Doomsayer

The stars above held the answer, he knew it.

Each and every night, after even the most catatonic of Veterans had hit the hay, the Doomsayer walked alone. Under the moonlight's gleaming shadows, he traveled to the outskirts of the town to watch the stars above, sometimes for hours at a time. Forever unreachable, forever unattainable in their cosmic glory, The Doomsayer listened tentatively at the stories they held, The deaths they foretold, the futures they weaved. After hours had passed, after his eyes grew tired and his fingers numb from the cold, he would tear his eyes away from the dark horizons and trudge back to his shabby cottage, spinning his dials with a heavy sigh, signaling the rising of another sun.

Sometimes, he wondered why he was on this earth at all. Alas, he was just a mere mortal, trapped under the heaviest of cosmos, chained to a dying world. Doomed to die, as all mortals must.

Day after day, under the heavy cosmos of planets in the sky and the wary gaze of the Old Ones each night, the Doomsayer walked. He felt the world spun under her feet as he raised her lantern towards the sleepy citizens of Salem, its faint glow illuminating the walls that trapped her in this worldly prison as she exited civilization. He heard the whisper of cosmic voices weave through his ears as he charted the stars each night, looking for an answer in every flash, a message in every comet. Night after night, however, he found only the same repeated patterns. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changed. And at this rate, nothing ever will.

One faithful night, after a furious downpour had drenched the grass and the entire world seemed to be drowning in rainwater, the Doomsayer was ready to give up his search and move on. If we are all doomed to die, she thought, what was the point searching for purpose? Aren't we all just specks of dust in the wind, doomed to a pitiful existence from the start? Packing up her charts, collapsing her telescope, the Doomsayer sighed once more, ready to trudge back and turn his dial for what he believed would be the last time.

But then, just as he was about to leave... he noticed something. A comet, in the sky, trailing longer than one ever had. Barely noticeable to those unattuned, but fortunately for him, he was not an average mortal. Quickly setting up his tools once more, the Doomsayer held his breath as he turned her scope to the heavens once more.

A band of stars north, fading away as he turned her gaze. A comet flew past, trailing straight to Jupiter. Another flash, this time south. To an ordinary observer, this would appear to be a normal occurrence. But to the Doomsayer, this was a signal: one that beckoned every fiber of his being towards the stars above, one carving out a hollowing, beautiful prophecy that only he could see. It was directed at him, he was sure of it-- why would the Old Ones ever ignore someone as faithful to their cause as him? Barely able to breathe, he slowly turned away from the stars to the breeze, which had suddenly gone silent.

A thought occurred. All those sleepless nights of stargazing... all those years of astronomical tracking, they hadn't been a waste in the slightest. Clearly, the Old Ones had noticed him: not even fate themselves could ignore such a calling from a mortal. As she took one more gaze at the town below the cliffside, fire suddenly flickered in every streetlamp, confirming what he had already believed.

He would be the Old Ones' vessel-- their visionary, their servant, their pioneer. He would be their mortal guide: carry out fate as fate intended, ensure that everything in the cosmos was as balanced as could be. He had been chosen for a reason: this was his purpose, this was his destiny.

As the Doomsayer gleefully walked back home, he heard a voice whisper, so ever faintly, in his ear.

"Mortals."

"Doomed to die... as all things do."

"Doomed to die... as all things must."

"Doomed to die... by your hand alone."

For the first time in a long time, the Doomsayer smiled.