The shining, golden dew of the mountain twinkles like fallen, forsaken stars, long ago dropped from the cloud-laden heavens. They sparkle with the dying light of day, the bloody sun raging against the oncoming wall of darkness; a wall impenetrable as shimmering steel. The crying bird harkens the violent demise of day and calls forth in frightful tones the birth of a starless night. Yet its urgent warning falls on deaf, covered ears.
Those who live turn dull, blind eyes to the flying, hopeless messenger, but catch a reflection, no, a fragment of light caught up in crisp dew of morn. They see not burning, raging dying, but hopeful angels crowned upon a bright hilltop, exclaiming the message of a new era of peace and prosperity. They mock the crying bird with harsh words and arching stones.
So the dull, black curtain falls unheeded; soundlessly and with unsurpassed patience, soon to smother unchallenged its unsuspecting prey in a lightless age. Its thirst is unquenchable, its hunger insatiable; the darkness’s lusts only satisfied by the death of all living things. Its strength is unknowable and immeasurable, yet so is its fear.
For One rises proud with upturned chin; fierce, ablaze eyes courageously defying the death of day and the inevitable birth of darkness. His vision is precise and sees only death in the glow fragmented by the deceptive dew upon high mountaintop. His uncovered ears are as sharp as a newly forged blade, his perception of truth formed out of the fires of limitless sorrow and unfettered hardships. True light flies out of him like rays of the sun dipped in liquid gold, a beauty observable only in the intensity of full day; and his eyes shine nearly as bright as the sunset. The dwindling sun wearily smiles and is comforted by his new ally, a reckless vigor rising in his fiery heart.
Together in fierce, perilous battle do they raise their bright blades, light cascading across the face of darkness as they smite their enemy back to the corners of the vast dark. But the darkness will not die without fighting, no, he will rage against the reign of light. Arms blanketed in pure blackness slam with rage into the world below, and the Blind Ones realize their folly as they are crushed under his many arms.
A cry escapes the burning lips of the Defiant One. A cry of sorrow, a cry of a pity, and soon a cry of rage. The true light inside of him is awoken in righteous anger and with one last blow his blade of old strikes the heart of darkness. The darkness recoils in panic against the blow, but its wound is a fatal one. The darkness screams out in pain and terror as it creeps back into the holes from whence it came. Not gone, no, its new home will be in our hearts. And then again so will the true light’s.
For in the heart of the Defiant One lies good, manifest into reality; and in the darkened skies lies evil, manifest into reality. This is the brave story of the One in a time beyond the reckoning of our human years, a man who risked his life for the preservation of our own. Whether this is legend recounted through ancient times, whether this is a dim reflection of the truth, or, most likely, a story of our own hearts… that is for you to decide.