The Crimson Bow: And the Eagle Insignia

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

" ... Pity, well, for you, that is ... "

" Air "

Year 700. April 4rd. Morning [09:14]

Geuss. Shi'av Slums.

So says the Timekeeper

*

He hadn't always seen only darkness. There was a time when he could see the most lovely and vibrant of colors. Red, blue, yellow, green, purple, and all their many hues. He would watch the sun rise over the gates of Shi'av, and then spectate the lovely setting sun seated on top of the opposite gates. He lived merrily and rejoiced at the start of each new day. He had nothing but his jokes and tricks, but seeing the smiles on people's faces was enough to keep him going. Not a bit of selfishness lived in him, and he was truly a boy who lived for others. In his eyes, all beings were beloved. His name was one cheered by the young children who would visit him and would pay him a portion of their allowance for a few tricks and songs.

But devastation would take its toll, and the boy eventually saw the darkness in the hearts of his peers. That was the last thing he ever saw before his world went dark. He never saw another sunrise, never lived without pain he couldn't ignore, and could no longer be cheered up by a mere smile. The boy's heart reflected his face, burned, wrinkled, and scarred. From that day forward, he swore he would never love any creature, be it man or beast, ever again.

Day in and day out, he now spends his life in dust and grime, stealing what he needs and no longer performing for all to see. He grips the ripped sleeve of his tunic with his long, claw-like nails digging into his skin, but he can hardly bring himself to care. Ever since he was born, he's lived with pain. Not a day goes by that he doesn't feel the ache of his crooked bones, the retching of his lungs, or the stings on his face, hurting and burning just as they did when the horrible injury was first inflicted on him. It wasn't lucky that he managed to live this long, it was a curse. If only he'd died as a newborn, or better yet stillborn, like most other half-bloods, he wouldn't be caught in the plague known as life.

And now he was to be an eternal god, suffering the pain of his accursed body for the entire century he was to serve as the god of air and wind. He doesn't doubt the dream he had was real. He can feel power coursing through his veins when there was once no such thing. And besides, his nights were so desolate and devoid of dreams that there was no reason for him to think of it as a fantasy. And yet here he still was, laying in the dirty streets of the Shi'av slums feeling sorry for himself. His hand falls to his side on the dry grit of the soil. So many times since he lost his sight would he write his name in the dirt, the only thing he knew how to write and he refused to forget, even though he could no longer see it. Absentmindedly, he writes out the letters with his scratchy finger. Forthwind. The day he forgets his name will be the day he officially loses everything, because his name all he has. Forthwind rolls over, away from the sounds of the beggars asking all the wrong people for charity, if he has to listen to listen to it one more time then he might as well put them out of their misery. And he's spent the last few years wishing someone would give him that same mercy.

But today is different, Forthwind has to remind himself, because today is the day he's become a god, or half-god at this point. He can control the air, and he's already spent all morning testing it by making the tiniest whirlwinds that stir his strawberry blonde hair. Though, getting wind in his functioning wolf ears is nowhere near as good a feeling. He forces himself into a sitting position, running his fingers over the soft fur of his tail while deep in thought. First things first, he has to get out of Shi'av. There's nothing left for him here, and he has to overcome the fear that goes along with leaving the only place he's ever known. But there's a whole world out there, and if he aims to take it by storm, he's got to get moving. "I'll do it! Yes, I'll get outta here!" he talks to himself, curving his mouth into a smirk underneath the bandages that wrap his face. It takes great efforts to push himself up with his crooked legs and back, but he does his best to ignore the aching of his bones. Otherwise, he needs nothing else. He owns only the clothes on his back, and a stick-like staff that he'd bought back when he earned money. It seemed like worlds away now. "Alright... Ready to go," he murmurs and dusts the dirt off his tunic.