Darkness: Epilogue

Breathe in...

Hot, humid air washed over his skin, tearing at his concentration. This was an absolute act of defiance and they were not happy about it, warnings all around. He’d spent hours clambering up this hill overlooking the Crossroads, and here he would get answers.

Breathe out...

He opened his eyes, below he could see the heat ravaged barrens and the plume of smoke that marked the chimney of the Crossroads tavern. For miles all around his eye could see, but what was important was around him. The weather had changed since he sat atop this peak. No longer was there sun and its rays, a dark cloud had formed above him and blocked the light with its dark, rumbling visage.

you will answer me...

He stood, unfurling his legs from their crossed position. They ached from the hours of fevered, pained prayers in this place. His prayer beads remained on the ground amidst a circle of stones. His sword sat an arm lengths away, impaled in the arid earth and crowned with his wolf mask. Clenching his fists, he narrowed his vision, piercing the clouds with a glare that would make mountains shudder.

”Well!? Answer me!” He roared with a parched throat, anger surging in his chest. All reverence for the elements and spirits was gone, only dissatisfaction remained.

”I demand an Answer! Answer me!” He yelled again. The cloud sat still, ominous and unmoving. Blood pulsed in his ears, the fury wasn’t just a phase or a spur of the moment feeling. His anger had built over weeks, these last hours had merely been the boiling point.

Why do you stay silent? Why!?

He had done what they asked. He had survived the horror of that prison he had been thrown into. He had risen out of the darkness, having committed horrors of his own in the doing. When all was said and done, he had even honoured the spirits and elements by giving them their quarry to settle a score with. Yet still... the prophecy they had forced on him, and the freedom they had stripped away was a cruel trade.

How dare they ignore me...

His lips curled into a sneer, hot winds rushed by his feet. It felt like a pleading measure. They wanted him to stop... stop before he did something foolish. Like an exasperated parent caressing a child mid tantrum, they would rather seek peace than rebuke. He thrust a hand to the air...

”I demand answers! Now!” He roared, a final time. Finally the storm had reached its limit of patience, sending a bolt of lightning into the side of the peak. A flash, a bang and a thunderous applause followed, rocky debris and dust sent pluming all around. Krogon growled instead of flinching, he would not be swayed.

You won’t kill me... you Can’t...

It was true. The prophecy from Oshu’gun said as much. He would die at the hands of a bow, not a storm. Not now, and not at a time of his own choosing or making. He had been thrown into hell, punished for and punished by himself for surviving, and now his own fate was ripped from his grasp. He who had always bent the rules to achieve victory, was now cornered by a prophecy.

When that dreaded bow is strung, at last your immortal song shall be sung...

”I’m not afraid...” he whispered, scowling at the dark shape above. A rain drop fell upon his face, followed by a second and a third. Rain began to fall slowly at first, then at break neck speed.

”I am not afraid of you! Bring your worst! He roared, and was answered. Lightning struck again... this time close by, thunder rolled and dust flew as he shielded his eyes. The storm meant business, the elements were not pleased, and the spirits would not be talked down to. But he would have his answer.

He grabbed his sword from the earth it impaled, and thrust it up, raising it skyward so the point would threaten to cut aside the clouds. The wind span, whirled and reared as if it had been warded off... thunder boomed high above, but less certain now. Lightning neither proceeded, nor followed. The storm’s bluff had been called.

This is what comes of deciding my end. You can’t  do it yourselves!

He roared, his voice carried on the wind while air rushed all around in a cyclone of howling air and rain. He was at the heart of it now, with nothing left to lose. His tribe had knocked him back down to nothing, less than nothing, all thanks to the spirits toying and playing their games of fate.

Thunder...

It was answered. A harp cord, a note in the air that spelt peace. A sound long forgotten, a nostalgia that tugged at his heart. He felt his shoulder sag as the eye of the storm made a gap and in walked a visage, an ethereal shape he recognised...

It can’t...

His jaw relaxed, no longer tense and gritting his fangs but fallen open in shock and surprise. Before him approached a female Orc, her long purple braid hanging down her back to her waist, her voice full of harmony through ancient song...

”Borla...? He fell to one knee, then the second as the ghostly spirit stopped before him, his mind and body struck down as his hand dropped the sword. Her face was young, a gentle smile on her face. Her beautiful warm features were as they were in youth, a youth his old mind had forgotten over years. He gasped, bewildered by the presence of his long dead mate...

”heart of my heart, why do you show the spirits such anger? This is not like you.” She asked, her voice a song in itself, sweet but firm and full of tenderness that he had longed to hear again for decades.

”Borla... my love, heart of my heart... they have scorned me, made me suffer for nought and sentenced me to some inevitable demise... why should I revere them?” He answered, his mind moving here and there between the question and his heart begging to hold onto her vision.

She widened her smile, tilting her head. Her deep violet eyes were kind and full of affection. Taking a step closer she knelt before him, raising that ghostly hand to stroke his cheek. The warmth was overwhelming, soothing him to a calm he had not known since the spring of his years.

”My love... you are tired. Tired of war, of struggle, blood and killing... Even steel breaks in the winter, and you are in the winter my beloved...” She spoke, each word pulled on his heart like a soft song of summer.

”...We all must die one day. That is our fate. You have served the spirits and elements well, you have served the great wolf fiercely and made a name for yourself... She continued, raising her other hand to place it over his chest, the thrum and beat of his heart quickened...

”...you took sacred vows. Vows to protect our people, to honour the spirits. To shed your own blood and shoulder any burden to achieve this...” her hand caressed his jaw, her violet eyes met the jade of his. ”...This burden, this fear you must carry too, until the end...”

”...Do not be afraid of the end my love, you are steel... and will weather any storm... but we all must reach the end... and what an end you shall have...” she finished, leaning forward to kiss him on the lips. His eyes closed as the sensation overwhelmed him, memory’s flooded his mind. By gone summers in Nagrand by the lake, tender moments in days of old... how their love had first began. But most of all, he remembered her face, he would always remember her face.

I will remember...

”Borla my love..” he spoke as her lips parted his, his eyes opened only to find what he dreaded most. Her absence.

No...

His heart sank for sadness, the storm has passed and the clouds had departed too. He was alone once more atop the peak, only his new found memory to keep him comfort, and that was enough. He smiled, and stood as cool barrens air rushed over his shoulders comfortingly... he had his answers.

Iron in the blood, Steel of heart, come what may.