Aeonian Echo of Stories

The Bearer of Fate
          
          
          
          The hymn of joy echoed through the halls of Orylex.
          The beloved Child of Mana had finally been born—woven from the purest essence in all creation.
          The child of prophecy.
          The chosen one.
          The most selfless… and the most unfortunate fortunate.
          
          The embodiments of laws and elements gathered around her tiny divine form. They embraced her with their radiance and sang a bittersweet hymn—joyful for her arrival, sorrowful for the burden already resting upon her small shoulders.
          
          Their chant spilled into the mortal world below, carrying wonders with every note.
          The sun, the moon, and the stars aligned as if in reverence.
          The Stoneheart Mountains stirred, bowing as though to greet a higher presence.
          The oceans fell silent in her honor.
          All of nature trembled in perfect harmony, calling out for the one now born.
          
          Humanity felt the shift as a tremor in their souls.
          Some trembled in fear, believing the world itself had grown enraged.
          Some gazed skyward in shock.
          Some searched desperately for meaning.
          Some fell to their knees in worship.
          
          Yet not a single mortal understood the truth—only that a new era had begun.

It's the continuation of the previously posted
          " The One Who Was Never Meant to See the Day "
          
          
          It’s still dark outside.
          An everlasting night without a single moon or star in the sky—
          only a giant, bloody-red eye looming above.
          
          Sigh. So much time has passed.
          I’m really tired.
          After all these restless nights, don’t I deserve a long, undisturbed sleep?
          A long, long one…?
          
          After my parents threw their bodies to shield us—to buy us enough time to flee, to survive.
          
          After watching my comrades fall, one after another, on the orders I gave—
          for this ruined world, for a flickering spark of light that keeps dying anyway.
          
          After I had to hold the cold, lifeless body of the child I carried for eight months—
          the one I struggled to recall lullabies for, the ones I’d heard as a child myself.
          The one I whispered to in every brief moment of peace.
          The one my beloved kissed through my belly, again and again—
          all for one final embrace.
          One goodbye before laying him beneath the cold, muddy ground.
          
          After I had to send him, my dearest, on a mission with no return.
          
          How much can a mortal heart take?
          How much more must I endure?
          Why won’t it end?
          
          I’m tired!
          I’m begging you… please… just let me go.
          
          

Hey!
          I’m on a bus to my dorm in another city for university right now. The sun’s slowly going down, so it’s evening here — but wherever you are, I hope you’ve had (or are having) a wonderful day.
          
          I wanted to say something about what I posted earlier. Everyone seemed to have a different take on it — some even insisted I’ve “fallen.”
          But truth is, I haven’t yet experienced those emotions — love, obsession, yearning, desire — not toward another person, at least.
          
          That, however, isn’t really the point.
          The poem I wrote was from the perspective of a man who’s lost his sight — he’s blind. Somewhere along the way (I didn’t think too much about the exact details), he meets a woman — brilliant, beautiful, and kind-hearted. She starts accompanying him everywhere, describing the world around them.
          
          But at some point, he begins wanting to know more about her than the world she describes. So he pleads with her — to tell him about herself, to describe herself so he can picture her in his mind.
          
          See? It’s actually such a sweet story!
          And yet my idiot friends kept asking, “Whose lips are you talking about?” 

How should I imagine you
          
          
          Say, how bright was the daylight
          How warm was the sun
          How harmonious was the bird's soft singing 
          Say, how bright was the daylight
          
          Tell me of the rain falling down your face
          Of searching for shelter
          Of the sound as it drummed on the windows
          Tell me of the warmth of a silent embrace
          
          The world holds countless wonders,
          Yet it's only your voice, your touch
          Only you I long to understand
          
          So tell me, your scent, the curve of your nose
          The warmth that lingers in your hands
          The softness of your lips
          
          Tell me how I should imagine you
          
          

Hope your nights are quiet and peaceful as the infinity skies of desert, unchanging.
          
          After so many years about six years I think again I started watching anime and movies. I started this journey with Dororo(2019). I recommend it, it's a 24 episode anime with a rich and great story.
          
          Oh right on my brother's suggestion last night I watched the movie se7en(1995), this one too was a great masterpiece in genre of crime, drama, mystery. I apologize but it really would be a shame to say anything about the story. Do not ever read any summary or spoilers. It's best to watch it without any prear knowledge. You'll thank me afterwards.

The One Who Was Never Meant to See the Day
          
          
          How many years has it been, that the sky was ripped apart?
          It has been night all day long. 
          How many years has it been, I’ve forgotten.
          
          It’s been so long enough for a child who lost her parents to the claws of monsters to not be able to remember their faces anymore — long enough for names and lullabies to fade into dust.
          
          So long enough for only a city, a wall, a battlefield to remain — where the last of us fall for eternity, nourishing the little spark of hope left in all these nights.
          
          The once a little girl now stands atop the city walls, her back burdened with the prayers of those who remain, with all the whispers of the world pleading. The one who lost everything once was going to lose another — the most precious one.
          
          She had to make a choice. She had to consider the whole picture, the whole thing, the whole world. But not her own — there’s no place for her in the future she envisions. She knew it very well.
          
          “There’s no coming back from this mission!”
          
          She said it while her hands were shaking violently. She pressed her eyes shut and tried to steady her breathing.
          
          “Eshar, you’re the most suited for this role!”
          
          “I understand, Commander!”
          
          She let out a shaky breath while looking right into his eyes. With the condition her hands were in, she gestured to another to write down his name.
          
          “You may depart tonight.”
          
          She turned around. “I’ll follow soon.”
          

My introduction :
          
          She watched as he drew his last breath, alone, in the abandoned shelter. She lingered as a newborn was left cruelly in the snow.
          She heard the quiet worry of a mother, wiping the fevered sweat from her child's brow. 
          She felt the suffocating panic as a fisherman was swallowed by the stormy, insatiable mouth of the ocean.  
          
          
          She was there for every moment, every heartbeat, every sunrise and sunset, every turn in life's endless circle. 
          She was there when joy bloomed and when it withered, when hope rose trembling from despair, when love broke - and still refused to die.  
          
          
          She has witnessed. 
          She has heard. 
          She has felt. 
          She has lived. 
          She has mourned. 
          She has died.  
          
          
          And yet - 
          she remains.  
          
          
          She is the Aeonian Echo of every story.

Hello.
          I’m an English student, and it’s my second language.
          I write sometimes — for class, or simply for myself.
          There’s no particular genre I stick to, just the quiet ramblings of a side character.
          
          And I really appreciate your feedback.