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Description

The temple walls began to glow, cinders falling from the now creaking clockwork. The engines still roared, hungry for more electricity, more magic. Bodies scattered against the temple walls, singed and charred by countless blasts of chrono-energy, started to become fuel for the craving flames that fell from the ceilings from the bursting gears and halted machines, still pressing onward. Omena laid steady, wishing to find the rods of ages, which were now dashed and destroyed upon hitting the floor. The priestess could only pray as she clutched two rods of ages next to her, eyes open, tears flowing from her eyes like subtle silver streams.
Attalai knew this was his judgement, but not hers. The priestess, who kept the thief safe from executions time and time again, now surrendered to her own fate. His throat was swollen with mystic smokes which filled not only the room, but his entire world as he knew it. He gagged as he stumbled across the tremors of the temple, the cinders falling upon the two quivering survivors. This was his final moment, and justice had been served. His spark would not go out to the flames without a moment of redemption. He leaped over Omena, her body marked and dashed by onslaughts of magic energy emerging from the unstable chronocore which burned and fell apart above them. He held her close, trembling, but her body held steady.
"This death is mine. Not yours."
The thief's eyes opened, hearing the words come from the lips of an angel, his guardian angel. His eyes flooded, and his mouth began to tremble. She was wrong. She couldn't have said that. How dare she say that? The violent humming began to vibrate within his bones, but it didn't make him cower. His body protected hers, but she began to shove him. She wriggled away from him, trying to unfold her hands which held two rods of ages, one bent and the other straight.
"No..." the thief's lips trembled. His voice was coarse by the ashes he breathed in, the ashes of those he betrayed and stole from, the ashes of the temple he desecrated time and time again. Still hunched over, he protected nothing, and the priestess, her face still white as snow, now looked at him with a stability of her own, one arm stretching towards him, clutching the untouched Rod of Ages. His eyes were glazed with a clear vision; he hated her for loving him and rejecting his protection. Yet, she offered the only thing that would stabilize the unstable chronocore. He knew it was not enough. Was it his mission to take the only Rod of Ages and calm the core? How? The sky was falling and the floor was opening up to swallow any living thing that dare survived the impetulant flames of condemnation, flames that were supposed to be his prison guards. His executors. It was vanity. But his arm stretched for the other rod, but the angel put it behind her.
"No- You must- go."
Attalai stared at her. Her short words were interrupted by a painful silence. Her mouth, her eyes, glowed in the midst of the dark flames with fell from the heavens. The soldering dust fell upon her white garments. The core above them rumbled with passion and destruction, and for once, he was afraid. His mouth searched for words, but her eyes found them. She knew his protests and she knew his fear. The great city of Urtistan, now condemned to flames and destruction by its own creation, the burning coals of judgement to annihilate a people that sought more than glory and more than immortality. And among the city, a sinner and thief that escaped death by the grace of a pure priestess who deserved none of the judgement cast upon her and those she loved. Why. Why did it have to be her. But she knew. Oh, she knew what he was thinking. His fear, his love, his certainty, his life now ashes like those which were scattered in the air.
The ceiling gave way to the magics which grew from the chronocore. Bricks adorned with gold and topaz fell from the offering gates upon the two, now smeared with blood and dust and ashes. The machine roared and groaned, collapsing, snapping into pieces as nothing could be done to continue the cycle of time which protected the city. And Attalai held in his hands the remnants of something which could have done something. Now, useless. A vessel meant for nothing except for selfish reasons. A vessel capable of bending time and space, the last vessel of a thousand which now burned among the dying souls which cried out in the bright burning dawn, including the soul of the one most pure, and it cried. A voice now inaudible to the groaning and crashing of the temple above them.
"Go!"
Attalai knew only one thing that he could do with the Rod of Ages. On his knees he lifted the staff and smote it upon the floor between them. He told her to hold on and stay close, but even he could not hear himself. Ashes clouded the room, only glowing with the fires which now burned upon the blackened skeletons against the walls. The once bluish tint of the magic which calmed the chronocore now raged scarlet and red like brimstone, scraping against the walls hoping to escape its demise. It panicked as it fell down the stories of the temple and roared louder and louder as it stumbled and consumed through the floors to the earth below, growing and burning, dragging down the roof which was once the icon of the great city of scientists and sorcerers. And it fell. It fell with a vengeance. The temple itself began to fall into itself, crumbling and shining.
There was only one living creature in that temple when the chronocore fell and collapsed, incinerating the buildings and engulfing the city in a beautiful flame. There were none to witness how it fell. There were none to witness how the city was utterly destroyed or how it disappeared into oblivion. But there are only three that could testify to the true greatness of the city and its horrible destiny- the dark creature, the lost chronokeeper, and the thief of the ages.

Description

The temple walls began to glow, cinders falling from the now creaking clockwork. The engines still roared, hungry for more electricity, more magic. Bodies scattered against the temple walls, singed and charred by countless blasts of chrono-energy, started to become fuel for the craving flames that fell from the ceilings from the bursting gears and halted machines, still pressing onward. Omena laid steady, wishing to find the rods of ages, which were now dashed and destroyed upon hitting the floor. The priestess could only pray as she clutched two rods of ages next to her, eyes open, tears flowing from her eyes like subtle silver streams.
Attalai knew this was his judgement, but not hers. The priestess, who kept the thief safe from executions time and time again, now surrendered to her own fate. His throat was swollen with mystic smokes which filled not only the room, but his entire world as he knew it. He gagged as he stumbled across the tremors of the temple, the cinders falling upon the two quivering survivors. This was his final moment, and justice had been served. His spark would not go out to the flames without a moment of redemption. He leaped over Omena, her body marked and dashed by onslaughts of magic energy emerging from the unstable chronocore which burned and fell apart above them. He held her close, trembling, but her body held steady.
"This death is mine. Not yours."
The thief's eyes opened, hearing the words come from the lips of an angel, his guardian angel. His eyes flooded, and his mouth began to tremble. She was wrong. She couldn't have said that. How dare she say that? The violent humming began to vibrate within his bones, but it didn't make him cower. His body protected hers, but she began to shove him. She wriggled away from him, trying to unfold her hands which held two rods of ages, one bent and the other straight.
"No..." the thief's lips trembled. His voice was coarse by the ashes he breathed in, the ashes of those he betrayed and stole from, the ashes of the temple he desecrated time and time again. Still hunched over, he protected nothing, and the priestess, her face still white as snow, now looked at him with a stability of her own, one arm stretching towards him, clutching the untouched Rod of Ages. His eyes were glazed with a clear vision; he hated her for loving him and rejecting his protection. Yet, she offered the only thing that would stabilize the unstable chronocore. He knew it was not enough. Was it his mission to take the only Rod of Ages and calm the core? How? The sky was falling and the floor was opening up to swallow any living thing that dare survived the impetulant flames of condemnation, flames that were supposed to be his prison guards. His executors. It was vanity. But his arm stretched for the other rod, but the angel put it behind her.
"No- You must- go."
Attalai stared at her. Her short words were interrupted by a painful silence. Her mouth, her eyes, glowed in the midst of the dark flames with fell from the heavens. The soldering dust fell upon her white garments. The core above them rumbled with passion and destruction, and for once, he was afraid. His mouth searched for words, but her eyes found them. She knew his protests and she knew his fear. The great city of Urtistan, now condemned to flames and destruction by its own creation, the burning coals of judgement to annihilate a people that sought more than glory and more than immortality. And among the city, a sinner and thief that escaped death by the grace of a pure priestess who deserved none of the judgement cast upon her and those she loved. Why. Why did it have to be her. But she knew. Oh, she knew what he was thinking. His fear, his love, his certainty, his life now ashes like those which were scattered in the air.
The ceiling gave way to the magics which grew from the chronocore. Bricks adorned with gold and topaz fell from the offering gates upon the two, now smeared with blood and dust and ashes. The machine roared and groaned, collapsing, snapping into pieces as nothing could be done to continue the cycle of time which protected the city. And Attalai held in his hands the remnants of something which could have done something. Now, useless. A vessel meant for nothing except for selfish reasons. A vessel capable of bending time and space, the last vessel of a thousand which now burned among the dying souls which cried out in the bright burning dawn, including the soul of the one most pure, and it cried. A voice now inaudible to the groaning and crashing of the temple above them.
"Go!"
Attalai knew only one thing that he could do with the Rod of Ages. On his knees he lifted the staff and smote it upon the floor between them. He told her to hold on and stay close, but even he could not hear himself. Ashes clouded the room, only glowing with the fires which now burned upon the blackened skeletons against the walls. The once bluish tint of the magic which calmed the chronocore now raged scarlet and red like brimstone, scraping against the walls hoping to escape its demise. It panicked as it fell down the stories of the temple and roared louder and louder as it stumbled and consumed through the floors to the earth below, growing and burning, dragging down the roof which was once the icon of the great city of scientists and sorcerers. And it fell. It fell with a vengeance. The temple itself began to fall into itself, crumbling and shining.
There was only one living creature in that temple when the chronocore fell and collapsed, incinerating the buildings and engulfing the city in a beautiful flame. There were none to witness how it fell. There were none to witness how the city was utterly destroyed or how it disappeared into oblivion. But there are only three that could testify to the true greatness of the city and its horrible destiny- the dark creature, the lost chronokeeper, and the thief of the ages.