After much adversity, the bell of hope and the sword bringing light is now thrusted upon me.
Remarkable. Remarkably so.
I applaud you.
Though battered and exhausted, the will of the army still stands to face the creator.
For you and those that have followed to willingly give their lives so that the few may finally end the prevailing nightmare.
But are you ready?
I would neither say that I am forcing you to stop or continue forward. That is presumptuous of me.
That will lie with oneself.
Merely, what come after I are my compatriots.
Are you willing to face the struggle should that come to be?
….
That is your answer. Then the plight between sparks.
Compared to my compatriots, I am somewhat lacking in combat ability. The weakest of my compatriots.
By the order of the creator, I will hold this line with death.
No matter the validity of my own self.
— The All-Seeing Archmage, Kerbus
—---------------------------------------------------------------—
The adolescent in the drawing room of a mansion, could not but roll their eyes everywhere.
Little actually registered in the eyes though.
The wanderer in the seat over the adolescent drew their eyes over the paned glass with barely expressed amusement.
For the adolescent it was anything but boredom. Thoughts alone kept the adolescent from causing a ruckus.
With The Guides words earlier, it was not without restraint.
Perception wise, the adolescent appears like the wanderer. A beggar in ragged clothing.
But with more than a glance, the cloak the adolescent woven together is in a far more intact state compared to the wanderer's shoddy patchwork of a cloak.
Considering the handicap the wanderer has, it is quite a meritable achievement.
Still, both are unwashed.
And the materials used are cheap.
A far cry to the clothing that's at least finely woven underneath.
Similar to the adolescent thinking and yet is not thinking. With outside showing movement.
Between the adolescent and the wanderer, neither are thinking deeply. A void that replaced thought for this period of time whilst The Guide conversed with the new owner of the mansion and the city's ruler.
Come more time of this slow boring time for the adolescent, the door eventually opened.
[Departure awaits.]
Next to The Guide was the owner. Who towered over The Guide.
While The Guide is shorter than both the adolescent and the wanderer, it's only about half a head.
The adolescent had to look a bit up to fully capture the face of the owner.
"My apologies for the long wait." the owner thinly smiled. "Chatter can make time fly."
The Guide without the initial look immediately started to withdraw.
The adolescent and the wanderer rose and followed The Guide.
Once at the gate, the quiet lessened. The owner ceased following once The Guide crossed the barrier of private property.
"Farewell."
The owner returned back inside. The Guide without so much a glance trekked forward.
The drab streets where garbage littered everywhere was coming to an inevitable burn.
The Guide spoke nothing of the inevitability. The blame and punishment put on one person.
The sky overhead was the same dimness as before.
The adolescent refrained from speech. The wanderer cared not of it.
— — — —
The city of Isa grew distant the farther they walked.
Mountain ranges solemnly illuminated by the recess of a fog.
Perhaps the gain was nothing but expended energy.
The adolescent thinks that at times.
But traveling with The Guide shows an intention.
For what it means, it is a challenge.
The adolescent thinks of it as half archaic.
Common sense.
What piques interest is knowledge of that organization.
Rare to be spoken of from The Guides tongue.
The clouds try to sprinkle the white of frozen liquid.
Yet at some point it sparks and is consumed by undiscoverable flame.
Leaving the ground with jagged rocks and stiff dirt.
The city of Isa was now but a small sight behind them. Not that the adolescent and the wanderer looked behind.
That curiosity died with blood.
Empty land devoid of life.
Nothing worth interest besides voidless thoughts.
The Guide led at the front.
The adolescent behind.
The wanderer trailing behind both.
In this land of deep chill, neither snow or life bloomed.
Washed away by the hand that crushed everything.
The wind blew. The Guide followed with flow.