The Noonfighter

Prologue | The End of All Things

1273

SahrLon

"How can I begin to describe it?" the old man whispered. "The End of All Things. It goes beyond mindspeak and heartounge. Beyond oddspeak and its grim words...."

       Rell barely heard what was being said. He whipped his head around, looking at his surroundings. Where was he?

       An endless valley stretched around him, flush with bright blades of grass and an endless sky to match. In the air was the sound of birds, lilting and beautiful. Oddly, he couldn't really tell where the melodies were coming from. There were no trees nearby or birds in the sky. Overhead, something peculiar hung in the blue.

       An amber sun, the color of flames. The kind of sun that was spoken of in folk tales. Rell gazed at it. Even as at the light seared an image into his eyes, he stared. Rell may have been thick, but he wasn't an idiot. This was not something that was seen every day. This was new.

       The old man cleared his throat, and Rell snapped his attention back to him, eyes wide. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but the man spoke quickly. "To properly explain this, I'd have to speak in something far more ancient than oddspeak." The man shrugged, his wispy hair moving as he did. "Problem is, you wouldn't know it. This language pulls its words from something more powerful than the heart, or mind, or even beliefs. It gains power from a source that has been lost―no, taken―from your people for a long time."

       Rell's mind was awash with confusing emotions. Fear, dread, foreboding. Feelings that he'd stuffed down years ago in the name of duty. He grimaced as he attempted to rein them in, feeling a sharp pain as they fought against him.

       What's happening? He buried his head in his hands as the man bulled on. "And so, I must explain this to you in your cursed language. Lowen is beautiful when applied correctly, but it doesn't do things justice. It glazes over the little stuff, focusing on the grand image." The man sighed. "However, I will do my best. Lowen, it is."

       "I also speak Mekurian," Rell mumbled uselessly. He picked his head up to see the old man smiling at him. "And Kalec. I can understand Bravi, and read Sehrien."

       The old man nodded. "Kalec...I miss that. It died out, didn't it?"

       This time, Rell shrugged. "They still speak it in Kal Mon Pe. Krahn, as well. The time of one common tongue has passed." Realizing he was squandering the perfect moment to ask a question, Rell leaned forward. "Why am I here? Again?"

       "To learn a valuable lesson," the old man replied. Then, as an afterthought, "And to gain some perspective. Kalec, it is!"

       Rell muttered something foul, then sat back. The man wore a homespun tunic that had obviously seen some better days. A leather belt wound around his waist, weathered as well. Around the man's shoulders, however, was the finest cloak he'd ever seen. Even his own, which had been tailored at the Academy, paled in comparison to this.

It was made of a soft material―velvet, perhaps―that seemed to absorb the light of the amber sun and glow with its own radiance. From what Rell could see, a tapestry had been woven into it. All his vantage point afforded him was the beginning of a building and a cloud. The cloak was clasped by a silver object that had been bent into an odd symbol. One that Rell knew...this was a Hero rune. He didn't know which Hero it belonged to, however.

       "...yes, I've seen the End of Things," the man continued. Whatever he'd been saying before was lost on Rell. Now, speaking in Kalec, his tone held a mysterious air. That was an effect of the old language. "It was both terrible and amazing. No, horrifying and awe-full. There is nothing to compare it too. If the Savior and her Glories came down to claim me as theirs, the action would rate second to this. I have lived a long time, and never seen something quite so special.