Wind whistled and steps echoed. Before them were mountains upon mountains. The snow drizzled against the entrance to the cave. As the scarf danced with the wind and dressed itself in snow, the elder stood, quiet, and patient.
“The snow is heavy this year.” Commented the other elder, who stood over the other by about a foot.
“They are awakening.” Replied the other. Silence swirled around them as they observed the mountains, thinking of the calamity that was due to unravel.
“Yes.” The taller one spoke. “But eons have passed. This…” The tall one muttered. “This can only be a chance.”
The shorter one nodded. “Awaken they will… Haste may there be. There is nothing we can do but watch…” The shorter one sighed. “For our turn has passed.”
Meeting each other’s misty eyes, the two nodded an understanding that left a bond in the air. For only between them was a commitment as close as theirs. Heading back into the cave, the two left to head to their quarters.
Up in the air spoke the words of nature, a language many feared and admired. Soon, a storm would hit the mountain range, eroding any chance of escape from its arm’s reach. At the edges of the storm would be invisible lines that no one would dare to cross for the next hundred of years. However, many expeditions would attempt this crusade. Leaving markers where each explorer would leave their mark.
--
Heather placed her spear in the snow, its electric pulse melted the contact of the icy drizzle attempting to make it one of its own. Her breath visibly allowed the world to know that she was not holding herself together for much longer.
Her fingers began to lose their feeling and the snow had managed to weigh her down. The only source of external warmth that Heather had was her spear and even that seemed to sting as she placed it to the side for a moment.
As Heather's muscles began to tense she felt her breath slow as she fell into the snow. Her whole body began to go numb as her vision began to blur. Heather's spear crackled in the distance, only inches away from her grasp. Slipping into a subconscious state, Heather laid, her breath short.
Dreaming, Heather wandered to the edge of a path. It was unusual to see a perfect line of snow separating itself from lush grass. Only a few minutes would pass as she wandered into the depths of the snowy land. Seeing herself in third person view, Heather watched as a few minutes became an hour, and an hour became two. Inaudible, Heather attempted to scream to herself to turn back. Sadly, she watched herself press on. What she did notice as she watched herself in third person was the trail she had left behind. After the fifth or sixth step, her footprint would disappear.
Was the snow that heavy? It couldn't be. She remembered believing that the snow probably ended eventually. An hour tops would be what she would give herself and then she would turn back. However, as she saw the time go by in her third person self she felt fear rise up into her chest. This was it. She wasn't dreaming. Her death would be here and that had to explain why she was reliving the last moments of her life.
Heather watched in dread as she placed down her spear to readjust her shoe. This was the moment she began to realize her own mistake. Falling, Heather turned away, bringing her attention to letters in the snow, where her footprints were supposed to be. "Those who have honor, shall fall. The lost will never find, and one with us they shall be, until the next dawn breaks, when the Guardian awakens."
--
The Elders speak,
Many shall fall,
Away in another dimension a Guardian awakens, for the Guardian of the Elder’s world has not risen
Around the world, the mythic’s will emerge.
The modern days will see the past.
Together, the pieces will find their place.
Chaos, the world believes it to be,
A new beginning shall the world’s eyes see.
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