King of Shattered Land

He wanders.

It isn't that he wants to, you have to understand. No, it is that he must. The wind pushes him this way and the tantalizing scent of flowers pulls him back, and he circles the globe in search of sunlight and butterflies and smoking fires.

Darkness tries to swallow him up, but he's a fast runner and he flees from it, laughs away his terror.

Can't catch me, he says, and some days he believes it and some days the wind is cold and whispers to him that he's wrong.

He stands on the rocks and plays the game of a child.

I'm the king of the world! he cries.

The faces shimmer and threaten to vanish at these times, but they can still smirk at him.