The candle flame leaped and danced, a faint light throwing a grotesque shadow that shimmered on the whitewashed wall. This was a humble study in the academic tower of the capital city of the Eshadian Empire. There sat an old man, his beard and hair the color of freshly fallen snow, crouched over a weathered pile of scrolls and books, reading over every page in tender deliberateness, as though he prepared to reveal a hidden secret. In the distant echo of the clock tower there chimed its clear, singing tones through the silent city to declare the presence of midnight. But the old man was still engrossed in reading, not knowing the time.
The door opened with a creak and walked in a young man, a candlestick in hand. He walked softly, a look of worry on his face. "Teacher, it's midnight already. You should really take some rest."
The old man looked up, taken aback for a moment. "What? So late already?"
Taking a deep breath, he closed the tome he was reading, fetched a handkerchief, and wiped his aching eyes. "It seems my body is turning against me day by day. Assist me to my feet, would you?"
The boy set the candlestick on the floor and came to assist the old man, supporting his spare frame as he rose.
"At today's imperial meeting, everyone was eager to know what you've been working on. Even His Majesty inquired about it privately," Mond said, trying to speak in a lighthearted tone.
The old man chuckled softly. "I can only imagine your struggle to concoct a suitable excuse on the spot."
"Uh…" Mond hesitated, a flush creeping to his cheeks. "Was that shooting star last week worth all the commotion?"
The moment the words were spoken, the old man's kindly face collapsed. A shadow fell across his face, and he furrowed his brow deeply, the weight of his mind pressing down on him.
Forgive my scepticism," Mond replied, flushing to his cheeks as he caught the shift in the mood of his mentor.
"Ah, Mond, I'm not rebuking you. It is well to doubt," the old man soothed him hastily. "But truly, that meteor has given me much cause for worry. I only trust that my misgivings are unfounded. If it in fact forebodes destruction, as the old scrolls predict, then we have to do with a horror beyond comprehension. Let me recount the previous occurrences."
He spread a scroll of parchment yellowed with age, his tone becoming quieter as he began to relate the findings of his latest research…
---
Through a shadowy alleyway beside the Great Bell Tower, a figure in a hood walked soundlessly, the clanging of the bell still echoing through the night air. He walked deliberately, the moon casting an eerie glow on his back, concealing his face within the hood.
He paused at a corner, glancing around cautiously.
"Why are you here so late today?" a gruff voice emerged from the shadows. Another hooded man stood there, his face hidden, except for a bushy beard that poked out from beneath his hood.
"It's going to get windy. We need to prepare," the first man replied, his voice low and urgent.
What have you readied?" the bearded man asked, tilting his head slightly.
"Rope, canvas, and harpoons," was the answer.
The bearded man nodded. "Those will enable you to sail on the sea without fear. We will pray for your safe return at church by the harbor.".
With that, he vanished into the shadows, leaving the first figure to continue on his way, ensuring he was alone before going further into the night.
---
In the tower, meanwhile, the old man's story was over, but a cold sweat was beginning to form on Mond's brow.
Finally, after a long silence, he spoke. "If what you've said is true, shouldn't we report this to His Majesty and give warning to the people?"
"No," replied the old man gravely. "We don't have concrete proof of the calamity. We don't know its nature and when it will occur. Letting out this information too soon may lead to mass panic and give ulterior motives an opportunity to exploit the chaos."
"Right," Mond conceded, a pang of guilt for his previous rashness.
The old man pushed open the window, letting a blast of cool air blow into the room. He looked out into the blackened night, the world's burdens weighing upon him.
"It's going to be windy…" he spoke softly, with an undercurrent of foreboding in his voice.