Fantasy: The Beginning of the End

Fantasy: The Beginning of the End - Z. Smith - Part One: The End - Prologue

Most would agree that there are four parts of a day—dawn, day, dusk, and night. All living things participate in each of these segments, though some more than others. If a being spends its waking hours in the day more than the night, it is considered diurnal, and nocturnal if the opposite is held true. Certain beasts will only hunt for prey during these times, as the predators are at the peak of their abilities during this window of time. For instance, many owls will only take flight and seek out their prey when night falls.

And then there are those beasts who stalk their quarry in the fleeting hours of twilight, right as the sun begins to slip above or below the horizon. These hunters are referred to as crepuscular, and a surprising number of creatures haunt their victims during twilight. But why would hunters choose such a short span of time, when the sun burns to embers on the horizon before snuffing out entirely? Certainly, these same creatures may go on to hunt on the night of a bright, shining moon or under a gloomy, overcast sky, but still the question of why remains.

There are a number of reasons why I am a huntsman of the twilight. That precious, momentary instant of time creates an unparalleled sensation in me. The hunt is like biting into the most succulent morsel imaginable, but only being allowed to eat the tiniest portion. Not enough to sate one's hunger, but more than enough to drive the overwhelming need to its highest peak. The dwindling time creates a frenzy to taste that tender fragment before it is gone, for when night falls, the prey will be forever lost. And so consuming that scrap is the only meaningful desire to make one continue hunting the next time twilight comes.

Like all predators, I also only seek my prey when it becomes active and, thusly, vulnerable. By day it cannot be found, for it hides itself away behind bars and walls and other beating hearts. And when the glowing orb that is the moon rises into the black sky of night, my prey becomes my predator. The lunar night is its dominion and its hunting ground. And so it is in the twilight that I must strike, whether the beast is slinking back to its lair after a night of bloody gorging or waking from a deep slumber before taking to the hunt itself.

What is this prey, you ask? Why would I go to such lengths to hunt the monster when the odds are so obviously against me? Why would I stalk a beast when it could, at any point, turn to face me with gnashing fangs and claw me to shreds? You would say I would be better off abandoning my pursuit, and that it will only lead to my death. But I would tell you that I am already dead because of him.

The rivalry between me and my prey began long, long ago, though to me it seems but yesterday that my pursuit of him began. The hunt began in blood, and I am sure that, one day, it will end in blood, too. But until then, I must patiently wait and stalk and do whatever it takes to track down my enemy. What wounds I have suffered cannot be forgotten or forgiven. And so I must share with you the events—the wonder, the laughs, the catastrophe, the pain—which led to my worst day. The day I became a hunter.

When asked what weapons they use to kill their quarry, most hunters will answer by naming a bow, a quiver of arrows, a dagger, and so on. Few ever think to name themselves as the weapon. It is the wise and successful hunter who utilizes the mind more than the blade, for if you can attain knowledge of your foe and outwit him, then his blood is already spilt. And I do know my prey, just as he knows me.

I first encountered him in the bowels of a dark ship sailing quietly across the ocean. In that cramped and dank space, everyone learned to know one another, if they did not already. There were many moonlit nights he and I walked the deck, gazing at the starry vault above. At times we would talk about the old, dying lands we had all fled from. At others we would discuss our fellow travelers—the rambunctious and carefree Humans; the stoic but cheerful Dwarves; the mysterious and wise Elves; and the brutish but reverent Orcs. And then we would consider the six who were our leaders, whom we admired and respected the most.