The realm was finally silent.

The headless man stood atop of the mansion roof; the highest peak under the bare sky. Watching the final fragments of the moon find their place. Feeling the monsters within the realm, wither and stay their distance.

For the first time in eons, there was no laughter, no mirror to their own form. No Nightmare vexing their slumber between the calls and need of the realm. There was nothing, and not an inkling of returning. Finally feeling the entirety of the realm.

The being took a breath they didn’t need. Long since the shell of flesh flaked off, soothing in ways long forgotten. They recalled, touching upon the crescent of the world they came from and wading through the River of Souls to the lands beyond.

A turbulent time in memory, unknowing of how long time truly went. Memories lost till the sight of the new suns shone along the horizon in that milky white void. Madness followed, arrogance a close second— the time after was a blur of fights and power. Grudges were formed, their soul marked, and in the end, a price was demanded.

Backed into a corner by the sense, power, and numbers, there was no escape. No way out of the prison forged by consequences. Until the high realm saw fit to descend an Alter upon the land, and throw chaos into the arena for many to claim their chance.

It was a call they knew well, the day seared into memory within the resonance of their own soul. Perhaps it was pretentious, back then, but in the fury of the onslaught battle— they, knew themselves to be the one to claim the chance.

However it be, there was little choice in the matter. A few years was all they could hope to gain out the brief windows in freedom. New grudges would keep some at bay, but the fanatics would come in time, sooner than later. It was just a matter of how?

The battle was one of fierce clashes in powers above, lofty in their heights, old grudges bearing to one another overshadowed their presence. A mouse to the field of fighting falcons, covered in the foliages of war torn cataclysms. When the time came— when the Alter ignited, there was no race, only a pause to the fighting as they looked upon all of whom seared their power toward their hand.

Had it been a moment long the realm would not have a caretaker. But now they were left to wonder, for countless eons; when the moon was just a shattering of fragments mimicking the stars in the night sky. What had been the point— what had those above sought of this opportunity?

As it was, there was nothing for them here. No such insights or power to hold, only the single, ever changing detail, of being the caretaker of the Trials to come.

Awakened would come, in all manners of power. Seeking to eclipse their forms and surpass the walls before them. Naturally the realm simply handed them the reigns to manage the Trial. They couldn’t recall anything memorable before the time, before their slumber was tormented between the calls and duties of being the caretaker.

Perhaps when the moon was a quarter mended there was a sudden shift, in edges of the realm that fell out of their control. And in that manner, they awoke to a Nightmare manifested of themselves. Something familiar, and yet foreign, time did its wonder again. Had they been so mad? Loud? Boisterous?

Yes… the arrogance became clearer.

A battle ensued, and many more followed, each without a victor, and peace was no longer found within the realm. Be it them, or the travelers, as the realm sought fit to give authority to the waking Nightmare.

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Less managed to pass unscathed, and none were a manner of unawakened. Until the fledgling, Gregor as his name was…

The headless man looked to the papers within their hands. Never has the realm not retrieved the Proofs laid before the traveler. They were free to take hold of them after the pedestals disappeared.

The memoirs had been enlightening, the man— the father, told of their lives; taking care of one another and the joy of keeping those precious memories after the ritual.

Stellar Avatars were a sight to take in wonder, if they remembered correctly. The travelers were always pent up in their ways in hopes of attaining one from their realm— only there never was one.

The promises of future paths, and the enlightening texts that followed. Or, should it be call a ‘fool’s gambit’:

‘…No matter how you attain the Pillar realm, the process remains consistent. Do not deviate, have faith, promise to believe, read, and remember that the only way for from Miasma is to hold fast against the urges and turn the tides against yourself.’

The headless man read over the contents marked, ‘Not to Read before Pillar.’ What followed is a reminder, pieces of encouragement to set about the mundane sense; taste, smell, touch… all the manner of things the headless man hadn’t thought of in a long, long, time.

Indeed, they read over the pages. The thirteenth time as of now, the words lost part of their flare, but it created a moment of reflection. On themselves that they did not know to be needed, or merely had forgotten.

The headless man continued to stare at the moon. Feeling currents of the ethereal body, the Thame in the air, and the soul in turn. What connected them was their being, a continuous pursuit that would be overshadowed by nothing.

Feels long been burdened came about, a feeling of warmth, of the dawn, pulsed a heart they did not have.

The headless man smiled. A warm light manifested in a crooked grin, carved as if it were an erratic hand and a fledgling mind. It did not move, it could not, only when the light shone did the perpetual smile, shrouded to all, was revealed.

It got a little warm. The moon got a little brighter, and the realm felt more at peace.

The headless man reflected, the emotions continuing, unperturbed by the dark reaches that tried to lay claim. The light bloomed upon the edges of the frame of their head, outlining the curves and grooves, till the soft glow of dusk came to shimmer in the dark.

They laughed, laughing of joy— for the first time since the dawn of their new life there was laughter and there was joy. Together, the feeling in their soul resounded a forgotten feel. Of calm, and bliss.

There they stayed. A new feeling arose. Was this gratitude? Acceptance? They did not know… but it really didn’t matter. What they did was try to keep themselves a minder, and to not fall from this new promise. No matter what ends manifested, or challenges came, they would not lose themselves again. Not from anything that drawled near.

Ten? Fifteen Years? Perhaps sooner, time will tell what awaited them.

Though for the fledgling, time was only the enemy. They thought, as what Gregor feared draws near in this grand cycle.

Meanwhile the Stars still shine. The Roots still hold. And the Abyss still consumes. What manner of Beholder seeks to end his line, the headless man did not know. But assuredly, the Trials of these realms are not the only ones he must face.

This they remembered— this they embraced anew.

Whatever came at the end of this new cycle, all must be weary and prepare for it too.