Once more he walked the long path, his red robe whistling in the wind as he protectively guided a young soul along the way. A new traveler, barely decorated, an inexperienced soul that sought out this journey.
He was patient with it, guiding it along, one of the few things he still enjoyed after being born and reborn countless times. He himself lost count of how many times he had climbed the mountain, fallen in the snow without strength only to be granted power by those that came before, allowed to rise and enter the light.
Now, he was just here. Guiding the young ones along a path he trod hundreds of times already. The cold wind was whistling past them, rocking their robes. Still, they carried on, their goal a shining beacon atop the mountain.
Among the depths of the snow, they carried through the areas infested by the manic machines left behind by those that came before, seeking shelter in an abandoned temple that taught of the times when the six climbed this mountain, seeking redemption.
The young one chirped in curiosity, questions and images all overlapping. Yet the old one patiently answered every single one with chirps of his own. Each of them refreshing their scarfs once more as the light became active again.
Once they were both rested enough, they put it upon themselves to continue their climb up the mountain. Guiding the other, they wandered the snowy fields, hugging the rock formations to stay out of sight of the mechanic creature's light.
Only, once they managed to reach past them through the ravine, he noticed quickly how his companion weakened rapidly. The light in their scarf was frozen away.
The old one shared what he had remaining, his own scarf losing its light as he gave it all to the young one. Together they fought against the winds, ultimately beginning their climb towards the peak so far away. Through knee-deep snow, they moved forward, pushed and pressured by the wind.
Their scarfs flaked away in black dust, only their presence to each other retaining even the smallest bit of light. Even the old one struggled, but the young one was close to collapse. He sought aid from the old one, aid the latter couldn't provide.
Still, he was unable to just watch as he used his own robe to shield the young one.
They continued moving, the wind slowing down, but they were losing strength. They didn't come far before the young one was already close to collapsing. They still continued their climb, but ultimately, the inevitable happened. Thanks to holding him this whole time, the old one caught him before he collapsed completely.
What should he do? He himself was also freezing already, losing his strength rapidly, but he thought he could at least fall beside the young one, so they could make their last leg to the top together...
Then it happened out of nowhere. Like sand through the hands of time, the cloaked figure in his arms dissipated without a trace... no light from the ones that came before, no piercing cry through the storm, but eternal silence.
Watching the dust dissipate in the freezing air, the old one froze in his tracks. He had seen it before, the minds that couldn't carry on, the ones that broke down completely on their journey... the ones that would never return.
Struck by grieve, seeing as it hit someone who went on this journey for the first time... something else burned within the old one's heart. He was used to seeing friends of his generation fall to dust, their symbols lost forever until a new one came to carry it. But they were never them.
Too many that journeyed dozens of times he had seen lose that light, lose what made them... them.
Emotions he never knew he had started to burn in the depths of his heart. Anger, sadness, desperation... such a young traveler should have never met such a fate.
Suddenly he remembered the chirping song of the young one, filled with inexperience and curiosity he had long since lost... no, that couldn't be the end!
In his arms, only a tiny bit of the robe remained, small, but enough for him to hold close.
A flame, a feeling he never wanted to feel started to burn, a demand for answers, questions unheard. Determined he hid the piece in his cloth, holding it close as he continued his trek upwards.
He wandered through the snow, his mind filled with questions, ordering his legs to move even as his strength waned and the freezing wind became heavier and heavier. Yet through sheer determination, he carried on. Stumbling, but never falling. Disoriented, but never losing sight of his goal.
He climbed and trekked, slowly losing track of time as his mind started to work with a singular purpose. He wanted answers.
Over time even the embroidery on his old red cloak started to glow, a tranquil shine that reflected off the snow as the moon rose and the night began. Yet he barely took notice anymore, his tired eyes barely keeping track of the light in the distance.
But as he progressed forward, fighting even against the quagmire that was his deep tired, and exhausted self... he felt invigorated. Powered not by those that came before, like so many times before, but something else.
At first, he took little notice of it, climbing past rocks and snow in a singular purpose. But as he continued, the storm hitting him hard, he didn't flinch. His steps became steadier, his previously slouched posture straightening out once more.
The wind whipped and flew, trying to force him down again, but not anymore.
Before he knew it, a majestic scarf started to build up behind him, light radiating off his robe like a beacon rivaling the sun.
He rose higher and higher before suddenly his path was blocked by a large glowing red eye. It had seen him, and he knew them all too well.
Yet, as his eyes radiated with the same power as his scarf, the mechanical creature relented, its color dulling out to a neutral green before its cap covered the eye once more. It retreated quickly, flying down the mountain as it was commanded.
However, there was no way forward as cliffs blocked his path. With another push of wind, his form took off, rising higher as the light on his robe intensified. He didn't find the path to the top, no, he found a path deep into the center of the mountain, the very core of it.
Before long, with the piece of cloth from the robe of the young one still in hand, he stepped forward, finding himself standing on the shore of a lake of liquid light deep in the heart of the mountain.
The light radiated power, shooting into the air like ribbons, runes and symbols glowing on, in and around everything, the whole air saturated by them. And there he stood, glowing almost as much as the lake did.
There he stood, demanding answers, looking at the lake as his song told of the indignation he felt, the piece of cloth still held close under his robe.
And it beckoned him, calling out to him, asking him to dive into its depths to find the truth, the answers he so desperately sought. And after observing the piece of cloth in his palm once more, he did just that.
...
In the depths of light, he was reborn, knowledge beyond anything he ever learned before. Of the ancient past, truths unspoken, the trials and lives lost. A soul not born from light, but forged by it. Minds of light returning to it, only a presence, and strong will would birth a soul...
He was alive, no longer part of the light, but the light a part of him...
The cloth hidden under his own radiated with the forgotten symbol of the young one as he pressed it close to his chest, the memory of countless that broke apart like him replaying in his head.
Never would he give up, never would he stop remembering...
The light danced, its duty finally fulfilled... but he was merely the first, many would follow in due time.
...
From the mountain top, an explosion of light flew out like a wave, encompassing everyone that caught sight of it with its warmth.
Gazing at the change, a pearl of light rose from the mountain, yet unlike many times before, this one was much larger, the shape of a figure barely visible within if one looked close enough.
With a tail of forgotten runes and symbols tracing after it, the pearl of light flew through the endless desert, through the ancient architecture, ultimately landing outside of the fallen city.
There, the figure rose once again, a cloak of white decorating him, a red scarf printed with the many forgotten runes of souls long gone trailing after him. Light permanently glowing on his figure as he became airborne without flapping his cloak.
Like those that came before, no, more even than them, he rose with powers unknown, his song no longer that of just experience, but the truth, and nothing but the truth.
And under the truth, the desert shook. Rebirth was coming, starting with a soul, ending with the land and sky.