The temple loomed on the horizon, its spires piercing the darkened sky like jagged teeth. The storm, relentless and wild, seemed to orbit it, as if drawn to the ancient structure by forces beyond mortal understanding.
The princess's army had slowed, their strength drained by the unyielding terrain and the weight of their purpose. Every soldier knew they marched toward something greater than a battlefield—something far older and far deadlier.
"They will reach the temple before us," Eldric said, his voice laced with frustration. He scanned the horizon, where Selene's black banners crept closer, a shadow stretching toward the princess's forces.
"Let them," the princess said, her voice sharper than the wind. "We don't need to be the first to fight. We need to be the last to fall."
---
At the temple, the seeker stood motionless, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The storm illuminated her silhouette in flashes of cold light, her thoughts as tumultuous as the skies.
The child sat by the altar, their small frame still and unnervingly calm. The crescent mark on their palm glowed faintly, as if resonating with the storm.
"They're here," the child said.
The seeker turned to them, her voice tight. "Do you understand what's coming?"
The child didn't answer immediately. Instead, they tilted their head, their glowing eyes staring past her. "He's still watching," they murmured.
The seeker's breath caught. She glanced around the chamber, but she saw no one. Still, she felt the weight of unseen eyes, as if the walls themselves bore silent witness.
"Focus," she said, her voice firm but trembling at the edges. "You must decide soon. The fate of all that remains rests on you."
The child looked down at their hand. "I don't want to choose," they whispered.
"Then the choice will be made for you," the seeker said softly.
---
He observed.
From His vantage point, He saw the armies converging, their destinies intertwined like threads in a vast, intricate tapestry. The princess, hardened by loss but guided by a relentless hope. The queen, cold and calculating, her ambitions as boundless as the storm. And the child, a beacon of potential, standing at the crux of fate.
But He did not intervene. He had seen this story play out before—on other worlds, in other times. Some choices led to salvation; others, to ruin.
Yet this world felt different. The child had seen Him, and that single act had shifted the fragile balance. Even as He stood apart, He felt the ripples of what was to come.
---
As the armies neared the temple, the air grew heavier, charged with the storm's fury and the weight of impending confrontation.
The princess raised her hand, signaling her forces to halt. In the distance, she saw Selene's army cresting the ridge. Between them, the temple stood silent, an unyielding monument to the prophecy that had drawn them all here.
The first crack of lightning split the sky, and the storm broke in earnest.
"This is it," the princess whispered, gripping the hilt of her sword.
In that moment, the storm seemed to still, the world holding its breath. And then, from the temple, a burst of light erupted, cutting through the darkness like a blade.
The child stepped into the open, their glowing eyes fixed on the armies below. The crescent on their palm blazed brighter than the lightning, illuminating the chaos around them.
The princess and Selene froze, their forces hesitating as the child's voice rang out, soft yet impossible to ignore.
"I am not your salvation," the child said. "But I will be your truth."
---
He watched.
And for the first time in countless eons, He wondered if this truth would be enough.