Pulsating with the feverish beating of a fragile, broken soul, the Líf-steinn pressed against the strong fibers of the tree. The groan that emanated from the wood, echoed through the sky, awakening something sinister in the clouds overhead. As the loss of life fed the darkness, so too did the darkness feed the blood onyx. The balance of power shifted, pushing the light down onto surrender, bringing the ominous clouds forward to cover the tips of the branches of life. The leaves whithered as though winter had run its deadly fingers over their edges and they turned in on themselves to hide from the bitter truth.
The wind picked up, caressing its way through the tall grass, bending the blades to its will. The pain of the loss of natural beauty and strength presented itself as a symphony of anguished cries from the roots of the Sacred Tree. Where Spirit once stood, a thin wire of power entwined itself around the tree, desperately holding the branches together. As the blood onyx fed on the innocence of those betrayed by the Goddess of Battle, the wire grew thin, stretching beyond its intended limit. The snap reverberated off of every surface, creating a deafening silence that was loud enough to stir the souls that had not yet woken to their afterlife.
The shockwave burst across the Ethereal Plains, toppling trees and graves alike, crumbling any stone structure it touched. The splinters that left their positions within the tree fell to the soil, soft and useless. Both sides of the split tree, sagg3d and fell a bit further from one another, its comradery tarnished by greed. A thin, glowing mist slithered from the crack within the stone, spilling out around the roots and filling the air with its decaying scent.
As though the strength of the earth beneath the tree had waned, large holes began to form. The dirt fell away to nothing, allowing the skeletal remains of those who had perished in the War of Brothers to feel the cool breath of existence once again. The shadows of the past rose, pulling themselves free from their tombs to take in the sight of their homeland. Decimation was imminent.
With a collective sigh, they moved forward, their ghostly arms outstretched toward one another as they gathered around the tree. The first wave of these spirits sank beneath the tree, taking up residence in Spirit's tomb and allowing the roots to take their life force. As the tree drank, the leaves opened once again, slowly thanking them for their sacrifice.
The circle closed around the trunk, each specter pushing closer than the one before, forming a barrier around the tree and pushing its halves closer together. Eyes turned toward the sky, wisps of light trailing down the cheeks of each man and woman who accepted their destinies. The warriors of Fate dove themselves into the fibers of the tree, weaving themselves tightly, mimicking the woven strings of the Tapestry of Life.
They felt their mother's gaze upon them. Thanking them, showering each soul with pride and the promise of peaceful eternal rest once their destinies had been fulfilled. Her hands ran along their shoulders, comforting them as their sorrow reflected in the mortal realm below.
The clouds moved across the Mortal Lowlands, casting the world in a hazy darkness. Eyes turned toward the heavens as something gave way in the chest of every mortal. Sorrow seeped into the souls, forcing the light of hope to fade. The shift was undeniable. The tears of the Warriors of Fate fell upon the upturned faces, attempting to console them as they prepared for the darkness ahead.
YOU ARE READING
Blood And Stone
FantasyLyric. There was nothing extraordinary about her, at least not in her mind. She was nothing but a young servant in a wealthy farmer's house, picking berries, cooking meals, and scrubbing floors. Until one fateful day when a nearby village was set ab...
