Lumina, Yasha Island
60th of Pegastym
20 knots south of the continent of Valentia, isolated from the eternally shifting vicissitudes of war and peace plaguing the mainland, lived the god-fearing people known as the Yasha. Though their survival and martial skills were peerless, the Yasha themselves would never admit it, especially to the sons and daughters of Duma and Mila.
While the denizens of the mainland chose a life of war or peace, therefore aligning themselves with Duma or Mila respectively, the Yasha concerned themselves with staying neutral. Theirs was not a life of war or peace, but something in the middle. This resulted in the birth of the first democracy.
There was no war, nor was there a prosperous peace that followed or preceded it. One action befitting a god would certainly anger the other. This early "democracy," sadly, came without the benefits of modern freedoms, but instead the caveats of bureaucracy, and disputes on the island were almost never resolved. Over time, the island would consist highly independent men and women, many of whom never married, traveled, or traded.
Their isolated huts dotted the island's sandy beaches and steamy rainforests, with very few congregations to speak of except for Lumina. It was by far the most crowded of any Yasha "village," populated by a sparse fifty people. A popular destination due to its waterfront and mainland access (by way of the Diyo Tunnel; circumnavigating the Diyo Channel that ran between the island and the mainland was a death trap), this was the place where the Yasha High Council would gather.
It was here that Carocol had been born to the village elder, Fa'aituau, on the final day of Pegastym 18 years before. Unlike the other children of the village, who spent their youth collecting seashells on the beach and swimming in the island's many lagoons, Carocol was thrust into training to become a man from the very day he could walk. His father exposed him to a life of war, training him to wield several different weapons, and a life of peace, putting him on the Yasha High Council at only ten years old. It became apparent that the young man preferred the path of war, for he was rather impatient at Council Meetings.
Of course, as the gossipers would say, who could blame the boy? At one meeting, two neighbors complained of a banana tree that had grown right between their huts, and who had the right to harvest them. Somehow, the Council took 30 minutes to debate what a banana was and wasn't. Had his father not stared him down, Carocol would have run from the meeting and thrown himself into the Diyo Channel.
Despite his distaste for High Council politics, Carocol had a great amount of respect for his father. The disappearance of his mother at a young age had instilled this in him, although he also held his father's political prowess and combat skills in high esteem. As the young Yasha grew older, however, he began to cut deeper with both his discourse and blade, growing to surpass his father in his mid-teen years.
It was clear that the island was in good, perhaps even better hands, with Carocol. The Elder's son had passed every political and martial trial the island could offer, and was the first to pull off such a feat.
However, there was one more trial the island could offer, although it was so terrible, so ludicrous, that it was considered impossible. Sure, the children of the island had been told tales of legendary Yasha who had completed this final trial...but these were merely bedtime stories. Some questioned if the trial was even real.
What was this final trial? The Yasha would travel to the mainland, where they would make the pilgrimage to the Tower of Duma and return with the legendary blade that had sealed Duma and Mila away. The thought of even attempting such a task, at least to the isolationist Yasha, was insane. Traveling to the mainland with a group of warriors was one thing...but to make a trip by oneself, let alone all the way to the north country, was the stuff of legend.
Nevertheless, the women of the capital relayed gossip that a man wearing an outfit befitting the mainland had appeared before Fa'aituau one night in the village square. A week later, Carocol's fate was finally revealed; he would face the legendary trial on his 18th birthday.
While the High Council concerned themselves with the safety of the trial, the other young men on the island could be heard arguing amongst themselves during their martial training.
"It...should've...been...me," they would say as they swung their bamboo canes at one another.
The women, on the other hand, could be seen with tears in their eyes whenever they talked about the young man, having come to appreciate Carocol's handsome appearance and his kindness. They consulted with Tifa, the island tailor who was one of few Yasha who traveled regularly to the mainland (with an envoy of soldiers, of course).
"Surely," grumbled Tifa absentmindedly as she patched a quilt from Zofian raven feathers, "the old duff doesn't want to put his only son in such danger?" The fact that even Tifa was questioning the decision only increased the sense of anxiety that had taken over the island.
Nobody considered, however, how young Carocol felt about his upcoming trial. So when some of the local boys approached him one day as he trained on the Diyo beachfront and asked him this very question, they were surprised to learn that Carocol was excited.
This only spawned more speculation, and soon a rift developed between the young and old residents. The island's elderly population accused Carocol of being arrogant, willing to throw away the life and culture that had given him everything. The island's youth idolized his bravado, and soon many of the young men had ceased grumbling about not getting his opportunity. Given the chance, some said, they too would tackle the trial just to escape the island's restrictive lifestyle.
This debate raged for months in the High Council chamber, until Fa'aituau reminded everyone that if Carocol were to survive the journey, he would be required to return to the island and rule in his place anyway. His statements, combined with the growing sense of dread as the date of Carocol's departure grew nearer, would eventually put the arguments to bed.
When the day of departure, Carocol's 18th birthday, arrived, nearly every resident of the island gathered at the entrance of the Diyo Tunnel. The channel was raging, forecasting a long, cold Wyrmstym. Carocol was not there when most of the onlookers arrived, and pretty soon they were doing the thing they were best at once again; gossiping.
"Looks like the young man wisened up," one of the elders said with a smirk. Nearby, a teenager was far less tactful: "he chickened out!" Soon, even Fa'aituau was bouncing on his heels, looking in the direction of his hut with an unreadable stare.
When Carocol finally appeared, the crowd whooped and cheered, while the members of the High Council stood and watched thoughtfully. In many ways, Fa'aituau looked both younger and older than ever. He wore a proud smile as his son came down the hill to join him, though he could not conceal the hollow darkness in his eyes.
"Today, my son Carocol will complete the final trial of his training," he boomed, silencing the crowd. "As most of you know, this trial is only reserved for those of our kind who showcase ability and fortitude far greater than their peers. Even with these qualities, an ordinary Yasha could not hope to complete this task.
"And yet," he said loudly, for there had been a burst of angry mutterings from the other Yasha men at his words, "here is a boy...no, a man... who I have had the pleasure of training myself. Who is not only fiercely dedicated to his own betterment, but to his peers and his neighbors."
Carocol shifted uncomfortably at this. He would sooner have trained in combat for all of his youth then get involved with the island's petty social affairs.
"There truly has never been a Yasha such as Carocol, who embodies what it means to take the middle road. He has the strength and iron will of Duma. But his might is not causeless. His greatest strength is his empathy, his willingness to help all of us overcome our hardships . By taking one path, he has learned how to succeed on the other. Perhaps there is something we can all learn from this."
Now the old man looked down at his son, who stared back with tears in his eyes. Even with his face painted with the blood of the blackbird, the holy symbol of Yasha Island, Carocol retained the childlike innocence that had captivated the island for 18 years.
"You have made me proud son, and I anticipate your return."
As the assembled onlookers erupted into noise once more, Carocol simply nodded and ducked his head into the tunnel. He only turned back once, to catch a final glimpse of his father, who now wore an enigmatic expression. One of sadness deeper than Carocol could understand. Carocol took a moment to consider it, until his father indicated for him to continue.
With every corner he turned, the crowd grew quieter and quieter until finally, there was nothing but his own breathing and the rushing of water overhead.
Carocol wasn't sure how long he had been walking when the surrounding cave walls suddenly turned a bright shade of pink. It wasn't the shade of pink he associated with the island's flamingos, tender and warm, but deep and lustrous. It danced along the crystalline walls like a spritely shadow, reflecting Carocol's hunched body in its glare.
Finally, the young Yasha emerged from the tight tunnel into a great chamber. He took the opportunity to stretch his back, which had been hunched over for at least an hour by his estimation. The ceiling sprawled beyond view, and yet it was not darkness that obscured it, but a brilliant pink light that reflected off the chamber walls and growing in brightness as it rose.
Once he was limber, Carocol continued until a voice echoed all around him. Instinctively, Carocol ducked low to the floor, moving stealthily ahead and hiding behind the coarse pillars that kept the as he approached the source of the voice.
Finally, he caught a glimpse of a clearing at the end of the chamber, before a blinding flash of gold blinded him. Carocol squinted his eyes, and ducked behind one of the massive boulders flanking the space, his ear pressed against it.
"You monster…" a voice said simply. It was a motherly, warm voice, that somehow made Carocol's hair stand on end. The next voice, a colder one, came from the other side of the boulder.
"I'm the monster? You and your mongrel rocks have no place in my world. The Earth is my oyster, and I shall take great pleasure in eliminating you from it. Even if that means destroying every peon you throw at me."
There was a loud rushing sound, as if something large had been propelled forward with great velocity, followed by a scream of agony. A loud clanging sound indicated the weapon that had been launched, or perhaps the shield of the female defender, had fallen to the ground.
"You do not stand a chance against me, heathen of soil. If you wish to live, you will allow me to stick a blade in every inch of your body. Then, I will send you back to the star you came from, to show your fellow superiors what awaits them if they dare tamper with my world."
Carocol felt a sudden rush of anger. He leaned out from his shelter to catch a glimpse of the scene. He could only make out one person; a taller man covered in the most magnificent suit of armor he had ever seen. Though he only had the pleasure of seeing warriors from the mainland twice in his life, even their armor paled in comparison. Despite how close he was, the outstanding pink aura made it impossible to discern a face.
"Heh," the woman breathed, before snickering. "They're about as likely to listen to me as they are you."
"I see…" said the golden man, who lifted his chin haughtily. "Then die."
And before Carocol's eyes, an impossibly huge spear no person could ever hope to wield slowly emerged from a bright yellow portal behind the man. What happened next was so fast, it took Carocol a moment to process it. The spear launched forward with impossible force, the resulting explosion dispelling the pink aura of the chamber almost immediately. The darkness slowly returned, creeping its way over every surface and closing in on Carocol, until his eyes were forced to adjust again. After a few moments of silence, the cold voice spoke again.
"Ah, I see I have an audience."
Carocol instinctively withdrew his silver blade, the one his father had given him for a 14th birthday present. He dove into the clearing and rolled along the cave floor, feeling the small, jagged rocks pricking his skin as he went, until he was positioned in front of the man.
"Relax, boy, I have no quarrel with you," the man said. Even in the murky darkness, the man's skin seemed to glow from within, as if an undefinable energy were flowing through his veins. His crimson eyes pierced the darkness, resting on Carocol as if he were nothing more than a curious insect. Carocol ignored the man's command, gripping his blade horizontally under his chin.
"I have no quarrel with you," the man repeated. "However…you have seen too much."
And before Carocol could even parry, a splendorous silver sword far more lustrous than his plunged through his abdomen. His strength left him nigh immediately, and he crumpled to the floor in a pathetic heap. Somehow, even with every muscle in his sword arm protesting, he managed to keep hold of his blade. Perhaps his father would've praised his survivor's spirit, but the man in gold armor simply laughed.
"It's pointless to resist death, boy," he said. "That sword I have struck you down with will certainly kill you. It is imbued with the venom of a basilisk, the most powerful of serpents. Every second you live is a painful second wasted."
Carocol tried to speak, to curse the man slowly approaching him, but his breathing was failing him. He couldn't even cry out in pain as the man grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head upwards until their eyes met. He thought desperately of any way to escape the man's grasp. Perhaps to get a surprise attack in. But no...his muscles would not budge.
"Rejoice, mongrel, for I have decided that the final moments of your life will be enriching."
The man smiled menacingly and continued. "I assume you know the role of Gods in your realm? Then you at least know the tale of Duma and Mila. Consider yourself fortunate yet again, cur, for when the Lord Duma returns to this realm, nobody will be spared. Not even your friends…"
Carocol's eyes closed, and for a moment he felt as if he couldn't open them. When they did, his vision was darker than before. The man's smile had faded.
"Pitiful, you mortals are nauseatingly fleeting. So insignificant…"
And with that, the man released Carocol, his chin hitting the jagged floor with a pitiful thud. The last inches of light in his line of sight died away, but as the man in gold disappeared with one, final flash of golden fire, a single stone rose on its own accord from the floor. The resulting flash of pink illuminated Carocol's view for a split second, before the world finally and mercifully disappeared.