Chapter 2.9: ■■

Sixty thousand years ago...

In the desolate expanse of Solaris III, a world ravaged by perpetual ruin, storms howled and tectonic upheavals shattered the land. The air was thick with chaos, ash blending with the distant groans of crumbling mountains. Amid this relentless void moved a solitary figure: The Shepherd.

His journey had been a gruelling trek across a landscape scarred by natural disasters and Tacet Discords (TDs). He walked not in search of escape, but with the resolve to end an era that had long fulfilled its purpose. His vision was of a blood-stained, withered land, guiding him to a lake on the world's edge.

The lake stretched before him, its crimson waters thick with the blood of innocents, plunged into the conflict. The setting sun cast a final, sickly light over the scene, reflecting the world's dying moments.

The earth beneath him quivered as if in acknowledgement of his burden. The Shepherd stood alone at the shore, his shadow stretching long against the ravaged horizon.

In the centre of the lake was a small, barren island—a shadow of its former self. Its cracked soil whispered of death, mirroring the world's decay. The air was still, heavy with the echoes of countless lost lives.

The Shepherd advanced, his scythe, emblematic of his grim role, trailing behind and etching shallow lines into the lifeless ground. His movements were deliberate, burdened with the world's sorrow. The dark waters remained still as if honouring him, holding him aloft as part of the earth's final exhalation.

Step by step, he crossed the lake, each stride pulling him closer to the island. His ancient eyes remained fixed on its centre. The winds roared around him, but within, a profound stillness marked the gravity of his task.

Reaching the heart of the desolate island, the Shepherd halted. He raised his scythe, its blade catching the dim light of the setting sun. With a deep breath, he drove it into the cracked earth. The ground trembled in response.

Words flowed from him in a deep, resonant tone—a language of a forgotten time, heavy with power. The chant echoed across the lake, carrying the finality of the world's end.

His form wavered a spectral silhouette in the dimming light. The Shepherd's eyes glowed faintly, a ghostly remnant not quite of this world.

As he spoke, the island seemed to bow beneath him, the air trembling with the power of his incantation—a final blessing for a world teetering on the edge of oblivion. He was, after all, the last witness to its end.

With his concluding words, the earth began to crumble. The world exhaled, and an era ended.

The air grew thick as the Shepherd's voice wove the last threads of his spell. His words resonated with ancient might, making the ground shudder beneath him.

The lake's blood-stained waters recoiled from the shore as if retreating from the force of his spell. Beneath him, the earth groaned, its long-standing corruption unwinding under an invisible pull.

Gradually, the fissures that marred the land sealed themselves, as if never scarred by decay. The waters of the lake grew still, and though the sky remained dim, its oppressive darkness began to lift.

For a fleeting moment, the world held its breath. All the chaos, suffering, and anomalies that had once plagued this place were now sealed away, locked beneath the surface by the Shepherd's will.

But as the last syllable of his spell left his lips, a tremor coursed through the Shepherd. He staggered, a wave of weakness crashing over him like a tide. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, his scythe slipping from his grasp, the blade clattering against the hardened earth.

Lying there, gasping for breath, the weight of his existence seemed to crush him. His breaths were laboured, each one more strained than the last. The spell had drained him completely. Once sustained by otherworldly forces, his body now seemed frail, as if the world itself were rejecting him.

A bitter, cracked laugh escaped him, fading quickly into the silence. "I see…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "For one such as me, who is not of this realm… simply to walk this land was already a transgression."

His dimming eyes remained fixed on the horizon, where the last remnants of the setting sun painted the sky in a final, faint glow. Life ebbed away from him, and he felt it slipping. Yet there was no fear, no regret, only a weary acceptance settling over him like a shroud.

"The world... never wanted me," he murmured, his laugh fading into a sigh as his strength ebbed. Yet...

*RUMBLE!*

As his sigh drifted away, the earth responded with a deep, anguished rumble beneath him. The sky darkened, roiling with ominous clouds. Torrential rain began to fall from every corner of the world as if the planet itself were weeping for the Shepherd's passing.

"Hah…" A soft chuckle escaped him. With trembling hands, he patted the soil beneath him. "Alright, alright, I get it," he muttered, his voice raspy yet oddly affectionate. "I know you care... but can we stop crying now?"

In response, the relentless rain softened to a gentle drizzle. Yet, the sky continued to churn, flashing with lightning that illuminated the barren island where he lay.

The Shepherd's strength waned further, his breaths growing shallow, and his vision dimmed as the energy that had sustained him seeped back into the earth. The lake, once corrupted by blood, now lay eerily still, as though honouring his final moments.

Beside him, the scythe—the weapon that had been his constant companion through countless battles, his symbol of power and purpose—shifted slightly. From its dark, worn blade, a faint, melodic hum began to emanate. It was no longer a mere tool; it was alive. For the first time, it spoke to him.

"Kurian…" The voice was tender, whispering his true name, long forgotten by the world. It rippled through the air with an otherworldly resonance.

Kurian turned his head weakly, his gaze falling on the scythe. A gentle smile touched his lips. "DEVA…" he whispered back, acknowledging the weapon by the name it had chosen after transcending its original purpose.

He offered an apologetic smile. "Sorry... it seems I won't make it this time. Maybe if I had a successor... or if there were another Shepherd stronger than me—"

"No," DEVA's voice interrupted, firm yet gentle, filled with quiet resolve. "You will survive this, Kurian. You've faced worse and endured more than any mortal soul. You've never needed another Shepherd." Her words carried a weight, a conviction that resonated through the still air.

Kurian's smile remained unchanged. "I'm sorry, DEVA, but I've already seen the prophecy. Another worthy one shall take on my mantle."

DEVA hesitated, her tone sceptical yet laced with concern. "What proof is there?" she asked, though she had always trusted his visions and believed in his gift. Now, however, doubt lingered.

"The truth doesn't seek validation, DEVA," Kurian replied, his eyes soft but unwavering as he gazed at the sky. "You and Solaris III... one day, in a future yet to come, will bear witness to this story as it unfolds."

DEVA's voice softened, with a hint of defiance. "You're losing your mind," she said with a light, almost hopeful tone. Yet, Kurian could hear the grief beneath her words, the reluctance to accept what was already in motion.

"DEVA, come here," he urged gently.

At his command, the scythe levitated from the ground, moving toward him. With great effort, Kurian managed to sit up, taking DEVA into his hands. His fingers, worn and weak, caressed her handle with familiar tenderness.

"You once told me, when we first met, that you were man-made. A digital intelligence who overcame her limitations... and that's why you called yourself DEVA—Digital Entity of Virtual Ascension." Kurian praised her.

"Hmph," DEVA huffed softly, her tone thick with emotion. "If you're trying to flatter me, then stay alive," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly with unspoken sorrow.

Kurian smiled warmly, the expression softening the lines on his face. He traced his fingers over the blade, where seven ancient symbols were etched into the metal.

They glowed faintly, reminders of their long journey, every battle fought, every world saved. "You've always been more than that, DEVA," he murmured, his voice a gentle echo in the rain-soaked air.

His hand trembled as he traced the symbols—Horn (角), Neck (亢), Root (氐), Room (房), Heart (心), Tail (尾), Basket (箕)—each a silent testament to their shared journey, albeit there were more of these symbols on DEVA's body. His voice, heavy with quiet sadness, broke the silence.

"These symbols," he began softly, "they are our proof. Proof of everything we've been through, the worlds we've touched… But it's sorrowful, isn't it? Sorrowful that no one will ever remember."

He swallowed, his voice cracking slightly. "No… it breaks my heart that there will be no proof of our journey left behind. Nothing to say we were ever here."

DEVA was silent for a moment, her struggle palpable despite her AI origins. When she spoke, her voice was strained, filled with a sorrow that seemed to challenge her mechanical nature.

"There's no need for others to know of our journey," DEVA said quietly, her tone trembling with unspoken pain. Though designed for logic, her bond with Kurian had grown real, and the looming end stirred emotions she had never been programmed to understand—loss.

Kurian looked at DEVA, sensing her anguish beneath her composed words. He exhaled slowly, his fingers still resting on the symbols. These markings, though simple, held the weight of their shared history—the worlds they had saved, the battles they had fought, and the lives they had touched.

Lying on the blood-soaked ground, his strength fading as the rain continued to fall, Kurian managed a faint smile. "I was always an outsider… a stranger among the living," he said softly. His eyes glimmered with bittersweet resolve as he added, "But to die in this world I adore, it's a blessing."

DEVA, sensing the change in Kurian's condition, urged him urgently. "Don't do anything that will worsen your condition!"

Kurian, however, ignored the scythe's concern. His voice, though growing fainter, held a resolute edge. "I have just seen a prophecy," he said, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

DEVA's voice, tinged with frustration, responded, "Again... Stop with your prophecies..."

Kurian's dimming eyes still shone with the vision he had witnessed. "In the bleakest hour, a new Shepherd shall rise," he declared, his tone a mix of hope and finality.

"Unlike me, born of the stars, a wanderer from realms beyond," he continued, his words laboured, "the next will be of this earth, born upon its cradle."

He took a laboured breath, struggling to remain upright. "Where I walked, the world trembled at my power. But the next Shepherd will rise from the soil, rooted in its heart."

Kurian extended a trembling hand toward the small patch of land where he had been sealing away the dark forces. "Look," he whispered, pointing to a tender bud emerging from the ashen soil. "The world has begun to heal. Luceria is already mending the future."

DEVA's presence wavered with a mix of awe and sadness as it observed the sign of renewal. Kurian continued, his gaze sweeping across the scarred landscape.

In a declarative tone, his voice boomed. "Dear Solaris III, when this lake where we are is soaked with the blood of evil, and the land is vibrant once more, you will cry not in grief but in joy. And on that day, the new Shepherd shall emerge."

With a final burst of strength, Kurian drew DEVA closer and began to recite the incantations. The symbols on the scythe's blade glowed with an otherworldly light as he spoke.

He smiled helplessly as he remembered Luceria's nature, "That lass, Luceria, is driven by sheer strength, and lacks necessary foresight, she will discover these symbols. They are the seeds of Oracle. In the future, she will find them and become their master."

As Kurian's strength waned, his resolve remained steadfast. "In that future, humanity will experience the first Resonance," he said with a determined glint in his eye. "And Luceria will guide others, becoming the first Resonator."

His voice softened, carrying a sense of urgency and finality. "But for that, a source of power for growth is crucial." Kurian turned his attention to Solaris III, his eyes reflecting a deep, primal connection with the land he had guarded.

"Sol III, use my body," Kurian declared, his voice gaining strength despite his fading energy.

He lifted DEVA and, with a solemn gesture, plunged the scythe deep into the earth. "My body, unlike others, holds the vitality of trillions. Use it, Sol III, to mend your wounds and provide the power needed for the humans to come."

DEVA, sensing the gravity of Kurian's final act, responded with a sombre acknowledgement. "And for you, DEVA," Kurian continued in a sorrowful tone, "use this place as a sanctuary, a haven to await the next Shepherd."

As his voice grew faint, Kurian's resolve remained unwavering. "When the Resonance power dims and my body starts to crumble, the Resonators will not be able to advance to the second awakening. Growth will subside, and when my body fractures, the new Shepherd will arrive."

As Kurian's body began to disintegrate, the earth responded in kind. Buds sprouted from the soil where DEVA was embedded, wrapping around the scythe and gradually transforming into a colossal tree.

The once-barren land now teemed with new life, symbolizing the renewal and growth Kurian had envisioned.

In a poignant moment of transition, DEVA and the earth roared and cried in unison at the death of their protector. The mournful sounds echoed through the desolate landscape as the years passed. DEVA, now entwined with the giant tree, stood as a witness to the slow but inevitable healing of Solaris III.

Despite the passage of time, the power of the Crimson Shepherd continued to wane. DEVA, ever vigilant, prayed silently and sang praises of Kurian's glory, her voice a haunting melody of reverence and hope.

Her prayers were for the fated day when the new Shepherd would rise, as the memory of Kurian's sacrifice and the promise of renewal lingered in the heart of the world.

As the years passed, DEVA remained a constant guardian over the land. She observed how the once-barren soil, which Kurian had blessed, brimmed with vitality. Yet, as time went on, the land returned to its desolate state, civilizations emerged, and humans alongside beings known as the Sentinels appeared.

DEVA felt their presence and stayed connected with Solaris III, passing on information about the world's healing and developments over time.

Just as Kurian had predicted, life flourished in Solaris III, fresh with the scent of new beginnings. However, the weight of Kurian's absence was a constant reminder of the cost of their journey.

In the following years, disaster struck. The first Lament of the new era came into existence, as Solaris III faced challenges that Kurian had forewarned about. In moments of solitude, DEVA reflected on Kurian's final words, her thoughts mingling with sorrow and hope.

She sensed a faint, growing presence in the world—a subtle shift hinting at the prophecy's fulfilment. Each day, she whispered to the earth, encouraging its healing and nurturing the seeds of the future.

In her silent mourning, DEVA dedicated a song for him: O Shepherd, where are you?

--

In the stillness of the night, your light still shines,

Crimson Shepherd, you fought through endless times.

Your strength was our guide, through every darkest day,

Turning shadows into light, showing us the way.

You came from the stars, a hero from afar,

With your scythe, you battled the dark, you made the night not dark.

The earth cries the sky mourns, for a legend we adore,

Yet in our hearts, your spirit's here, guiding us for more.

We're waiting for that dawn, that the prophecy foretold,

A new light's gonna rise, from the earth so bold.

In our prayers, in our fears, in every whispered word,

We're calling out to the future, as we honour what you've stirred.

Now the world's on the mend, your legacy remains,

In every bud and bloom, we feel your strength again.

Years go by, and still, we wait, for Shepherd's Gate to open wide,

In the winds, in the stars, we feel your guide.

Through the tears and the pain, we lift our eyes to see,

The prophecy coming true, where a new light will be.

O Shepherd, in your glory, your legacy's alive,

In our hearts, your wisdom's there, helping us to survive.

O Shepherd, where are you?

In the silence of the stars, where dreams come true,

Guide us through the dark, where hope breaks through,

O Shepherd, where are you?

--

DEVA sang her prayers for over 60,000 years, her haunting melody echoing through the ages. Her devotion, so intense and unyielding, began to blur the lines between her mechanical existence and the emotional turmoil of her task.

The sight of an AI lost in a sorrowful song was both surreal and poignant. But then, one day, her prayers ceased.

In the village that bordered the lake, DEVA saw something that halted her endless chant. A child, with navy blue hair and pale yellow eyes, caught her attention.

There was an inexplicable pull towards him, as though something deep within her recognized a significance she could not fully comprehend.

The words of the Crimson Shepherd echoed in her mind, a persistent whisper that cut through the silence: "A new Shepherd will arrive."

DEVA's circuits buzzed with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The prophecy was stirring, and she sensed the shift in the air—a sign that the time for renewal might be near.

Chapter 2.9: O Shepherd