When dawn came, the light spilled across the forest, washing over the lake. He looked at the golden rays, noticing the clarity that the sun brought. It reminded him of the amethyst light from years ago, the very first light when he himself was made. It also reminded him of the emerald glow that just gave him his newfound clarity, that just remade his body. Big… yellow light… creator? he thought, pondering whether the sun would turn green again. The morning light awoke the forest: its beasts, the birds, and even the very trees themselves. The trees creaked, while the birds began tweeting their beautiful songs. The crack of a branch hitting the ground echoed dully across the lake. Slowly, Skellington began to move, the fish around him quickly darting away, no doubt wondering why the strange boulder came to life.
He arose like an old, creaky post, the sand and sediment sliding off his bones like the sands of an hourglass. His old, tattered robes, now thoroughly caked in algae, danced in the water like ghosts of the past. Slowly, he raised himself, his head and shoulders breaching the water as he stood. Both his shoulder pauldrons and the iron chainmail he had worn were entirely gone, shattered by the giant, the pieces no doubt strewn about the lake. Only his iron-plated boots and scaled gauntlets remained of his armor, and the ghostly black cloth. Water dribbled off him as he stood taller, causing gentle ripples across the surface. The sounds of the forest were the first thing that hit him. The birdsongs under the water were one thing, but now their clarity pierced the forest like a cool morning breeze. He looked around for a long while, noticing the massive grey trees reaching into the sky, the red birds hopping from branch to branch, and the ground, covered in an ancient layer of moss. He ran his gauntleted hand through the water before peering back up at the forest, the bushes and the trees.
Water sloshed as he slowly stepped forward, taking his very first real steps. Step after step, he kept staring up at the forest, completely lost in awe. Another bird flew right past him, landing gracefully on a nearby branch not far from him, its vibrant red feathers shining in the morning sun. He thought about the fish, about the birds, and now, himself. He looked back to the lake, seeing his own reflection in the water. Creature?… Me?
He then stepped onto the mossy soil, analyzing how it squished softly under his boots. He reached down, poking at the moss with an armoured finger. He plucked a small piece off, inspecting the white and green tuft as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, squeezing it between his fingers. Everything was utterly new to him, everything utterly awe-inspiring. With an infantile curiosity, he felt the ground beneath his feet, noting how his boots crunched when he took a step. He grabbed a small pebble, curiously testing its weight in his hand. He reached for a small stick on his right, holding it out towards the sun. There was a small black ant crawling on it, walking from the stick right onto Skellington’s gauntlet. With the same keen curiosity as before, he inspected the tiny soldier marching on his digits. It crawled further up his hand towards his forearm, but Skellington put a finger in front, carefully letting the ant crawl onto his other hand. He took the ant as gently as he could, placing his hand onto the ground, letting the ant go its own merry way. There was something about that little ant that reminded him of himself. Small, fragile, and part of something bigger.
“Goodbye, little creature,” he rasped, testing his voice for the very first time. It sounded like stones grinding against each other, certainly nothing like the birds singing above him.
Just as he turned his head upwards, he spotted something glinting in the morning sun. Amongst the moss and roots, there it sat, having lain in the very same spot for many, many seasons—his old blade. It was rusty, chipped, resting peacefully in the damp, soft moss. Skellington reached for the sword, slowly wrapping his bony fingers around the hilt, his gauntlet clacking. He had dropped it the moment he was hit by the giant, years ago. Holding the sword brought back the memories of the giant, and the girl he was chasing. A warrior? He thought, staring at the rusty blade, a relic of the past.
The World Stones 