The Edge of the Horizon
The Event Horizon
Silas opened his eyes.
The first thing he noticed was the eerie silence. The second was the strength.
For at least the last fifteen years, waking up had been a negotiation with pain. Now he stood upright without effort. His hands no longer trembling. Lumina flowed through his body strengthening him.
So it truly happened.
A pang of sorrow hit him, not for himself, but for the girl and boy he had left.
I'm sorry for leaving you, but at least you have each other.
He exhaled, releasing the regret. He was ready. His life had been full of grief and mistakes, but he believed he had chosen the correct paths.
He glanced around.
He stood in an emptiness. Beneath his feet, the ground was absolute black, but stretching out in every direction were twelve distinct sectors of light, meeting at his feet like he was in the centre of a rainbow.
The spectrum of the soul. The Twelve Spirits.
He tried to step toward the green, but he would walk in place, anchored in the centre.
A long dark and thin shadow stretched out from his heels, pointing like the hand of a clock.
It pointed to the green.
Silas turned to face it. The light flared and a memory flooded his mind, vivid and immediate.
He was young, a boy of no name, standing before the Tower. He felt a mix of excitement and pride, as the gate opened. He was selected. Not for his lineage, but for his talent. For the potential of what he could become.
The green light pulsed once more, then vanished. The sector turned to void.
The shadow moved clockwise, ticking forward with the inevitability of time. It settled on chartreuse.
He turned.
He saw himself in his twenties. He felt the first surge of lumina through his veins, the agony and ecstasy of enlightenment. His eyes turned the colour of grass. He was no longer just a man. He was a Solar now.
The light pulsed once more and died out.
He turned a few more times, memories igniting and fading away.
Fourth sector. The red.
He stood with a sword in his hand, heavily breathing, covered in sweat. He managed to draw the Blademaster's blood. The Blademaster looked at him smiling, his voice filled with pride as he handed him the white pin. Marking him the strongest in the Central Dominion, outside the Sentinels.
But as the red light faded out, the pride turned to ash. Regret pierced him.
I never passed it on.
Killar was too young, too full of anger. The spark within him was bright, but the brightest, burn out the fastest. And Seraph ... her path would be filled with challenges, he could no longer help her navigate. He had left the legacy to die with him.
The red sector went dark.
The shadow ticked like a clock, sweeping past memories, of all his important choices and achievements. Some of them were happy, but most were sorrowful.
Then, it struck blue.
Silas flinched. The memory hit him with the force of a physical blow.
He was standing outside the burned Tower. The sky was wrong. A curtain of sapphire mist was descending from the heavens, swallowing the horizon.
He felt the death of the Pillar again, this was the moment the Central Dominion fell.
It was the worst day of his life. The day he replayed every night before sleeping for the last twelve years.
Had he done enough? Could he have saved the Pillar? Could he have saved the Queen? Was there any assistance he failed to provide?
He saw himself, already old, clutching the Blademaster pin. It was just a piece of metal now. No successor found. No one talented enough to take the mantle.
The blue light died out.
Another memory appeared in his memory and then it settled on cyan.
He saw a small wooden table. A simple stew steaming in three bowls. Killar was scowling at his spoon, Seraph was laughing at a joke Silas had made.
Warmth bloomed in his chest. It wasn't the heat of battle or the warmth of lumina. It was softer. He had found something he never expected to find, not so late in his last years. His children. Not of his blood, perhaps, but his nonetheless.
I was happy, he realised. Amidst the ruins of Caerum, I was truly happy.
The cyan faded.
Finally the shadow ticked one last time.
Spring green.
The exact colour of his hair and eyes. The completion of the cycle.
He was back in his chair. The pain returned, but distant. He looked at Seraph, her blue eyes wide with fear and love.
Then the darkness took him.
The last light dimmed. The horizon was now completely black, devoid of colours.
Silas stood there, alone in the place. Tears streaked his face.
He had thought he was ready to meet the Spirits, ever since the Tower fell. He had thought he was just waiting for the end. But now, after the last memory, after feeling the echo of love ... he wanted to hold on. Just for a bit longer.
He wanted to see them grow. He wanted to finish what he started. He wanted to free Caerum.
But the clock only moved forward, never turning back.
He wiped the tears from his face with a steady hand. He straightened his back, standing as the proud Blademaster.
"I'm ready for your judgement, Spirits," he said to the darkness, his voice trembling.
All the colours flared once again, merging into one.
Into a pure white light. It came from everywhere at once. It erupted from all corners simultaneously, racing toward the centre where he stood.
It washed over him, blinding, warm and absolute.
Silas smiled one last time. There was no pain. Only peace.
Worthy.
Bit by bit, his body dissolved into the rays, becoming a part of the light, disappearing into the emptiness to join the cycle once more.