"Alright, You are now an awakener" Val said in a hurried tone. "You will be given an Identity mark," he said as he snapped his fingers; a radiant silver sigil adorned Amons palm. From its core, intricate lines branched outward like roots, weaving across his skin in a network like-way. Within the patterns, triangles, spirals, and fractals twisted and turned. Along his fingers and wrist, tiny runes and spirals shimmered faintly as the Sigil pulsed softly against his palm.
Amon smiled as he checked his palm. I got into an Order! He exclaimed.
"Now, let us begin with your first task." Val said in a commanding tone.
Snap!
The white space dimmed at once, its glow sputtering and vanishing entirely. In the blink of an eye, their surroundings warped, and they stood somewhere unknown.
They stood in a place unlike any they had seen. Beneath their feet was a small, black, circular platform, floating, unsupported, with no ground or foundation. Around them stretched countless stars, galaxies spinning in vivid colour, constellations interwoven in impossible beauty.
Not far off, seven other black platforms hovered, each bearing a throne. Six were gold, gleaming faintly in the cosmic light, while the throne at the far end shone white, stark against the dark expanse. All the thrones faced away from Amon and Val; only their backs were visible.
Then Amon noticed it: a thick fog swirled through the space, a smoky veil that clouded his vision. The constellations shimmered beyond it, but the fog obscured the thrones, hiding whatever or whoever sat upon them.
"Welcome," a voice echoed from one of the thrones, breaking the silence. Although Amon did not know where the voice was coming from, he listened carefully.
"Let us begin, we do not have much time to waste," The voice echoed.
"Tell me, veiled one, what my assignment is!" Amon spoke cautiously but instead his voice echoed in the space.
"There is an artefact we would like you to retrieve," The voice said.
"How-"
"Check your quests. Val will accompany you. Goodbye," the voice said.
Once again, the space dimmed, its light flickering before vanishing entirely. In the next instant, they were back at the front of the White Spire, the boundless cosmic void replaced by towering constructs and the chatter of the people around them.
Without a moment's hesitation, Val strode forward, leaving Amon behind.
"Val, where are you going?" Amon shouted, breaking into a run after him.
"Stop talking and follow me," Val snapped back, not sparing him a single glance.
"Urgh," Amon growled under his breath. "This bastard."
| The Dark Expanse |
"If he truly is the prophesied one, may the artefact help him advance." A voice echoed from one of the golden thrones, sending faint ripples around the space.
"Indeed, if he truly is the one, nothing shall and will become impossible!" Another voice echoed.
"Yes, Indeed!" Another voice spoke, "Humanity's survival depends on him."
| Now |
Amon had now caught up with Val, meeting on the sidewalk as he went past the guards that greeted him with a smile, making him to turn back at him, wave his hand and say "One day we shall meet again. I am quite busy now, but once I have time, I will visit you!"
"Hah, finally you bastard I have caught up with you!-" Amon was caught of guard by Val's sudden movement. A carriage stopped beside them, held by two horses and driver that controlled the reins. Its doors swung open and they went in.
As they settled into the carriage, it began to move. Though no destination was said, and no money was paid, Amon could not careless and simply kept his mouth shut seeing Val's stern expression.
A while of silence grew between them as the carriage moved. The only sound that was made was their breathing, their heartbeat and the clops of the horses' hoofs.
"Who were those people?" Amon couldn't help but ask, he had to know, it was his unique aspect, something just wouldn't sit right if he didn't know.
"Your curiosity truly knows no bounds," Val smirked as he responded with a hint of amusement in his tone.
"They are the Ancients. That is all I can say for now." He replied.
At least he answered me, Amon thought. He could have ignored me, but he didn't.
Still, the question remained. What was he so afraid of that he would say nothing more than, They are the Ancients?
Amon pondered it carefully. This was the result of his unique aspects: curiosity, which drove him to ask about nearly everything; adaptation, which allowed him to adjust rapidly to any situation, outcome, experience, battle, or environment; and understanding, which enabled him to comprehend almost anything placed before him.
Seconds stretched into minutes. After a while they reached their destination, The horses stopped clopping, the carriages stopped moving, and they got down from the carriages, and stopped before their destination.
The carriages drove away at once, leaving them behind.
Before them stood an empty, haunted house. It rose four floors high, with sixteen darkened windows, a courtyard choked with grey grass, and a rusty iron gate left open to intruders. Bats and ravens took flight together, as if claiming the house as their own.
No presence could be felt, nor was anyone seen, or so they assumed. In this part of the southern world, the sun held little influence, leaving the air thick with fog accompanied with Grim sounds that drifted from every direction, pressing in on the silence.
Amon felt a shiver run down his spine; he tried to speak but mumbled words only came out. He calmed himself down and took deep breaths then spoke again.
"So, this is my task." He said calmly.
"Yes, Indeed. Shall we start?"
"Yes" Amon spoke, walking towards the rusty, old, iron gate.