Prologue
A cool breeze blew across the foreign land, rustling the tall grass that caressed a near dead body that sat solemnly by itself in an open field. The body struggled to get up; beaten, bruised and barely hanging onto his life, he laid down with a sense of fulfilment. If he wasn't wearing his helmet, a wide smile would be spreading on his face from one cheek to another.
He had done it. It was all behind him now.
He reached to his side and felt where he had been mortally struck in the last battle. His hand felt damp with blood, and he knew that maybe, just maybe, he would get to die. His hand fell from his side and landed on the grass. Blood splashed up on his armour and although most people would have been mortified to know that whatever little bit of life you had was seeping into the root of the grass beneath you, this young man couldn't help but feel relieved.
"Oh please" he pleaded, "Let me die, just this one time... Let this be the end".
He closed his eyes, a smile still on his face. Even if he just got to live in this world for just a small etching in the paper of history, it would be the happiest he had ever been since waking up in that God forsaken graveyard in what seemed like years ago. He felt the darkness creep up on him, and drawing a last breath, felt his body go cold into what he hoped would be an eternal slumber.
But fate is an essence quite convoluted in nature, and as fate would have it, this individual wouldn't have the luxury of prematurely ending his quest.
The young man opened his eyes. He rose underneath a blanket of stars that stretched beyond the land around him, and felt the cold sting of night peg his armour. He put his hand to his side- he had healed. He didn't even bother to check under his armour, since this wouldn't be the first time something like this would have happened. He got onto his knees and began to gather stones, forming a small circle. He placed an unused sword onto the middle erect, he put his hand over it and the embers within him took flame.
Such was his curse,
Kindled with cheap ember,
Unfit for the flame itself.
The damnation of the Unkindled.
The warmth emanated and slowly wrapped itself around the man. He hugged his legs into a huddle and for the first time ever, missed her white flowing hair.
"Maybe in this land there are others like me too..." he whispered into the cold air around him, only to be answered by the cackling of the embers in front of him.
The thought that he hadn't really escaped his curse at all seeped into his head. Had this all been for naught? He sat at his bonfire and buried his head into his lap. He would dream of his own world, the nightmare of it's purpose and his secret betrayal, and when he would awake, he would find search himself for a purpose as to not go hollow.
