LORE -Myth and Realms

Rain fell without mercy, stitching the night together with silver threads that blurred the world into a trembling haze. Thunder roared ,as if protesting to the closing scars that had once torn across the sky. The ground was soaked, darkened into a mirror that reflected nothing but broken shapes and flickers of lightning. At the center of it all , a lone figure moved. Each step was slow and deliberate ,his boots sinking slightly into the mud, with water rippling outward with quiet defiance. His silhouette wavered in the rain , jagged and uneven ,as though the storm itself sought to erase him. In his hand lay a blade…..or what remained of it. The metal was snapped in half ,its edge dulled and stained , yet still catching glimmers of light . Around him lay bodies Some human. Others….not . They were strewn across the battlefield , like discarded memories... some lying face down in the mud ,others staring blankly into the rain as if searching for answers that would never come. Armor was cracked ,clothing torn, limbs twisted at unnatural angles . The rain washed over them equally, erasing all distinction in the face of death. The figure came to a stop. His head slightly lowered , strands of wet hair clinging to his face, hiding whatever expression that might have lingered there. The broken blade in his hand was no longer a weapon only a weight A reminder of something lost. Thunder rolled in the distance and for a moment he heard it . A cry. Faint at first , Barely more than a whisper. Then he moved again . Forward. Toward the sound. The rain seemed louder then , drumming against the silence he carried within him. A breath escaped him-slow, heavy and almost invincible in the damp air , as he followed the faint sound. Barely audible beneath the rain , not strong, but stubborn and persistent . The bodies began to thin. What had once been a chaotic sprawl of fallen soldiers and unknown beings became scattered remnants ,one here ,two there , until even the silence began to change. It was no longer the heavy silence of death alone….but something else. Something fragile. He stopped. His grip tightened around the broken blade , instinct rising before thought, battle reflexes refusing to die even when everything else had. His eyes scanned the shadows , the gaps in the ground , the broken shapes of armor and limbs and the grotesque gigantic figures of origins not of this realm as he heard another cry , closer this time. Carefully he stepped toward it , as if the rain could not cover up whatever sound he was producing, he moved slowly as if the ground itself might shatter beneath him. A fallen soldier lay half submerged in mud ahead, their body twisted , one arm outstretched as though reaching for something they could never grasp. The man approached rain sliding down his face . The sound came from beneath. He crouched down and for a brief second and hesitated. The fallen soldier , he recognized him. A member of his clan and one of his most treasured friends lying dead . "Hainz",he says ,in a soft but scratchy voice which held pain, memories resurfacing ,all but distant now. He reached down and gently pulled the body aside. And there ...…Wrapped in torn cloth, soaked and muddied was a child. An infant. The rain had not softened. Small ,fragile and shivering against the cold earth, its cries weak but relentless, refusing to fade into the silence that had claimed everything else. The man froze. His hand hovered he had held a sword, broken men , slain monsters ,held the weight of endings ,but this....This was something else entirely. Something in him shifted and slowly ,almost uncertain he set the broken blade down in the mud. Then with his hands he reached out and lifted the child. The man looked down at it and for the first time , his face changed ,not much ,but enough. "Hey, there ", says the man after a brief pause unsure as to speak at first. "My name is Harlem ,and who might you be?". The cries quieted almost instantly, replaced by small uneven breaths with its tiny fingers curled weakly against his soaked cloak, clinging without understanding. He stood there for a moment, unmoving, as if the path before him was now unfamiliar. But in his arms, something remained. Something that had refused to die. He studied what now lay in hands and felt warmth despite the cold, he felt …..more alive. He took a brief glance towards his friend ,then another towards the blade on the ground. Then slowly he turned ,not back toward the battlefield, but away from it. Leaving behind the broken blade in the mud, where it belonged. And carrying the child into the rain. He did not look back again as the rain followed him as he walked ,relentless as ever, washing the blood from his cloak but never from his memory. Each step away from the battlefield felt heavier then the last, as though the ground itself resisted his leaving, as though something unseen demanded he stay and bear witness to the ruin. The child stirred in his arms and Harlem adjusted his grip, awkward at first. Careful. "Easy…" he murmured, voice low and uncertain. He pulled part of his tattered cloak around the child, shielding it from the rain. The fabric was soaked and torn in places , but it was all he had to offer. Lightning split the sky again and for a brief moment ,the world lit up and Harlem saw it. The horizon, or what remained of it. The land beyond the battlefield was no better. Trees lay broken like snapped bones, their roots clawing uselessly at the air. The earth itself bore deep scars, jagged, unnatural, as if something had torn through reality and left the wound behind. The Nether. Even gone...it lingered. Harlem's gaze hardened. He shifted the child slightly and continued forward. Only the storm and the quiet, uneven breathing of the child continued. Ahead barely visible ,perhaps once a watch post…or a shrine stood , long forgotten. He approached cautiously , instinct never fully leaving him. His eyes scanned the shadows , the broken archways and the dark interior beyond. Stepping inside , the sound of the rain stopped and for the fist time since the battle ended he stopped moving, lowering himself against what remained of a wall and his body protested immediately against him as fatigue came crashing down on him. He ignored it all and placed his attention on the child staring at it in silence. A thousand thoughts should have come to his mind. What to do?. Where to go?. How to keep it alive?. But none of those formed, instead something else filled the space. A memory , a laughter, voices he knew, faces now gone. His jaw tightened. "Hainz…" he whispered, almost to himself. His gaze returned to the child. "Is this what you died for?" he asked quietly. He said this as he removed a small piece of cloth .Carefully and gently he began to wipe the the mud from the child's face. "There you are…." he murmured. Harlem leaned his head back against the stone wall, eyes closing briefly. "Alright…" he said quietly, almost as if making a promise." I'll carry you "The words were simple ,But they changed everything. Another flash of lightning illuminated the interior of the ruin and for a brief moment, something carved into the far wall became visible. A symbol. Ancient. Unfamiliar. Not of any clan. Not of any Kingdom. And yet…..it felt wrong. Alive in a way stone should not be. Harlem's eyes opened .He saw it. And something deep within, something older than memory stirred. The child shifted in his arms and for the first time....The storm did not feel like the only thing watching.