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Rated: E · Chapter · Fantasy · #2169025
A man broken by the world prepares for the end...
I have never bit into an apple without a rotten core
Never eaten rice that wasn't maggots
Felt the sun without being burned
Walked without falling
Swam without drowning
Hope can be such a misguiding thing…
Like a leech, my mistakes drink until I’m empty
Like a shadow, regret is my permanent company
Like a storm…
An endless sea with an ending horizon
Time is a tricky entity…
A never ending war,
With every sunfall, a battle starts anew
With every moonfall, a new wound comes to
Want to count my scars?
A more achievable endeavor would be to count the stars
Pull me apart
Put me in jars
Give me to the liars
Give to those what they took from me
Then throw what’s left into that Sea
And leave me to my destiny…

Sitting at his dark greenwood desk with a quivering hand, Valhan Kingheart scribbles on the last page of his journal, or Imagindar, as he calls it. This entry into his Imagindar is an exception to the usual home for his imagination, though unexpected happenings call for unusual action. Soft sobs accompanied by the scratching of the ruby handled, silver tipped quill against paper trickles in the silence of the candle-lit underground nook of a room. Separated from his main home by a narrow, spiraling flight of stairs and finally a short hallway, it was once a place for him to work on his stories but now it serves as no more than storage for his collected writings, a forgotten passion.

To the left of his Imagindar rests a plainly adorned knife he’d purchased from a former Nótorían, freedom fighters for the Elvlyn and Dwurvyn peoples, Húmyns war-kin, made into traitors by the law. It is by no means against the law in Galthaden, his native home, to own a knife, however the material it was crafted from is. It wouldn't matter though if someone did witness the purchase, much like everything else in his life now. All of it, all of his struggle proved to be fruitless and inane. If only he had aimed to achieve failure, he would be the world’s most successful person. Among the numerous people burning in the black fire of his heart, there’s only one whose life he intends to take.

Peace. The promise the blade’s edge offers is unique to its material. No metal but those of the Mountains could harm a child of Thraykar, hence all is kept locked away by the Eternal Kings. Only released for times of war, which hasn’t touched these lands in centuries. Peace. The Call fills his limbs with the energy of desire like a young fool chasing a pretty dame, and a warmth overcomes him like the arms of a loved one. The near extinct sensation sends his memory back before all of this began and those distant memories of innocent, pure bliss. With a smile, he inhales through his nostrils, his dark grey skin shade lightening. Peace. Though simple, he is fond of the knife. Its red steel surface is engraved and inlaid with twirling and winding grey lines intertwining from the bottom of the blade, to the tip, leaving two small curves on either side of the point. Peace. Like a rehearsed routine, he lays his left arm facing upward to expose his wrist. Slowly he slides the knife’s blade over his skin back and forth as if it were a whetstone before leaving it at his veins. Peace! Valhan clenches his left fist as he lifts the weapon up delicately by its pommel with a finger to let its weight dig into the trench between the two now most prominent supply lines of his blood. Peace! The sting almost goes unfelt as it pierces the surface, the sight of his blood causing him to exhale. Peace! He watches the pale blue liquid fall onto the floor, droplets at first turn into a steady stream with the blade going deeper. Peace!

“Valhan!” A girl’s voice echoes down the stairwell. Peace! The Calling silences any words he might’ve said back to her. What is she even doing here? “Valhan, please!”

He can feel the normal calming effect of her voice approaching him. How many times have you said the same? How many times did the world show you mercy? How many promises have been broken? He feels It push the blade deeper and the bliss returns his attention to watching his life fall to the floor. The sounds of her steps descending the stairs are muffled by that one wonderful word, even her scream feels like an echo in distance as his vision fades and the warm arms take him. Peace
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