Here the wind existed untethered, free from control and constraint; freely whisking where it desired—carrying along the odor of metallic carcasses, sun-blistered regret, and remnants of a disenchanted past.
From a distance as recollection set in, he was identifiable from the light crunching sounds that emanated from slightly thickened sand under his feet. As if on cue, the weathered leather boots with near bald soles started to narrate his story. Further, as he approached, the edges of his faded coat whisked in a singular direction as though surrendering towards a lost battle, concealing his powerless origins.
Approaching reliably, you could assume the traveler is of average height. While the torso didn't stand out much, the aura the man claimed certainly made an emphatic statement—it was as though the universe itself had made considerable efforts to prepare for his arrival.
Draedun was perpetually plagued by unfortunate events including being showcased an attention grabbing sandstorm with sonic female screeched. Adding onto that was a two-headed lizard preaching from sheer cliffs about dead sun worshiping, along with wild nomads posing as priests blessed as the central sun.
That's what Infuriated them - Wild traveler roaming around.
"there's not day for class A criminal."
"I heard claiming war hero lost in time is in pursuit of deceased deities"
With footfalls widely known, seeking nightmares beyond the lonely windows draped in neglect like dust-infested curtains, these morbid musings of lost souls chasing unreachable elixirs accompanied him all along the road he chose.
He did not gaze at them. There was no need for him to do so.
His gaze was directed to the sight at the road – or maybe something that is much more beyond.
"Excuse me," a voice, meek like that of a child, chirped.
So he decided to halt.
A young child. Looks like she's no more than seven, wrapped in tattered cloth far too large for her. She appeared to be calm, staring at him with no shoes on against the broken pavement and cracked path.
The Traveler paid attention towards a different angle.
"You smell like thunder," she spoke to him.
Without moving, he blink. Slowly.
And that's when I saw him smile for the first time in days. It was more of a thin-weary smile, almost like a person trying to smile after remembering that he used to enjoy laughing once in a long, distant life.
"I suppose I do," he mumbled.
When he vigorously removed his gloved hand from the coat, it was to reveal a piece of something wrapped in a strange object. A sleeping star or a distant heartbeat, it was neither larger than a plum nor smaller.
He shifted it to her palms.
"What's this?" She wondered at the small unnamed object.
"Hope" was the simple answer.
She was puzzled and looking around to find another answer was futile. Just before she could move her arms any further, the ground began trembling below them.
It's common knowledge that the sky can change.
The thunderhead was not truly galloping ahead while seemingly drawing on the cloudy split. This black vein frost wrestling dart forked form a split of ole crimson.
erupting their Outer depth dimension became an endless scream—not of essences, but something worse than a beast.
The Hollowborn.
The villagers began cursing their creators. Forgetting their creators is exactly when they began devoid of whatever essence that glued them.
With an even pace of breathing The Traveler exhaled. His coat was swept aside and the blade on his back came into view. Exquisite grooves, patterns only dragons were capable of whispering, were plastered over its hilt. The sword was drawn with a single stroke – flawless, effortless, and deliberate.
He took a step.
The shadows charged.
He met them.
Draedun was still standing when the sun rose again.
She sat quietly on the edge of the well, arms wrapped around the silver orb. It pulsed dimly, yet comforting against her palm.
His coat showed marks of enduring fatigue, cloak stained with ash and blood - none of it his. The Traveler stood at the village's edge, blade once more sheathed and at rest, like him.
He came to notice the sky, pale and thought scattered.
"Not the time. Not the place," he whispered.
He turned and began to walk away.
"Will you ever come back?" she called out.
He paused but didn't turn around.
'A world that ends,' he said. 'Or start again.'
In a blink, he was gone, swallowed by the sands.
She looked down at the orb,
Which was glowing brighter