Some people say that there is no destiny, that it all comes down to our choices, that we can shape our future. I understand why they would think that, it is an optimistic, mobilizing view: work hard, seize opportunities when they come, no matter how tough, and in the end you will be rewarded. I, however, find myself incapable of indulging in this fantasy. I cannot, not when almost all that could go wrong, did. Not when bad things completely outside my power to influence happen, time and again, narrowing my choices down to a muddy, solitary path.
Destiny exists, and it is an arbitrary and ruthless force. Are there laws or reason behind it? I do not know and cannot know for certain. I do hope so - let our suffering not be in vain, at least. But as far as the here and now is concerned, we are being played and discarded like pawns in a celestial game of chess. Lives can be destroyed independent of an individual's capacity to prevent such a fate and worse, with no regard for other people who might care for this individual, who will be shaken by the loss of a loved one.
I have reached this conclusion the hard way, one sunny day in the bloom of spring, when I had but 6 winters under my belt. I was alone, at the edge of my village, swinging a crooked wooden branch as if it were a knight's sword. My branch made for a very poor sword, but I cared little for that, for my imagination carried me to distant lands and exotic encounters.
I knew nothing of the world outside my small Temerian village, save for the folk tales my mother would tell, of horrifying monsters and brave heroes who sacrificed much to slay them. I would occasionally catch a glance at a passing knight in glinting chainmail, however, and that is how I imagined all heroes looked like. I even hoped I might be one some day... no, not a knight, that would be too modest, but a hero.
And yet, so unlike a hero, I was playing alone, because I couldn't stand being around the other kids, with their cruel jokes and constant bullying. I didn't understand why they always picked on me; even now, with the benefit of hindsight and life experience, I cannot say what their reasoning was. But I suppose I have always been a freak, incapable in some way of interacting with other people in a normal fashion. But... my weird nature, this disadvantage that has always dragged me down in life, did save me that day. Interesting, if cruel, joke by Destiny.
Screaming, both angry and terrified, interrupted my play. My first instinct, I am ashamed to say, was to run and hide in some nearby bushes. Sometimes I like to think that it was a sixth sense or the hand of Destiny at play, but the truth, I think, is that I was a coward. I sat there, paralyzed with fear, as the screams grew louder and smoke began to rise from the village. I saw a woman run for the treeline, a crying boy no older than me in her arms. She barely made it halfway before an arrow pierced her heart, and she fell down, dead.
I did not fully comprehend what I was seeing, or maybe I was just not right in the head, for I made no sound, just stood there motionless as the boy tugged at his mother, crying at her to wake up. An elf quickly appeared into sight, bow and arrow in hand, moving like a cat dashing for a mouse. He quickly scanned the area for foes and, satisfied that there are none, he placed his arrow back in the quiver and slung his bow over his shoulder. Instead, he drew a long, wicked knife, his steps towards the boy now slow and measured. Swift and precise, the elf then plunged his knife into the boy's throat, screaming a curse I did not understand. The elf looked downright uninterested as a fountain of blood erupted from his victim's neck, as if he had just cut a stalk of grain for the harvest. With a final glance around him, the elf turned and left at a quick pace.
My eyes remained fixed on the crimson bodies even as my body started to shake uncontrollably. That was the moment when I understood Death.
I knew little about elves. My mother said only that they were beautiful and mysterious, but that it was considered bad luck for one to cross your way. Father would spit and curse their name every time they were brought up, threatening my mother to stop indulging me with tales about them. But then again, father would just as often spit and curse at us, for reasons I did not understand.
But I realized in that moment that my father had been right all along. There was nothing beautiful about these elves, nothing mysterious save the timing of their next arrow. For how could there be any good in a race of beings that killed with such indifference?
I remained there, too afraid to move, insensitive to the sounds of battle around me, for how long I do not know, until a strong arm shook me from my stupor. A pair of concerned blue eyes in armor wanted to know if I was unhurt. I could only nod affirmative. There were more questions, I think, but I lost the details in the haze of memory. All I know for certain is that, just as my old home was burning around me, I had found a new one, as a ward of Lord Esche. Some might call that a blessing in disguise, a promotion from the bland life of a peasant, to life in a noble house. A blessing? Maybe, but at what cost? Can I take it back? No, of course not, all is as Destiny has decreed.
That was the moment when I understood Destiny.