own little world. The air was cold, but somehow Milanvi found it comfortable, giving him sensations of serenity and being strangely connected to the outside world. He had no particular destination set in mind as he strolled around the town of fog, he would just aimlessly go wherever his feet would take him. He didn't expect anything out of the ordinary to happen during his visit to the guts of the haze, he assumed this being just another mundane day in his life, but strange things tend to happen when you least expect it. Every form Milanvi saw in the fog appeared blurred and every sound was muffled, so he didn't think much of it when he saw a shadowy figure pass by near him. He assumed this was just one of the townsfolk. But then they bypassed him again, moving back and forth. This person's erratic behavior did catch his interest, even though he usually didn't want to pay too much attention to other people, not wanting them to feel uncomfortable because of him. But this entity here, they didn't seem… real. They didn't seem to be a human being. At first Milanvi tried to glance at them sneakily from the corner of his eye, not daring to look directly at them. But little by little he became more interested in this mysterious being and got courage to take a better look at them. By the first glance, the entity appeared as a human since it had the height of a tall person and because they were veiled in black, they didn't seem to differ much from the dark forms of the townsfolk that were walking around. But how this thing moved… There was something unnatural about it. They moved swiftly around despite not running and their limbs were twitching in a horrifying way. In Milanvi's opinion, it was like a glitch in a video game. The being was wrapped in black rags that concealed their whole body. This of course only highlighted the most notable feature they possessed; they were wearing a pure white mask, the only facial features it held were the eyes. Pitch-black, empty eyes that were crying blood. Milanvi wasn't sure how to feel about the strange entity that clearly wasn't human. Should he be terrified? Curious? Ignore them completely? Were they real or had he lost the last remains of his sanity? Did they happen to be a specter that had appeared only to him? No one else paid any attention to them. But was it because of the fog or because the entity refused to be seen by others, Milanvi wasn't sure. The entity moved around Milanvi, clearly having some sort of interest in him. But they made no sounds, so Milanvi couldn't tell what they wanted from him. At first, he had found their presence quite distressing, but as he continued to stroll in the mist, the creature started to seem more and more harmless. What a strange thing it is, the human brain. Milanvi was more afraid of fellow people than an unnatural entity. Even in Milanvi's mind this was pretty absurd. But despite the being's scary looks, they hadn't shown any signs of hostility. They just were there, fascinated by Milanvi, joining in his wandering around the town. They were a companion Milanvi hadn't expected to get, but surprisingly, he didn't really mind this even though he probably should have. But of course, the question was burning in his mind: what was this creature? What was their purpose, why did they appear to him today? He was afraid to open his mouth and ask these questions from the entity, because if only he could see them, he would seem pretty crazy in the eyes of the townsfolk. Milanvi remained quiet, walking forward with the strange being circling around him, acting normal just like he did every day. Perhaps it was his subconsciousness that had made the decision. Milanvi had somehow managed to walk to the small port the town had. He had this strange feeling inside, like he needed to be here. But why? The silence was hanging over the port just like it had done around the rest of the town, but in here, Milanvi could hear some noises that proved there was life inside the guts of the fog. He could hear the seagull's sad caw a few times, maybe it was trying to find somebody because it couldn't stand the loneliness anymore inside the mist. Then the bird's sounds faded away like an old man's memory. The only sound left behind was the waters that weakly crashed against the pier and the bottom of the boats that remained stationary, slumbering and waiting for the moment when they could fulfill their purpose once more. The port felt serene. Milanvi couldn't see anything except some of the dark forms of the sleeping vessels. The fog was leading into the nothingness. It gave him the impression that there was absolutely nothing beyond the curtain of mist. This town was trapped in the fog, cut from the rest of the world. Or maybe, if you took the risk and would get lost in the haze willingly, it would lead you to a new place. A better place, perhaps. Milanvi stared into the grey emptiness and wondered what could possibly lie beyond it. At this moment he also noticed that the entity had ceased their erratic movements. Milanvi glanced at the being, it was just standing there by his side, staring into the mist and its nothingness. It was a little strange to see them this calm. Did they feel the pull to this port as well? Slowly the entity shifted the gaze of its empty eyes at Milanvi. Because of the lack of facial features and being incapable of making sounds, Milanvi wasn't sure what they wanted from him. Then the creature raised their hand and held it in the air; a manner that suggested the creature wanted Milanvi to grasp their hand. For a short moment he pondered this, even though his response didn't linger in his mind for long. Was there anything left for him here? The answer was obvious. Wherever the creature was inviting him to come, it would be better than this. Milanvi grasped the entity's hand; it felt cold but the grip was strong. The creature's long thin fingers that had claws in them closed Milanvi's hand in their clutch, surprisingly tenderly considering their terrifying look. The being started to guide Milanvi towards the fog, walking along the pier. Only the sound of Milanvi's quiet steps could be heard. Once the man and the monster had come to the far end of the pier and there was nothing but water and mist ahead, the entity still encouraged Milanvi to step forward. The man had his doubts and fears, because what would happen once he would take the decisive step? But like a guardian angel, the entity urged him to let go and walk. Milanvi took a deep breath, his last one in the town of mist, and grasping tightly the creature's hand, he stepped over the last board of the pier and began to walk on the fog together with the entity. The sound of Milanvi's steps faded away. There was only silence. Hand in hand the man and the monster disappeared to the mist. Milanvi had been the silent unseen man all this time, so nobody would notice that he wasn't there in the background anymore. Eventually the thick fog that had veiled the town would fade away, and with that, so would the memories of Milanvi even existing. Behind him, he had left nothing but silence.Songs Into Stories: Church AsylumEvery individual carries sins with them and Milrath was no exception. But his sins were so heavy, his crimes so severe that he could feel their weight on his back constantly, no matter where he went, no matter if he tried to find some hidden purity from his stained and twisted soul. His sins were like a corpse that was riding on his back, reminding him of his bad deeds and laughing while the weight would crush him. And some of his sins followed him from the shadows, sneaking around him, watching, judging, sometimes they were pulling the shadow his own body casts. There was evil inside him, Milrath was aware that he was a bad man, but that was a twist in his life; unlike most people like him who have done wicked, terrible things, he felt guilt and wished for forgiveness. He wanted to get rid of the darkness that had a hold of his soul. For a long while already, Milrath had been running away from himself, but so far it had been futile. And yet, still he was trying. The snowstorm was awful that day. The visibility was very poor and the huge snowflakes were getting into Milrath's eyes while the freezing wind was cutting him with its cold viciousness and he had to protect his face with his arm. Traversing the mountain road was hard in such weather, it took a lot of effort to be able to proceed when there was a thick snow blanket covering the ground. Still Milrath found strength to keep going, refusing to let the storm overpower him. His sanity was being tested with the unnatural sounds he could hear from the depths of the mountain and occasionally he could see figures dancing behind the veil of snow, appearing and disappearing, and there was no way to tell what he saw and heard was real and what wasn't. But even though the mountain was playing these tricks, Milrath remained adamant and he continued his lonely journey. After some time, however, the mountain decided to show mercy on Milrath. As he was getting closer to the top, the snowstorm which had been tormenting him this whole time started to subside gradually and the wind lost its harshness, and Milrath didn't have to shield his eyes anymore. The blizzard had calmed down into a mild snowfall and as Milrath progressed, it then ceased completely, and suddenly the skies were clear and the great radiant sun was blessing the mountain with its light. Such an odd travel this had been, Milrath surmised in his head when he was unexpectedly basking in the golden rays of the sun. He wondered if the mountain had been testing him, to see if he was worthy of what he was seeking. It was the only reason he could think of to explain the strange weather anomaly. But now, as he was completely free from the snowstorm and could see around, he now had his destination in sight. A great building stood tall in the cold embrace of the mountain, surrounded by pillars of ice that never melted; it looked like the ice and the black stone had fused together. The building was a church and everything in its exterior looked sharp, like every nook of it was meant to pierce evil. A couple of towers were puncturing the sky and here and there Milrath could see gargoyles guarding the holy structure. He could feel their stony gazes at him as they silently observed and judged him; they could see all the sins he had brought with him. Milrath felt like they could get on their wings and attack him at any second. Under their harsh stares, Milrath cautiously walked towards the church, every now and then glancing at the stone monsters because he was afraid that they would come to life. But they remained stationary even when Milrath had managed to reach the grand double doors that granted entrance to the building. He raised his shaky hand and knocked on the dark wood. There was no response for a while. Milrath pondered if anyone had even heard his knocking. But just when he was about to knock again, one of the doors slowly creaked open and somebody peaked their head outside; a young man who was wearing priest's black robes. “How can I help you?” the young man asked humbly as he pushed the door more open. “I'd like to have a word with the high priest”, Milrath responded quietly. “Of course. Come inside”, the young priest invited him and stepped aside so Milrath could make his way in. Soon the door was closed again, leaving the coldness to the outside world. Milrath learned as soon as he had stepped in that the building was just as magnificent from the inside as it was on the outside. Beautiful pieces of artwork, whether it was paintings or sculptures, decorated the place moderately, portraying saints of the past. Gorgeous candelabras brought a little bit of light inside, together with the sunshine that flowed from the windows. The church was silent, but Milrath could feel some strange vibration in the air; maybe it was some sort of holy energy? “Follow me”, the young man said as he passed Milrath and kept walking forward. “The high priest is in the prayer room.” Without saying a word, Milrath started to follow the priest. The sound of their steps was muffled by the blue long carpet that stretched somewhere into the heart of the building. Milrath could distinguish a pair of doors in the distance and assumed that it was where they were heading. The journey wasn't long, but it felt uncomfortable to Milrath since just like the gargoyles outside, he could feel all the people in the paintings and sculptures judging him. Maybe he just had to get used to it. Once he and the priest had reached the doors, the young man pushed them open and they were allowed to enter the prayer room. It was the most magnificent place Milrath had ever seen in his life and he got filled with the radiating holy powers that dwelled in this room. It made him feel humble. The place was spacious; two rows of church pews took their places on the left and right side of the room. The most well-crafted candelabras were standing here and there and currently they were holding candles that brought a scent of honey into the air. At the far end of the room there was the altar, the heart of the church. Three tall stained-glass windows depicting holy figures were the ones that captured Milrath's gaze for the longest time. The altar consisted of a white pedestal where various objects were waiting for their use, though Milrath couldn't tell what they were used for. Then there were two other pedestals at the left and right side of the altar, filled with vivid flowers. Milrath was a little surprised as he saw the plants; they were blooming beautifully, even though they were inside a building located in the mountain where snow and ice never melted. Maybe it was just one of the holy miracles this place held. It really left Milrath with a sense of awe. There were a few people, all of them priests, on the altar, mumbling something Milrath couldn't hear. Soon they noticed him and the young priest walking closer and the whole group turned to look at them. Once they had reached the altar, the young priest made a slight bow and said: “A guest has asked to speak with you, your honor.” Milrath wasn't exactly sure who was the high priest as all of them wore the same black robes. However, there was undeniable authority radiating from one of the priests. A middle-aged man with long blond hair with certain dignity carved onto his face. And his eyes, Milrath had never seen such bright blue eyes. All the priests were observing him, but the one with those stunning eyes seemed to be able to look deeper, right into the very soul. Milrath felt so small, so insignificant in front of him. It was like the priest knew every bad deed he had done just by looking at him. Milrath's hunch about who was the high priest turned out to be correct. He opened his mouth and said: “Welcome, guest. Will you tell us your name?” Milrath fell on one knee in order to show respect and lowered his head. “My name is Milrath.” “Such a strong name”, the high priest said. “You may call me Casmia. What is it you seek from the house of Melresh?” Milrath barely knew what Melresh was; he was the great lord of the sun and this church had been built to worship him. But Milrath was pretty sure he would get more acquainted with this sun lord if he was allowed to stay and he said: “I'm humbly asking for your guidance and an asylum. Please, give me a place to stay and purify my wretched soul and I will pray to lord Melresh's name.” He lifted his head again and met once more the blue eyes of Casmia. For one short moment the high priest was piercing his soul and Milrath felt like he couldn't hide a single thing about himself. It worried him, for would Casmia let him stay once he knew the truth about him? “Very well.” Milrath almost couldn't believe his ears. The high priest had given him his permission. It was probably the greatest thing that had happened to him in years. “Oh, thank you, your honor!” Milrath exclaimed and stood up. “I will show my devotion to Melresh with all my heart.” “I do not doubt that”, Casmia said calmly. “Now, I will give you a little tour. Please, follow me.” It was that moment when Milrath thought his soul could be purified and he could gain a new start for himself, free from the sins of the past. Seeking guidance from faith was the last thing he could think of that could help him to redeem himself. He hated and feared the man he had become, but when you're born wicked, it's hard to not be like that, it's hard to strive to become something else, something better. Not all were able to resist their nature. But Milrath had this small strand of thought slithering inside his head, like a snake, that he could turn his life around. He allowed that snake to grow, absorbing its essence. Milrath himself felt like a snake as he gave up his clothes he had worn for a long time, thus shedding his skin. From that point on, he was wearing the black robes of a priest. These robes were his new scales and through them he could soak up the golden light of lord Melresh. Milrath adapted to his new life quickly. Living in the church was rather simple; pray and help those who occasionally would come to seek aid from the church. The high priest Casmia also demanded silence whenever they weren't praying, but that wasn't hard to achieve, although Milrath found this to be a little strange since Casmia was so adamant about it. But maybe it had something to do with this being a sacred place of worship and it was necessary to keep it devoutly silent. Just like the life of priests, their diet was simple as well, consisting of bread and water. That was probably the thing Milrath had most trouble getting used to, somewhere in the back of his mind was a voice that craved the meat of other living beings. But he wouldn't let himself consume flesh any more, his body had to turn into a holy instrument and shouldn't be tainted with anything, like with eating substances of other creatures; you'll never know if they've been even grazed by something evil. Bread and water should suffice as he would be vitalized by the holy light of Melresh. He thought that he had been able to run from himself and hide in the mountain of light. But radiant light also casts a dark shadow. These hands that now would be gently pressed against each other to pray had raised a blade to spill blood and end a life, more than once. These eyes that were allowed to witness the holy power of Melresh in the altar where the most vibrant flowers bloomed, they had been filled with hatred and watched how the light of a human life was extinguished. This black heart that was now letting in the golden sunshine had never learned how to love, only hate. Milrath had opened up his heart to seek guidance from the light, but it was hard to shed every bad deed he had done. He was able to feel guilt, perhaps that was a good sign. So many of his own crimes were haunting him in his sleep, the faces and the screams and the begging of all of his victims just repeated themselves in his nightmares. He wanted to forget them, perhaps even yearning for their forgiveness although he was sure he would never deserve that, so he continued to pray. Such a tormented soul. And every day he could feel the gaze of judgement by Casmia's piercing blue eyes. The high priest seldomly spoke with him, but Milrath couldn't help but notice that he was often staring at him. Casmia always remained expressionless so Milrath had no way of knowing what he was thinking or what he was searching for with his invading gaze. But it was uncomfortable, like he was keeping track of the beast Milrath had tried so hard to conceal from everybody. However, Casmia still let him stay in the church, so Milrath felt also a spark of hope whenever he was looking at him with those eyes that seemed to see everything. Milrath tried so hard to become a better man through faith, there was no doubt about that. However, no matter how much he prayed, no matter how devoted he strived to be, a monster still lived inside him. It never went away, it was merely slumbering, waiting for the day when it could raise its ugly head again. It had been there since the very beginning of his life; there was no way it could be separated from him. It didn't take long before Milrath would kill again. The monster was whispering to him, making him crawl back to his old tendencies. All it took was a quarrel with another priest and in a fit of rage Milrath had ruthlessly taken his life by stabbing. He just left the corpse to rot for other priests to find. They were merely the first drops of blood that would be spilled in the church. The beast was now loose and it would attack anyone. The faith, the radiance of sun and holy powers of Melresh, none of them were able to chasten the monster, and Milrath's attempts at striving to become a better person had ultimately failed. He would sin again, killing people who had shared their lives, food and prayers with him. He would take lives as if he had the authority to decide when someone's life should end. Why was he doing this? Even Milrath himself wasn't sure. He had been born wicked and as wicked he would stay. His desire to kill was unnatural, but so tainted and twisted his soul was that he didn't even care anymore. He had tried to run away from his true self, but it had caught him and stuck with him until the day he would die. The mountain church soon transformed from a holy place to a house of horror. Murders would happen frequently; the blood of the priests were staining the holy ground. Anxiety blossomed among the priests as they didn't know who or what was carrying out these murders and of course, Milrath's lips were sealed. In fear for their lives, some of the priests even decided to flee, abandoning the church that had been their home for decades. Some adamantly stayed, like high priest Casmia. Milrath had avoided him as well as he could, for he was sure the high priest was able to just take a quick glance at his soul and find out the truth behind the murders. However, he wouldn't get away with these slaughters forever. In the end, the culprit would always get exposed. One morning, the atmosphere inside the church felt heavy somehow. Milrath could tell something was different the moment he left his quarter. The church was always silent, but that morning, it was even more quiet, like in a grave that had been sealed for centuries. Milrath saw no one as he slowly walked towards the prayer room where all the priests gathered first thing in the morning to make their first prayers of the day. The great double doors were open and Milrath noted that everyone else was in the prayer room already. They had been muttering something between each other with low voices, but as soon as they noticed Milrath coming, they went silent. It was suspicious. Very suspicious. There was tension in the air, but nonetheless, they held the morning sermon just like any other day. Once this was done, however, Casmia then spoke to Milrath: “Brother Milrath, could you please kneel down?” Milrath instantly felt a sting in his black heart. Casmia was staring at him with that familiar piercing gaze, but somehow, it felt even more intense than ever before. He knew. He definitely knew. Nonetheless, Milrath did as the high priest had told and fell on one knee, just like he had done the day they first met. There had been many eyes judging him during all these years, but Casmia's gaze was without a doubt the sharpest one, giving Milrath even physical pain. For a moment Casmia just watched him and let the tension in the air drill into his skull. His back felt heavy as if all the sins he had carried throughout the years were gathering into a single mass, wanting to crush him. “Brother Milrath.” Casmia's voice resonated powerfully within the prayer room. “You came here asking for guidance and an asylum. I accepted your presence and granted them to you and you took lord Melresh into your heart. Or so I thought.” The sunlight behind the stained-glass windows suddenly became brighter and Milrath found it blinding. He had proudly stared at Casmia's face, but the light forced him to look down, making him look more humble than he wanted. “When I first saw you, I knew you were a sinner. That is the reason you came here in the first place, am I correct?” A moment of silence followed these words. However, Casmia soon continued. “You wanted to wash away your sins. That is a noble idea. You hoped that from faith you could find a blade of light that could slay your inner demons. But devoting your life to lord Melresh was not enough to kill them.” Milrath felt like there was a clawed hand inside him, crushing his heart more and more firmly with each word that came out of Casmia's mouth. His heart was a black one, but still a heart nonetheless. From the start Milrath had felt like Casmia could read his soul, but just how accurately he was able to do it was frightening. “I pity you, harbinger of darkness. You gave in to your inner evil and disturbed the house of Melresh. You wanted to feed your demons and so you fed them with the blood and flesh of your brothers. That can never be forgiven.” Milrath heard how multiple steps came closer to him. He could practically feel the eyes of priests on him, judging and despising him. He remained stationary like a statue, his head still low because of the brightness of the sunlight. He knew that this was the day of ultimate judgment, but would he accept it? “Brothers!” Casmia's voice echoed strongly in the room, so strongly that it almost felt like the building was shaking. “What is the fate of Milrath? Is it absolution and exile? Or is it execution?” There was only a short moment of whispering among the priests, they all came to the same conclusion very quickly. Milrath's black heart was trembling. “We have decided that Milrath's fate is…”The Flowers Are LyingA tender breeze caressed a deer's hair and ear as he lied on the ground on his side. It was a soft spot to lay on, the grass felt like a pillow, and so he had no haste in getting up. A delicate smile appeared on his face and he nudged his face against the soft grass. Maybe he could just lay there for a little while longer… The spot was so comfortable, like a finest bed. He was sure he had never slept in a bed that was as cozy as this one. He pondered this for a moment, until he realized something and suddenly opened up his eyes. He had forgotten who he was, except for his name; Kimene. At least he thought it was his name. A distressing observation to anyone, but for a reason Kimene didn't really understand, he wasn't that bothered by it. He felt calm and relaxed, but also curious. He decided to heave his body from the ground and was in a sitting position. He looked around him and was quite stunned by his surroundings. The scenery was dominated by various hues of blue; the grass, the trees, flowers, the creek and the sky… everything was blue. It was like straight from a fairy tale. Kimene was almost waiting for some little sprites to come out and dance on the flowers or on the surface of the water. But he didn't spot anything or anyone. Though, maybe he could find somebody around these parts, somebody who could tell him what this place was or how he had ended up here or perhaps even who he was. He got on his feet, still marveling at the miraculous world around him and started to stroll around. Kimene could hear the mellow sound of water flowing as it ran through its designated path. The kind wind was rustling the leaves of the trees and played with the grass, creating a soft concert. But in addition to these natural sounds one would expect to hear, a different kind of and a little mystifying noise made its way to Kimene's ears. It was like a chime of wind chimes, delicate and gentle. Kimene couldn't tell where it was coming from at first, but eventually as he continued to listen, he figured out that it was coming from some of the flowers. Upon this understanding, he ceased his quest for finding other beings for a moment and just observed the strange flowers. He liked flowers. Maybe that was why he found these ones so pleasant. And there were so many different kinds of flowers, like some had gold dust sparkling and dancing above them and some even emitted a little bit of glow. This delighted Kimene greatly, now he felt even more that he was inside of a fairy tale, just like the ones his mother used to tell him. Wait… His mother? Kimene suddenly felt bewildered. Somehow, through the fog in his mind that was shrouding his memories, he could reach fragments that were related to his mother. It was an odd sensation, getting back a piece of his life like that. But there were still many puzzle pieces missing. Perhaps he could find them if he looked around a bit more. Kimene got on the move again, still feeling a bit baffled, and accompanied with the need to learn more about himself. However, the chime of flowers filled him with a sensation that everything was well. This place seemed like a sanctuary of some sort. But no matter how wonderful it was, Kimene couldn't shed the desire to find someone else. Even if this was a paradise, it would be an awfully lonely one. He wandered around for some time, but the only beings he saw were butterflies that enjoyed the nectar of the gorgeous flowers. It was still nice to see there were some critters here. Soon after spotting the butterflies, Kimene also noticed a tree with fruits. He did feel a bit of hunger, so he decided to pick one. He stepped towards the tree and reached for one of the fruits, grasping it tightly. He picked it up and examined it a little bit. It resembled a yellow apple and its surface was smooth and flawless. Kimene took a bite and focused on the fruit's flavor. Oddly, it tasted more like a peach than apple, but it was still pleasant and sweet. Kimene consumed it happily and picked up a couple more, putting them inside his bag. He resumed his exploration in this beautiful place, feeling a bit more content now that he had found something tasty to eat. He put a mental note on where the tree was, but it was likely that he could find more of those elsewhere. Kimene's attention was completely stolen by a sudden golden light that was shot right into the sky, just a little further ahead of him. For a brief second he watched how it kept climbing higher and higher until it faded away completely. But, he was curious to see what had caused it in the first place and he began to move to the direction where the light had come from, behind a line of trees. Upon further inspection, Kimene noticed that the trees had grown in a weird formation here, they formed a circle. The light had probably originated from the center of this circle, but right now, there was nothing noteworthy, just a patch of crimson flowers. Though it was a little strange, considering how everything in here was blue. Then Kimene's sensitive ears picked up a sound nearby; something was coming towards him, rustling the vegetation near the circle of trees. Kimene was curiously staring at the direction where the sound was coming, until finally, somebody appeared from behind the trees. He wasn't quite sure what this person was, he looked like a feline but with dragon-like characteristics. His fur was mostly red with black stripes decorating it, but there were bits with light brown. But what Kimene found the most striking about his appearance was the stunningly blue eyes. However, his looks aside, Kimene was plagued by a feeling that he knew this person, but he couldn't reach his memories of him, not just yet. But he was happy to finally meet someone, it didn't matter whether they were acquaintances or not. “Hello there!” Kimene said cheerfully and raised his hand in a greeting manner. “I'm Kimene. Who might you be?” The feline dragon was staring at him in a similar way as how Kimene had just observed him. It seemed like he too was getting the sensation that he knew Kimene, but wasn't sure how. “I'm Amaru”, he answered as he took a few steps closer, turning his head slowly to look at the sky. “I followed the golden light…” “Oh, me too!” Kimene exclaimed and shifted his gaze upwards as well. “I wonder what it was.” “Huh. Just one more oddity this place has to offer.” Amaru then looked at Kimene again. “Are you… from these parts?” “No”, Kimene answered and shook his head slightly. “I just woke up here a while ago, all my memories gone.” He tilted his head a little bit. “Don't tell me your story is the same.” “Well, unfortunately it is”, Amaru said. “Oh…” Kimene was pondering something for a brief moment. “Maybe we should stick together, what do you say?” “Fine by me”, Amaru answered. “Great!” Kimene was happy to have some company. “Let's look around a little.” They picked a random direction and infiltrated through the vegetation to proceed. All the blueness around felt mesmerizing and tranquil as they wandered around this strange land. A serene feeling had conquered Kimene's soul, meanwhile Amaru, he had a seed of doubt inside. Kimene was happily strolling and investigating his surroundings, but Amaru couldn't shed a feeling that something was wrong here. Very, very wrong. But since he had lost his memories too, he couldn't quite understand this nagging feeling. It was frustrating. They came upon a patch of flowers again that were glowing in light blue color and they chimed their song. Kimene was the first one to stop and listen. He tilted his head from side to side, in a tune that Amaru couldn't perceive. Of course, he could hear the pleasant chime of the flowers, but it seemed like Kimene was more captivated by them than he was. “Do you like flowers, Amaru?” Kimene asked. “I think so”, Amaru replied. “But don't you think… that there's something off about these ones?” “Hmm…” Kimene was thinking again for a little while. “I don't know. They're beautiful. This whole place is beautiful and feels like a sanctuary.” “Can't deny that”, Amaru said quietly. “But it's like I can sense things… And something definitely is wrong here.” “Maybe you should just let yourself relax a bit more”, Kimene said and turned to face him, a smile decorating his face. “This place doesn't seem hostile. What if we took a break here? Perhaps resting will make you feel more comfortable.” Kimene gently captured Amaru's hand and looked him in the eyes. A small gesture of tenderness, but with strong consequences. A vortex of sensations suddenly surged through their bodies. There definitely was a bond between them, they could sense it now more clearly. It was like their hearts were beating as one, that their souls were entangled tightly. Insides filled with warm and strong emotions which they had forgotten for a moment, but now they were trying to come back, breaking through the shroud that lingered in their minds because of something they didn't remember happening. And still, their shared memories refused to be seen, something was causing them to run away. But at least now they were sure that there was a bond between them, something so powerful that wasn't shared with just anybody. Kimene felt confused and overwhelmed for a minute because of the spark he had just experienced after touching Amaru's hand. Still he continued to hold it, still he was looking at his stunningly blue eyes. But it all was so strange. How did he know this man? He didn't remember him at all, but why did it feel like this was the most important person in his life? Maybe Amaru's hunch was right… Maybe something truly was wrong with this place. “I want to remember you, but I can't”, Kimene spoke silently, sadness dripping from his words. “I can sense it… You're important somehow.” “I feel the same”, Amaru responded and touched Kimene's cheek tenderly. “But we'll find a way to get our memories back, okay?” “Okay…” A weak smile appeared on Kimene's face and he touched Amaru's hand. “Let's look around more, then”, Amaru said. “Surely there is something helpful we can find.” Hands were then separated, but only to find their meaning back. Kimene and Amaru decided to follow a creek, the water leisurely flowing forward. A silence had fallen in between the duo, for the bewildered feeling still remained. Both were trying to process it, but it was hard when you couldn't remember what those sensations meant. It seemed now that trying to restore their memories was an even more important task than before. There was a crack in the flawless surface. Amaru noticed how some of the flowers they saw on their path were flickering, like they would disappear for a blink of an eye, but then return to their spot like nothing had even happened. It gave a sensation that this was a fabricated reality. Amaru probably shouldn't have been able to see what he did and the flowers knew this, too. They started to chime even more enticingly and spread a fragrance that had soothing properties. It started to take hold of Kimene again, for some reason he was more prone to their intoxicating effects. Amaru looked at him with worry, because he didn't want anything to harm this deer, the feeling was so deeply rooted in his heart that it didn't matter that he couldn't remember Kimene. They had to get out of here, they just had to. Amaru wondered what would happen if he destroyed the flowers. He put this thought in the action as he started to stomp on the closest ones, crushing them completely with his feet. Their chime turned dull and their bright colors faded away. He ravaged every flower he saw and as he did so, he could hear a faint screech traveling to his ears from somewhere far away. For him that was enough proof that this wasn't a paradise, this was a fake. “What are you doing?” Kimene asked after watching Amaru stomping on the plants for a moment. “Something in these flowers… They're harmful to us”, Amaru responded. He damaged the last flower that still remained and was pretty pleased with his work. “Did you hear the scream? Something didn't want me to destroy the flowers.” Kimene shook his head. “I didn't hear anything.” “Well, I did. Clearly what I just did affected this world somehow”, Amaru said. Before they could say anything else, a golden light suddenly appeared from ahead, behind the trees, and rushed towards them. It circled around Kimene and Amaru for a little while, like a comet, before it went back to the direction where it had come from, disappearing from sight once again, leaving Kimene and Amaru to ponder its true nature. “Do you think… that it wants us to follow it?” Kimene asked quietly. “Perhaps. I think it's worthwhile to check out”, Amaru answered. “Come on, let's go.” The duo resumed their journey, except that now they had a little different goal in mind. Whatever the golden light was, it didn't seem malicious. Maybe it was trying to aid them. Maybe it had helped them to find each other when it had first appeared. Amaru had decided to trust in its guidance, especially since he got a different feeling from it. The light didn't possess this veiled oppressive sensation that the rest of this world had. They hoped that the light had gone straight ahead, because following anything was a hard thing to do when there were so many trees and other plants in the way. It was yet another strange thing this place had to offer; it was like vegetation had turned significantly more dense the further Kimene and Amaru were wandering. It felt quite smothering and gave this haunting sensation that the plants didn't want them to go. They wanted to keep them here, forever. It was unclear whether the plants had been growing this tightly from the start or had they just suddenly shifted their roots to create this thick formation. Unfortunately, it started to seem that it was the latter. The plants were like a cage, imprisoning Kimene and Amaru inside. “Amaru, I don't know if we can get further here”, Kimene groaned as he tried to push through a thick bush. “Maybe… maybe we can find another way around”, Amaru said, stopping for a moment, pondering their options. “Maybe if we go back and try some other direction…” He knew that they were pretty much stuck here. Without a proper tool, they had thin chances to get through the walls the plants had built on their way. It was probably only getting worse. With their branches and vines, they would form shackles and prevent them from ever escaping. Such a hopeless picture had been painted. However, miraculously, before Kimene and Amaru were able to lament their fate that much, the golden light appeared to them once more. It pierced through the dense formation of plants like a beacon and stopped in front of Kimene. The deer looked at the orb of light with confusion, especially when it started to circle around his hand. He raised this same hand and saw how golden light particles began to float above it. It was magic. “What the…?” Kimene was staring with wide eyes at his own hand and Amaru had gone silent, too. The golden light had awakened something within Kimene, the gift that had been granted to him when he had been a child. Eventually the orb of light moved aside and disappeared again, but its effect remained. The little particles around Kimene's hand turned green and as he clenched his hand into a fist, a green flame burst out and consumed it. But this didn't hurt Kimene, it was empowering him. He unleashed his newly found might and touched the plants in front of him. They immediately were engulfed with green flames and the fire just kept spreading. Kimene's magical flames destroyed all the obstacles on his and Amaru's path and now that they had the means to counter the smothering forest, they could freely proceed. The screech Amaru had heard earlier rushed into his ears once more, but more sharply, sounding more frustrated than before. Harming the plants apparently was making it angry. That gave Amaru an idea. “Kimene, burn every plant you can, especially flowers and trees”, Amaru said. “Okay, but will you tell me why?” Kimene responded while maintaining his green flames. “I heard the shriek again”, Amaru explained. “Maybe it is the entity that trapped us here and took our memories. If we can lure it out, maybe we can confront it and get out.” “Oh, alright”, Kimene said and did what Amaru had suggested. It was time to burn the paradise. The green fire consumed pretty much everything on their way as they kept going forward. Kimene was bewildered by the power he wielded, but the longer he continued burning the plants, the more familiar his abilities started to feel. It was a skill he had forgotten, but little by little it all was coming back to him. It was part of his core. Eventually, however, casting the fire started to feel really draining and Kimene was getting exhausted. He hadn't expected himself to be able to use magic for a long period of time, but finding out his limits was still a disappointment. He delivered the last few flames from his hand before he had to stop. He felt so weary, like if he had just done physically hard work. He had to catch his breath for a brief moment. “You did well”, Amaru praised as he came by the deer's side and patted him on the back. Kimene didn't get much time to rest when suddenly reality started to shift. He snatched Amaru's hands and grasped them tightly, afraid of what was happening around them. Some purple lights appeared that devoured everything, absolutely everything so Kimene and Amaru were standing in a black nothingness for a second. Then a really bright white light appeared, so bright that Kimene and Amaru had to shield their eyes. When it faded away, they found themselves standing on a blue plain that seemed endless, but as they let their gaze wander around, they couldn't possibly miss the most disturbing aspect of the place. At first it had looked like there were oddly shaped clouds in the sky, but then Kimene and Amaru realized that they weren't clouds. They were pale faces. Sorrow and torment had been carved onto them and they glided through the sky, disappearing and then reappearing. Out of nowhere emerged an entity that stole Kimene and Amaru's full attention. It was a hunched figure, dressed in dark purple robes that were filthy and ragged. Vine-like appendages filled with thorns were sticking out of various parts of the creature's body, moving eerily like snakes. A hood was covering most of the entity's head, but Kimene and Amaru could still see an abhorrent half-rotten face of some predatory beast that was emitting purple saliva. The creature let out a horrible shriek and at that moment Amaru knew that this thing was the one whose screams he had heard earlier. “Ruiners, filthy ruiners!” the creature yelled with a horribly gruff voice. “You won't leave! Ever!” The entity crouched and touched the ground with one of its hands. A few vines with thorns grew immediately from the ground and they rushed towards Kimene and Amaru. They embraced each other tightly as the vines were forming a cage around them. Kimene was still exhausted from using magic, he couldn't possibly do anything to get out of the situation. Amaru didn't know what to do. Maybe there was no other option than to just surrender to your fate. Something dropped from the sky and broke the upper part of the plant cage. It was the golden light again. “No!” the entity screamed. “You can't! Begone!” The golden light made a couple circular movements inside the cage and it managed to destroy the vines; it was like they had got consumed by golden flames. This effect reached all the way to the entity who got stunned by the burst of light. Kimene and Amaru were still holding onto each other, feeling quite astounded by these sudden events. They simply watched at the creature that was on its knees, the power of the golden light still affecting it. But, as Amaru stared at this mysterious entity, a strange but also familiar feeling found its way into his soul. He could feel a tingling sensation in his left hand. He let go of Kimene and started to slowly approach the creature. While doing this, he was unwrapping the bandages on his left arm and hand, revealing that this limb had a blue shimmer in it. Once he was standing in front of the entity, he touched its head with his blue hand, guided by some instinct he could feel within his heart. By the moment Amaru touched the being, a blue light engulfed its whole body. It glowed in the color of the sky for a little while, but then the light started to scatter, breaking down the creature's figure. A wind swept away these pieces until nothing remained, like if the entity had never even existed. Amaru and Kimene were left to wonder what it actually had been. Once the creature disappeared, the surroundings around Kimene and Amaru shifted again. The plain simply faded away slowly, a different reality taking its place. They found themselves in the middle of a forest, but this time, it was a regular one, so it had to be real. There was absolutely nothing out of ordinary and after experiencing the twisted paradise, it was a welcome sight. Kimene and Amaru kept glancing around happily, being just so unbelievably glad to be back in the world they belonged to. It was nighttime and the silvery moon was glowing in the sky; everything was bathing in its light. Seeing it and the stars that accompanied the great pale sphere, it was washing away the horrors of the parallel world. Soon after Kimene and Amaru were back to their own world, their memories were freed as well and they came back with a blast. They finally knew who they were, but most importantly, they remembered each other again and how much the other one meant to them. Kimene and Amaru stared each other in the eyes as the overwhelming love came back to them and they could feel again how every single little memory they had was enhanced by their true feelings. They rushed towards each other and got locked in an embrace, hearts beating as one. They held each other and kissed passionately, being just so incredibly happy that they had survived this horrifying ordeal. Everything would be alright. They had survived. Together. The golden light appeared to them one last time. Kimene and Amaru broke their embrace for a little while to acknowledge its presence. The light circled around them a few times before it stopped in front of them. “Thank you”, Kimene whispered and smiled. Then the light shot itself upwards and Kimene and Amaru watched it go until they couldn't see it anymore. They weren't sure what it had been, but it was thanks to this light that they got out. Under the blessing of the moon, Kimene and Amaru began to walk away. Hopefully their journey would lead them to pleasant experiences next time.Painted In StoneIt was an exceptionally bright summer day that woke Kanin up. Many moons had passed since the last time she was awake, she couldn't really tell the exact time, but it wasn't anything unusual in her case. When the sun was at its highest point in the cloudless sky, the warm and golden rays managed to travel through the holes on the ceiling of the cavern and shine on Kanin's face. As a reptile, she found the warmness of the sun quite enjoyable. She raised her head and looked up, making an observation of the above world. It seemed to be a beautiful day, not only because of the sunlight, Kanin noted that a mellow breeze was rustling the leaves of the trees, all of them possessing stunningly green foliage, some even had grown flowers. Kanin nodded her head approvingly, as if somebody had asked her if today was a fine day. She got onto her feet and stretched her limbs because it had been a while since the last time she had used them. She rustled her colorful feathers a little and she was ready to go. Kanin lived in a cozy cavern; there were a few holes scattered here and there that let in the light of day. But of course, it also gave shelter against rain and wind, making it quite an ideal place to live. But she didn't dwell there alone, her best friend Upai shared the cavern with her. And then there were also the fossils, remnants of the past, that had survived since the ancient times. Among them, there were crystals as well, preserving something miraculous and magical that otherwise would be forgotten. The cavern was quite a mystifying place, but more importantly, it was a home. As she walked around the cavern, Kanin pondered whether Upai was even awake. She kept glancing around, trying to catch a glimpse of her best friend, but didn't see her. It wasn't until Kanin had made her way to the grand entrance of their dwelling when she spotted Upai. So, she had woken up as well. Glad to see her friend again, Kanin started to walk towards her. They were quite different, Kanin and Upai. Kanin was a raptor that had lived since the lost times when dinosaurs inhabited the world. She had a very colorful plumage, making her pretty gorgeous sight. Upai, on the other hand, she was like a salamander, having an affinity with crystals. There were a few of them growing from her body, holding the colors of the rainbow. They had met aeons ago and formed a friendship that had lasted since ancient times. A bond like that, it was a treasure. “Good morning, Upai”, Kanin greeted as she emerged from the cavern. “It's technically not a morning anymore”, Upai pointed out, but maintained a smile on her face. “I think it's morning whenever you wake up and start the day, no matter what time it is”, Kanin explained her logic. “So, you're saying that if you woke up in the middle of the night and you decided to stay up, that's morning to you?” Upai inquired. “Yup.” Kanin sat down next to her friend. “Fine. Whatever you say”, Upai dropped the subject, but still remained amused by her friend's logic. The two friends were silent for a minute, looking at the wonderful panorama in front of them – it had been a while since the last time they had seen it in this glorious state. There was a stunning valley, filled with green since there was a lot of woods. The view was especially beautiful in autumn. But there were a couple colorful patches even in summer because of the flowers that bloomed. All the colors blended in together perfectly, it was like the whole scenery was a work of a talented artist. And who knew, maybe that was the origin story of the valley. It was also a peaceful place, Kanin and Upai had lived there for thousands of years. The wind started to blow slightly more strongly and it carried the smell of flowers which was a delight to Kanin and Upai's sense of smell. The breeze played with Kanin's feathers and rustled them while she would look at the clear summer sky and watch how birds were flying by. It truly was a serene moment. “Do you ever wonder who created all this?” Kanin suddenly asked her friend, her gaze still fixed at the sky. “What do you mean?” Upai asked. “You know what I mean. Like, did someone just snap their fingers and everything came to be? Or maybe an artist with a giant brush painted everything? Or did everything just… started to exist without anyone giving guidance to living beings and the world around us?” “Wow, you're pondering the weird stuff again”, Upai chuckled. “Maybe you've been asleep for too long, your head is getting fuzzy once more.” Even Kanin managed to snicker a little. “Yeah. Maybe.” They sat in silence again for a couple of minutes, just admiring the world around them. Whoever had created all this, they had done splendid work. Then Upai turned to face her friend again. “You know what we should do?” “What?” Kanin asked, looking at Upai with curious eyes. “We should paint!” Upai said; there was a spark of excitement in her eyes. “It's been so long since the last time, I honestly can't even remember.” Kanin seemed to think about this for a brief moment, perhaps trying to recall when was the last time they had done this. Whether she succeeded in this or not, she didn't let her friend know. Instead, she just nodded her head after a while. “You know what, I like that idea, we should definitely do that!” “Great!” Upai exclaimed, seeming even more excited now that she got an approval from Kanin. “But! Let's make this interesting.” “Oh?” Kanin tilted her head a little, being all ears. “I think we should form teams and do a challenge! The team that manages to get more paintings done wins.” “I'm in!” Kanin replied and she got up from her spot. Upai started to slither inside the cavern and Kanin followed her. Upai was glancing around the insides of their home, trying to recall where they had left their artistic tools. “Do you remember where our brushes and paints are?” Upai asked her friend. “I can't quite bring it to my mind, it's been so long.” “I think they're in this section”, Kanin answered and took a turn to the right, heading to a small chamber. And that indeed was where their tools had been stored. Clean brushes just lying around, ready to be used to create something beautiful. And many stone bowls filled with paints of various colors, they were something Kanin and Upai had made together. They had been sealed shut with flat stone covers, which had gathered a layer of dust since they hadn't been touched for a long time. Kanin approached one of their homemade paint containers and opened it, peeking inside. It appeared the paint had been preserved well. “As far as I can see, we have everything ready here”, she informed Upai, who had been checking something else. Upai found a pile of thin stone plates that had nothing in them. They had used these kinds of plates before as their canvases, it was great that there were still quite a few of them left. “Nice, we can begin now”, Upai said and took a batch of the plates, starting to carry them to a more expansive chamber, suitable for working. Meanwhile Kanin had taken it as her task to carry all the bowls of paint to the said chamber. The two friends prepared a little workshop in there; it was spacious and there was plenty of light coming through the holes in the ceiling. Soon everything was ready and they were about to begin painting. However, there was this one thing they had to do first. “Time to awaken our buddies!” Kanin exclaimed excitedly. She rushed around the cavern, touching all the stones that contained fossils. With her touch, they started to come alive; a green glow appeared on their surfaces, waking up the ancient creatures that had slumbered for a long time. Various dinosaurs came forth from the fossils, just as whole as back in time when the world had been ruled by them. They stretched their limbs, shook their heads, trying to get used to moving their bodies again. While Kanin was going around awakening her fossilized friends, Upai was doing something similar as well. Within the crystals that were scattered around the cavern just like the fossils, they hold something alive in them as well. Upai's touch made them glow too, but with different colors, depending on the crystal. A life could be seen pulsating inside the crystals, then the glow would grow even brighter before disappearing. In the place of the crystal would stand a creature similar to Upai, a diverse cast of animals that had crystal growths in their bodies. And just like the dinosaurs, they had been asleep for a long time, so they were doing the same kind of rituals using their bodies after their great rest. Once Kanin and Upai had managed to wake up their friends, they watched happily as their little crowd gathered inside the grand chamber. It was a wholesome moment, old friends meeting again and catching up, talking about what kind of dreams they had been having since the last time they had seen each other. A light chattering filled the cavern, a sound that hadn't been heard within its stone walls for centuries. Kanin and Upai allowed the friends to talk for a while before they caught their attention. “Listen up, everybody!” Kanin yelled loudly so her voice could be heard by everyone in the cavern. The crowd went silent immediately, numerous curious eyes now staring at Kanin and Upai. “We have now gathered here because of a fun little event we thought you would enjoy”, Upai started explaining. “It's a little art challenge! We form two teams and the one that's able to get more paintings done wins!” A chatter burst throughout the crowd again, everyone seemed excited. Upai decided to keep a brief pause before she continued. “It's fossils versus crystals, everybody! Now, if you all are ready, start painting!” After her declaration, the game was on. All the creatures rushed to get their brushes and stone plates Kanin and Upai had prepared for them. Everyone found their own little spot, dipped their brushes in paint and started to create art. Kanin and Upai joined them and so everyone in the cavern was busy with painting. The joy of being able to create and express yourself, the sensation is wondrous. All the creatures were filled with this feeling. Everyone was having so much fun that they ran out of stone plates rather quickly. But it didn't stop them from creating, they just started to paint on the cavern's walls instead, making it more beautiful than it had ever been. The pictures they painted depicted many different things, brought into the canvas with vibrant colors for everyone to see. Some of them were portraits of those who were once dear to them. Some were landscapes of their former homes. And some were simply things they just felt like painting. But they all told a story of some kind and with the power of their brushes, they were able to bring these things to life, in a way. The aspect that this was a game was pretty much forgotten after some time since all the creatures just enjoyed creating art. Since this thing was Upai's idea, she had tried to keep track of who had painted what and how many paintings they had done, but even she had to admit eventually that it didn't really matter and went with the flow. So much joy, so much passion… The cavern became a little art gallery. The creatures would fall asleep again, but whenever they would wake up once more from their slumber, they would be reminded that they had shared an inspiring moment when they all gathered around and created something with great desire.trophyRandom Scribbles Pt. 10I'M A MAD TELEVISION HEAD There were creatures in the darkness, but no one saw them – except for Synthka. People were walking on the streets, bland expressions on their faces, walking wherever they needed to go at such late hours. The town was enveloped by blackness, it was like it was floating in a void; stars had fallen from the sky a long time ago. The many street lamps and neon signs offered their light for the people that were wandering around, but their artificial light was dreary. No one cared at this point, for it was the age of when machines and people were fusing together, so whether something was considered natural or not, it didn't matter. Synthka himself was a prisoner of this ideology. A skinny man, dressed in black as if he was mourning, Synthka was walking while nervously glancing around, the many critters around him watching him. Though, he didn't have eyes, so was he really looking around? Synthka's head had been long gone, replaced by a television. There were many things he didn't acknowledge about himself; for instance, he didn't know if Synthka was even his name, it was just something he had picked up from a monitor when he woke up with his current memories. What had happened to him originally, what was his past life like, he couldn't really tell. He knew he was just a victim of modification, nothing but a playground for madmen. His existence was a torturous one and contemplation of ending it all was not a stranger to his broken mind. So many strange cats, equipped with extra limbs and eyes and mechanical parts, they were infesting the streets wherever Synthka was going. But they weren't the only ones; there were numerous rifts around the town, masses of eyes peeking from them, their gazes fixed on Synthka. He could also see quickly moving creatures, both humanoid and animalistic in appearance, that would disappear from his sight before he could take a better look at them. Nobody paid any attention to them; it was all in Synthka's head. He didn't want to be here, he had to get away. He began running, not caring if he bumped someone in the process, their angry comments wouldn't be heard. There wasn't much choice where to go for a miserable wretch no one cared about. So Synthka headed towards the hole he called home. It was an apartment that had definitely seen better days. It was cramped, there were holes everywhere, wallpaper had come off in many places and there was water damage. But only there Synthka could hide from the overwhelming world. He had no idea if this apartment had belonged to him as there were no items that could reveal any information about who had lived within these walls. Synthka just happened to have a key. There was buzzing inside his head as he stormed into the place. He slammed the door shut and leaned against it for a moment. His heart was beating fast and he was instinctively gasping for air; however, he had no nose, no mouth, so he didn't know how he could breathe. After cooling down for a while, he walked deeper into the dark apartment, to a living space where only a couple of pieces of furniture waited for him, along with a mattress where he slept. Synthka dragged himself to the mattress and sat down, holding his heavy head. Somewhere within that television was the brain of a fragile man. A complex organ, hooked up with wires so carefully put together, it was like a piece of art. Having no face anymore, his identity had been wiped away. And still, everything he would think or feel would be displayed on the screen, robbing him of private thoughts. He was meant to be watched and observed by others. And occasionally, a special broadcast would be displayed on the screen, depriving him even the control of his body that was still made of flesh and allowed him to have some humanity left in him. Sometimes Synthka wondered if he was even a person anymore. But he would always come to the same conclusion: yes, he was. His life was full of suffering. And to suffer, you have to be someone. WE INVITED HIM IN AND NOW HE WON'T LEAVE Hare's memory was a fuzzy one, it was like there was fog in his head that veiled important events from the past two days, preventing him from revisiting what he had seen and experienced. There was just this mess of fleeting moments that kept repeating in his mind, but they appeared rather confusing. He could recall a huge explosion, flinging rubble in the air. Trench full of mud. He had gone down fast; something had hit him in the head. Hard. Most likely he had survived just because his helmet had protected him. This is where his consciousness faded. However, as he momentarily awakened later, it became apparent that he had survived. His comrades had rescued him and brought him into the safety of their bunker. A doctor had examined Hare right away, but miraculously, there wasn't much exterior damage to his body; just some bruising and cuts that weren't deep. However, the doctor had suspected he could probably have a concussion. This hunch proved to be right when Hare started to vomit. He also complained about headaches, so the doctor suggested that he should focus on resting. Hare tried his best to sleep, but struggled with this a little bit as he would keep waking up every now and then. He could fall asleep again after a while, but his dreams were restless. Eventually Hare managed to get into a slightly better condition. He could walk around a little bit, but had to take it easy as he experienced some dizziness. He hadn't recovered enough to go back to the battlefield, so he had to remain in the bunker and to occupy himself, he would do small tasks such as tinkering with various electrical devices and make sure everything was running as smoothly as they could in this little hole. Though, soon Hare would take whatever tasks were available just to get his mind off of something that had started to trouble him after his concussion. One day, by the entrance of the bunker, Hare had seen something… or someone that wasn't there before. Seeing this figure had caused him to question his own sanity. Standing in the shadows, there was a tall black figure, wearing robes that looked ancient. The entity had the head of a raven, a feature that is out of this world. Hare had spent a moment just by staring at this figure. It had stared back at him. Then Hare thought that he was probably just seeing things because of his head injury, especially since nobody else was able to see that thing, his comrades kept passing it numerous times a day, but never acknowledged the being's presence. Hare tried his best to just ignore the thing and just do whatever needed to be done. It became a much harder job to do as the creature started to appear in every corner of the bunker. Mess hall, storage, sleeping quarters, around the hallways… Hare started to see the entity everywhere. Sometimes he saw it following around one of his comrades like an odd shadow. It started to imitate what they were doing, like whenever Hare and his fellows would sit down and drink after day had turned to night, the raven-head was there too, drinking the same wine as them. Hare would glare at the creature every now and then, but he never became intoxicated enough that it would slip from his tongue to tell the others what he was seeing. He really didn't want to be labeled as a madman. Days passed by but the raven-head didn't leave the bunker. Hare had gotten used to its presence as it didn't seem to be malicious, but it was still a great mystery what its purpose was. It had never tried to communicate with him or anybody else. It just was… there. Watching. Mimicking. Until one day, Hare finally got the answer for what was the intention of this strange entity. Two dead soldiers were rushed in. Hare caught a glimpse of them as they were transferred to the infirmary. He also saw the raven-head standing by the bunker's entrance, waiting, as if it knew what was going to happen. Then it did something which Hare couldn't fully comprehend at the time. The entity began to walk beside the convoy and made weird motions with its hand, as if pulling something invisible. Two small and blue spheres rose from the chests of the corpses and the creature quickly snatched them, hiding them inside its robes. Then the creature retreated back into the shadows, leaving Hare to wonder what he had just witnessed. There was a hell outside and more bodies would come. It started to feel like every time a group went out of the bunker, somebody would come back dead. And every time, Hare saw how the raven-head would pull these blue things out of the deceased. Hare still had no explanation for this, but he had once again started to feel odd about the entity. Was it just a coincidence that the death toll was rapidly increasing after it had appeared? Sure, Hare and all his comrades knew it well that they might not return home alive, but it started to feel like this creature was a seriously bad omen to them. As more and more people kept dying, Hare became confident that the raven-head was to blame. Desperation and death prevailed. Less and less men were still alive in the bunker. They had tried to call for reinforcements but they had never appeared. Hare was one of those few survivors. Morale was as low as it could, the men remained somberly quiet. The sounds of artillery haunted them. And the raven-head still lingered around, tormenting Hare. He had had a lot of time to think and he was pretty sure he knew why this creature was here. It was just waiting for them all to die. Then it would harvest their souls. As soon as it had first made its appearance, it had doomed them all. There was no escape from a gruesome demise. ALL THESE BROKEN HEARTS First it's black. Then it's white. And then black again. Then white. This reality around me just kept shifting and changing constantly. Now everything was black and I was stuck in this endless void. But there were stars scattered all around, I was walking on a path made from their dust. It was beautiful and brilliant, reminding me that even in the middle of darkness, there was beauty. The stars were twinkling in such a way that one could find hope and comfort from their light, but for me, it was getting harder and harder to do. I was a sinner, cast away into this dimension I couldn't even understand, just to suffer even more. Along the path of stars, I could occasionally find a heart lying on the ground. Countless people before me had walked on this same path, just seeking for a way out of anguish. And for some, leaving the heart behind was the best choice. Then I would find them and I would take them. Inside my chest was nothing but a black hole, the perfect indicator for others to see where my misery was coming from. I would try each heart I was able to find, put them in my chest and see if they could work. So far, no luck. I knew it well that they were all broken, but I simply held onto hope that maybe I could come across one that would help me feel connected to you again. You took mine and banished it inside a dark world where I never managed to retrieve it. But I thought that maybe… Maybe I could replace it with one that got discarded. I can feel their ache and despair, their sorrow and hatred, all the wicked things they tried their hardest to seal away and all the twisted things they wanted to unleash. There was so much darkness a human heart could carry. And I would feel them too as I switched around with the hearts I had found. Maybe they were tainting me slowly, corrupting me even further. But I simply didn't care. I was driven by desperation, I was chasing the shadow of you. I yearned for your presence, your touch. Even if it takes a million years, I'll continue to search through hearts no one wants anymore, attempting to find one that matches yours. Perhaps it's all futile, because how could a broken heart heal anything? But the truth is, no one throws away unbroken ones. There was nothing else I could do but to keep looking from the abandoned hearts. As the strongest dark emotions a heart can possibly contain keep filling me, I can feel only pity towards these people who carried them. For that reason, I keep all the hearts I have collected. Whatever may the reason behind their abandonment be, these emotions were a mark of humanity. Perhaps I'm a fool here, but I think these pieces they tore off from themselves are still valuable. They were a burden they would rather not hold anymore and I won't judge them for that. But once there was love in them, love and hopes and dreams, all of that just got contaminated with darkness. And I continue to walk in the world of black and white, following the roads of stardust, I keep collecting the hearts like a child collects seashells from the beach. They're unique and beautiful and since nobody else wants them, I will take care of them. Is it my new purpose, to walk through this space gathering hearts that were left to rot in the void? Or am I simply cursed to suffer because of my sins, looking for something that can't be found? I don't know, I don't know anything anymore. At least the twinkling of the stars soothes my soul. I'm most likely damned, but maybe my time here in this dimension won't be constant torment. But everything is shifting and changing and so will I and my sensations. I'm like embedded into this space, so I think I should just get used to it. ONE-WAY ELEVATOR TO HELL Raneshu was sitting behind his desk, writing down the last wishes, regrets, grudges, desires and needs of dead souls, using a fountain pen and a notebook that never ran out of pages. It wasn't really a duty of his, it's just something he enjoyed to do while doing his actual work. With his large pointy ears he could hear well the echoes of the dead, both from hell and when they were just on their way there. There were many paths to hell and only a fraction came through the one where Raneshu was stationed. He was quite an unusual sight in the eyes of humans as he shared the same kind of body as them, but his head belonged to a black dog. But, usually people hardly paid any attention to his looks since they already knew where they were heading. A few lamps were attached to the walls, giving illumination for Raneshu as he was immersed into his writings. The room where he was working resembled a hotel lobby, at least for now. It had changed many times during aeons, but just as humanity progressed, so did hell. There wasn't much in the room aside from Raneshu's desk, the most notable thing being the elevator that was on his right side. Then there were a few things to make the place appear more welcoming, such as paintings hanging on the wall and plants sitting on their pots. Because this entrance wasn't used for people that had to be punished, no, this was the gateway people used when willingly wanting to get to hell. It had been a long time since the last human came this way. But now, Raneshu could hear uncertain steps coming from the corridor ahead of him. He did a quick glance into the complete darkness that shrouded the corridor, not yet seeing who was walking along that path. He focused on writing again, allowing the arrival to come at their own pace. The steps kept coming closer and closer until they reached the room. Raneshu was still writing, not yet paying attention to the person. “Umm…” Even the voice was hesitant. “Is this the way to the underworld?” Raneshu raised his head to look at the arrival. A young man with a pained expression, something that wasn't an unusual guest around here. “Yes”, Raneshu replied and resumed his writing. “Great, I have to go down there”, the young man said, seeming slightly more confident now. “My… the love of my life was taken from me. I have to save him.” Raneshu had heard this countless times before. It was one of the most common reasons why people wanted to descend into hell. What an incredible force the love was, making people do insane things. “I have to give you a warning”, Raneshu said, still keeping his gaze on the notebook. But before he managed to continue further, the young man already got agitated. “I refuse to go back without him! I will get inside and you won't stop me!” Raneshu looked at him again. “I'm not stopping you. I'm simply giving you advice.” “Oh…” The young man calmed down immediately. “What is it, then?” “This elevator here”, Raneshu said and pointed at the device, “it will take you to your destination. However, be warned that it won't take you back. Once you're in hell, you have to find your own way out.” “I will.” So much bravery – or foolishness – behind the man's words, but it was all the same to Raneshu. “Thank you for your advice.” “Good luck to you”, Raneshu said and started to write again. He heard how the young man walked to the elevator and entered it. It took him a brief moment to figure out how it works, but soon Raneshu could distinguish the noise of the clanking machine that headed downwards. After the elevator's sound had faded, he could hear rumbling as the new elevator took its place in the lobby, waiting for the next traveler. Now there was one more soul in hell. It didn't really matter if he had gone there voluntarily. And Raneshu didn't really care about his fate. He was just another lovesick fool that thought they could just enter hell and find the one they loved dearly and manage to return back to the world of mortals just like that. They would rot in hell. But if nothing else, at least they could suffer together. MOCKING GODS A fox, an eagle, a tiger and an ox… These were the sacred and celebrated gods of the little village Kangama. Long time ago they helped the ancestors of Kangama to make the region a habitable place, for back in the day it was a barren and desolate land. The ancestors were refugees that had escaped the disaster of their homeland, eventually ending up in the harsh region where they were barely able to survive. The four gods took pity on them and combined their strength to create a good place to live. They shaped the land, made it fertile, and created a lake and rivers so the earth would never be thirsty again. They made the plants grow and soon the woods dominated the landscape. The region became like a piece of heaven and the ancestors rejoiced, praising the four gods. Generation after generation the respect for the deities prevailed and were celebrated through festivities and offerings. The tale of their good deeds lived on, being passed from parents to their children. The villagers had built a shrine for the gods and there were statues representing each one. It was a holy ground for praying and showing respect. It was clear that the relationship with the people of Kangama and their gods was a strong one, even after so many years had passed. So when the destruction struck the peaceful little village by weaponizing the image of gods, it truly was an act of evil, a cruel joke. The people of Kangama had gone to sleep without worries, but little did they know, their lives were about to be changed forever. The winds had started to howl in an unnatural way, bringing forth dark clouds that would unleash torrent and rattle the sky with thunder. The sounds of the incoming storm woke some up, but they just thought it would pass over night. But, as soon as people started screaming, the rest of the villagers knew something was going on and came out of their homes to find out a reason for the commotion. Buildings were on fire and the flames were abnormally dark. The rain seemed to just strengthen them and the fire kept spreading. However, the thing that horrified the people wasn't the destructive flames themselves, but the reason why they had ignited in the first place. It wasn't something natural like being struck by lightning. No, it was because the four gods were wreaking havoc. But they were tainted, their beautiful and vibrant colors had been turned black and there was just malice in their eyes. The ox and the tiger would maul people that came too close to them while the fox and the eagle would keep spreading chaos. The villagers were sure that these creatures weren't the actual gods for they were known for their benevolence. Somebody or something was just using their images to inflict more pain onto them. But who or why, that was something they never got an answer for. Amidst the great calamity, some people were able to escape, just like their ancestors. But the whole settlement was burnt down and many lives were lost that night, their harrowing screams would forever echo among the ruins of homes. The four beasts were never seen again as they didn't hunt down the survivors. Those who made it out alive didn't want to go back, it was simply too painful and they were afraid. Something evil would definitely linger there, a malicious force had surely been behind this great tragedy. The survivors would probably never get answers for all the questions behind this attack, having no other option but to move forward. Why hadn't the real gods helped them? It was the one question that was burning the most fiercely inside the minds of the villagers. There had been no trace of them, not even when the survivors had prayed for help and guidance from them. They had remained silent and unseen. It made the survivors feel like they had been betrayed by their gods. Some people were confused and grieving, but some started to harbor resentment towards the deities. In the end, they would wander far away from their precious homeland. And along that journey, the farther away they would go, the less and less they would think of the sacred fox, eagle, tiger and ox. Eventually they would fade away from their minds. And what good is a god that no one remembers?My Last SymphonyTruly, a celebration of a grandeur kind, fit for the most magnificent people. Ashmalor's half-hidden face was decorated with a smile of complacency as his gaze wandered among the crowd of fabulous people that had gathered in his grand ballroom. Everyone was wearing a mask, hiding their identities, but perhaps that would just encourage them to enjoy their time in this night's masquerade as they were free from the burden of their usual faces. As far as Ashmalor could see, this seemed to work, for people were drinking champagne, laughing, dancing; simply having a good time. It was part of the fun and thrill, not knowing the true identity of the other as you would approach them. And tomorrow, they will be just shadows of yesterday. Ashmalor saw beauty in that; he was a man with a fine taste. Lord Ashmalor was the host of this small-scale festival and he walked among the people like a proud peacock. He knew his worth as a noble man and those around him recognized this as well, greeting him whenever he would pass by, raise their drinking glasses for him and some would even give a slight bow or curtsy out of respect. Ashmalor enjoyed it all, being very much delighted with the masquerade. Whole ballroom was bathed in warm colors, emitted by marvelous chandeliers, crafted by the most skillful craftsmen there were. Such tones gave the space a lively nuance, which only complimented the overall ambiance of the celebration. A very talented pianist was trying his best to bring the most pleasant notes he could produce with his fingers for the guests to relish, filling the ballroom with his music. He performed well, the fact how delighted the people were to dance to his tunes was a clear proof of that. As an instrumentalist himself, Ashmalor was very impressed with the young pianist's work. The lord couldn't help but notice how much he resembled him in his younger days. He wondered where he had managed to find this fine young man. From the great windows that surrounded the dance hall, Ashmalor had been able to follow the passage of time. When the masquerade had started, the sun had been setting, painting the sky with colors that only the most skilled of artists could imitate. Guests had started to come in when the day was turning into night, as if they were creatures of darkness that would rejoice after the sun went down. Ashmalor hadn't been keeping track of time that carefully afterwards, the celebration had taken his attention almost completely. However, at some point he started to become a little distracted, like something wasn't quite how it should be. He couldn't get rid of the feeling, no matter how much he tried to get immersed with festivities. He had then glanced at the windows, seeing a night sky – just like one would assume. But there was something wrong with it, though he couldn't quite put a finger on what exactly. Once again Ashmalor tried to shrug it off and attempted to enjoy the masquerade. He was holding a glass of champagne as he watched his guests from the side, feeling odd. Then he shifted his gaze at the liquid he was drinking; a sparkling light drink. Absent-mindedly he swirled the champagne in its glass before he took a sip from it. It looked, smelled and tasted like it should, and yet there was something strange about it, too. This bothered Ashmalor greatly. Once the lord had drank his glass empty and placed it on one of the side tables, he decided to find a dance partner for himself – maybe that would get his mind back on track. He took a dive into the stream of people, becoming one with the flow. A lone maiden came on his way, dressed in a yellow gorgeous dress and was wearing the same kind of mask most of the women had; a well-decorated one that hid the upper half of their face. The woman noticed Ashmalor approaching her, immediately realizing what his intentions were. Her lips curved into a smile and she performed a curtsy for the lord. Ashmalor showed his respect for her by giving a slight bow in return, and after this move, they began to dance. It was like their bodies were intertwined by the music, their movements flawless and elegant. The dance of the lord and the unknown woman soon became the center of attention as a lot of guests stopped momentarily what they were doing and watched them. And for a little while, Ashmalor forgot his little predicament. But not for long. His perfect dance with the woman he didn't know suddenly started to get filled with imperfections. It started with little things. The woman in front of him was supposed to be flesh and blood, so why did she all of a sudden start to feel cold to touch? Her lips were moving, she wanted to say something to him, but Ashmalor couldn't hear a single word. When the lord tried to make eye contact with her, there was nothing but blackness staring back at him. This darkness began to spill; Ashmalor witnessed how black tears were dripping and staining the woman's cheeks. Profoundly perplexed by these changes in his dance partner, he eventually let go of her and looked around him. The whole crowd had started to turn just like the woman. Wherever lord Ashmalor would look, there were black eyes staring back at him. He was the host of the masquerade, he was supposed to be the focus of attention, so he didn't really feel bothered by the gazes of blackness. The lips of some of the guests moved slowly, but no words came out of them. And now that he paid attention to it, the piano music had begun to fade as well, veiling the ballroom in silence. Lord Ashmalor couldn't understand what was happening and it seemed like nobody could explain it to him, either. However, he wasn't frightened, just utterly confused. Aimlessly he started to wander among the crowd, all their eyes on him, and he tried to comprehend what was happening. Was this real? Or was this a dream? He attempted to go backwards in his memories, to the moment when the masquerade had started. The beginning… Where was the beginning, though? Ashmalor soon came to the realization that he had a huge memory gap at the place of time when the celebrations had started. Being completely bewildered, he walked to one of the great windows and looked outside – and all the black-eyed guests gazed with him. The sky was black like void, it didn't appear natural at all; the lord wondered how a human eye could even perceive something as dark as how heaven looked at that moment. Even more unreal it became as the small twinkling lights Ashmalor had assumed to be stars began to fall from the black canvas. One by one they dropped and crashed against the world below and watching this unfold gave yet another puzzling sensation for the lord. Wherever the fallen stars landed, they would make a piece of the scenery Ashmalor saw from the window disappear with them. Little by little the town that surrounded his castle vanished from his reality as if it had never even existed. There was just nothingness. Except for one thing. A beautiful moon was still in its place in the sky, even though everything else had fallen. Since the rest of the world was gone, it was only natural that Ashmalor's eyes would seek the moon's presence. Somehow the great silvery sphere looked exceptionally magnificent that night and, in his heart, the lord made a wish for the moon, pleading with it to give him answers so his mind could be at ease. And the brilliant orb, the storyteller of the nights and the guide to those who sought understanding of the many mysteries of the world, it responded to the lord's wish and revealed him the truth. The divine moonlight was like a blessing and Ashmalor closed his eyes. It was the inevitable fate of a mortal man that had now occurred to him. This was his last celebration, the final festivity his grand ballroom would hold. Before his soul would move on, he was allowed to host the masquerade, as a finale of his luxurious life. Ashmalor was grateful for this. He thanked the moon and he thanked the unknown entity who had made it possible for him to enjoy his time just a little bit longer. When Ashmalor opened up his eyes again, he noticed that now the moon was gone as well. In his heart the lord bid the sphere a farewell, for this was possibly the last time they would see each other. He turned his back to the window and met his guests again. The warm colors that had previously dominated the ballroom were now gone. Everything had taken the tones of dark brown and sickly green; those were the colors the lord associated with the passing of a soul. Perhaps they were now getting towards the ending of the celebration of his life. Every single person in the crowd was smiling at lord Ashmalor, even though their eyes were still black and so were their tears. They were here to say their goodbyes and as the lord began to walk among them once more, he wondered if there was a deeper meaning these guests were secretly holding. Maybe behind those masks were all his hopes and dreams, his plans and ambitions, and melodies he wouldn't be able to play. And yet, he felt like he had managed to live a fulfilling life. And for that life, he decided to give one more symphony. The young pianist who had earlier delighted the guests with his music was now gone, taking the only sound of the ballroom with him. However, the piano was still there standing on its designated place. It was such an elegant instrument, being completely black except for masterfully crafted golden adornments. Lord Ashmalor walked to the piano and sat down on the seat in front of it, moving gracefully and in a ceremonial manner. He let his hand wander on the piano's surface a little; it felt so smooth to touch. His guests were waiting patiently for him to begin, standing solemnly around the ballroom. Gently the lord put his fingers on the keys and started to play. The dance hall that had remained completely silent for a while was now getting liveliness back into it through the lord's music. He started to play the same melodies as the young pianist had before vanishing, having a striking similarity in skill. Although his guests couldn't speak and express their admiration through words, they could still hear. And so, as the music began to flow in the ballroom, people started to dance once again, as a compliment for the lord's excellent performance. Lord Ashmalor poured his heart and soul into the music he created with the movements of his fingers, for this was the last time he would be able to play the melodies that someone could hear, even if that someone meant a crowd of shadows that lived in between the realms of the living and dead. But for him, it was enough. He played the most beautiful tunes he had learned during his lifetime, ranging from those he had first heard as a young man to songs he had learned later in life. Music had been his passion ever since he was a little boy, thanks to his father who had shown him the magnificent world of art that lay within the keys of the piano. It was only fitting for Ashmalor to end his time in the world of mortals by a musical performance. When the lord thought that this little farewell concert was approaching its end, he started to play one more song. It was a piece he had composed all by himself, his last symphony for life. And perhaps, this piece of music could act as a perfect medium for his soul to pass onto the afterlife. As the notes lingered in the ballroom's air, his masked guests started to eventually fade away. Never stopping their elegant movements, one by one the people in the dancing hall took more transparent forms until they vanished from sight completely. In the end, only Ashmalor remained, still letting his music fill the ballroom after the last guest had left him. Then he stopped. Ashmalor was surrounded by silence. Slowly he stood up from his seat, holding a single thought close to his heart: he was ready. When he instinctively turned around, he was greeted by a foreign figure, someone he hadn't met before and yet, he felt like he had just reunited with an old friend. He was face to face with a tall entity who had their whole body covered by a black cloak. A completely white mask resembling a face of some sort of canine was the immediate center of attention since it stood out so well from the otherwise black mass. The entity didn't utter a single word, instead, they just offered their black hand for the lord. Ashmalor understood perfectly what this gesture meant and he reached out, taking a gentle hold of the creature's hand. The mysterious being then pulled him in a little before they turned to face the opposite direction, guiding the lord to follow them. As they moved, this dream-like reality around them started to collapse, sinking into the void. The lord felt no fear even as his familiar surroundings became nothingness, he knew the entity would guide him to safety. One must walk the path of darkness before they could bask in the radiance of the nurturing light.The Dark Flower Will BloomA lightning split the dark heaven for a moment, only to disappear as fast as it had appeared. A merciless rain which originated from the black clouds was pouring down and unfortunate were those wretches that had to travel around that night, getting soaked by the cold water. The winds played their part too and harsh were their fangs as they traversed across the land, gnawing at anything that came in their way. The weather conditions surely were abysmal that night, forcing most folks to remain in a shelter, waiting for the storm to pass. However, in a concealed tower, built from black stone, there was a boy who was attempting to tame the storm. He was standing at the very top of the tower, on a circular platform that had no railings or anything else that would ensure the safety of anyone who would make their way to this part of the building. There were just a handful of columns that supported a roof that did give a little bit of shelter from the awful weather. The boy was protected from most of the rain, but this just agitated the winds and they were being even more cruel to the child, grasping his clothes and wanting to pull him down from the tower altogether so he could experience a gruesome end. But the boy ignored their howls and snarls, focusing only on one thing. There was someone else on the platform at that moment. A man was quietly observing the boy's movements, every single motion the child made with his hands and feet. He watched how the boy beckoned to the clouds, bending them to his will. And indeed, he managed to gain control of them. The black masses would take any shape the boy desired and in a short period of time, different kinds of entities were running around the tower, from horses to dogs, from rabbits to even mythical beasts. Never did the boy lose his focus and he controlled his creations like an experienced mage. And after watching the child's performance for a while, a slight smile appeared on the man's face. “Very good, Nokhi”, the man praised the child. “Are you sure this was your first time shaping the storm clouds? To me it seems like you've been doing this for a good while already.” Nokhi released the black clouds from his control and they were quickly swept away by the winds, their shapes mangled and torn apart. The boy turned to face his master and was clearly very pleased with himself. He had a radiant smile on his face as he gave a quick and respectful bow and said: “Thank you, master Jeskel!” “Now, let's go back inside”, Jeskel spoke, gesturing with his black wooden staff towards the set of stairs that were in the middle of the circular platform, leading down to the insides of the tower. The man was the first one to begin the descent, but Nokhi wasn't far behind. The stairs spiraled down for a little while and there were a handful of ghostly blue flames scattered around the walls of this section to emit some sort of illumination. They did contribute in giving an eerie atmosphere for the stairs, especially since they ignited and extinguished themselves depending on the position of Jeskel and Nokhi. In the earlier days, Nokhi had found these flames to be a little unnerving, but nowadays, they didn't bother him at all. Eventually the man and the boy came to a black wooden door, decorated by golden imprints that mimicked various plants. Jeskel made a quick motion with his staff and the door swung open, granting Jeskel and Nokhi an access to their dwelling. Carefully placed candles were keeping away the darkness, along with strong flames that danced in the fireplace. Countless books were piling up in every corner of this place, some of them neatly stored in various bookcases, but quite a lot of tomes that all had something to do with magic were just left lying around in a disorganized manner. Various other objects shared the same fate as books, not really having an assigned place and were just sitting wherever Jeskel or Nokhi had dropped them. This included different kinds of trinkets, skulls of small animals, jars that contained several strange contents ranging from body parts of mysterious beasts to weird liquids. All of these things together created a rather messy environment, but they also made it home for Jeskel and Nokhi. This was their little safe haven, a place where they could be themselves, not persecuted by the outside world. “You should warm up a little before heading to bed”, Jeskel said as he walked towards a desk that was almost completely hidden from view by stacks of books and parchments. He sat down on a chair and left his staff to lean against a wall. The man took a blank parchment and grabbed a quill, dipped it in an inkwell and started to scribble down what had happened that day and to document Nokhi's improvement. Meanwhile the boy was sitting on the floor by the comforting fire, his hands reaching for the flames, yearning for the warmth. After being out in such awful weather, the heat of the fire felt like a great blessing and indeed, Nokhi was grateful for having a warm shelter at that moment. It hadn't always been like this for him. If it wasn't for Jeskel, he would probably be in the streets getting utterly soaked, most likely then getting very ill. He hadn't gotten a great start for life, but he was getting in a better direction. For a moment the room was almost completely silent. The raindrops were heavily striking the windows, the flames were cracking in the fireplace and the quill's scratching on the parchment were the only sounds a human being could hear. At some point, Jeskel got a little distracted by a thought that crossed his mind and he stopped scribbling for a second. He gazed at the boy who was still enjoying the warmth of fire and he thought to himself how Nokhi's messy black hair reminded him of a raven. And just like a bird, the child had managed to soar. Then an idea struck the man's mind. “Nokhi, would you like to learn to fly?” Jeskel asked. Nokhi turned to look at his direction and Jeskel could see excitement sparkling in his eyes. “Really? You really could teach me that?” “Of course”, Jeskel responded, smiling at the boy. “And I think you will learn it in no time.” “Thank you, master Jeskel!” Nokhi's eagerness was something that just warmed Jeskel's soul. He was always ready to learn new things and he was always respectful. The man had found a great apprentice. “Well”, Jeskel said as he dipped his quill into the ink again, “I think you should go to sleep now.” “Yes, master Jeskel”, Nokhi replied and he raised his little body from the floor. The boy headed to his own living space, which was just a corner with a purple curtain serving as a door. It was small, but cozy and Jeskel had let him decorate it however he liked. “Good night, Nokhi”, Jeskel said as he began to scribble again. “Good night, master”, the boy answered and disappeared into his room. The man was left alone to write his thoughts down regarding the boy. He was impressed with his progress, especially when considering Nokhi's young age. The child had seen probably eleven summers. Jeskel himself hadn't been able to do half the things Nokhi already mastered in that age. And the little boy hadn't even known that he was bearing the gift of magic… In Jeskel's mind, it was truly fascinating to observe how the child's abilities kept growing stronger. There was no doubt about it, he could become an extraordinary individual if he continued to study magic. A moment passed by as Jeskel was scribbling his notes. The length of the scattered candles had shortened quite significantly when he was finally done. He put the quill down and stretched his arms a little as his position had been quite stiff. The man scratched his dark brown beard; though some of the hairs had already turned white. Unlike many other men of his age, he wasn't afraid of growing older, he was beyond that. While the ordinary men had to come in terms with their mortality, Jeskel was only thriving. One of the reasons was his apprentice; not even a single second of his time felt wasted as long as he was able to teach someone as special as Nokhi. Jeskel attempted to arrange his messy desk a little bit by stacking all the parchments he had written about his apprentice. They were the perfect record of the two years Jeskel had been teaching magic to the boy. Flipping through them was like diving back into the memories. And what a story these scribbles told… Jeskel placed the parchments as a neat stack on the desk. His gaze wandered to one of the windows and for a brief moment he just stared into the darkness, recalling back his earliest memories with Nokhi. They met each other by pure accident on the streets of a town. The boy hadn't had an easy childhood and it was pretty clear from the way he acted. Nokhi had told that his mother never wanted him and he had no idea who his father was. He had been on his own a couple of years living in the streets, just trying to live to see the next day. Nokhi had become distrustful towards people and arrogant as well. He didn't owe anything to anyone. But just by a mere glance, Jeskel could tell that the child was gifted; it was an instinct which common men didn't have. Of course, when the man had brought forth the idea of him teaching magic to the boy, Nokhi had just laughed at him, thinking that he was messing with him. However, after Jeskel had shown him a few simple tricks using magic and telling him that he could possibly do the same exact things, Nokhi suddenly became interested. Jeskel had then taken him to his tower; a place that was built on the same soil as the town, but it was concealed by magic so ordinary people couldn't see it. Following Nokhi's first visit to Jeskel's tower, the boy grew even more intrigued and soon began his apprenticeship. The crude shell Nokhi had put on in order to survive was shed after some time and he learned to be respectful towards his master. But Jeskel wasn't just a mentor, he had also become the father figure he had never had. The man had given him shelter, food and clean clothes and the boy had told him how grateful he was for that. It seemed like the little boy's life was finally starting. A smile spread on Jeskel's face. Truly, Nokhi was like a rare and spectacular flower, grown from a cursed soil. But despite his origins, one day he would bloom like no other and then the world would surely know his name. He just needed guidance and nurturing and of course, Jeskel saw himself as the right person for that task. The man would be the rain and the sun so the dark flower could flourish. He would make sure that the boy would learn to embrace his inner darkness and remain fearless in front of the black-hearted beings. In the following years, Nokhi would surely become one with the forces the common men misleadingly called wicked, and when he would take the dive into the depths of his dark powers and shatter the fragile border that lingered in between the being's consciousness and the hidden black part of the soul, that would ultimately become the day when the greatest mage in history would emerge from the shadows. And that was the day Jeskel wanted to see and experience. The boy just needed to be guided to the right path. Jeskel would make sure that it would happen. The man stood up. He grabbed his staff and slowly walked across the small living space. Just like Nokhi, he had his own slice of personal space as well, but unlike the boy's little corner, he had an actual room – even though it wasn't spacious, either. It was located right by Nokhi's quarters, the door to Jeskel's room was a couple of meters away from the curtain of the boy's living space. Once the man was by the black wooden door that guarded the access to his room, he could hear faint snoring coming from behind the curtain. The sound of a sleeping child… It was something Jeskel had got used to only recently. Jeskel waved his staff a little and in unison, all the candles got snuffed out and the flames in the fireplace simply vanished. All that was left were curls of smoke dancing in the dark air. The man opened the door to his little residence, then carefully shut it behind him as he didn't want to wake the boy. After all, he was still a little child. He needed his visits to the land of dreams. The time for tainting them with nightmares would come soon enough.trophyEndlesslyThe stars are falling from the sky and I do not know why; are they escaping the blackest void that has spread across the heavens or are they tired of shedding tears to the world below that is now full of misery? The sight of their departure is beautiful nonetheless and when I shift my gaze away from the heavens and look back at you, I can see how the starlight is reflected from your glazed eyes, your body motionless as you wait for the sign that makes our bodies move like puppets controlled by strings. It seems like tonight you do not remember our earliest memories; I can see it from the way you are looking at me. No matter how many times I experience it, it always feels like a stab to the heart. I do not know if it is better this way, I am being torn apart anyway. Either we both retain our memories and are forced to face each other in the battlefield or one of us does not remember the other and thus only sees an enemy that has to be defeated while the other one is suffering from an unbearable heartache no one should ever have to endure. It never gets easier. But this is how our lives are, this is how it has been for a thousand years. Everything around us is dead and still, we remain. The soil under our feet has been lifeless for centuries, completely dry and cracked and nothing can grow from it. There are a few dead trees standing, like dry corpses, their branches like the fingers of the deceased as they desperately reach for the uncaring sky, begging for something, a rain or a sunshine, that would rejuvenate their withered carcasses. But the heavens ignore their silent cries. The trees here are the last ones remaining of a beautiful landscape before the war destroyed and butchered it all. Now they are nothing more but mementos of the days when everything was well. Winds play with their branches, twisting them, clinging onto them like mischievous spirits, not letting their dried-up corpses rest in peace. Tonight, however, the winds are in a different kind of mood. They are blowing across the vast field of nothingness in an ominous way and I can hear them whispering. They want blood, they want misery. I do not know what kind of sadistic glee they will gain from what is about to transpire here, but they will get what they wished for. With the vile winds came legions of soldiers of the past, groups of people I have seen for the past thousand years, but whom I cannot remember anymore. In my eyes, their bodies are translucent and their facial features have been smudged like ink stains. I simply do not recognize who they are anymore. Perhaps that is how they perceive me, maybe I am like a ghost to them, too. We are all supposed to be dead and gone now, and yet, here we are. Legions of ghostly soldiers have gathered behind your back and without looking, I know that I have comrades behind my back as well. We are all standing here, silent and motionless, waiting for the sign. Soon it comes: a blast of an ancient horn rushes throughout the battlefield, reaching every corner. The battle will begin and troops of soldiers who have spent a thousand years fighting the same war over and over again are engaging in a conflict once more, and some of them have forgotten why they even are here and what they are fighting for. But I know that losing your memories completely will not give you salvation. A luxury like a free will is something we do not have. Countless times I have raised my weapon against you and it just keeps getting harder – except on those days when I do not remember you. I do not want to do this anymore! But no matter how much I have begged or demanded this to end, it never does. My body is moving on its own, swinging my weapon, causing pain to you and every time my blade cuts your flesh, it feels like I just got cut, too. I never wanted to be part of this war and neither did you. The ancient mad lords forced us into this; they called it a holy war that would purify the land. But which side was the wicked and which was the righteous? There was no answer to that to begin with, the lords just wanted an excuse to steal the lands from the other one. This never was a holy war; it was a cursed one. We are still here, in the middle of a senseless battle, and where are the lords now? Have they died or just abandoned us, forcing us to repeat the war endlessly, unable to break out of this cycle? Just like our memories, the battlefield itself is flickering. It is unstable, a lot like our minds, and is unable to stay in its current state. Like ripples in time, flashes of various shapes of the field are echoing from the past, not sure which form to take. We can see past battles through the flickering and we are dancing macabrely together with the ghosts of our former selves. We will keep fighting even when our bodies start to break down. When do we stop? I do not know. Maybe when all of it is too much for a mortal mind to take and we get consumed by madness. Maybe when the land tries to reset itself and as a byproduct, so do we. Or maybe when whoever is pulling the strings gets tired. It definitely is not death that grants us a moment of rest and soothes our restless and rotten souls. Ah, how I see death as a friend… However, I have come to the conclusion that the world will die before we do.trophyAwards
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