He made me a liar. He made us all liars. For years the twelve of us, hooked on every word, rapt with awe at the tales we were told, believed him the hero the world believed him to be. We were his chosen, his acolytes, his disciples. And we were chosen to continue his legacy in our own corners of the world.
Twelve of us, one for each province. A saviour of our own lands, taught by the best the world had ever known. But all the world had ever known was lies.
In the before, when the world was only one, the world only needed one hero. But then the chasms formed, and the world was twelve, and so twelve worlds needed twelve heroes to follow. So we twelve followed the One.
For twelve years we studied under his constant guidance, his tutelage, his discipline. We all bore the scars of his displeasure, both physical and other, deeper, harder to hide.
The worlds were changing faster than we were learning, and all the One's lessons were based on history, and a false history at that. Everything we had been taught, everything we knew, everything everyone knew, was a lie. The key was proving it. We could save the world, the twelve worlds, if we could prove it.
YOU ARE READING
The Twelve
FantasyThis piece was originally written for a competition, and as I feel it is a good premise for a longer piece, I will put up additonal pieces to add to the whole.
