Mat

Prologue: Into the Darkness

As the towers of the Castle At World’s End grew closer, lit faintly from behind by the moon, the man thought he could see a secondary, softer light.

This was, of course, extremely significant— the sun hadn’t risen for a dozen or so millennia. Or at least, if it had, no one had noticed. Most people didn’t even believe it still existed, or had ever existed at all. But as his steady, determined footsteps brought him closer to his destination, the man swore that the horizon line brightened.

“The end of the world indeed…” the man murmured, and he pictured walking to the edge of the land and pitching off its end, falling head over heels into the light below. That was the old belief of what would happen at World’s End if one reached it, and while he wasn’t sure if he believed it exactly the thought unnerved him.

He thought it odd that he was so easily put off by an old wive’s tale considering where he was headed, not to mention nearly being there, but perhaps that was why it made the man nervous. He was living in an old wive’s tale.

And yet, despite the horizon line seeming to brighten with every step, the man’s surroundings would claim the opposite. All around him, the everlasting night seemed to deepen. Wights emerged from his peripherals, their ghastly bodies skittering across the ground in front of him, then disappeared into the darkness yet again. He’d gotten used to the creatures, out of necessity, but not a sane person alive wanted them near. The man stayed alert, but as he had been promised, the talisman was still doing its job remarkably.

The small, carved stone was his only light source, held in his left hand while a sword was kept at the ready in his right. Wights didn’t seem to mind ordinary lights, the kind that came from a lantern, the moon, or Luminescence, but for whatever reason the white glow that came from the talisman kept them at bay, just outside the circle of illumination it granted. For this, the man was grateful. He had been getting tired of fighting them back. 

As he neared the towers, the number of wights circling him seemed to increase exponentially, and in a rare moment of humility the man admitted that he likely would not have made it even this far without the talisman’s aid. He was of no small stature, but every man had his limits. The detour to the ancient city had been well worth it. 

After ten or so more minutes of walking, the man reached the castle drawbridge which was, thankfully, down. He was glad to not have to find an alternate route across, but there was no denying the subliminal messaging behind the extended wooden platform. 

Come on in. We’re expecting you.

He stopped for a moment and peered over the edge of the moat in an effort to distract himself, but whatever lay below was much too far away to see. Suddenly, a cacophony of shrieks sounded behind him and the man jumped in spite of himself, despite having heard the sound many times before. He glared defiantly at the wights encircling him, as if it would halt their song, but in the end had to simply press forward further guided only by the continual light of the talisman. However close the horizon and its mystical light was geographically, it was of no help to him. The darkness of this place was too close to physical substance.

Is that what wights are? The man pondered, picking his way around the chunks of fallen rubble that were scattered in the courtyard. The ground was stone, a contrast to the almost filmy sand of the massive desert surrounding the castle. Physical embodiments of darkness? He’d seen the remains of a wight-taken body, something few other men had seen, and that by itself gave credence to the idea. Wights rarely left enough behind to study, but when they did… well, even now, it was enough to make the man shiver.

It didn’t help that he was moments away from entering what was effectively the wight’s stronghold, though the term implied more organization than there was. The Castle At World’s End was simply where the highest density of wights gathered relative to the space, and only words carved into the stone walls of his homeland, left by the ancient inhabitants of the world, revealed why.

It was the location of their King.

Ancient writings and histories, whether written on torn scrolls or pounded into rock, could never agree on what exactly a wight was, where it came from, or what it did. But nearly all sources agreed that the creatures were under the Wightlord’s control. What that exactly meant, the man was unsure, but he had read the prophecies. He had the tools, and the determination. He would slay the Wightlord before the rising of the Midnight Moon. For if he did not, all of civilization would be lost. He didn’t need a lengthy explanation of why what he was doing would work, just the reassurance that it would.

And it would. The statement was not merely something the man gave himself to inspire confidence, but a simple fact of the universe. He would not fail.

The man ascended the wide staircase to the front door of the castle slowly and deliberately, keeping his eyes ahead. When the massive double doors came into view, each intricately carved with images representing an age long past, he wasn’t surprised to find that they were open.

We’re expecting you.

The wights shrieked again, and the man covered his ears. The horrible sound seemed louder this time, as if the wights were finally grieving at being unable to breach his circle of light. The wail lasted for over a minute, precious time in which he did not move.

When it finally ended, the man straightened and spat at the ground. “They know their doom is imminent,” he growled, and pressed inward.

The Castle At World’s End was reportedly a single-roomed structure with supporting towers surrounding it, and from the limited sphere of view the man had that seemed to be the case. Inside, wights scraped across every square inch of the tile, a far worse kind of infesting vermin. Only his blessed talisman kept them at bay, physically shoving the creatures in front of him out of his path. Was it his imagination, or was the circle of light smaller than it had started? Outside, the man would have guessed it reached ten feet across. Now, it scarcely seemed to cover six.

The massive room seemed to stretch on endlessly, and the man’s vision couldn’t make out any details of the walls or ceiling. It was a black hole of existence, sucking the light out of everything. The talisman was definitely losing its effectiveness as he progressed.

Foolishly, the man turned, and behind him only saw the same darkness that was in every direction. He’d expected to catch a shadowed glimpse of the doors he had entered through, barely illuminated by the weak light of the moon, but instead there was absolute nothing.

It was then when the man truly began to panic. The wights all around him, now close enough to reach out and touch, grew restless, circling him quickly and producing a chattering noise that was somehow more unnerving than their shrieks. What was he doing here? In this place, there was nothing but darkness. It was the home of the very thing he sought to destroy, and he had walked in freely, protected only by a waning artifact. The scene before him was worse than that of nightmares, for it was real. What seemed barely inches away roamed demonic beasts that wanted nothing more than to rip him and tear him and kill him and destroy every fiber of his being and—

The man closed his eyes.

Breathed. Swallowed the scream that had been building inside.

No. He had to continue. This was his whole purpose! He had been chosen! If he failed, he failed more than himself. This was bigger than a simple panic attack.

He took a step forward. Then another. With each step, his circle of light shrunk and its illumination faltered, but he kept his path regardless. He had stared death in the face and ultimately had not blinked. Nothing could stop him now.

The corners of a throne came into view, an obsidian slab with arcing armrests, carved as intricately as the doors had been. It thrummed with energy as he neared it, and somehow seemed blacker than anything the man had encountered thus far. His pulse quickened. If there was anywhere the Wightlord would be, it was atop that throne. That power… could be nothing else.

The man inched closer, tightening his grip on his sword. It suddenly seemed a rather ineffective weapon, though he knew it was more trustworthy than any other he could find. He’d made it with his own two hands, after all. A worthy blade to save the world.

The circle of light that had protected him up to this point now barely was wide enough to stand in, but strangely there were no longer wights patrolling its borders. The fact should have calmed the man, but it only served to increase his worry. But, he supposed, if anything was to ward off a wight, it was the intimidation of its King.

The man stopped. The throne was directly in front of him, and though he couldn’t see all of it he guessed it reached all the way to the ceiling. He’d long been expecting some intervention from the Wightlord, but if the being was overconfident in its ability to deal with the man, it would soon find itself disappointed. He’d made it this far, after all.

He turned his gaze slightly upward, and the talisman’s illumination cast just enough light to see the seat of the throne.

It was empty. Completely, undeniably, totally empty.

But— the power he’d felt— the darkness—

If not from the Wightlord, then from… what?

The talisman shattered, and abruptly he was plunged into a darkness blacker than the Midnight Moon itself.

The man finally let out a bloodcurling scream, but it was drowned out by the gleeful shrieks of the wights that simultaneously converged towards him.