The Herald

In the Shadow, two streaks of white fell ever downward. Around them, a body wreathed in black, so dark that even the Shadow was grey in comparison. Tendrils of Shadow trailed after it, like the wings of a fallen angel. This Shadow had a name once, but that was forgotten. He had a title, a title that he used to keep hold on the world. He was called The Herald once, but when even the Gods themselves refused to utter it in anger, there was nothing left for him.

Drips of gold flew upward as his eyes passed. They were things unseen since his name had been lost. They were tears. “I had hoped to never see this day... I always thought that I would be the last of the Old Ones to die.” The Shadow-wind tore at the veil of Darkness, pulling away the mask that The Herald had worn for so very long.

As it pulled away, silvery radiance shot outwards, illuminating the Shadow. The Herald died then, as the Title of Old was taken like a cane from an old man.

And awakened the Old One who had stood guard as his brother created the world, the Old One who had tended the newborn world. He was made of a metallic, gold-like substance, with a mane of flowing black trailing as he fell. The eyes, the eerie eyes of white remained. “I was The Herald of Time, The Guardian of Secrets. I was The Eldest, The King of Shadow. I was... Lord Illuriel.”

When he said his name, a shock wave rippled through all the Realms. Far away, a still-uncomprehending Twilight looked up, feeling like something had just been torn away. All the gods shuddered, and The Creator shed silver tears.

The one who was once The Herald held on by only a thread, thread to a life he no longer wanted. A breath of white drifted from his golden mouth. “I have fallen, First Ones. I am sorry, so very sorry. I have failed you... I have failed myself.”

As he spoke, he fell from the Realm of Shadow.

Celestia was still pondering The Herald’s reaction to her accusations, how he had fled at their anger, and the sudden ripple of power not long after. She felt a little regret for saying it to him, how his heart was visibly broken at Twilight’s subsequent anger.

But she would wonder no longer, and forever regret her harsh words. Not even Wisdom’s reassurance that her anger had been justified, it was only logical that she would be angry with The Herald for interfering in the Mortal Realm, no matter how much he cared for them long ago.

The darkened throne room felt cold, as if pure Shadow had poured from the skies. A gateway of white opened in the ceiling, a perfect Gate of Shadow. Only three beings had such mastery of Gates, The Herald, Death, and Wisdom. And in her heart, she knew it wasn’t Death who opened it, and Wisdom never came through the Shadow.

A golden body glowing with the faintest of silver fell from the Gate, and hit the marble floor with a resounding thud. It cracked the hard stone like it was shale, but the body was unbroken. Celestia, as old as she was, did not recognise it. No Mortal or Immortal would have known.

She stepped down from her throne, ignoring the guards that poured in, led by her sister. The calls to her welfare were dulled, growing quieter with each step, each heart beat. She bent her head to look at the beautiful, almost statue-like creature, and her heart grew knotted.

The eyes. She knew those eyes, every Immortal did. “Creator above... This is The Herald.”

        None of the guards knew what The Herald was, but something deep inside them resonated with the words, like a memory passed through blood. That resonance brought down a heavy silence, a crushing fear that seemed to clutch their hearts.

        Luna’s eyes spoke what no words could, a mixture of despair and sadness. Her voice barely pushed the oppressive air away as she spoke shakily, “Is The Herald...?”

        Celestia opened her mouth to reply, but none came. There is a fear every being, Mortal and Immortal, feels. Even Death fears it. The fear is dissolution, of the end, and the Immortals feared it the most. If The Herald was dead, that would mean that Immortals could pass on.

        A groan came from The Herald, and then a whisper bound by power. “I am... dying... I thought once that I could not... but we all have weaknesses. Even The Creator has one... I should know.”

        The pink eyes that had seen so much looked into the white eyes that had seen everything, and saw in them a broken soul. Celestia stood straighter, and shouted, “Guards, leave us. Do not speak of what you have seen or heard.”

        Luna nodded in agreement, and moved over to her sister against the retreating crowd of guards. When they had all left, she knelt next to The Herald’s head.

Trembling, a gold hoof reached up to touch Luna’s astral mane. “Perhaps... perhaps unbinding the lies of my past will make my passing less bitter... no, it wouldn’t... only one of my blood would care enough to mourn...”

Together, the sisters of the Sky replied, “We will listen, Herald.”

A ghost of a smile touched his face. “Thank you, little ones, for listening an old stallion.”

It was strange, Celestia reflected, how The Herald had become less unknown as he approached his own passing.

“Before Creation, before even myself, there were The First Ones. They were beings of consciousness alone, with powers of a different kind. They were not magical, nor powerful, but they imposed their will upon the Darkness That Was Before, pushing it back and shaping a stable Universe. They had no place in their own creation, and made beings of physical presence to continue their will. I was one of them, and my direct purpose was to be the Herald of Change, the Guardian of their secrets. I was also the first.

Then came my brother, who you call The Creator.”

The shock of this shuddered through the Aspects as they realized the truth; the oldest physical being was dying.

“He was called The Maker then, but his title changed when he created the Universe we know today, fulfilling part of The First Ones’ will.

The last among us was The Mage. When the physical world was made, she sacrificed her body and soul. Her body became many of the Magic types, like Arcane, Divine, Life, Air, and Fire. These magics are held within Realms, as you know.

Her soul split into two fragments: a force known as Harmony, and a mystic mechanism that divides the Realms, The Physical World, and The Underworld. The Force of Harmony manifested physically into the Elements when they were needed.”

“The power that would require...” breathed Luna.

The Herald laughed weakly. “You have no idea. No living being could match that power...

All beings alive, you see, are born with one name: our True Name. Our True Name is what we draw our power from. Some way or another, we all get a second name, the name we are given.  Our final name is the name we take. I took the title Herald, in honor of my duties.

But I am different. So is my brother, and so was The Mage. When we speak our other names, we gain the power to do almost anything at all, but at the price of our lives. That is our weakness, because all Immortals keep the name they take as long as there are some to know it, and know its meaning.

So if I were to become hated, to be forgotten, I would not only lose the name I took... with the belief goes the only name I can use. And if I were to become truly nameless...”

The pieces fit together into one dark puzzle for Celestia. “You have to use your other names.”

“Exactly... and that brings me to the truth. I am no longer The Herald.” His golden frame shuddered, and he pulled himself up. “I am Lord Illuriel.”

Nothing held back Celestia’s tears now, and Luna was on the verge of tears. The Aspect of the Sun bowed her head. “I am sorry... Illuriel. I know that your heart broke when Twilight fled from you, and it’s all my fault...” Luna could not bring herself to speak, or was unable to.

Illuriel rested a hoof on Celestia’s shoulder as he stood at his full stature, a full head taller than her. “It was my own fault, Celestia. Do not restrain your tears, though, for the imagined wound would fester if you did. All tears are not evil.” For the first time in his long life, Illuriel smiled truly. But it was to be short-lived.

He cried out in pain, and collapsed onto the ground. “It is finally time for me to... pass on... if you could... do something for this undeserving soul...”

“I will.”

“I will.”

“Please... tell Twilight... Shining Armor... Night Light... My Brother... tell them... Goodbye, and... good luck...” he groaned again, and black smoke rose from his golden skin. “And I will give you a choice, little ones... Will you take my power upon you?”