The Hike was a peculiar region on the westernmost of Eastland, a gentle sloping grassland hundreds of miles long that rose from the shores of the Trapped Sea and ended on the top of massive cliff encircling the Hike. The people called the top of the cliff Stormfront. It was the furthest edge of Eastland, the end of the continent, and beyond it was an endless open sea where storm raged all day long, all night long. Any sailor lulled by the rare calm days hoping to reach treasures would find themselves consumed by sudden storm and returned a wreckage to the foot of the cliff, providing building materials for daring villagers who made a living trapping fish swept by the tides and charging survivors and cowardly sailors who turned back eggregious fees for their hospitality.
That night the white knight arrived on Stormfront, having chased after the beast along the shores until there was nowhere else to go. He watched the creature wreaked havoc at the towers, how one of the Tower of Storms fell, and how the crystal that power it was destroyed, the power it released sent a shockwave that turned into a tsunami so tall it would have engulfed even the Hike and flood the entirety of Elora, had he not stopped it with a magic incantation.
He watched the creature growing in strength after absorbing the crystal's power. He watched it flying away from the towers and the continent and disappearing into the north sea. He realized how powerless he was to do anything about it, should the monster decide to return and eventually destroy the land. Ramford spent all power he gathered to fight darkness just protecting the land from the angry sea. To think he ever had any chance defeating the creature was laughable. He was nothing but a mere sorcerer facing the wrath of god.
The weather eventually calmed for the first time since anyone remembered, the storm subsided on Stormfront. The knight stood alone on the edge of the cliff, eyes locked at where the creature disappeared beyond the horizon. His companion had returned to its dog form, resting under the shade of a fallen wall, exhausted.
The sun broke through the clouds, shining light upon riders coming up the Hike. Their horses fought the muddy swamp soaked from constant rain, but they were no ordinary horse but a breed specifically for the Hike. Taut muscular legs and spreading wide hooves and special horseshoes on preventing them from sinking under their own weight and the rider's. Their destination was Ender's Fort, the only standing building along the cliff.
It was a curious structure that defied common sense, as was the rest of the Hike itself. The fact that the fort was leaning away from the sea when one stand before it, but standing upright if one laid on the ground to observe it. Generations of scholars had braved the storms and studied the fort, but none could explain its existence. A fort that had no right to defy gravity and should have collapsed from its own weight and the suggestion that at one point in the past the Hike was a plain field. The Ender's Fort was eventually named so for any fools who dared to study it ended up disgraced or taking their lives from madness.
The black robed riders paid no heed for the origin nor the inexplicable existence of the fort. They were in possession of passed down knowledge millennias old, the few who remembered the past while kingdoms and empires rose and fell. The few who worshiped the warrior of Stormfront, who knew of magic, who kept the legend alive. They called themselves the Order of Storm, but the populace knew them as the crazy cult, sinister looking blokes who denounced any rulers but preached of the coming of one true king and then came around to perform outlawed magic rituals in old ruins.
It just so happened these cult members were pilgrims setting up camp on the Hike wishing to set foot on Ender's Fort. They were taking shelter in a pilgrim's cabin when an earthquake ravaged the night. The men was drawing their horses to safety when a streak of white light shot across the Hike, and a moment of daylight was brought forth in the darkness of the storm. The men witnessed a miracle and braved themselves to follow it soon after the storm ended.
Years of rain turned the Hike too wet for trees to take roots. No grains could settle long enough on the sloping plains before water brought them downhill. Reeds and irises thrived on the Hike, and ponds allowed for water lilies to grow. The Hike was deceptively beautiful on a sunny day when all the flowers bloomed at once, fearful there would not be another day for seasons to come, but dangerous animals lurked in the water, venomous water snakes and hungry critters with sharp fangs.
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The fort was the only thing standing at the end of the Hike. Any trees that grew in the past had long rotten and fertilized the soil. The group of men rode safely on the back of their workhorse, brushing past tall grass and seek the man of their myth. An old man draped in white robe leaning on his staff, standing on the only dry patch of land on Stormfront.
The riders gasped and murmured at the sight of him, jumping off their horse and stumbling forward as their tall boots was caught in the web of roots under the wetland. Their leader fell on his knees and crawled toward the old man, bowing before him, his head firmly planted on the ground.
"OH, MY LORD, to have finally meet you! Oh, Lord Commander of Ortdayne, Guardian of The People, King of Moorstein, Emperor of Elora, Sorcerer King of Eastland, Lord King Ranfrey Formanson!" cried the man with trembling voice and welling tears, and his men followed behind him, kneeling before the old man.
"You have invoked a long forgotten name. I have not been any of those for a very long time," Ramford answered with a weary heart.
"B-but here you are, my lord, in the flesh, alive, after all this time. Your return has been prophesied, 'the Sorcerer King will descent to protect Eastland from Evil'. The disaster last night must be a sign and we saw you, my lord, made haste to face evil."
Humanity is doomed, Ramford thought. He had come across this cult in the past, preaching about a long forgotten king who shall be reborn to fix all evil in the world. They would perform magic tricks in squares to garner followers and perhaps donations. He saw them weaseling their ways into courts, corrupting rulers to do their bidding, all in the name to prepare the world for its eventual savior. Bounties were soon placed on their heads forcing them back into hiding until ruler of the land changed and the wheel turned once more. Ramford avoided engaging with any of them. He learned from experience it was more trouble than his curiosity's worth. Once an zealous cultist managed to uncover his disguise and Ramford's hand was forced to silence him. He stayed far from major settlements ever since, traveling the land as a lonely sheep's shepherd for the last century.
"Pray tell, my lord, king of the land. Is your presence here, in this moment, not a sign that distress had befallen Eastland? Does that not mean the prophecy is true?" the cultist continued.
"Prophecy made by men like you, to scare people into rebellion against their ruler. Peace has come to Eastland but you lot are keen to sow chaos."
The men shrunk and trembled.
"M-mercy, my lord... P-please do not fault us for the sins of the few. I admit there are unsavory members of the Order who takes matter beyond what we have taken oath in. The majority of us simply learn of your achievements and to maintain history of the land..."
"I-if you have to punish someone, my lord, let it be me," another begged.
He looked at the man, drawing every ounce of bravery to lift his head and looked upon the man they worshiped. He was not any more than twenty years old, skinny and pale with gaunt eyes. His head was cleanly shaved without a speck of hair sticking out of his skin, and not a single piece of cloth other than the black robe that had soaked in the storm. He was reminded of the first settlers, gaunt with hope drained from their eyes, hoping for nothing but food and some peace. Did this man think death would give him peace? In nothingness there is no evil, true, but neither would there be hope.
But darkness was due. It had revealed itself and destroyed one of the towers. The Tower of Storms protected the people of Eastland from evil, but its creators never expected the return of the world's most powerful beast. Ramford did not know why the creature stopped at one, but he know one thing, it will return, and yes, a mortal's drunk prophecy will have to come true.
"There is no need for me to punish any of you," Ramford eventually spoke. "It is true an evil being had shown itself once again to the world, as you have witnessed the havoc it wreaked in the darkness of night. If you have any knowledge of the past, you too will be aware of what this creature can do, its disregard of all living being, of humanity. But I am not your savior. My power cannot compare to this being. I might have been a warrior, but I am a shadow of my past self..."
"O-oh..." whimpered the men, their whole body shaking with terror.
"It is not I to save your home, but humanity itself, for in this world there is only one thing this creature fear the most and you have it."
They calmed down enough from his words for color to return to their skin.
"What kind of weapon would that be, my lord, and how shall we wield it?" they asked.
The old man could only smile thinly. It never stopped disappointing him how quickly any human concluded it was a weapon.
"I shall gather all kings of the land and form a unity. Tell me, men, who rules over the land?"