End and Beginning (Revised)

Darkness saturated the cave, obscuring the massive figure which kneeled in its deepest recess.

Tiny glints of light from the surface reflected off shiny, gold-bronze imperfections in the walls, providing hints to the layout of the cavern and the form of the being within it.

It was a creature that many would call a monster, terrifying and looming, twice as tall as the tallest human and menacing in its stature.

It possessed both four, long arms and four horse-like legs, all extending from a body like that of a centaur.

Its head and face, however, differed greatly from any man, three gems sat in the middle of their face which served as eyes, just capable enough that they could see clearly in the subterranean gloom.

The top of their head was shaped similarly to a sedge hat, small, golden stars hanging from its wide brim.

Yet most peculiarly of all, this being was not formed of flesh and blood, but of hardened, terracotta clay, accents of metallic bronze highlighting its body.

Yet despite its monstrous form, there were no thoughts of death and destruction in that moment, its single, desperate task taking up all its attention.

For at the very bottom of the cave, where the Golem now kneeled, a dwindling pile of soft clay rested.

Four arms dedicated themselves with reckless abandon to shaping that clay into a large form, a process that should have taken months.

Yet the statue in front of the Golem, was not the intricate craft of days and weeks, but only hours.

Shouts echoed in the distance, sending their already rushed sculpting into further degradation.

With every stroke of their hands, more and more imperfections infected the stoneware form, and while the Golem ached to fix them, they had no time.

The shouts grew closer, the Golem knew they would soon be found, this would have to do.

Picking up the soft clay figure, they began to call out, not in the language of man nor the creatures of flesh, but in the language of Spirits.

They called out to the Spirits of Power, Pride and Revenge, who had guided and sustained their kind for as long as they could remember.

But no Spirit of Power would guide a Vessel so weak.

No Spirit of Pride would guide a Vessel so imperfect.

No Spirit of Revenge would guide a Vessel so incapable of carrying out its eternal grudges.

Desperate, the Golem cried out again into the Spiritual plane, asking, begging, anyone to guide their child.

But one by one, all rejected their call.

Voices echoed off the walls, soon their haven would be found.

They called out one final time, a hopeless and pitiful cry.

And they were answered.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

A Spirit that was weak, but burning with inner fire, that found power not in itself but the world around them, that looks not to the past but races toward the future.

A Spirit of Exploration.

Now there was only one thing left to do.

The Golem gave their child all they had left, not even enough to harden their soft clay form, and imbued them with a single message.

“Survive, my little Wanderer”

And with that they turned to dust.

The first thing Wanderer felt as their soul ignited was dust.

They were smothered by it, from head to hoof, it felt almost comforting.

For a long time, they lay motionless, happy to lay in ignorance of the world around them underneath the fine powder.

Yet, from deep within them a voice emanated, from a place right next to their forming soul, urging them to get up and move.

The Vessel wished to resist, to stay under the comfort of their motionlessness, yet their Spirit was insistent and the Golem’s mind was weak.

Slowly and with great difficulty, Wanderer moved their unfamiliar limbs, coming to kneel on their two legs.

The Spirit pushed again, urging them to get up, to move, to survive, as if directed by some message unknown to Wanderer.

Hurriedly, the Vessel attempted to stand on its clumsy legs, falling back down to the cave floor in an instant.

Yet they were undeterred, and soon tried again, this time managing to stand for but a moment before being thrown off balance by one of their four arms, the lower left being shorter and malformed.

Spurred on by their Spirit, they tried once again, this time compensating for their weaker side, and managed to come to a somewhat unsteady stance.

Their hoofed feet nearly slipped on the dust-covered floor as they took their first step, but by some miracle, they did not crash to the ground and soon took another.

Step by unstable step, Wanderer began to walk forward in the pitch-black darkness, unable to tell where they were going yet moving all the same, encouraged by the sense of urgency their Spirit projected upon them.

In the corner of their vision, the black uniformity of the dark cave was disturbed, a glint of what Wanderer would come to know as light making itself present.

In a fraction of a moment, a wave of awe and wonder overcame Spirit and Golem both, Wanderer not even needing to be directed before making their way toward the anomaly as fast as their unsteady legs could carry them.

Their Spirit danced in admiration and wonder as the golden-bronze glint shined on the dark walls of the cave, purveyed by a peculiar ore.

Yet the light did not seem to be coming from the metal itself, and so, after an appropriate amount of time admiring the mineral, the duo followed the source of the light.

As they progressed further and further from the place of their creation, Wanderer was overcome with wonder and excitement as the singular glint of light multiplied, as frequent veins of shiny ore were lit by some unknown source.

The reflected light began to light up Wanderer's own body and they soon saw that similar veins of golden-bronze metal ran throughout themself, accenting their clay form.

Unlike that of the walls, however, the metal in their body, much like their clay flesh, was malleable and soft.

Now it was Wanderer who was dancing with wonder, delighting at how the light reflected off their own body and cast onto the walls.

Eager to find the source of the beautiful light, and unable to resist the reignited hassling of their Spirit, Wanderer again moved forward, trekking up the slope to the mouth of the cave.

Finally, on unsteady feet, the Golem came to gaze upon the world in front of them and a scene greater than anything their limited mind could have imagined.

A great valley unfolded before them, one of many created by the spruce-carpeted mountains that spread out as far as the eye could see.

Trees of pine and puddles of cool water obscured the lush grass, only the occasional boulder or cave standing out from the endless blanket of dense trees.

Birds of all varieties sang in simple melodies, delighting Wanderer’s hearing which had never before been used.

Yet above all these things, one thing stood out above them all, towering far above even the highest of these mountains was a colossal pine tree.

It grew atop a short mountain, surrounded by a lake that emanated a moat of mist and fog.

Its massive roots trailed down the mountainside before drinking deeply from the obscured water source.

The tree itself towered so high into the sky that snow crystallised on its highest branches, then fell in great clumps down to the earth as the tree swayed in the wind.

That same snow was alighted a frosty blue by the azure sun rising behind it, which illuminated the whole scene with a cool, refreshing ambience.

The Golem and its Spirit sat stunned by the scene, neither having seen anything of its like before.

It was so utterly captivating that all previous concerns of escaping some unseen force had been melted away by the natural scene, as if its majesty would simply not allow anything but total awe.