In the end, they were only travelers.
We have always been but this.
Our quest will never come to an end, can never come to an end.
xxxx
Miho Karasuma laid the book down beside her, still shocked. It had been at least a week since they recovered that seeming innocuous, leather bound thing, with its intentionally yellowed pages covered in scrawled writing. It wore on her eyes to read those words. Kathain had been careful in her annotations and penmanship, yes, leaving not a single legibility issue; however, her all too elaborate doodles and sketches made the book difficult. Ornate dingbats interrupted the monologues here and there. Ancient weapons pierced the text and the mind in the same spot.
However, it wasn't the annoyance of the reading material that made Miho pause. No. It was the brutal emotion behind it, screaming out under each and every stroke of the black pen that had created this raw work.
All the violence. The suffering. The pain and sorrow. All stemming from this conflict, this unknown war. Miho still didn't quite understand it all, but she was only perhaps forty or fifty pages in on what had to be a five hundred page book. And the writing was rather small, jumbled together with the confusion of the writer.
"Do you…" Doujima looked away, unsure of what to say. She turned, instead to peer out the window at the glittering ocean passing beneath, letting the deep pondering drop. "What do you think we should bring back for Michael?"
Miho closed her eyes. "I don't know, Doujima…."
Michael had been bitterly left at the STN-J. He couldn't leave. Not now. He was far to valuable to them there, were his nimble fingers could unlock at least a few of the answers on his keyboard. That didn't mean the young hacker didn't resent Karasuma mildly for "abandoning" him.
Miho returned to the little book beside her.
"I don't know if we'll even be going back."
xxxx
Once upon a time, there was once a great king. However, his throne was taken from him, stolen by an usurper. Now, that usurper sits upon the throne.
There was once a prince with a crown of glowing metal and flame. His crown was robbed from him by fate, by death, and by regret. He had failed his position and his people. He had allowed the stinging poison of betrayal to eat away at his house, his clan, his people. His crown was stolen because of suppose crimes against his kin. He had to eradicate what he saw as a bastardization of the blood.
The Prince will become a general, a leader. He will be a prince among men, no longer needing his crown of metal. His glory shall come from within.
Once upon a time, there was peace in the lands. Great peace. So much so that warriors loafed about without a care in the world. They grew fat and lazy, blissful in the seemingly undying tranquility of the realm. However, that was long before the Prince ever came to be and ever came to power.
Once upon a time, there was strength. Great strength in the People. Their minds were but unlocked doorways to distant realms and into the vast expanse of time.
Once upon a time, there were witches. And, then, there were the Thirteen, the first People of this world. They came before; they shall come after. It is through them that the world was created and that the world will be destroyed. It is only through the power of their blood, through the strength of their hearts and the will of their determination that true glory shall come unto any realm.
Once upon a time, someone began this story with "once upon a time."
xxxx
It still haunted him.
Dane tried desperately with each passing minute to ignore the worlds that girl had said to him not too terribly long ago, not even hours ago, in fact.
"This is the most unlucky day of your life."
God, she had sounded so pleased with herself. Yes, she had been drunk, but there remained some sort of sick sadism as the words rolled off her tongue languidly and into his ears. There, they burned like embers, constantly reminding him, constantly tormenting him.
"I know about your dreams. I know why you dream them. I know who you are."
How could she?
"Dane, you ok? You still look paler than shit."
At any other time, Dane probably would have found some humor to the poor choice of simile, but he couldn't. Even as Taylor's hand touched his shoulder, the bassist found no comfort, no reassurance. Instead, he found only the cold, hard confusion and torture of a lost mind, a missing heart and soul.
"Dude, I don't think she's coming back. Don't worry," his friend pointed out.
"No. I need to find her."
xxxx
Wolves behaved better.
Amon sniffed the air, trying to ignore the bickering and squabbling all around him. As soon as Marcus had uttered the words, the argument broke out, spreading like wildfire. Only he, Kristo, and Jonas remained silent. Amon said nothing, for he wasn't entirely sure what to say. Kristo held his tongue as he sat by Marcus's side, ever faithful and trusting in the others around him to screw things up and need rescuing, or so it seemed by the pleasant smirk on his face. The shadow walker looked pleased that battle loomed on the horizon.
And Jonas? Jonas bore a smirk, too. Not necessarily a good one. His macabre little Cheshire Cat grin held smug satisfaction, as if to say, "I told you so."
Jonas had left the Thirteen to avoid this, warning them that the fighting, the anger, it would just keep spreading and following them. This, he cautioned, was what would lead them to ruin, time after time, again and again. The Thirteen were warriors, too proud and too stubborn to even give up the simplest of battles, whether it be over a valuable relic to keep from falling into the wrong hands or over the last French fry at the bottom of the bag. This would just keep happening to them. How could they ever hope to succeed?
Jonas, having seen this, just took the easy way out. His life would not be dictated by some stupid prophecy that he didn't believe in, nor would he sit and squabble with others over the same, stupid prophecy that, again, he didn't even believe in.
Marcus held his hands out, palms down, to quiet the warriors. "You will get back MY king."
xxxx
When the last world ended, the first world began. That is the way it happened before. The last world closed like pages of a finished novel, opening the door to the next world.
That is the task of the original Thirteen.
We are the Rock upon which the foundation is laid.
We are the Wall, braced upon the Rock, standing upright and proud, protective against the wind and waters.
We are the Door, carved in the Wall, allowing those to pass through into the next world.
We are the Lock, keeping those not meant to pass through forever trapped in the shadows.
We are the Key, allowing the People to their promised land.
That is how the world ended and began.
That is how it shall happen again.
Soon.
xxxx
Karasuma rubbed her eyes. Prophecy. Lore. Mythology. Fact. Fiction. Truth. Beauty. Lies. Ugliness. It was blurring together into one, amorphous blend. The empath pitied Amon, but understood now. She could see why Amon had to leave, had to go with them.
This wasn't even her puzzle, and she, too, felt the driving need to finish it.
xxxx
Up. Down. Truth, Beauty. Strange. Charm.
This world is going to end.
The Queen shall see fit to this.
But first, she shall want her king back.
xxxx
Up. Down. Truth. Beauty. Strange. Charm.
There were little glyphs next to them. A language or sorts. Kathain had written something in faint scratch marks, it appeared. They stretched to the other side of the page and across the next. They were but etchings on the paper, carved and scraped by a blade of some kind, sharp but dull enough not to rip the paper.
Miho turned the book, letting the light catch the marks, but they remained indecipherable.
"Damn it."
xxxx
"That's it!"
Brett's fire burst outward, silencing any possible arguments. The Warriors grew silent, staring at him as he stood there, bathed in the pale, orange glow of the thousands of candles. They burnt brighter, flickering this way and that as his anger and rage fueled their tiny flames. No, not tiny now. For the little fires had grown. Or was that all Amon's imagination? He couldn't tell anymore.
"I have had enough." A strange, unearthly voice of authority bellowed forth from him.
Marcus's eyes gleamed and shone.
"I'm going to get him back," Brett snarled. It came out more as an order, a call to arms to join him in his quest.
"I'm going, too."
Amon didn't realize the words had been said until they were dead on the wind. It took him a moment longer, a moment of the others all staring at him to realize the words had come from his own lips.
Kristo rose. "Can't let you two go off and just get killed. Nycole would have my head."
xxxx
Graduation coming. I had to give you guys a holiday gift. I've been trying to finish this chappy since the middle of the quarter.
Happy Chrimmas and misc. holidays here.
For all those of a similar vein, may you have a peaceful and happy Yule.