824 The Ashing of Time
In ancient times, tragedies stacked between the centuries. Misery and terror copulated to breed countless variations of death and suffering which fell over both the innocent and the guilty, the old and the young.
Many had assumed that with some stroke of luck, the Second Grand War would be the end of it; that the fall of Fulgardt would come, and a new age of peace would follow to douse the persistent burn of scars to the flesh, and gashes of the soul among the people.
No such thing occurred.
The great battle between Fulgardt and the vessels of the Deities did not end with a victory.
It merely served to awaken the menace bred by Maqi – who came to be known as the Immoral – bringing him to Divinity.
In the years that followed, Fulgardt did as he pleased.
He travelled outside Aigas and brought back calamities that needed none other than the Deities’ vessels to overcome. Many champions from the Purity were sacrificed, and Rayne – who was the only one to have a body that could persist – had led the lot to their deaths.
It was a time of fear then.
It felt as though the war would never end.
Generations passed.
And even those faded too.
…Until one day, when the light from the sun became so blissful, it was almost chilling.
It was quiet that day.
Too quiet.
The world’s sky suddenly depicted something more than the clouds and sun in the day; and the moon and stars that night.
The enormous canvas showed things past them.
Things outside Aigas.
Things common folk, and those that were weak in soul and mind were never meant to see.
The Rules that barred Aigas from outside forces… became terribly weak.
The suffering grew worse.
This phenomenon kept on for several months.
Many, whether from Feinheath and Opungale, descended into madness from the things they saw.
Mortals couldn’t resist the urge to look up and satisfy their curiosity after all. And even if they hid under thick covers, it did not help.
For otherworldly entities never known visited.
Some only to look.
Some to invade.
The thin veil around Aigas allowed it during this time.
And in that time, the people of Aigas, Sif and man, felt that their world had lost much of its lustre. Something had left.
Something was missing.
There was one saving grace though.
The threat of the Immoral was finally thwarted in the wake of the disaster.
ραndαsnοvεl.cοm
The Immoral was no more.
He was driven down to his dark lair, never to be seen again.
But none could truly celebrate, for the skies still showed things normal men were not supposed to see.
Millions died because of it.
Some snatched by cruel creatures, or shocked to death by skinless men marching the lands and into Sacred Forests.
The protection of the Deities seemed less potent in those days.
And it was.
However, not all of it was lost.
It was now in the hands of three beings.
A simple man from Emeradis.
An El-Sif from Opungale.
…And of course, one of the two Elders from the land of the Giants, a dragon by the name JIGGORRHAX.
He was young, easily agitated, impulsive, and full of energy, traits that man would relate to adolescents among their own, not to a two thousand year old dragon.
Yet it was this dragon that was blessed to become a Herald of Listafelle, burning with power far, far more fierce than that of a human vessel.
He took it upon himself to end all the problems of the world.
The world was yet to recover from losing two of its governing Deities, after all.
It would in time, but would common man and Sif still be alive by then?
He and his fellow Heralds had taken care of the Immoral, with Rayne and a few surviving vessels from the Purity by their side, but everything was falling apart.
Even the Yormuness was bleeding into Aigas, causing Spirits to run amok, terrifying the living.
This could not stand.
Immediate action was required, but the others encouraged patience and sought solutions that stalled too long – at least for Jiggorrhax.
This, without conferring with the other Heralds, or with the lone Suzamete, the dragon moved.
From his perch in Edagon, the great dragon sucked in a fourth of all the mana in the whole of Aigas, and unleashed a mighty burst of dragon breath so potent that it lit up the entire world.
Perhaps it was simply skill.
Perhaps it was coincidence.
Jiggorrhax seemed so sure of himself.
With the great heat of the fire, he scorched all enemies that reached in from above to sink into Aigas.
With the light from his flame, he glazed the translucent skies such that they hid their contents from the eyes of mortals.
With the force of his breath, he drove back the Yormuness to its right place, and banished the Spirits it held along with it.
For thirty days, the Herald kept on until the world recovered enough of its Rules through Suzamete, and learned to defend itself.
Yes.
It was a great job indeed.
Truly majestic work.
Only… Jiggorrhax’s breath did a lot more harm than the dragon had intended.
The Herald’s power had been so great, that it burned away a lot more than just his enemies.
Mana fell as soft ash from the skies for hours. The potent energy had been drained, and diluted – moreso burnt really, and never to fully recover from what Jiggorrhax himself took.
Several spots in Aigas had been turned into cruel magical omens that harboured unfavourable magical effects.
…And most important of all, Jiggorrhax’s breath had carved time itself, bringing the future closer to the present.
Several millennia blurred through the minds of living things faster than the other Heralds could act.
They were empty millennia that rolled past without history, and without substance. Because of Jiggorrhax’s will, his breath could never burn the sentient existences of Aigas, but the forced time sifted through their minds, bearing confusion and delusions of millennia in just thirty days.
All this was true for most living things, yet among the exceptions, were the Giants.
Unlike all other races, they had had one more Scaled Elder with power enough to shield them through Jiggorrhax’s righteous might.
And it was the Giants that then gave the Herald the name, Jiggorrhax, the Abiding Madness.