King Yarlessto’s days were numbered.
Since sustaining severe injuries, though relatives and servants had taken ticulous care of King Yarlessto, his condition worsened almost irreversibly.
King Yarlessto could neither stand for long nor sit for prolonged periods, and he often felt stabbing pains in his side when he lay down to sleep at night.
Recently, his old ailnts had flared up, the wounds in his side torturing him to the point of despair, taking a long ti before he could fall into sleep.
Even while asleep, King Yarlessto would occasionally be awakened by the pain.
King Yarlessto also realized that his body was moving towards death, and he began to arrange his affairs, from the transfer of power to the planning of farms and livestock, everything was ticulously organized.
By today, all plans were completed, and King Yarlessto sat in his bedchamber.
For so reason, he felt unusually spirited, as if revitalized.
The Queen, concealing the sadness on her face, held King Yarlessto’s hand and recited poetry for him.
"Queen, do you rember the story of the Swan Hunter?"
Out of the blue, King Yarlessto asked, not even he understood why he posed this question.
The Queen paused and replied,
"Of course, I rember. You often told it to the children to teach them harmony."
King Yarlessto looked at the walls of the bedchamber and, after a long while, said,
"That was also a favorite of my father’s to tell Dertulian and ."
"Queen...
do you know how my father passed away?"
Suddenly, King Yarlessto asked.
How could the Queen forget? Prophet Al’s death was not only a well-known story within the Kingdom, but King Yarlessto had also told it to her many tis,
"Your father, the great Prophet Al, felt the calling of the Lord at his deathbed and then climbed the high mountain alone, reaching the summit to pass away in front of the tree planted by God...
Yarlessto, why would you ask this?"
The Queen involuntarily tensed up.
King Yarlessto closed his eyes briefly, which frightened the Queen; she feared he would forever depart.
"I feel... my ti is coming."
After a pause, King Yarlessto said softly.
The Queen was stunned, tears welling up in her eyes.
King Yarlessto said calmly,
"Instruct Dovlo to take to the high mountain. I want to go up to the summit, just like my father."
"Alright."
The Queen sobbed once, then stood up and summoned the servants.
.........
King Yarlessto was carried on the back of his eldest son Dovlo, the Kingdom’s heir, who wept bitterly, clearly knowing that his father was about to leave him forever.
The group reached the altar on the mountainside, which was laden with offerings. King Yarlessto glanced at it and then looked towards the mountain summit.
On the summit, there was a faint glimr of light, barely visible.
King Yarlessto, holding the Unihorn Scepter in his hand, felt that what his father saw back then and what he was seeing were identical.
Dovlo began the slow climbing journey, very careful not to let Yarlessto suffer any harm. After half a day, exhausting much effort, father and son reached the base of the cliff.
Dovlo wanted to climb the cliff and bring his father up.
But King Yarlessto spoke,
"Put down, Dovlo, I want to go up myself."
Dovlo hesitated for a mont, but when he turned around and t his father’s weak yet resolute gaze, he finally let go, placing his father on the ground.
King Yarlessto used the Unihorn Scepter to support himself, raised his head, and looked at the cliff leading to the summit.
He took a deep breath, enduring the sharp pain in his side, urging his frail body to climb the cliff step by step.
After what seed like an eternity, King Yarlessto reached the summit of the mountain, nearly devoid of any strength; he lay flat on the ground, looking up at the sky.
It was already night.
The sky was dotted with countless stars, and King Yarlessto gazed dreamily at this beautiful sight before coming back to reality.
He had regained so strength, put his hands on the ground, and got up from the ground.
King Yarlessto was catching his breath, feeling life slipping away minute by minute, as he slowly approached the tree planted by God.
The tree had grown much taller than it had been hundreds of years ago and had firmly taken root at the summit of the mountain. Holding the Unihorn Staff, Yarlessto knelt before the tree, touching the leaves on its branches.
"My Lord... I have co here just like my father did..."
Yarlessto murmured, feeling the radiance emitted by the branch.
His frail body, now ward up, seed as if the Lord was reaching out his hand, guiding Yarlessto’s soul.
Yarlessto bowed his head, closed his eyes, clasped his hands together, and knew his ti had co...
Only...
There was one thing he couldn’t stop worrying about.
That was Dertulian...
"My Lord, I know I am about to leave this world, but I cannot stop worrying about my brother."
Yarlessto prayed softly and slowly for the last ti,
"He seeks your presence, and I worry for him. I pray for your protection over him; if he has not yet t danger, protect him so he never will, and if he is already in peril, I pray you do not forsake him..."
Holding the Unihorn Staff tightly, Yarlessto earnestly prayed, slowly feeling his soul leaving his body. The fading divinity seed vaguely to hear his prayer, guiding Yarlessto’s soul...
"Please... my Lord."
"If he is in pain, if he is lost,"
"Lord, please do not forsake my brother."
...
...
Above the sea.
Dertulian stood inside the granary.
All the food had been exhausted, and despite being mixed with innurable pieces of wood and leather, the conclusion was inevitable—the food was gone.
Dertulian stood silently in the granary for a long ti.
The only thing left in sight was the cow.
During these past two weeks, many of Logos’s people had advised Dertulian to slaughter the cow, but to avoid a disaster sent by the Gods, he had never done so.
Through the mouth of Antion, the Gods had promised: the cow must not be killed; to kill it would bring disaster.
But now, the Logosians needed that cow to stave off hunger.
Dertulian was trapped.
He took a deep breath, drew the Bone Knife from his waist, and slowly approached the cow.
The knife rose, and its sharp blade pierced the cow’s throat; the blood began to flow profusely into a jar.
Weak from starvation for many days, the cow shuffled its limbs a few tis, then knelt down, closing its heavy eyelids.
The livestock was dead, but the people still needed to survive.
Dertulian brought the cook, who ticulously butchered the cow, leaving not a scrap or bone fragnt behind.
Later that evening, steaming hot broth was distributed to the remaining fifty or so Logosians.
Ravenous, the Logosians devoured the broth greedily, ticulously licking clean every residue from inside; it had been a long ti since they had had their fill since arriving in these waters.
After consuming this long-awaited hearty al, Dertulian finally felt so strength returning to his body.
He stood at the very front of the ship, holding the Historical Tablet, staring straight ahead.
His eyes, deeply sunken and bloodshot.
Holding the Historical Tablet given by Yarlessto, he stood motionless, waiting for sothing, his entire being like a statue.
Soon after...
A trendous storm arose over the sea.
Winds from all directions engulfed the lonely oar-sail ship in an instant.
Thunder exploded through the dark clouds, lightning flickering over the sea, deafening!
The Gods’ calamity...
was about to descend.
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