The Zero Star Prophet

Leaning back in the chair, Mark waited for Prometheus to return, the image of the 7-pointed star ingrained in his mind. Though he had seen it before, he never really understood the importance of it until mere weeks ago, at the time he himself became a Prophet. Lost in thoughts, Mark did neither notice Prometheus entering the room, nor him walking over to the fire, hanging a kettle in a crude scaffolding, letting the flames embrace it like a mother embracing her child. Only when Prometheus sat down before him did Mark wake from his stupor, a tired gaze meeting the vigour in the old man's eyes as he leaned backwards in the chair.

"How long did it take you?" Prometheus opened.

"Depends on what you imply," Mark answered, Prometheus laughing.

"You know well what I mean, Zero Star Prophet." Mark visibly tensed, a worried light passing over Prometheus' eyes. "How long, Mark?"

"Sixty-three years, seven months and thirteen days."

Prometheus let out a sigh, shaking his head. "Sixty-three years, Mark, for what? A cloak and a circle telling people you discovered a thought to be lost myth?"

Mark's eyes turned cold. A chilling aura leaking out from his tall body. "I didn't come here to be scolded, Prophet of the Seven Pointed Star, I came here to warn you and thereby the other eight Prophets. Warn you of my Prophecy and my destiny." The aura grew thick, even the raging flames unable to break the ice creeping up the walls.

A scoldering heat erupted from Prometheus' body that had Mark's freezing aura immediately quelled, a suffocating pressure taking its place. He rose. "And what exactly do you mean by warning me, Young Prophet?" The pressure pushed against Mark's shoulders, the chair creaking beneath him. Prometheus continued, "You're to tell me you pose a threat towards the order of this society?"

Mark rose. Unlike Prometheus' violent and uncontrolled aura, Mark's came forward in calm waves, an extreme cold fighting against the searing heat. On one side of the room, flames licked the walls, smoke densely suspended in the air. On the other side, ice crept up the walls, icicles forming in the roof. The pressure slowly dissipated from Mark's shoulders, a chilly, rejuvenating breeze swept through the room as a raging battle between ice and fire occurred.

"It is not I that pose a threat, it is what my destiny shall bring, that may cause destruction." Mark's voice rumbled in the air, "let me ask you a question, Prophet of the Seven Pointed Star. Why are you waiting on the Child of Untold Prophecies, what does he have to do with you and your benefactor?" Mark's face portrayed perfect calmness as his words seemed to hang between the two of them.

"That child is a danger to all of us," Prometheus spat, "it's better to have him taken care of now, before he grows into a power too large to control!"

"He is but a mere child!" Mark roared, the ice slowly gaining ground on the fuming inferno. Before him, Prometheus stood still, his face picturing absolute authority.

"You have no voice in this matter. The Gathering has not accepted you as a Prophet, you're a pawn in the works of something far bigger. That child shall die tonight, by my hands and you... you will not stop me." With those words said, Prometheus' aura surged, violent explosions filling the deathly silent night as white flames broke through the cabin, engulfing it in a sea of ash.

Mark sneered, his own aura surging, the very air freezing around him only to break by what looked like ripples in the fabric of space. "Over my dead body old man," he said, before lunging towards the pit of flames, twin daggers of darkness in his hands.

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By the time dawn broke, the luminous flowers no longer served a purpose for the cloaked figure with green pants wandering the woods. Over rocks and branches, under low hanging twigs and fallen trees it went, eyes darting over the surrounding area, taking in everything. A broken twig and the figure flinched, turning towards the sudden sound. With a dagger held high it stalked forward, slowly. Before it, an especially dense bush came into view, the thin branches swaying lightly, either from wind or a previous movement.

As soon as the figure grew too close, a small animal leaped out from the depths of the bush. Raising the dagger hand in front the figure had no time to adjust to the sweeping paw, claws bared, that aimed for the side of its face. With as much speed as it could muster, the cloaked human raised its second arm, tensing for the incoming pain. A low yelp escaped the human as it stepped backwards, blood soaking the cloak through three deep gashes.

Smelling the fear radiating from the larger being in front of it, the animal took another leap, baring its fangs and hissing as it rapidly approached the hunched figure. It did not once see the swift movement that cleaved its head from its torso.

Looking down at the decapitated animal, the human bent forward, emptying its stomach.

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Resting with its back to a trunk, the human slowly drew in breaths, steadying its fast-beating heart. Before it lay the slain animal, the corpse now cleaned. The pelt hung to the thin strap that acted as a belt and the remaining meat stacked into a neat pile. The human had, by using a ripped off piece of its pants, quenched the bleeding and covered the gashes on its arm in mud before wrapping part of its coat around it.

The human rose, ripping off a piece of its cloak and going down on one knee, transferring the pile of meat onto the piece of fabric and covering it up. Carrying the sack of meat, the human began moving, clearing a path through the woods with the help of its dagger.

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In Mystwood Forest, time was not as perceivable as in other places. This due to the foliage blocking the sky, hence making it hard to track the movement of the sun. For the human traversing the dense forest, it meant that it did not really know at what time of the day it discovered the paved path. The path began out of nowhere and lead into the unknown. Though without the glowing flowers' guidance, the human was quite lost, not really knowing where to go. With what felt like no other choice, it decided to start follow the path, thinking since it was obviously manmade it had to lead to a settlement of sorts.

When dusk broke for the rest of the world, darkness still resided around the walking human. Its arm had been pulsing for some time now, an itching sensation building up alongside it. Having walked the paved path for a while, the human started noticing that some trees seemed to intertwine into a tunnel, enclosing the path in even more darkness. With stiff movements the human continued onwards. Suddenly, with eyes shining of surprise the figured noticed a portal made of entangled branches and dangling flora, beautifully glowing flowers blooming across the rough bark. Walking under the frame the human suddenly stopped in its tracks, baffled eyes taking in the situation before it.

In the glen on the other side of the portal, faintly illuminated by the residing dusk, stood a giant boulder of ice. Spread around it lays broken fragments of ice and what seemed like darkness itself slithering like snakes over the charred grass. Up in the sky, the human could barely notice the air breaking... or was it space? It did not know. Taking its vision back to the giant boulder in the middle, the human squinted whilst trying to differentiate what was enclosed within.

Inside the boulder the remains of the cabin lay frozen, the rest burned down to ashes by Prometheus' fury. Yet out of all the oddities in the glen, nothing beat the oddness of the sleeping human sitting with its back to the boulder, feet resting on a block of ice, another human, an old one, locked therein.

The human under the portal stumbled forwards, an otherworldly energy making its gut twist. As if waiting for the perfect moment, the human at the boulder opened its eyes, darkness meeting the baffled gaze of the newcomer. It rose, a long, dark cloak falling over its shoulders, going down so far it almost touched the ground, except, the edges flowed into the shadows like living darkness. With silent steps... no, not steps... with levitation, the human drifted forwards without touching the ground. The mysterious human met the newcomer halfway across the glen.

"Took you long enough, Child of Unborn Prophecies." Mark's deep voice shook the child's ears.

"Who?" It responded, looking around in confusion, "I'm not whatever child you're looking for, my name... my name is Noah, sir." The child stammered. "I'm looking for an old man, he... he wanted to meet me, to test my aptitudes." Noah continued to stammer, nervousness leaking out from him like water leaking from a torn waterskin.

"About that... Noah," Mark coughed, looking behind him at the coffin of ice. "Seems like we have a lot to talk about." With a flick of his wrist, two chairs appeared before them, Mark taking a seat in one of them. "Please, have a seat, the travel must have been long," another flick of his wrist and a kettle and two cups appeared, "would you like some tea, Noah?" He stretched his hands forward, placing the kettle in a small pit where flames still burned.

Noah, too baffled to speak, sat down, his arm pulsating wildly, the wound seemingly agitated by the energy around it. Mark noticed Noah's distress and the torn fabric with the blood drenched mud beneath. With a third flick of his wrist a gentle but cold breeze drifted through the air, coalescing over Noah's wound. With a gaze beaming of astonishment, Noah witnessed the mud dissolving and his open gashes healing.

"How... how did you do that?" He stammered.

"Seems like we really have a lot to talk about, you and me," Mark sighed. But before speaking again, he poured two cups of tea, handing one to Noah and sipping on the other. Sighing again, he looked at the nervous Noah, "drink. It will do you good, especially in this cold."

Obeying the command, Noah took a sip, a delicate warmth coating his mouth and throat. The tea tasted like something he never had tasted before, the sweet but tangy flavour creating a pleasant sigh that emerged from his mouth. Meeting the smiling Mark's gaze, Noah spoke;

"Who are you?"

"Me?" Mark laughed, "I'm but a simple wanderer, traversing the galaxies, looking for change." His smile widened, "and you, my child, is that change."