The Elements of Zion: the Vine, the Branch, and the Thorn

The Hall of Souls

After flying for what seemed like days over endless sea, Trose and I finally arrived at the shores of The Badlands. As soon as we set foot on the black sand beach, I felt a sense of unease wash over me. This was definitely not like any other land I had ever seen before in the various realms. As we stepped onto the beach, it shimmered, reflecting the harsh glare of the relentless sun. It wasn't just any beach, it was an endless expanse of obsidian granules, stretching far into the horizon, meeting a sky that was painted with hues of flame. To our right, jagged cliffs towered, their stark, imposing figures casting long, ghastly shadows on the sand below. To our left, the sea, a boiling soup of gray waves, crashed against the shore, throwing up columns of steam as if in protest. In the distance, a forest of skeletal trees stood guard, their bare branches reaching out like bony fingers against the rust-colored sky. Everything about this place was harsh, alien, and forbidding, a stark contrast to the serene realms from which we'd come.

"I was hoping for something more tropical." I said. 

Trose grinned, the feathers on his weathered face crinkling further. "Beach holiday next time, maybe. But for now, remember, we're not here for sightseeing."

Trose stretched his wings, a wince flickering across his face. "Too old for these long flights, lad," he grumbled. "These wings ain't what they used to be."

He then reached into his cloak. His hand emerged clutching an object that gleamed even in the dim light - a helmet. It was a remarkable piece, fashioned from a material that caught the sun's light and refracted it into a thousand shimmering rainbows. The helmet seemed to breathe an air of tranquility in the midst of the hostile environment.

"This," Trose started, his eyes reflecting the glow of the helmet, "is a present from meself." His gaze softened, and he peered at me with a force that stirred my heart. "Do ye recall what Dove once said to us about the thorns?" He paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, then carried on, "They can only affect us from the outside. They've no sway over our thoughts, our will... our very souls. All they can do is whisper falsehoods into our ears, hoping we'll buy into them, hoping we'll act upon them." He tapped the helmet softly. "This here is a token of that truth. When you put it on, Isaac, it'll remind you that your salvation comes from within, not from without. It'll remind you to guard your thoughts, to take 'em captive and make 'em obedient to the Truth." 

I took the helmet from Trose. It was lighter than I expected but held an overwhelming gravity of purpose. The cool metal against my skin felt reassuring, a beacon of hope in this desolate place. I slowly raised it above my head, the sunlight cascading off its surface in a thousand brilliant reflections. Finally, I lowered it onto my head, feeling the snug fit against my skull. For a moment, I just stood there, the silence of the Badlands punctuated only by the distant roar of the sea. Then, without a word, I turned my gaze to the endless expanse of the Badlands before us.

Trose noticed the change in my demeanor, the calm that spread over me as I donned the helmet. He studied me, his eyes taking in the transformation. "Aye, boyo," he murmured. "There's a peace 'bout ya now, a calm that was missing afore. It becomes ya." He gave me a hearty thump on the shoulder, a show of goodwill and esteem. "We're set to go, Isaac. Let's be off."

Feeling the weight of the journey that lay ahead, I turned to Trose, his silhouette stark against the fiery sky. "Ever get tired of flying?". Trose looked at me, a twinkle in his eye and a crooked grin on his face. "Fatigued from soaring? Lad, it's far superior to hobbling 'round on these aged limbs of mine. Now cease your loitering and hop on, we've still a distance to cover." 

We launched ourselves into the air, wings beating against the thick, heavy air of the Badlands. As we soared over the treacherous cliffs, the setting sun cast an eerie glow on the looming mountains. The storm clouds raged around us, making it difficult to navigate through the unpredictable winds and sudden updrafts. But as we emerged on the other side, our breath was taken away by the sight before us. A vast expanse of sand and rock stretched out endlessly, the fading light revealing a desolate, forgotten desert that seemed frozen in time as day turned to night.

Before we could take it all in, we were blindsided by a storm. It happened so quickly, a sudden, wall of swirling sand and grit. Stinging particles lashed my face and Trose's wings flapped erratically, struggling against the savage currents. The helmet, a beacon of hope just moments before, now felt like an anchor, heavy and cumbersome, as I fought to keep my balance in the violent tempest. We were lost in the storm, tossed and turned by the whim of the wind, and our vision reduced to the swirling world of sand that consumed us.

Suddenly, a chilling howl sliced through the roar of the storm. I turned, squinting through the sand, just in time to see a flash of darkness lunge at me. I barely had time to react as something clawed its way out of the storm, its eyes glowing red, a cruel parody of life in this lifeless desert. It came at me again, and I managed to parry its strike, barely keeping my balance in the gale-force winds. I turned to call for Trose, to warn him, but my voice was swallowed by the storm.

Another howl, closer this time, sent a chill down my spine. I turned just in time to see Trose engaged in his own battle, the wings that had carried us across the Badlands now serving as formidable shields against the creatures clawing their way out of the storm. Undeterred, Trose fought valiantly, his eyes blazing with the same fire that had illuminated our path, but the relentless onslaught was taking its toll. With a sudden, swift motion, Trose folded his wings and plunged us towards the earth, dragging with him the creatures that now swarmed us.

This was a move of deliberate precision, an act defined by desperate bravery. The winged apparitions, thrown into confusion by the sudden maneuver, relinquished their grip. Having crash-landed, we emerged from the veil of dust as Trose's wings snapped open with an authoritative echo.

"Ye bastards only come out when it's dark."

 In a swift, seamless motion, he neutralized the disoriented adversaries. I dismounted, my courage replenished, and threw myself back into the fray, invigorated by the promise of the helmet resonating in my thoughts as I faced off against the beast before me. With a climactic, desperate thrust, I succeeded in bringing down what I now recognized as a winged thorn. Its piercing shriek was muffled by the tempest, its form fading into the whirlwind of sand, leaving behind nothing more than the ghost of its wail.

As quickly as it came, the storm began to subside, the winds dying down to a whisper, the sand settling back to the ground. We stood there, panting, our silhouettes stark against the receding storm, the only sign of life in the desolate expanse of the Badlands. As our breathing slowed, the dust cleared, and we found ourselves facing a towering structure. The sudden calm revealed the dark silhouette of a majestic hall, its spires reaching for the heavens, standing defiant and solitary amidst the barren landscape. The Hall of Souls. Its towering presence cast an imposing shadow across the Badlands, a stark reminder of why we had come.

With the storm's passing and the thorns dispatched, a strange calm settled over our surroundings. We stood there together, weary but triumphant, our faces turned towards the Hall's haunting beauty. Its mysterious aura seemed to beckon us, a silent call reverberating across the deserted landscape. The journey had taken its toll on us, but here, at the threshold of our destination, we felt a renewed sense of purpose. With a shared glance, we began our approach, the Hall of Souls looming like a beacon amidst the desolation.