Under the verdant trees

do the beasts and foul creatures hide,

heeding the call of those beyond the far reach,

bowing before none, kneeling towards one.

A disaster greater than one could ever dream of,

impending doom for all,

her descent cannot be stopped.

Run, hide, whatever it is you may do, matter it does not–

for nature finds always finds its way

through the roots and branches, to the leaves on the vines,

it shall take back all that was once theirs.

Under the verdant moon

lay dormant, a calamity sealed

awaiting the day she can begin the descent.

A land laid to waste, where the verdant can once again take control.

Mortals taken aback, 

the voices of nature whispers,

a sacred relic, hidden across the fractured peaks

where civilization thrived,

and where it fell.

Under the verdant town

hide the common-folk, weary of days long past

heeding the warnings of the whispers,

taking refuge from, praying to the gods,

without knowing that they too, have been abandoned.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

The breeze between the trees,

sweep those who fall forth

betwixt the mountains and forests,

the murmurs of nature calls.

A swift fox, running towards the trees,

disappearing neck deep into the great forest

hidden among the shadows, among the crevices of rocks and branches

lay the noble one.

A verdant mountain,

obscuring the view of what is beyond

look past the veil, and open your eyes

for the truth reveals itself only to those who are willing to accept it.

Mortals across the boundary

above the sky curtain and beyond the ethersea,

far from the deimos’ watchful eyes

he who sits atop the throne

the one who reached the summit beyond the peak,

shards of his soul, scattered across the wind.

The verdant kingdoms,

rulers heeding not of the whispers and warnings,

only ruination awaits them

as kings and warriors alike march to their impending doom.

A wanderer, 

cursed by the serpent of time

to forever walk the mortal plains, 

and yet still tethered to mortal coils. 

Desolation, what is a ruler, to a god?

No match for those in the high heavens,

they look to religion–

building a following amongst the people,

giving a false hope, to a false god.

Under the verdant skies,

A boy blessed with the power of the gale,

and an immortal cursed with the ability of the tempests

Will they be able to survive?

A chaos-ridden world awaits them,

the boy who caught the storm, 

and the immortal who followed suit.