Little Klive flipped the rough pages of the book as the moonlight swayed, yearning to take a quick peek out of the volume of scribbles. Rough sketches revealed themselves along with the wriggly letters, the words waltzing throughout the once blank pages of the book. Mysterious living shapes unveiled along with ticks and tocks of the aspect clock.
A new mystic world unfolding before the eyes of the little guy, taking him to a brand new story. As the letters flooded the old-wooden book, word-like lights suddenly lit up on its first page, the wind was its writer while the shimmers were its ink.
Ever since Trea’s traces vanished in thin air, this was the first time someone opened the book of the lady. The boy wanted to see stories, thus he read.
Yes, just like when she was still here.
On the first page, there were words glitteringly engraved.
His interest piqued, Klive peered through the smooth letters of the book. He felt like a scribe trying to build bridges of meaning and reason.
“Duke’s Fellintons Memoirs – The Last Dukes of the Dusk”
- The Year 1007, Spring, The Dusk - Flowers in War-
Tis was supposed to be spring but there were no flowering plants or trees in sight.
I only saw corpses from all races blooming in blood, like roses in a dull soil, their petals fell.
Battles raged everywhere.
Heroes fell, gods fell, Kings and nobles fell.
So as my heart.
Thus, I decided to write my heart out.
The first sentence I built though was…
Have the gods forsaken us?
♠♠♠♠♠♠♠
- The year 1008, Fall, The Dusk - Vagabonds-
Ten years ago, it started.
No one knows what really started the war nor what will end it.
I’m still among the living as of now, standing along with a few brothers and sisters still surviving.
We survived through scavenging and foraging the forests were the arms of war still cannot reach.
The last bastion perhaps?
I was titled Duke before I was 18 before everything happened. Though, it is only an empty title now.
We were like leaves slowly falling from the thick branches of a dead tree, dripping like rain from a cold window pane.
No land, no riches, no people.
All guts, but no glory.
♠♠♠♠♠♠♠
-The year 1097, Winter, The Dusk – the First Duke’s Slumber
I feel so numbed and loss.
My eyes blurring, lips chilled and parched, my back hunched, arms and fingers shaking…
Maybe the years are starting to creep its embrace towards me.
Ah! It’s time for my successor to take the mantle now.
I would probably not live for long.
Fleeting memories came and go.
My century is gone, just like that.
I'm not a powerful warrior like them which could last a hundred years more.
Though, I believe I fought a good fight.
I feel my brothers and wife were shouting and calling for me in another shore.
I'm tired.
My duty has ended...
♠♠♠♠♠♠♠
...
Little Klive did not understand most of the contents of the first part of the short narratives. Reaching his tiny hands to grasp his heart, he could feel small beats skimping as if something was resonating deep within him.
His tiny heart lurched. Maybe he should have called her sister and brother before opening the book.
Feeling woozy and dizzy, the little guy almost closed and sealed the book. Such vivid imagery, perhaps, the story was too much for the tiny him.
In thought, he wondered about the stories read by her caretaker. It was funnier and happier. There were flying dragons, drunk dwarves, heroic humans, smart-ass lords, and fluffy beast man.
Why? It was an answer only Trea knows.
Still, the unique feeling pushed the little guy to read further, he felt forced to do so.
The first century of the Dusk was covered in mist, only two things were assured.
There was a war of an unimaginable scale.
And there was death in its midst.
♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠
- The year 1099, Summer, The Dusk – Succession-
Before he breathe his last, my father called and talked to me tears slowly flowed in his eyes like rice buds from the stalks falling in the granary, so true and pure.
In whimpers, he asked.
He asked me how do I feel right now.
He asked me would it be okay for him to leave first.
My father seemed to be worrying too much about me.
My mother is gone.
I have no sons nor daughters.
And he was about to leave me.
He asked me with glassy eyes to find a wife though and build a family.
But I do not wish for such a thing.
I decided to thwart the thought from my mind.
I do not want them to be born in this era were anyone might die in a snap of a finger.
Though I am already 63 years old, he still worries too much.
Unlike him, I could still live for a hundred years more. For my passion it the arts of divine allowed me to have longer longevity. I also look younger compared to my age.
Besides everyone in this bastion of his is my family.
But that does not mean, I would not die though.
Perhaps in a battle to defend this last bastion, I’ll one day fall.
Oh. He also gave me a memoir, it’s pages made from the now obsolete scribe tree. A magical tree which produces rough paper unfettered by mother time.
He told me to read it.
He told me to continue it.
♠♠♠♠♠♠♠♠
-The year 1109, Fall, The Dusk - Remembrance-
I missed my father.
My father was the smartest guy I knew. He toiled and burned his life for the remains of humanity. Along with the last living survivors, he established this paradise in hell. In exchange, he lost his chances for a longer life as he forsakes the divine arts for those who wished to live.
His talents obscured and loss with the passing of time.
To give the lost, a glimmer of hope in their hearts.
As I skimmed around all his logs in the memoir, I cried.
I never thought that my strict nagging father was so fluffy inside to the point that I cringed.
I’m still here protecting this bastion along with some of my father’s sisters and brothers-in-arms.
Not for long though.
We all felt it.
Like a lull.
We were just waiting for the final battle.
Maybe in a hundred years or so.
It will come.
Definitely.
