POV Narrator:

Everywhere around the city, the temperature dramatically starts to rise. The bright midday sun turns scorching. A loud explosion resounds throughout the city and the calm atmosphere breaks. People on the streets look up in unison and collectively gasp for air. The light outside blinds the innocent onlookers, in the streets, and cries of panic fill the sky.

Dawkin, while resting on his throne, sits up abruptly. He can feel it, the unprecedented danger that’s approaching the city. Without caring about etiquette, he attempts to run towards the balcony, his body aching with every step. Suddenly, Dawkin collapses. His body is unable to take the sudden strain.

Without pausing, seemingly unaffected, Dawkin starts crawling. Clawing at the hard throne room floor. A grim expression lines his wrinkled old face. His determination stops any thoughts of submission. He’s willing to face any danger for his people, no matter how futile his attempt may be. While he’s still breathing, he’s willing to do everything in his power for his people.

Dawkin’s vision starts wavering and a sudden feeling of weakness invades his body. Cold sweat drenches his back. “I can’t stop now… Not yet.” He pleads in a weak voice. He crawls another meter, his vision darkening. “Not yet!” His weak voice yells in frustration. “Not yet…” Weakness envelops his entire body, his eyes unable to stay open. Hopelessness fills his mind as his vision darkens completely.

On the brink of despair, a gentle hand rests on Dawkin's body. “Come, dear, now is not the time to sleep” a warm voice floods his hopeless thoughts. “The people need you. So, stand up. If you’re unable, then I’ll stand with you.” The warm voice drifts through Dawkin’s every fibre. The last bit of strength empowers his muscles.

Dawkin starts to lift himself up, his body screaming in pain. “I refuse to give up!” he shouts as he forces himself upright. His whole body is unstable, the slightest breeze can tip him over. He tries to move, but before he falls again, another person starts to support him. “Come dear, the people need you.” The comforting voice speaks again.

Dawkin regains some of his vision and weakly turns his head. Next to him, supporting his body, his charming wife stands. “You’re right, now is not the time for weakness,” He responds in a tired voice, struggling to remain conscious. Arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder, they advance. Each step grows increasingly difficult, but his wife supports him regardless.

They finally reach the balcony. Dawkin lifts his head up and his eyes widen. Up in the sky, a giant ball of fire is quickly approaching the lonely mountain. Looking almost like a second sun, the giant ball of fire seems unstoppable. “This power isn’t something that we can oppose. Our only hope rests with Zohn, and I don’t know if he’s powerful enough.” Dawkin speaks weakly, his expression growing increasingly grimmer with each word.

Dawkin lowers his gaze, turning his head towards his wife. His eyes rest on his wife’s kind face. Hopelessness roots itself in his heart “May the gods have mercy upon our souls.”.

On the mountain peak, Zohn’s expression turns ugly. “Why now? What did I do to provoke this calamity?” Zohn asks hopelessly. He knows that complaining is futile, especially in the face of such unquestionable power. Anger festers itself in his heart. “Don’t think that I’m just going to stand here without doing anything,” Zohn shouts in frustration.

He starts running towards his house. He runs straight through the forest, knocking down anything in his path. His muscles bulge, unwilling to slow down. A path of carnage is left in his wake, fallen trees and large holes, produced by Zohn’s footsteps, littler the ground.

Finally, reaching his home, Zohn quickly makes his way through the winding hallways, towards his storage room. Past the shelves and stacked crates, at the very back of the storage room, an inconspicuous door hides. Without hesitating, he opens the door. Abruptly, Zohn stops. “How many years has it been since I last dared to use you?" He asks.

In the centre of the room, impaled into the hard granite rock, a golden spear rests. An aura of majesty emanates from it’s very being. Quickly dismissing those unneeded thoughts, Zohn grips the spear, effortlessly pulling it from the hard granite floor. Without stopping, he rushes outside.

Zohn looks up, his gaze locking onto the blinding ball of fire. A flare of challenge flashes through his eyes and a determined expression settles on his face. His thoughts flashback. “Don’t worry old friend, I don’t plan on breaking my promise,” Zohn states and a small bit of confidence returns to him.

Zohn releases a deep breath, calming his mind. He tightens his grip around the spear and starts to move. He quickly takes a practised stance. Zohn starts channelling the energy around him, directing it through his body, towards the spear. Quickly, an invisible power starts to concentrate around the golden spear. Like a shining star, pressure builds.

The air around Zohn grows restless, his white beard and clothes flutter in the wind. His focus on the approaching ball of fire increases, his mind blocks out everything else. “One chance, I need to make it count.” Zohn strengthens his resolve, his entire body flexing with power.

The ground underneath him starts to quake, but he ignores it. His mind is unwavering in its purpose. The power around the spear continues to build, nearing an unprecedented peak. The rumbles increase and Zohn prepares to launch the spear. “I can’t fail,” He mutters subconsciously.

The power around the spear becomes unbearable and he knows it’s time. He moves his arm. Suddenly, a deep voice fills the entire sky, “Rest Zohn, you’ve protected me long enough. Allow me to repay some of that kindness.”. Immediately, Zohn breaks out of his trance and the power around the spear dissipates. He turns his head towards the centre of the mountain and a small fire lights in Zohn's dimmed eyes.