The HaRT Knight Decaverse

The Accounts

Genesis

I’ve been called many things in my life. Some have hailed me as a savior and hero, others have reviled me as a monster and destroyer. The Silver City called me their great genius inventor, while the Order of Drake referred to me as their fiercest warrior. The magic race of the Dhaesí dubbed me the Uniter of Worlds, and later, the Great Divider. Perhaps the most well-known of my designations, I was The Man the Shadow Fears. But how is it I, a human with no magic in his blood whatsoever, became the thing monsters most feared in this world? That is a long and complicated tale, however, it is one I will try to pen here. This will not be a simple task. The accounts of my life are difficult ones to tell. They will probably be just as difficult to hear.
Unlike my fellow man, who seems to recall their earliest memories with ease and joy, the story of my genesis does not supply me with the same feelings of nostalgia. No, my first memory is one of darkness and fear.
I’m not sure how old I was in my first memory, but I had already gained the skills to walk and talk, albeit with the clumsy tendencies of a child. Yes, I know it’s hard to imagine the person I would become as ever having been anything so normal. However, despite what I would one day become, I was, in fact, a child once; a child who took the world in with wonder and excitement in his innocent heart.
Sadly, my first memory is of the death of that innocence.
The memory begins with a vague collection of shadows and mist before it solidifies into a single overwhelming emotion: fear. The only bit of safety I remember from this memory came from the woman who clutched my hand—pulling me ever forward, deeper, and deeper into a black forest. For a long time, I did not know who this woman in my memory had been; I had always just referred to her as my caretaker, for that was what my instincts had told me was her relation to the child I had been. While it would still be decades before I learned the dark truth of the woman in this memory, it became apparent much sooner that my instincts on that night were wrong.
I think it would comfort my enemies to know: even I was foolish as a child. I believed I was in no danger as long as this woman held my hand—despite a great deal of evidence to the contrary.
The images I remember of the forest were enough to make the bravest of men quiver with fear. The giant trees we passed each loomed over me like dark sentinel guardians. Sounds of unknown creatures—or as I thought back then, monsters—sounded from out of the shadowy distance, constantly changing their position, making it appear as though they surrounded us.
One part of this memory I feel merits mention: as my “caretaker” led me through the forest; I recall a pair of luminous blue eyes in the shadows. No matter how far into the forest we went, those eyes seemed to follow. It felt as though a fist closed around my heart, and my hand followed suit and closed tighter around that of the woman. To my dismay, she gave the first sign of her intention, for as my grip tightened on hers, I felt her grip slacken. Even as a child, I could sense her iniquitous intent.
I attempted to speak; however, I can’t be certain I said anything coherent. For all I know, I might have just kept repeating the word apple. It would explain why I chose it as my safe word once I was old enough to take part in more cardinal activities. Whatever I had said—if I said anything at all—she never answered, but sometimes I imagine I heard her snicker.
What felt like hours passed as we moved in silence through what I was sure was a den of demons. By the time we slowed down, my legs wanted to give way. If not for the cold and fear that caused me to shiver, I would have felt overjoyed when we finally found what the woman had led me to: the tallest and thickest of all the trees in the forest. An evocative light illuminated it from behind and chased away all the shadows that covered the rest of the forest.
Even as a child, my curiosity was uncontainable, and this was the first time I experienced its sway over me. It was like a fire in my head, threatening to turn my skull to ash if not sated; and the only way to satisfy it was to examine the tree and the strange light. I edged nearer to the tree, the woman’s hand still clutched in mine. The light, it turned out, had come from the moon reflected off the mirror-like surface of the lake that was at the bottom of the sudden drop behind the tree.
The sight was so beautiful it drove all fear from me, and as the fist around my heart lessened, so did my grip on my caregiver’s hand.
I instantly knew I had made a mistake, but it was too late.
My caregiver plucked her hand free from mine, and with the same hand that had just vacated mine, she pushed me over the side of the cliff.
As I fell off the cliff, it felt like an eternity passed before I broke the pristine surface of the lake; I suspect this was because of the lack of memories to flash before my eyes as I neared death.
The impact sent a shock-wave through my body, and as I sank to the black depths, ice replaced the air in my lungs. I can’t say with any certainty whether I had known how to swim before that moment, however, whether by instinct or experience, my arms and legs propelled me back to the surface.
It felt like I could have died three times over in the time I took to reach the muddy bank. My body felt the same way. The second my feet found the ground, I collapsed.
I coughed nonstop as the water vacated my lungs to make way for air to once again take its place. Waves of pain spread through my body with every breath I tried to take. The unforgiving wind beat against my wet clothes, plastering it to my skin.
The next moment is probably the clearest memory I have of that night. I stared up at the cliff to where the woman still stood. She knew I had survived; she had seen me get out of the lake, yet she showed no interest in helping me. A horrible realization dawned upon me: the one charged with the task of my care had now attempted to kill me.
I think the reason I remember this moment with such clarity is because it’s the moment my entire world changed forever. The one person in the world I had trusted with all my heart had betrayed me. I turned and ran.
I ran with such fervor, almost as if I feared the lake would attempt to retake me if I did not flee fast enough. I ran with the mad desire of an animal, my vision obscured by my unbidden tears. My lack of vision did not postpone my flight, neither did I give much attention to the branches that cut my face and body or the stones that dug into my soft feet.
My mad sprint to nowhere only came to a halt when a root caught my foot. I hit the leaf-strewn ground with a loud thud, and my momentum caused my body to roll forward a few more paces before it finally came to a stop.
I didn’t get up to continue my flight. For now that I had stopped long enough to think, I realized I had nowhere to go. There was no one to kiss my wounds and tell me it would be all right, no warm arms to enfold me and make me feel safe.
So I curled into a ball as I wept. I wept and shivered from the cold until sleep finally gave me some momentary reprieve from the horror that was now my life.

The next day, I woke up as the warm rays of the sun crept through the canopy of leaves, and for a blissful second, I almost forgot the events of the previous night. But all too soon, the memories raced back, and with them came a fresh wave of tears. Again, I wept, I wept for hours about all that had befallen me, about my feeling of complete helplessness, and I wept because I had nowhere to go from here. I wept until my eyes had no more tears to spare, and then I stayed there, curled up between the fallen leaves, trying to think what reason could there be for my caregiver to have done what she did. Soon the light dwindled, and darkness once again took the forest in its freezing grasp. Without my tears to dull my pain, I became uncomfortably aware of how my body ached. At first, I attempted to ignore the icy wind, but my body would not allow it. With every shiver, a fresh wave of pain accompanied it, so finally, I resolved to get back up and try to at least warm myself up. Even back then, I was too stubborn to give up and die.
I moved slower this night, my body too weak to muster the same fervor it had managed the previous night. I was also much more aware of how the shadows seemed to move and how menacing the trees themselves looked.
I wandered for most of the night with nothing but the trees to keep me company. I was on the verge of tears again when I finally saw something hopeful in the distance—a flicker of light.
I increased my pace yet moved with care as not to trip over another root.
As I approached the source of the light, I saw a fire in the middle of a clearing, a cooking pot next to it, and what seemed to be a makeshift tent nearby. Someone was here—someone with food.
A feeling of weariness consumed my momentary glee as I cautiously made my way into the campsite. A strange coppery smell hung in the air.
My eyes darted from the cooking pot to the makeshift tent. The pot was turned over, and all its contents spilled on the ground. Something had ripped the tent, four slits waved in the wind as if to warn me of danger. Despite all these warning signs, I was hungry and desperate. I made my way into the camp, and as I approached the fire, my eyes fell upon a sight that haunts me to this day. The source of the coppery smell: a pool of blood next to the mangled body of a man. I trembled, but not of cold, no I shook violently because of fear.
I turned to flee back into the shadows, the shadows that could hide me every bit as well as it could those who would harm me. It was the first time I realized the shadows were not my enemy, but an ally.
Unfortunately, it was not just my ally. As I turned around, a wolf with a blood-covered muzzle limped forward from out of the shadows. It had an ugly scar where its left eye had once been. It raised its hackles and bared its teeth with a growl. Instinctively, I knew what would come next. I made to turn and run in the opposite direction, but as I moved, my half frozen feet got tangled, and I hit the ground. It proved to be more luck than I would ever know in my lifetime again. While I fell, something brushed against my back and in the next second, a loud yelp filled the air as I attempted to get upright. I got to my feet in a rush, only to freeze as I saw the wolf in absolute agony in the fire. It had leaped at me as I fell and had flown straight over me into the fire, its hurt leg caught between two flaming logs.
I stared at it with a mingling of horror and astonishment as the creature’s drive to survive spurred it to do the unthinkable. As the flames tried to devour its body, the wolf devoured its own leg. Its mighty jaw crushed its bones, while its fangs tore at muscle and flesh. Seeing a desire for survival so powerful and primal at such a young age pierced. It imprinted on the very core of my soul and has been part of me ever since. Even then, in that moment, my new primal drive to survive tried to warn me of the danger my astonishment was blinding me to. The wolf was freeing itself, and once it had, it would come for me again, and I could not stop it. Not this creature that was willing to tear its own limb off, this creature that not even fire could stop.
So it was that my new lupine-self reacted where my child-self could not. As the wolf extricated itself from the burning logs, I knelt down and grabbed the sharpest rock I could find—how I managed to do it so fast, I still don’t know.
The creature limped out of the fire, rolling on the ground to extinguish the flames that had clung to its fur. As it came back up to its three remaining feet, I leaped forward with the rock and jammed it through its one good eye.
I can recall that terrible moment with perfect clarity to this day. The shock and disgust I felt as the beast fell limply back into the flames it had just escaped. I recall falling to my knees and retching as I stared at my blood-soaked hands. It was the first life I ever took, the first stain on my soul, the beginning of the thing I would become.  
I stared in horror at what I had done, at the beast as it burnt amidst the flames, its frantic attempts to free itself futile as the fire devoured it. It was a terrible sight, accompanied by even worse sounds, and yet, I could not pull myself away from it. I could not bring myself to look away from the vicious creature that had a second ago attempted to devour me, now being devoured in turn. I fell asleep as I watched what would be the first of the thousands of victims I would slay in my lifetime.
When I awoke again, it was because of a painful pressure in my stomach. I had not eaten in days, and the strength I had left would attest to that. I knew I needed to do something; somehow, I needed to come by something edible. But I had never had to fend for myself. My “caregiver” had always provided me with food. I did not know how to go about the discovery and preparation of food. At this thought, my stomach gave a growl that caused me to start. The grumbling reminded me so much of the wolf’s snarl that, for a moment, I feared it had returned to life.
My eyes flicked to the pile of ash and the carcass of the fallen beast atop it. Steam still rose from the charred meat of the dead animal, and once again, my stomach gave another growl. I sniffed the air and saliva filled my mouth at the sweet aroma of cooked meat. I didn’t stop to think about what I was doing. All I knew was I needed food and this thing before me would suffice. And so, I crawled to the smoldering wolf and tore into its charred flesh. The flesh was still warm from the flames and burnt both my mouth and fingers, but I did not care, my stomach did not care. When I finally ate my fill, I saw the tipped cooking pot, a small amount of water still inside it. I fell to my knees and shoved my head into the pot, drinking the stagnated water like a wild animal. The small amount was not enough to satisfy me, but it sustained me for the time being. I sat back and allowed my thoughts to race as I tried to figure out what would be my next step. My mind supplied only one reply to the question: Stay alive.
After my encounter with the wolf, I spent most of my time planning ways to survive. I had learned three important things so far: I would need food to eat, water to drink, and the shadows were my friends. So when night fell again, I felt none of the fear I had experienced my first two nights in the forest.
When the snow fell, I learned my fourth lesson. It may be pretty, but it’s damn uncomfortable. I needed to learn to make a fire. This was more of a challenge than I would like to admit. I did not understand how a person made a fire; it put it into perspective for me how great an accomplishment it must have been for the first person ever to figure out how to do it. It’s not like the first one to make fire figured it out by watching beavers set fire to their unused damns.
In the end, I figured it out through a painful process of trial and error. My first breakthrough came when I noticed the warmth produced when I rubbed my hands together. So I rubbed different things together to get the same result. Eventually, when I rubbed two sticks together and got smoke, I knew I had my answer. It took an entire day, over a hundred sticks, and a lot of blisters on my hands, but eventually I finally got a small fire going. I used the fire to melt snow in the pot and ensured a supply of fresh water. Food was more difficult to come by. I wasn’t much of a hunter back then, and while I gathered a few edible berries and roots after I observed the animals of the forest, it wasn’t ever enough to make me full. I survived for quite some time on my own in this manner; an accomplishment few others can claim, especially not as children.
Perhaps a month or two since my forced emancipation, I had my first encounter with sentient life in the forest. It happened when I returned to my camp one night, a rabbit I had killed with a rock flung over my shoulder. A light emanated from my campsite, something that caused my heart to race since I always made certain to put out the fire when I left—a lesson learnt after nearly setting fire to my improved shelter of sticks and leaves. I dropped my rabbit in the snow and crept through the shadows.
As I neared the clearing, I heard voices. “You are certain this is the place?”
“Yes, I am. You’ve always trusted me before. Trust me now,” the second voice said, and I almost turned to run in the opposite direction.
“Melpomene has seen him, mother. It won’t be long now,” another female voice said.
I crawled closer to get a better look at my visitors when the second voice spoke again. “In fact, it would appear he has arrived. As we speak, he attempts to sneak up on us from over there.”
I froze solid, not sure what to do now they had found me out.
“Come on out, my dear,” one woman said.
I don’t know what it was about that voice, but I instantly felt like obeying it. I got to my feet and stepped into the clearing, and my mouth fell open. Whatever I had expected to find in that clearing—a unicorn defecating pancakes would have been nice, or perhaps a mad mushroom that could talk and give away puppies—it was nothing near what reality dealt me.
Those who know this part of my legend have their own ways to describe it. The poets say I found hope in an unlikely and odd form. I’ve heard philosophers argue I found myself there in that clearing. Scholars name it by what they know it as, the Simurgh. I like to say I found my actual mother there.
Sure enough, anyone who has ever seen me and a picture of the Simurgh will immediately point out that there is no resemblance between the two of us. For one, she has nine more tails than I do. Another good argument is that I look nothing like a fox with wings and a spiral horn protruding from my forehead. All true, and no, I’m not insane. I know the Simurgh did not give birth to me. However, when you consider who the woman who gave birth to me turned out to be, I would much rather live in denial.  
I’m sure that if you have never seen a picture of the Simurgh, none of this makes a great deal of sense. In fact, from some pictures I’ve seen in books, even if you had, it would still be dreadfully confusing. I can’t hope to use our guttural language to describe her beauty and awe adequately, but I can attempt it. To put things in the most oversimplified way, she was a giant fox covered in glittering copper feathers. She had nine feathered tails that danced like rainbow flames behind her. Her face, while closer to that of a canine, carried unmistaken human characteristics. But by far, the most captivating thing about her was her glowing copper eyes.
Naturally, she wasn’t alone there in the clearing. Nearby sat three women. Long black hair and eyes of unnatural blue. Eyes remarkably similar to the ones I saw the night my caregiver tried to kill me. They all smiled warmly at me.
My mother’s eyes glistened as she saw me step into the clearing. The next moment, she stood upright, and everything about her changed. She took on the appearance of a beautiful woman with long, copper hair. Her nine tails became a dress, and her wings a shawl. No signs of the fox she had been a second ago remained.
“Hello, little one,” she said in a melodious voice. To this day, I have heard nothing near as sweet.
“He’s so small,” one of the other women said in amusement. “Not at all as scary as I thought.”
“He’s not scary,” another one snapped. She turned to look at me with fondness. “He’s still just a child. He’s adorable.”
“Who—who you?” I asked in my clumsy, childish tongue.
The fox woman came to kneel before me. She smiled as she said, “I am the Simurgh. These three.” She indicated the three women behind her. “Are my daughters. Calliope, Melpomene, and Terpsichore. And we came here for you.”
I looked at them each in confusion before I said, “Me?”
“Yes,” the Simurgh nodded. She licked her thumb and used it to rub the dirt off my cheek. “We’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time now.”
“Too long,” one of the other three women said.
I did not reply; I understood little of what they said.
“You’ve lived alone like this for a while now, haven’t you?” the Simurgh asked.
I nodded.
“It must be hard for one as young as you to be alone,” she added.
I nodded again, but this time, the action shook tears loose. I had not cried since that second night, but this woman’s kindness just reminded me of the betrayal I had suffered at my caregiver’s hands. My grief awoke sorrow in her, and she leaped forward to embrace me. The strength with which she held me made me feel safe, a feeling I thought I would never know again, and a feeling that caused my tears to redouble. I grabbed hold of her with as much strength as my little hands could manage.
“It’s all right, my dear, it’s over now,” she whispered into my ear. “That’s why we came. We came here to offer you a home. To offer you a family.”
I looked up at her with shock at these words. “Mother?” I stuttered through my tears.
The expression that overcame her face was one of sad elation. A single tear escaped her eye, and she said, “Would you like that?”
I nodded frantically and buried my head in her bosom as I hugged her close again. “Then I name you my son, and promise to take and protect you until the time comes for you to fly the nest.”
Another hand fell on my shoulder. I looked at its owner, one of the other three women. When she spoke, it was in a voice I can only describe as an ecstatic harmony, “And I call you my brother, and I will guide you and look out for you as long as I live.”
I remained in my mother’s warm embrace for a long time before we finally broke apart. When we did, she wiped the tears from my eyes and said, “It’s time to go to your new home.” She waited for me to nod before she added, “You will have to let Calliope hold you.”
The young woman took me and looked at me with an expression of palpable excitement and fondness. My mother then transformed into her vulpine form and knelt for all four of us to get on her back. When we did, and she got back up to her feet, she spread her coppery wings wide, and with a single sweep of her wings, we launched off the ground and into the sky. I recall only a few seconds of consciousness before my frail, childlike body passed out.
By the time I woke up again, I was already in the palace of the muses, where I would receive my education and upbringing. The education that would allow me to one day be known as the greatest mind in any of the ten worlds. But we’ll get to that.