WORLD: Phyomes, TIME: 3870, CHARACTER: Zyan

"Ask your question, mortal."

"You have walked the high grounds of Phyomes for centuries and dwelled in these burrowed caverns of the underworld for longer than any man alive, oh Lord Divine. Surely you must know all the answers that mankind has yet to ask, as it processes through the ages, surely you have to shelter all knowledge searchable by us, your faithful worshippers."

"Speak then, mortal."

"Blessed be your eternal kindness and favor, oh Lord Divine. Let our corn fields grow and rivers flow, let our houses stand firm towards the freezing winds and our children play in happiness on the courtyards. May no war descend upon us, oh Lord, as we seek no evil in this world and we shall forever appraise your kindness. Let us leave you now, oh Lord, to your silence undisturbed, as we leave you with the prayers on our lips and your gentle presence in our souls and hearts, our grateful loyalty expressed by the usual sacrifice that we hope you may find sufficient."

"Let it be so," speaks the voice. "You shall not fear, pilgrim, for to your question unspoken the answer is yes."

The cavern falls silent as the small crowd of worshippers departs, once again becoming a humble temple of cold stones worked into the damp walls of the cavern corridors. And though a few torches warm the place with dim blue light and thousands of glyphs and ornaments decorate the stonework to please the eye of the watcher, my soul stays cold and unattended as I am left alone in this desolate place of broken statues, which has once been a noble temple dedicated to the long-gone ancient gods, now turned to be just the sandstone ruin of memory.

The faithful worshippers of the Divine Lord come seldom, the processions of desperate souls traveling from across the wide lands of Phyomes, and even this dreadful winter a rare, lonely pilgrim finds his way among the black pillars standing guard by the gateway and follows the cold torch-lit stairways and tunnels deep under the frozen winterscape, into the unchanging cavern corridors where their much-appraised god dwells in darkness and silence. Careless of the knowledge that they might never return to their cities or villages they have kept coming for the last few centuries, making it a habit, a tradition, and a legend.

Across the desolated plains their cries of sorrow can be heard, or their cheerful laughter, and flying by the darkest night above their settlements all their thoughts are exposed, their hopes and worries, their sadness for the lost ones and delight for the newborn, and above all the ever-present dream of peace and fear of war that would sweep their kind off the planet. As a wonder, these nations of the new era, at the birth of industry and prosperity they cannot yet imagine, still hold precious their faith in the ancient gods, the legends inherited from their ancestors that are denied by their minds but yearned for and desired by their hearts. That even the poorest peasant on the sunlit field of midday keeps the old legend in his heart is a miracle to me, lying still unexplained.

Nevertheless, I follow the twists and turns of the strangely illuminated corridor until I arrive in the sacrificial chamber, a circular room with painted ceiling, where faded blue winged creatures dominate, looking down from a great height upon five stones of marble, built into a circle to surround a large blue crystal in the center. Without hesitation I touch the shining crystal, which at once illuminates the room of sacrifice, and I can see the marblestones gleam invitingly, cracked with old age but polished, streaked with dried blood. On one of the sacred stones of sacrifice a body is lying, living and breathing in artificial sleep, her long silk gown as red as the setting sun.

* * *

I step into the city, a glimpse of tall towers pointing towards the blackened sky, a crossing of the old wooden bridge illuminated by a few pairs of burning torches. The river flows silently under my feet, the black waters making just a speechless mirror for the silver moon. I remember of many such a moonlit night, every one of them a miracle to a wanderer's amazed heart, every one of them an open invitation to a mortal sin. Tonight I shall be someone's savior angel, tonight my noble prey awaits.

The mist crawls upon the cobblestoned alleys as I pass along the wooden houses of poor workers, several old-fashioned taverns and shops, until I arrive upon a large courtyard with a neat sparkling fountain in the center. A bright view of a fortified castle spreads ahead, with torches blazing in the windows and hostile archers standing guard in the towers. Cloaked by the night, sheltered by the shadows, I walk towards the entry gate and sneak inside like a skilled thief, and watch another large courtyard spread before me.

I steal across the frozen pavement and as I make sure there is no guard on my back I pull open a heavy door and step inside, onto a soft carpet of an abandoned corridor. Endless halls of luxury and wealth I cross, with golden armor on display and tall armchairs clad with velvet cushions standing by the leather-tiled walls, all illuminated by the rich light of crystal chandeliers. Finally the highest bedroom lies in front of me, watched over by a pair of armored guards, the king of this kingdom waiting inside, well asleep. The pair of gold-clad guards turns my direction, drawing their swords.

"Who is there? Everyone breaking the curfew will be killed on sight, unless you surrender to the law right now." The guards command for me to come closer, but their cruel grins turn to laughter when I do. "Jayna, sweetie, you can come in anytime. I am sure the king will be pleased...to see you. Don't forget us when you're done."

Jayna, the whore that everyone is pleased to meet. The gold-bolted gate closes behind me as I step inside the royal bedroom, walking towards the sleeping king, hidden well among purple cushions of brocade in the huge bed of carved wood, all softly illuminated by burning lanterns. Suddenly he awakes to the sound of my steps closing in, and I can see a wide smile on his young handsome face as he recognizes the beautiful Jayna in her crimson gown of silk. I walk over to a nearby table to pour a nice cup of wine for the king and hold it to his lips.

As a few precious moments of desire pass the king falls to rest once more by the dimmed lanterns, leaving me wondering how eternal life cannot compare to such tiny experience of burning fever, so brief yet strong and lasting, so common yet new every time. I watch this man, so familiar though never seen before, and follow his dreams for a long while, a treasure to his beloved, a tyrant to his kingdom, then lean over the pillows to kiss him goodbye.

The king opens his eyes and screams. I slash his throat. The sweet blood spilled is soaking in the precious cloth of purple pillows as a noise breaks through of the guards tearing down the bolted gate. When life goes out like a candle flame for the gasping, breathless king and his spirit is on the verge of dissolving in the haze of other realms I take it, and the pair of armored guards breaks down the door. Before they get hold of me I run to open a stained-glass window and jump out into the deadly frost of the winter night. Too harshly I land on the cold, hard pavement, a scream of pain escaping my lips as the rapid downfall breaks my leg in half and I am left crawling towards the main gate in a pool of blood. The end becomes for Jayna as guards with spears are called on to finish the suffering.

* * *

Back in my abandoned temple deep under ground I follow the corridors that the uncompromising time had carved out of rock, into the large hall of long-decayed sandstone blocks where the worshippers are admitted, a broken statue as my throne, and sit down drowning in thoughts and recently gained memories. For thousands of years I have been watching over this world, these lands as they freeze in deep winter only to melt on the verge of spring, watching the ever-repeating circle of life-giving and life-taking in which I take part sometimes with renewed strength and taste for blood.

And for the millennia passed, I, the Lord Divine, the descendant of ancient gods who were swept away like a plague, have only craved for one thing - to be alive. Little do the faithful worshippers from across the clan lands of Phyomes or their poor sacrifices know how real I am when I take their bodies and their souls to feed my hunger for life, when they appraise my good will to receive good harvest and healthy children, while I myself wasn't granted any of these powers, wasn't blesses with divine spirit to prevent war or help the nature grow.

Back again I watch the dim blue torches shine upon the ancient glyphs on the walls from my broken throne and await. Await yet another chance to dwell for too brief a time among mortals, to fulfill their unspoken wishes, to hunt and kill the good and the evil alike. Forever lasting, in this cold underworld cavern temple I shall await the questions asked and sacrifices offered, the eternal spirit and the watcher, as the blue winged creatures, fading and dusted on the high ceiling, give a cruel mirror to my existence.

I hear footsteps on the upper stairway, distant yet audible. I hide.

"Speak your question, mortal."