Author's Note: So, I've wanted to start writing this for over a month now, ever since I finished "Against the Dark Knight". I had most of the first chapter written, but I decided to begin it differently and the original prologue is now chapter one or two. I hope I'm not too rusty on writing stuff like this. I'm always a little nervous about posting new stuff, no matter how sure about it I am. And dust collecting on my hard drive is a habit I really need to break. Since this does account for most Zelgius' life, the story will be quite long. Without further ado, dive right in.

Dark Destiny

Part One: By the General's Hand

Prologue: Winter's Curse

Begnion era, year 595

Winter in the southwestern wastelands of Daein was far harsher than anywhere else on the continent of Tellius.

Ice coated earth frozen hard by sub freezing temperatures created a thin sheet of ice that challenged the grip of his toughened, rawhide boots. The solitary man in the cloak that traversed this treacherous terrain moved swiftly and surely in his journey west, his steps solid and sure, never pausing for even the briefest of moments. But he was neither heedless of the danger nor reckless in his trek; he was only confident and accustomed to the hazards. He had made this outing many times in the past several months and braving the dangers he faced each time made him surer of his progress. He passed along the snow-covered conifers that grew at the river's edge, pausing only once to relace his boot as his foot unexpectedly caught on a tree root protruding from the frozen ground to his left. Amid the dark trunks and limbs and the snow-covered pine needles, he was simply another one of night's shadows. He had been walking for several hours, his sleep ended early that evening after breaking that afternoon following a long day of journeying westward. Through the trees he could spy out the tall and craggy peaks of mountains to the south, their dark shapes silhouetted against the night sky. Despite his reasons for making the journey west and the dangers he faced, he was not so much concerned with speed at the moment. After coming this way several times in the past year, he had learned haste would not help him. But he knew that this particular journey west would change his life forever, for the better or the worse.

His dreams had told him so.

The man wrapped his cloak more tightly about his form to help ward against the night's chill. It was a futile attempt at best, for the winds cut straight through the thin cloth and threatened to freeze his skin underneath. He was tall and well-built in the way most other soldiers of the Daein army from both the heart of Nevassa and the outlying regions like Talrega were, broadshouldered and tough in the way of Tigers, though not hindered by their bulky forms. He had a thin, hawk-like face and his features were stretched thin and revealed a visage that belied his true age. It would be surprising to notice that he carried no physical weapon at all; no sword, no axe, no lance, not even the smallest dagger that could be strapped to his thigh was to be found on his person. He broke the codes he had been taught by doing this, for all Daein soldiers, former or current, on patrol or off, were required to carry some means of protection no matter where they were at in the country. Daein was not known for being a very hospitable place and even the mightiest of soldiers could succumb to death, be it by freezing temperatures or soldiers of an enemy nation slipped past the Daein borders, especially this close to the mountains that marked the border with Begnion. No, the only means of protection he carried was a small book clutched tightly in his right hand, marked with symbols of an ancient language long forgotten by most of his kind and understood by even fewer. It surprised the man that he could even understand the ancient language imprinted on the rough, timeworn parchment. No one else in his family could even come close to reading it.

Perhaps he could read it because of the curse he carried in his blood.

Only recently had he picked up the skill of reading those symbols and speaking them, learning only just enough for him to get by. Never had the man thought he would do such a thing. He had always scorned magic and looked upon it as if it was a worthless means of combat. The man had always preferred to have a sword in his hand no matter the enemy he faced. But a sword would not avail him here; steel would not protect him against the elements like the magic would. Only the warmth and light it provided would comfort him here. It provided him light now, but it would only remain so long as he stayed focused.

But the slippery landscape that covered most of this region was not the most perilous aspect of the country that he challenged as he passed out of the forest and continued on across the frozen plains. He lacked the benefit of having a moon and stars to guide his way and show him the path to his destination, for a thick layer of clouds covered the entire sky, robbing him of his only natural source of encouragement and guiding light. And with these clouds and the winds that blew them across Daein's barren landscape came the most formidable of all obstacles that he would go up against and most likely perish to if he allowed himself even the slightest mistake or miscalculation.

Blizzards in this region were notorious for the way they appeared without warning. Frigid winds blowing off of the Oribes Sea provided the perfect conditions for such storms and oftentimes they formed in less than an hour, giving whatever unfortunately traveler foolish enough to venture out through Daein in the dead of winter very little time to seek shelter from the blowing snow and subfreezing temperatures. But they were not restricted to the winter season, however. Things became incredibly deadly when blizzards arose in early fall when trade routes were the busiest and choked with merchants and other traders traveling from Daein to Crimea, or vice versa. Many of these people were completely ignorant of such storms and simply assumed that since the temperatures were still relatively moderate in these areas, they needn't worry about such snowstorms impeding their progress or endangering their lives. It was their ignorance rather than their stupidity that killed them in the end, although some would undoubtedly beg to differ. If they possessed any shred of common sense at all, why would they still make the journey so thoroughly unprepared for what they would encounter? The sudden and violent storms would block roads and bury merchant caravans within an hour, leaving no trace of the foolhardy beings who so foolishly braved nature's unforgiving wrath. By the time the snows melted and the ice thawed in the spring, the only evidence left of these poor souls that met such an untimely and unfortunate, but not unpreventable, fate, were the skeletal remains of both the wagons and the bodies, the latter stripped bare of any flesh and muscle by whatever scavengers had come looking for a meal to sustain and steel themselves against winter's chill.

So, as it was, one might think that a sane man traveling west toward the villages that lay near the cliffs north of Riven Bridge would be wary of such storms, especially considering the fact that he was walking headlong into an approaching blizzard, one that had been gathering its might for the past several days while lumbering across the Oribes Sea toward the coast, and turn back or seek shelter before it was too late. The realization that the man intended to do no such thing would be as an astonishing sight as witnessing the official announcement of laguz and beorc coexisting as equals. The man never slowed as a crested the rise of a small hill and continued down into the valley beyond, where he would soon reach his destination by midnight if he kept his current pace.

Why was it that his wife had chosen such a desolate place to meet him after several months no contact? She surely could have chosen a more hospitable area, one that would not require a journey of several weeks to reach. A place in the northern regions, perhaps, where the weather was predictable? But no, it had to be more isolated than that. The cloaked man knew the reasons for choosing this place were well-founded. He knew as well as anyone that if he were to hide the curse he carried in his blood, he needed to take every precaution necessary.

Suddenly worried, he quickened his pace. If he was to make it to the valley's western edge before midnight, he needed to hurry. By then, he would be too late and his wife would be less than pleased.

By the time he reached the valley floor after the better part of an hour, the blizzard was upon him. It had already been snowing before, a soft and gentle snow, but now the winds had picked up and were raging through the valley in violent gusts, blowing the more heavily falling snow across the land and into the cloaked man's face. His eyes began to water and the frigid winds bit at his face, threatened to cover his body in ice as the temperature continued to drop as he pressed forward. The snow was up to his ankles after only another half an hour and only his thick, knee-high boots protected him against frostbite. Visibility was down to less than a quarter of a mile now and the man stumbled onward through the storm, struggling to keep his path as direct as possible. It seemed that he had made a miscalculation after all. He hadn't expected the blizzard to hit so soon and hoped that his path would remain clear until he reach the opposite edge of the valley. But the road was completely snow covered and the storm showed no signs of letting up.

Deciding that now was as good of a time as any, the man extinguished the light he held in his left hand and redirected the power generated from the book in his right hand into the rest of his body, allowing the warmth to fill him up. Once he had chased away the cold and regained feeling in his muscles, he turned the power outward and rechanneled it once again and from his left hand a jet of fire erupted, melting the snow that barred his path in mere seconds. Without a moment to waste, he continued on, using the magic wherever needed to keep his path clear of any snow.

After what he guessed to be at least an agonizing, frostbitten hour later, the cloaked man finally came within sight of destination and he let out an audible sigh of relief. The trek had been far more strenuous than he had anticipated. He was exhausted from the overuse of his magic and nearly every part of his body was thoroughly frozen; his pace slowed to a crawl and his frozen joints were slow to respond, his movements sluggish and uneven. Even still, he did not stop. He was so close now. Tucking his book back inside his cloak, the man bent his head against the wind and closed the remaining distance between him and his goal. He pushed his body against its limits as he approached the small building at the valley's edge. It looked strangely out of place here compared to everything else around it. It sat nestled against the slopes of the valley, surrounded by a small grove of pine trees. No other buildings could be seen and it was safe to assume that the old, dilapidated structure had been built recently and in haste for just this occasion. Beyond it lay the stone cliffs that dropped off into the Oribes Sea and it was no wonder that another village could not be found for another twenty miles to the north or south. The cloaked man strode quickly up to the front door, which looked about ready to fall off of its rusted hinges, and knocked softly three times.

The door flung open wide before he had even finished his third knock and a squat, dark-skinned man with cropped, black hair appeared, a large smile spreading across his pudgy face at the sight of the ragged, half-frozen man on his doorstep.

"Ah, Erasmus!" the man exclaimed, genuinely glad to see him. "It's about time you got here! The others and I were starting to worry."

The man called Erasmus didn't so much as nod or even smile in return. "It's been a while, Igor."

"Five years, as a matter of fact," Igor replied. He stepped away and motioned Erasmus inside. "Please, come in!"

Erasmus stepped across the threshold and into the ramshackle home, the floorboards creaking noisily with each step he took. The house was made entirely of wood; oak, most likely. It was a small, two-roomed dwelling, roughly circular in shape, spanning only a few yards from the front door to the opposite wall where a door led back into another room. The walls shuddered with each gust of wind from the storm outside and it pained Erasmus to know that Igor hadn't chosen a more sturdy residence, one that would hold up better during the winter season. At the very least, Igor had a fire going in the hearth on the right side of the room, the flames large enough that Erasmus could feel the heat from here.

Igor offered his hand to him. "May I take your cloak?"

Erasmus merely grunted in response and removed his cloak and handed it to the other man. "Hmph. How very kind of you, Igor."

"Nasty bit of weather out there, isn't it?" Igor said as he hung Erasmus's cloak up on a metal hook next to the fireplace. "I think it's probably snowed at least several more inches since this morning. I must admit to being afraid that it would snow so much that it you wouldn't be able to make it here until tomorrow evening."

"It wasn't easy, as you can well guess," Erasmus replied as he joined Igor next to the fire. He rubbed his arms to regain a bit of circulation in his muscles. "But the walk from Sella took far longer that I had originally suspected."

Igor was surprised. "You walked all the way here from Sella? You must be out of your mind, Erasmus! You know how foolish it is to venture out into the Daein countryside in the dead of winter. These blizzards come up without warning a lot of the time and will bury entire villages in an afternoon."

"Do not lecture or chide me, Igor," Erasmus shot back. "You know that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I do not always need you looking over my shoulder like you did when we were children. I am not the sickly little boy that forever dreamed about escaping the filthy slums of Nevassa. And besides, it's not as if I'm leaving myself completely unprotected when I head out alone."

"I'm sorry, Erasmus," Igor apologized. "It's just that we've known each other for such a long time and whenever you're late for something, I start to worry, even when I know that you have your magic to protect you. But what were you doing in Sella, anyways? I thought that you were going to take the river south of Nebula before following the road west and coming here."

"There were…complications," Erasmus replied. "The king decided to charge me with a task at a very inconvenient time, and it's really not my place to refuse an order from the king."

"What kind of task?"

"It seems that more riots from sub-human slaves broke out in that region a few days ago," Erasmus said. "As his personal diplomat, he sent me to resolve the situation, be it by brute force or simply issuing strong-armed threats. They were all quelled immediately, of course, but the unrest in Sella grows. It isn't like these sub-humans to rebel so quickly against their masters, even if they are in a remote region of Daein where the king's jurisdiction is shaky at best. I don't like this, Igor. These sub-humans never seem to learn their place."

Igor chuckled. "Well, what's there to like? It's a shame that we have to live in the same country as those disgusting beasts, let alone the same world, for that matter." He let loose a heavy sigh. "It's…still difficult to believe that benevolent Ashera could even create such bestialities and allow them to walk on the same earth that we do. The fact that we've placed all of them into slavery is proof of their repulsive nature."

Erasmus shook his head. "Not all of them," he reminded Igor. "Gallia and Phoenicis remain strong, while Goldoa still stays secluded in the southwesternmost corner of Tellius. Only within the last one hundred years have Gallia and Phoenicis begun to act ever more barbarous than usual, raiding towns and villages along Begnion's southern coast to free what slaves they can. Some even venture this far north and do the same in Daein."

"Perhaps the slaves rebel so often because of all those stories they hear about their own kind being freed," Igor guessed.

"Perhaps."

"If the sub-humans continue to act this way, why doesn't Begnion retaliate and wipe them from the face of the earth?" Igor asked. "Surely their armies are large enough to invade Gallia."

Erasmus eyed him curiously. "You sure ask a lot of questions, don't you, Igor?"

"Humor me, Erasmus, if only for a moment. You know that I don't hear much about the rest of the world while living in the Daein countryside. Without you, how else am I going to know the state of affairs out there?"

"No, that's not it," Erasmus said. "You always were such an inquisitive boy when we were younger. This has nothing to do with—"

"Stop beating around the bush and just give me a straight answer for once, Erasmus," Igor insisted.

Erasmus shrugged. "Just because I work for the king of Daein doesn't mean that I'm going to know everything that goes on here. I just wish I knew for certain, Igor. That's all I can say. Begnion invaded Gallia once before, so they surely have the power to do it again. But word has it that Begnion's new apostle seeks to establish more…friendly diplomatic ties with Gallia and Phoenicis and seek to put an end to any further hostilities."

"A-are you serious?" Igor demanded, his mouth agape. "That's absolutely ridiculous! She's got to be insane!"

Erasmus nodded in agreement. "She must be if she's even attempting something like that. I can't imagine that the Begnion senate is very happy about the whole thing, either. It was by their doing that the laguz were put in chains in the first place." He grunted. "Complete waste of time, if you ask me. Apostle Misaha doesn't understand those sub-humans, especially the ravens, are traitorous by nature and the second you seem to gain their trust, they'll steal your eyes right out of your sockets! She's no closer to bringing about peace than she is to freeing the sub-humans in Begnion from slavery, like she's been trying to do since she became the apostle."

"How long she's been the apostle now, anyways?" Igor asked.

"About a year now," Erasmus answered. "And whatever affects Begnion affects Daein just as well."

Igor sighed and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Just a year and already she's making things so much more difficult for the rest of us. What's this world coming to, Erasmus?"

Erasmus stepped away and moved to the window at the far side of house. He leaned against the windowsill and rested his head on the nearly frozen glass. Already the blizzard was worsening and the howling wind shook the entire house with each gust. "I don't know, Igor," he said. "But the world is changing, and I do not think that it is changing for the better."

"I suppose you're right," Igor answered softly. He paused. "And how does your wife feel about raising a child in such a turbulent state of things, where the future is so uncertain?"

"That's what worries me, Igor," Erasmus said softly, biting hard down on his lower lip. "With the laguz growing ever more violent, it will be difficult to ensure my family's safety in the years to come, even within the walls of Nevassa." He tasted blood in his mouth and spat it out onto the floor. "Filthy sub-humans seek only to ruin our lives in return to make their own lives bearable, at best."

"Yes, but that's not the only that's bothering you, Erasmus," Igor said back. He moved closer to Erasmus. "Do you simply fear the sub-humans because it is in our nature as humans or because of the mark you carry, the mark of the—"

Erasmus whirled on the other man before he could finish and closed the distance between the two of them in seconds, quickly and violently, shoving Igor up against the opposite wall with one hand. He wrapped his thick hands around Igor's neck. The small man's body went rigid in response, his legs dangling a few inches above the floor as Erasmus lifted him into the air.

"I told you, Igor, don't you EVER speak to me of that matter!" His eyes flashed with rage and he tightened his grip. "Ever! It's bad enough that I have to bear the shame of the sins my father made, but the fact that my wife has to risk her own well-being to even be seen with someone like me is almost unbearable. We may have grown up together, Igor, but do not presume to think that you can start shoving your nose into my business!"

Igor grasped futilely at his neck, trying to loosen Erasmus' iron grip. "P-please, Erasmus!" he gasped. His dark face was already turning a light shade of purple. "I-I meant no offense! I only thought that—"

"You thought what, exactly?" Erasmus cut him off. "That you could help us? Ha!" He pulled away and threw Igor back onto the floor. The other man rose to his knees, gasping for air.

Such a pitiful man, Erasmus thought as he knelt down next to him. "How little you understand, Igor," he said aloud as he grabbed a fistful of Igor's hair and pulled his face close to his own. "You always thought that as long as I could pretend to live a normal life, I would not be haunted by the sins of my parents and the life I lived would be the only reality I would have to face. But you have no idea just how daunting it is to live a life that will be forever shunned by both races, laguz and beorc, even if I keep my true nature a secret."

"Erasmus, please—"

"You will never understand, you pretentious fool," Erasmus whispered into his ear. "You've always pretended to understand and sympathize with what I am. As a boy, I thought that you were only trying to be nice, since you were the only one who knew what I was and still you treated me with kindness. But as I grew older, I began to understand. It was never kindness you offered me. Only pity. Pity that I may never find my place in this world and you were the only one who would ever care about me. I do not deserve pity from you, Igor. Not from you or anyone else."

His voiced hardened and rose above a whisper. "I let this go for now, considering what I am here for today. It would be a shame for the same day as the birth of my first child to also be the day of the death of the one person I thought I could trust. But if you ever mention this to me or my wife again, I will not hesitate to kill you." He pulled Igor's face about in front of him. "Do you understand, Igor?"

The other man nodded hurriedly in return and as Erasmus released his grip on Igor's hair, the lone door on the other side of the room opened and a woman in a dirty, red gown appeared. She was dark-skinned like Igor was and when she saw the two men on the floor, her jaw dropped and she looked at Erasmus. "Erasmus? When did you arrive?"

"Not even ten minutes ago," Igor answered for him, using the brief distraction to scramble to his feet, dusting himself off. "He trekked all the way through a snowstorm just to get here by now. Is there something I can get for you, my dear?"

The woman ignored him entirely and kept her gaze focused on Erasmus. "Erasmus, your wife would like to see you now," she said quickly before turning back to the door. Erasmus followed in after her, but he stopped short when Igor spoke up.

"Shall I come in as well?" he asked timidly.

"No, you will stay out here, Igor," Erasmus answered coldly. "This is between me and my wife and I'll not have you there to get in my way." He turned back to the woman. "You as well, Igrene. You can stay out here with your husband." Without bothering to wait for a response from either of them, he stepped through the doorway and slammed the door behind him.

This room was much smaller than the main portion of the house, if that was even possible. It consisted of only one window on the far side, with the drapes pulled across it. With the absence of the fire, it was also much colder and Erasmus found himself wishing that he had taken his cloak with him. He had half a mind to go and back ask Igor to retrieve it for him, but doing so would injure his pride and he wasn't going to give Igor the satisfaction. The only piece of furniture in the room was a large, wooden bed, framed with gold trimmings along the headboard. It sat several feet above the floor and the legs looked to be a bit unsteady and lopsided. On the bed lay a dark-haired woman, covered by a white blanket and in her arms she held a newborn baby boy, the only visible part of him being his blue, raven-colored hair.

"Isn't he beautiful, Erasmus?" his wife said, cradling the baby in her arms and a smile spreading across her face. "He looks just like his father. He has your hair; and your eyes as well."

Erasmus hesitated before moving over closer her, staying carefully a few feet away. "That…remains to be seen, Monica," he said after a long moment. "Is he…normal? Is there anything different about him?"

His wife glared at him. "How should I know? I know what you're referring to Erasmus, but at best, we won't anything more about his condition for at least another year or two." Her voice softened to a whisper. "So please, just this once, could you try not to think about that and just simply be happy for the three of us? The goddess Ashera as seen fit to bless us with a beautiful baby boy and I dare you to find fault with that right now, Erasmus."

"You cannot change how I feel about this, Monica. Remember that I only agreed to do this because you so desperately wanted to have a child."

"But can't you at least be happy for the three of us?" she persisted. "If only for a moment?"

Erasmus shook his head. "I will be happy when I am sure that he is not truly his father's son."

Monica sighed and turned her eyes back to the baby in arms. "Fine, we can talk about this later, Erasmus. But what should we call him? If he is to be the first of many children to come, I want his name to be strong, a name that will earn him the respect that he will deserve."

Erasmus thought for a moment and stared down at the boy, thinking that there was only one name he could think of that would be appropriate for the boy whether or not he was forced to live with the curse that Erasmus feared so much.

"Zelgius," he said finally, stepping up next to his wife. "We'll call him Zelgius. After his grandfather."

"Zelgius?" his wife asked, looking up at him and then back down at the baby. "Yes…Zelgius. It is a good name."

Erasmus didn't say anything more, his eyes only focused on his son and his thoughts solely on the curse that Zelgius would most definitely have to live with for the rest of his life, whether or not he was marked with the sins and shame of his father's past. He would always have to live with the cursed blood running through his veins. Erasmus would not show any kind of love or affection to the boy until he was sure that Zelgius was not one of them. After all, what use was there in loving somebody who wasn't even supposed to exist?

But, if by some miracle Zelgius was not fated to be cursed by the sins of his ancestors and all the hopes and wishes Monica had held since the time she became pregnant were realized, then perhaps Zelgius could one day be earning of his father's love.

Lies, Erasmus told himself, shaking his head. All lies. Zelgius will never be free. I have cursed the boy's fate as well as my own.

Erasmus' own mother had, after all, been one of the bird tribes.

Ending Note: See? I told you I was going to make it long. Look at where I'm starting. I don't think I'll cover all of Zelgius's childhood and whatnot, since that isn't the main focus of the story. I'll incorporate it as I go through, don't worry. And I haven't written physical descriptions like I did in this chapter for quite some time, so hope I wasn't too wordy. And as a reference, Sella and Nebula all cities in Daein southwest of Marado and northwest of Nox, respectively. Check a map of Tellius if you want a better idea. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, as usual!