The quiet following the domain was not void; it was rich. It was the crackle of stones beneath his sabatons the murmur of wind threading through pine needles the remote timeless rumble of cascading water, amid the snow-tipped peaks. Alexander Magnus proceeded forward. With every stride the burden of the sacred command lodged deep within his bones integrating into his movement. Still the human realm influenced him well. The sharp cool air stung his lungs with an enjoyable sensation. The aroma of soil and sun-heated rock served as a grounding presence.
He stood as a contradiction to the harsh terrain, around him. His shining golden armor, engraved with patterns of light reflected the sun. Cast it back in bold flashes. His white garments, despite being worn and dusty at the edges appeared to resist the grime of the trail. To the chamois bounding over a scree he was an odd sparkling stone. To the lone herders grazing in the elevated meadows he was a sight that prompted them to cross themselves and retreat quickly inside.
His journey led him to the Muotathal, a valley sculpted by glaciers and overshadowed by solemn towering peaks. It wasn't a site of authority like castles or shrines. Its strength was ancient, subtle and far more terrifying. It was a realm where the ground was, beneath, where light ceased to reach and the persistent chilling dampness lingered like a presence.
As he made his way down into the valley itself the initial genuine human noise touched his ears: the jarring toll of a village bell. It was not a summons, for prayer. A warning.
Muotathal village stuck to the hillsides like moss on stone. Timber chalets with steep overhanging roofs appeared to cluster for warmth beneath the brooding shadow of the valleys origin. At that point gaping like a jaw at the foot of the mountain lay the gateway to the Hölloch. Afar it emitted a gust of air noticeably cooler, than the days ambient temperature.
Before he arrived at the house they poured out to confront him. It wasn't a greeting group. A barrier of dread. Men in attire gripped scythes and wooden axes not in menace but with the anxious intensity of those protecting a grave. Women lingered behind them their faces ashen children concealed beneath their skirts.
An gentleman his spine curved but his gaze bright and piercing like flint advanced. His name, as Alexander would come to know was Walter. He carried no armament, a twisted knobbly walking stick.
"You." Walter's tone was rough softened from years of the valley's gusts. "You are the figure, from the visions. The one who carries the sun upon his shoulders."
Alexander halted, honoring the space. "I am Alexander Magnus. I arrive with a commission."
"We are aware of your mission!" a youthful man shouted, his tone breaking. "The murmurs, in the cavern have been shouting about it for days! They claim you will awaken the pit!"
Walter raised a hand to quiet the room his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Alexander's. "You are searching for the object, in the depths. The shadow that slashes. Our tales predate this settlement. It isn't a prize. It's a… declaration. Carved from rock and grief. To claim it is to awaken the mountain's slumber."
"The mountain's rest is over " Alexander answered, his voice reverberating with a tone that seemed unusual in the crisp atmosphere. "What awakens is more terrifying than a mere silhouette, in a cavern. I need the Penitent's Blade to confront it."
"At what price to us?" A woman moved forward her expression marked by sorrow beyond tears. "My grandfather entered, searching for a missing goat. He emerged three days afterward his hair turned white his eyes… hollow. He said the darkness, beneath carries heaviness. It possesses thoughts.. It grows bored. When you venture there probing its mysteries what leaves searching for amusement?"
Her speech embodied fear, both straightforward and deep. It penetrated the gaps in his armor. This was the "obstacle" Michael had cautioned him about. Not hatred,. Affection, for their dwellings their delicate tranquility.
"I will exert every effort to control what I have stirred " Alexander declared,. The clichéd phrase left a bitter aftertaste. What power did he possess, beyond issuing an order he scarcely comprehended?
Walter moved nearer gazing upward into the darkness, beneath Alexander's helmet. For an instant the noble Messenger noticed his own image mirrored in the elderly man's eyes: not a hero, but a sign. A striking golden sign of destruction.
"You talk of power " Walter murmured quietly so only Alexander caught his words. ". Your eyes… they remain capable of being lost. The darkness within thrives, on that. It will reveal your self beneath all the brightness. Are you ready to face it?"
It was the question that had struck him following his rise. Are you ready to witness it? The Angel had mentioned tests of uncreation. This elderly man referred to seeing. It was a more dreadful suggestion.
Alexander remained silent. His gaze traversed beyond the villagers fixing on the entrance of the Hölloch. It appeared as a streak of absolute darkness a rip, in the verdant and ashen tapestry of the environment. The fear radiating from it wasn't hostile; it was an appeal. A tired enduring call to approach and grasp the hopelessness of illumination.
He advanced. The villagers refrained from lifting their tools at him. They separated, a sorrowful stream circling a rock of fate. Their fear was a mist he passed through.
When he went by the chalet, a little girl, barely six years old slipped away, from her mother's hold. She dashed toward him not aggressively. In a last urgent appeal. She grabbed onto the metal of his greave.
"Don't upset it " she murmured, her tone shaky. "Please shining man. It feels lonely. It starts to sing.. When it sings the milk, in the buckets turns sour."
Her words, with their precise terror unsettled him deeper than any sweeping prophecy. He gazed at her grimy hand resting on the dazzling gold. A representation of all he was destined to safeguard.. All he was, on the verge of putting at risk.
Softly he eased her hand away. His own hand, covered in metal seemed awkward monstrous. "I have to " he murmured, the words a whisper.
He. Strode toward the cave. The border, between the realm of brightness and noise and the domain of enduring darkness. The girl's weeping was the final human sound he caught before the mountain's breath consumed him entirely.
Behind him Walter traced the sign of the cross not at Alexander. Toward the cave. "God be with you " the old man whispered. "You walk into the mouth of Hell bringing all your heaven along. I'm curious which will shatter first."
The darkness within was instant and complete. It was more than lacking light; it was a tangible entity. It bore down on his armor crept through the seams flooded his lungs with the flavor of water and rock. The golden radiance of his armor, which, under the sun had been a declaration now flickered weakly like a candle lighting only a short stretch of the slick dripping limestone surface.
He had moved twelve paces from the doorway when the initial murmur grazed his thoughts. It wasn't a noise. It was the concept of a noise, shaped by the drop of water and the breath of air.
Greetings, Messenger… it appeared to declare. We have anticipated a significant. The rest were merely appetizers. Proceed. Carry your light inside. Allow us to observe what it reveals.
Alexander Magnus tightened his grip on the hilt of his golden sword, its comfort now meaningless. The true trial of the Penitent's Blade had not yet begun. The cave itself was the first confessor. And it was eager to hear his sins.