A thing of beauty; a joy forever.

There was a large fabric. It was a deep, rich red that reminded him vaguely of blood. Lying on the terrace, it encompassed the entire area and had an air of intransience about it. Little could be done about a fabric that has such immense quality about it, that it convinces you to believe that it must have descended from a certain, influential royal lineage that was now well-diluted with the rest of the commons. It stood out from the rest of the background. The large, herculean hills and the vast, blue sky paled in front of the grandeur of this cloth. Such was the strength and immortality of the red fabric that it commanded respect and passion from the wisest and bravest of all individuals. What can be said, it was red. It was lovely. On going closer, the red seemed softer, extremely soft in fact. The smooth red was creased from the uneven lines that velvet crops up in itself. The edges of the cloth were covered in dull gold embroidery unique to the region. It enveloped the corners and pulled most of the cloth into a subtle embrace. It was delicate handiwork. He put his hand down, carefully and slowly, afraid that his touch might destroy the masterpiece. In a single, sweeping motion he felt the supple cloth giving way to his senses. This had to be it. A single touch confirmed his doubts. He knew this had to be the heirloom he was destined to inherit. The finite possibilities that had seemed to threaten him were now looming ahead with such optimism that was foreign to him. This was the piece of history that he was waiting for; the piece of history that belonged to him. Now he could leave everything he was doing, leave the city even and go. His purpose of living had been to discover the enigma of this wonder, and now that he had, it seemed inconsequential of what would follow. Fulfillment, in the true sense of the word, had been placed in him. The note in his hand that he had crumpled in wonder and surprise, said:

“The journey of the seeker is short;
For what he seeks has been placed in him all along.”

How simple the journey had been. It was all that had ever mattered, all that would matter in the face of eternity. The follower of the path of love shall never falter; such was the immense strength of the emotion. The faith, belief, respect is insignificant, because the feeling matters most. The bravest, coldest, noblest, and the most murderous had failed for the simple reason that they lacked not skill or ability, but compassion.