ONE - Dawn
I had a privileged childhood, a thing which I am not ashamed of. My father, Cathak Chiron, was wealthy and influential, able to provide the very best for his children. I never wanted for anything, but nor was I spoiled. A lifelong soldier, my father also believed that too much coddling was the surest way to raise a useless son.
I received my earliest education from Immaculate monks, and spent many lazy afternoons dreaming of leading gallant Wyld Hunts against fair folk and demons. I was only four years when my father returned to the Blessed Isle after the capture of Lookshy, but I can still clearly remember his glorious victory parade.
Had I been a legitimate child, I might have been groomed as a candidate for the Scarlet Throne, but my mother was a servant girl of no importance. To be honest, I never knew her. According to some of my relatives, my stepmother had dismissed her for being lazy, and according to others, she'd simply run away. It never mattered to me. From a young age, I took care of myself. Being a Dragonlord, my father was often away, and my stepmother, an aspiring politician, was far too busy to care for children. She rarely spent any time with her own son, and in her eyes, I was not worth the rice I ate for breakfast. No matter how I tried to please her, she always seemed annoyed that my father "wasted" so much of his time with me.
I was similarly doted on by my great-aunt Garel, who is often revered as the foremost military historian of the Realm. Every Dragonlord has read and re-read her books on Shogunate Era warfare. From an early age, I was aware of how special my relationship with "Aunt" Garel was. Most young Dynasts see very little of their elder relatives, but my aunt was already very old when I was born. I would climb the cherry trees in her garden and stare out over the walls of our estate, imagining far-off cities and dramatic battles. When Aunt Garel put down her pen, I scurried down from my perch and begged her to tell me stories about the heroes of our House, particularly my father.
There was nothing I wanted more than to make my father proud. Like a moth drawn to a candle's flame, I chased that feeble hope that our family's patron Hesiesh, the Elemental Dragon of Fire, would find me worthy of Exaltation. My greatest aspiration was to join my father's legendary Scarlet Legion. With that hope in mind, I worked harder than most of my siblings, received better marks in school, and practiced my fighting skills even when I was not expected to.
I took to heart the lessons of the Immaculates, believing that if I behaved like one of the Exalted I would surely join their honored company. At the age of ten, I was sent to Paisap's Stair, a notoriously dangerous school designed to "prove the blood" of those without good breeding. It was not an easy place to be the son of a Dragonlord, but I was strong-willed, fast, and more skilled than most everyone my age. For my first few years, I was the teacher's favorite and the head of my class... but then some of my fellow students began to Exalt.
Though there was no limit to my ambition, I soon discovered that I could not match the raw ability of the Dragonblooded. By the time I turned seventeen, I was quite convinced that my instructors at Paisap's Stair intended to kill me if that was what it would take to get Hesiesh's attention. Still, I kept my head up, and believed for as long as I could that I would be Chosen.
I never was.
For the first time in my life, I had disappointed my family, and there was nothing I could do about it. I had always exceeded the expectations placed upon me. I had devoted myself to One Thousand Correct Actions and The Book of the Righteous Soldier. I'd done everything right! But somehow, I had not done enough!
There were none of the usual festivities on my eighteenth birthday, and my beloved aunt refused to attend dinner. Her only words to me were cold, concealing more pain than she dared express. She advised me to pray for Enlightenment in a future life. I was dead to her already.
I felt compelled to rebel against my Fate. I had finished my tenure at Paisap's Stair, graduating near the top of my class despite not being a Dragonblood. It was common for those who failed to Exalt to join the Immaculate Order, and for a time, I again considered becoming a monk. Although I loved the tranquility of the Abbey of Mela, stories of battles called out to me more strongly than any sacred texts. More importantly, after my years at Paisap's Stair, I could not conceive of a living in a place that did not resemble a military encampment.
I enlisted in the Imperial Army. I rose through the lower ranks very quickly, as good soldiers often do. Even if the path of a Dragonlord was closed to me, I knew that I could still pursue some small command. In every respect, I continued to excel in my chosen profession, and I believe that my father was proud of me, or at least as proud as he could be of a son who had failed him in the worst way imaginable.
All of my efforts to redeem myself were eclipsed by the Exaltation of my younger brother Jaret, which occurred in the summer of hissixteenth year. This came as a terrible shock to every member of House Cathak, and not only because Jaret was already past the age where Exaltation was expected. Although he was my father's only legitimate son, Jaret was not held in high regard by most of our family. He was nearly disowned dozens of times and usually kept under someone else's supervision. I had always felt a certain responsibility towards him myself, being six years his senior.
No matter how I tried to inspire him, Jaret consistently neglected his studies. Drinking and gambling were his chief pasttimes and though he was a good fighter, he viewed responsibility of any kind with the same sort of disdain that most people reserved for ticks and lice. And yet somehow Hesiesh saw fit to Exalt himinstead of me!
At first I was furious at the Dragons for choosing my brother who had never respected anyone or anything in his life. My father casually dismissed my harsh appraisal of Jaret's character. He believed that my brother would "grow into" his gifts and to some extent, Jaret's Second Breath did change him. He soon discovered that with his new strength, he could afford to behave more recklessly than ever before.
Jaret's whoring, drinking, and gambling became the plague of our House, and eventually it was decided that something drastic had to be done. In the end, my stepmother arranged everything. My brother would turn down a prestigious commission on the Blessed Isle, a soft position which he favored. Instead, he would travel to the Scavenger Lands, joining Winglord Mnemon Rai's infamous legion, the Ravenous Winds. Jaret was twenty-three years old, and had attended a cushy private school in lieu of Paisap's Stair. He was ill-prepared for a military career, and I was certain that he wouldn't last more than a season with the Winds.
I was already accustomed to life under "Old Thunderstormer's" command. When I'd failed to Exalt, I was not given the opportunity to join my father's Scarlets, but there were other legions where mere mortals could expect to be promoted out of the bottom ranks. Mnemon Rai had personally selected me from my class at Paisap's Stair. He admired my tenacity and promised that if I continued to show courage and sound judgment, he would one day make me an officer.
I knew that "officer" meant something low-ranking such as a Scalelord or a Fanglord, but that was still a generous offer. My father believed that mortals had no business commanding themselves, and were certainly unfit to lead any unit which also included young Dragonblooded.
It has often been said that the Ravenous Winds march more miles in a single campaign than any army in Creation, and that Mnemon Rai hunts Anathema like some pretentious nobles hunt pheasants. All of that is true. Most importantly, however, "Old Thunderstormer" characteristically favors grit over breeding and commands one of the few legions in the Realm where a mere mortal might actually be promoted over a Prince of the Earth.
Though he seldom played political games, when I returned to the Scavenger Lands with my younger brother in tow, Mnemon Rai understood that he would be expected to give my father's "useless" son a position which suited his status as a Dragonlord's heir. He dutifully granted Jaret command of two Scales, and demoted me so that I could serve as my brother's second officer. It was difficult for me to lose the little rank that I had worked so hard for, but Mnemon Rai was only a Winglord, and I knew who had really decided the matter.
I did my best to hold my tongue, reminding myself that filial piety was one of the stepping stones towards Enlightenment. If it was my father's will that I make my brother look respectable, then I would strive to do so. But it was not easy. From that day forward, I knew that Jaret would reap all of the glory while I did all the work.
The first few months we served together were murderous. Jaret quickly learned the importance of properly caring for his own weapons when there was no one else to tend them. He stopped complaining about rain, dirt, and insects when someone drew a humiliating picture of him dressed in ridiculous silks and a little feathered hat. As the reality of his predicament began to set in, Jaret actually became tolerable. We had a few good conversations while on the march and one cold, rainy night, I finally mustered up the courage to ask my brother what I had never dared to ask anyone before.
It was terribly presumptuous for a mortal to request personal information from any Dragonblooded, even a relative. But feeling the heat of my brother's flaring anima close by as we charged into battle had awakened an old desire in me. I wanted to know what it felt like to Exalt. Jaret told me simply that at the moment of his Second Breath, the world became "a different sort of place".
I did not understand what he meant by those words, but I slowly came to accept what Hesiesh had obviously intended. If Jaret had become the rock on which all of our father's hopes and dreams rested, it was my duty to teach him. And in doing so, I would be serving my House.
I was finally resigned to my role as Jaret's keeper when our Wing came to the gates of Nexus. Nexus is a very interesting city with a long and storied history. Since the fall of the Shogunate more than seven hundred years ago, it had been ruled by massive organization known as the Guild, which is primarily composed of honest merchants, but also includes slavers, brothel madams, and drug peddlers.
The Guild's unofficial leader, an enigmatic individual called "The Emissary" once roamed the streets of Nexus at night, nailing grand-sounding proclamations to doors and doling out "justice" however he saw fit. The legal system was complex and labyrinthine, but above any of the petty "regulations" and "ordinances" were two great "Laws". The first was "No One Shall Obstruct Trade Within The City" and the second was "The City Will Keep No Army, Nor Suffer Any Army to Pass Through Her Gates", which was perceived as a direct challenge to the authority of the Realm.
Many Dynasts, including my stepmother, protested that Nexus should be crushed for daring to contest the right of the Dragonblooded to rule Creation. Although my father had defeated Lookshy's powerful Seventh Legion, he still felt compelled to stay on good terms with the Guild. As they often say, "an army marches on its stomach", and if the merchants were angry, soldiers would likely starve or freeze to death in the field.
Needless to say, Jaret and I were both quite surprised to discover that our commander Mnemon Rai had somehow acquired a special dispensation from the Emissary himself which allowed the Ravenous Winds to camp without fear of reprisal outside of Nexus's walls. Officers could even enter the city on a day pass, provided that they signed a dozen waivers.
It was terribly exciting to set foot in Nexus, one of the oldest and most populous cities in Creation. The river was filthy and the streets were loud and crowded, but the place still possessed a certain grandeur that made me wish I could have seen it centuries ago, before so many wars had taken their toll. Though I would have preferred the opportunity to explore some of the ruined palaces and ancient tombs which dotted every District, Jaret and I had been instructed to proceed directly to the home of our cousin Lao. A son of my father's youngest sister, Lao held stake in several nearby mines. Those mines poured coin into the coffers of House Cathak as they had for generations, but recently our cousin had stopped receiving his weekly shipments of jade.
Lao expressed his concerns and begged us, for the good of our House, to see if we could learn anything about the situation. Though the mines were not far away, I hesitated. I had heard unpleasant things about the area, and feared that we might be getting involved in something dangerous. Still, it was clear that Jaret would not pass up the opportunity to impress our father, and possibly win an invitation back to the Blessed Isle. Without asking permission from Mnemon Rai, Jaret took our soldiers to investigate.
In retrospect, I should never have allowed him to do such a thing. Had I gone straight to our commander, Old Thunderstormer would have doubtless condemned my brother's actions and demoted him on the spot. Jaret had never fought in an actual battle before. Even if our soldiers weretechnically under his command, all of them were men and women whose experience exceeded his own.
Though I did argue with him, Jaret seemed deaf to my words. I shouted at his back for several miles until I grew hoarse. My hand never left the hilt of my sword.
I knew the moment I saw purple smoke rising from the Morning Star Mine that we had stumbled upon fae. I felt like I'd swallowed molten lead and immediately drew my weapon clear of its sheath.
Fae are an ancient race. They can change their shapes at will, and are fond of stories, riddles, and horrible "games" which include eating humans, warping their bodies and minds, and even consuming their souls in an act called "Ravishing". Malevolent by nature, fae delight in cruelty and seek to transform whatever they can sink their claws into back into formless Wyld. They have no sense of honor or loyalty and will cheat their way out of anything they are not sworn to uphold. On the battlefield, many prefer to view their fallen comrades simply as a source of fresh meat.
I had warned Jaret about the possibility of fae numerous times, but my brother was so intent on making a name for himself that he left me with no choice but to undercut his authority. I ordered our soldiers to stop and hold their position on the edge of the forest. The moment I started giving orders, everyone pulled away from Jaret. My brother was mortified. He realized, perhaps for the first time, that his authority was not what he had believed it was.
Unfortunately, my decision wounded more than Jaret's pride. My brother knew that most of our House still considered him a failure. He spat curses at me, revoked my rank, and vowed that he would have me dismissed from the Winds for insubordination. Like an angry child, he ran into the woods alone, calling us all cowards, and claiming that Hesiesh would prevail.
And so I did the only thing I could do. I sent a messenger to Mnemon Rai and ran after my brother.
I stopped dead in my tracks when I finally reached the mine. I'd seen some terrible things in my time with the Winds, but never such devastation. All of the buildings were burning, there were mutilated corpses everywhere, and the air was thick with putrid smoke. The ground looked dry and solid beneath my feet, but it sloshed like deep mud and felt unsteady. Wyld was burning through the rightful shape of the world. Soon, the trees would become carnivorous monsters, and hordes of formless nightmare creatures would start pouring into Creation. If I stayed too long in such a place, the chaos would infect me like a plague. I had seen men return from fae encounters with tails, extra eyes, or other poxes too horrible to describe. Madness, which was the usual result, seemed like a mercy by comparison.
Before I could shout for Jaret, I saw him lying face down in a pool of murky water mixed with his own blood. He was surrounded by a dozen jabbering goblins with piglike snouts and enormous teeth. I would have believed him to be dead if he hadn't still been flaring with Essence. His fiery red anima burned so brightly that I could feel the heat of it where I hid. Jaret struggled to his knees. As the fae closed in around him, I was compelled to make my presence known.
"Back! Go away!" I shouted, charging in with my sword held high. Most of the goblins scattered. A few weren't quite fast enough. I'd often coveted my brother's fine jade daiklave, but I was grateful for my simple blade then. Cold iron is the bane of the fae. They cannot heal the wounds they receive, and chains or cages of such metal can also prevent them from using their corruptive powers.
Though the goblins could have easily regrouped and mobbed me after my first awkward assault, they began to nervously move towards the trees. About half of their numbers skittered up into the higher branches, making horrible screeching noises. My brother scrambled to his feet. I almost gave him my arm before I remembered that the Essence flaring around him would burn me.
"Loren? You followed me?" Jaret blinked in surprise. If he'd been angry with me for opposing his authority before, he'd since forgiven me. He knew that he had made a mistake, and now he feared that both of us would pay the price for it.
"Of course I did. Exalted or not, you're still my brother," I replied.
"Where is everyone else?" he asked.
"It was idiocy for you to charge in here, Jaret. I hope you understand that now," I sighed.
He scowled, but then his expression softened. He did not like what I'd said, but he knew that I was right. If my messenger made it to the Winds, Mnemon Rai would be able to prevent the fae from decimating the nearby farms and villages, but no one would arrive soon enough to save the two of us.
Jaret's eyes drifted slowly skyward. "Something is coming," he whispered fearfully.
I sensed as much myself. I made a slow circle around Jaret, watching the trees for any sign of movement. A furious rumbling began beneath our feet, causing little stones to jump into the air. Whatever was headed our way was huge!
That was when the most terrible beast I'd ever seen came barreling out of the trees. At least thirty feet long, it had a centipede-like body composed of pieces of rotting flesh and a large, circular maw ringed with yellowed teeth. It let loose an earsplitting squeal, splattering both of us with gore. At first I thought that nothing could be more horrifying than a giant, Wyld-mutated carrion-eater… but then I noticed that the ground we were standing on had begun to crack.
Jaret seized my arm and wretched me after him into the brush. The section of my lamellar armor that he touched instantly burned through my clothing, searing my skin. I scarcely noticed the pain. We clung to a mess of roots and rubble as the mine opened up beneath us, a pit so deep that no light reached the bottom of it. The sound of the earth caving in was deafening.
We both stared in horror. Were we still on unstable ground? It seemed so.
"I should have listened to you, Loren," Jaret whispered. It was a tremendous concession for him. Obviously he believed that his life was over and was weighing his mistakes.
Seeing my brother so vulnerable and afraid, I forgave him for everything he had ever done. I no longer felt any of my petty jealousies and decided that if one of us was going to be killed, it would not be Jaret. My brother had so much more ahead of him than I did, more than I ever would! And after staring death in the face for the first time, he was beginning to understand what it meant to be a soldier.
"Listen to me now. I'll buy you time. Run!" I ordered him.
Cackles and jeers from the goblins in the trees turned into shrieks of terror as I raised my sword and charged after them. The ground collapsed behind me with each step that I took, but I did not hesitate, not for a heartbeat!
I was in no condition to fight. I already had several bloody gashes from fae claws, and the burn my brother had accidentally given me throbbed with pain. I only hoped that I could wound the monster before it swallowed me whole. But then I saw something I had not expected, the perfect opening. I leapt into the air as if I believed I could fly. The distance between myself and the monster would have been difficult for even a Dragonblooded to clear, but I flew as if I had wings on my heels.
That was when I felt it.
Power!
Power beyond all comparison!
A white-gold haze filled my vision as I struck with strength that I should not have possessed, severing the monster's head in a single, clean blow. It collapsed at my feet with a rumble that shook the earth, and caused more rubble to cascade into the mine.
I listened to the pounding of my heart, and felt something both new and terrifyingly familiar coursing through my body. I did not have to ask what it was. The gift of Heaven. Essence.
As I stared at the corpse of the monster, I began to remember battles to the likes of which Creation had not seen, not in thousands of years! I saw myself leading legions of men, commanding impossible war machines, and routing hordes of fae back into the Wyld. I felt a blade in my hand and knew that I had once stood alone in the shadow a terrible, raging, Primordial, an enormous being of pure chaos older than the world itself.
And I thought to myself… this is what I was born to do!
All my life, this is what I've waited for!
The sheer glory of it brought tears to my eyes. Even after my head cleared, I could still taste that long-ago victory. I felt like a priest standing before the altar, in the presence of a god. I was compelled to offer a prayer of thanks, but the words stuck in my throat. They were in a language that I did not realize I had forgotten.
The teachings of the Immaculates say that we have all lived many times before, and that only the truly blessed are capable of recalling what they have been or done. I knew with absolute certainty that what I had witnessed was my own soul's memories, and that I had somehow borrowed a fraction of the strength I'd once possessed.
I didn't consider how impossible what I had just done was until I saw the monster's severed head. Its teeth were as long as my hand, and its neck was covered in articulated gossamer plates, armor that I should not have been able to cut through, not even with a cold iron sword. My blade had been shattered completely, but I did not feel defenseless.
I felt invincible.
But I also sensed a presence behind me. I slowly turned.
A pale young woman stood on the edge of the trees, flanked by a dozen goblins. She was dressed in a furisode of spun gossamer that made her look like a Shogunate-Era princess. Her skin and her were the color of winter ice. The moment she stepped into the light, I saw that she was no woman at all, but a misshapen fiend with eight limbs, and dozens of eyes sewn all over her face.
I stared. I had never seen a faerie queen before, and yet I knew that was what she was.
"Leave this place, you fiend! Go back to the Wyld!" I ordered, pointing what little was left of my sword at her. My own voice sounded strange to me. It resonated with a force that was nearly visible!
"You dare command me?" The faerie queen sneered, stepping out of the green.
I laughed at her arrogance. The Essence that filled me felt like magnificent armor just beneath the surface of my skin. I was as giddy as a child, playing the role of a hero in The Tales of the Wandering Monk. "Come any closer, and I'll send you to meet your monster!" I taunted.
The goblins in the trees wavered. They wanted to flee!
Of course, I had just killed their mistress's very impressive pet
The faerie queen hesitated.
"Tiger, tiger burning bright. Today you've won," the faerie queen watched me warily and licked her lips, as if she were faced with a great and worthy opponent, one whose blood she desired above all else. We stood less than three feet apart and studied one another. "But you have not seen the last of me!" She warned, and then vanished as if she had never been.
There was no mistaking such a threat, but I still found myself smiling. No one would believe me if I told them that I'd faced a faerie queen and lived to tell of it!
But that didn't matter. I knew I'd done it, and Jaret had witnessed the fight!
"Jaret!" I shouted. I ran for my brother. He'd only scrambled a few feet away from where I'd left him. He looked very small and fragile, and his eyes were full of fear. A tempest of golden light cut through the smoke between us like the rising sun through early morning clouds. It was not until I saw my brother's face that I realized that the light I saw was coming from me.
The first word Jaret spoke cut through my heart like a spear of ice. "Anathema!" He spat, venom in his voice. His eyes narrowed.
"What?" I stared at him in disbelief. I knew what that word meant. The Anathema were the very worst of all fiends, the chief enemies of Creation.
I stared at my own hands. I was burning even brighter than Jaret, and I sensed that there was something very clearly visible on my brow, something I had no words to describe. It didn't hurt, but it was impossible to ignore. All too late, I realized what it had to be.
A demon brand? Impossible!
"Jaret, it's me, Loren!" I protested. "Your brother!"
"Liar!" He cried. Leaping at me with a speed I had not thought he possessed, he swung his blade at my head. "You're not my brother! You're one of the Forsaken! Did you kill Loren? Answer me, did you kill him?"
Since I had no weapon myself, I was forced to dodge his first awkward assault. "Jaret, stop! I swear it! Idiot! Stop, please! Look at me! " I begged. For certain, I knew that something had changed within me... but how could I have become be a demon?
Being an Exalt, Jaret should have easily bested me in a fight. Still, as he attacked recklessly, I found that I could easily parry his every blow. It was more than just my brother's wounds slowing him down, that much was obvious. I was somehow better than I had ever been!
Jaret did not falter. He forced me back a dozen paces and then caught me off guard. His daiklave struck solidly against my shoulder, shattering my armor but glancing harmlessly off of my skin which glowed like new bronze. The force of his blow sent him staggering backwards. I reached out to grab him before he toppled into the chasm, but the moment I caught his hand, he drove his blade into my gut. I was so stunned by the pain that I doubled over. And as I dropped to my knees, Jaret fell into the mine.
I think I knew the moment that my brother died. Still, I ignored my own wounds, and made haste in searching for him, hoping that he still held Hesiesh's favor. As I scrambled and slid down into the dark, I was struck by how my presence burned all the shadows away, like the sun rising in the morning. When I finally found Jaret's broken body, I collapsed to my knees.
I sat and stared at my reflection in a pool of water and blood. What should have been a familiar face was nothing but a blur of gold that almost held the shape of a man. Wounded as I was, I sensed that I should have bled far more than I did, but I no longer felt gloriously invulnerable. The corona of light around me began to fade, and by the time I'd carried Jaret back to the surface, I could see my face again. But I still sensed the raw power inside of me, and knew that I could call upon it as easily as I might draw a sword. It was absolutely terrifying, so much more than I had ever dreamt of.
IcarriedJaret back to Mnemon Rai. No one seemed to notice that I had changed, so I said nothing about what had happened, too shaken by the events to make any sense of them and still unconvinced that Jaret was gone, despite the fact that I was drenched in his blood and my own. I remembered what my brother had said about the world "different" after he Exalted, and I feared that the worst was yet to come.