Kyle is a contributing editor for Destructoid with a love for all that is bizarre and Japanese in the world. Raised in these here Cblogs, Kyle likes shiny things, long walks on the beach, and raccoons.
Four times now I have made this journey. I have voyaged across a sea of glittering sand, dotted with the scattered remnants of my ancestors’ world. Here once stood a grand civilization. Now, all that remains are but ruins. Pillars line the horizon of this once great place. Between them lay the headstones and the burial mounds of my forefathers.
As I pass, I call out to them. It may seem odd, but they speak back to me. No, not in words, but I know they are there. Speaking with the spirits and seeking out the hidden treasures of the land has granted me knowledge of my ancestors' past and the uncanny ability to soar through the air. How incredibly exhilarating it is to be raised towards the heavens by a gust of desert gale, even if for a fleeting moment.
Yet, I am dissatisfied. I have heard tales of others, such as myself, making this same journey and happening upon other travelers. Here I am, nearly at fifth journeys end, by myself. I’ll stop to search the horizon once more for another soul. Yes, I am alone in this desolate place.
There is a broken bridge ahead. I know how to mend it. I need do little more than speak out to my ancestors and they will aide me in my travels. They can restore the way ahead so that I might continue on the last leg of this passage.
Falling to my knees, I collapse in the sand. I give up. This desert wasteland once had some strange beauty to it. I once walked alongside every gravestone, every piece of rubble, examining the rare magnificence of this landscape. Now, my focus is fixed on the emptiness of the desert. What good is this wondrous scene if I have no-one to enjoy it with?
Just when I am resolute to abandon this quest, I look out to see the bridge. The ancestors have begun to repair that which was previously broken! The spirits of my forefathers have begun to sew the rubble together with magical crimson cloth. That means… There is another. I climb the bridge and look out on the valley below, spotting someone, someone like me.
I run out to the person. Though we speak not the same language, we have found a way to communicate – through song. It appears as though this other wanderer is heading towards that mountain gleaming in the distance. I have found a companion for this pilgrimage.
My new acquaintance introduces me to aspects of the world previously unseen. Together we speak to every ancient in the valley, leaving no stone unturned. In return for the company they grant us abilities which we couldn’t imagine. Though we have sailed on the wind before, now we fly as though birds.
Time passes, yet my friend and I stick together. We traverse the dunes on the long road towards that shining peak. We happen to stumble across carpets that dance in the sky like kites. They will even let us soar with them for a few moments, playing in the air.
Oh no -- the last dune. Below is a valley shrouded in darkness, from which a great, ancient monument rises. This is where the journey ends. I call out to my friend in vain, in hopes that we can turn around. From the crest I watch as my comrade slides down that last dune towards the dark place. I know that our time together has come to a close.