01-21-2019, 01:32 AM
it is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves
This wilderness changes and shifts until he is simply lost - trapped within the tangled roots of time and loss. He can smell the scent of autumn honeysuckle, taste the salted sweat upon his tongue. He wanders deeper and deeper still until all is changed and time stands still.
Except time never stands still. No, the world around him still turns. Kingdoms rise and fall and then rise again. All without him.
He does not know what pulls him from his aimless wandering, or if it is the wandering in and of itself that brings him here - where the sulphuric air burns his nostrils and the heat weighs heavy against his skin. He knows his father is here. Perhaps that is why he comes to this particular doorstep and not another.
Autumnal eyes rest along the horizon, watching the inhabitants of Tephra mill about. He remembers that feeling of peace when he would look out over Heaven’s Gates so many years ago. He wonders if, perhaps, he can find that feeling here.