Short Little Stories

The Shifting Sands of Time

You might think that time passes quicker for an immortal. That to one who has lived through countless centuries, each passing day is of no significance. That a thousand years might pass in the blink of an eye.

It might be so, for the organics. For the primal dragons, for the Undying One, and for the Great Masters themselves.

It is not so for I.

I can feel, keenly, every moment that passes. Every second registers in my consciousness as a single drop of sand, adding to the endless pile of time. If anything, for me, time passes as slowly and languorously as the drifting dunes themselves.

I came into existence amongst a long-lived race. Yet for all their agelessness, I can see the days they will pass away. Their flesh will cool, their hearts lie still. New emperors will rise, new generals, new princelings of their race.

Yet I was born of the eternal strength of stone, and fashioned anew with the spirit of the winds. I live, yet shall not perish through famine or disease, old age or weakened flesh. I am a statue born, yet the sand shall not chip away and grind me down to dust.

Should my existence have continued uninterrupted, I may have walked this world unto its very final hour.

Yet… it was not to be.

I am an Obsidian Construct, forged from ancient magics, born with purpose and will. Of all such, I was the only one to ever have a soul.

I am Ossirian, called the Unscarred.

And this is the tale of my ending.

to be continued…