Wilbur

He drifted in and out of darkness. Fading light disappeared, as gradually as it came.

Can he really be saved?

The colours blended with each other till only one colour persisted. Black. The darkest shades of black conspired. And out of the darkness came the colours again. These colours were a tone different. They came for him...no, they were made for him.

The image of his mother materialised, a smile planted on her face, the wrinkles forming a pattern he loved. The pattern made him smile.

The colours and patterns shifted. Was it a frown? No. It was fear.

Have no fear, mother!

But why was she afraid? The colours presented the reason. He felt no ground, beneath his feet. He was falling. Fear was now mingled with desperation on her face, her hand outstretched.

Nooooooo!

He kept falling. The image of his mother grew smaller and the cliff seemed to loom with menace as it grew larger and fainter at the same time. His hands flailing in a desperate attempt to grasp something. The sky didn't seem to grow any smaller, so he kept looking at the sky waiting for the inevitable. Suddenly his falling stopped.

His mother's face, almost a silhouette against the sky,  seemed happy now. He was suspended in mid air.

Am I saved?

He saw a faint light from the sky. A man in flowing white robes floated there looking over the horizon. He was looking at the trees, his mother, the cliff and him; he was looking at everything simultaneously.

Is that possible?

The colours told him he was rising.

He will recover.

His mother's face grew more clearer and he saw tears of mirth crossed her cheeks.

The scene seemed to fade, but this time colours seemed to form white instead of black.

And then he saw the Giant.
And he saw the fall of the Giant.
He was the fall of The Giant.
It was him.

He felt the pain on the left of his chest fade away as he felt power surge through him. This power he hadn't felt in years.

It exists! This is courage! I have it. Everyone does, its just asleep.

The power made him rise. He unsheathed the knife. He saw himself, move towards The Giant. Unflinching. One single smooth stroke and that spelled the end of tyrant. All that it required throughout.

He saw his blade, now bloodied.
The blade had colours too.
Colours that could fade.
And so they did.

Shades of black conspired again just as they had once before. But he embraced them; for he had no fear now.

****

The colours materialised again to create solid forms. He found himself in a small room with a window to his side. His bloodied armour, clothes and sword placed were placed on a table at the far end.

I am alive.

He tried to get up. A jolt of pain emerging from the left side of his chest rocked his being. He gritted his teeth to keep from shouting in agony.

The Giant may have left a wound but he no longer haunts me. I am free.

His chest was bandaged, his clothes had been changed to simple and free white ones. He realised he must be in the only doctor's clinic in Andlenore. He made another attempt to get up as the pain subsided, a more careful attempt this time. He managed to sit, the pain came in installments. Too long a breath and the pain would reach through, as if a knife had been pierced through him a second time.

I have been saved.

He looked at his armour and sword again. The armour had the King's seal engraved on the chest plate. He had no ribbons or capes to boast of. They only gave capes to knights. He didn't see his knife, the one that had killed The Giant. But his sword gleamed as it reflected the sunlight from the window opposite to it.

I have been chosen.

It wasn't his sword. The sword had been given by the Empire as well. Not the sword he believed in, his beliefs lay elsewhere.

I have been chosen by The White God.

He saw his hands. They didn't have as many marks as warriors who trained did. He didn't use his sword much.

I have to get stronger. I have been chosen.

He tried to get up . He walked slowly to the door, his pain seemed to worsen with every step but he did not waver.

This isn't my sword yet this is the only sword I possess.

He almost fell in his attempt to pick up the sword yet he managed to do it. The hilt was cold and the blade blunt.

No one was in the clinic, neither the doctor, nor the nurse.

The lack of patients only meant that his entire platoon was dead.

I am the only one alive. I have been chosen.

He went out of the hospital. The slow walk grew more painful with every step.

I have to get stronger. I will use the path The White God showed me.

He tried to recall the strength he had summoned earlier, the strength that had led him down the path of glory. He recalled how he killed the Giant and became free. He fumbled out of the clinic and the light of the day greeted him with a glare. He greeted it back by covering his eyes. The pain from the walk slowly faded as his resolve firmed. He had to use his sword to maintain balance.

Yes! Now I see clearly, O God! That is courage!

He walked towards the Town Centre. People looked at him. He could hear them whispering and talking.

They haven't accepted me yet.

His pain hadn't stopped but he overcame it.

I have to get stronger!

The iron gate was open. He walked towards the training ground. He had seen the whole town centre destroyed in front of his eyes. The rock turned to mere dust, the iron gate crumbled, windows shredded to powder, the falling rocks had narrowly missed him. He was completely covered in the minor dust storm that followed the collapse of the Town Centre.

And then he had felt the miracle. As the White God spread his arms, all the dust seemed to dissipate. He had seen the Town Centre reconstruct itself piece by piece. What is this power? He couldn't start to fathom the start or the end. It was not just the big rocks that placed themselves exactly where they had been, it was also the smallest particles of dust. He had seen it with his own eyes as the tiniest specks of dust started to float and place themselves where ever they had originally been. The dust on his armour, his face rose as if it had a life of its own. All the shattered rock around him had started to rise in the light. The scene was like a perfectly played melody.

But the Town Centre wasn't the only broken thing; the White God knew that well.

He felt his own being strengthened, a new light. The light had started to grow so bright that he felt himself fade.

I have to get stronger!

He raised the blade with his right hand. A swing at one of the wooden poles made him cringe in pain.

I have to reawaken that power I felt before.

He clenched his teeth in agony and tried another. His hits were weak. Another jolt of pain shook him.

He tried a swing, and then another. The sword fell as his right hand instinctively reached for the wound on the left of his chest. He fell, his face meeting the dirt. His vision started blurring.

He saw a vague outline of Andlenore's doctor and his nurse run towards him, as reality started to fade.

****