As the fire crackled on, the Explorer glanced at the sky, realizing the entire night had passed before him while he was lost in thought. The events that had disrupted his life felt abrupt and senseless, as the arrival of the Red Monks was unforeseen, unexpected in his bubble of relative peace. The monk’s words were seared into his head, sealed by some ungodly creature, so that it may never be forgotten.

***

Once the Explorer had come to, his wife and child laid over his body, with horrified gasps and terror in their eyes. His child burst into tears, unable to comprehend the monstrosity that lay before him. The monks had left, their ominous chanting laid to rest, and had exited the village with the same rhythmic vigour with which they came. His wife cradled the Explorer’s face, an action steeped in mourning, as he opened his eyes. Searing pain flowed through his veins, as his wife’s touch spread electricity down his cheeks, through his eyes and across his forehead. The act of opening his eyes was a difficult task due to the sheer pain and resistance he felt in his eyelids. Unable to bear the affliction, he screamed and wailed, pushing his family away and stumbling to find a source of water to soothe the burning sensation. His wife protested, grabbing his arm, and pleading for him to stop. He brushed her off, his ability to reason now limited to survival. Finding a bucket of water used to wash their clothes, he grabbed it on either side to plunge his face into the water. Before he could do so, he stopped. His face now contorted in horror he stared at his reflection. A curious mix of confusion and desperation spread across his face. Who was this? A mangled creature lay before him. Reminiscent of the creatures of the night that poorly imitate humans, the Explorer was less human than those damned monsters. Horrific scars whipped across his face, leaving pink, slimy exposed skin underneath. Most of his hair had been burnt to a crisp, leaving pathetic blonde patches highlighting his scalp. The man wailed, each tear exacerbating the immense agony he was in. He flung the bucket in newfound rage against the wall, scattering its contents across the room, and knelt, smashing his fists onto the ground.

It hadn’t been long after that the Explorer left his village, the monk’s words trapped in his head. He had tried to ignore it to no avail. Every day he ignored the monk’s raspy voice, the piercing chants from that fateful night would ring from around him, rising in volume till he collapsed. His wife had bandaged his entire face, save his eyes, to begin the healing process. Though the injury was horrific, in this Land he barely stood out from the thousands of people who had been maimed and injured. The young man vividly remembered the day he departed, leaving behind his wife and child to fend for themselves. It had been a misty morning, the ominous crimson sun hidden behind a veil of thick fog. A light, constant drizzle patted against the Explorer’s bandaged face as he stood outside the door of his hut. His child held on to his mother’s leg as he silently cried, his face buried in her gown. No words were exchanged between the couple, but none were needed, as their forlorn looks at each other spoke a thousand words. Frustration, indignation, and sorrow flared in her eyes as she comforted the little boy, yet a resigned acceptance of the situation also rested upon her, the knowledge that his journey was inevitable. She could barely look him in the eyes without falling into despair. While one couldn’t say they had lived a life of tranquillity, the fact they had been safe and able to survive without fighting tooth and nail was the unfortunate truth of other communities that dotted the Land. Now, with their sole provider leaving on a journey that would most likely kill him, she had to upend their life to ensure her child’s survival in this harsh world. She felt no malice towards her husband, though it was sometimes difficult to look at his bandaged, bloodied face. Without another word or sign of affection, she stiffly turned away, holding their child, and shut the door. The Explorer, staring at the door sighed, basking in the vortex of emotions that plagued all three of them. As he turned towards the singular path that led out of the village and into the untamed wilderness, he noticed the other villagers staring at him from their windows. They seemed apathetic to their countryman, which was not strange at all due to the survival of the fittest culture that had developed in these difficult times. Another one leaving, another one dead, it was all the same to them. As the mist cleared and the crimson sun bore its evil upon the Explorer, he stepped onto the road and began his journey.

***

Curiously, the sun seemed to be laughing at him, akin to the day that he had left his village. The fire was now burnt out, with the charred coals that remained being tossed about as the Explorer kicked dirt over the campfire. He had managed to catch a few gleenfrogs, a large, meaty brown frog that tended to survive in the wetter areas surrounding the forest. They were known for their deep, booming croaks that startled travellers who traversed through the area. What they were most known for, however, was the simple fact that they were too slow to escape their predators, usually easily caught by other animals and humans. Though they had no strong taste and were somewhat unpleasant to consume, a testament to their slimy texture, it was a simple meal for people who had no food left on their journey. The Explorer had managed to capture three the night before, through the somewhat crude method of leaping at them with open palms before they hopped away. Talentless and energy-consuming, yes, yet effective in securing that night’s dinner. Before long they had been pierced through a sharpened stick and spit-roasted over the flames, a mud-caked yet smugly satisfied explorer rotating his meal from time to time.

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While it was a commendable task that the Explorer had survived thus far, it was clear that he was not the most experienced or skilled traveller and had to pick up his survival skills along the journey. There had been several close calls already, as the Explorer’s limited instincts and knowledge had led to near-death experiences with predators, poisonous fauna, and treacherous environments. He carefully wrapped two of the roasted gleenfrogs in a tattered cloth and stuffed them in his muddied leather satchel, which he swung over his shoulder. Now that the sun had risen over the dark canopy of the encroaching forest, he realised that he needed to visualise his plan.

The Explorer had been deep in thought since the moment the Red Monks had arrived. While the monk’s words had been seared into him, the purpose of his journey had not been realized to him. What did it mean to be the son of the sun? Where were the depths? How does one forge a connection between the void and the light? He had no answers to any of these questions, and more importantly, he did not know where to begin. However, as he began walking away from his village, the chants in his head began once more. This time, it was quiet enough for him to function, itching the back of his mind, almost subconsciously. It was there, no doubt, ever-present. It had been a day of walking aimlessly, through the open fields when something finally occurred. The Explorer’s growing frustration was palpable. Why be sent on this journey with no instruction? He abandoned his family and his only chance of survival in this godforsaken land to be thrust with a divine quest against his will, only for no aid or guidance to be provided by the ones who decided his fate. As he trudged along the wispy grass that tickled and wrapped around his ankles, he reached a fork in the road. Of course, it was not a literal fork, as the overgrown path from his village had quickly disappeared as the invasive, greedy grasses that dominated the landscape had quickly taken over. However, a decision was to be made.

As he glanced off into the horizon, he noticed that he could continue down the endless plains of grass that guaranteed relative safety from the unseen dangers that plagued the land. This would be the most likely path to take to ensure survival, even if he ends up walking in the wrong direction. The light breeze that brushed the calm, crimson-tinged grass seemed so appealing now, even intoxicating, as the hypnotic flow of the grass enticed the Explorer to follow, to enjoy the utopic landscape for a moment longer. The other option was to veer off to the west. As he turned to scan the horizon, he noticed that far in the distance, hidden behind a wall of mist were two structures jutting out into the sky. Monumentally high, they dominated the horizon, ensuring that all eyes were drawn to the landmark. At this distance, the Explorer could not make out what these structures were. Based on their rugged form, they appeared to be natural, but one could never be certain, as there were ancient man-made structures that were known to dwarf entire civilisations, a symbol of greed and avarice. The Explorer deliberated for a moment, understanding the ultimate futility of the decision, as neither path could be a step towards his goal. Without another word, he stepped back towards the rolling plains and began his walk, opting to choose safety. Why wouldn’t he? With no indication of his goal, it made no sense to put himself in unnecessary danger.

Gripping the leather strap of his satchel, he took a step towards the plain. A wind blew in from the west. Carried in the wind was the chant, this time loud and booming. So powerful that it knocked him off his feet and onto his knees. Gripping either side of his head, he screamed into the earth, as the unfaltering chants echoed in his skulls, seemingly gripping and tearing at his brain. Though the chants held no physical meaning to the Explorer, he understood what the arrival of it meant. A guide. As the oppressive sounds slammed him against the ground, he gripped and pulled at the grass, digging into the soil as he crawled back toward the path of the twin structures. Every inch he crawled, the voice seemed to soften, allowing him to grab on to brief moments of respite as his head ceased to pound. Eventually, he held his breath and pushed himself off the ground, finally able to stand up. Clenching his jaw, and with new determination, he gripped his satchel and started the journey towards the twin giants. What lay ahead was unknown, and would almost certainly lead to demise, yet, if he had been chosen for some divine quest, being propelled by some unnatural determination that fogged his common desire to survive, there was no way but forward.

“As death and despair pave the road, The Void watches in glee.

The Sun in shackles, bearing the load, yearning to be free.”