We've Only Just Begun

He fell to the ground on his hands and knees, a resounding clang shattering the heavy yet delicate atmosphere.  His hair was soaked with sweat, which dripped down his body as he breathed raggedly.  Oh, how divine the air felt as it filled every inch of his oxygen-deprived lungs.  It felt as though life had been pushed back into him, and it made his heart race. His blurred vision began to sharpen, and color reluctantly replaced the black and white hues of all that surrounded him.

When he could begin to think again, he sat back, leaning against the wall which he had just been released from. His skin glistened with sweat, the product of a seemingly endless struggle. As the novelty of air and color began to fade, he slowly began to think again. One thought permeated his mind, repeating itself many times.

It's over... It's over... It's over...

He breathed again, taking in the reality of his surroundings, making sure that he wasn't dreaming.  He wiped his face of the sweat and grime, blinking intentionally. He looked to his right, looking for the object which had caused the loud comotion. Sure enough, he caught it in his gaze, which now distorted into a swirl of countless conflicting emotions. The blade. It pointed menacingly at him, though it lay useless on the ground. It was stained with the blood of hatred and despair, and countless unspeakable falsities which had plagued his very soul. 

A mixture of determination and fear filled his eyes, which were now scrutinizingly fixed upon the blade.  He felt his chest, where the weapon had left a terrible gash. He covered the wound with his hand, thankful that the icy blade had finally been removed.  Pain still emanated from his chest, but the bitter cold bite of the sword was gone, replaced by a healing and relaxing warmth.  He looked up and behind him, to examine the hole in the wall where the blade had pinned him. He reached up and felt the fissure created by the weapon, recoiling at its bitter cold temperature.

He noticed in the distance two figures beginning to materialize. Both shone a white aura, which glowed brighter as they approached him. One was a woman, but the other's features were indistinguishable. It was a humanoid figure, draped in robes of white, emanating what seemed to be an almost tangible sense of hope and happiness. The woman also wore white, but her human features were clearly distinguishable. Her hair was an auburn brown, whose strands danced lightly about her shoulders. Her eyes shone bright, and seemed to have an aura of their own. The aqua blue pools of intrinsic beauty locked with his eyes, and his mouth hung open in speechless awe as they both approached him.

They both stood over him, as he looked up with tear-filled eyes. He recognized both of these figures. How could he forget them? They were all that made him who he was and who he wanted to be. The woman knelt in front of him, taking one of his hands and looking into his eyes. He shivered, missing her warm touch and her caring eyes. Her eyes carried a burden, something that begged him of forgiveness. He glanced away, looking to the blade, which the other figure had now picked up. There was a sizzling noise, and he watched in awe as the blade disintegrated in the figure's soft hands.

He looked back to the woman, who was now reaching for his chest. She touched his deep wound, and her eyes were struck with a sudden sadness and pain. He took her hand and moved it away, shaking his head.

It is past, he thought, looking earnestly into her eyes. She understood, and a grateful smile spread across her face. She stood, and helped him stand with her. Together, hand in hand, they turned to the white-robe-draped figure, who seemed to give them something akin to a smile. Though the figure did not speak, they both heard the words as clear as though they had been spoken.

We've only just begun

The End

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