Guardian of Lightning

Prologue

High above a coastal cliffside, in one of the more scenic parts of the world, the morning sun beamed down on lands still untouched by man. Waves broke apart on the rocky cliff base far below, releasing a steady rhythm of crashes, the tide climbing higher and higher with each surge. Wildlife welcomed the wonderful morning with a series of chirps and rustles. The whole area teemed with nature, alive with activity. All was well.

In the span of a few seconds, everything changed. Clouds drifted in from somewhere unseen, extinguishing the sun under a sea of black and grey, bringing with them a heavy wind. Grumbling thunder drew panicked cries from the animals. The beauty of the morning had vanished completely.

A bolt of lightning burst free from the storm and hit the clifftop, cracking through the heavens. Almost instantaneously, the storm dissipated. Clouds retreated into nothingness, the sun shone brightly once more, and tranquility returned to the land.

Atop the cliff, a warrior stumbled forwards, laboring towards the edge. Every step more draining than the last. Clearly in a bad way, his long brown hair and scraggly beard were caked with dried blood, and he clutched his side, wincing in pain at every tiny movement.

Pieces of golden armour lay discarded, leaving a trail to where he now walked, bare chested, with only a tattered white cloak covering his chiseled torso.

Arriving at the precipice, he dropped to his knees and looked out over the glittering blue sea and the horizon beyond. Sunlight shone overhead and danced across the crashing waves. The coastal breeze offered sweet relief from the day's stifling heat and caused pine trees on the hill behind him to sway in a gentle rhythm. The world is truly beautiful, he thought.

A sickening pain blazed in the warrior's side, ending the short-lived period of internal rumination. He pulled his hand away, grimacing at the dark, bloody wound that lay underneath. A permanent reminder of a conflict better left forgotten.

Reaching into the depths of his ruined cloak, he pulled an object from a secret pocket within. A small blue stone. It was time.

He closed his eyes and prayed to anyone who was listening. My duty is done. To whomever comes next, I wish you an easier life than my own.

Despite the pain, the warrior smiled as he wound up a throw and launched the stone into the watery depths below, reveling in the feeling of peace it left behind.

White doves circled overhead, as if they knew that this day marked the end of a long and brutal age and wanted to offer him some company as he welcomed the start of the next. The warrior was grateful.

Once more, he turned his gaze to the distant point where sky met sea and took the first few deep breaths of his new life.

He knelt there, enjoying the symphony of wind and waves, the sun on his weathered face, and the smell of wildflowers that tickled his nose with each inhale. Nothing could ruin this moment.

Eyes closed, he allowed the past to roll off him, swept away with the breeze. For in this new era of peace, it was better this way. To leave the horrors of the last few years behind, and for the whole world to start afresh. For the first time in so long, there was no reason to fight. He was content.

Just under the surface of the tranquil sea below, an almighty power floated aimlessly across the deep blue abyss. A power that would not be touched again for over three thousand years.