Chapter Seven: A Tail of Two Serpents

Close your eyes.

Imagine a place where the trees grow beautifully tall, and in a lush shade of green; where the water is crystal blue, unbothered by the dirt; where silence is the only sound you can hear, only the more enriching for it.

Now, imagine that place inverted. The slender trees, burnt to crisps; the water filled with blood, mud and rubble; the silence penetrated by the screams of the injured and dying. I cannot deny, neither ignore, the guilt that burns inside me like a scorching acid. This place was once clearly beautiful, and we have destroyed it.

Gough has christened it 'Ash Lake', after the orange glows that dance in its darkness. It has no other name; not one that we would understand. Perhaps a title sprung from a dying tongue; now, it would only fall upon deaf ears.

My greatest regret of this war is that it could not be finished peacefully. Not that I have killed, for I did so in the name of peace. Nor that I have seen others killed, for they died trying to preserve it. In the end, the end itself was the most bitter casualty.

Night has fallen now. We few survivors have gathered around the hollowed hole in the ground where the Primordial Crystal was imbedded. I counted fewer than fifty silver knights; from what I have heard, they were completely massacred. Fighting in an unfamiliar terrain as they did, I am hardly surprised. The dragons would have launched their attacks from the misty grounds which they had long known as their home. I try not to concern myself with the screams of the dead; the past is untouchable as far as I am concerned. With some reserved disappointment, I noticed Gwyndolin had survived, with next-to-no injuries. But then again, how damaged could you be if you were stood on the sidelines the entire time?

I digress. Bitterness is the last emotion I should be hefting right now; if for anything, it should be directed at the killers, and not the killed.

As if fanciful distractions might cleanse our dirtied souls, Seath has promised us a sight truly astonishing to behold. We are still waiting; four hours now. I get the impression we may be waiting a lot longer.

The scaleless beast has spent his post-war time so far slaving over the salvaged crystal. As best as I can understand the peculiar creature, he is trying to solve it. Trying to see how it works. It seems that his efforts have been fruitless; hours spent examining its every corner and vertex continuously has not proved worth his while.

But, even as I speak, he is sitting not far away, his claws scrabbling over the glassy surface, as if any moment now its inner workings will become coherent to him. Like the rest of us, I think he is trying to make something of what is left. To make sense of it, if indeed that even makes sense in itself.

All of us, just sitting in the dark, alone with our affairs. So, when the voice breaks the air, it should come as no surprise that we were modestly terrified.

"Greetings."

Ornstein is the first to move for his weapon, his hands wrestling the spear from its rest in the earth.

"Show yourself, dragon," he orders, pointing his spear threateningly towards the uncertainty of the dark.

His reply is a chuckle. The sheer pitch of the sound ascertains the size of the mouth from which it is emerging.

"A dragon?" it laughs heartily. "Aren't they extinct?"

I hear a sound from behind me akin to a gigantic shape moving along the ground. Even more disconcertingly, the voice to which it surely must belong comes from the completely opposite direction. Whatever it is, it is huge.

Everyone is on their feet now. Ciaran, her blades spinning in her hands. Gough, bow and arrow at the ready. Lord Gwyn, heaving his greatsword to his shoulder-height. Even Havel, brought out of his brood by the enticing prospect of gruesome combat.

"A coward as well as a fool?" Gwyn bellows out. "Spare yourself the pain, and give yourself to us now!"

The slithering sound returns, this time to my left. I hold my greatsword out, waiting to impale the trespasser on its sharp point.

"Put your weapons away, Gwyn," the voice says, somewhere off to my right. "It is not cowardice to avoid warfare where it is not waged." Strangely, the voice now sounds considerably deeper, and more smug.

The original voice returns, making it clear that there are, in fact, two speakers. "We come in peace, seeking only to assist."

Gwyn frowns, and his shoulders sag a little, but he keeps his guard up nonetheless. "I tire of the bloodshed," he admits, sighing deeply. "If you mean us no ill will, then will you not name yourselves?"

"Gladly," the first voice declares. "I am the Primordial Serpent Frampt."

"And I am Kaathe," the deeper voice clarifies. "We come to elucidate your fate. Do you seek such enlightenment?"

Gwyn looks around warily, disoriented by his inability to see his audience. "What are thee talking about?"

"We come from a time before even the dragons," Frampt tells us knowingly. "One day, we knew that their time would end. We created the Primordial Crystal with the intention to accelerate this certainty."

"And as the successor to the dragons," Kaathe continues, "You are poised to take their place as the inheritors of the world. A new age is dawning."

"An age of fire. An age of prosperity. You can see it beginning right now. For the first time, darkness has fallen."

Gwyn continues to peer out. I cannot believe that he might he taking this in. This is a hard pill to swallow. I don't trust these two as far as I can throw them.

"As you may already know, your birth into this world coincided with the creation of fire. You possess the souls of Lords, do you not?"

Gwyn nods slowly. "What of it?"

"They have a far greater importance than you may understand. They represent the dawning powers in our world. The Witch of Izalith holds the soul of Life, a powerful catalyst of heat and cold."

"The Gravelord Nito holds the soul of Death, an equal and opposite power to control the elements."

"And you, Gwyn. You hold the Light soul, a beacon of the new age, to guide your people to magnificence."

"But, there is... another..."

The second voice had taken on a strange excitement. The first, however, seemed greatly displeased by the outburst; in fact, it was almost sounded nervous.

"That is only speculation, Kaathe. It is not fact."

"Open your eyes, Frampt. For every force in the world, there is another of equal power and opposing purpose. The Dark Soul exists; or else, there would be no light."

If Frampt's face had been visible, I assume he would have rolled his eyes. His tone certainly conveyed disparagement. "If it ever existed at all, it was surely lost in the fire. Do not spread bad vibrations without the means to explain them."

Kaathe was quiet. Brooding, perhaps. Or in deep thought.

"Bah!" Frampt exclaimed, ending the silence abruptly. "It is of no matter. Day and night shall pass the same without the corrupting influence."

After that, he had seemed to have forgotten the purpose of his visit; I could make out the revolting sound of two slimy objects being rubbed together, like the gnashing of teeth. It disturbed me greatly, and I found my vigour evaporating faster than ever before.

"Do you want me to smash these creatures apart, my lord?" Havel enquired, sharpening the mood of the moment considerably, and debatably, unwelcomely.

"Always with the smashing," Gwyn remarked, giving a little tut. "Some things have to be solved with empathy, and intellect. With words, rather than swords."

Not for the first time that day, Havel was dismayed; disheartened, even. Fighting was all he had ever known. He had been born in one, and would most likely die in one. He took a seat, shaking his head slowly in something approaching bemusement.

"I believe you will make a fine ruler, Gwyn." Frampt seemed to be impressed. That, or he was a very good actor. I couldn't decide which; there was just something fundamentally perplexing about the entire affair. "This age is yours; you are at its helm."

Gwyn didn't look convinced. "What I am supposed to do?"

Frampt chuckled, a wet, guttural sound from deep in his throat that sounded out-of-place in the world somehow. "This is the dawn of your empire. The fire is yours. Kindle it. Keep it burning."

"Protect the day, or else the darkness will come to play."

They both laughed again, sending convulsions down my ribcage. Then, there was a soft rumbling, like a giant sack of potatoes being rolled down a hill. Frampt and Kaathe were gone. We didn't see them go, of course, but we all felt it. The sensation of relieving a giant load; like a chain around our throats had been unstrung. We all sat.

We all had questions nagging away at our vocal chords, but none of us quite knew how to place them so as to create a coherent sentence. The moment had passed, and yet, I felt like something bigger was only just beginning.

But, the night passed, relatively sleeplessly, and when I awoke, I did so with daylight piercing my eyes once more. But, unlike the morning suns we had all become accustomed to, this sunrise actually had a... brightness, to it. Where the beams graced the lake water, it sparkled, illuminating a bed of sand beneath littered with bones. The leaves that gathered on the floor were no longer an undiluted black, but a crispy brown, almost as if they had reclaimed a portion of their life.

I notice Ciaran is also admiring the new day. Our eyes meet, and her deep blue irises search mine, seeking answers to questions I long to answer for myself.

"It's beautiful," I manage, a smile creeping upon my lips. Ciaran returns it, and holds my gaze.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

The crunching of boots behind me made me well aware of Ornstein's arrival long before it came to pass. We too exchange a look, but the same passive glee is not present with the Dragonslayer. His face is a straight slate, no wonder or increment in it. When he puts his helmet on, I am relieved to be able to break the gaze.

Gough continues to snore, and no 'one wakes him. The moment will be lost upon him; each morning but another reflection of the last.

I feel a soft, tender touch against my hand, and I unclench it, taking Ciaran's hand in mine, and entwining her fingers within my own.

Nothing breaks this scene; I feel it pass gently, subtly, without a trace. We have seen what others may only dream of. The dawn of a new day.

The very first, day.

High above, where the points of light had yet ceased to trouble the dark in the breaking of the day, a few dimming flecks of ashes blew, caught in an updraft. They shone, each of them with an identical light. And yet, they retained individuality. Somehow, besides their obvious similarities, they had gained some kind of independence. They danced about in the awakening sky, as if to celebrate.

Cold eyes watched them. Two little, red holes, where life should have flourished. Instead, there was only death.

One of the distinctive lights drew closer, almost like it was daring itself; it darted about in front of the monster's eyes. With barely a register, the speck was collected from the air, trapped within a pair of hands so dark they could have been mistaken for the night's sky.

It would not be missed, he had decided. It was but one corner of the great shining outside. It held no significant importance of it's own.

He watched as it died in his palms. Without a breath, or a whisper, a light had just gone out in the universe. It would not be missed.

Then, the unexpected. The light burst back into life, and it tore at his skin, trying to tear it open. To feed; to drink. To reinvigorate itself. To have its revenge.

He moved back from it, into the shadows where it would harm him no longer. There, he studied it, his eyes twinkling at last with something like awe.

The light was no longer alone. It had become part of something larger. It had found purpose, and had stretched itself into the world.

The corners of his mouth twitched. It ached as his skin peeled back; opened. His teeth lit up to the world for the first time, a dark green poison that seemed to consume the very air.

He had taken his very first smile. He did not know what it meant, but it had felt good. Then, he pried further, feeling the air rush in and out of his open mouth, seeping into his pores and his bones. He felt as his senses came alive for the first time; smell, sight, touch. It felt good too.

He had taken his first breath. And not his last, either. He did not know what it meant, but he felt as though he would.

In time.

It had felt good.

He looked into the light, and it looked back into him; burned him. His eyes darted about, seeking sanctuary. Eventually, his head hit the hard floor, and he knew it had stopped.

He didn't lift his head up again; just thought about the light. It was unfamiliar, but he knew what it meant.

And it had not felt good.

Welcome to Act Two! This section will explore the challenges faced by Gwyn and the knights in their new age, as dark forces gather to extinguish the light. I don't want to give away anything about the story ahead, so you'll just have to keep reading. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my take on the first meeting between Gwyn and the serpents. It was tricky to write, but a lot of fun.

Also, if anyone is wishing to duel with me and you have a PS3 (Master Race), then PM EllisNet. I'm keen to test you all out, after having been wiped out by ParagonEmil, who is, by the way...

A COMPLETE SCRUB

Good day, all.

ASouffleToServeTwo