The hooded figure stood silent, unmoved by the swirling dust storms whipping his tattered robe or howling winds careening across the endless flat, blasted plain. No sun or moon was visible to him in the yawning void of thunder-burdened sky above, but he knew the time was drawing near. His companion was never late.
A roiling wave of dust washed over him, obscuring his vision, stinging his eyes and nostrils. As it passed, barely perceptible even to his keen senses, he felt the ground shift beneath him. Only then did he turn. Inwardly, he smiled. Never late indeed.
His companion, faceless in the shadows of his own flowing, finely spun cloak, towered over him. His chest was broad, each movemenr taut and precise, rippling with coiled strength. Even though the hardpack earth offered no cover to block sight for miles, the figure never saw him approach. His companion seemed to have that way about him, he was always just where you weren’t looking.
“This is to be our final meeting.” The figure said to his companion, his voice breaking cleanly through the roaring, angry wind. “I need your answer, and I need it now.”
His companion laughed, booming like the angry thunder rending air on the horizon. “Do not forget your place here, or whom you share council with now.”
“I know exactly who I’m addressing.” The figure spat back, ichor in his words. “A prince who will never be king. Don’t you forget that. Don’t you forget what only I can offer.”
A moment of charged silence passed between them. Each weighing the other.
“My offer. Your answer.” The figure pressed. "It must be now."
His companion cocked his head, a long breath steamed from the darkness of his face.
“Your offer is accepted.” With that, his companion produced from the depths of his cloak a small, amber-glass vial. The figure felt his insides ignite. A feeling that was so long dormant in him he thought it dead and gone. The ecstasy. The lust. The power.
Hypnotized by the thick, crimson liquid within, the figure reached out to accept it, his hand crisscrossed in jagged, cruel scars. Eternal trophies of unspeakable pain. His brittle fingers caressed the smooth glass. The contents of the vial were life itself to him. A new life, free from this miserable, cursed existence. This exile.
He clutched it tightly, greedily, knowing that now it was in his position, nothing would take it from him, feeling warmth flow through his frigid bones. How long had he suffered here, in the darkness, away from all he holds dear? Away from all he’d ever loved? Away from all who’d loved him? Worshipped him? Cowered before him? He couldn’t fathom the time lost.
He pushed the weight of sorrow from his throat, deep down into the furnace of his stomach, the fire within him that never quit, no matter how dark or how cold his world became. The fire that brought him here, this night, on this hellscape. The past did not matter now. The key was in his possession. The future was soon to be his.
“When the Southstar rises, we will be ready.” The figure said, trying to contain the soaring glee from his voice, lest his companion suspect his true purpose.
“And your transportation, once we’ve made passage?” The companion probed.
“None of your concern. You have your role, I have mine.” The figure dismissed.
His companion growled “Remember your oath. Your promise. The suffering you’ve found here will be nothing compared to what I will rain upon you should you fail me.”
“I have not forgotten my pledge.” The figure soothed, his fingers clutching the amber vial to his heart. “They will all kneel before you.”
And you,the secret flame of a thought flickered in the deepest cavern of the figure’s mind, will kneel before me.