Monday, March 09, 2009

Telove-prolog

Prolog

Kabris waited as if suspended in a dream. Long, narrow legs folded beneath him, his cape hanging limply at his shoulders. He was a great bird in hibernation. He drew slow and constant breaths. It was the only movement - the gentle in and out of his chest - that proved he was alive. Behind his closed eyes, behind the darkness of his trance, he was deep in concentrated thought. And all of his thoughts were concentrated on Match. The One-who-would-surpass, his equal in power, even while only half his age. The One-who-would-surpass, the dark eyes of his nightmares. The One-who-would-surpass, the one thing that kept Kabris alive. His chest rose and fell, the slim hands folded across bended knees. Sickly thin from the fast, paper white from the immeasurable time spent underground. Kabris used his mind to keep the constant vigil, knowing that someday, the young untrained mind of the One-who-would-surpass would give him the extra energy he needed to break from his tomb. He only knew what he expected, he only knew what he had dreamed of and imagined for all the days that added to months which added to years that Kabris had sat. He had spent the first while conditioning his body, breaking what natural barriers he could with magic or willpower. He had overcome the need for strength, he had overcome the need for little more than token nutrition taken mostly from the air. He breathed in. He breathed out. He reduced the need for movement, and devoted all of his energy to the search, the hope, the dream, and the knowledge that Match would be presented to him.

Then a flicker. Only light, like a moth wing. A touch that the untrained would surely ignore. Kabris’ eyes sprung open, pupils wide to almost complete blackness. He had felt it. And he knew it. Match, the Nightflame, the One. But Kabris had other plans. He knew his role in the life of the young prophet, knew his destiny as a teacher to the greatest being that would ever be born of the small planet Telove. But Kabris had decided, in the years of banishment, not to let Match surpass him. He knew that if he could hold him in check, the power of the boy would become his own. And he knew that when this happened, all the years alone and patient to the point of madness, would be worth it.

When he had descended, been forced into the cave, he had been a Nightflame himself. But as he now unfolded his tall thin form, he was reborn. He felt the trembling of life and energy and the flow of power from the untrained soul of Match Nightflame through the soil and rock above him. The opportunity was now upon him. No need for elaborate spells or gestures, Kabris used the power of his mind to wrap around the needed strength and use it to overcome the barriers that had been placed centuries ago on the cave to keep him contained. It was easy as stroking a kitten.

He rose through stone without so much as disrupting a particle. Up though the ground, he winced and smiled as the sunlight hit his pale skin, his crystal blue eyes. He truly was reborn, in the white and glaring gaze of the benevolent Gaithperia. He was no longer a Nightflame. He was now a Whiteflare.

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