The shimmer of gold.

It had always been far too beautiful for mortal eyes. For the fragile, sinful, and erroneous human gaze. It was too alluring.

Too deceitful.

For its shine and glow promised too many things. Things of beauty, of worth, of riches. It promised a life almost as beautiful and mesmerizing as its shimmering color, and more often than not…it would bring nothing but void dreams and corroded lies.

Like many before him, he had been a man who fell in love with the promises sung by the charming, pretty shimmer. He heard the tales, he was shown the ores, and the whispers he heard vowing to change his life—to transform it, evolve it, shape it—were too sweet. Especially when all he had tasted from life was a sour, bitter frustration.

Yet the man, he was not foolish nor was he incompetent. He knew how to gamble and how to place his bets, and so he sold whatever he had to, borrowed how much he could, cheated whoever fell for his honey-covered words, and got the money he needed. All so he could have his own workers to find the gold for him.

The company was his. The men were his. The equipment and tools were his. The rights to the mine were his.

The gold was his.

Once, he had been a miner himself. A miner who always smelt like coal and wore dark smudges on his face and clothes as if they were his second skin. A miner who had been hopeless once, yet who crawled his way out of the bottom.

Because everything shined brighter from the top.

Yet he was not arrogant. The former miner knew how to honor and recall his humble beginnings—he, too, knew how to recognize the role others had in his success. So the man thanked not only his own competence but also Luck.

A real fool is one who cannot see the true value of Luck.

And I am no fool.

Luck could very well be its own entity—a sacred being humans should worship and celebrate. Their ancestors had it right. They knew how important luck was, they knew its implications, and how it should be taken seriously. That’s why they had a name for it.

The Fortuna. A divine being who oversaw mortals’ fate. For this is what luck was about; a person’s fate. And he was a man who knew how to recognize the importance of Luck, and how to worship with its true worth.

It’s how, after so many years, he finally found the golden ticket for a new life—one that shimmered and sang within the entrails of that cold mine. He was only a miner, yet that gold was his. He had been the one to find it when no soul was even searching for it. So shouldn’t the rightful ownership fall to him?

Without a shadow of a doubt.

It took him a few years, of course. He had to plan it right, bid his time. For only fools acted with haste.

And I am no fool.

Furthermore—

He had Luck on his side.

Many told him he was insane; ludicrous, even. To bet everything on a single mine because of some silly dreams. To hire men who were bound to betray him the first chance they got. To forget his origins as a miner and attempt to climb higher than he could.

Everyone has their place in this world. If you spend too much time looking down, you will be too afraid to fall. And if you waste too much of your time gazing above, eventually you will try to climb. And you will fall.

Yes, it was what people would say to him. Because he had been a miner once. Because they would never see him without the dark smudges; without the pungent—sometimes bitter, sometimes rotten—scent of coal.

Yet they couldn’t understand. They couldn’t see what he saw. When he first laid eyes on that gold shimmer, he was not looking up—he was looking straight ahead. At his future.

At his Luck.

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However, unlucky days became weeks. And unfortunate weeks turned into desperate months. Months where no profit was made, where bills piled up, when rumors brewed and grew. Whispers that told the tales of a foolish man who was wasting away the little fortune he had trying to chase a ridiculous dream.

The former miner knew all he could lose, yet he was certain of all the things he would accomplish. The beauty of each promise shimmering within the golden ore. It was all about time; he was sure of it. Sooner than later, Luck would be with him again.

Because he was no fool. Because he knew its worth and value.

Yet as time passed, what came sooner were the warnings. The distress. The frustration. And the promise about to be fulfilled was the one carrying failure, bankruptcy, bleakness.

It was then the man realized—the miners.

They were the ones stealing his gold. Just like he had done once, the workers were taking everything for themselves. Of course they would. Who would not be allured by the shimmer of gold? By its vows of riches and glory?

So he did what had to be done. Every single day, without fail, he would enter the mines with them. He would watch them work, inspect their pockets, their socks, smell their breaths—every nook and cranny of their bodies. Because no man would step a foot outside that mine with what was his.

Day after day, the miners grew even more distressed. They would call him delirious, unreasonable. Time and time again they would raise their voices at him, trying to convince him the reason why there was no gold was because no gold had been found. That the fault lied with the mine itself.

The man knew them all to be liars. Deceivers—aiming to get all the gold for themselves. Or perhaps they were spies from other companies, from the people who were praying to see him fall. Making sure he would.

He wouldn’t let them, it was what he thought. He was going to prove them all wrong. Every single one of them.

The former miner grabbed a pickaxe, its weight rightfully falling into his hands. Then, he began to walk. Deeper and deeper into the mine, he ventured in pursuit of the gold shimmer.

Turn after turn, the darkness got thicker.

Step by step, the air got heavier.

Yet the man could hear them all. The whispers. The tales. Again and again, the words repeated within his ears, echoing through the dark tunnels, being carried by the lifeless air:

you shouldn't have looked up

He would point his pickaxe at them—cursing, shouting.

you shouldn't have looked up

They were all wrong.

you should have stayed put

They knew nothing.

you shouldn't have looked up

For Luck had chosen him.

Because he was no fool.

As the former miner coughed, at times his vision would blur. His head would get dizzy. Yet nothing would stop him from witnessing that darkness—the whispers—growing louder, bigger, stronger. A force of Nature to be reckoned with.

A darkness who ruled over the shadows, a being who pitied the night and its fading light. A darkness so cold and void, it consumed all it touched. A darkness that could never be tamed, much less controlled, something the whispers used to venture through those tunnels.

Yes…of course…the Darkness…

…it was hiding his gold.

The former miner raised his tool again and again. The impact sent tremors down his arms—his very bones—again and again. And as he shouted and laughed at the mocking whispers, who cowardly hid within the mighty darkness, the man suddenly heard the darkness’ own reply.

“Pitiful man, life is abandoning thee. A light thou failed to control has blinded you, making this place thy tomb. Yet not all hope is lost.” The darkness moved and took a new form, one that smiled and gazed upon him. A gaze so chilling and perverse, it made the old miner drop his tool. “Pay the proper fee for thy salvation and I shall guide you back to the world of the living.”

For some reason, the man began to shake. He was afraid—terrified—yet he could not know of what.

“Forgive me for my ignorance, o Great Darkness, yet I carry nothing of value with me. My only possession is this tool I now hold and the clothes on my body.”

The Darkness smiled, its mouth ripping wide as if it was ready to swallow him. A crackling sound echoed within the tunnels, blending with the whispers as it reached the man’s ears. A sound so eerie and uncanny, it forced the tears out of his eyes.

“Thou is so blinded by the light, thou even fail to recognize its shine, mortal?”

Before the old miner could ask, from the corner of his eye, he saw.

That beautiful shimmer.

He turned toward the wall, the gold ore calling to him. Its light sent the Darkness away, so happy it had been finally found. The man dropped to his knees and caressed the ore with his roughed hands, feeling as it stole his warmth to make its gold shimmer brighter. Even more beautiful.

“What thou await for, mortal? Pay the fee, and I shall clean thou from the stench of rot.”

The old miner used the pickaxe to remove the ore from the one, the shimmer being reflected by his frenzied eyes. And when he shifted his gaze to stare at the smiling Darkness, he began to laugh.

More and more, harder and rougher, until his lungs hurt and bled.

“You shall not mislead me, Darkness! For I am no fool, and I see through your foul tricks—this gold is mine.” He then raised the shimmering gold with both his hands, sensing as Darkness stretched its arms to reach him. “You go back to where you came from and tell them how mistaken they all were. For I shall claim all that was promised to me, and you will be left with nothing!”

The miner never ceased his laughter, not even when Darkness kept laughing with him.

He did not stop laughing when there was no more air in his lungs, much less when his body succumbed to the rocky ground. And as the Darkness crept into his legs and arms, crawling its way to his face into his eyes and nose and ears and mouth, the man continued to laugh and smile as he stared at the pretty shimmer.

A shimmer so gold and beautiful, it vowed to be his forever and ever.

Even after there was nothing more for the darkness to consume.