The Return

I watched from afar, unmoving and unseen, as the Guardian ascended the steps to what he thought was a temporary respite. So weary was he, yet this night had been chosen to be his doom. The fell Worm, Eater of Worlds, had lain in wait for him, blind with wrath at the thought of their last meeting. But this night would be different, this night, he would remove the final obstacle between him and barrier. This night, his grievance would be addressed, and the Last Maiden would fall to him.

The Guardian crested the stairs, heedless of the Worm barring his way, for his eyes looked upon the Prophet's Book, and the Blessed Madness that was recorded there. But before he could blunder into the Worm's dread embrace, a chill of foreboding crept along his spine. There was the thing itself, a tower of menace, a pale shadow heralding imminent death. The Worm began to whisper his lies, speaking of the futility of flight, the shallow deception of life; and the Guardian, weak from his struggles, could not resist.

But a great and patient power had ordained a way of escape. The inn were the Guardian had chosen to sleep the night was in poor repair, and the top floor had a rotting beam, placed there by an ally of the Guardian decades before, knowing that he would require such an escape on that night. The floor gave way beneath his feet, and the fall brought him back to his senses. He fled, taking stairs two at a time in his haste to escape. He burst through the doors and out into the evening storm.

Though gifted with great power, the Worm abhors water, touching it only if no other option is available. Cheated again, the Worm soothed his anger in moments. The Lawkeepers had promised him their help, and the Guardian was running our of places to hide.

Yes. Only a matter of time. And time was something the Worm knew well.