The night breeze feathered his cheeks, ruffled his hair as he glided at top speed. Heedless of obstructing underwood and the shaggy surface of the forest nagging his sandals, he was still maintaining a good pace.

His lungs burned with every effort he made, expecting soon they would burst. But he wouldn't waste more time. The sooner, the better. He had to get there on time.

With only the dim light issued from the feeble lamp, he followed the path leading into the farthest corner of the woods. No sounds were audible other than the soft clink of metals from the lamp, and the unrelenting whizzes of unknown creatures that might be lurking in the shadows of the towering trees, perhaps, waiting for the right time to pounce on him.

Several times he glanced over his shoulders, half expecting a track of pursuit, but the stillness of the night would only give him a response.

Before long, he was staring at the mouth of a cave just under the feet of Mt. Azlar. He paused, kneeling on the ground, feeling the wet mud sending chills into his body. He placed one hand on his chest, trying to catch his breath. He got up, retrieving the lamp from the ground, then observed the eerie soundless surrounding-still no clue of other courses.

He trod toward the mouth of the cave and held out a rectangle wooden box from his pocket robe. Inside, he checked the needed stuff to access the realm of the prophet. They were all intact. He placed the box on both palms, holding it like a human sacrifice upon entering the cave.

As soon as he set his foot inside, a strange sensation overwhelmed him. He felt warm, cold, sad, happy, sweet, bitter, sour, and all other senses simultaneously. Different thoughts swallowed him; forgotten memories played on his mind like a film show.

Suddenly, he stood on a deserted beach, feet buried in the soft, warm sand. Where did his sandals go? It took a moment before he realized he was wearing nothing else. He was totally naked! But that didn't matter. He had heard his story, the reputation, and how powerful he was.

The sun stood high above him, shouting the arrival of midday. Although he could feel the heat from the sun, the sea breeze felt icy. Goose pimples rose all over his unclothed body. He folded his arms, rubbing his palms against his sides for warmth. But it did little good.

Did it matter?

It all felt like a dream.

"Perhaps, more than a dream," a voice said from behind.

Turning, he saw a headless figure wearing a crimson robe accentuated with golden fur at the collar. He wondered whether he was really headless, or it could be just invisible.

"You know nothing about the story. But it will do no good if you ever learned," the man with a missing head uttered. His voice was clear and deep. "Here, what you experience doesn't matter. I can make you see things depending how I want them to appear in your eyes. That includes how we look now. But in this moment, I suppose you have to witness what has become of my appearance."

"What?" the naked man replied befuddled.

"Mortals can be somehow dull under any circumstances. Don't confuse yourself with the trivial thoughts you are wondering. I can effortlessly access your mind than taking another step," the prophet said. "Shall we proceed on your reasons?"

"Right, I'm sorry," he retorted like waking up in a trance. He paused, considering the body of a missing head. "Aren't you supposed to know why I came here?"

"I do," he said. "I know everything you know, everything you intend to convey upon me, but I cannot be certain until your decision is made. Feel free to utter anything we might be able to come up for an agreement."

He paused and took a deep breath. No other opportunities would be able to come like this. He had traveled so far, almost stumbling to death. He had fought so much for this moment to become a reality. Many had sacrificed their lives trying to end the tyranny.
Many had fought and failed. This was the only help they could get! He felt the future of the whole world was on his shoulders. Many people had suffered, suffering, and will suffer. But he had a real chance to help set things right.

It shouldn't fail.

"Once the prophecy is uttered, there will be no turning back," the headless man expressed, both hands on his back.

"I know, but I've decided a long time ago," he said solemnly.

"Yet you know the consequences."

"I'm aware,"

"You sure?"

"I better be."

"That would settle then." The headless prophet waved a hand.

In a blink, the deserted beach gave way to a dilapidated chamber that seemed like an ancient cell of a prisoner-the walls marked with unbeknownst writings, drawings, and other foreign symbols. On the far end, there stood an altar, built like a cemented coffin box.

The headless prophet materialized on the other end of the altar, beckoning him to come.

He lumbered his way to where the prophet motioned him to. The frigid cemented floor, kissing his bare feet felt unusually soothing on his bare body. Weird, the smell loitering in the air was like the aroma of an old book.

"Lie down," the voice of the prophet uttered inside of his head.

He wondered if he could still hear him even if he cupped both ears with his hands.

He complied otherwise.

The no-headed seer faced him down. He noticed that his upper body bent a little forward, so he'd assumed his head regarded his.

The stone beneath him felt uncomfortably cold which he hadn't expected. Why the cement floor wasn't this uncomfortable? Lying there undressed was nothing unusual. He didn't even feel embarrassed. But what gave him a strange feeling was his instinct, giving him a clue that something he had wished for so long would finally come true at any moment.

"Any last word?" the prophet asked with a little courtesy.

"I have a question," he said. "Where did my clothes go?"

The headless body chuckled. He thought it was odd to see and hear a giggle from a body without the head to normally perform the action.

"This realm separates everything from the physical world except to those things you naturally owned. Thus, any physical materials outside of this realm cannot navigate here," he recited. "Your naked body represents the vulnerability of your mysteries. No secrets are hidden. Only the truth will prevail. And only the freedom to speak your longing desires."

"What about the offering?" he challenged.

"It serves as a key to access this realm. Again, it cannot venture here. The offering is also used to anchor this place from beyond," he explained. "Otherwise, it would be such a lonely world for me."

For a brief moment, he felt he might say something important. But he couldn't tell. It was in his head, yet he couldn't figure out how to form it into words.

"Don't try it," the prophet interrupted. "You have come this far. And our sacrifice would at least give hope to everyone."

"Our sacrifice?"

"Yes, it is for all."

He couldn't think of anything to say further, so he just nodded. "What now?"

"Close your eyes," the prophet suggested. "The ritual should be done swiftly."

The prophet held up his both palms at the ceiling and pronounced unintelligible noises. A moment later, the whole chamber was lit by a complex surge of purple sparks.

In the middle of strong waves of energy, sure did, a whisper would be heard, "For Atlantians."

The ground shuddered with the finality of sooner to be a forgotten tomb. Outside the cave, up to the starless sky, and moonless night, there came a great wrath from a growling thunder: an epitome for the arrival of a hero.