Category:Eyes of the Dawn

Prologue

5073...

Water and blood, the boy entered the world.

His lungs gave sound to the first sign of life, and in the golden reflection of his eyes his mother smiled. She had dreamt of this moment, and of this child. A son whom she prayed would find a different road than war. A son to be loyal, a son to uphold their faith, a son to be a beacon of light.

The father stood in the shadow of the corner, half in darkness, half in daylight, his eyes turned to the babe in the mother’s arms, but his mind to the battlefield. The baby’s cry brought him a wince, and he gritted his teeth to fight back a grimace. His hands did not wish to hold the child, but instead feel the comfort of steel in his grip, and hot blood over his knuckles.

The woman looked up, her eyes brimming with tears of joy, the strand of prayer beads around her neck capturing the breaking light of the dawn.

“What shall we call him?” came her voice.

The father stood, recalling the great history of their great empire. He knew of no prouder name, than he who stood as the most deciding ruler to help project their race and region forward. Finally, he smiled.

“Chaston.”

5087...

Flesh and blood, he was his son, but nothing like him.

The boy stood at the doorway of their home, the sunlight paling in comparison to the amber gleam of his eyes. His brothers looked back at him, all three, acknowledging him with a farewell. Their tabards were crisp, clean, and untested. The black triskelions against gold and red were bold, and even he felt a stir of pride at their sight.

His father marched ahead of the others, and he watched and waited, but he never turned. War was all his father knew and all he loved. It was his way. He remained as they vanished, melding into the column of polished soldiers and bright banners. Their departure stirred a cloud of dust that suffocated the sky, casting russet shades all across the fields.

He turned, fingers entwined with his prayer beads, and returned inside the home. His mother’s devotions welcomed him, her voice drifting through the room like the whisper of an angel. Incense infused the air with sweet, almost heavenly nectar. He stood and watched his mother pray, opening his heart and mind to her words. Faith was all his mother knew and all she loved. It was her way.

He knelt beside her, closing his golden eyes. A boy of war. A boy of faith.

A boy destined to embrace both.

5089...

Glass and blood, his foot tightened with pain.

He had heard the window break, and he had run into the hall. The remnants of the shattered window had sliced his foot and he nearly fell, his shoulder hitting the wall hard. His mother’s voice cried out, shrill and alarmed. Three shadows moved in the night, the dim candles barely illuminating their slender forms that were garbed in black.

“Run!” his mother’s voice echoed loudly before her cry went suddenly still. He bounded down the hall, his arms and hobbled rush knocking things aside as he did. He flung the door open, the night air greeting him, the lights of shops in the distant. He heard the twang of the bow. He tried to twist, sensing the steel splitting the air as the arrow drove home.

His neck ignited with fire and pain and he fell to the cobblestones, his hand instinctively reaching to his neck, feeling the hot, sticky blood coursing over his knuckles. Cries echoed up and down the street, and the shadows slipped away as the heavy footfall of boots chased them. The world spun around him, the stars in the sky falling away as he closed his eyes.

He awoke, astonished faces surrounding him. One man held up a string of bloodstained prayer beads, where the assassin’s arrow still dangled, its tip wedged between two stones.

“Praise be to Koar!” A voice shouted.

“Praise be to Koar!” Another joined in.

“Praise be to Koar…” He smiled.

5090...

Oil and blood, they cut his palms and anointed his head.

Blood trickled down his fingers, tiny sanguine beads splattering on the stone floor. He closed his eyes, as the consecrated oil rolled down his forehead, landing in the gilded bowl before him. He slowly lowered his hands into the golden-rimmed water, the thin wounds on his palms forcing him to clench his jaw.

The white-robed priests turned to face him.

“Blood that I give, my soul is spared. Blessed by the God-King, no sins will be bared. Washed of my past and reborn anew, my life and my purpose, to Koar I am true.”

The oath rang out, and when he repeated it himself, he felt a new sense of purpose wash over him. His chest swelled with pride, and the priests before him smiled. One stepped forward and placed his hands upon his shoulders.

“Welcome brother Chaston, to the Everwatch Tower.”

5114...

Sweat and blood. He spoke it, and they toiled in the mines.

Their hands were blistered, cracked and bloodied. Their backs were sore, their brows greased with sweat. They heard his command, and bent to his will. He stood at the balcony of the manor, his golden eyes trained on the mines and great northern mountains of Talador in the distance. It had been months since the Patriarch assigned him to the barony. It had taken only days to settle in his new home.

He looked back to the half-empty bottle of chrism on a pedestal, where he once had applied part of its contents to a gold-bladed sword. Davard, a new crusader for Koar, a new warrior to bring the Light of the God-King to the dark reaches of the world.

He smiled when the door opened. A tall human entered, his short black hair having tufts of grey scattered throughout. His moustache curled beneath his upturned nose.

“Prelate Chaston.” The guest addressed him, bowing low.

“Lord Thermon. What news?”

“They are close, there have been glimpses of the marble. It may be another few weeks.”

“What of the coming war?”

Lord Thermon nodded, “All is nearly ready. Talador marches by daybreak. You have anointed Sir Davard, and blessed his blade and armor. I am thankful for Koar’s blessing in this.” He paused, but then let his statement end there.

“You have reservations?”

Lord Thermon shook his head, “Sir Davard, he is still new of faith in Koar, I merely hope the light is strong enough in him to carry it through.”

“There is more that can be promised to him.” Chaston smiled.

Lord Thermon raised his brow, “I do not…” He paused once more, following Chaston’s gaze to a portrait on the wall which depicted a very young black-haired woman with deep green eyes. The sprinkling of freckles across her upturned nose were drawn with painstaking detail.

He spoke it, and his command was heard.

5116...

Crystal and blood, the coffin held the endless monster.

He walked across the large spherical chamber, where the bright light of day shone in through a huge dome above. Faint, archaic hymns echoed from nearby corridors and it pleased him. He gazed at the coffin, lost for a moment within its smooth, crystalline surface. Behind the faint golden runes, the huge giantman stood, imprisoned and immortal.

He placed one hand on the crystal coffin, uttering a prayer as he did. He stepped away to the gallery, striding through double doors of gilt and glass. He stood at the balcony of the great temple, a wide courtyard and flower beds stretched out below him. The courtyard below was brimming with the faithful, their squirming bodies leaving little room, save for forming a respectful circle around the blood marble statue of a woman, where a sea of crimson rose petals surrounded her base.

He basked in the light of the sun, and his heart swelled with the roar of the crowd, their eyes and voices turned to him, rising up to greet him. Some wept, some prayed, some even began to sing. He held up his arms, inviting their praise, welcoming their adoration.

He lowered his hands, his eyes meeting the crowd, and silence blanketed the courtyard as they stood, aligned to his message. His golden eyes gleamed.

“Children of Koar, each moon’s passing brings us closer to a new revival that is sparking here in our home, and spreading with fervor across the Empire. A true baptism of fire shall reach every corner of our world, driving out the shadows from every pocket of darkness in our lands….”

5116...

Fire and blood.

The air was rank with the pungent odor of burnt flesh.

Curls of smoke coiled up from the men’s heads, where the crown-shaped burns had been seared into their flesh. Their eyes watered from the pain, and many gnashed their teeth, some even biting into their lips, but none cried out. None pulled away. None dared to back down from their oath to the God-King. None dared walk away from their divine purpose.

He stood and watched as one by one they marched before him, men of every age, strong of body, righteous of heart, loyal of mind. One by one, hair was shed from their scalps, falling down around them like wisps of sin, freeing them of the past. One by one, the brands were bared, and the oaths were uttered and repeated.

One by one, their numbers grew as they gathered before him. Their reborn bodies donned in polished white steel and their cold eyes reflecting Koar’s mercy for the unjust. He grinned, his golden eyes gleaming like the first light of dawn.

Their voices carried through the chamber.

“We will rise.”

“We will stand.”

“We will fight.”

“We are Blameless.”