Secrets in the Belly of the Mountain

It had been 734 Alternations since Kaltaril had seen this place, his home from a life nearly forgotten. Time had merely swept it away. Cautiously, He entered the cavern, and looked about the hall. The rows of mighty pillars had weathered, and the walls had grown cold. The very air contained an absence, the residue of memory, the last notes of songs no longer sung. Such a mark can always be found in a place where there had once existed life. In places where it had woven its fibers deep amongst the fabric, all to be firmly separated and to fade away. It leaves but a shell, some hallowed place; that like the sea beating upon the shore, is left to sink beneath the surface. Remembered only by some great creator. To be turned as soil is turned; to be made a new at the dawn of another spring.

Light spilled into the barrow from the newly unearthed passage at Kaltaril’s back. Its illumination was only enough to see the area immediate to him. No longer did he see the banners of his kin hanging there. Their blue pieces lay torn and tattered at the feet of the pillars near the entrance. They had once welcomed his people home, and offered peace and hope for those seeking shelter from the darkness. The light of the twin stars would, in the twinkle of yesteryear, smile upon these now darkened halls. The city, built by a forgotten people, had once been perched upon the side of the greatest peak on the grandest mountain along the Maheydra Range, Ma-dayn. But Kaltaril remembered, once before Ahmilyan, the larger of twin suns, was lost beneath the the sea and the mountain took the city into its belly, it had been a beacon. It stood an intrepid warrior against the night, unyielding against any storm. He placed his right hand firm against the wall. Listening to the sound of the stillness, the soft echo of the wind outside.

Kaltaril was tired and weary, his clothes tattered and torn; they revealed beneath their many folds a creature the breathed and was soft in some places, but whirred and clicked in others. Kaltaril whispered “There is nothing here, I am to late”. And Turning his head down, Kaltaril  dropped to his knees, letting his hand slide across the wall with the sound of metal on stone. Softley the creature cried. He had come so far, but what had he expected to find? A people untouched by the heat of anger that licked across the land? The comfort of a hand upon his chest waking him from such a long nightmare. What resistance could the city have held? Their protectors gone, to wage their own wars. Blinded by greed, in the power they had found.

With a growl Kaltaril yelled in both voices, and raising his fists, bringing them down hard against the ground, breaking and cracking its surface. His rage echoed in the deep. It rang out into the hole of the mountain that kept the remains of his home; but he was home.

Kaltaril, relaxed. Aware of his anger. He would need to be quick to quell the battle within, to gather his senses. Much was needed to be done. His journey was far from over. He sat there, focused on his breath. With eyes closed, looking into the dark, taking a moment to find peace. Taking one last deep breath, Kaltaril rose from his knees and turned to leave his ancient home. Looking over his shoulder one last time. He placed both hands out in front of him and thunder erupted from his palm. It hit the side of the mountain before the entrance like a hammer hits steel. He would bring down the entrance of this place. There were still secrets here. To seal them away he would complete the city’s tomb. As he prepared to strike again, in the deep of the mountain, with a scraping and pounding like a drum he could hear, metal on stone.