Page 91 of The Last Guardian

“To unleash its magic,” Zaidkiel declared in a sullen tone.

“Unleash its magic?” I repeated, but before Zaidkiel could explain more, Kraktos breathed loudly.

The Oralys widened his arms, and the air shifted. Thickened. From every inch of his skin, tendrils of black smoke erupted—wept from his pores, from his onyx eye sockets like black blood. It bellowed from his open mouth and his nostrils, unleashing the darkness within him.

Let me tell you, Dark One, of the world before it broke—when darkness and light had been one, until rot claimed the soil.

The shadows settled on my skin, on my lips—a taste of iron and ash clung to my tongue. The shadows swirled around us and exploded—burst—swallowing everything.

I remember a time, before the fractures, before the lies. A time far older than crowns, when the world had not yet learned to bleed. A time where lands, magic, and people lived together as a whole.

Within the shadows, images flickered to life like waves of stars in an ocean of darkness. Fields of green and gold emerged shimmering in a gilded sun. Tall, lush forest of silver and obsidian trees sprouting from the soil.

The First Children—the Elves—walked side by side with the blooming of the world, begging the gods for companions, fearing the silence that even eternity cannot soothe.

Children’s laughter echoed across the clearing as they darted through the field, their feet crunching through the grass. Tall figures with pointed ears emerged from the darkness; their features so bright the shadows couldn’t dim their beauty. Silver-haired heads knelt, voices rising in prayer—crying out to the gods.

Children of Darkness, Sons of the Sun, Daughters of the Moon, Beasts of the Sky, Creatures of Fire, birthed from their wish, Kraktos continued as the images shifted.

Other figures, imposing and majestic, formed. The first were similar to the Elves, yet their features embraced the darkness. Brown or black haired, their gemstone eyes pierced the darkness as the shadows clung to their bodies.

Beside them stood males with carved suns blazing on their foreheads and a golden power dancing on their arms, and females with carved crescent moons glowing in violet hues, silver power with traces of violet flowing around them.

Shooting in the sky, gigantic flapping wings moved with the wind, floating in the air. Feathered wings as majestic as angels—black, white, gray, or brown—swirled in the sky. Beside them, a larger beast emerged from the clouds, its blue scales as deep as sapphire. A dragon. Its leathered wings beating, it dove toward the ground at full speed. Before it could crash against the soil, it transformed itself into a—woman. Blue scales clung to certain parts of her face, the same great leathered wings tucked behind her back.

They all wandered the soil of Erath alongside the Children of the Gods—the Humans, Kraktos’ dark voice said.

Other smaller figures emerged, talking, smiling with the Elves. The Humans. Their features were dimmer, but they carried a look in their eyes the others lacked. The price of a human life—the very thing that made their existence precious. The imminence of death.

Devoid of powerful gifts, compared to their pairs, the Humans suffered the arrival of witchcraft, Kraktos continued, moving the images completely. In desperation over the Humans’ short lives, the Elves created spirits from the heavens to protect the Humans from magical dangers.

Walking on a field blooming in their wake, the Elves reached for power through the ground—from Erath itself. A jade light burst from their hands into the air, forming animals from their magic.

I have seen them rise—the Guardians forged as animal-spirits, destined to bond with Humans. For hundreds of thousands of years, they wandered the land of Myrh, choosing their magical bearer: those who dared to approach them. Thus, Humans could protect themselves with magic.

Bright, large animals ran through an island, a lovely, magical paradise filled with lush forests and rolling fields. The Humans—men and women wandered this land.

A massive brown bear with golden horns—larger than any animal I had ever seen—with gleaming eyes, approached a dark-haired man with dark skin, brushing its nose against the human’s palm. The Guardian nudged gently, a glowing power swirling around, linking them together.

In the palm of the man’s hand, an invisible power burst. Trees, flowers, and water floated in the air—levitating.

For a time, the world lived as a whole—peacefully in harmony.

Until a corrupt, wrathful soul annihilated peace, jealous of the Guardians, the immensity of the power gifted to Humans.

They reached for chaos, for the decay rotting beneath, for only one goal. To inhale what they deemed to be the weakness of the world. The only beings calling life through death.

The Humans.

Ten thousand years before today, chaos exploded, reigned over the lands. Men, women, and children were destroyed.

The image grew dark. Red and black hues threatened to take over the lands. Crimson power captured Guardians—torturing them, killing them. Draining them of their blood down to the last drop—draining their power.

Giant wolves howling in death, deer with antlers torn from their heads, large birds shot in the sky.

A macabre power devoured the soil and reached the sky, ravaging civilizations in masses as screams of men, women and children pierced the air. The images shifted into complete butchery: piles of dead bodies sprawled on the ground, their eyes rolled white in their sockets, blood seeping from their nose. Children’s heads lay scattered on the hills, their blood soaking into the soil.

The Ten Gods feared this emerging power, corrupted by blood and fire. They found help, reaching out to the Humans for aid. Deities and Mortals bound their will into one—eternity united to demise—banishing this infernal power to the Seventh Circle of Hells.