Tormented by the slaughter of his family, Rohain is clawed into a secret war between those of the moon and the immortals. Daniella, unable to live a prisoner any longer, escapes into a frozen world more terrifying and cruel than she had ever imagine...
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My name is Hafidh. Anointed the personal scribe of Lord Vladimir. A better honour than a prisoner, a better title than a slave, tasked with documenting history as I witness it for purpose of glory and warning.
My upbringing was nothing extraordinary; a father addicted to working long hours, a mother of poor health and a brother to call "friend". My education was torn short by corruption for when my brother opposed, he was banished from the academy and I chose to follow my loyalties. The wheel of time turned my early years into a simple working man like a father with less ambition than prospects while my brother found his own path.
I lived most of my life with a gaze as low as the sunken Sun until eventually I saw the elite, stars, and realised the world had far more to offer than I ever claimed. It was not easy to realise the shade I had become but harsh words from wise men awoke me from the slumber of a relinquished state of mind. Dreaming of being a renowned warrior was nothing but delusion until it became an ambition. To become champion of the annual Knights Tournament could finally land me the glory I deserved.
To participate and materialize victoriously, first I needed to graduate. Studying nutrition, tactics, and the way of the spear - whatever would give me a winning edge stems from the mind first. Through a strict diet and routine maintained through determination, fear and discipline, nothing could stop my charge into a total body transformation. My whole life, my greatest attribute was strength gained through heavyweights and natural size but without agility, speed and stamina I was a fish amongst sharks.
I began to be seen in a new light; not pitied but respected, motivated and willing. Women began to smile as I passed and men would salute my hard-earned physique, applauding how I sculpted myself into an athlete. My reflection began to transform as much internally as externally with the realisation I was no longer a fool content with nothing to my name but a dream. With each step up the ladder, it became ever more clear how deep in the pit of their own misery everyone else I had known lay. My ascent became pronounced to those atop the elite mountain but unlike those of my previous life, I refused to beg for a helping hand.
My mentor encouraged me when I began to doubt myself,- he would help me to rise whenever I would fall and keep me focused against the naysayers. came for me to enter local matches in the practice of the great games to come and from an unknown I quickly arose local champion. A symbol of hope for those with dreams and an example for those who just cry about hard beginnings but lack the courage to take destiny: behold what lies beyond the horizon!
When you cut the grass you see the snakes but the jealousy and hate-fueled my determination. The further into the stars I arose, the quieter the heavens became. Working hard to escape the gutters was no easy task but when my mentor left my side, he lost an opportunity to share this grand view. He told me that I had lost my way, that I had forgotten who I was and why we set about this pilgrimage. I could have won the tournament but my opportunity was torched by the invasion. From chaos stems opportunity and I had to take the one play I had to my advantage - timing.
I tried to convince my mentor to join my defection to general Vladimir and his forces but he refused to acknowledge my ambitious tactics. In a stubborn rant he told me that although I had changed for the better in many ways, I had become somebody else in the process, somebody, without care, without happiness or heart. I should have known given how each conversation of late would land on him preaching me to humble myself but why the hell should I? Why would I care about his opinion when he refuses to show me the respect I deserve? He has always been such an honest friend, even when it has cost him friendship but all he has to do is stop being so negative all the time. I guess jealousy changes everyone. I tried to explain that it is more logical to live than betray oneself. I am a filostinion but that does not mean I should not come first, even if he says otherwise. He is dead now but I am not, so, who has the last laugh?
Demonstrating I was worthy the ear general Vatalis was paid for in blood. The quill is more mighty than the spear and mighty are those equally proficient in both, proving me a valuable asset amongst the ranks. Art of the written word has become lost by a nation indifferent of correct spelling and traditional grammar. How a whole society crumbled into shorthand, acronyms and indecipherable rubble translate into what could only be marked in history as a beginning.
My quarters no longer see me confined to the basement but the curtains do not delude me from the reality I am in a cage until my trust has been earned. Since my arrival, a female soldier with all the presence of an elite visits, curious about my life and culture. Carmilla keeps watch over me like an owl over a mouse and yet I feel lost in her presence with each meeting. She dresses like one of our people with modesty and dignity but her pride takes centre stage. Yellows, dark red and gold adorn her olive skin like the leaves of Autumn. Movements as calm as her voice and a mind as sharp as her sword do not begin to describe such magnetism. Does she visit out of suspicion, curiosity or something more? All I can say for certain about my visitor is that she is a clear cut above the rest with class, culture and a will to become so much more. She speaks Arabiya in a way far superior than the rest of the army, in fact, almost better than anyone I have ever met but given how she cannot read in any language I have seen except Tiyalvic, my guess is that she is far more foreign here than myself but she could just be using the first language of all warfare: deception.
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Sitting here, I realise that this may be my only legacy, the only echo I may send through eternity. Bitter as it tastes the reality is I am more a prisoner now than ever. The strokes of my quill have made more song than a thousand violins in words across shadows long and short. Tears of words have carried me through, the smiles they have helped me to celebrate and the questions they have guided me to answer are like a prayer.
History has always been written by the will of the victor.
