The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

It was like the knowledge had always been present, only hidden behind a veil. Yet suddenly that veil was gone in an eerie gust of wind. Heiffal felt the realization about his own existence ripple through him. Although he had maintained himself during the retreat, he could instantly empathize with those that lost their willingness to continue when they abruptly realized this sick truth hanging over them.

That they were imitations of the original. That they all had originally died at this very same place, bitterly defending against the Nether assault thousands of years ago. That they had been consumed by a shadowy figure who took their deaths and feasted on them to grow fat with power. And now that same swirling darkness remained above the battlefield.

It seemed to mock them. As though its shadowy presence whispered, you thought you would have a second chance to live peacefully? Too naive.

And on the right flank, that same pattern from the past repeated itself. Even with the rocky outcropping largely blocking off his view, Heiffal’s vantage from inside Lady Iellaya’s fort was enough for him to see the edges of the brutal battle occurring on the far flank. And to clearly see the very familiar darkness drifting upward off of the cooling bodies to join a terrible whirlwind of energy that was forming above them...

“I’ve already died,” Heiffal said to the air, tasting the words. They tasted true. His parents were dead, likely just from the passage of time. That cute girl from the flower shop where Heiffal grew up who covered her mouth when she laughed had probably moved on from their small dalliance and then later died of that same old age. He didn’t have any siblings or children, so his name was probably completely forgotten.

Everything he had known had passed on to the next life. He was a vestige of a bygone era. A fossil. A relic.

Heiffal turned away from the battlefield and looked back down toward the courtyard behind him. The reason that he had chosen this spot was that he could still hear Salazar’s voice from his current position, but he wasn’t overwhelmed by it. Plus, almost five hundred people were tightly packed into the said courtyard, straining to hear Salazar’s voice.

Because for whatever reason, listening to the story he told was grounding. It helped push away the frantic sense of futility that knowledge of their existence granted them. It helped them forget that they had already died and this current experience was about as substantial as a dream. Who knew when they would wake up and once more experience that terrible cold, the draining of everything vital, the gradual oblivion that-

Heiffal pressed his eyes closed. It was a conscious choice to stand where he was, near the edges of Salazar’s influence. The effect of the reassurance waned here. There were times that the existential dread broke through the lulling static of Salazar’s voice, reminding him of what he was. What he could never be again.

Heiffal quickly turned back to look at the battlefield. Lady Iellaya, their commander, was being slowly pushed back by the four Nether Heralds working in tandem. Yet she was managing pretty well, all things considered. One possessed a serious wound already inflicted by her and another had been struck with a minor inconvenience created by the other woman how had stalled the reinforcements.

Yet there was now also hesitation in their formation, as another force was charging directly out from Aether headquarters to attack the center of the Nether forces. The troop passed swiftly through the infighting among the Nether Beasts, as the chaos fed more energy into that swirling darkness hanging above them. So the Nether Herald’s fighting Lady Iellaya couldn’t decide whether they should retreat and assist or stay and continue to wound this foe. After all, she had decidedly been a thorn in their side. To retreat now felt like a loss.

Especially because her image was reeling from all the accumulated damage it took. Yet the raven-winged serpent somehow seemed to become all the more dangerous as its blood continually poured out onto the ground; the closer it was to death, the more brightly the crimson patterns on its scales gleamed.

Fighting started between two powerful Nether figures that moved forward to defend the Great Rift and the Aether force that marched steadily forward. Instantly, the powerful reverberations filled the sky.

And suddenly Heiffal realized that someone was standing next to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he examined the new arrival, and then had to press his mouth shut to cover up a gasp; it was Randidly Ghosthound himself.

He looked so, so tired. The stark line of his profile seemed lonely, standing up here on the battlements and considering the surrounding chaos. His dark hair was matted to his head from sweat. His breathing was labored, and he was leaning against his lance which was even curled protectively around his shoulders. His left arm was covered in a strange, carbon looking armor that seemed to be a part of him. His shirt and pants were cheap looking and ripped, and his feet were bare.

But it was Randidly Ghosthound. Everyone had seen him somehow freezing the sky to buy more time for lady Iellaya, and then witnessed him personally come back to help their forces retreat within the fortress. It was clear that Lady Iellaya was more powerful than the Ghosthound, but everyone knew that it was the Ghosthound that bled to keep them safe.

Heiffal licked his lips. How long had the Ghosthound been here? Had he heard him say ‘I’ve already died’ earlier?

While Heiffal was still scrambling to figure out what he was feeling, the Ghosthound took the initiative to speak to him. “You… of all the people affected by… whatever changed suddenly, you are the only one that isn’t either immediately apathetic or hurrying toward Salazar. I… was hoping you could give me some clarity on the matter. Tell me what you are experiencing.”

For a second, Heiffal’s mind was blank from the Ghosthound’s careful tone. Then, slowly, he began to see how things would appear from their perspective. Unfamiliar reinforcements appearing, then very suddenly losing all their will to move or speak? Suddenly the fort around them shifted in Heiffal’s eyes. For whatever reason, he couldn’t control his breathing. The darkness in the air was so thick. Every breath was laced with it.

Did this man not bring us in for protection… Heiffal’s glazed eyes slid sideways to all the bodies packed into the courtyard around Salazar. The terrible memory of death, that horrible dream, that reality that Heiffal had already experienced, seemed to throb in his mind. But rather… to keep us contained? In case we were traitors? So they could-

Yet Heiffal stopped those thoughts with a great effort of will. Instead, he looked back at Randidly Ghosthound. Really looked at him.

And what Heiffal saw… was someone young with very, very tired emerald eyes.

Heiffal’s eyes softened. Yet how could Heiffal answered the Ghosthound’s question? The truth was too ridiculous to believe. So instead, Heiffal said softly, “I think we… we just realized that what we are fighting for… what we thought we were fighting for isn’t the truth. The foundation of our existence is a lie. Some of that took it… hard. So… it’s nice. To listen to the story. Another’s story, to feel part of something. Even if we're not truly a part of that either…”

As Heiffal trailed off, Randidly looked at him with obvious amusement. “What do you mean it’s not true that you are part of this…? It’s certainly a loosely adapted story. But life is a story that you tell yourself, about yourself. You can change your story at any time. Sure, this isn’t the story you’ve always told yourself about how you live… but as long as you believe, you can be a part of this story too.”

“This… this isn’t…” Heiffal stumbled forward with his words, trying to impress upon the Ghosthound what he was feeling. Because of the awkward way that Heiffal had originally worded their emotions, it was difficult to grapple effectively with the metaphor to convey what he felt. “You cannot just… having meaning by listening to a story. And life without meaning-”

“Its very difficult to find meaning if you don’t believe that you can find it,” The Ghosthound nodded reasonably, looking at Heiffal with bright emerald eyes. Eyes that grew more luminous the longer that Heiffal looked at him. Eyes that seemed to be slowly unraveling Heiffal’s words to locate the truth. “But… if you believe you can find it… it doesn’t seem that difficult to establish yourself here.”

“I-I’m not looking for meaning!” Heiffal stammered. Then he opened his mouth again to say he was looking for truth, but the words died on his lips. The Ghosthound was looking at him with empathetic eyes, simply watching him. And Heiffal was not a weak-willed individual; his image was powerful enough to have earned him a place here. Or at least there, in the past, then, it had earned him a place. So he understood how much could be accomplished with belief.

Yet… images didn’t make reality. Right? There was a limit. A standard of depth that was impossible to replicate.

But why do I want to believe that it’s possible to even change reality… if we believe in something and work toward it as I look at him…? Tears formed in Heiffal’s eyes. We… if it’s with him, following him… is it really possible for us phantasms to have meaning…?

All we would need to do… is listen… decide what we want… and reach for it. Heiffal took another steadying breath and instead of darkness, the air tasted like spring and sounded like the slight rustling of leaves. Blinking rapidly, Heiffal shook his head. Why… why was I so afraid of having no meaning…?

“Then what are you looking for?” The Ghosthound tilted his head to the side.

“A way to feel like I mattered,” Heiffal whispered. And if he was honest with himself, that was probably what hurt the most about dreaming his own death. Not the admittedly terrible experience of death, not knowing that everyone he had ever known or met was already dead, but that was part of it.

No, what struck Heiffal the deepest was that the world had gone on without him after he had died. In the grand scheme of things, his life hadn’t spread out the slightest ripple. He was a pebble drowned out in the rapids of a river. Or at least, he had produced no ripples that could be seen or could be felt in this far-flung future.

Rather than immediately moving to reassure Heiffal as he had expected, the Ghosthound seemed somewhat at a loss. Then he shook his head. “I’ll be honest, even I don’t know how to give you that. But I can say one thing for sure… if we do our damnedest to the trial in front of us, if we press forward so completely we don’t leave any room for regrets… giving yourself over to the attempt will help you believe it’s true. If you can’t find meaning, settle for just the motion and let your instincts guide you.”

“...so we probably won’t ever truly matter.” Heiffal sighed softly. He knew it was true. He always knew that this was how the world worked. But it was rough to hear.

Clapping Heiffal on the back, the Ghosthound said, “Maybe not to us. But listen to them. Listen to that story. No matter how much we wanted it… we were the never the ones who control whether we matter. All we can do is accomplish something that’s worthy of being spun into a story. And look out there.”

The Ghosthound pointed. Bit by bit, Lady Iellaya was taking advantage of their hesitance to inflict some wounds in the four Nether Heralds in front of her. Across the battlefield, the Supreme Commander’s forces began to clash against two more Nether Heralds that descended to defend the weird shape rapidly growing in the sky above them.

And it was clear that there was a change in the movements of the blue veins. For the first time, the Nether King opened its mouth.

OooooooOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG.

A terrible, groaning noise shook the battlefield. Even standing next to the Ghosthound, Heiffal gritted his teeth and swayed to endure the jarring noise. It seemed to attack the very fabric of his flesh, seeking to destabilize him from within. With a grunt, Heiffal pressed that strange force away. But across the front, Heiffal could see thousands of his listless fellows simply perish from that terrible noise. Combined with the bleak truth they saw in front of them, the noise was too much.

Black death energy wafted upward. The blue veins seemed invigorated by the noise and surged forward with renewed vigor. Fighting everywhere intensified.

Slowly, Heiffal turned back to the Ghosthound. The truth this man presented was not as absolute, but it was certainly not reassuring; it was clearly not in the Ghosthound’s nature to offer any sort of emotional affirmation. No, what the Ghosthound was holding out to Heiffal right now… was faith.

Faith that things could get better if Heiffal was willing to work.

“...today is a day that will be remembered. Being a part of that has meaning.” The Ghosthound said softly. “Let’s just slay the Nether King and put a bow on the whole experience.”

Looking at him, Heiffal started to believe.

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