The knight had heard of the mythical phoenix before. A legend older than maybe even mankind itself; the tale of a great egg from the sky, hatching, and giving birth to a great god of the new world. A creature of everlasting life and infinite rebirth, a true immortal being of pure power and fire, and now, he knew it to be true. He stared at the downscaled rendition of the king of these lands, and one of the few champions of the planet to be above the great giants of old, in wonder. It was even more magnificent now, the great complexity of the magnificent sun of fire, and the seemingly impossible number of eyes across the unparalleled wingspan of the titan winged flame.
While the knight gazed in awe, the bird that now seemed insignificant in both size and power, looked at his father in reverence. Its black orbs stared at the small fire creation and clacked its beak together, as though trying to talk to the reaction of his father–maybe even trying to express some greater emotion in the language the knight could not understand, but he would never know. The bird quickly after, dispelled the image of the forest, and the extraordinary creature followed suit not long after. The fire had quelled, receding back to its previous form as but a sputtering mess as the pyrokinetic burn across from the knight loosened his control through the progressive rescission of his iron-clad will over the fire.
Now the pair hung in a silence, both standing tall, both equally ginormous compared to the rest of their respective species. The knight was unsure of what he would do in this situation. As a boy, his mother had whispered faint tales of the phoenix–though those memories had faded long ago–only the idea of them remained, but now he held the idea in his hands with reverence. He had a chance to meet an actual myth–a true legend of the globe he walked on, something so magnificent it transcended the continent it had lived on since it fell from the heavens–despite the twins never interacting with one another before the plot of his life climaxed. Now the crossroads were apparent–but that didn't stop the nagging expression that there was a deep-seated problem with the coma: what had caused an immortal, ever-powerful flame that never waned, to dampen so? In a fireproof forest, the fire itself didn't exist–and the phoenix at the heart slept.
"How has your father fallen so?" The echoing words of the knight passed through the helmet and carried to the bird's ears easily despite his quiet tone, which he had spoken with for longer than he could remember. It tilted its head to the left, never taking its eyes off the knight, then shifted to the left, once again, never blinking as it stared into the knight's soul–as if judging the man–if he was worthy of such information.
Shrieking a caw, the bird manipulated the small fire into a set of characters in front of the knight, with a simple phrasing that could not quite be called a sentence, "people, two, entered; cast spell–father fell sleep ahfter." The knight had to put a little bit of effort into fully understanding the bird's slightly broken sentence and spelling, but got a good enough idea of what was trying to be conveyed. Two people strolled into the forest, and somehow caught the legendary Phoenix in a moment that could only be described as having its pants down and forcing the Emperor into heel before putting it to sleep. There was a certain inclining of an idea as to who did this–but the knight shook away the creeping, and quickly darkening ideas away, instead he continued with his initial question with a small stream of questions that both helped the knight get a fairly more accurate depiction of what he was going to need to do to wake this Father of the bird standing frigidly in front of him, and to sate his curiosity.
"How long has the phoenix been asleep?"
The question was met by haphazard characters reforming into a horizontal line of fire then retreating into the form of new characters creating a new broken sentence, "Before me–ancient attack," The knight blinked at that. This creature–if what he thought to be correct was indeed correct–this massive, fire-breathing raven was young–perhaps not by regular standards, but this creature was young in some form. If this attack was indeed considered 'ancient' then it was clear to him that he was beyond even that most likely. After filing the small piece of information away, the knight continued.
"Why haven't you tried to wake up your father on your own?"
"Can't."
"And why can't you go to the floating island."
"Many reasons"
"Well, what is the main reason why?"
"Trapped. Umor and Shreifaya." That had given the knight pause for a moment. There was a lot to unpack in the simple wording of the phrase presented. Being trapped could maybe make sense, seeing as the phoenix was trapped on the floating island, so maybe this typhoon of chaotic fire and cinder was trapped in this layer. Then there were the names: Shreifaya and Umor, who were these two? As on queue, a shudder ran through the world itself, starting from the top of the nest running down, and far off to the left of the knight, the entrance of the hollow section of the tree lit up with light–white light, or really white fire. He stared at the outside for a moment, letting the traces of heat that radiated the world fill him for the first time–it felt nice, almost correct as he calculated his actions, mobilized theories, and began planning, but was drawn back to the fire when a new message was formed.
"They fight day and night since father fell." That was a bit alarming. The fire that energized the forest was brought by the two called Umor and Shreifaya, and they had been fighting above the canopy since the phoenix had entered its eternal coma. It left him wondering just how strong these two were–or rather, are as he was painfully reminded of their continued existence when a rather loud boom followed the fumble of his own words coming from high above–the heat radiating off of that attack leaving him sweating in discomfort. The trickles of sweat made their way down his body, but were quickly expunged when they got absorbed into the padding underneath the armor–thankfully. The knight gathered his thoughts into a single collective and started asking the serious questions.
"How would I go about waking up such a creature–waking a comatose phoenix is not something I have ever done before." He could've worded it better, but that was not the problem currently, that was the main question that needed to be answered–he had an inkling of what it could possibly entail–but that depended on something that the knight did not know how to do–so when he saw the very thing he had considered in front of him, he was not exactly thrilled.
"Rebirth. New beginning to life." The knight had a task of the improbable odds against him. How do you slay a slumbering god? He had slayed creatures that resembled gods–even the weakened form of a great nightmare that resembled an evil–vile, and disgusting god–yet even that false creature of many faces was but a shadow of a god–maybe even less than that, considering all shadows are creatures of boundless power–yet are bound. What a conflicting idea.
Back on topic, the knight asked one of his final questions, "How would one such as myself even attempt to end the life of a god." If his voice wasn't so quiet, it might've sounded taunting, or maybe distainful–which was maybe immature considering that the bird across from him was much younger than he was, but that didn't stop the fixtures hanging at his eye level from shifting into something new.
"Guidance." The singular word disturbed the knight. The titan wing in front of him was aware of the figure that created the absolute law of death. Suddenly, the creature resembled something far more ancient than it likely was. The intelligence that was already so deep seemed inconsequential compared to the glimpse the knight saw; like a lake to an ocean. Was this truly the same creature he had been dialoguing with since he had awoken from his own slumber brought from exhaustion and extreme heat. The once black eyes of the creature seemed almost indigo now in the orange flames summoned by said creature. This was not the same creature.
Frozen, the knight looked akin to that of a shadow of an unmoving thing–a fixture, desolate, unnervingly so. Yet somehow he was not as desolate as the eyes of the cinder lord, which had become reciprocal to what they once were.
It all happened in a blur. The bird's eyes were ablaze for a moment, and then they weren't. The weird–almost cosmic feel the avian one gave off receded, back underneath the tidal wave of feathers. It was so purposeful for a few faint moments–then it receded. It was like it was infinite–it was nearly dystopian in its gaze; all seeing. Then it wasn't. The more familiar curious gaze of the raven returned–yet that didn't allow the knight any form of comfort, and what was formed in words after that didn't quell those emotions.
"Father has spoken" The words were so simple, but the meaning was not lost on the knight. The Guidance had orchestrated this event, just as he would for many other events moving into the future, so this was his duty if he wished for the embrace he so desperately clawed for. This was his punishment, and now he knew that the one in front of him was so strong, so expansive, so entrenched in these lands–it could inhabit the inhabitants of the lands it ruled. This was all planned. How long had it taken all the dominos to be placed in such a way where the knight could simply steam roll through them all in one swift charge? It was all too perfect; too linear.
Mind racing, the knight thawed under the vastly less intimidating gaze of the raven, leading directly to visible slum in his shoulders, and an almost elated feeling filled him as the presence receded.
'Is that what it means to be a singular existence?' He could never try to understand a god in existence–let alone the One who created it. Such a thing would take such an expansive amount of time and would definitely lose whatever remained of his mind and turn into some rabid animal in the process–but that didn't stop him from wondering what it was like to be one that could command the world on a whim–but he was quickly thrown back on track by another set of letters sculpted in fire blazed into reality in front of him.
"Father waits. We go now." The knight had not a moment to react when the raven lunged toward the knight, maw wide–ready to leave the cavernous room of wood with the knight. In nothing longer than a moment, the knight was held gingerly in the creature's beak before quickly being placed onto the raven's enormous back. All the knight could see was a sea of black feathers, the sheen of maroon they gave off somehow still present despite the darkness that had enveloped him after being forcefully removed from the fire summoned. It smelt faintly of cinder and radiated a warmth that could only be present due to the great well of fire stored inside of it. The knight could've curled up onto his back, and taken a nap for quite a few hours if his mind wasn't still strangling all the strange facts he had learned; forcing them into submission, yet they still somehow rampaged in his mind, consuming the front of his thoughts.
'Then there's Umor and Shreifaya–whatever they are, they aren't going to make this any easier.'
The raven crawled its way out of the cavern quickly. Its large steps rattled the knight and the open air itself–which stole him from his thoughts like a thief in the night. Though that was all drowned out by the deafening, the bird let out as it emerged from its home, and into the outside world of the insulated plain. It was bright out recently. The flames of the two incomparable creatures the knight had been only vaguely aware of previously powering the very forest in entirety with their long–incongruous battle waged through the ages and eras, passed the eons and into a time peace–a peace created through the blood of all–but a peace nonetheless.
As the world outside flashed with color again, the raven unfurled its wings and spread them as far as they could go–but to the knight it looked more like giant blocks of shadow erupted from the flash of light, revealing pieces of obsidian so dense, so black, they seemed to exist independently from the light. In the pinch of the moment, he did get a vague understanding of how long the avifauna's wing span was after a few more moments; he was almost elated to see the creatures wings were only half the size of the elders, the one whose wings were said to create winds so powerful they blew over towns in a few precise moments–he could personally vouch for that. Then they flapped. It looked slow to the knight, completely incomparable to the speed the terribly upscaled creature had displayed not much earlier. Then another flap of its wings. Gusts were beginning to build up around the creature, before, finally, the hyper intelligent avian took off.