The night stirs, the sky an uncovered cauldron, filled with grains of salt. - Such beauty was rare nowadays, wasn't it?
Well, let me tell you a story! – From long ago. . . – When the night wasn't just little grains of salt, but a whole dish. – From places where color painted the sky.
Once upon a time, when all stories had just this little sentence. – People moved from corner to corner, explorers running to find what was undiscovered.
But our story is not about such people. – But about one pale young man. – No crown sitting on his head. – No bag of coins at his waist. – No riches in his name.
Just his mind and a glaive of black steel on his back.
Step after step. – Weird looks were focused on this man. – Yet nothing seemed to bother him. – Nor did he seem to have a goal. Or maybe he did? – But perhaps there was no plan! – After all a goal without a plan is merely a dream. . .
Soon, the dark night seemed to fade. . . No, No, not magic, our agile knight simply stood until morning. – Watching the walls of the city!
Perhaps a hired blade to defend the walls? – But why one? – No king would hire one blade to protect a city… – Nor did he have the coin to have been as such.
But as time went, he moved. – Some say unnaturally. – Some say it was like he was dancing. . . While the truth was nothing. – For nothing was normal about this man.
A loud sound could be heard. – The cutting of the wind! – And then the clashing of steel. – A shadow moved itself.
Look! – For a strong Rapier of shadows seemed to make itself into reality. – Attempting to pierce at our young man. – Yet its hope fell as in one dance-like move his glaive moved. – Blade deflecting the pointed rapier.
His agility was something else. – No wonder people thought of him like a monster without even knowing him! – Perhaps he was. That is not something we would know. . .
Another clash of steel followed. – The glaive slamming itself against the steel armor of the shadow! – Cutting through it cleanly. – Revealing a crystal-like core at its middle.
Yet time wasn't enough! – As the shadows' armor regenerated, remade itself in mere moments.
Its body moved like a thrown dagger! – Attempting to pierce the man. – And so it did! – Its blade slightly piercing the man. – Blemishing his porcelain skin.
Yet his expression remained calm, almost like pain was nothing uncommon. . . – Yet one thing was special! – He did not bleed.
No no, blood was there, yet it refused to spill. – Perhaps to spite whatever creature this Shadow was? – A grim came from the porcelain dolls lips, his hands moving swiftly.
After all this was a reminder. – One of immortality, but also of mortality. – It was hard to decide which side he was on!
Clenching the blade. – He flipped it! – His body flipping along in a dance like manner. – What was this style of fighting? – A dance of emotion, perhaps a wish of expression. – Yet one thing was for sure.
The blade cut the air like a pair of wings! – Moving faster than a plane. – His blade aimed for a gap in the shoulder plate of the shadow! – Hitting it like a thunder as his blade slashed! – Right onto where the heart was supposed to be.
The sound of metal hitting stone could be heard. – As the shadowy crystal broke into pieces. – The shadows form falling into shards of smoke as the wind took them.
On the ground remained two things. The porcelain man. – Whose wound already began to unnaturally heal. – And a shining white gem on the ground!
Perhaps a star who was now cleansed. — But who are we to judge what such purity could be? – In the face of stars. We are nothing.
"And that is the story of the starless night. As every one of them fell, why? Well one thing is for sure. Change is fluid, like water to the flame, like how two steel blades could clash. – And leave a town to ruin."
Said a voice, its tone holding what seemed like to be the dreams and hopes of thousands. Yet all that was there made the people unsure.
A pale man, standing rather tall, and his hair as white as a dying star. – His clothes were rather plain, a Kimono of black silk, with blue details covering almost his whole body.
His skin almost hidden fully by its silks. His sleeves long enough to cover his hands. And open enough to makes some of his movements hidden completely to those lacking a sharp eye.
Who would have thought? Such star carried hope, such execution he caused carried snuffing a light. What did such creature even fight for? Cleanse it did! – But why cleanse something if you plan to shatter it like nothing was there.
What price was there, mental or physical to ending such shadow who could feel? Such questions yet answers are like a dry river. His green eyes fixated on the only person watching him.
An older women, simply standing and listening to his words. Perhaps a heartwarming to know such poetry resides even in the future, a rather unique way to think.
The story was a fable, but with simple grains of truth like the stars on the sky. Under his clothing stood scabbed wounds, more than just one pierce this man has suffered, yet refuse to bleed he did, simply letting them heal on their own.
Lies bring hope, perhaps not for others, as for them it's a mere child's story, but for him it's a step to keep moving.
"Wonderful, Quite wonderful. Such wise words and poetry, young man! Perhaps bards are just more forgotten these days. . Otherwise how would your words pass unseen by others?"
Said the grandma, perhaps her reasons were true. But perhaps it's also the sweet location. . In the end they were not in the open, like a flowing river.
They were inside some alley, simply speaking. Like the river of a cave. . Maybe with time it will slowly chip away at the walls and breach into the freedom of its world.
"I am a poet at heart. – Storytelling is a way of life, not just a hobby to those knowing the art of words. Thank you, dear lady. But perhaps my words are not meant for an open world of people. After all my words are as sharp as a warrior's blade. I am a silver-tongued fox in the end."
The man followed with a chuckle. His long sleeves raised into the air as he gave them a small stretch, he was not one to stay in on place. Perhaps comparing him to a fox fit well!
His sly silvered-tongue moved swiftly, and his head perhaps even faster. He simply gave her a smile, his ears flickering lightly. Going up and down.
The light was dark, yet something could clearly be seen. But perhaps not by the older women. His two emerald eyes shed different lights, one was lighter than the other, who knew.
Significance? Or some mere story of the body carried from his parents. Does such creature even have parents? And so on and so on, questions rise, and answers we lack. But maybe, just maybe if we look around, others will provide us with the grains of truth on this young man.
"Ah, such is true young one. My own husband, may the gods let his soul rest in his stories. Was a bard in his own right, singing about every god he even heared of. Stories of unknown is what he loved most. But do tell me, youngling. What is your name?"
The women asked, it wasn't quite that peculiar of a question. But the man gave a sigh, not to the question. Oh No. But the fact he was called young. – Yes. Young he was, like a small string of water next to a river. With time it could grow, carve the earth and shape it to become larger. Simply. He shook his head lightly, not to dismiss but to get back into his senses. Rather than overthink too much.
"My name – Ah. . . I suppose it is best to call me Tris. Some people in my past simply referred to me as Fox, but those times are long gone. Just as the salt in the sky."
He answered, his tone following a rather blank pattern compared to his ussual words. Yet the poetry kept sticking to his lips. Like a sweet nectar one wouldn't abandon until finished. And it is clear that such story is not to end until the dying star is to fall or succeed.
His body took a few small steps. Finally taking note of his surroundings. The alley came in a dead end, both the right and left being covered by the shadows of stone walls. . Perhaps he could climb them later. He was one to enjoy heights in the end. His eyes fell onto the women with a small flicker of his ears.
She herself was rather peculiar in his eyes. Lively yet older, black hair, darker wrinkled skin. He did not think about it for much longer. Not wishing to accidently insult the women in his own mind.
"Tris you say? Not something you hear often that's for sure. Nickname I'd assume? Well, I am Anne. . But perhaps I shouldn't ask so many questions. . I have some errands to take care of. Seemingly I got caught up a bit too much in your story. . Perhaps we'll meet again!"
The women spoke. Tris returning a small nod, not answering with words. As in the end he was the type to love silence. – He took a few steps before walking past her, moving to leave the alley they were in. And so, he did. Leaving her behind.
He continued walking, the silence of the sky keeping him company. As the day seemed to come closer to its end, the sky turning dark as the moon rose itself. Yet no star was to be seen. – As he walked down the street.
His ear gave a small flicker, eyes scanning the walls of the shops. Most were close, yet a select few remained open. His head tilted as he stopped from his walk, looking at the shops with a selective gaze.
As he simply chuckled and moved his body, walking towards a tavern in the middle. . The Cackling Crow.