Elias took another step forward and scanned the wall. His body froze. The firelight had obscured most of the wall and the area around him. Only while stepping forward did, he notice something was there. He lowered his torch to get a better view of the skeleton resting next to the wall. Elias didn’t let the sadness reach his eyes as he recognized the sword and armor of the man he knew as master.
For years Elias had never known Sir Callum’s fate. Their separation at the Witch Coven had been their final goodbye. He had searched out old soldiers in the hopes that they knew where he had fought his last battle. After a time, he knew his master was very likely dead, but he had always hoped he could say his goodbyes.
"Sir Callum," Elias whispered, his voice barely rising above a murmur, "I stand in this place now, the cradle of the Seer’s, in the echoes of our legacy. Your absence is a void that I've tried to fill with discipline and purpose, but the weight of your loss lingers."
Elias took in the remains of Sir Callum's body, a moment etched in Elias's memory was a turning point. It was a stark reminder of the transient nature of life and the brutal reality of their struggle against corruption. "You fell and I couldn’t be there to help you. To see your end in this rotting place," Elias continued his words a blend of reverence and sorrow. "Your death was not just the loss of a master but a friend and a father to many of us at the Sword Temple."
Reflecting on the prophecy, Elias felt a surge of determination mingling with his doubts. The prophecy had been a guiding star, yet its cryptic nature was a source of endless questions. "Were we ever meant to fully grasp its meaning, Sir Callum?" he pondered. "Or is it our destiny to chase its shadows, hoping for a glimmer of understanding? Did I live up to being the master to a great student like you did for me?"
Elias's connection with Sir Callum was more than just mentor and apprentice; it was a bond forged in the fires of shared ideals and battles. This bond had shaped Elias, molding him into the warrior he had become. Yet, with Sir Callum's passing, a part of Elias had also faded, leaving behind a man grappling with the realities of a war-torn land.
"In your absence, I've had to find my path, to embrace the uncertainties of this journey," Elias admitted, his voice a mix of resolve and vulnerability. "Your teachings are my compass, but the road ahead is mine to tread."
As Elias prepared to leave the temple, his heart heavy with the weight of his memories and the looming challenges, he spoke his parting words. "Farewell, Sir Callum. Your legacy lives on through me. I'll carry our shared dreams and fight for the world you believe in. Though you are gone, your spirit guides me still."
His eyes were drawn to the wall once more. He put his hands on the carvings and felt the cold stone on his fingers. The pain radiating from his foot seemed to fade into the background as he focused on what was right in front of him. The torchlight glowed faintly illuminating most but not all of the wall at once. He fell into a sort of trance as he read. Images and writing blurred together.
His mind raced. He moved from one side of the wall and slowly walked to the other. Words reached the edges of his lips before stopping. He was unsure what to make of it at first before it all started to come together. The images resonated in a way he wasn’t sure he would ever feel again. They told a story from one edge to the other while spanning every inch of the wall. Every inch held something.
Elias stood before the ancient prophecy, his eyes tracing over the faded characters and the accompanying images. The realization dawned on him, heavy like the weight of his sword - he was the first to see the prophecy in its entirety, images, and all. Others had seen the words, but not the pictures that held the key to understanding.
He felt a profound sense of awe as he considered the dedication and foresight of the Seers who had carved these stones. Their work was not just a message; it was a legacy, a testament to their vision and commitment. Elias ran his fingers over the intricate carvings, feeling the echoes of history in their grooves.
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His mind wandered back to his journey. The fall into the pit, the grim discovery of Sir Callum’s body, and now the prophecy. Each event was a thread in the tapestry of his destiny, interwoven with his doubts, fears, and aspirations.
Elias knew his transformation had only just begun. He pondered over his newfound understanding of the prophecy, trying to piece together its cryptic messages. The images depicted scenes of battle, of peace, and a lone figure standing against darkness. They stirred something deep within him, a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt before.
As he delved deeper into the prophecy, his thoughts drifted to Sir Callum. The knight’s untimely death was a stark reminder of the perils that lay ahead. Elias felt a pang of regret - for not reaching the knight in time, for not being able to prevent his fall. For not being with his master when the time came. Yet, in the gloom of the cavern, surrounded by ancient words and symbols, Elias found a spark of determination. Sir Callum’s legacy would not go unfulfilled.
As he continued to read, the images seemed to come alive, whispering secrets of ancient battles and long-forgotten heroes. Elias felt a kinship with these warriors of old, their stories now part of his own. He knew he had much to learn and even more to overcome. His journey back would be fraught with peril, but Elias felt ready. The prophecy had awakened something in him, a resolve forged in the depths of the cavern. He knew what he had to do and was starting to piece together the reason fate had brought him to where he now stood.
Elias stepped away from the wall after gleaming all he could. His mind was focused on a plan. He needed to escape this place. The sooner the better. Alice was already on her way to the Dandelion Isle, and he needed to be there.
He stood at the top of the stairs with the pit in sight. On his back, Sir Calum’s sword was strapped to the rest of his bag. The armor was taken as well and something he now wore. Elias inspected the walls and dirt that trapped him. The dirt was firm and well-packed. He searched for handholds or edges for his feet to slide into. None of the sort seemed to be available. “If this place was easy to climb out of then Sir Callum would have already found his way out,” he considered. “He had the same fall as me and would have tried at least a few times to climb out. Down the stairs is another matter. He would have searched the walls and read the text the same as I did. If there was a way out down there then I would have found something. That leaves escaping out the way I came.”
Elias's gaze landed on his bag, its contents now a chaotic mix of necessity and memory. He rummaged through it, his fingers closing around the rope and a handful of arrows. With a sense of urgency, he set about rigging Thompson's old crossbow, a relic from a time that now seemed distant. The crossbow, sturdy and well-worn, felt reassuring in his hands. He prepared the arrow and made sure that the two pieces would not come loose.
It took several attempts, his injured ankle throbbing with each movement, but finally, Elias managed to fire an arrow out of the pit and to a spot where it stuck. The rope trailed behind it, disappearing into the grey above. Heart pounding, he tugged at the rope, testing its security. To his relief, it held firm. Elias knew this was his chance.
Climbing out of the pit was a grueling task. Each pull upwards was a test of his strength and endurance, his body protesting against the strain. The walls of the pit, which had seemed insurmountable, now became his pathway to freedom. His muscles screamed in protest, but the thought of Alice waiting for him, the prophecy he had uncovered, and Sir Callum's legacy drove him onward. The rope was rough under his skin, and he felt his feet cry in discomfort.
Reaching the top, Elias collapsed for a moment, his chest heaving with exertion. The forest around him was eerily silent, a stark contrast to the chaos that had led him to the pit. He lay there, gathering his strength, his mind racing with the revelations from the prophecy and the urgency of his mission.
Finally, he stood, his resolve steeling him against the pain and fatigue. He looked back once at the pit, a physical and metaphorical representation of the obstacles he had overcome. Elias knew his journey was far from over. The prophecy had set him on a path filled with dangers and mysteries, but also with a sense of purpose he had never felt before. Around him was a bloody scene. The wolves were gone or dead on the ground. Thunderstruck wasn’t in the immediate area.
With Sir Callum's sword at his back and the armor weighing him down with both protection and responsibility, Elias set off through the forest. The path to Dandelion Isle was not a clear one, and time was of the essence. He ran and ran some more. Each breath seemed to bring more life into him. The world around him was a blur. His focus was on the path he had made in the past day. He hoped that he wouldn’t be too late.