Embracing Failures

[Jameson_h 334]

Softly came the sorrowful song of birds in the distance, an echoing pattern that bounced off the walls of the sanctum he found himself in. It was a serene place if not melancholic, the faint scent of incense hung around the still air accompanying the sight of a long abandoned temple. Within sat a man, his face adorning a blindfold and aging, well-worn but simple armor and weapons, which upon the removal of his eyes became mere ornaments on the man's person. Locked into their scabbards with the dirt and grime which over many days of idle meditation and prayer to his ancestors accumulated and clung to his body. Now the man did not pray for his Ancestor's guidance in the open air where he could be close to such people. He sat in that quiet chamber in similarly silent prayer. 

 

Many things came to pass over the Templar's mind, the most recent events first. Failures both as a leader and as a Templar, the moments of his blinding at the hands of his old friend, a punishment for crimes he did not commit but punishment he believed within him that he truly deserved. For a man who was so blinded by an irrational compassion deserved to live as such in all aspects. A punishment well-earned in negligence and failures, one issued by those unswayed by the moral lines the Templar clung to and to whom he now pleaded to for the return of that sight.

 

A Templar is by nature proud, but the man who sat in the dusty old temple resembled as much a Templar as he did anyone stricken with pride. His knees long gone numb as he followed the instructions of his return mentor and teacher “Pray to those powers which have delivered this punishment to you, then rest Oliver” the specter spoke to him, and so he did. By memory, he embarked on the long pilgrimage to this dusty temple where he prayed until he could no longer 3 days in that quiet chamber, or so he estimated with no other way of knowing. Meditation on his failures had come and gone now, as one thing possessed his mind. All he lacked now was his vision, and his cause could be sought after with greater vigor than ever before. The now useless sword could once again find its home in the Templar's grip, and those who he had failed would know of his strength. Three days he spent on these prayers before his body finally slumped back into the wall, no longer able to support the kneeling pose. Soon after, the comfort of cold stone dragged him into sleep, where he received what he sought after.
 

A noise inexplicable in nature, almost akin to a chorus of singers all attaining a different note. It began merely as silence. Slowly, as though over many hours, it grew in volume until his ears began to ache. Though he hardly could recall when it even began, he eventually gripped at the sides of his head in a meager attempt to cull the noise. His hands clamping so hard against his ears they ached. Eventually in desperation he ripped away the blindfold as the fabric blocked his hands from forming a seal around his ears, though as the cloth strip was torn away so did the noise. Although the man lacked eyes, he saw something beautiful before him. Light, mere light perhaps to others but to him, it was radiance that engulfed the Templar. The sight of it and the silence made the man feel as though he could collapse in relief or tears. Though before he managed either a voice boomed out, a voice of authority and power, one that was unmistakable in nature to Oliver and shook him to his core just as it shook the very space around him.

“LOOK ONLY FORWARDS NOW”

 

The moment the booming tone struck him, he awoke once again to that pure black space which he had become too accustomed to, a draft crossing his now naked and still empty eyes sockets. Merely a moment passed as he considered what he saw before his hands searched for that blindfold which he returned to its home, and the relief he sought for found him.