A Quest Born of Desperation
Jonas had been a wanderer long before he became infamous in the eyes of the warring kingdoms. Once a farmer's son from the Southern Hills, he had chosen exile after his village was razed by the iron-clad armies of the Imperial Voskar League. As embers blackened the sky, Jonas found his boyhood torn away, leaving behind a single truth: survival would demand ruthlessness.
Years later, a chance encounter on the spice-scented markets of Amalyn changed everything. Authora, an elusive mapmaker garbed in translucent indigo veils, handed him an inscribed vellum parchment holding the secret to a Vahlteran relic. The gauntlet was rumored to grant its bearer dominion over their future self: not just foresight, but the power to bend their intentions into reality. It was said to make ordinary humans into gods and to warp their actions into consequences yet unknown. Jonas doubted such possibilities... until he glimpsed the intricate sigil pulsing on the map. Something ancient trembled in his chest, demanding he chase answers and ambition—for once, shouting louder than his fears.
The quest eventually brought him into conflict with Silas Kyne, a brilliant but morally ambiguous historian who sought the gauntlet as a weapon for reshaping kingless borders and neutering the gilded claws of empires. Their motivations clashed, but both men, strangely, seemed united by grief—not hunger for power. Jonas could see it in Silas’s haunted eyes when their blades crossed under the lunar eclipse weeks before. Battle after battle, the men seemed to read each other’s hearts through steel and sweat. Jonas acted mercilessly today, yet he found himself mourning the only man who might have understood the burden he now carried.
The Gauntlet’s Mirror
A memory pierced his mind—the gory light of dawn after their latest battle. As Jonas stared into the metal gauntlet's reflective plate moments ago, he realized it did more than foresee or shape his actions: it showed him unspoken truths about himself. It didn’t merely confirm his ambitions but forced him to confront the hollow, broken places inside his will.
He remembered lifting the gauntlet an hour ago in triumph, only to flinch when it reflected the image of a younger boy—himself from long ago—trying to shield his mother from the Voskar raiders. That high-five he'd given his trembling reflection in the polished blade back then: an almost childish, defiant gesture of "We’ll survive. We'll fight because there’s nothing else." Why had that memory come back now?
The gauntlet seemed alive, mocking as much as urging him: "If you raise me here, atop the Zaharaan Peaks, you’ll see what’s waiting for you—a future that doesn’t forgive the blood you carry, Jonas."
The Rise of Hope—or Madness?
Jonas gritted his teeth, shaking off doubts. He would master the gauntlet; it would not master him. He raised it once more, meeting his reflection with a crooked, self-deprecating smile. “No backing down.” He slapped his hand against the reflective surface, an almost ridiculous mimicry of his own act years before.
The canyon seemed to shudder as rippling waves of mirage-like energy spilled from the artifact. Time appeared to fray and rearrange itself. For one blessed, impossible moment, Jonas saw a vision of the very things he desired most: hope for the damned, the rebuilding of kingdoms without architects warped by power, and—somehow—peace within his fractured, vengeful soul. He even glimpsed a younger Silas Kyne smirking at him with grudging respect under a twilight sky not yet broken by wars.
A tear stung his cheek, betraying him. "Impossible…" he murmured, barely noticing villagers beginning to emerge from their mountain caves far below, pointing skyward at the unbelievable auroras stretching across the heavens.
Jonas Tiro descended from that cliff a man both lionized and ostracized. The Reflection Gauntlet became known across the realms as both a weapon of great victory and an object that devoured the bearer’s peace of mind. His lime-green garb faded into legend, stories marking him as a loner, a madman, or a demigod.
A Final Question
Generations later, scholars debate which version of Jonas's intent was true: did he pursue power to fill his emptiness, or did he genuinely learn how to high-five the broken mirrors of himself? None can say for certain. Yet legend holds that the Zaharaan storms still align strangely with "green flashes and the smell of old sunrise" where the last of the Vahlteran relic lies buried.
Perhaps Jonas became his own worst fear. Or, perhaps... just perhaps, he finally found the freedom to make peace with the boy he once saw staring back at him in grief.
Either way, the heavens never forgot his audacity.
Genre: Fantasy with Mythological Undertones
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: What exactly is The High 5 Habit Explained?
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