Creation: The Primordial Era (Creation Series, Book 2)

Vol. 2 This Man Who Cast The Shadow Of A Beast.

Mousai's POV

I had left during the commotion, returning every three weeks or so to see the same Freya staring out of the Veil, hoping Oracion would once return. A Shadow reveals one's true self, no matter the sun that casts it. So why is it...I couldn't see him until it was that close? Some humans had escaped the Veil, spreading across different lands and attempting to blend in as best they could...the others however, I cannot say the same for.

It was only until I looked into those eyes of his did I fully grasp how truthfully outclassed I would of been in the moment. It was only when the very plain around him began to warp at his realisation that I had an urge to flee. A man capable of manipulating the hearts of hundreds, a beast capable of bending the world to his favour. Whatever it may of been, however sly, however unnoticeable it was. He was surely tilting the odds in his scale just by simply being in that gamble.

Tortured, battered and enslaved...I always did wonder how he kept himself sane all that time. Perhaps it was his strength...? No. His fear...? Impossible. But maybe...just maybe, if he had someone to talk to, someone that understood him from a point nobody else could. A bond so strong it couldn't be severed by the chain of karma, something stronger than blood.

I had searched for Oracion briefly after that, hearing stories from the more sentient creatures he's passed in the world. Some describing him as immovable, sacred, towering, hypnotic, scary...heroic. All of it depicted nothing of the man I previously knew as he dawned whatever persona he feels he was born into. While he helped some for the sake of his lodging, he truthfully did whatever what was asked of him.

But all of this suddenly came to a halt, nobody knew where this man went as dreams from the Underworld began to surface. Whilst the three realms do not connect, it's possible to alter the other through some sort of imbalance, one that displayed itself in an ethereal cloud of angelic matter. Whispering the tales of a dream as brief images were shown upon it. All depicting the same colourless, featureless figure. All but a singular name being repeated time and time again, "Oracion, Oracion, Oracion" they all murmur to the world itself.

And with each whisper, came the dream itself, rising from the floor and solidifying itself. Resting within homes, swallowing life itself as these clouds try to fill the void that is Oracion himself.

At some point I even brought myself back towards Eragon's castle, attempting to see if he'd retrace his steps or attempt to visit Ira. But no evidence of him lays there as I received nothing but a glaring look through one glass pane in particular.

-

In my journey towards the Underworld I had hoped to of stumbled across him, hoping that he'd see these realities that are beginning to bend in his absent name. But with each glow and hum that my pendant released, my venture came to a closer end. Slowly, it lead me towards a land of waste. A place not meant to inhabit life nonetheless birth it but even then, things come here in hopes of making something out of nothing.

Mountains upon mountains of items are drawn here by the roots of the ground, physically pulling in whatever it deems as waste from different parts of the world and gradually building itself up. With the terrain unstable and hygiene out of the question, it's often avoided. That is until the dreams began surfacing around here. Swarming around garbage or the dead just in order to fuel the clouds with something.

Only once I climbed to the top of one mount in particular, did I notice a small glimmer of something familiar. Feeling my stomach sink gradually as I slide down and retrieve the dark material. The same metal that made up Oracion's sword. Piece by piece I find it littered across the ground and scattered like petals struck into the floor, around corners or under something.