We have had time to prepare. To defend the city, the last city that remains standing in this land, the capital city of Temporia. Every house is barricaded, women, children and the old huddle together in dark rooms, waiting. The men have worked hard, our defences and barricades are robust but we still work day and night strengthening them ever more. At night we hear the howls, the clash of metal on metal, the clash of metal on flesh carry in the wind. And we can see the fires burning all around us, North, South, East and West they burn, fires from cities and villages in the distance. It helps us work through the night, for it reminds us of what we will face as the sky glows a dull orange from fires fuelled by the homes and bodies of the fallen from this land. By day we are in the shadow of the great castle, decaying and abandoned, closed off to prevent entry, it watches over us by day and by night it fades into the darkness. If one were to venture into the castle, be able to scale the barriers and circumvent the traps and beasts that live within and travel into the tower they would find a chamber. The chamber of the King, our King, the wounded sleeping King of our land. Mortally wounded in the final battle of the old age, a battle against the same evil we face now, he was placed upon his shield. Dying and unconscious his horse carried him from the battlefield. A deep fog protected their final journey together and still protects them now, for no path can be found that will lead you up to the heights of the castle even to this day. As the mighty steed took its final steps past the great gate of the castle it died. It died on its feet and turned to stone. As the gate slowly shut the fog carried the King to his throne and placed him upon it. And as the King breathed his last breath he also turned to stone so no other would ever be able to take his place and sit in that castle as king. If the legends are to be believed he will awaken soon and rise from his throne. The old wise men say the signs are there that he is indeed awakening. If he does we will not need to fight, if he comes to us again the battle will be won. For the King cannot be felled a second time, he can not be defeated twice, he will never be vanquished again. And it is true, the wise men are indeed wise, for he is rising again, slowly, as a tree grows he rises. If one were to stand in the chamber with the King now and have the eyes of a man they would see no movement from him. But if they had the eyes of something ageless, like the mountains or an ancient Oak tree they would see him rising slowly from his throne. For two years he has been rising, since the forces of evil came back to this land. The hoard is here now at our walls and soon they will crumble. The final battle of the New Age will begin soon. The King has risen from his throne, he is slowly walking. The stone shell that entombed him is cracking, falling from his body, one piece at a time. The King is coming, yes, and when he is here the battle will end and he will reign as King once again. As the massive sand beasts spit their venom at our walls, they begin to weaken. They weaken enough for the swamp giants to pound them into dust. The walls fall and the hoard swarms in. The final battle has begun. Our men fight bravely, men and monsters fall together, their blood flows as one on the pavements of this once great city. Street to street, house to house the battle rages, good versus evil, man against monster, the battle rages. And as it rages if man or monster could pause for a second from their struggle, for just a moment, and look up, they would see the fog from the castle begin to lift. They would see that and they would stop fighting, because the King is rising and will never fall again and so the outcome of the battle is already decided. As the King walks away from his throne fragments of stone are no longer falling from him, large chunks are. When he is finally free of the stone he begins to walk at a mans pace. His body straight, upright and proud, he now walks like a man, like a King. And if a man could could listen at the door of the chamber and drown out the sounds of the raging battle bellow he would be able to hear the King walking, the King breathing, for the King has finally risen. As he smashes the ancient wooden door to splinters the King is finally free. He can feel his strength returning as he walks towards the great gate, to his steed, who also broke free from its stone tomb and lives again. Breathing again, resurrected, they will finally ride into battle together again. The monsters have pushed us back now, deep within the belly of the city. Many of our number have died but we fight on, gladly giving our lives to protect every inch of our city. Women, children and the old join in the fight now, they have no choice. Never have such acts of bravery been seen before. A ten year old boy runs a shadow wolf through with a spear he is barely strong enough to carry. An old man allows himself to be devoured by a dessert troll just so that he can claw at its innards with his bare hands so that it can never devour a man again. To my left a woman, baby in one arm, sword in another fights by my side and even the baby shows strength for it does not cry, despite the horrors before it. As the rain falls and the thunder bellows something else can be heard in the distance, the gallop of a horse, it is faint but it is there. But it is not just the sound of a horse galloping, what can be heard is the return of a King to his people. As we fight, oblivious to the sound of the King approaching a fire spider jumps onto the woman by my side. I strike it with my sword but not before it bites into the poor woman's neck. Her blood burning with its poison she falls to the ground with her baby, still not crying, cradled in her arm. I kick the dying spider away and pick up the child, my arms will be its cradle now. Suddenly everything stops, man and beast no longer fight, I look behind me over my shoulder. It is the King. He is storming towards the fray, sword drawn and in the air he charges towards us. Men, women, children and the old all drop their weapons at the sight of this. There is no need to fight any longer, for the resurrected King cannot be defeated, we have always known he would come for us but we fought until the very last moment regardless. The monsters roar and start attacking now defenceless soldiers and people. They have all given up. The King has returned, the cursed King, the King our ancestors tried to kill in the final battle of the old age has come to rescue his monsters from our blades. The King we could not slay thanks to a cursed fog that protected him is back amongst his former subjects, the subjects that he betrayed to darkness for the gift of immortality. As he charges towards us many fall to his sword and are trampled under the hoofs of his cursed steed, the creatures tear away at those who he can not kill himself. He charges past me and with deadly speed he runs me through with his sword, me and the child. The child quickly grows lifeless in my arms, the King does not look back. I slowly crawl away and find myself in a ravaged house. All its occupants dead I write this final entry into my journal. And as I die the King can finally reign in his kingdom again, as the final city falls to the darkness and the age of man comes to an end.