Prologue: Memoirs of Dark
A plea.
A decision.
Two words, they seem so harmless on their own–floating amongst an amalgamated sea of words. They’re so simple and unassuming, just like every other word to come before and after. Humorous, isn’t it? These two words, in all of their unidentifiable brilliance, are why I despair.
A plea made by my kind, the Khaalteri. A plea made by all creatures of the land. One after another, their hands and knees sullied. Their throats swollen, lungs deflated.
Shamed, but desperate, for ninety-nine days, this continued. Tides of salt flowed until they breached the shores of the God’s gilded lands.
The decision.
Made on the one-hundredth day by Daandvar, Master of the Domain; The Conqueror of All Known and Unknown. The King-Breaker.
He descended from his throne. Each step carrying golden residues that originated from the pollen of the Eternal Tree. Their glimmer, serving as a beacon of hope–setting alight the eyes and spirits of all who watched. The beacons faded, their vestiges concealed by new hopes brought forth with each step. Under illuminated skies, the seas of salt dispersed beneath Daandvar’s majesty.
Heartbeats stampeded in unison, turning audible. Shriveled lungs and sediment stuffed nostrils bore no impairment as a cacophony of heavy breaths peppered the ear; a kind of breath that only the weariest of souls would understand.
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When one begs, they should behave as they should. Drop the head. Bow the knee. There’s no space or need for pride. We did as we should. Noses burrowed into soil and knees bent as far as reason would allow. We did as we should… Everything! I did… No; we did… everything… as it should be done. Then how?! How… did it end… like this?
The decision.
So viscous. So cruel.
A decision that the emptiest of hearts could only make.
I learned three lessons that day. Lessons not taught before.
The first of three; hunger. You see, I had always thought hunger was only a feeling, leading to either satisfaction or despair. However, on that day, I learned it was a sound, too. Many different sounds, actually. They all carry similarities, though–vile, wretched, and numerous other words that incite anguish.
The second; suffering. I always knew what it implied. At least, I thought I did. To lose, to cry. I thought that was to suffer. I was wrong… so, so terribly wrong. I wish I hadn’t, but on that day, I learned what suffering truly meant. Suffering isn’t only a feeling. It has many sounds, too, I’ve found; ones wicked enough to live in perpetual harmony with the sounds of hunger. Ironic and unfortunate. I only made this discovery after my introduction to the sounds of hunger.
When the Conqueror of All Known and Unknown disappeared, when the ripening fruits of the Eternal Tree vanished–that is when I first learned the sounds of hunger.
When the golden residues that fluttered through the skies, serving as a beacon of hope–dwindled, no longer replaced by their resplendent brethren. When adoration turned to cries of agony. When the sounds of hunger descended upon the previously gilded lands; that is when I first learned the sounds of suffering.
The third lesson learned; evil, too, has a sound. Different from the two before, less a brother and more a cousin. Evil also has a face and a voice. Many faces, many voices. Foolishly enough, I once thought I knew what evil was. How it looked. How it felt. What it sounded like... I was wrong. So was everyone else.
Evil isn’t dark. Evil isn’t light. Evil is Daandvar... and all the other gods that stood so condescendingly atop their clouded summit. For it is they who stripped us of our light.