The Midnight Clock

[Elorathall]

The wyrm crumbles. The wall cracks.
The old endure. The young fade.
Ignorant still of the price to pay.

Day begins its inevitable descent.
The clock strikes the first hour.
It must never be allowed to strike midnight.

[Elorathall]

He couldn’t breathe. The weight on his back pressed him down into the mud. He gasped and coughed as the tide rolled into his lungs. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs had cramped beyond use, and he sank further.

“Leave him. He became complacent. Weak. Don’t pity him for a moment. It is their lot to sink. He would drag you down with him if he could. Only the strong will stand. Only the strong will earn their rightful place.”

Soon after, he was nothing more than a bloated carcass, left to inspire those he once thought friends.

The clock speeds up.