Undeniable Vengeance

2. Eyes of the Ancients

Eyes of the Ancients

In the void, where time is irrelevant, where centuries pass like days, it serves no purpose to record the passing of time. But this is a time not far removed from the present, as close as can be judged.

She watched from her prison through eyes that were not eyes, held captive by walls that were not walls. No walls could hold her, yet she could not escape. It would not be for long though, only a fleeting moment. She knew that the one who would free her was coming; she had witnessed his birth.

The memory carved a smile, and the vaporous form shivered with unbridled excitement. Seldom did a new life beget a smile; she drew her strength from death. But this birth was different—a shadow of the world's new order, a harbinger of death to come. And with each death, new life would spring within her soul. New energy to fill the void of aeons. New power to destroy the gods of old.

Time grew close, but she could be patient. After waiting so many centuries, the lifetime of a mortal would be like tomorrow, like the blink of an ancient eye.

She fought to restrain the racing of her heart, for already the omens had begun: bitter cold lay waste to the sacred lands, and searing heat burned bright in the flames of the Sethian desert. Soon the battles would start. Soon the blood would flow. For soon, she knew, the Awakening would come.

The thought stirred old memories—images from before the birth of this world and beyond—back to times before the Creation, before the heavens blistered with the fires of new life.

Her memory was long and, once free, she would remember those who had worshiped her—and those who had not. The pain of eternity dwelled in her bosom and coursed her veins, and the wailing of countless dying warriors sang in her ears and wept in her soul. But they too, would soon be awakened. Through her, their power would be restored. Through her, they would live to die again.

Three pairs of eyes watched from a grave that was not a grave, through eyes that were not eyes. They desperately sought the one who could win their freedom. For so long all the world had beckoned them with festive tunes and rousing dances. Now the onset of the great suffering was near, and their people cried out from shallow memories beckoning gods they no longer knew.

They listened in earnest to the prayers of salvation, but any action would have to await his arrival. All hope rested with him. But if he turned, if he faltered, if he failed to see the truth—then she would be set free. And if that fate befell the world even the stars would shiver, for they were old enough to remember. They had seen moons collide and worlds shaken apart, and they had seen the last spark of light extinguished from the brightest among them. They knew that their existence was no more than a thought to her. If she were Awakened, nothing would be safe again.

"The time is right. We are in agreement on the champion. We must send the message."

"So be it."

"The message is sent."

The breach in the shield struck with the suddenness of a forcebolt. As the thought oozed through the mystic barriers that formed her prison wall, her heart grew anxious.

There is only one reason for a communique. They have chosen!

She prayed they had not decided on him, then prepared to receive the message, reluctant, almost afraid to hear the announcement.

Finally, a champion worthy of the task! But have I waited too long?

A terrible shudder precipitated her collapse. She struggled to compose herself. Madness! She felt it more frequently of late, and each time it proved more difficult to seize control. The bouts came suddenly, like the storms that churned the roiling seas on Gorshan, and the attacks, if less enduring, were no less violent.

Who wouldn't be mad—millennia spent alone, imprisoned, and faced with the prospect of suffering through all eternity. Countless centuries waiting for a puny mortal whose life was but a flicker in the darkness. She had seen the lives of many millions come and go, insignificant lives for the most part. But now—now was different. For the first time, there was more than one possibility, and an eternity of isolation and imprisonment awaited the wrong decision.

Until now she had held the message in abeyance, but she could wait no longer. “We have chosen,” they said.

She heard their selection. It had seemed an eternity awaiting the name—and now it was done.

A smile preceded the cackle, which itself heralded the cascade of laughter. How could they not have seen? How did they not know?

Almost, she could taste the spice of freedom, the sweetness of battle, and the euphoria of destruction. After thousands of years, it would be all the more precious.

She could hear the voices of her people rising once again in adoration, and she could see them lying prostrate at her feet. A giddiness swept over her, though she brought it to heel quickly. Protocol demanded that she form a response and, though she could wait until the next turn of the sun, she knew a swift reply would confuse and worry them.

They will have eternity to ponder their decision. All eternity to wonder where they went astray.

She formulated the thought and dispatched it. “I, too, have chosen.” She let a touch of laughter linger at the end of the message and then revealed her champion.

"The Awakening will soon be here."