"This is as far as we can accompany you. You will have to make the rest of the journey alone."

The sky grew pale as the sun dipped below the horizon; behind the trees of the forest beyond. The rich, red hue waned to a dusky purple. Nightfall approached, but he would not sleep. Why would he sleep when these were his last hours?

"Thank you," he replied solemnly and bowed low to those with him. "Your company thus far has been greatly appreciated."

The other man gave him a nod of approval, resting a hand on his shoulder. The last comforting touch he would receive before his final journey. "Your sacrifice will be remembered."

Without another word, the man motioned to the rest to follow him. They all turned and began to make their journey back across the field to the village they called home, one less member in their party. He watched them as they grew smaller and smaller, the distance between them increasing. A pang of bitter acceptance echoed in the hollows of his stomach as none cared to look back. Empty words were given, and empty sentiments were left. Your sacrifice will be remembered, but will he?

The group was now a mere dot in the distance, just about to cross the outer borders of the village. Darkness had long since claimed the land, settling over it like a blanket, and he could just make out the outlines of the houses as each blew out the candles at their windows.

He then looked up to the sky. He had always admired the stars. Constant, yet ever changing. He knew each constellation by heart and had even made some of his own. All was shown to him by a wandering astrologer, one of the few people who had ever treated him as an equal. He never saw the astrologer again once he moved on, and he wished he could have spoken to him once more.

The looming forest behind him began to call, and a shiver ran up his spine as he glanced back at it uneasily. He was not given a torch, only broken, spare pieces of flint and steel that he was sure wouldn't create a spark. No need to waste supplies on him. He had eaten before he had left, and the forest was not so dense that it was impossible to see. The moon was full and bright that night as it always was when the forest demanded a sacrifice.

It was times like these where he wished there was a hand to hold, even if he didn't remember there ever being one in the first place. His earliest memories were huddling between houses through the nights and wandering to be fed through the days. None were cruel, but none were kind. He was never spared a glance or given more than what was needed to survive.

When offered an apprenticeship, it was only weeks before he was told to leave. The master had died, leaving behind a wife and too many mouths to feed. There were three other chances after that, all ending, eventually. He just wasn't born with skilled hands and was never strong enough to work in a field. It was a miracle he hadn't been sent to the forest sooner.

The forest called to him again, sending tendrils of mist and shadow to curl at his limbs, causing him to shuffle forward. Soft field grass quickly transitioned to rocky ground under his bare feet. He should have ran. If he had run, none would ever know he did. Not until it was too late. He owed the village nothing, after all. They gave him no name. No trade. No future. Yet it was already too late. The forest owned him now.

Step by step, the mist guided him further into the forest. The wind became colder, the fog denser, and the shadows longer. No one knew what happened to those who were claimed by the forest, as none ever returned. Why had they begun sending people to the forest in the first place? Was there a god who demanded their souls? A wild beast that thirsted for their blood? What fate awaited him in the forest? Pain? Death? Freedom?

The darkness continued to envelop him, but...he suddenly felt no worry as his eyes could no longer adjust. It was as if the fog cradled him softly, whispering words of encouragement and assurance. What he once feared now became a comfort he had never felt before. His eyes nearly drifted close as he surrendered to the fog, trusting it to guide his feet as it had been for...he did not know how long. He had no way to tell time with his only sources of light being the frail moonbeams which shone through the leaves.

"You have been chosen to sit upon this throne, frozen in time until the dawn has risen for the last time," he heard a voice sooth.

Who had said that? He couldn't tell which direction it had come from. It was almost as if it came from everywhere and nowhere at once. He wasn't alarmed by it, however. If anything, he was intrigued.

A light slowly filtered through the fog as it became less dense. That was when he realized he no longer walked amongst trees.

From his left to his right stood statues of people. Men and women. Elderly and children. Each face was different, but all had their heads bowed and their eyes closed. It was as if they were merely asleep despite standing on their feet.

At the head of it all was a raised throne with stone soldiers on either side of it, brandishing their claymores proudly. A single wall stood behind, and it had an unknown symbol carved deeply into the stonework.

"It is when the world is swallowed in darkness that you will rise in the sun's stead," continued the voice as he was led up the steps. "A slumbering king with the army you see before you, kneeling at your feet."

He now stood before the throne. A simple design it was, yet he could tell it was carved from a single block of flawless quartz. What did the voice mean? Why was he being made a king, one to replace the sun? He was a youth with no name. Not quite a child, but not quite an adult.

His eyes flickered to the top of the throne, seeing the words "Nameless King" carved upon it, and his lips quirked into a smile. Perhaps this was his fate after all. To sit on a cold throne for the rest of eternity, only to wake when a new era had begun.

If one ever began at all.

There was no flourish, no fanfare, as he turned and took a seat on his throne with only the downcast faces of the statues before him. Each head was bowed to him, he soon realized. He did not flinch as he felt the fog nudge him to lean back, forcing him to sit pliantly as stone slowly crept up from the ground. It began encasing his body from his feet—which rested on the ground—to his hands—which rested on the arms of the throne. He was not alarmed as his legs, then his arms, then his torso hardened to stone. He didn't panic when found he could no longer breathe. The moon was high in the sky, and his beloved stars shone brightly down upon him.

"What you will do with that army when the time comes, well," the voice chuckled, "that is up to you."

His eyes were finally allowed to shut, and he felt the last of the stone encrust over his body.

And all became silent and still.