June 24, 2005

A Summer Chill

It was cold where the Hero stood. Among the darkness of the nothing, he stood alone. The air bit through his armor, pulling at the hairs on his arms and legs. They stood on end. Against his will, he shuddered. The Sword rattled in its cage of the scabbard. Something didn’t feel right at al. The Hero’s eyes glanced around him, wondering from where this sudden chill could have come, but he saw nothing. Not that he expected to see anything, anyway.

Something about him felt rusted, as though he had lost some piece of himself when he came back into the Abyss. Here he didn’t feel quite as dominant as he had on the surface, simply enjoying life and watching the sun rise and set over opposite horizons. Now he was back in the fight again, the old feelings of energy creeping into his lungs, tingling on the surface of his tongue with every breath. There was no sound here in the Abyss, but he could distinctly hear crickets chirping, wolves howling, and leaves moving in the wind. They were all the unknown sounds of the night, sounds which even the most astute listener could not pin to a single location. They engulfed him, confusing his senses and making him feel terribly small in an infinitely large world. Technically, he shouldn’t even exist here. Nothing should exist here…that was precisely what made nothing….nothing.

These thoughts were clouded by static in the Hero’s mind. The chill that was passing through him was distracting him from what he was supposed to be doing in the first place. Why had he come back? This
Battle
he fought was a double edged sword indeed. On one end lay glory, the smell of victory, the fulfillment of the grand Purpose. Purpose itself. But down the other path lay defeat, the rotting smell of his own flesh and the last fading thought of “what if…?”. Then, of course, there was neutrality. Refusing to be defeated by refusing to attempt the attainment of glory. But it was an even darker limbo than defeat, never knowing what cards fate would deal, and never being able to slip the ace out of your sleeve and show fate it cannot control you. There was no life in neutrality for the Hero, and it was a path, though often considered, was never possible.

He’d come back for another chance, but right now he felt like he had greatly erred. He’d seen no sign of the Beast other than his laugh, received no evidence that he would come and face him. For all he knew, the Darkness could’ve ceased to exist. That cunning form of evil could’ve simply vanished to rob the Hero of a chance at victory. This was not possible, however. The Darkness was far too focused on revenge and drooled far too copiously at the thought of humiliating his progeny to give up. The Darkness was here. And the Hero would find him.

Presently, that moment seemed ages away. But the Hero was a master of patience, taught by the best player of the waiting game in the universe: evil. The Hero knew that evil would always wait until complacency set in before attacking. Therefore, the Hero would never become complacent.

When it came, it came like a blizzard wind, erupting from all directions and once and sending blinding waves of snow tossing about. All sense of orientation was lost, and the Hero spun around aimlessly in circles. Small blue flakes were flying about like pixies in a tornado centered about him. Was this the source of the Hero’s inexplicable cold?

The Sword drew sloppily, the Hero becoming dizzy as soon as he touched the hilt. But it was out, and he flailed it relentlessly around him trying to clear the blue away from him, fighting desperately for some shred of reality to come back to him. Up and down, left and right were be coming nameless. The world was a giant snow globe, and the Hero was trapped in the middle, tormented by a bored child.

It ceased as suddenly as it began. The blue sparkles settled into a small pile in front of him, which he could now differentiate from the back of him, and lay quiet. This small gathering of blue light chilled him to the bone as he looked upon it, but there was a sense of familiarity with in it he could not place.

He did not, however, wait long in confusion. Arising from the blue pile of snow was a set of long brown hair, flowing freely in a world without wind. Two of the snowflakes rose with the form, making eyes of crystal blue that stared deep into his soul. The Hero felt naked, as though all the armor protecting his body was worthless against the sheer power behind those eyes.

The rest of the snow rose up around her shoulders, extending down into a delicate looking gown, blowing backwards in rhythm with her hair. A fair complexion, soft lips, and delicate hands all came together in the form before him. It was his Light.

But out of nowhere? With no fight before hand? No race before the reward? This was odd – good things simply did not come for no reason. There was work involved, pain involved, before good things happened. Somewhere, the Hero had skipped a part.

Her expression was plain and simple. The Hero could see no teeth behind her smileless face, but her cold blue eyes started straight into his. Once again, he shuddered involuntarily. The Light noticed this gesture and reacted with distain, sneering at him and rolling her eyes. Then, without a word, she turned about and walked away.

“Wait!” cried the Hero, futilely. “Come back!”

He took a step towards her, lowering the Sword. But she simply walked faster. With each step she seemed to cover more and more ground, as though her legs were becoming hundreds of feet long without growing an inch. Soon, the Hero was in a run, rapidly losing distance to her slow, graceful, enchanted canter.

It was pointless. Soon, the Light he had just seen moments before as a glorious illumination in front of him was now but a speck in the distance, and then, all at once, snuffed out. He was left once again in complete darkness. He listened intently. He’d been through this sort of trick before. Any second now, he’d hear that familiar belly laugh of the Darkness, and he’d emerge from whatever void he’d crawled into and prepare for battle.

Silence.

Dreaded, empty, fearful silence. And the Hero was cold.