For a Thousand Years
A collaborative arc by Zark and Star
After the events of CWSitting relaxedly on the living room of his and Etla’s cozy abode on Travenios, Craig looked over at the Rainborn as she sat by his side on a couch before a TV; chocolate and cinnamon-sugar doughnuts, cups of fizzling soda, and bowls of popcorn were strewn before them. Etla leaned her golden-haired head a little more into Craig’s warm and snug embrace, and the mutant smiled, adjusting his arm to make her more comfortable, before turning his attention back to the latest episode of
Doctor Who, a time-space adventure show which had become one of their favorites.
A now familiar light weight rested in his pocket, a diamond ring he had designed himself. A cold sweat began to bead over his brow as he thought of it, at first thinking that now was the time, and then, as he had done for the last two months, dismissing it as ‘just not right.’ It had to be the perfect moment, for him to gather the courage to propose. He knew his fear was irrational, but the man couldn’t help it. What ifs had plagued his mind for several weeks now as he debated between taking her back to the Devil’s Den, where they had kissed for the first time, or the Big Ben Tower, in London, where they had first met, or Asgard, where the first inklings of their bond had shone through the knowledge that everything was about to die.
Promising to himself that he would decide by the end of next week, the artificer turned his attention back to the screen, only to behold Etla’s bright emerald eyes observing him curiously. “What’s up, Craig?” She asked with an inquisitive look on her face, wondering what was on his mind. “Uhh,” The mutant paused, gulping, before responding. “I was just... thinking about some things.”
“What things?” asked Etla, her attention fully on him, neglecting the silly TV show. By the sweat trickling down Craig’s face almost imperceptibly, she deduced it was the ring. Etla was by no means stupid, and Craig, being the silly lovely human he was, had fumbled his proposal three times now. She was honestly beginning to wonder what the big deal was. After all, it was just a ring, right?
“Well…” Craig started, deciding to just do it. “Since our third anniversary of meeting each other is almost here, I was wondering…” His voice cracked a little, but he soldiered on, “If you would like to visit Asgard…?”
Etla’s lips curled into a kind smile at him. She had a good idea of what this question meant, and nodded in response. “Was that it? Of course I’ll go, silly.” The Rainborn giggled, before looking up, gently wiping the sweat off her boyfriend’s brow, the mutant relaxing slightly as she caressed him, expecting his fourth attempt at proposing to go well, unlike the first three.
“You know I love going out with you.” The emerald-eyed girl said sincerely, before leaning further towards him and pressing her face against his in a kiss, soft and tender, not bold and passionate like the one they had shared nearly three years ago in the Devil’s Den. At first surprised, Craig soon gave in and enjoyed the moment. Before long, Etla pulled away, a small grin now on her face as she looked at Craig, who was slightly short of breath but otherwise sported a thin smile.
“Now stop thinking so much, you’ll get sick one of these days.” The Rainborn told him, snuggling closer to the inventor and resting her head on his shoulder as he started playing with her rich strands of golden hair, the two turning their attention back to the telly while enjoying each other’s company. However, before long, Craig realized that something was amiss. The Doctor had just saved the day again, but the screen should’ve changed to a different scene by now, yet instead of that, the screen had simply faded to black.
Soon, a swirling black hole appeared in the screen, mesmerizing, hypnotic, and the mutant and the Rainborn were helpless as they stared at it, entranced. Then, just like that, their consciousness faded to black. Just like the screen.
The Man
The man awoke, garbed in a rough loincloth, his eyes struggling with purpose, finally opening, to behold the innumerable stars above. They seemed so impossibly high above him, and he reached out to them, not with hand, but in thought and mind. But they were beyond him, for now, incomprehensible and ineffable. He got up and sniffed the air, not knowing why he did so, nor how he got up, nor what he was, even, but nevertheless , he smelt nothing but wet dew. The man looked down upon himself, at his dark skin, and beheld his hands, unblemished and untainted by the wrinkles of time.
He could not understand it, for the time being, but he could move and think, his thoughts developed and accelerated than all others. While other men, in the dawn of their awakening, struggled, and were overwhelmed with a random cascade of sensations, his focus was straight, yet not narrow, encompassing the color of Earth and the whispering of the wind. He lifted his eyes upward, seeing other figures like himself rising from the Earth. And so he began to move, one foot lifting itself, as the other followed, and so he walked, toward them.
It was a short walk for him, and when he neared them, he halted, not knowing what to do, he arranged something within his throat and grunted at them. The others slowly learned how to move and grunt as he did, but quickly, the man grew tired of grunting and opened his mouth, speaking the first words of humanity: “I AM.”
They looked at him quizzically, and he showed them, how to form words, and so, the silence of nature was perverted forever, and a cacophony of human voices sounded in discordant chorus.
More beings joined them, and they too began to speak, when they learned the art of it, and soon the cacophony was an onrushing flood to the man’s ears. He had felt.pain for the first time.
And so, he responded, scrambling up a rock and standing above them, opening up his mouth, his mind finding the appropriate word to use here: “Silence!”
And the cacophony died down to whispers. The group of men and women learned, and spoke, the man always at the vanguard. They discovered the need for shelter as white-colored, cold, and hard balls came down upon them, and ascertained that the dryness of their throats could only be sated with water, and the ache in their stomachs could only be satisfied in food. They developed self-awareness as well, and to distinguish each other, they created names for themselves.
And when asked, the man gazed beyond the plains for a moment, and then, spoke one name: “Craig.”
The others looked at him quizzically, but accepted it with nods, and then they continued their endeavor to survive. Craig led them in the discoveries that they made, and soon, a woman discovered that there were other beings, that walked the Earth, beings with four legs. But when she attempted to speak to them, they would not, could not respond, and so Craig's tribe deemed them inferior, and, growing tired of eating the grass, roots, and bark, partook on a hunt. They had no weapons, nor did any of them know what weapons were yet, but Craig took a group of 7--they had, in an attempt to distinguish how many there was of a thing, had created numbers--of the tribe's fastest members, and tracked a tan beast until it drew dark, and the beast laid down to rest. And then, the hunters leapt on the beast, raking it's sides with their teeth as others used their fists upon the beast, which struggled mightily, but to no avail. And then, all of a sudden, its struggles ended, and the beast's eyes turned vacant, its body limp.
Several of the hunters howled in delight, but Craig simply knelt, his hands now scarred and bleeding, growing sorrowful that in order for his tribe to live and thrive, others would have to stop living. It seemed a terrible thing to him, to end this beast, and yet it had been necessary. Slowly, he slung the animal--that was the name he came up for it, surmising it to be more than a dumb beast---over his shoulder, and he began to lope back towards the village, the other hunters following him.
The tribe had meat to eat that night, and so they feasted on the animal, Craig taking reluctant bites, hating the taste of the beast and the red fluid that squirted when he bit into it, a red liquid that they had within themselves as well. But he knew that it was necessary. Afterwards, they drank mud water, the only real drink they had, and then the members of the tribe all drifted away to their selected shelters, a few fights occurring over some of the best spots.
Their lives followed a cyclical nature, hunting, eating, and drinking and then sleeping. But after one of Craig’s teeth has snapped from the bone of an animal, and his jaws ached from repeated chewing, he was convinced that there had to be a better way to eat the meat. But his plans were interrupted by the sky being rent open by booms of sounds and streaks of yellow light.
Some of the people ran to the caves, crying out that the world was ending, until a panic grew within the tribe, a panic that grew into a stampede, until the plain was completely empty, save for Craig. He gazed up at the sky, his curly hair soon matted down by the torrential rain. But he sensed that this phenomenon could be used, somehow, to his purpose. Guided by instinct, he took a branch and began to run, soon reaching the slope of the mountain, which he began to climb, slowly, by his sheer willpower, grasping ever closer towards heaven. It was a long climb, and a difficult one, and he slipped many times, not knowing how to properly position his hands and feet in the most efficient manner. But still, he persevered, not minding the rain that came down upon him. He had no measure of time, so he knew not how long he had climbed, when he reached the zenith. But in victory, he thrust his branch into the sky, and if by divine Providence, the yellow streak came upon it, and then, there was a crackle of light. Craig looked up at it, and marveled at the warmth this...light gave, and it was exceedingly hot to his fingers. And so he roared, his primal bellow echoing beyond valleys and hills. His tribespeople heard it, and clambered cautiously out, and bore witness to the birth of something extraordinary. Craig climbed down the mountain, carefully, his mad laughs filling the air as the lightning abated, his branch blazing with light held aloft. And so, they called him by another name, Craig. They called him Prometheus.
They called it fire, this light, and they soon discovered that it could be used to warm themselves and their food, and make their meat tender and more appetizing. Fire scared away any large animals, and so they no longer feared the night, nor its monsters. Craig, by banging two rocks together in a fit of anger at another tribesman, discovered sparks as well, sparks that could be used to create fire without the yellowstreaks---their word for lightning. But they also discovered that fire could be used to shape things, and so, one day, the first weapon was created. The creator, a rival tribesman named Yont put his walking stick into the group fire and discovered that it became sharp to the touch. With it, he killed an animal faster than Craig had ever done, and so the tribe flocked to him, and they became factionalized and splintered.
Two moons later, the two groups met by the fire to speak, and Yont revealed his weapons, and made his case for leadership of the tribe. But Craig was the only one to speak against these weapons of Yont, saying that they would lead to war between men, and disrespect of the beasts of the plains. For that, they called him a coward, and so Craig departed back to his dwelling, not knowing that Yont plotted against him.
And when the next moon had come. Yont’s group had made their weapons and then attacked Craig, and, the man, seeing that he had no allies, fled. And he was fleeter of foot than his pursuers because of their sharpened sticks which weighed them down. And when he had outrun them, he slowed to a stop. He had been forsaken, and he dared not return, lest he be killed. Lighting a fire on a branch, he began to walk, in no particular direction, hoping to find purpose. He soon found that purpose, in another group of people, and so the circle of life began again. And the legend of a man named Prometheus began to spread like wildfire.
The Woman
An unconscious figure lay in the eternal sands of the desert, surrounded by them, buried beneath them, and yet, untouched by the passing of time. The rays of the merciless sun reflected off of the few metallic plates that covered the figure which had not yet been engulfed by the sand, creating the illusion of a shining pool in the middle of the desert. Not far from there, a group of men and women wandered miserably, cast out of their homes by those who were stronger and better armed than they. The clothes they wore, tattered by a long time of traveling without rest, were laughably insufficient to protect them from the harshness of the sun and the sand, and they walked with their hands and bellies empty, bearing hope no more, only waiting for the moment when their legs would carry them no further, and they would fall and be swallowed by the dunes or devoured by the circling black birds. Alas, that moment, it seemed, was taking its time to arrive, and though those men and women were sick of waiting, wanting nothing more than to let themselves down already, and surrender to the will of the Gods, there was something that impelled them forward, a primal instinct that did not allow them to give up their life until the very last moment.
It was this very same impulse that led them to move towards the glowing beacon amidst the sands. Though they did not know why, they were drawn towards it, driven by their innate curiosity and by the idea that perhaps, just perhaps, that shining light might contain some hope for the hopeless wanderers. Thus it was that they shambled towards it with the last of their strength, descending from the dune where they stood and walking to the pool of light. When they reached it, they could not tell what they had found, but, with newfound determination to reveal the mystery, they began using their bare hands to move away the sands, uncovering more and more of the metallic plates, until eventually, they unearthed that which was buried. But, where they had expected riches to buy their salvation, or weapons to fight back and earn it, they instead found a person, a woman. Her hair was golden like the rays of sunlight that descended from the skies, and her milky skin was soft and warm to the touch, though most of it was covered in an intricate suit of armor, seemingly made of silver and blood.
The travelers were amazed with their discovery, having never before seen someone of that appearance, or the type of armor that she wore. But their marveled reverie would not last, for though they were surprised, they remained tired and worn and battered, and that which they had unearthed, they knew, would do them no good, would not help them survive out in the sands, and their wonder faded away, their despair settling in once more. Once more they resigned themselves to their destiny, and their weary, calloused feet began dragging them away from there.
What they did not know was that death had finally heard their pleas, and was coming to claim them. For a mighty roar echoed through the sands in front of them, and as they ascended through the dune before them, they saw the agents of death fast approaching. A pack of lions had felt hunger awakening within them, and had decided to head out on a hunt. And now that they had caught the scent of soft flesh to devour, hope was at long last gone. The weakened wanderers no longer had the energy in them to run away from the danger, or to fight back, and so, all they could do was watch as the lions approached, weakly stepping back in one last attempt to escape from an inevitable destiny, some of them tumbling and falling to the sands.
It was then that something incredible happened. The same woman that they had unearthed before, she had rose from the eternal sands of the desert, and now strode past the fallen wanderers, standing in front of the pack of lions that had come to claim their flesh. Though momentarily surprised, the beasts displayed no intention to back off, and warily they approached the woman with a mane of gold. The first of them charged at her, teeth ready to tear and rend the woman’s flesh, but she raised her gauntlet, and the lion bit naught but metal before being thrown aside with great force. The other lions, wary, circled the woman, and some of them lunged in tandem, but she cast them aside expertly. Finally, when she grew tired of their insolence, she held up her hand. An orb of light shone with the strength of the sun itself above her, and, blinded, the pride that had lost its pride fled from that woman’s wrath.
The desert wanderers, they were in awe of what they had witnessed. Formerly, they had vested none of their hope in that fallen woman who lay half-buried in the sempiternal sands, but now that they had witnessed her power, the power of the lady who bore the sun itself in her palm, they could not conceive her as anything other than a savior sent by the heavens above. With their waning strength, the weathered figures rose from the sands, only to fall to their knees around the Goddess, revering her and chanting over and over the word of Might, for she was mighty indeed. One with the strength to bend the beasts of the land to her will, and with the power of light, could be nothing if not divine, and so, the wanderers praised her for as long as their frail and battered bodies would allow, their wonder far outweighing their suffering.
The woman, however, did not understand what they said. She was, in fact, in a state of confusion. Her mind… It was in turmoil. Her consciousness was numb from the prolonged inactivity it had been plunged into an uncertain amount of time ago. Unable to yet function properly and form coherent thought, her mind had been operating her body based on automatic responses instead, activating when it felt the touch of intelligent creatures, and reacting when it felt a threat arising. The woman had fought the beast pride not out to terrify or to protect, but out of a misplaced self-preservation instinct. Now, however, with the threat gone and the desert wanderers kneeling before her, she felt her consciousness truly awaken. Where was she?
Who, and more importantly,
what was she? There were no answers in sight, but as she heard the wanderers chant one word over and over again, there was only one thing she could think of that the word might express.
Her name.
Tilting her head, she spoke, her voice softer than the travelers might have expected of a shining deity such as her, but nonetheless heavenly, and she spoke the same word in an inquisitive tone, wondering. Those gathered around her, they were amazed to hear one so far above speaking to them, amazed and yet delighted, and so, they claimed that she was might itself, that she bore the strength of countless lions, and though she did not know what they spoke of, for their ancient tongue was lost on her, she adopted that word as hers. The mighty one, they had called her, and the mighty one she had become.
But as much as her awakening mind enjoyed the reverence that the men and women of the desert showed her, it was painfully simple to see just how badly the trials of the sands had affected them. Though none of them had faltered thus far, all of them continuing to praise her, their voices were dying down, and their bodies were screaming out weakness and decay. Even to one such as her, who could understand none of what the wanderers were going through, it was clear that something was wrong, and so, approaching one of them, she gripped him by his shoulders, softly, and then made him rise, before having him walk.
Ignorant to the wishes of the Goddess, but unwilling to leave them unfulfilled, the man walked. Before he had taken more than a few steps, however, his shoulder was clasped once again, and he was stopped, returned to the others. The mighty one then used the power of the sun that she bore in her palm to carve a line in the dunes, the sands turning to crystal as they were touched by the shining light. Then, turning elsewhere, the lady of the golden mane disappeared, moving faster than the wind, with only the flying sands knowing where she had gone. Dutifully, the people of the desert awaited for her return, standing underneath the scorching sun for what seemed like a long time, only the sun itself knowing how long they waited.
But their wait, they soon found out, was not in vain. Though the flying sands and the scorching sun above blinded them, they were able to hear, and they heard the growls of approaching beasts, but also the voice of the Goddess, softly humming. The wanderers of the desert moved to meet her, and once they were close enough to see, they saw her, sitting on the back of a lion, several more following her, bound by chains of light that she held in her palm. As she approached, however, the lion that she rode on faltered, and she jumped off before it fell to the ground, a large, bleeding gash on the side that faced the sun. A sad sacrifice, but a necessary one for the lady to assert her dominance over the beasts of the wild. The travelers once more sang praises of their savior, who had now brought mounts for them to head to gentler lands, and before they departed from that dune in the middle of the desert, they gave the Goddess a gift that they fashioned from the fallen beast.
For a long time they rode beneath the skies, guided by the one who held the reins of light in her hand, who walked before all of them, headed towards the land they had been exiled from, headed towards the land of black soils.
The men of the city in the desert sands were, as always, vigilant. The watchers on the mudbrick walls observed the horizon with unwavering focus, ready to draw and aim their bows at any threat that might approach. The wardens that stood below, by the gates, were prepared to wield their curved blades with deadly precision against any who would march upon the walled city. But as these keepers watched, they soon noticed something different amidst the eternal sands, something that approached the city. And as they watched, they soon saw what it was: a pride marched towards them, wanderers clad in tattered clothes sitting on the back of the beasts, all of them led by a strange figure clad in red, once silver plates now painted by the blood of a fallen beast. The figure in the lead held in her hands golden reins of light that seemed to control the pride, but the most prominent detail was undoubtedly the severed head of a lion which she wore on her head, masking her as the fury of nature itself.
Soon, however, the men of the sand city saw something that alarmed them more than the mysterious figure: the men and women riding on the backs of maned beasts, they were the ones that had been exiled. The reason did not matter: it was the will of those who ruled, and their will was to be respected. The sentence had been clear: those who dared to return, would be killed on the spot. Arrows soon began to cover the sky as they flew towards the exiles, but they had faith in their Goddess, and they remained unafraid in the face of death. The arrows soon covered the distance between the bowmen on the walls of the city and the riders of the lion pride. The first few miraculously missed their marks.
The rest did not have a chance to do so.
Seeing the threat to the people she led to the city, the people she was trying to save, the woman with the head of a lion raised her hand, and as if triggered by her will, something happened that caused the nomads to marvel, and caused the men of the city to watch on in terror. The arrows that were still flying over the sky suddenly burst into flames, the fire consuming them so quickly that by the time they would reach the nomads, they were naught but a breeze of ashes in the sky.
The rain of arrows continued for a time, but the wanderers and their lady advanced unfettered, wood and bronze burning up in the air, never reaching the target. Eventually, they reached the gates of the city, and that was when the true battle broke out. The soldiers, wielding their curved blades, charged towards the Goddess clad in red, but their weapons seemed to simply bounce off of her armor, causing her no harm. Even her skin seemed impervious to it, as she was able to grab one of the curved arms and snap it in half with ease, a show of force that caused the soldiers to back away from her. Yet, even though these men were harmless to her, she made no move to attack them. It was only when one of them, preferring to deal with a pack of lions than an angry deity, rushed towards the nomads, that her fury was truly shown. In one swift move, she ripped a weapon out of a warrior’s hand and beheaded the man who threatened them, before invading the city by herself, unstoppable, like a force of nature. The battle lasted for a while, but every soldier that crossed her path was slain, and soon, most of those who still remained in the city fled in terror of the crimson lioness that had arrived from the desert.
Only the few who remained behind, too intelligent to fight against the red Goddess, were able to put an end to the one-sided battle. Making it all too evident that they had no intention to fight, they approached bearing gifts: in wooden crates, they carried food and jars of a strange red drink, which they presented before the wanderers mounted on the lion pride. Ever so humble, they offered the gift to their lady first, but she, not knowing its worth, shared it with them. The red liquid’s taste, to her, was enjoyable, though it had no other effect on her, whereas it seemed to affect the others strangely. Regardless, now that she had done justice for the men and women of the desert, and had saved them from the brink of starvation, she was content, appeased, and so, the rampage was brought to an end, the lady taking off the lion’s head at last.
In the night, with no further desire to fight and no need to travel further, she instead turned to those who had become her worshippers. Seeing them rejoicing, she shared in their bliss, and joined in their celebration. The repatriated nomads heard the Goddess sing and laugh, and with her they learned to dance until they fell over. Where in the day she had spread flames and terror, in the night she had spread joy and love, and the people of the desert revered her all the more for it.
But despite this, she could feel there was a yearning in her heart, a longing for something that she did not possess, but somehow knew. And thus, in the dead of night, she left the desert to search for that which she desired. Her face would not be seen again, but her legend would last for millennia.