There was a plateau somewhere in this world where a person of indeterminate age was sitting patiently.
His skin was as dark as the night but it had been made grayish by the dirt and grime that had accumulated over the years of sitting in the same spot; immobile.
One could even make the mistake of thinking it was a rock vaguely shaped like a man.
Birds sometimes make that mistake.
He welcomed them; not that he longed for company but it was a nice break to his monotonous days.
Below the plateau was a sea of greenery so thick one could imagine a very vast woolen blanket covering the land.
In fact, these were grasses.
The way they swayed and danced to the wind is enough to make him feel serene. He had been watching this dance for centuries.
When the world was young, the Gods walked this grassland. It was a place of wonders; of beginnings.
Now, another version of this piece of creation existed somewhere else and the people had come to call it Cagay-An.
A little farther northwest was another special place that would be called the Last Frontier.
His brother was guarding that place and like him, he was also sitting like a sentry for centuries.
The only difference was that he was sitting not on a plateau but in the center of a forest.
In front of the first ever Narra tree.
His brother was ironically called the Last Volume in the ancient language of the Gods.
There were many of them across the globe. Unremarkable people weaving and crossing along the thread of history, gathering what can only be called the True Chronicles of the world.
They were virtually unseen even though they are always in plain sight.
The eyes of man had been conditioned to avoid the ugly and the unpleasant so they remained in that guise.
It was because of that, they are the only ones who see the world for what it is. Pure and untainted by bias and selfishness.
Most of their kindred were marginalized and oppressed but they thrived instead under these conditions.
He tried to look further than the seemingly unending sea of grass but as usual, all he saw was clouds changing shapes.
'Not today, I guess.'
This thought had crossed his mind countless times but he remained hopeful.
They will eventually come and he will also resume his journey.
He raised his head and the bird that was contentedly sitting on his head was startled enough to flap its wings but it didn't fly.
He let his thoughts wander to the others more out of a habit than anything.
He sifted among the layers of thoughts that made up the river they call an Overmind and found the threads he wanted.
"How are you, Induyan?"
She is the overseer of the riverbanks, the shallow waters and the misty beyond that is outside the history they hold.
"There is movement among the cosmic threads. We are in for exciting times."
He can feel her heart beating wildly.
He, himself, felt his heart skip a beat or two.
"Is it the Golden Thread?"
He can barely contain his excitement but at the same time, he was fervently hoping that it wasn't the Upper Realms where the Gods walk.
"Thankfully, it was one of the obscure ones. The thin white line that never moved for a thousand years. I think the inhabitants of the floating hut are making their move at last."
"That one was ever the unknown. It came about almost at the same time as the Cosmic Fracture. I wonder if it is connected with the foretold coming of the Eight?"
"Ever the curious one, are we?" she chuckled.
"Yes. I guess even the librarian could be curious about a new book."
"Why bother speculating? We take what comes and that should be all," her tone was mildly reproachful.
"We should not be immune to the impact of a good story, my friend. Haven't you cheered on a particular event or cried at a tragedy even though we can't do anything about it? I remember you bawling when they executed the one they call Jose. If there was ever a reward to what we are doing, the ability to be touched by them would be enough for me."
"Ever the sentimental one, Tinaw."
He smiled a little at that. It had been a long time since he was called by his real name.
All his brothers and sisters were given conventional names - fake sounding ones, by the people around them; with condescension even but they all have real names.
Noble names.
They never bothered to correct them. Better to act like a fool than to argue with one.
The latter is a sure way to waste one's time.
He said goodbye to Induyan and contacted one more.
"Abagat, how are things on your side?"
He is the guardian of the lost stories. If one is to cross worlds, it would likely be through him.
Being lost is easier these days. The Eight might all cross through the lost gates.
Abagat sits atop one of the Twin Towers - the ones that never fell.
"All is well for the time being, Kuyang." He felt touched by the honorific he used.
"Induyan said that the white thread moved. I think you would be the most likely guardian to first encounter whoever that is."
"I saw the Keeper of the Frozen Flame although there is nothing new about that. I saw her get near the fringes of the Lost Gates a few times just this year. Is she in any way connected to the floating hut?"
"There is no way to tell. Continue observing her, though. It might be that we have found us a spirit anchor. The others might gravitate towards her."
Tinaw was now slowly realizing the astronomical movements being made at the same time and he was at a loss for words for several seconds.
He still had one more to contact and he cut communications with the baffled Abagat quickly.
The person he contacted last was a bit more challenging to get a hold of.
He is not immobile and his thoughts move as fast as he does.
Tarayon is the Guardian of the Walkers.
Right now, he is fascinated in two children's battle of wills over a donut while thousands of others around them are oblivious that these two will, in the future, be engaged in the same contest with higher stakes. The air around them was even warped although only Tarayon sees this.
He, himself, availed of a donut from the same vendor a minute ago and was now currently enjoying both the scene and the food.
"Tarayon. TARAYON!" shouted Tinaw and the slight young man almost dropped his food in surprise.
"Kuyang...this is a surprise." He composed himself rather fast which is one of his better traits.
"How are the walkers?"
"Same old, same old. Unseen, unheard...but very much enmeshed in society if that is what you wanted to ask. Nothing has happened in a millennia to warrant such curiosity."
Tarayon was mildly annoyed at being interrupted in his entertainment.
"Check the Walker Chronicles. Something might have escaped your notice."
"Does it matter? We are only keepers of data. What we hold goes to the river and they will stay there whether we check or not."
"Have you forgotten that we interfered?"
Tarayons eyes slightly widened as he realized what his elder was saying. He dropped everything and dived into the River.
"Kuya...please forgive my inattentiveness." He humbly kneeled in the middle of that bustling cityscape.
No one looked at him. In their eyes, he was one of the fixtures in that ever changing landscape, like a lamp post that promptly lights when it is time.
Or a garbage can in the corner.
They see but don't acknowledge.
"What have you seen?" The alarm is not there in his voice yet but slowly rising to the surface.
Tarayon's gesture was of profound regret and apology. He must have seen something terrible.
"There is nothing yet that merits great concern but I have seen shadow threads detach from their main worlds."
"Is there a pattern to their movements?"
"Nothing yet but they are milling about, swirling mists but it seemed to me like they are waiting for something."
"Or someone." The image of the Frozen Flame came to him unbidden. A sudden suspicion dawned on him.
"How many shadow threads have you seen?"
"Eight."
That confirmed it. He called a general meeting of the highest priority.
"Tarayon, prepare for a storm."
He pulled his thought and he was back in the plateau overlooking the vast, open grassland. The horizon is still clear.
Not for long.