Stars shine, stars illuminate

Beacons of hope that far radiate

Across the vast, unending night

Bringing solace with their light

Some shine dimly, mere flickers

While others blaze, celestial knickers

Igniting the darkness all around

With brilliance that knows no bound

Prodigious wonders to behold

Yet their true power can't be told

For in their incandescent grace

Lay the might to raze worlds from their place

Such is the cosmos' grand design

Where towering giants in fire enshrined

Stand as Heaven's awesome might

Reminders of our small plight

Sentinels eternal, ever-bright

Of divine glory's infinite light.

"Such a nice poem..." he commented with a weak voice. Not the weakness of sorrow, weariness, or old age, for the man, Sir Oliver, was only twenty-seven – when most men were in their prime, their bodies strong, their minds sharp. But such was not the case for the bedridden Oliver, in continuous agony of pain. Surrounded by nothing but wealth – heavy golden rings adorning his fingers, exquisite artworks gracing the finely painted walls. Yet all this decor amounted to nothing when his own health had down tuned to non.

He longed to remove the metal mask decorated with intricate designs, a grand smile hiding his disfigured face, leaving only his eyes visible. His once stunning blue eyes now coveting in red.

"...This...imprudent body. I beg...forgiveness, I can't even properly bow to your holiness," he pleaded, his gaze turning to the white-haired individual by the window, surveying the lands his house ruled.

The man stood upright, hands clasped behind his back, his intense gaze sweeping over what was his domain. Yet Oliver felt neither mocked nor judged, for whatever this man did or said would be the truth and only the truth. Such was the stature of this individual, not to others but to Oliver and Oliver alone. So let time pass, slowly as it may, for his mere presence was all that Oliver needed.

As the man held his view outward, he saw greenery, paved roads, and architectural homes worthy of their name. Citizens walked about, greeting the soldiers not with dread but peaceful familiarity. Even in dark alleys, not a hint of larceny lingered. Guards roamed, helping those in need. Merchants traded wares. Such peace, such tranquility, brought a warm smile to the individual's face.

Oliver relaxed, gladdened to see this person satisfied with his life's work. He could not feel happier as he gazed upon that mesmerizing, charming, and kind smile that brought a miraculous warmth to his cold, frail body which was lesser in worth. The man's crimson eyes glazed like the stars themselves, sighing heavens to his name. His long white robe groomed from the tip of his shoulders to his lower lane, looming an aura of light itself as the sunlight from the window brightened him ever more.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

As a person of faith, it reminded Oliver of the very beings that shouldered the peace and tranquility of their world and the very heavens – the Angels. At first, he was frightened when someone appeared before him out of nowhere. But after realizing only he could see this person, while all the maids and his dear family remained blind to his very existence, Oliver truly knew it was his time. Perhaps the lord had finally listened to his wish and came to journey him towards the heavens in time.

"...Sir Oliver, was it?" The man finally spoke, his simple question carrying a soothing melody of shorts.

"Yes..." Oliver replied, his voice barely keeping up with his expression. He wanted to speak more, to talk, to ask questions. But his pain deemed him below, sorrowing him to his state even more.

The man gradually walked towards him, his pace calm like the silent sea. Sitting beside Oliver's bedridden body, his expression remained humble and pleasant. His hand reached towards Oliver, shining a white light upon his palm as he placed it on Oliver's head.

"Ummmmm......" Like a jolt of energy, Oliver felt its course running all the way inside his figure, gradually relieving the sense of pain from his entire body. As the man removed his hand, Oliver could now gather enough strength to move and a throat free from the itch of pain to form words. Surely a miracle had dawned upon him for reasons unknown.

"You did well until now. But, sorry Oliver. This is the very end of your entire life span," he finally said.

Such harsh words after this sudden healing. But Oliver only smiled, his fear of death fading. He was ready for the end he had awaited, and thanked the gods it came like this – by the aid of the very angel himself, not dying in brute pain as his doctors had foretold, but passing away with a sense of peace.

"So it's finally my time then..." Oliver hushed, his voice now sound and clear. He felt amity and harmony knowing his end, but he was still curious, his thoughts swirling around why he deserved such a blessed end.

"Thank you...but…. why me? Why did such a being as you come to take me, just a mere lord of these small lands?" he asked.

The man only held Oliver's hands, laying his crimson eyes upon him. "I was going to say it after, but I will say it now. You have been chosen, Oliver," the man preached. "Chosen as a Vessel. A vessel for greatness to come."

Oliver heard those words loud and clear, his eyes gradually widening, his jaw agape. He had heard many stories, rumors that the almighty would be born anew, landing his grace upon this world to bless everyone. After one shock after another, his mind couldn't process what was to come. To believe or not to believe? Was everything true then? The followers of the almighty, the healing fathers and their religion – were they true all along?

"So, the prophecy...?" Oliver voiced, his tone still in awe. "...Then...?"

"Yes," the man answered.

"The world will...?"

"Yes."

"Everyone will...?"

"Yes," he answered, his voice still honing the sensation of calm.

The answer was still, confident, blooming with nothing but wisdom. With a long breath, Oliver calmed himself, looking back at the individual who now seemed more divine to him than ever before. "Then...your grace. If I am to be your vessel, I have but one request."

The man nodded, accepting what was to be. Why wouldn't he? For a vessel to be received, the vessel must be willing, with full content of heart. Only then could the individual truly possess his body. "Yes, what do you ask, Oliver?"

"...My family. I want your full protection and blessing upon them. My wife is no more, leaving only my three children. And now that I am to be gone, I beg thee to look after them, raise them as your own," he pleaded.

The individual only smiled further as he closed his eyes, taking a breath in as his white hair started to brighten. He didn't say anything, bringing his hand towards Oliver for a handshake. Oliver felt a bit confused but compelled to shake the man's hand, showing no disrespect. And at the slightest shake, he felt it – the shaking of his very soul, gradually diminishing. The end was coming, the peace he had sought, the death he had longed for.

"Aaaaaa..." With Oliver's final breath, his body lay bare, his eyes turning to white mist. And with the enigmatic individual's final, grand smile, he turned himself into a cloud-like mist, getting sucked inside the hollow body of Oliver like a drain luring everything, leaving not even a gasp or a hint of its divine remnants.

The death of one left the birth of another. Through the light that shined ever brighter, eyes and mouth spewing nothing but grand, shining light, indicating the completion of a grand ritual of possession.

The remaining light faded, leaving only Oliver's body and the mystery that lived within. Changes began to tune as the wounds that once molested Oliver's body gradually healed, his eyes garnering life, slowly changing to a crimson bright. He blinked once, twice, thrice, his long eyelashes feathering his sight. All the lashing pain was now gone. What needed to be done was to view the mirror, as he stood up like a man of enormous valor. The light from outside shone bright, illuminating his reflection. His body, once the depth of sickness, now beheld the form of a warrior ready to show his power and carnage.

Placing his palm on his chest, he felt it – his own vigorous heartbeat, proof that he was once again pumping blood and made of mere flesh. Smirking, he showed his teeth in a smile grander than the one he had shown to the person who was its previous owner.

"haaaa……Thank you, Oliver. And sorry."