The Legend of the Five Princes

On a vast plain known as the Hand, there lived five princely brothers, and there was no force in the world more headstrong and mightier.

The eldest was called the Great One. He was silent, powerful, and a decider of fates. A single gesture toward the heavens granted life and prosperity. A gesture cast toward the earth brought oblivion and dust. His will was law.

The second was the Pointer, the eternal strategist. He lacked his elder brother's strength, but he could see the path. His outstretched finger pierced the mists, designating targets for conquest and the one true direction of movement. He was the vector of their collective will.

The third, the Middle One, was the keeper of balance. He stood between the pride of the elders and the fuss of the younger ones, reconciling them. But woe to any who dared to offend him—then, forgetting all balance, he would become the embodiment of crudeness and contempt.

The fourth brother was an enigma. Legend said that he was born by accident, from a drop of chaos that splashed at the dawn of creation. He had neither a name nor a clear purpose, and so he was called the Nameless One.

The youngest, the Smallest One, was called the Little Finger. The elder brothers often overlooked him, deeming him insignificant. Yet only he could bring any of their joint endeavors to perfection, adding precision and a firm grip.

For a long time they ruled the Hand, but each pulled for power. 

“I am the judge!” thundered the Great One. “Without my approval, you are nothing!” 

“But where would your strength lead without my path?” retorted the Pointer. 

“You would both crumble without my balance!” hissed the Middle One.

In their disputes, they formed bizarre and fleeting alliances. The Pointer and the Middle One, uniting, would declare a coming Victory, but their gesture was empty bravado. The Pointer and the Little Finger would intertwine in the wild sign of the Horns, frightening the local demons but failing to banish them. The Great One and the Pointer would sometimes meet in a circle of perfect harmony, but only to perform some small, precise task. And when a shared malice toward the world overcame them, the three eldest brothers would unite in the contemptuous and useless sign of the Fig.

Their discord summoned calamity. From the depths of the Void emerged a Beast woven from despair and oblivion. It was formless, and it devoured their domains.

The brothers tried to fight it alone and in their usual alliances, but in vain. The Great One's death sentence had no effect on Death itself. The path shown by the second brother led nowhere. The Middle One's balance shattered under the onslaught of chaos. All their signs and figures crumbled before the face of true terror. The Beast drew closer to consume them all.

“We are doing this all wrong!” a quiet voice suddenly rang out. It was the Nameless One, whom no one had ever heard speak before. “Our strength lies not in gestures, but in unity!”

He was the first to step toward his brothers. The Little Finger followed, ready to secure their union. The Middle One and the Pointer, casting aside their pride, stood beside them. Last of all, having understood everything, the mighty Great One joined them, sheltering and locking them all together with his strength. For the first time in eternity, they were not five separate princes, but a single, monolithic Fist—a weapon capable of shattering eternity itself. A single blow, and the Beast of Oblivion dissolved into dust with a howl.

“Victory, my brothers,” whispered the old jeweler, unclenching a fist numb from tension and, with a final, precise movement, setting a tiny diamond into the bezel of a royal crown.