"Golden Promise" by Dabao ´The Monkey´ Jia

        None but the Guardian is able use the Gem, for none but the Guardian is protected from the magic veiled around it. The wise dare not, the foolish fail, and the mighty vanish. Those are the fates of those who try to claim the Gem of All Seeing.

        Stalactites hung strenuously from above, eerily dripping mud on his back at every turn. The ground was swamped with blood from others who tried at the Gem, still warm through the magic shrouding the cave. The walls themselves bled transparent, green sap, barely disguising the ancient rune etchings encrypted in the walls. And worst of all, the darkness eagerly reached out to him always, drawing him in, then pushing him away, continuously threatening to strangle him with a million fingers if he was not careful.
        Coming upon a gaping puddle and peering down, he gazed into the eyes of a lost young man.
        “No, I will do this.”

        He stood facing a mound of charred wood and parched mud, the remnants of his home. Nearby, a small grouping of elves, his neighbours, were carrying a limp body away, murmuring sadly to each other. Mama. Something caught his attention. He stooped down and brushed some dust off it. It was a book. He recognized it as the book Mama used to tell him, about a valuable gem that could let you see anything, even people who have long passed away. An old lady approached him.
        “Poor boy, what is your name?”
        “Armil.”
        “But, that means the golden promise.”
        The boy did not answer; instead, he clasped the lady’s hand and whispered, “Please, I want to leave now.”

        A voice resounded throughout the cavern.
        “I am the Baelvain,” he realized the term meant Guardian Spirit, “who is he that comes for the Gem?”
        It was then that he saw the Guardian, as it seemingly drifted into existence from nowhere.
        It was clad in armour of the deepest black, with glowing glyphs along the edges. Held in its right hand was an ebony staff, and scrolled into it was marked, Forever Trapped. Its face was shadowed.
        Abruptly, the Guardian warped behind him. He impulsively leaped nimbly aside just as the staff flew past, but it still nicked his arm. His hand glowed momentarily as he quickly sealed the wound, muttering words of power.

        “Tell me,” the Baelvain inquired, “why do you want this gem? What makes you seek it? Riches? Power?”
        “No. To show my path that has been hiding from me.”
        He flew at the Guardian, with practised ease, and slid his blade in the space under the helm, where the neck would be. The Guardian fell.
        Still panting, he said, “Your magic will keep you from dying long enough to answer my question. Tell me, why do the wise dare not try at the gem, the foolish fail, and the mightiest vanish?”
        “With this armour,” the Baelvain indicated the armour he was wearing, as he breathed heavily, slowly dying, “comes a dreadful…curse, you might say. It binds the Guardian to its duties. Now to address your question. The foolish fail because they overestimate themselves and die, the wise dare not because they know the secret about which I am going to tell you, and the mighty vanish because after they defeat the Guardian and the Guardian dies, they themselves become the Guardian, doomed to be forever trapped until they are defeated. That is why there is always a Guardian.”
        Now the face inside the helm was shadowed no longer, revealing a pale old man, wrinkled with wisdom.

        He shivered. Yet apart from that, he was unsettlingly calm. “One last question…what was your old name, the one you had most previous to this?”
        “I was…Armil, the golden promise. And you, young one?”
        “I’m Arishan, the silver sun.”
        Then darkness engulfed them.

        Arishan woke to a faint light pushing its way into the cave.
        It was clad in armour of the deepest black, with glowing glyphs along the edges. Held in its right hand was an ebony sword, and scrolled into it was marked, Forever Trapped.