We Will Rise
Time.
The time was nigh.
The hands of time had arrived at their zenith. On-high descending to the final confrontation. On-low crawling from the earth to meet in the final confrontation.
For thousands of millennia the world had took its path through time and space, it would continue to do so after this confrontation.
So what made this the finale to all? Was it the culmination of decades of strife, the boiling point of international relations, the outcome of a single shot fired to bring the war to end all wars?
Or was it because there would be nothing left of either side whence this battle reached its end.
Good, Evil. Concepts of the human condition brought together for the final act of creation.
Destruction.
“So, do you think this will be the end?” Asked Zuriel, stood on the precipice of his world, his land, his home.
“It will certainly be their end.” Came the reply from beside him, Zachariah grinned his perfectly set white teeth through his perfectly shaped lips. Running the fine edge of his blade against the whetstone, it sang out like a hymn of his Holiness.
“What if it is our end?” Zuriel replied as he continued to stare down at the greens and blues of the land below.
“We cannot lose.” Zachariah continued to grind away his edge, turning the golden blade in his grip to let the light of his Holy glint from the fine edge.
“Can’t we?” Looking back down at the land below once more. Zuriel’s eyes tightened as he caught a glint of light reflecting from something shiny. It must have been his imagination.
“It is written.” Zachariah repeated the mantra they all swore to heart and soul.
Snapping, Zuriel turned to face his fellow winged warrior. “Where is it exactly written that we will win this battle?”
Zachariah’s eyes tightened and his hand stopped sharpening his golden blade. “Are you really going to blaspheme? Here of all places? Now of all times?”
“You know what happened to them. To people like Adellum.” Zuriel whispered the last word, the last name of a fallen ally, a close friend. A brother.
“Silence Zuriel, if the others hear you say that name they will begin to doubt your strength, your allegiance. Also, we all know about Tullmor.” Zachariah hissed the last word, as if it burnt his very lips and soul to say the word.
Staring out into the distance, Zuriel let out a long sigh. “I still think of him as Adellum.”
“Of course you do. Now silence thy tongue and prepare for the battle to come, speak no more of the Fallen.”
“So, do you think this will be the end?” Asked Tullmor, sat on a large boulder overlooking the mountain range. Work had finished on the tunnel and the last of the horde was making its out.
“It will certainly be their end.” Came the reply from beside him, Draz’gan grinned his maw of fangs as he stared to the sky. Such a cloudy day for how much sun was piercing the sky. Running the cracked edge of his blade against the whetstone, it sang out like a foul scream.
“What if it is our end?” Tullmor sighed as he stood up from the boulder, moving to the edge of the hillock and seeing the vast valley and river ahead of them.
“We cannot lose.” Draz’gan continued to step faster on the pedal of the whetstone wheel, grinding more of the dark metal away from the blade. Each spark flickering out in the air between them.
“Can’t we?” Looking back at Draz’gan, he let out a sigh before looking up.
“It is foretold.”
“Where is it exactly foretold that we will defend ourselves against them?”
“Remember Tullmor, they started this. They forsook their people, they forgot their duty and it came to us to remain. Now they are jealous of our power and seek to remove us.” Draz’gan repeated the words of their ‘Prophet’, their leader. The first fallen.
Looking down into the valley, Tullmor’s eyes found one lone figure; a figure different to the rest. Tanned skin of the native paler than the red of the Dweller, the skins and furs of creations gifts wrapped and sewn by the threads of fauna covering his fur-less body. The grey fur atop and around his head holding no horn of bone or spine of spikes.
The First of them. The Prophet. The Second Son. The Brother. The blade of the Son held in his grip shinning like a foul star in a night sky.
“Do you think he really understands what he is going to bring unto his world?” Tullmor asked quietly.
The silence of the canyon set in before he received a reply from Draz’gan. “The end.”
“The end.” Tullmor repeated.
The silence remained between them as the pair prepared for the battle to come.
“Do you ever think about those who remained?” Tullmor asked softly.
“No, they made their choice.” Draz’gan hissed.
“Remember Zachariah and Zuriel?”
Draz’gan spat on the ground again. “Zachariah was the one who put his blade to my throat. I hope those like him are the first to die in the war to come.”
“What about Zuriel?”
Draz’gan sighed to himself. “He wasn’t that bad but…”
“But what?”
“But… he made his choice. So did we. Now we all pay for our choices. Our loyalty.” Draz’gan grinned as he rose to his feet, swinging the sword in a flourish. “Do not worry brother. This will not be the end, for today we will rise.” Stepping down the hill, Tullmor watched Draz’gan with a sadness in his heart.
He remembered the day they took their new names and followed the Second Son.
Looking up at the sky he remembered the day he left his brothers embrace and apologised.
Maybe there was a way, maybe there was a way to end this without war. To be together. To cast off their wings and become something new.
To take a new name, neither Tullmor nor Adellum.
Something else.
Something more.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
We Will Rise
Time.
The time was nigh.
The hands of time had arrived at their zenith. On-high descending to the final confrontation. On-low crawling from the earth to meet in the final confrontation.
For thousands of millennia the world had took its path through time and space, it would continue to do so after this confrontation.
So what made this the finale to all? Was it the culmination of decades of strife, the boiling point of international relations, the outcome of a single shot fired to bring the war to end all wars?
Or was it because there would be nothing left of either side whence this battle reached its end.
Good, Evil. Concepts of the human condition brought together for the final act of creation.
Destruction.
“So, do you think this will be the end?” Asked Zuriel, stood on the precipice of his world, his land, his home.
“It will certainly be their end.” Came the reply from beside him, Zachariah grinned his perfectly set white teeth through his perfectly shaped lips. Running the fine edge of his blade against the whetstone, it sang out like a hymn of his Holiness.
“What if it is our end?” Zuriel replied as he continued to stare down at the greens and blues of the land below.
“We cannot lose.” Zachariah continued to grind away his edge, turning the golden blade in his grip to let the light of his Holy glint from the fine edge.
“Can’t we?” Looking back down at the land below once more. Zuriel’s eyes tightened as he caught a glint of light reflecting from something shiny. It must have been his imagination.
“It is written.” Zachariah repeated the mantra they all swore to heart and soul.
Snapping, Zuriel turned to face his fellow winged warrior. “Where is it exactly written that we will win this battle?”
Zachariah’s eyes tightened and his hand stopped sharpening his golden blade. “Are you really going to blaspheme? Here of all places? Now of all times?”
“You know what happened to them. To people like Adellum.” Zuriel whispered the last word, the last name of a fallen ally, a close friend. A brother.
“Silence Zuriel, if the others hear you say that name they will begin to doubt your strength, your allegiance. Also, we all know about Tullmor.” Zachariah hissed the last word, as if it burnt his very lips and soul to say the word.
Staring out into the distance, Zuriel let out a long sigh. “I still think of him as Adellum.”
“Of course you do. Now silence thy tongue and prepare for the battle to come, speak no more of the Fallen.”
“So, do you think this will be the end?” Asked Tullmor, sat on a large boulder overlooking the mountain range. Work had finished on the tunnel and the last of the horde was making its out.
“It will certainly be their end.” Came the reply from beside him, Draz’gan grinned his maw of fangs as he stared to the sky. Such a cloudy day for how much sun was piercing the sky. Running the cracked edge of his blade against the whetstone, it sang out like a foul scream.
“What if it is our end?” Tullmor sighed as he stood up from the boulder, moving to the edge of the hillock and seeing the vast valley and river ahead of them.
“We cannot lose.” Draz’gan continued to step faster on the pedal of the whetstone wheel, grinding more of the dark metal away from the blade. Each spark flickering out in the air between them.
“Can’t we?” Looking back at Draz’gan, he let out a sigh before looking up.
“It is foretold.”
“Where is it exactly foretold that we will defend ourselves against them?”
“Remember Tullmor, they started this. They forsook their people, they forgot their duty and it came to us to remain. Now they are jealous of our power and seek to remove us.” Draz’gan repeated the words of their ‘Prophet’, their leader. The first fallen.
Looking down into the valley, Tullmor’s eyes found one lone figure; a figure different to the rest. Tanned skin of the native paler than the red of the Dweller, the skins and furs of creations gifts wrapped and sewn by the threads of fauna covering his fur-less body. The grey fur atop and around his head holding no horn of bone or spine of spikes.
The First of them. The Prophet. The Second Son. The Brother. The blade of the Son held in his grip shinning like a foul star in a night sky.
“Do you think he really understands what he is going to bring unto his world?” Tullmor asked quietly.
The silence of the canyon set in before he received a reply from Draz’gan. “The end.”
“The end.” Tullmor repeated.
The silence remained between them as the pair prepared for the battle to come.
“Do you ever think about those who remained?” Tullmor asked softly.
“No, they made their choice.” Draz’gan hissed.
“Remember Zachariah and Zuriel?”
Draz’gan spat on the ground again. “Zachariah was the one who put his blade to my throat. I hope those like him are the first to die in the war to come.”
“What about Zuriel?”
Draz’gan sighed to himself. “He wasn’t that bad but…”
“But what?”
“But… he made his choice. So did we. Now we all pay for our choices. Our loyalty.” Draz’gan grinned as he rose to his feet, swinging the sword in a flourish. “Do not worry brother. This will not be the end, for today we will rise.” Stepping down the hill, Tullmor watched Draz’gan with a sadness in his heart.
He remembered the day they took their new names and followed the Second Son.
Looking up at the sky he remembered the day he left his brothers embrace and apologised.
Maybe there was a way, maybe there was a way to end this without war. To be together. To cast off their wings and become something new.
To take a new name, neither Tullmor nor Adellum.
Something else.
Something more.
Maybe.
Just maybe.