In the distant ancient times, the world was teeming with countless lives, each thriving in harmony with nature's rhythms. They danced in the meadows, sang by the rivers, and celebrated the joy of existence even as they trembled at the shadow of death.
They revered the heavens and the earth, seeing divinity in everything around them. The sun was their father, a brilliant guardian who bathed the world in warmth and light, chasing away the cold and the shadows. The moon, gentle and nurturing, was their mother, soothing the father's occasional wrath, offering coolness to weary souls. They saw themselves as mere stars; tiny and faint, dwarfed by the sun's radiance, relying on their mother's pale glow to protect them from the dangers of the night.
They gave meaning to everything: thunder and lightning were the gods' anger; raindrops, their blessings. Mountains were sacred, towering sentinels; lakes, the birthplace of life. Sunny days were omens of fortune, while cloudy skies brought foreboding. Every phenomenon was imbued with purpose, etched into their lore in ways no outsider could ever understand.
But then came the plague.
It was unlike anything they had ever faced. The sun could not burn it away, the moon's gentle touch could not heal it, thunder and lightning's wrath could not vanquish it, and the rain's blessings failed to soothe its relentless advance. The mountains could not crush it, nor could the lakes revive the lands it had blighted.
The plague consumed everything. It outlived the lives it had ravaged, lingering long after the last breath of those who once revered the world. It was a shadow that defied time itself, refusing to die, even as the earth turned against it.
Grass grew wildly around its dormant form, vines entwined it, and nature clawed at it in an eternal battle. The sun burned it mercilessly, the moon cursed it with cold detachment, and the stars shone brighter than ever, their collective fury aimed at the plague. Thunder and lightning raged, while rain corroded its essence.
Nature fought back with all its might, as if mourning the lives that had been lost. Over the span of millennia, the relentless assault finally revealed a weakness in the plague's invincible facade. It bowed its head at last, broken by the enduring forces of nature.
But the victory was bittersweet. Too much time had passed. The creatures who had once thrived were long gone, their shattered pride and deep-seated fear all that remained.
---
Oliver hesitated for only a moment before channeling the elements into the longbow. The instant he did, it felt as though invisible shackles had shattered, freeing his soul. In his blindness, he was lifted, weightless, into an endless expanse.
He floated in a sky unlike anything he had ever known; a boundless ocean of stars, glowing in countless colors, each radiating its own unique but harmonious light. The darkness of space was transformed into a brilliant tapestry of luminescence, brighter than the brightest day.
The longbow and arrows were gone. He was alone, suspended in this cosmic sea. The stars surrounded him, their light piercing through him, as if they were watching, studying. And then, they began to speak.
The voices were not human, not entirely. They were an intricate symphony: ethereal chants, the howls of wild beasts, the guttural roars of giants, sacred proclamations, chaotic whispers, and the familiar, desperate pleas of humans. Their tones varied, but their message was the same.
'Kill it.'
'Kill it.'
'Kill it.'
There was no anger, no hatred. It was a simple plea, a wish that had endured through the ages. The voices were not demanding, only asking, praying.
Souls surrounded him, pure and unyielding. They didn't scream for vengeance or justice. They simply conveyed their unyielding desire for one thing: to end it.
Aegnor knew the enemy was behind him. He could feel their presence, hovering just out of reach. Yet no attack came. Instead, the enemy lingered, as if taunting him, testing how long he could endure with nothing but his ordinary strength.
It was maddening. He gritted his teeth, his fists clenched at his sides. The temptation to whirl around and strike was overwhelming. 'Just one good slap,' he thought bitterly. 'That's all I want.'
But he held back, his restraint fraying with every second of silence.
An's throat was parched, her voice cracking as she spoke. "Put me down," she said, her words barely audible.
She had repeated the request countless times. "Put me down."
But Aegnor didn't answer. He trudged forward, unyielding, his determination outweighing his exhaustion. It was as though her pleas fell into an abyss, unheard, or perhaps simply ignored.
Was he deaf? An's lips tightened as she watched him, her frustration building. All she wanted was to tease him, to coax some reaction; anger, annoyance, even a flicker of frustration. But no. His response was always the same: a simple, quiet smile.
It wasn't forced or strained, just a calm, satisfied expression as though everything was as it should be.
'What was there to be satisfied about?' she wondered. The lack of reaction gnawed at her, leaving her feeling oddly unsettled, even unhappy.
Oliver staggered to his feet once more, his body trembling but resolute. He was blind to the world around him, unable to sense anything but the cold sensation lingering in his hands. It tethered him to something far beyond this battlefield; the endless starry sky he had glimpsed earlier.
The chill grew stronger, sharper, but it no longer hurt. It was steady and controlled, a cold clarity that brought the stars closer; not visually, but in a way that felt profoundly spiritual. Their presence was undeniable, surrounding him, almost touching him.
'How do I do it?'
The question echoed, though Oliver couldn't tell if it was from within his own mind or from some otherworldly source. He didn't hesitate. He answered instinctively, his voice steady despite his uncertainty.
"Destroy the magic circle."
That had been his goal all along. The key to stopping the enemy's regeneration lay in obliterating the circle, cutting off the endless supply of vitality.
There was no spoken reply, but Oliver felt the stars respond. Their light swirled around him, wrapping him in a radiant cocoon. His right hand lifted, seemingly guided by an unseen force. An arrow slid from his quiver, nocked effortlessly onto his bowstring. His left hand followed, pulling the bow taut.
His fingers released, and the arrow flew.
The motions were fluid, as if he had practiced them a thousand times before. But this wasn't him, it was something greater, something beyond him. Oliver wasn't the archer. He was merely the witness, watching as the stars themselves unleashed their power.
And the stars didn't judge. They didn't mock. They only delivered what was needed.
The young man had been toying with them, a predator circling its prey, curious to see how much further Oliver could endure. But when he turned and saw the arrow drawn on the longbow, his amusement evaporated.
His eyes widened in terror.
The longbow itself looked no different from before, but the arrowhead, it was transformed. Once dull and nondescript, it now shone with a brilliance that rivaled neither the sun nor the moon, yet carried a power all its own.
Oliver's fingers released, and the arrow soared into the heavens, disappearing beyond the horizon.
The young man's instincts screamed at him. 'Run. Now.'
Fear gripped him, primal and consuming, as if a buried memory had been unearthed; a memory of something he'd once escaped but could never forget. His eyes darted frantically, searching for a way out, even as his legs refused to move fast enough.
Rosa's face twitched, her usual composure cracking. She had been waiting patiently, hopeful but not expectant. Perhaps her prophecy had failed. After all, Oliver was only human. Prophecies tied to human frailty often carried flaws.
She sighed, ready to pack up her chair and call it a night. Maybe her expectations had been too high. After all, even the so-called superior races hadn't fared much better.
But just as she stood to leave, the sky transformed.
Countless points of light appeared above, falling like raindrops from the heavens. One after another, they streaked across the darkness, their brilliance connecting like threads in a vast celestial tapestry. The stars painted the night, their light blending seamlessly, illuminating the world below.
Rosa's eyes widened in surprise, her breath catching. She had been ready to admit failure, but now...
"This result is not bad," she murmured, her voice soft with a mix of awe and relief.
Far below the surface, a group of little girls prepared to settle into their restless dreams, waiting for their inevitable fading from existence. But something jolted them awake.
Their brows furrowed, their eyes snapping open in unison. Something was happening above; something they couldn't ignore.
For those far away, the event was breathtaking; a cascade of radiant stars falling from the heavens. It was a scene of unmatched beauty, a celestial marvel.
But for those at the epicenter, it was something else entirely.
Countless lights rained down, their brilliance deceptive. They weren't massive meteors destined to annihilate the land, but countless projectiles; glowing fragments no larger than common stones. Yet their numbers and impact were relentless.
The magic circle, once an indomitable source of power, was obliterated under the unyielding assault. The ground fractured, and when the light faded, a vast canyon had been carved into the earth where the circle once stood.
Oliver remained where he was, motionless, his expression unreadable. His mind was a storm of thoughts, none of them coherent enough to voice.
Nearby, the young man was a stark contrast. His screams had started the moment the first light fell and hadn't stopped. His cries weren't of physical pain but of something deeper, a terror that seemed to consume him. His voice cracked, raw and desperate, as though reliving a nightmare he had long tried to bury.
The battlefield was silent save for the young man's haunting wails. The magic circle was gone, reduced to rubble and ash. And Oliver, the man who had unleashed the wrath of the stars, stood amidst the destruction, his thoughts his own.
For now.