King Vincent stands in a field at dusk, holding in his hands a Durakian banner. It is covered in blood.
Vincent: “We can’t hold them off. Please, my lord, my wondrous lord . . . take what you need of me. Let this be the balance that is needed to push the Dark Lord and his hordes back. I give you all of me. Every part.”
The man then takes the sword off his back and plants it into the ground (point-first) and bows his head. He is praying.
From behind Vincent comes a golden light . . . A shower of golden sparks.
It hovers there. The man in the armor feels the warmth, senses the light, and opens his eyes. He cannot believe what he is seeing. He bows his head again. “Great Guardian of Man . . . I am . . humbled, I am—”
A voice emanates from the light, a deep, resonating voice. “Vincent of House Alvarrah. Know that you offer your life and all you hold dear in exchange for this. No mortal can house the spirit of a god. So long as I am part of you, you will love. But the moment I leave, your heart will no longer beat. Your lungs will no longer fill.”
The man, without looking up, replies: “I understand, my lord.”
“No,” the voice says, “You don’t. Tonight, you will return to your home. You will love your wife. You will tell your children that they are the world to you. You will join your closest men-in-arms around the campfire and hear their stories and drink with them. You will look at the stars and you will groom your horse. And you will look into the eyes of all you leave behind. Then, you will come here on first light and tell me again that this is what you want—knowing what you are sacrificing.”
The man looks up again, the light glowing making his eyes reflect the gold. “I will do as you ask.”
The light then disappears and the man stands up and takes in a deep breath. He puts his sword away and goes back into the city. He sees his children and pulls them to him, telling them they are his world. He loves his wife and shares their bed (a woman of remarkable beauty). He drinks with his comrades. He grooms his horse. He looks to the stars. He waits and keeps watch all night, waiting for the dawn to come. When he sees the first sliver of light, his eyes well up and he walks back to the field.
The light returns. “You did all I asked?” it says.
“Yes,” Vincent replies. “And I am ready. It’s for them I fight. And it’s for them YOU will fight too, my lord. They will not understand what I’ve done—not at first. But, I know you will all that needs to be done. For them. For Durakan.”
The light then glows. So brightly.
The man closes his eyes. The lighter then moves onto him, entering him. He throws his head back and cries out to the sky, hands open, arms spread out. He drops to one knee, feeling such power flow through him, like the heat and burn of a thousand suns. And yet, he endures it.
Men from nearby, soldiers, come running over, seeing the light take him, become part of him, then finally… it is gone.
He rises to his feet, his eyes an amber color. He looks down at his hands, opening them and closing them. Then turns to face the men who are confused and scared. “I rise not as your king, but as your guardian. I rise as Durakai . . . And we have work to do.”