I do not know how to describe this feeling; it was like the beginning of a new story, and at the same time, the end of reality. This story felt as if written in a dark tongue, as if the author feared the light. As if that light burned their skin and eroded wherever it struck. But that author had lost themselves in the darkness, abandoning their own lands to madness.
Where the true supreme creator, that author, was now remained unknown, but it was certain that there were now three gods in the world: The Kingdom of Deserts, the Kingdom of Ice, and the Kingdom of Abysses. Each presented its own majesty, waiting for others to fall at their feet.
The Kingdom of Deserts was awake that night as if unable to sleep. The lights of houses and palaces were turned on fully, offering the view of a vibrant city from afar. Behind those windows, however, it was a different story; everyone was silent within the shadows. Dreams were being dreamt in silence, and the name of the Desert King was whispered with reverence in those dreams. "The Desert King," they said, "our savior, the majestic leader of the whole world."
The King sat proudly on his throne, watching us, measuring our reactions. Light struck the King's face from the right, leaving the left in darkness. It was as if half of his face was smiling while the other half waited on guard.
The young man beside me spoke, as expected: "Salutations, supreme ruler of these lands, I offer you my respects." I, however, was silent, as if fearing what words would steal from my soul.
Together we bowed and paid our respects to the King. Enjoying his place on the throne, the King spoke with a weathered tone: "You have successfully completed the task I gave you; now it remains to confirm this success. Sorcerer Alaric, I hand over the rest of the task to you," he said, his fingers scratching the arm of his throne.
"Whatever you wish, Your Majesty," the young man said with great respect, half of his face in shadow. I remained silent in the light. Everyone was aware of the situation and what had happened at that moment. But no one questioned what lay behind the events; everyone continued their role in the theater.
"Examine that sword, and confirm whether the ritual worked."
'Ritual' At the word, I felt as if I would choke on my own breath, but I resisted. My legs were trembling, and the images before me were slowly swaying.
With the sword being extended to him, Alaric, the light returning to his eyes, said: "At your command, Your Majesty, it is an honor to serve you."
"You may leave." At the King's command, we bowed and headed for the door. As the great door moved again, the sorcerer let out a deep breath; I, pale-faced, collapsed to the ground.
And so, the beginning of a story was written that day. Cold, terrifying, and more real than anything ever written before.