Gamers Random Tales

Story 55 - Lost Waltz

(YES! I AM FINALLY WRITING A SOMEWHAT ORIGINAL STORY!)

Loss.

I've experienced it hundreds of times, it's horrid.

A feeling I'd put others through with a shining smile, yet would never experience myself again.

The worst part of loss, in my case,

is the fact the perpetrator of it suffers no consequences.

Infact, they're praised.

Praised for taking away everything from you.

Praised, in your place.

That praise.

It doesn't belong to them.

And yet, they have it.

It's cruel.

It's not fair.

No one will listen to your side if you're the villian.

I'm the villian.

Why would a villian have anything important to say besides cruel ideals?

...

Hey.

Wanna here a villian's tale?

I've been talking nonsense and you've been listening, so I might as well make your stay worth something.

Listen close,

because no one will side with you if you sympathize with me.

Lost Waltz

In the beginning, there was only one:

The linked sword.

This sword—despite its fragile, weak appearance—could slay gods with the hand of a master.

It was, and still is, the most recognized weapon in all of our world.

Eventually, one day, the linked captured the attention of a mysterious birthmaker from the skies. Inspired by its appearance, it raised its palm of creation and it birthed.

It created the first four of the Hill Swords: Firebrand, Venomshank, Windforce,

and me, Voidreign.

We were known as the blade deities: the gods of the hills. We were icons. Historical figures; someone you'd see and wish you were.

I was an icon. A historical figure. I was someone important; someone known.

I was that and more for years,

until the fateful day of loss came.

I call—and always will address to—that day as the 'Day of End'.

It was the end of the beginning, and the beginning of the end.