X A N D A L P H O N

The cloaked rider guided his steed across a moonlit expanse.

He remained silent as he rode onward. The chilly wind rustled his capes, and his figure swayed from the horse’s docile gait. Even though most of him was obscured by his long white cloak, the starlight revealed his snow-white grip on the reigns.

He is afraid. Not of what lies in the darkness, but of what awaits him in the light. Like fate, it was unavoidable and just as looming. Not even the stars can offer him comfort, as they cast their silent regard upon him.

Yet they watched over him ever still. For they must bear witness to what shall come.

The rider will soon face a decisive battle. A battle with only one victor, where he will need all of his strength to achieve victory. Yet he cannot avail the doubts that cloud him. He speaks, his voice a low whisper against the unrelenting gusts.

“A great battle to decide the fate of the world,” His gaze falls to his steed. “And we're the only ones chosen to fight for it, aren't we?”

His ears perking up, the horse nods his head. The response that comes to him is like a voice in his head. Disembodied and close, but very audible.

“No. You are.” The deep timbre of Aldebaran’s voice echoes within his mind. “I'm merely an Overseer in your journey. It shall be your sword that decides the war.”

The rider made a noise of assent. It was an answer very much like him. Straightforward and honest.

“You are afraid.” Aldebaran knew. The dappled white spots among the steed's glossed midnight coat glimmered like stars.

“It’s just a little cold.” The rider shook his head. “I’m sure staying at the next town will help.”

“Even the greatest heroes fear their fate. It is not abnormal to be afraid, Xandalphon.”

The rider’s starry gaze went to the sword at his waist now. The light glinting from the unsullied blade was like an incessant reminder of his fate: his destiny to fight and prevail. Despite being light, it felt heavier with every step. For it was he who would be the one to swing it, and fate to decide if the strike would reach.

“I am fine, Aldebaran.” The rider spoke again. “My will hasn’t faltered. I know what was asked of me, and I know what must be done.”

They did not call one another by their true names, but the names they were given so long as they walk the world of humans. Aldebaran was quiet as he took in his answer.

They crested a hill then, and Aldebaran stopped at the edge of the cliff. From here, they could see the stars reflected in the rushing waves near the shore below. Further down from the wall of jagged rocks, a substantial torchlit town—vivacious with presumably commoners and aristocracy—could be seen from the lofty ridge they stood upon.

It had been one of many towns they had passed through. Days after they had arrived, they roamed the lands and realms, in search of what awaited them, but it had not revealed themselves. Not even the stars that guided them had offered so much of an answer.

But still, they went onward. There was no other way but forward.

He was a Wanderer. Known as the Radiant One, he was a warrior of the stars sworn to protect the world. One of many, but one of a kind. His coming heralded hope, but also forthcoming despair.

Because another fellow protector of the world, now sought to see it taken away.

“We were all heroes who fought to protect the world once, Wanderers and Arbiters alike. And now here we are, fighting against one another to decide who takes the world.” Aldebaran’s gaze was hollow as he gazed across the night scenery.

“Fate is far too cruel, to have divided us so.”

The rider reached his hands to his head and pulled down his hood. Underneath his silvery hair was a fair complexion, with eyes that gleamed like the very stars above. His features were lustrous and transcendental, far beyond that of a human’s. He was sculpted like a hero of legend, sparkling of hope, and overcoming of impossibility.

“But it ends here, friend.” Xandalphon spoke. “If the great war demands a victor, then I will win this war, and save the world from it's doom.”

He is Xandalphon, and against all despair, he is the last of all hope.

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