There was only Darkness.
A great, all-encompassing Darkness that filled every corner
of the world with a blackness that tainted and devoured. An endless motley
shade of midnight and grey, indigo and deep purple, it raged like a mad beast;
frenzied and terrifying. Its undulating movement pummelled like the waves of a ferocious
storm called forth by the old sea gods—had they still existed within this
Darkness that left no question of life beyond itself.
It seemed to have no purpose other than to spread fear and
pain, and seep into every vulnerable crack. Whether it was barraging abandoned
shores or poisoning the air, it searched for everything that could be
destroyed. Nothing was permitted to survive.
Yet there was a survivor: a tiny white pebble completely at
the mercy of the Darkness yet resilient. Swept up in the storm, it was battered
and tossed around; or sometimes still—surrounded by a menacing calm as the
Darkness lay in wait. With the Darkness enveloping everything, it was
inevitable that the pebble would be struck repeatedly; so insignificant that it
seemed likely the pebble would be destroyed alongside everything else. Yet
still the pebble remained whole, somehow unable to be completely destroyed by
the Darkness. The Darkness only became more enraged, and concentrated its
efforts. Eternally trembling
from repeated blows, the pebble felt the Darkness consume and rage, each blow
leaving its mark yet still failing to destroy. The tides of the Darkness
carried the little pebble along in its madness, and the
battle between the monstrous Darkness and the tiny pebble became its own
legend.
After three
years of submitting to the tide of Darkness, the battered pebble washed up
unexpectedly on a new shore. Although the rage of the Darkness had simmered
somewhat, it still hung poisonous in the air. Yet the shore the pebble was now
part of seemed less affected; the Darkness was broken by patches of light,
which exposed a beach full of fine sand, and dust and ̶ more
pebbles. As the pebble lay in the momentary calm of this new reality, the
matter around it drifted closer. Some combination of light and untainted water
allowed the various fragments to become fused together, so that the first pebble
was unexpectedly strengthened against the Darkness’s inevitable forthcoming attacks.
When the Darkness renewed its raging, throwing the pebble back and forth
sporadically, the pebble was hardier, and every time it rolled into the light a
little more sand and pebble dust stuck to it so that it became increasingly
bigger with each hit it took.
Almost as
though in response, the Darkness became less. It was no less menacing, but its
presence became smaller; its attacks, fewer. It took on a more solid shape;
grew smaller.
Transformed.
By the time
the seven year mark came around, the Darkness had become a three-headed Demon with
six eyes firmly focused on the pebble. It had three ugly faces, long claws and
sharp teeth and was constantly gnawing on the pebble with each of its mouths.
The rest of
the world was left to rebuild, regrow. It began to flourish with this new
opportunity for life, and colour crept back into the world. It used the
newfound peace to develop and spread light wherever it could, determined to
counteract the destruction caused by The Darkness. The new world was stronger
for what it had suffered, and peace reigned.
The
legendary battle between the Darkness and the pebble continued, but now it was
a discreet, personal battle. The Demon knew it was losing—the sandstone shell
now encasing the pebble had hardened, and though there were weaknesses these
were few. Truth was, with all of the extra layers the pebble had accumulated
over the past four years, it had now become almost a boulder, and its size was
much bigger than that of the Darkness Demon.
The persistent
Demon leapt around the pebble, lunging in to attack and then withdrawing to
disappear into an inky cloud, only to attempt again from a different angle. It
was merciless.
Yet each
time the Demon attacked, the pebble withstood the blows a little better. The
weight of the sand and pebbles that made up its skin now anchored it, keeping
it stable in the chaos of the Darkness Demon’s attacks. The Demon diminished.
The demon became small.
Despite its
less frequent successes, the demon was not to be underestimated. When it did
manage to take a bite with its sharp teeth, or slice the pebble with its claws,
something of a scream issued forth from the pebble. But the pebbles and sand that
made up the hardened new layers were strong. Each blow was absorbed by many,
and thus weakened. The demon became less.
The final
blow was a realisation, and it was this:
The
shrinking of the darkness was no mere coincidence. It was no inevitable decline
caused by time. The Darkness, darkness, demon—in every form it shared one
thing.
Does the darkness …?
Seven years
of madness and raging and hate and bitterness.
Maybe?
Seven years
of storms and poison and pain.
Just maybe?
Seven years
attempting to destroy that which refuses to be destroyed.
Fear the Pebble?
Thus the
demon was vanquished, and light was restored.
And the
Pebble was free.
