Prologue
The fires soared higher, higher then should have been possible, but he were there, extinguishing them just as soon as they grew. It wasn't enough.
The silence suffocated him.
There hadn't of been that many of them to begin with, just a few elderly and their children, each with their own families. They were older though, so much older...
The groans of his home brought him back to reality. He looked at the scarred mountains, the burning valley, and realized saving it would be impossible, even for him. So he resigned himself to standing in the glow of the remains of his village. The crackling of the fires calmed him, like a long forgotten song sung anew.
But not for long. The memories came flooding back. His friends, his brothers, his wi-
He shut them out. There would be time for that later.
The enemy was close, and he needed to hide. Looking at the fire, he exhaled, closed his eyes, and stepped into the flames, wrapping himself in their searing embrace.
And he waited.
The land had once been beautiful, the mountainside sheltering the valley, almost breathing life into it. Trees grew from the rock, blazing red in the light of a dying sun. The village had once been larger, standing at the center of the basin. He could hear the laughter of children, the conversations of adults. The world had been so peaceful then, and the days almost went on forever.
Almost...
All of that was gone.
Over the course of a few months, the mountain burned black, the trees turned to ash and the halls of his ancestors crumbled. That and everyone with them.
In his mind's eye he saw his wife, her eyes, her smile. The way her hair caught the light, her voice, and his son...
He choked a sob back.
His son.
Whatever tears were shed vanished in the heat of the fire.
Not that it mattered. Now was not the time for mourning. Now was time for war.
They came in the dark of night. The thunderous marching of thousands of men filled the air, drowning out even the fire itself. He knew their kind, knew by the smell of their master. The traitor had come.
As they neared, his blood began to rush, and with it, his heart. The rhythmic, almost ancient thumping came alive in his ears. The thrum seemed to call out to the flames, bringing forth sights and smells he did not know, and memories, fantastic, unbelievable memories, that were not his to start.
His own thoughts subsided, letting the others take their place. A sense of peace descended upon him. He felt the warmth of the fire around him, the cracking of the wood soothing his mind, and began to relax.
A sheer wall of anger slammed down on him, crushing whatever had been there before. His body went rigid, rage roiling inside of him, followed by angst, sorrow, then remorse. It was such a deep, wrenching regret his own emotions mingled with it. He fought to overcome the pain, struggling with every breath to control his worry, his guilt...
After ages of silence, he prevailed. He inhaled the smoke, clearing, or attempting to at least, his mind. Even through all of his battles, all of his training, this was the hardest part to face.
The moon had risen over the valley, its scarred face mournful as its light bathed the valley.
The voices came next.
