Olgaron

Sign of Arrival

Dec, the last month of Wordsmiths' era and the new age of Wildwood, The Alchemist thought, and he defined it as the day of pity. Not because his friend, Enorez Mythgetril, got killed by the hands of his own son, Vestrez. Neither it was the reason of terror he and the guardians had seen in the Woodland, nor because of the mighty gardeners had shown kindness by not killing the culprit when they'd got chance: "Well, it might have happened sometimes that you had an enemy and you desperately wanted to kill him...but then in a moment, the resistance of his past reflected the decision you made," the man in the violet cloak, Dwekarus, whispered. Noticing the silence, he added, "Maybe, I am the one who did that."

The night was colder than the life in the world of ice, because the heart of men sitting under the clear, dark sky was heavy: even though Exion, the blue cloaked man, had executed the terrible mighty, Vestrez, there was grief hunted them as Dwekarus continued, "I have no intention on such a dreadful thing. But...can we possess the power to undo the things?"

Those who were there looked into the fire, save The Alchemist who was hovering over grass. His white hood was like a mist, and his words brought new felicity as he spoke, "Lads! There's nothing stronger than luck in this world. One fell for it...one fell by it. Nothing new can happen, but nothing can be changed once it happens. Why do we crave to solve the event rather than accept it? Is it our pride that stops us? Or our love for the dead murderer?"

"Don't bother yourself speaking, old man!" Exion meddled. "What has to be done is done. We should not forget the mission."

Annihilated by the greed of Vestrez, The Alchemist thought, and he said, "Elusive Jungle is a queer place for the wanderers. It must be vanished in order to protect the realm we have made. Or at least curse it by the water..."

"It must be apart," Zeolan, the blond hair guy, commanded to his fella gardeners, and they followed: they bound it with the oceans and sealed its boundaries by illusion, so that none could go in from out, nor from out to in.

"But one day a wanderer will find it," said The Alchemist. "Urge will drag him out of nowhere and fling him to its darkness to gain what he wants. Wisdom or Power, one of them might be the reason. And when it will happen, the real doom will occur in our realm. Dead will awake. And the living will be dead. The replacement would be made. Knights will abandon us. So much for guardians like us...' He flew to the dark sky, whispering, 'But we must have faith in the coming memories. We must..."

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