“So what’s the catch Prophet?”
The man chuckled, “No catch Elias. See the difference between my God and other gods is that He’s already done the work for you. Now all he wants is for you to call out to him.”
“So if I call out to Sendiil He will provide whatever aid I seek?” His mind was searching out the possibilities.
He chuckled again, “It doesn’t quite work like that. Some things work most times others only seem to work out of our control. It’s easy to feel like we have control but He likes to show us otherwise… and He usually shows us why we don’t too.” He shrugged and looked back into the fire pondering the mystery himself.
“Alright Prophet show me.”
Prophet reach around behind and retrieved his sheathed sword. He unsheathed it and looked at Elias.
“I do want to tell you Sendiil is not one to be tested. There’s often consequences both good and bad that we never could’ve figured. He has a way of doing things that are completely misunderstood or not understood at all and always surprising. I thank Him everyday that His love for us reaches beyond our understanding else I worry I may not be sitting here with you on many accounts.”
With sword in hand he stretched his arm out so Elias could see the whole of it’s length, “As I said, some things happen more consistently. One of those is Sendiil’s Light. It’s only failed me a few times and trust me it was best that it did.”
“Lord send me your light!”
The full length of the blade illuminated in a white light. Elias had to shield his eyes at first but the light pulsated and lessened to a manageable luminosity. Something else happened, Elias heard a hissing sound all around him and was instantly up and wielding Eldin.
“Elias, it’s just the Miasma.”
“What? I’ve never heard Miasma hiss at me.”
He bellowed this time, “It’s not hissing at you. You see like most things here on Fray it’s all representative of how far the people have turned from Sendiil. Apostasies. The Miasma wasn’t always here, nor the weather so merciless. The land that Sendiil created as a refuge for us after the fall is crying out because we are lost,” he looked mourned.
“I assume you’ve crossed paths with a few Veran. How did you fare?” His question was leading but Elias answered regardless.
“Well I survived, but nothing seemed to fend them off long enough before they came right back at me,” His blades slid into their sheaths without a sound and he sat back down.
“This light will cut through Miasma and Veran alike. It’s holy, and symbolic of our time here on Fray. We are the light Elias, the light in a very dark world.”
“You’re the light Prophet,” he closed the conversation.
Prophet’s eyes steadied on the flames again letting the light go out on his blade. The planters may never see the harvest, he thought.