To wander alone is to be adrift in a sea of indifference. It is to feel the weight of your own insignificance against the vast backdrop of the universe. Each step forward a hollow echo in the silence, a constant reminder of your isolation. The world unfolding before you, an endless expanse of experiences and wonder for only you to observe.
The joy of life becomes a fleeting phantom as pain becomes your final companion.
To wander alone in perpetuity is to exist in an eternal state of longing, a yearning for a connection that can never be fulfilled. It is to carry the burden of your own existence, with no one to share the weight.
To our lone immortal, it's only meaning was in counting another night that had passed.
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The wind, a constant whisper of oblivion, carried with it not the scent of life, but the dust of forgotten ages. It tugged at the frayed edges of her cloak, a garment as worn and weathered as her immortal soul. She took a step along a lonely path, her eyes, once vibrant, now held naught but the dull glint of ancient stars, their light dimmed by the eons of witnessing a world she was unable to forget.
Immortality, it turned out, had not been the gift that the ancients had craved. It was a sentence. An endless loop of existence, stripped of meaning, purpose, even the sweet release of oblivion. It was supposedly the reward for reaching the pinnacle of magical achievement, the power that sang through her veins, a symphony of raw energy woven into the very fabric of her being. But the power was a cruel deception, a mockery of her solitude.
To wield the eight sacred elements—that had been her life's ambition, a noble calling attained by only a handful of Soulmancers throughout history. To be granted such power, to "protect and serve as the guardian of knowledge" as the ancient motto proclaimed... But what use was Solarpyralis, the element of fire and light, when there were no cities left to illuminate, no hearth fires to kindle? What good was Aqualumina, the essence of water and moonlight, when the rivers ran dry and the oceans had receded into dust? Terrasoul, the heart of the earth, lay dormant beneath her feet, its strength useless against the all-consuming emptiness. Even Verdantglow, the life-giving force that pulsed within her, granting her this unending existence, felt like a cruel parody of its true purpose. And the others—Stygiansilk, the shadow element; Gaiabloom, the force of nature; Voltaicgale, the storm's fury; Ethersong, the whisper of the infinite void—all echoed hollowly within her, their potential wasted in this desolate world.
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And yet, she kept going.
A billion celestial dawns had painted the sky, a billion fiery sunsets had disappeared below the horizon. A billion days of solitude had etched themselves onto her soul. The wind whispered secrets in a language she no longer understood, and the silence pressed down on her with the weight of a thousand forgotten worlds. But still, she refused to yield.
It was no longer hope that spurred her onward, for hope had long since withered and died, like a fragile flower crushed beneath the weight of endless years. It was something older, something deeper – an ingrained defiance woven into her being. A refusal to succumb, to surrender to the abyss that yawned before her.
Each step was a victory against oblivion, a rebellion against the crushing weight of existence. She moved forward, not with purpose, but with a primal instinct to survive, to persist, to endure. Even though the memory of why she continued had faded, lost in the labyrinth of time, the compulsion to move remained.
She walked on, a solitary figure against the backdrop of eternity, driven by an ancient, unyielding force that whispered in the depths of her soul: Endure. Persist. Do not cease.