Hundreds of life sized statues lined the Hall of Heroes. In the gloom of the great hall, an old man strolled along its burnished brown tiles, wearing his white robes of state, indicating that he was in the king’s service.
The statues each glowed in the light from the moon streaming through the stained glass dome above, making them appear ghostly. Each one depicted a champion in Nusalle’s history. As king’s chronicler, he had met most of them.
There was Tonunda the Savage, a feral man brought up by dogs; the Forgotten One, a champion with the strength of five. There was Civa, a rooftop tumbler and Zorava, a pirate who became the admiral of the Nusallean navy to name but a few.
He paused for a moment in front of a peculiar likeness; the one which had had the largest impact on his life.
He grasped the stone hand of his friend. The likeness was a soldier from over a millennium into the future, bearing a weapon which he called a “rifle.”
Looking down at the black band on his wrist, the scribe saw numbers shift continually on the circular face. It was a gift which the soldier had given him and there was another; a small complete Bible, which had taught him much of his God.
The soldier of the future had told him of the love of Christ and now he knew that he had a place in the Kingdom of Heaven.
Parting with him was difficult, especially when he learned that men in the future knew nothing of Nusalle’s heroes. The young soldier pledged that he would scribe their tales and tell all that his world once existed when he returned to his own time.
The old scribed guffawed. Would he indeed he thought?
The chronicler sighed deeply, thinking that he had wasted enough time on his musings; it was time to get back to work. Walking into his office, he seated himself at his desk. Candles were lit all around the room, bathing it in golden light. For a moment, he placed his hand on top of the Bible left there, thumbing the edges of the pages fondly.
Checking that his quill was sharpened, he dipped it in the ink pot before setting the nib to the unfurled parchment in front of him…
I, Togullen, chronicler to our king, "Olleton the Wise" of Nusalle, hereby scribe the final chapter in Nusalle’s history.
Since the time of the war with the Vindavians, much good has happened. Natas has been vanquished, but I have lived on this earth long enough to know that defeating one head of evil is not enough; another will always sprout to take its place. Another war would have inevitably threatened, but many of us have now embraced Jesus as our Lord and savior, and thus we now know peace at last.
Three more statues now grace the Hall of Heroes. Two who have risen among our ranks locally but the third is a soldier from the future. I know now that God had sent him to us to tell us of the Kingdom of Heaven. Many of us have come to believe, and thus many of us have a place in the Kingdom.
His statue stands as tribute, the one which bears the oddly shaped scepter with which he could wield the power of “thunder.”
It seems odd that I should miss the young man. He will not be born for over a thousand years, yet I know that God watches over him in his time, just as He watches over me in mine.
Did he write about us as he vowed; perhaps? Of this we cannot be sure, but of one thing I am certain; we will see each other again.
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