The four hooded figures walk towards their destiny, moving up the mountain towards the peak. Their steps are slow and measured, each carrying a burden that they are unable to lay down. The wind whistles through the craggy rocks tugging at the grey robes with icy fingers.
Thoughts of those that are missing, carry their feet on. Two missing sets of footsteps should echo with them. Six have become four.
Today is not a stormy night as you may imagine the day when the world will end, the wind whistles but the sky is clear and blue. There are no clouds on the horizon, the only signs that something is amiss are the deafening silence and the terrible coldness. No cheerful crickets or birds sing on the path and even the trudging footsteps are muffled. Their breath mists in the clear freezing air, signs of the exertion that climbing the mountain causes.
Ten the prophecy states, it will take ten to change and right the world. There is no turning back, what is done can never be undone and they go to meet the Dark God. There is no hope, the world is doomed. They are four and there should be six.
The traitor walks with them, which makes them three. Three good people cannot right the world. Under the hooded cloak the traitor smiles and the four walk on.