General Archelos was a shrewd member of the Old King's inner circle who disciplined with a stony, unwavering hand. With his status as a long trusted figure, he was the first to be appointed to the Young King's Guard on his day of birth. The general was charged with care of the boy when the Old King was away during the many campaigns which marked the early years of the Young King's life. While the boy associated the years he spent with his mother in Urdhiin with tranquility, happiness and freedom, Archelos was akin to legality incarnate. A pillar of severity and law, the boy always felt the old general's stern eyes pressed against his nape- This strain meant that the periods of autonomy felt tenfold in fulfillment. Much to his dismay however, these periods grew fewer and farther between as his presence was routinely needed following the egress of his mother. During the Young King's most recent extended stay in the Capital City, the pressure of the tedious old gargoyle was reaching a level nigh unbearable-

So, when the very first word of any kind of trouble came on the back of an envoy from The Ivory Shrine Mazar Cultus, he leapt at the opportunity of seeing the sacred lands yet again.

Presently, evening light on the great northern desert is waning. After but only one meandering day on horseback, the Young King issued the command to take rest in the maw of the Sunken Stone, a sinkhole which unearthed buried artifacts. Within a tent of canvas the soldiers of the King's Guard gossiped like courtesans about their ruler. "He has no respect for the needs of our empire," one said. "At the pace he requests, a fortnight's journey will take nearly a month," grumbled another. "Does he think revolt will wait for us? The Old King would never tolerate this slowness." Suddenly, a gray figure slinked into the tent and reared its ugly head. "Do I hear low-born men speaking ill of the venerable Young King?" asked General Archelos. "No sir, general," one meager soldier replied. "I believe I was, hovering outside your tent. Do you take issue with the pace ordained to us?" There was a pause, as the soldiers looked around to see who would take the fall for this gossip. "We only worry that our provisions will turn out lacking for a prolonged expedition," said a single, modest soldier from a far corner of the tent. This same soldier, posthaste, found himself throttled and dragged from the tent outside by the general's wrinkled claw. Dust and sand stung his eyes and a stone scraped his side. "There is no room among the King's Guard for ill-bred, two-faced clods such as yourself. If you are not gone by morning, expect a lashing by the hand of your ruler." General Archelos pierced the man with a last glare of contempt before turning away, the blood red cloak adorning his back following close behind.

The Young King has never been the most violent ruler, far from living up to the warlike Old King. But he feels right at home with the Scholars of the Stone, discussing archaeology. Together he walks with them among ancient carvings and effigies wrought deep into the rock. Black, peering faces, some strong and stoic, others ferocious looking. The envoy of Mazar Cultus watches the group from afar, listening inquisitively to their dialogue. This went on for some time, until the evening progressed into a dry darkness, illuminated by firelight beaming from within the sinkhole Qharisaqhar.

"The findings coming from this site recently have astounded me," the Young King said later that night as he peered through campfire smoke to the distant unearthed structure. The smoke framing the peculiar dark columns and parapets made it appear like a vision of the underworld. "From a time far beyond ours," he mused. "It could almost be considered a relic from another world. One marked with conflict, strife, and blood." This grim comment came from the envoy, a sage of the great Ivory Shrine and a friend to the boy. "It looks unearthly. I long to know what the purpose of this place was," the Young King said as he peered studiously. He sat forwards and stared intently as the sage spoke to him.

"Oh august one, I believe the years you've spent in cities have left their mark on you. Not all structures are built with this human idea of purpose. The Natural Gods have constructed this world in mysterious ways." The Young King couldn't help but laugh at his own foolishness. "You're quite right, sage. You must forgive my contemplations, I have nothing but respect for those hallowed six." "No apology necessary," she said with a smile. "The Gods are quite accepting of curiosity and free thought. You've heard the tale of their creation of the Urd around us," the envoy postulated with a measured tongue. "It wasn't easy," the Young King replied. "Precisely, your augustness. Their curiosity led them to imagine a world of being rather than one of nothing. But the void did not want to be filled." "Being is an extraordinarily complex procedure." The cloaked sage nodded her head in agreement with him. "It was nigh impossible to coordinate this procedure without striking a balance between their domains. It's why the waves must break high before casting out low." The Young King had heard this story a hundred times, in a hundred different variations, from a hundred different mouths, and yet it still rang clear and true in his heart like a bell. "Nothing but respect..." he echoed from earlier. The Natural Gods would astound him forever.

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The dark of the night grew somehow yet deeper...

***

Suddenly, the Young King awoke with a start.

He heard high, anxious whinnying from outside of his tent- And recognized the sounds of his mare and the fuss of managing her. Someone was fiddling with the steed's hitch, unfastening the ropes.

Faster and quieter than the flap of a butterfly's wing, the Young King pivoted upwards, drew his blade, and emerged from the tent. He whipped it towards a figure in the corner of his eye, stopping short of digging the sharp edge into flesh. He held back simply on instinct- A sensation delivered upwards from his gut to halt! Frozen there at the end of the blade, like a man out of time, was a member of the Young King's guard detail. He seemed collected, yet stayed silent. "Komas, sir, why do you try and unfasten my steed?" The soldier was stoically unaffected by a sword's edge pointed towards him. "I have been relieved of duty, yet have no horse of my own to cross these sands." "On whose authority?" "General Archelos, sir." The Young King lowered the weapon to the ground, slowly. "That old fool... What is with his insistence on..." the august one muttered under his breath. What was he going to do with that old gargoyle? He thought for a moment before settling on the best course of action for the soldier.

"Komas, I believe everything happens for a reason- It is what has been ordained to us by our transcendent lords. That you were relieved here in this land- your homeland, was it?- I can only imagine being the work of a higher, omnipotent force. You may take this silvery horse of mine if only you vow to ride upon it to destinations far from here."

And so, the two young men unhitched the horse, together, and Komas saddled up. The soldier held his head high with autonomy. This would be the beginning of his new life, free of the general's draconian rule. The Young King had a final question for him. "You are a man of Urdhiin, are you not?" "Yes, sir, I am." The soldier-no-longer was looking downwards at the top of the Young King's crown. "That's what I thought, brother. We are nothing without the freedom of our people. Now, ride."

The steed rode with a speed Komas had never known before in the shackled life of a soldier. He lifted his arms like wings and tasted the clear desert air, embracing the wild immensity of it all- So palpable that, but for a moment, he felt himself take wing.

In this vast realm the process of being is too one of change, and all people will change their state, be reborn from one life into their next. Just as the soldier is reborn into his new old life as the free autochthon. Just as the dark night crosses into the deepest and totallest night, when even the Natural Gods do not make their presence known. Just as the Young King transitions to the realm of the spiraling dream, a life of hazy feelings and total detachment from the world he was just cast down from...