The Trinity
Prologue
“How can we be sure he even exists?”
“I have translated the texts in my lab to the best of my ability. If he doesn’t exist, then there is no way that we are who we think we are,”
“I know,” he said, looking at Altaron, “but sometimes it doesn’t feel like he exists,”
“Be patient, the prophecies are very vague, Nanord.” He said dully.
Altaron glanced around the room and a flood of memories were brought back as he recalled the period of time—atleast three thousand years before this one—when he put up the very walls that they were surrounded by. He remembered a time without Nanord.
“There was a time,” he said, methodically, “when I thought it was going to be only me.”
“You aren’t that much older than me,” Nanord replied.
“No, but I didn’t meet you until I was already in my current form, only two thousand years go.”
“Irrelevant,” he replied.
“Listen to me, he will arrive. I know my translations are accurate, and even if they were off, these pictures don’t lie,” Altaron said, holding up one of the scrolls.
“Three figures. Not one. Not two. Three.”
“Yeah, I get the concept of numbers. I know he’s coming. I’m just done with the wait, that’s all I mean, let it go.”
“Very well,” Altaron replied.
Nanord walked out of the lodge and made his way into his cart, to go into central Oakleaf and socialize, one of his favorite pastimes. Though Nanord was an elite being, and over two thousand years old, he was in the form of a sixteen year old boy—which is how he acted much of the time. He spent most of his downtime socializing, and even occasionally pulling a prank or two.
Altaron on the other hand—conceived close to six thousand years ago spent much of his time studying in his lab. He had a sense of humor, but work came first to Altaron.
Altaron pulled up his sleeve, revealing his wrist-watch and tapped it three times, immediately taking him directly to his lab, in the heart of Oakleaf. He pressed the button and stepped in to the enormous elevator leading that would take him underground into his lab, and he began his studies for the day.
“I have translated the texts in my lab to the best of my ability. If he doesn’t exist, then there is no way that we are who we think we are,”
“I know,” he said, looking at Altaron, “but sometimes it doesn’t feel like he exists,”
“Be patient, the prophecies are very vague, Nanord.” He said dully.
Altaron glanced around the room and a flood of memories were brought back as he recalled the period of time—atleast three thousand years before this one—when he put up the very walls that they were surrounded by. He remembered a time without Nanord.
“There was a time,” he said, methodically, “when I thought it was going to be only me.”
“You aren’t that much older than me,” Nanord replied.
“No, but I didn’t meet you until I was already in my current form, only two thousand years go.”
“Irrelevant,” he replied.
“Listen to me, he will arrive. I know my translations are accurate, and even if they were off, these pictures don’t lie,” Altaron said, holding up one of the scrolls.
“Three figures. Not one. Not two. Three.”
“Yeah, I get the concept of numbers. I know he’s coming. I’m just done with the wait, that’s all I mean, let it go.”
“Very well,” Altaron replied.
Nanord walked out of the lodge and made his way into his cart, to go into central Oakleaf and socialize, one of his favorite pastimes. Though Nanord was an elite being, and over two thousand years old, he was in the form of a sixteen year old boy—which is how he acted much of the time. He spent most of his downtime socializing, and even occasionally pulling a prank or two.
Altaron on the other hand—conceived close to six thousand years ago spent much of his time studying in his lab. He had a sense of humor, but work came first to Altaron.
Altaron pulled up his sleeve, revealing his wrist-watch and tapped it three times, immediately taking him directly to his lab, in the heart of Oakleaf. He pressed the button and stepped in to the enormous elevator leading that would take him underground into his lab, and he began his studies for the day.