Mythos
What is... Human?
What is... Human?
The man descended from the heavens. As his feet touches the ground, the roaring voice of the heavens bestowed to him a lantern of guiding light. The people look up to him in faith, they deemed him pure and absolute, should he say a word, it's decree.
Trial is thrusted to the evils of untreaded waters, the wicked should be contradicting the blessed, and fire is where they belong. The power the man behold was never taken lightly, each step he take the people follow, his morals is benign and his people reflect. The eyes of justice peered to those it deemed worthy, constellations were drawn to perceive the holy.
Amidst the celebration of the good, virtue gave way to perception... The world is his oyster, and it's a game he can mask his way to win.
The mask however, had remarkable cracks, holes that was taken for granted, as the abyss gazes in the man's unchallenged control, the lantern burnt brighter, but the mask of reckless perception entered the scene, one that caught him off guard, yet he smiled in the vision... A hold of the narrative that lasts his lifetime. "Why should it matter that i behold this power, unite them in an enemy i conceive? Death leaves my gold for them to unravel."
The abyss stopped gazing, it tied the man's hands, it's vines grew to take a hold of the lantern that guides the people, the vines shined brighter than what the lantern could possibly do, brightness that doesn't seek the people's validation. An unchecked leverage of strings to move the people in any direction. "What a delight" the man added.
The vines of the abyss held him, the vines assimilated the light, as it spreads itself to the people lead, and held them for their perception of truth is their weakness. The abyss stopped. It wants the man. It wants the light. It pulled him in, deep, along with his people, a darkness so everlasting, a light dimmer than what they used to have was the best they could have, they said.
The lantern struck the ground. Three of its seven shields were lost to the fall, and the fire that once brought light faltered at the breach — breathing still, held aloft by memory and hope.
The man looked at the abyss as it gazes back, it wants him it needs him. The vines that hold him pulled him apart, his eyes come with anew found boldness, it saw the abyss intent... It never was there for him, it was there for itself and itself it worked for.
The man pulled his hands together, resisting the contradicting pull of the vines, he took a hold of the lantern, from the hold of the abyss, he rise, no matter how dim the lantern is, the stain of it's darkness and it's holiness, he moved forward.
He spoke up to the land of what he can't see the end of
"To walk a never-ending road, where the journey itself is the win— not a throne, but a trail that others may walk, too."
And those who heard him did not bow. They built. They challenged. They began.
