Eternal Fire

There once was a man who belonged in legends and myths. He had a story – his story – that he told any passerby who were willing to listen. Of course, nobody ever believed him, thought he was insane – he told them he was immortal.

The man came to this tavern in the middle of the woods. He would come inside and asked for some ale. The innkeeper was frightened by him, for he saw that the man carried a bright torch in his greasy palm as he walked in. He thought the man was going to burn down his tavern.

But no, it was the strangest thing. The man told the innkeeper that he was not able to put out the fire of the torch, even if he wanted to. He said that he understood the innkeeper’s dilemma therefore he only asked that the innkeeper to bring him the ale outside to the tree outside where he will sit. The innkeeper agreed.

One day, the southern cold Wind came, curious of the immortal man. The Wind approached him, hovering above the tree, leading the cold freezing gust over the fire of the torch.

“Who are you to claim immortality?” The Wind asked.

But the man merely laughed:

“Condemn me as a liar all you want, I speak the truth.”

“I am the storms and the tornados, these gusts of wind had traveled far and wide. A being from the mortal world possessing heavenly qualities – such a curious encounter. These hurricanes command you to tell me your truth. What proof is there that mankind should believe your words?”

The man stared into the endless space above him, the Wind was thick, he could barely make out the stars or the moon. He felt the air roaming about, singing their songs from the southern lands; songs of both the dead and the living – their whispers, their voices. He knew then that it was not something to be taken lightly.  

“I do have proof!” The man bellowed to where the stars dwelt, “Behold! The scar beneath my forearm was carved unto my skin after my heroic bout against a fiery demon thousands of years ago. I wouldn’t have survived if the angels above me did not bless me of this curse that keeps my soul away from Death. Look at it! ‘Tis the sign of their blessings, see how the scars merge with the skin? Like a golden needle sewing a line of silk thread into a vulgar mortal piece of leather, keeping it from falling apart. Ask for thy mighty wind to traverse the planes of the underworld where that demon dwells, ask him of my tale, he will reveal the truth.”

The wind did not speak – silent. Not even a sound from their songs was heard. He understood then that the Wind wanted more.

“Behold!” He said, “See this mark on my forearm, an ancient mark of dark alchemy. ‘Tis the dark mark of the ghosts of the House of Abandonment. Look! Look upon it ye wise and mighty, see with your omniscient eyes the marks of the shadows, see its pain and excruciating agony of the deceased. They have been gone from this world many years ago. I was the only one left who lived to tell the tale. Ask for thy mighty wind to traverse the planes of the afterlife where the shadows dwells, ask them of my tale, they will reveal the truth.”

Once again, not even a cold breeze passed by. The mighty hurricane of the Wind was silent. The man knew all too well what he must do.

“You are a skeptical one I see, well that be the case then BEHOLD! The Immortal Flame!” He held up the torch in his hand, the fired burned furiously, “Everyone has a torch that they must burn, a responsibility. This here is mine. You see the fire here. The way it burns. Stronger than steel, mightier than the stones, calmer than the seas. Never once doused, never once dimmed, no rain could vanquish it, no storm could blow it away. Do you feel it? The roaring of the flames, loud like the heart of a lion. Each beat like a war drum on the bloodiest, most vile battlefield. This is the Heart of Fire, MY HEART. Ask for thy mighty wind to conjure a hurricane, a storm, you will see that the fire burns with fury, it cannot be extinguished.”

But what the Immortal man failed to realize was the roaring of the Wind. It was the authority of a higher force, heavenly almost. The howl of the Wind tore through the leaves and the trees. Their symphonies raised mountains from the sand. The Immortal man finally saw its magnificent power devouring his ego and arrogance.

“I finally understand,” the Wind said, “you keep yourself alive by telling yourself these lies, these stories to glorify your own ego. The delusion of grandeur, the illusions from the real world separates you from reality. Such arrogance… is revolting. No angels would bless a crooked man with an ego like this, no demons would steal from a man who has nothing. You are not of the Dark nor of the Light, you are Chaos. Out of place, out of order, you have no place in the afterlife, no place in this mortal plane, doomed to oblivion. Lies, LIES! Can’t you feel it? This is a false life you are living, your fire have no passion, no willpower, NOTHING… nothing of worth.”

The Immortal man hearing these words were furious, he spilled his mead all over the snow and the trees and shouted into the heavenly sky his arrogant rage and ferocious vehemence:

“Just you wait! My fire burns more strongly than ever. This is the fire of my heart, this is the Heart of Fire, MY HEART! You will see that I speak the truth, in 100 years from this day, I shall return to this place and I shall show you my immortality. You shall see that my fire cannot be doused, only a heavenly effort can destroy my fire. You will see, I will make sure of it, you will see!”

But the Wind only replied:

“No… no I won’t…”

The man could hear the songs, the songs of the Wind. Songs of liberation – he felt tired, as if no longer desiring to cling onto this life. He wanted to sleep, because the last thing he saw was the weakening fire of his torch. And just like that, with a single cold breath of Wind – the flame was no more.