tragedy-art (November-2024)

In a derelict square somewhere in the middle of our great city lives an old man. He shelters where others shy away awaiting the end. It is said if you visit him he tells strange tales of times before the Ürkaz took over and even before our glorious tribe settled down.

I was one such visitor seeking his story’s. As I walked towards the area he supposedly dwelled I noticed that there were less and less people. Houses seemed empty and I realised that there wasn’t even a single street trader. I entered the square and was immediately shocked by the silence, even in the centre of the capital there wasn’t a sound. Then I saw him, a bundle of rags hunched against a wall. I gave him a loaf of bread and he beckoned me into one of the derelict buildings. The walls seemed to be on the verge of collapse and the only furniture was a broken chair which he sat on. He started slowly his voice sounded strained, “My life has been longer than most but it feels as if it is coming to its end, I fear you shall be the last one to hear the voice of a living member of the kähez family” he sighed sadly and looked into space with sunken eyes. “When the world was young the ancients ruled, we hated their empire and rebelled overthrowing them, oh what fools we were… after the empire broke up into small tribes the world was undefended against the darkness. The ancients had conquered the gods themselves but now they were free they were out for vengeance. They are the ones that seeded the rebellion, they are the creatures that drove even the mythical Elyron mad.” “Have you ever wondered how anyone could be as cruel as the Ürkaz? It is they and their vengeance. My line fought the darkness and brought together many nomads.They cursed us to a slow death, so we could watc… wait do you hear that?” Darkness had rapidly fell and the old man seemed afraid. “My time is up, leave!” I protested but he forced me out warning of the dark. He died that night, and with him many secrets that are now lost to time