The Gray Warrior
The world is at war. Light against dark. Good against evil. Right against wrong.
The sides can be distinguished by their garb. The light side — the “good” side — is adorned in white. Proud and determined, the warriors’ filmy clothes float around them in the breeze. The dark side, the vile, the enemies — they are dressed in sturdy metal armor, the color of the night.
“Attack!” orders the commander of the dark side, thrusting his glinting sword into the air.
“Attack!” echoes the light side’s leader. She raises her twisted staff.
Before the armies begin their charge, a new challenger appears on the battlefield. He is dressed in gray. A hood shields his face, and his boots make no sound as he approaches the armies. They have paused, studying this gray-clad fellow. They will make no move until they know which side he is on.
The man reaches out his gloved hand. He utters one word: “Peace.”
Stone creeps up the legs of the soldiers on both sides, rooting them to the ground. It crawls up their legs, and the more they wriggle and cry, the faster the stone encases them. Within moments, the battlefield is silent. Warriors, frozen in stone, show no sign of life. They look like statues, and that is how they will remain.
The sun peeks over a mountain range, peering down on the battlefield. A magenta glow is cast over the newly created statues.
“I am sorry,” the mysterious gray-clad man whispers to the statues. “But this war would have consumed you.” He salutes the leader of each side. Soundlessly, he turns and walks away into the fog.
He is the Gray Warrior, keeping peace in the silent world. He is neither light nor dark; neither good nor evil. He is simply the Gray Warrior, who believes that things are not so black and white.