Years 0008
This was an era before history had shape.
Before kingdoms recorded their rise.
Before humanity learned to measure time itself.
And the man who changed that—
was named Eryldor.
He was the one who introduced the idea of years.
The one who created calendars.
The one who taught humanity how to count seasons, days, and time.
People called him many things.
A genius.
A prophet.
A madman.
Because Eryldor claimed something impossible.
He said that every night—
a goddess visited his dreams.
And through those dreams, she showed him the future.
Not fragments.
Not symbols.
The future itself.
The rise of civilizations.
The fall of empires.
The horrors yet to come.
Some believed he was chosen by a divine entity.
Others believed he had simply gone insane.
And slowly—
the world split into two.
Eight years earlier, when Eryldor introduced the calendar system, winter had covered the land.
That was why every year now began and ended with winter.
A small detail.
Yet it changed civilization forever.
Humanity began evolving faster than ever before.
Trade expanded.
Records were kept.
Debts were tracked.
Harvests were measured.
Time itself had become a tool.
But despite all this—
Eryldor never looked happy.
It was almost as if…
he regretted helping humanity move forward.
As if he feared what progress would eventually become.
One cold morning, Eryldor walked through the city marketplace on his way toward the temple district.
A white robe covered his frail body, while a deep red cloth rested across his shoulders.
The market was alive with noise.
Merchants shouted prices.
Children ran through crowded paths.
The smell of cooked meat and harvested grain filled the air.
A butcher lifted a large piece of red meat and spoke loudly.
"Four spheres for this cut!"
The customer frowned immediately.
"Four? That's absurd. I'll give three spheres and six coins."
The butcher clicked his tongue.
"Meat is becoming rare."
Eryldor silently observed the exchange.
Inflation has begun already…
His eyes slowly moved across the market.
Humanity had changed.
Once, people survived through hunting alone.
But fertile land changed everything.
Now people farmed crops.
They settled permanently.
Villages became societies.
And societies—
required control.
That was why temples existed.
Not for gods.
Not for worship.
But for order.
For rules.
For punishment.
As Eryldor walked further, several people lowered their heads respectfully upon seeing him.
He ignored most of them.
His gaze remained distant.
Cold.
Thoughtful.
People now had abundance.
Cotton and silk for clothing.
Grain, fruits, vegetables, and hunted meat for food.
For the first time—
humanity possessed stability.
But stability created another problem.
Value.
How much grain equals cloth?
How much labor equals food?
No one truly knew.
So humanity created tokens.
The temples began producing currency.
Large cone-shaped stones called Spheres became high-value currency.
Small circular stones called Coins became lower currency.
And slowly—
trade transformed into economy.
Then economy transformed into power.
Eryldor closed his eyes briefly.
"At first, temples only store wealth…" he murmured quietly.
"Then they begin controlling debt."
"After debt… comes law."
"And after law…"
His eyes slowly opened.
"Politics."
A cold wind passed through the market.
"Aaj temple anaaj gin raha hai…"
"Kal paap ginega."
"And one day…"
"…humans."
People feared hunger.
That fear made control easy.
The temples gave loans to farmers.
Tracked repayment through calendars.
Recorded interest through time itself.
And the moment humanity allowed others to control time—
they surrendered freedom without realizing it.
Eryldor's expression darkened.
"Currency and faith are not very different," he whispered.
"They only work… because people believe in them."
He eventually arrived at the temple.
Massive stone pillars stood tall beneath the pale winter sky.
Servants immediately bowed respectfully.
"Master Eryldor," one of them said politely.
"Please, come inside."
But Eryldor stopped at the entrance.
He didn't move.
Instead, he quietly asked—
"Why should I enter?"
The servant looked confused.
Eryldor slowly raised his eyes toward the temple structure.
"I do not wish to become part of humanity's greatest sin."
The servant's face stiffened.
"I… don't understand."
Eryldor smiled faintly.
A tired smile.
"The world is already moving toward its end."
The servant remained silent.
Eryldor continued calmly,
"Every human dies.
You.
Me.
Everyone."
"No amount of worship can stop death."
"So tell me…"
"Why should I kneel before gods who cannot grant eternity?"
The servant lowered his head respectfully after hearing his words.
Not because he understood.
But because he felt the weight behind them.
Eryldor quietly walked past the temple and entered the garden behind it.
Children were climbing trees and collecting fruit while laughing loudly.
For the first time that day—
his expression softened slightly.
One small boy noticed him and ran closer.
"You like these fruits, right?" the child asked happily while offering one.
Eryldor accepted it with a gentle smile.
"Yes."
"They're my favorite."
The two sat beneath the shade of a large tree.
After a moment, the boy asked curiously,
"Sir… you taught us about time."
"But I still don't understand something."
Eryldor looked at him patiently.
"What is it?"
The child tilted his head.
"Why do humans need to count days and seasons?"
"Is it only so we can know our age?"
Eryldor chuckled softly.
"How old are you?"
"Eight."
"Then congratulations," Eryldor said warmly.
"You were born alongside one of humanity's greatest inventions."
The boy smiled proudly.
But Eryldor's expression slowly changed again.
Sadness returned to his eyes.
"Use your time carefully," he said quietly.
"Because mine…"
"…is running out."
The child didn't fully understand.
Seeing this, Eryldor sighed softly.
"Then let me tell you a story."
"There was once an old fisherman."
"Poor. Tired. Forgotten."
"One morning before sunrise, he walked toward the river to catch fish."
"The world was still dark."
"So dark that he couldn't even see his own hands."
"But he knew the path well.
He had walked it his entire life."
"As he walked, he found a small bag lying on the road."
"He opened it and found stones inside."
"The fisherman assumed children had left them there."
"So he carried the bag with him."
"When he reached the river, he sat down and began throwing the stones into the water one by one."
"Splash."
"Splash."
"Splash."
A cold breeze passed through the garden.
Eryldor's voice became quieter.
"As he threw them away… he began thinking about his life."
"How many chances had he wasted?"
"How many dreams had he abandoned?"
"How different could his life have been… if he had used his youth wisely?"
"The fisherman became sad."
"Each stone he threw away felt like another piece of his life disappearing."
"Eventually…"
"…only one stone remained."
Eryldor looked directly into the child's eyes.
"And then the sun rose."
"The first ray of light touched the final stone in his hand."
"And suddenly…"
"…it shined."
The child's eyes widened.
"They weren't stones," Eryldor whispered.
"They were black diamonds."
"The fisherman had thrown away unimaginable treasure…"
"…because he was too blind to recognize its value."
The garden became silent.
"He panicked."
"He jumped into the river trying to recover them."
"But his body was old."
"Weak."
"He drowned before finding even one."
The child looked disturbed.
Eryldor slowly leaned back against the tree.
"Time is no different."
"Humans waste it believing they possess endless tomorrows."
"But one day…"
"They realize too late…"
"…that their life was made of diamonds."
The child finally nodded slowly.
This time—
he understood.
Or at least…
he believed he did.
After thanking Eryldor respectfully, the boy ran back toward the others.
Eryldor watched him leave.
Then quietly whispered to himself—
"No…"
"You understood nothing."
A heavy silence followed.
"That story was never a lesson."
"It was your future."
His eyes slowly lowered.
"Perhaps the future cannot be changed…"
"No matter how hard I try."
"I cannot even save a single child."
The wind grew colder.
And far away—
the temple bells began to ring.
Sixty-two years later.
An old fisherman struggled beneath freezing river water.
His body weak.
His lungs collapsing.
And as darkness consumed him—
his final words escaped trembling lips.
"Forgive me… Eryldor…"
"I did not understand your words…"