Weary. That was the word. They were weary. One arm leaden from the constant effort of wielding a halberd, the other’s fingers still aching from the phantom of a shield’s handle. Their body was aching from the blows dealt to their plated armour, their skin still in discomfort of the touch of chainmail. Sweaty and hot, with barely any time to cleanse themselves between battles, they grew numb to the noise and the chaos, but the aching, the itching, the patches of raw and bruised flesh all over their body… the discomfort never really went away.
All for what? The people fought in their name, raised flags and blades in their name, to lead them to victory over their enemies. Their hero was surely just and righteous in their crusade? Surely, they were the legend many had spoken of in hushed tones?
Their hero stopped believing in the prophecy a long time ago. It mattered not to them whether they were the hero in the stories or not, the one to break the ageless tyranny, the one to bring forth a new age for the common folk. It mattered not. They were a symbol now, regardless of whether they were truly the one. Symbols had power, power that went far deeper than many realised. The power to inspire, to raise arms for a cause that may prove to be fruitless in the end, to fight and to yearn for freedom, to give one’s life for duty, for honour, even for a sense of self.
They were the people’s symbol. And in a sense, their own. For a sense of self was exactly what they wished for before… all of this. All of the fighting. Whether fate had dealt them this status, this place on the pedestal, whether it was a curse or a blessing, it mattered not. They were a symbol. The price paid for prophecy. A role given, a self changed, and a symbol created.
They were weary. Horribly weary.
But duty awaited them. And it mattered not if they wished to lay down their weapons and renounce their role, for they could not fail the ones that looked to them for hope. The harder path would be taken, yet again.
They stood. It was time to march. Time to don their armour again.
The hero stood. For it mattered not if they were a hero. Their legacy would define them as one to some, and a villain to the others. They were a symbol, and a symbol never falters.
The fingers clutched the shield-handle again.
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The Price of Prophesy is a thought provoking and intriguing short story that provides an introspective look into the conflict between duty self. The story features a singular character, a nameless hero, who is the “symbol” a figure destined through prophesy. However, the hero is shown to be disillusioned and exhausted by his role, they are aware of the fact that in becoming the symbol of the prophesy, they have lost their own agency and their selfhood has been transformed, a self that reflects the will of the people that they fight for, the hero chooses their duty and stands resolute in their role as a symbol. This short story is a very interesting take on the classic fantasy trope of heroes and prophesies, the author provides a thought-provoking and emotionally charged extract that explores the cost and consequences of being a hero and a symbol. The author’s masterful use of descriptive language and introspective narration creates a compelling story that resonated with me greatly.
The price of prophecy is a story which shows both the plus side and the downside of being a symbolic figure. On one hand it talks about how the protagonist is so exhausted that they don’t want to lift their weapon but on the other hand it talks about the glory they received as well.
This story can be viewed in different perspectives and the following is mine. The protagonist is a simple human being who has been put on the pedestal because of the prophecy. Were he a super human this story might have had a different plot. Through the protagonist, one thing that can be learnt is how they overcome their weariness just because of the fact that people believed they were the one. Truly believing in someone does wonders.
They went on to fight the battle despite being exhausted and that is truly commendable and virtues of a hero. It is easy to assume that heroes have got it all and nothing is difficult for them. This story shows the raw feelings of the hero and their inner turmoil to quit but still moving on.