Chapter Text
Floating close to the ground across fields and moorland, thick layers of clouds enveloped the Northern Quadrant in a murky grey fog. The cool night air smelled of spring as the wind carried the scent of woodland up from the midlands. It snaked its way between the hills and over the rooftops of any tiny farm houses dotting the landscape, battering softly against loose barn doors. Dry stone walls covered in lichen and moss cut through fields of damp grass, creating roads and pathways for farmers to use. Heather mottled the moors in the distance, only interrupted by patches of low lying shrubs.
Not a soul stirred so far away from the capital. Any farmers living here had long since retired to their beds by this time of night. Their livestock was no different, being cooped up in barns and stables. The occasional fox or badger would scuttle across a path in search of food, unlikely to find any as rabbits and birds knew better than to go out at night, remaining in their burrows and nests, out of reach from predators.
A low rumbling in the distance trembled through the ground. It grew closer with every second. Thudding hooves struck the dirt, louder and louder. A dark shape appeared over the hill, racing down a track. Many more followed closely behind. Ten horses galloped through the fog, tailing a single stallion. Shrouded in a torn crimson cloak, the fleeing Galra rider dug his heels into his horse’s sides. A teenage half-breed boy of about eighteen years lay unconscious against his chest.
The Galra gripped his reins tightly, ignoring the cold numbing in his hands. With a hard tug he yanked his horse into a narrow side path. The horse's hooves slipped in the mud as it stumbled down the hillside. Turning his head for a second, the Galra could see the cavalry’s violet crystal lanterns glowing viciously. He had not lost them yet.
He burst out onto another large track and took to the left, speeding down a stony road. His golden eyes flashed in the darkness. There were no more paths for him to slip into. Warlike cries from the Galra’s pursuers pierced his ears.
“Get him!”
“Traitor of the empire!”
“Flank him on both sides!”
Two cavalrymen came up either side of the Galra’s horse. The fleeing Galra cracked the reins several times. Just a little further, he thought desperately. Letting out a guttural shriek he wedged his heels into the horse’s sides, sending it racing ahead.
The boy, who until this point had been jolting about limply in front of the Galra, suddenly began slipping off the saddle. In a flurry of unplanned actions, the Galra dropped his reins and hauled him back on. He shoved the boy close to his chest.
“Hold out a little longer,” he muttered, grabbing the reins again.
On the other side of the walls, everything was barren. There were no trees, not even dead ones, the grass was much taller than before and heather carpeted the moor-sides in vast sheets of brittle branches. Tumbled-down sections of the walls had not been patched up. It was as if no one had walked the path in a long time.
"Grab his cloak!" A sudden yell behind the fleeing Galra practically screamed.
Not even thinking to turn around, the man dug his heels into the horse again and sprinted ahead. The boy in his arms was still far from waking. The Galra was not sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing but quickly dismissed the thought. He had no time to let his mind wander.
That was when he saw something in the fog. It was hard to make out in the haze, being so far away from the path, but he was sure that he had spotted five giant standing stones in a neat line, each one taller than the last. With the surrounding moor being stripped of any other formations, it stuck out like a sore thumb in the landscape.
The first sign, the Galra thought, praying he had not imagined it.
And luckily, he had not. Up ahead there was a smaller pathway hidden under the debris of a fallen wall. In the rush, it was difficult to manouver, but the Galra veered his horse over the rubble and down the track. Almost immediately he passed by four dark rocks lining the path, two on each side. A spongy layer of moss covered their perfectly round surfaces. Leaving them behind, it was time to search for the second sign.
Despite being unconscious, the boy’s teeth were chattering. His mop of messy black hair stuck to the back of his neck, where stiff purple fur was standing on end. Goosebumps covered the deathly pale skin on his scrawny face. The thin material of his tunic was nowhere near enough protection from the cold of the Northern Quadrant. He was so cold that the Galra had noticed him shivering.
Still aware of the cavalry, the man had no time to wrap his cloak around the two of them. It was damp from the fog too, so would not have done much anyway. The man could still hear the Galra soldiers behind him. At this rate, they were going to be caught.
Then, as if the Gods themselves had intervened with the chase, he saw the second and final sign. It was quite far ahead and shrouded in fog, but it was definitely there. A sacred stone carving stood eerily on the side of the road. It was an abstract carving of a man, bearing no way to differentiate between the head and the body, however it was all that the fleeing Galra had wanted to see, for right next to it lay a tiny side path, no wider than for a single horse at a time. The entrance was overgrown with grass and shrubs, having not been used by farmers for many generations.
Pulling violently at the reins, he veered his horse into the sharp right. It was hard to pinpoint the exact time to turn, but he managed with little difficulty. Within seconds, he was speeding down the overgrown track, thundering through the river of plant-life that came up to his thighs.
Back at the mouth of the path, the cavalry ground to a halt. With ten of them there, it was way to narrow to fit them all in at once. The Galra man could hear the horses neighing and snorting as their riders slowed them, the calls of confusion and irritation getting further and further away. He was not at a safe distance from them yet and did not dare to slow, as it would not be long until the cavalry was able to file into the track. However, he was at last able to wrap the fringes of his cloak around the boy, even if it did not amount to much. The boy shivered, his ears unconsciously pricking up as the heavy material folded round his shoulders.
It was much quieter in this part of the moor, almost as if the wind itself had ceased to blow. The Galra were a superstitious race, and this man was no exception. He knew the reason why the wind had supposedly died here. It was for that very reason that he was heading in this direction to begin with.
The fog was thickening. Ferns and orchid stems sprawled out over the track, getting trampled on after years of standing proud in the unused path. Up ahead, through the haze, the man saw the narrow track open up. His chest tightened, for he knew where he was. He had reached his destination. Slowing his horse, he went from a gallop to a canter as he cautiously rode out of the pathway.
Turning his head round, he looked at every inch of his environment in seconds. He trotted into the centre of the circular structure ahead of him that had been dug out of the side of a hill, the earth being kept at bay only by a series of tall standing stones. The ground was covered in moss and plant-life, but it was clear that at one point, a flagstone path had existed there, cutting through the centre. Following the outline of the path with his eyes, the Galra man raised his head to come face to face with what he had been desperately searching for.
In front of him, looming eerily in the fog, were two stones standing much taller than the rest. Into the rocks was carved several swirling patters depicting fierce battles and mythical beasts and across their tops lay a large flat-stone, creating a doorway out of what was assumably at one point a meeting area. Hanging loosely from its ceiling, half rotted away from time and the elements, were several little charms and talismans used for warding away evil spirits.
The man stopped for a second. This was it. If he crossed this line, the cavalry were sure to stop the chase. That, he knew, was only because what lay beyond this doorway was said to be far worse than anything he could ever imagine. Tales of the ground swallowing you up, of moving trees, of talking animals that could read your mind and breathe fire.
At that moment, the ground began to shake with the force of hooves hitting against the track. The cavalry had fit through the track entrance, galloping single file along the path. The man tensed up. Taking a deep breath, he whipped up the reins and hit his feet into the horse. It immediately took off, passing under the flat-stone. Without any time to stop it and nowhere else to go, the Galra held his breath and swallowed his fear. Just as the cavalry emptied into the meeting area, he disappeared into the fog on the other side like a phantom into the night.
Circling the meeting area, the cavalry horses were all going in different directions. The Galra soldiers tried to calm them, but it was no use. They seemed agitated, whinnying and snorting if they so much as came close to the doorway. A few of the soldiers got off their horses, trampling over the ferns and grass until they were in front of the mysterious exit.
"Sir..." one of the shorter soldiers stammered. He too knew where they had ended up.
Behind him, a Galra riding a heavily armour clad stallion peered through the fog on the other side of the stones. There was nothing to see and the place was silent.
"Let him go," the leader frowned in a combination of anger and frustration. Glaring up at the exit to the meeting area, he cursed under his breath.
"Ulaz, you fool. Only death meets those who travel to the end of the world..."
§§§
With every second that passed, Ulaz felt the fear of being caught by the cavalry slowly seep out of him, only to be replaced with an even greater fear. He had lost track of time and had no clue how long he had been travelling aimlessly through the inky black fog, still pressing on in a rhythmic gallop. Something was disturbing the Galra, eating away at the back of his mind like maggots in the deep recesses of a tree trunk. There truly was nothing here.
He had not passed a single town or village, which he found understandable as no one lived here, but there were no longer any dry stone walls to mark his way. Even the road had long since disappeared behind him. There were no bumps in the ground or hills to cross. It was only a straight flat expanse that spread out for God knows how far. That coupled with the swirling fog that encaged Ulaz's vision to less than a few feet ahead of him was enough to turn anyone back to the empire. But Ulaz could not stop. No matter how much his skin prickled and his heart raced, he had to keep going.
"We're almost there," he told himself shakily, taking a deep breath and gripping the reins tightly. "Just a little further."
In his arms, the boy began to slide off the saddle again.
"Keith!" Ulaz jumped, though this time, he knew better than to just blindly let go of the reins and reach out to him, instead quickly giving them a hard tug.
The horse whinnied, grinding to a halt in the muddy earth. Carefully and with trembling hands, Ulaz moved Keith back into the right position. The half breed slumped forwards, his tangle of hair and furry ears dripping with water from exposure to the fog. Ulaz wrapped his cloak tighter around the both of them and inhaled a deep breath, taking hold of the reins again.
There was a sudden shiver up his spine. Frantically, he whipped his head round, his entire body stiff and tense. There was nothing there, just an inky haze. Shaking the reins, Ulaz very slowly turned his head back to face the front and carried onwards in a swift canter. He had a lingering feeling that something beyond his vision was there, watching silently, waiting.
He knew well why so few members of the Blade ever tried going to the end of the world. So many times, he had seen young rookies who had heard the legends of what lay beyond the ancient fog and travelled to this place to find the truth. Those were the rookies that never returned. The Blade made a statement to never come here, and Ulaz had followed that order since his enrolment seventy years ago. Now that he was here, riding through the ocean of clouds in the middle of the night, he just wanted to curl up into a ball and pray that someone found him.
The only reason he was even here was because of that damned Champion. The man had only been in the colosseum for a year, yet he had filled everyone's minds with tales of what lay beyond the end of the world. Dragons and pixies, cities so far underground that only dwarves could ever reach them, even lakes filled with merfolk who could read your mind. Many times he had claimed to have come from such a land, which Ulaz was sure that at least half the gladiators did not believe. Right now though, he was depending on the stories Champion told every night in his cell. He had not played the role of a prison guard for a year just to die at the end of the world.
Suddenly, the Galra caught sight of something in the fog up ahead of him. Jerking on the reins, he pulled his horse to an abrupt stop. There was a dark round shape standing about ten feet away, the haze swirling around it. Ulaz's heart pounded against his ribcage, and a deep growl resonated in the back of his throat. Bearing his teeth, he strained his eyes in the dark to see what it was, his hand subconsciously sliding down to his belt, where a knife was sheathed in a thick leather scabbard. For a few seconds, nothing moved.
Eventually, it was Ulaz who had his horse sluggishly wander up to the shape. As it came into view, the Galra felt every muscle in his body relax. It was just a boulder, no bigger than his arm and covered in lichen and moss, though underneath were the same swirling patterns from the stones at the doorway to this place. Letting out a deep sigh, Ulaz noticed a similar shape a little way behind the boulder, obscured by the fog. Allowing his horse to trot up to it, he saw that it was yet another boulder, bearing similar patterns once again. Looking behind that one, he saw another.
Ulaz began to follow the line of boulders, occasionally flashing his eyes around the murky darkness in case he was being tracked or tailed. With every minute that passed, he felt Keith getting colder and colder. The boy was still shivering, despite the fact that he was partially wrapped in Ulaz's cloak. Ulaz frowned, bringing Keith closer to his chest.
Then, as if they had been ripped from the earth, the line of boulders was cut off, leaving the Galra with another expanse of flat land hidden under the fog. Ulaz halted his horse. Something was different from the last expanse. His senses were heightened, picking up on any details and changes a normal human would miss easily. The growl returned to his throat and his eyes glowed bright in the dark like a torch. He and Keith were not alone.
Swinging his leg over the side of his horse, he jumped down, hitting the soggy ground with a thud. Keith fell forward, balanced precariously on the saddle. Upon seeing the trembling boy, Ulaz undid the clasp on his cloak and flung it loosely over the half breed. Sweat was dripping down his face and his heart was racing from a subconscious fear, so he had no need for it. Taking his knife out of its sheath, he darted his eyes around.
Then he saw it up ahead. It looked to be some thirty feet away, but its sheer size made it visible through the fog, standing at least ten times bigger than the Galra. Ulaz immediately tensed up, the knife in his hand growing into a fully sized blade. There was no way he could fight a beast so large, but he could not turn back now.
Leading his horse across the ground, he prepared his mind for the possible fight he would be caught up in. Over and over, he banished his fear as best as he could, the adrenaline kicking in as he neared the gigantic silhouette. Any second now, it would come into focus.
Ulaz took his final steps up to the shape, his blade ready to slice it to pieces. However, it did not move. Confused, Ulaz felt his heart pounding in his ears and his breath caught in his throat. Tilting his head upwards, he had to take a few steps back before he could see the true extent of what he had come across.
Standing like a petrified tree frozen in time and covered from head to tail in every shade of lichen and moss, was an immense stone lion. Its mane looked as if it was blowing majestically in a non-existant bluster, its mouth permanently carved into a silent roar that Ulaz swore he could hear in the back of his head. The beast was posed on top of a great plinth, which bore markings and letters carved into the stone many hundreds - possibly thousands - of years ago. Despite the apparent age of the mighty statue, it did not look as if any weathering had come upon it.
Ulaz fell to his knees, overcome with relief and a numb sense of security. His blade shrank back down to a mere knife, which he immediately sheathed. Champion had spoken of this creature one night when he had first arrived in the colosseum.
"The Guardian of the Balmerra," Ulaz muttered, dumbfounded at how large the carving actually was.
"It's alive," he remembered Champion tell him through the bars of the cell. "If you're not careful, it'll have the Balmerra swallow you right up."
But how can I get past it? Ulaz wondered frantically, his eyes scanning the entire beast for any signs to point him in the right direction.
The writing on the plaque stood out to him, the grooves swirling in intricately carved calligraphy. He could not read a word of the strange lettering, which only added to his anxiety as he stumbled to his feet. Shakily, he swallowed and stepped forward again.
"O-Oh great c-creature," he felt his voice cracking. "I mean y-you no harm..."
There was only silence. The lion did not move, and Ulaz frowned. Champion had said that it was alive and yet it did nothing. Puzzled and terrified, he tried his best to continue.
"Please, oh mighty beast... l-let us pass safely th-through your domain..." he called out, his trembling hands clasped together as he bowed his head.
Softly, an ominous breeze began to blow over the misty land. Ulaz froze, petrified in a tense bow. His golden eyes were squeezed shut, his heart in his mouth as he felt the wind waft around him, lifting his tuft of silver hair and cooling his body as it burned from fear. There was a sound. A long, ceramic scraping that caused Ulaz's pointed ears to prick up. He gritted his teeth at the chilling noise, not moving.
Suddenly, a strong gust of warm air blasted in his direction. Ulaz was sent tumbling backward, landing hard on the wet grass. He hissed with pain, his eyes shooting open to see what it was that had caused such a powerful wind to blow. What he came face to face with in that instant was by far the most terrifying thing he had ever encountered in his long life.
Leaning down and staring back at him with massive stone eyes was the lion, Its face only inches away as it inhaled a deep breath that almost lifted Ulaz off the ground. Ulaz wanted to scream for help, but there as no point. No one would hear him. He was going to die here, and no one would know about it.
"P-Please!" he scrambled to his knees, grovelling in front of the majestic creature. "Spare us! We mean you no harm, oh mighty lion."
The lion stopped, gazing down at the terrified Galra. He was curled in a trembling heap on the ground, his clothes soaked from the dew on the grass. Swiftly, the lion looked up at the horse, where Keith lay on its back, still unconscious.
Ulaz felt another gust of wind whirl around him as a dark shadow loomed over him. Bolting his head up, he turned frantically to see the lion had leaned out its own head, inspecting the horse. It dipped its head as it came to Keith, opening its giant mouth to show sharp, perfect canines.
"Spare the boy!" Ulaz screamed, scrambling to his feet and rushing back to the horse. "I beg of you. He's done nothing wrong!"
To that, the lion lifted its head away from Keith. The horse neighed softly, not phased at all by the immense beast. Ulaz stumbled up to the horse's side, grabbing the reins in his hand. He could feel the lion's deep grey eyes burying into him, reading his every move as he stared back at it, not wavering. For a few seconds, everything was still.
Then, in a fast flurry of movements, the lion reared up, not breaking gaze with the Galra standing below it. Ulaz clutched the reins, once again petrified by the beast. A deep, long growl emanated from the lion's throat as it bore its teeth, snarling. Taking in a gulp of air, it let out an ear-splitting roar.
Ulaz scrunched up his face, cowering behind his horse. The roar went on and on, filling up what seemed like the entirety of the misty land to the Galra. It shook the very foundations of the earth itself, sending shivers down Ulaz's spine. This was the power of what lay at the end of the world.
Seconds passed by, and gradually, the roar died down, though it continued to ring in Ulaz's ears for long after. He did not dare to move, fearing what would happen if he did. Nothing happened for several minutes after.
The horse shifted nervously, tugging at the reins that Ulaz was still gripping tightly in his sweaty palms. It took every ounce of his willpower just to be able to open his eyes. When he did open them however, he was met with a very different sight to what he had been exposed to only minutes before.
The mist had all been blown backwards, creating a cloudy wall quite a way back. Looking around frantically, Ulaz saw a stretch of flat land spreading out endlessly to his left and right. Spinning round, he was almost too afraid to look at the lion again, but all he could see was the gigantic beast perched on its pedestal, frozen in time once again. It looked as if it had never moved in the first place, stuck in the same roaring position it had been in when Ulaz had found it.
Ulaz craned his head back in relief, taking in a massive gulp of air. Gazing up at the sky, he saw countless stars glimmering in the night, mottling the dark expanse above in shades ranging from crystal white and aqua blue to blood red and amethyst.
Bringing his head back to face ahead of him, his eyes widened when he saw what lay behind the lion. It was some way ahead of him, probably about fifty feet, and ran across the entire horizon like a dark, tangled ocean. Twisted, gnarled trees covered in hanging vines of every size almost beckoned the Galra to enter, whilst at the same time, filling his heart with a feeling of dread that whispered 'turn back'.
"The end of the world," he breathed, taken back by the size of the forest before him.
Slipping his foot into a stirrup, he quickly mounted his horse and dug his heels into its sides, sending it galloping past the lion statue, heading for the thick layers of trees.
It did not take long to reach the edge of the forest, only a few seconds, but when Ulaz was confronted with the twisting roots that carpeted the ground and the low hanging branches, he bowed his head, sighing. This was as far as he went.
Jumping off his horse, he carefully led it to one of the smallest trees he could find on the border. Tethering it to a narrow trunk, he peered briefly into the depths of the wood. It was so dark he could not see a thing, sending a shiver down his back. Taking a second to calm his shaking hands, he went back round the side of the horse.
Keith had not stirred for a while. Furrowing his brow, Ulaz carefully took him by the shoulders and pulled him off the saddle. He fell to the floor, his tattered tunic getting covered in dirt and mud. By now, Ulaz was not thinking about that. He glanced around the trees, spotting one which was much taller than the rest. It was not too far from the border, but was far enough so that it was safe, its roots old and crooked, burrowing deep into the ground. It was the perfect place to hide.
Picking up Keith in his arms, Ulaz was able to carry the underweight boy without much difficulty up to the tree. Dead leaves crinkled beneath his feet, sending up a strong scent of bark and damp around the area, and the Galra scrunched up his nose in disgust as he gently set Keith down in a nook between two of the largest roots. Wrapping the cloak around his scrawny figure, Ulaz made sure he at least appeared comfortable.
"I'm sorry," he muttered as he opened a pouch on his belt. "From here, you're on your own." Out of the pouch he brought another knife, this one much smaller than his own. Opening the folds of the cloak, he pressed it into Keith's limp hands. "I have to return to the Blade. You must find Allura."
Ulaz stood up, brushing the soil off his trousers as he returned to his horse. Untying the reins, he looked back at the unconscious half breed lying obscured in the roots of the tree as he saddled up. He bowed his head, a sort of 'good luck', as he turned his horse back in the direction of the mist.
"The Blade is always with you!" he called, raising a hand, then he took off into the night.