[ A melody to set the mood. ] Bless this moment. Its enchanted fairness seems frozen in time.
Here and now, a nation stands. Its countless healthy green citizens are swaying from the latest visit of mellow breeze. Blossomed flora of white, yellow, and purple are in clusters spread throughout this lush expanse. Choirs of tall trees that require awesome agility or fearless flight to reach their peaks tens of yards high are making either slim or thick woodlands. Sweet songs of winged ones add their formless color into the meek winds, thus keeping silence at bay.
Nature is indeed a divine architect and artist. Those that governed the making and well-being of this world from eons ago are perhaps great descendants of the inconceivable primordial authorities from which existence was born from. Those oldest celestial powers that spun the heavens, spouted the seas, and sculpted the earth can make an earthbound soul sorely yearn to seize and to use them in order to mend all the troubles in life, to conquer and rule as one who is above all else, or to unleash unbridled chaos with no remorse.
‘Tis a beautiful breathing mural mankind can only hope to mirror.
However, an inopportune blight sticks out on this lovely gallery of wonders like a sore thumb. A man in grey is aloft with both feet planted on fertile ground in this grand shamrock garden. Thread-craft ensures censorship of this quiet Adonis, hood and tall cloak, long sleeves and gloves, and down to his pants and boots. One may mistake the fellow as one born of ash from this murky ensemble.
A tattered cloth also tucks away much of his manly visage. His flesh is husk-like, hideous as a ghastly corpse. What tragedy had struck him is a long tale of its own. Even a single lifetime of this world’s dominant biped cannot condense in it the regrets and woes which further enforced this affront to vanity kept at this very hour, perhaps until his dying day. A corpse in life as he will be in death. A sad trope to follow him.
In silence, the man is grateful that worlds such as this one manage to keep soothing slivers of Eden to last for generations. He is aware of the seemingly savage conquest by civilizations as mankind and even other sentient life-forms out there have a desire for expansion and advancement. Whether out of malice or ignorance, whether mindless or methodical, such destruction always comes before what transient creations are then erected.
Tiny pearls, a pair of audience to dancing light and reigning darkness, are graced with the same humble green as the colorful canvas he establishes his stature of six feet and two inches on. They peruse ahead almost engaged in a thousand-yard stare. The ivory-blue horizon kissing the faraway peak with streaks of snow on its colossal bulk is captivating.
Behind him in a scabbard rests an old friend: a twin-edge fury and slightly shorter than his arm in length. The sturdy gleaming blade from the tip down to the pommel is a remarkable medium for the means to harness the power of the cosmos in a single laceration or perforation. But that requires willpower and discipline from the man should he awaken his fearless friend, comrade in countless battles.
If prodded by an inquisitive mind and he is without qualm to yield the bare truth, the grey-garbed gent may disclose where he hails from. Peculiar, the answer will be, at least to those who may not comprehend the grandeur of such musing. It may be deemed quite distant and alien for most folks in which soaring past the thicket of clouds is a fleeting experience to leave the ground they spend much of their lives on.
The man is not from this world, not even the lake of stars around it, and not even from sparkling oceans stretching into the rim of the indelible void, no. Truth be told, he is from an archaic existence that long ceased to be. Long. That is an understatement of the eon.
It remains a burning unease, burdensome as carrying the world on his shoulders, to ponder the slightest of its paltry conclusion. O, hearts shall tremble and minds may fray, all in disbelief, fear, and paranoia, should the denizens of this world be brought upon such worrisome awareness.
Their great precious marble of earth, water, and air is harboring an envoy of the end. He is an instigator—one out of countless—of an appalling act that cannot be undone. An almighty apocalypse. Tribunals with such hatred and lack of charity will be had, perhaps a bureaucratic alternative of wanting his head on a pike, if mankind ever discovers his presence and then rashly deduce with lofty offense his asylum in their world.
Good fortune, however, does not leave him out in the cold clutches of misunderstood cruelty. Decency is still practiced by those who assess the merit of one by his or her character. There are those in this world, though not too keen of who he is, who have shown him enough goodwill to savor and appreciate. Their judgment is not ill but well in mind and heart. Cautious, maybe, but ever so magnanimous.
Yes, he had committed celestial sins from before this empyrean mural of space and time was born. But they, the mild-mannered ones, are understanding that the past is the past. After all, he has no inclination to reenact them, let alone done with forsaken discipline, if aggression is prompted. Should his deeds bring about causalities that may rock the cosmos, an old adage must be rekindled. Perhaps timeless wisdom all must keep well in sharpest mind.
Actions have consequences. Life. Did he cheat it but long deny such confession? Or is he cursed to bear it until the powers that be finally decide to take it away from him?
End of worlds, the tantrum of dying stars, pestilences that ravaged earthbound folks and citizens of high heavens and horrid hells alike, the kiss of Beyond which should leave one in unending madness; he survived it all. The passing of the bygone Creation he hailed from, he too was spared, though not swiftly. Oblivion hungered for him as it did for all else brought into its ravenous abyss by The Fall.
But such damnation is not enough as penance. Life. Life anew after being spat back by the ungodly abyss is a much greater penance, perhaps. Live it better than before.
The transgressions of this stranger are irreparable with the vast cosmic realms deceased and discarded, so the latest one can blossom. A clean slate, but only to an extent. After all, after being reborn, recollections sprouted from his hollow psyche and filled him with dread and despair, taking a while to make peace that he cannot go back. He cannot undo his sins. Making amends must come from moving forward and do his best with what he is given. Account to what mistakes will be made along the way. Own his errors and their repercussions.
Perish or pause this deep dive into the sea of considerations and rise into the brilliant starkness of the now. The fellow in gray ends his lifeless stare with a blink. A sparrow with brown and white feathers shows bravery or maybe friendliness as it lands on his left shoulder. Twirl his head a bit to better see the winged companion.
“Hello there,” greeted the man to the little creature with his timbre both manly and homely.
“Come here often?”
It responds with a sweet chirp. The cloaked gent chuckles softly. He offers a curled finger to stroke the bird’s nearest cheek. It doesn’t flinch but shakes its head rapidly for a moment. Sing more, tiny cheerful chip on his shoulder.
This man, Raido the Gray One, has been called upon this nation of green under the afternoon sky by either an old friend or foe. The circumstance will have to decide the rapport. Until the summoner is within sight and perhaps within reach to fill the moments with words or deeds, he must wait. Highest hopes are upheld that it will not result in reshaping and recoloring this beautiful place into a scene of firestorm and great desolation. Past encounters proved that they have not been consistent being in the best of terms. Forces used to move and mangle stars were flaunted with such terrifying potency to repel the other.
Let it be left pristine when the two souls, both from languished lifetimes, part ways even if this coming crossroad turns ill for one’s humble musing. Let this realm rich in wonders not suffer from the wrath of old gods. At least, those are what Raido is leaning on with optimism while his mellow stoicism is shamelessly presented.
[ 💖
G r a t i t u d e 💖 ]
I offer my most profound and warmest thanks to the writers behind
Kimiko,
Hanzo, and
Vorax who lent their fabulous time to proof-read my work and provide some lovely ideas themselves. d(^_^