Sat upon a wooden chair, a young boy coldly gazed toward the scenery outwards. The rigid breeze, parting his hair gently - the sun's light illuminating his accentuated face as it him up in a sombre glow.
Constant, rhythmic thuds reverberated within the room that could easily be as large as a medium-sized apartment. A pale finger tapping a melody that he never grew tired of - a habit he developed to show he was deep in though.
Subtly; and apprehensively, the boy's eyes moved and glazed over a wrinkled piece of paper that had clearly been aged. The wrinkled and brown parchment, not only signifying the time it had lived through, but also recording the annals of history. Marking. Etching, the very words of the victors of war and conflict who decided to dictate so.
However, for Achlys it didn't matter one bit. After all, information was still information nonetheless.
Slowly beginning to intently analyse the words written word by word. The once slow, arduous seconds, swiftly turning into minutes, which soon developed into hours. Each time he finished reading a parchment; he moved onto the next - intentions unknown.
It was only when the clock stuck three, that the unmoving youth tore his gaze away from the piles of paper. The tumultuous thumps coming to a halt, creating a comfortable silence that lingered in the air.
However, the previous serene comfort that he found the slightest hint of solace in, was soon shattered by a wistful sigh. Head tilted back, as he began to voice his rampaging thoughts aloud in a discreet murmur.
"Eight Months. I have eight months, to be atleast somewhat ready to the place where it all begins." With a sigh that released his frustrations, Achlys glanced at the door. Feeling that his goal of survival is inching further away the more he realised his situation.
For the past few hours, the boy had been strenuously collecting information to interpret the current situation he found himself in. Even if he had the knowledge of the future from the game itself, it wouldn't immediately help him. After all, he didn't even know what continent, era, or place he was in beforehand.
It was only after being informed that Achlys realised exactly how long he had left till the wheels of fate begin to turn. Signalling the eventual advent that will be known as the Twilight of the Gods. Alas, that is something that the future him would have to deal with.
"That is if I survive long enough to witness the ensuing destruction of the world." Mumbling to himself, the boy glanced at the time on the clock once again. 3:35.
Needless to say, Achlys had initially thought that his plight at hand wasn't knee-deep into muddied water yet. Especially since the actual plot of the game only began in a couple months time.
However, as they say - reality often defies expectations.
From everything Achlys had read, the youth's current circumstances were beyond what he had originally thought of.
Alongside many other precarious informations he had the pleasure to know, three noteworthy obstacles gleamed through. Three problems, that imposed him on whether he would rise or fall.
"This is the reality of being a character destined for mediocrity, huh." Chuckling mirthlessly within a room with no one but his sole figure, the boy uncluttered his desk till it was presentable.
The mind only worked at its best at its most optimum environment, after all. Unironically, for him it was for his surroundings to be spruced and orderly. It was only then the boy recounted the glaring problems slowly, one by one.
With his feet lifted onto the table top, the boy lost himself within his thoughts.
'The first one would undoubtedly be...'
Strength.
If it was so to be spoken eloquently, then his current situation at hand would be: 'so dire it hangs on the border of unimaginable'. With the vocabulary in the 21st century? Then it would be none other than 'well, shit'.
Arcadia isn't a world that differs much from Earth itself. Apart from the different structures of the continents and whatnot, at core they were practically identical. Containing the same old hierarchy of power.
The same old power-hungry old geezers.
The same old sinners, that desperately wore the facade of saints.
The same old fools who accelerate the inevitable demise of the very grounds they worship.
It was the same old world that would not let you eat, drink, or sleep if you didn't have the status or power to support you. The background to protect you. It was as if it was a natural law. A common occurrence despite the place you went. Even if it was far from home.
Might makes right.
An aphorism on the origin of morality. However, opinions and ethics were none other than useless when faced with overwhelming despair. It didn't matter who was correct, or who was incorrect. Who was the hero, or who was the villain. Who risked their life to save the world, nor the one who seeked to destroy it.
History is written by the victors, and that will never change.
For that alone, Achlys Grey needs to be strong. Capable enough, for the sake of himself. For his survival.
With a sigh that seemed to fatigue his already weakened self even further, the boy continued to spout his inner monologue. It was the only thing that kept him alive, around the lack of human interaction.
'Talent.'
The unsurmountable wall that separates talent and hard work. Geniuses and Ordinary folk: talent. A path which paves the way for success. An innate ability, gifted to those that those Constellations found worthy to do so.
A man that swings his sword relentlessly for one whole year, while never be able to surpass the genius who does it for one week. Such was the unfairness of the world, and unfortunately for him - Achlys Grey wasn't a man destined for greatness. Thus was the fate of a mob, a burden the transmigrated youth would have to bare.
As such, the golden question lay before his very being.
How exactly will Achly Grey be able to grasp the talent he so irretrievably sought after?
The answer to that question is something the boy had planned long ago. Luckily for him, he knew exactly where and what would guide him which would obliterate the chains that bound talent and untalented.
A cold smile graced his lips. Who said he needed to beg a God, for power? If an opportunity didn't come knocking, all he had to do was build a door.
A door - that will eventually shed the truth as to why he was here in the first place. Alas, that would have to wait. He still hadn't taken his first step into the journey of a thousand miles. Yet.
With the clock ticking 3:50, the youth recounted the final, and most crucial piece of the puzzle.
"Background."
Alongside the click of a tongue, that expressed his dilemma, Achlys rose from the comfortable, and gentle cushion of the chair before soon dressing himself with a cloak.
Finding a suitable background that didn't restrict his movements, yet conveyed to the world he wasn't one to be messed with was like finding a needle in a haystack. Well, that would be under normal circumstances.
Fortunately for the devious planner, he knew exactly where to get all three of mentioned things.
In the shortest route of course. Time is of essence.
On the other hand, it would lead him to none other than the Gates to Gods. The path that will eventually lead to the Twilight of the Divine Beings. As the proverb goes: All roads lead to Rome.
There was nothing he could do about it.
Dread it?
Run from it?
Destiny arrives all the same. Such was the will that was stated since the beginning to time.
However, that still didn't mean he would give up.
The key to survival is to act. And the essential in action is perseverance.
"Anyhow, I think now would be most suitable time to show myself to the world once again," he remarked, with a slight smile. "After all, the Pariah of Grey is no more."
It was a singular step.
Light, but heavy.
Fragile, yet unbreakable.
It was simple. Ordinary.
However, the moment Achlys Grey took that single, lone step within this very room. It marked none other than the beginning of the maelstrom that would cloak the very roots of Arcadia. The earthquake, that would shake the feet of the earth. Whether it be in the light, or the darkness.
Ultimately, a journey of a thousand miles, continues with the second step.
To proceed undaunted was something he had to do. After all, any normal individual would have long fell upon pressure and fright when posessing the knowledge of the inevitable doomsday. Only a complete madlad would be able to commit to his ideals unbothered. To achieve, whilst losing their sense of belief.
However -
"Fortune favours fools." Alongside the shifting of the torrent of air, the boy continued. "That is all the reason as to why only the insane can perceive the world for what it truly is."
A little bit of madness to see the truth is something he is willing to lose a strand of sanity for. After all, the opportunity to experience all the mysteries the word had to offer did seem quite appealing to him. In the end, humans are at the top of the food chain due to being the quickest to adapt.
Luckily for him, it was something he was quite good at.
With a chuckle the boy finally opened the gates of the cage that held him. The weight on his shoulders fading, as the breeze softly welcomed his presence. His stygian cloak, dancing to the tune of his mind. The symphony of his heart.
The feeling of freedom is something he relished -
"It all starts now."
A sensation he wouldn't let go. That was his right, a characteristic he wouldn't discard.
That was simply the type of man Achlys Grey was.