The Wild

"Golden leaves falling

Silvery drops from a grey sky

The trees fade, the mushrooms rise

They eat from the summer's demise

Summer falls, and life grows silent..."

Totema, pages flowing and books flying, information everywhere; it was here where Darkness and Veda met once more for a nice discussion over recent events, as well as a new problem.

"Tell me more great-grandfather Veda, I want to know more..." Darkness stood before Veda, "I want to hear more about this entity of which you have spoken..."

"Darknesssss... My child... It isss beyond your grasssp." Veda stated, "You cannot go there to gaze upon it... Not even I can, but you can take in the mental image of it."

"Beauty still lingers

Fiery leaves, wild splendor--

Covering signs of that age-old period--

Yield, for that is what it wants..."

"But then what is it? What is it that plagues the Secrets; that makes us weak and our power stint?" Darkness begged his grandfather.

"Ah, that... It sssingsss to you doesss it not? Sssounding much like a sssong? The Earth ccertainly hasss the noissesss that you hear, but it comesss from another sssourcce..."

"Yes, please tell me, with the defeat of Evil and Uncle Zied, this sound suddenly plagues us."

"It is nothing but fateful...

The signs aren't at rest,

Time, history's tomb.

Wistful and wild,

Resentment but the new tale."

"Fear for yourssself and your sssiblingsss Darknessss, I cannot protect you from what you hear." Veda answered, "There isss little that can ssstop what you hear; but it will come for you; it goesss for what it wantsss... There isss no ssstopping the almighty creator... A piecce of She-Who-Does-Nothing."

"She-Who-Does-Nothing? Who might that be?"

"No... I cannot answer that." Veda spoke perfectly, "I fear now I may have spoken too much my child, for you cannot know Her name. Should she even care to strike me down, I may find myself in a... Rather dire predicament; until we meet again Darkness, my child..." Veda faded.

"Please... We need help..." Darkness looked down at the ground, not paying attention to the words etched upon the ground; before he too suddenly vanished back to his home.

"The legacy yields--

Finally, so it can repose...

Rest, but do not struggle, 

The burgeoning earth, listening...

It comes, sounding of these

A symphony of nature...

Prepared to bury another chronicle."