The Spiritguard

 The gloom specter of night curls his distorted shadows about the forest. The dead air is filled with the sounds of emptiness; the wind has ceased to blow. The trees hold still, soundless and motionless, eager to please their incorporeal lord.

 If anything yet lives in the darkened forest, it takes care to remain obscure, lest it interrupt the silent lord's reign. The exception to this rule is two travelers, who have been in the dreary woodland for most of the midnight hour. They march through, stampeding the fallen leaves, each step leaving a sickening crunch. Their footsteps echo through the forest, sending rhythmic strokes of pain through the trees, who are embraced by the ghost of the dark night.

 Each of the travelers' steps cause the specter to convulse, tightening his grip around the nightscape. The night curses them in silence.

 Neither of the intruders take notice of the looming darkness; they are focused solely on their objective. Their bodies are both shrouded in black cloth, like two silhouettes of the Reaper clawing through the forest.

 They come to a point in the heart of the forest where the lingering darkness is at its weakest; for at the center of the maze of trees lays a blackened waste. Faithful servants of the night lay shattered and blackened in a circle, their thick roots maimed and their branches distorted by hellfire. The spectral lord of the forest is victim to the pale beams of the heavens; only they have the power to revoke his snare over the land. As such, the decay was left to rot under the blaring moonlight that beats down upon the clearing.

 The travelers rejoice inwardly as they step into the light; they are unused to the darkness and revel in the natural splendor of the moon.

 With immediacy their steps become gentle, as if they subconsciously have become servile to the lunar body that hangs above. The two drift towards the center of the clearing, which is their inevitable goal.

 They stop.

 Just steps away from their goal, one of the travelers looks forward. Ahead of them stands a geometric mass of cubical azure crystal, which in its obelisk shape looks entirely otherworldly. One of the square panels of glassy crystal shimmers in the moonlight, calling forth wordlessly to the travelers.

 One of the travelers steps forward and signals to the other to stay where he is. The subservient traveler bows his head and retreats into the darkness.

 The remaining traveler glides up to the obelisk. His light pink lips curl up into a smile as two fingers on his left hand stroke the iridescent panel of the crystal. He opens up his mouth to speak.