Saarin Cyaegha


Saarin Cyaegha
"I could see it again: the horse with most organs hanging from the open wound still brawled and struggled, fighting for its life.
It was already dead and there was no point. But the creature could not know. I do know. I am already dead."


Long hours of study in dark places have made his skin pale. His figure has become skeletal as he barely eats. His hair once golden has become a pale yellow and his eyes have sunk with considerable eyebags.

A proper birth. The eldest son of a high standing couple brought to the Mother Temple and given his first curse: great potential.

A proper education. Brought to the Luminion colleges, excelled in most subjects and given his second curse: knowledge.

A proper military training. Brought to strategy, warfare and military history. A horse showed him, he did not see yet.

He was expected to continue his journey to Enlightment. And so he refined himself.

A proper rite of passage. Brought to utmost, almost betrayed by himself and given his third curse: doubt.

A proper thesis. The use of magic. Yet the more he dwelled the more it eluded. Given his fourth curse: frustration.

A proper culmination. Brought to his last test. Anguish and pain gave him a memory of horses, he did know now.

The futility of the trials, the futility of all competition, the futility of life. The other choice, the only real choice.

A disgraced wanderer. Told foul and impure the outside lands were, yet now all the same.

A disgraced scholar. Crude, direct and cold words come forth to both friend and foe. Truth is a burden that must be shared.

A disgraced fantasy: life.

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