The Cost For the World

Soot fell from the sky as the heat subsided. It fell upon his cheek as if the sun had radiated against his face, but was slowly pulled away, the callous temperature fading into moderation. Fog from heavy breath escaping lungs that barely avoided being filled with the sticky life essence that courses through most living things wafted from his lips. His body ached from head to toe, every muscle strained to its limit, pulled like a marionette conducted by battling puppeteers, until the strings snapped and his wooden body was cracked and left in a heap.

The overcast that had plagued their journey for the last year finally cleared, allowing the true sun to poke through into lands that had not seen it in decades. Trees, plants, bushes, hedges, animals, bugs, critters and creatures of all sorts of makes tilted their heads upwards, their eyes squinted at this new sensation that none truly understood. For they had never seen anything like it. But, it was warm. Inviting. Something unknown in these lands.

The thick snow that had the land in a perpetual state of near extinction glowed with a brilliance never before seen. No longer did the hills of white disturb those that travelled in these realms. Before, they seemed to be pillars too tall to be overcome. Boulders on the path forward. Obstructions and misery awaiting those that dared to brave them. Now, as the sun bathed them in her warming light, they took an inviting tone. For now they seemed to embolden those that may gaze upon them. An impossible challenge no longer, but rather a challenge welcome to come. No longer did they blind the viewer from the peak, but rather gave a beautiful scene of the horizon.

The blackened lakes, their waves once crashing upon rotted shores found themselves in a calmer mood, the sun soothing their misfortune and anger. The tar black that once tainted their angered waters were now a steady blue, the rays of light slicing through even into the deepest depths. Humans that lived within the realm found themselves, without rhyme or reason, stepping out from their homes in which they huddled in fear and anguish, their eyes, clouded by rage, frustration, envy, greed, bathed in the glow of the healing star that hung in their skies.

Their fears did not melt, but they were soothed, their anger was not dashed, but quenched, their envy not removed, but lessened. They had lived hard lives. Found little respite in the world, and took it for their lot in life. For that is what the world had told them. That they were fodder for monsters and demons, and their survival was the best that they could hope for. Every day could bring death. And tears were never shed, for that is how it was. Awaken, survive, and fall asleep again, hoping you have done enough to awaken once again the next day.

But now? Now those tears that were so reserved, frozen within eyes, flowed freely, melted into sweet relief by the emerging light. They did not know why such a thing was occurring. It easily could have been a trick, played by those monsters that ruled them to push them into happiness, into hope, into remembering what it was to desire a better life. But the thoughts did not cross their minds, for they could not imagine such monsters being capable of such a sight. And the sun that kissed them did so with such passion, such sincerity, and such genuine care that they could not help but implicitly trust the sensations befalling them, no matter how impossible they seemed to be.

They gave thanks to someone they did not know. They praised the efforts of those assumed to bring such grandness. They fell to their knees, overburdened in their joy, their bodies racked with such euphoria one would be forgiven for thinking they had died and found themselves in heaven. But a few pinches soon proved otherwise. No dream was this, and no trick. They knew in their hearts. The Beast that ruled the lands was dead. They were free. Free. Free. Free. The word tasted foreign on their lips, and yet none, not a one, from the oldest elder to the youngest babe could stop themselves from repeating it.

Free free free, at last, we find ourselves free! They cried, they chanted, they said until their throats were hoarse and dry. For the first time in centuries, the humans that found themselves living under the rule of evil saw hope rising in the sky.

The humans, the trees, the plants, the lakes, the seas, the ground itself carried a chant across the winds, spreading over the lands, once plagued, now alight. The blight had been cleansed, and those of darkness were driven away under the light, the demons that once found themselves organized under the call to terror, now scattered amongst the cries of hope. Their voices drove them away, swelling and swirling, consuming all in their great chant.

The Beast has fallen, the sun rises!

The Beast has fallen, no longer are we under its guises!

The Beast has fallen, the heroes succeed!

The Beast has fallen, hail hail the heroes to make him bleed!

The Beast has fallen, no longer in his darkness we trail!

The Beast has fallen, hail the heroes, hail!

The words came from their hearts, for they did not know why they spoke thus. But the wind acted as a swift messenger, carrying the tune to all those around the country. Even those in other nations soon heard the chant, understanding in their hearts that the dark lands were no longer dark. The evil had fallen, and at last, those heroes had succeeded in their near decade journey. For it could be for no other reason that this evil could be gone.

Were it to be the kind of evil that could have been outwaited, it would have vanished centuries ago. Were it the evil to be toppled by another, the dark lands would never have been united. Were it the evil to be defeated by those of ill ambition or intent, it would have been defeated long ago. No, it was the righteous, the humble, the kind hearted, the good intentioned and the strong willed that defeated this foe. And for that, they were heroes, and none could disagree. And so the world, its throat for so long squeezed by the hand of dark and evil forces, breathed a collective sigh of relief, that perhaps, to those lands, and even the world, may find itself healed, and returned to a state of normal or even exuberant breathing.

The wind carried it all. The hope, the dreams, the relief, the joy, the elation, the praise, the hails, the life. It carried it all like a typhoon of good tidings, swirling and churning and bringing it all to the center, the cataclysm of where the Beast fell. It took all the reaction of the world, and brought it to the hero that kneeled in front of the corpse of the Beast, for he had slain it, dealt the final blow.

But, all that the wind carried found itself fallen on deaf ears. The undeniable hero heard not the praise of the world, no songs of his accolades, no chants of his deed, no sighs of relief, no cries of joy, not even the simplest thank you from any of the living creatures that sent it. For while it was undeniable by any definition that he was a hero. And that again, it was undeniable that he had indeed slain the Beast, for its corpse sat just in front of him, his arm bloodied from the final strike, his body scarred from the blows of the battle. Undeniably he drew breath that fogged the air. Undeniably he had won, fully and completely. And undeniably did the wind carry the message of the world.

And yet, nothing the world could do could reach him. For the sun that shone so brightly and warming for others, to him, it shone with sinister intent. For gentle embrace in its light did not find him. No, for what the sun did for him was burn. It sizzled in his ears, it scorched his eyes, forcing them downward. They lingered on the Beast’s corpse for but a moment. All that remained was a skeleton that was already now turning to dust. But even at this sight of an evil being cast into the winds of a righteous world, that too was nothing more than a taunt. For the wind brought nothing but haunting laughs of the Beast, more than pleased with its final joke.

The sun burned his battered flesh, the snow that shined so brightly forced his head to turn toward the sizzling. His eyes tried to blind him as his head turned toward what the sun shone so harshly on. But the tears in his eyes found themselves steamed and evaporated before they could fall upon his cheek. There, behind the hero, sizzling, the sun’s rays deepening the blackness, were three mounds of ash.

His failure on clear display. For he failed to protect those closest to him. Their sacrifice was not voluntary, for he did not wish them to die. And die all the same they did. A power granted too late. Strength found too late. And while the Beast lay dead, his presence nearly consumed by the wind, it still towered over him. But now, it was much higher in the sky. In a place he could not reach to extinguish. And it was cruel, unrelenting, remorseless.

It would not let him look away. The chants that carried across the world, when he finally could hear them, taunted him, hailing the piles of ash before him, hailing his greatest failure. They hailed and hailed, and he could not make them silent. They heaped their praise upon the shoulders of a man who could not bear them. He could not even muster the words to speak, to offer apology to the comrades he failed, to pray for their return or sorrowful rest, to console the lover that lay in darkened, fluttering ash one last time. To the ones he spent the last ten years with, through thick and thin, trouble and strife, he could not muster the words to say a thing. And so he sat, unable to look away, and yet unable to bear with what sat with him, for the wind would not touch them.

The world rejoiced. The world fell to its knees in thanks. The world hailed, hailed, hailed.

The hero despaired. The hero could not rise, too much in shame. He wished the world would quiet, to keep the hails to themselves.

The world stood tall. And the hero crumbled.