Exile

Obridan didn’t notice the mist lessen. He had been walking for so long. Placing one foot in front of the other was all he could do. Hunger had fled centuries ago, as had thirst. He could not recall the last night he had slept. All his efforts, all of his being, his Will, was focused on crossing this plane of damnation.

The light, when it came-yet again-was not a relief. There was no end to this exile. Not one of his own making. Or one made by others.

As always, with the light came the voice.

Obridan, for nigh on four thousand years you have walked the edge of Desolation. Your exile is at an end. The Age turns and the Son of the Eye is called once more.

“I gave up that title long ago.” His voice was a dry rasp

Do you not wish to reclaim it? For the two halves of your soul to be rejoined?

“The safety of my people is all I seek.” Dust swirled through the mist, the choking ashes of worlds destroyed by the power that would consume all he held dear.

Phoenix Lord, you have given so much to your people and they turn from you. Revile you for a traitor. The light of your truth, the vindication of your actions, lies before you. Let go of this husk and embrace the Light of the Eye once more.

Obridan continued walking. His eyes, hidden in the depths of his cowl, remained focused on the ground before him. “I gave up much for glory once before. More than I ever knew. You cannot tempt me with that poisoned chalice again.”

Prophecy calls. A new path lies before you.

He raised his head. “My life, my path, is not yours to make!”

You will be healed of your memories.

He stopped walking. “I am my memories!” Around him, dark shapes gathered in the mist.

You cannot avoid your fate.

“My fate is mine to chose!”

He lifted the staff in his hand and brought it’s end down hard upon the ground. Power exploded from him, a circle of energy radiating outwards and incinerating the daemons that had been gathering. Extinguishing the false light.

He staggered, leaning against the staff.

Would they never learn? His soul was not split in two halves. It was shattered across five.

There was no end to this exile. Only when the fourth and fifth parts of his soul were spun out into the world once more could prophecy begin to be fulfilled.

Slowly, Obridan continued to walk.

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