A deep aching loneliness. . . A void which encompassed all happiness and sent it spinning off into the black nothingness which was his soul. This was Tragach li'Kitun. This was a man of whom more than life had been taken.

Eyes that matched his midnight soul gazed mournfully out over the desolate landscape, large and all-seeing even while unfocused and distant. Set deep beneath heavy brows and separated by a strong, broad nose, they held such desperate hopelessness that no mortal could begin to comprehend. This hopelessness reached into the very foundation of his being and set roots so firmly that no light penetrated its shroud of breathing death. A grim line tightened his lips, pulling at the blackened scars shadowing his high cheekbones. Scars rightfully earned but displayed with none of the pride that he had once known. Pride was not something that a man of Tragach's position could afford. Only the blackest of mortal despair; this was what he allowed himself. No more, sometimes less.

Black hair liberally striped with broad swaths of the purest white - a color so flawless that when he saw himself in the smooth reflection of a glass, he found it mocking - was pulled back from his chiseled face with a darkened leather band. His hair fell below his waist, as was tradition among his people, the only link that he kept with his past - a past that had already forgotten him. . .

Tragach slowly rose to his feet, intelligence sharpening his gaze as he gathered his thoughts about him. His thoughts -- the few things that he had that were still wholly his. Thoughts so laced with bitterness and hatred that at times he wished he no longer had even them to call his own. But no, his thoughts were the only things to remind him of who he was, no matter how much he prayed to the Swordmaster to wipe his memory clear of that also. The Tragach li'Kitun of this day was not the same brave warrior of earlier times, of better times. . . The man - dare we even call him such? - who stood looking out over the barren valley was no more like the younger Tragach li'Kitun than the new man was to the white sheep that grazed below him.

The loneliness permeated every breath, every movement. Not a second passed in the relentless parade of Time that Tragach li'Kitun was not aware of the soul-crushing presence - or lack thereof. His black heart labored beneath the weight of its load, pumping poisoned blood throughout the battle honed body, a poison whose bite was not death but life - or what was the equivalent. Tragach thought, breathed, moved, but as his body continued these functions his soul was slowly eaten away, eroded by the ever-present memories. Memories so polluted that a man of lesser strength would have run from them, escaping into the deepest recesses of his mind, in hopes that there they would find refuge. But Tragach was a strong man and from the day that he found insanity was not an escape for him, he cursed his strength, willing it to be stripped away from him as his soul and honor had been. Yet his curse fortified this strength of spirit, of mind, of body, until Tragach was a well-honed weapon, lithe, quick, sure, and deadly. Very, very deadly. And like the double swords that hung easily across his back, he struck deep and hard, and his bite was one not to be recovered from.

His black, soulless eyes roved over the land below him, his face impassive and hard. He could feel the Calling throbbing through his veins in time with the beat of his treacherous heart, black blood heating his body to a fevered pitch. He ached with the sorrow of a thousand men and suffered the anguish of a thousand deaths but he was given no such release. Death would never be an option for Tragach li'Kitun. . . No, never Death -- only the endless, swirling void, the soul stealing loneliness. Such was the fate of Tragach li'Kitun, a fate of embittered silence and hopelessness. Such was the fate of the Forger's Assassins.

* * * * * *

Her fair, shining figure held such poise and pride that the earth itself envied her confidence. Sunlight's radiant hues could not touch upon the glow that encircled her towheaded visage nor the sky's flawless blue compare to the endless pools which were her eyes. Such a woman gifted with beauty and grace had yet to walk on earth's impressionable skin for none who gazed upon her would forget the heavenly sight.

So filled with hope was she that where ever she looked a vibrant smile curled her lips, for in death she saw new life, in war she saw future peace, in mortals she saw inherent perfection. Her eyes sent forth such joy for living that all who met her blue gaze could not escape the buoyant sense of renewed hope and faith and strength. Her soul was buried deep in the bosom of the earth and soaring high above the clouds on the breath of the gods. Where she passed, the shadows shrank back in fear - darkness was no match for Shinae te'Briochna, whose inner light shone forth with a child's zeal and innocence.

Shinae te'Briochna had never known sadness nor despair nor hopelessness, such was the boundlessness of her love and faith. Her pale feet passed over the dried grasses that blanketed the land and with each feather-light footstep, the blades of brown growth seemed to stand straighter and held the faintest hint of spring's new green. The slowly fading summer could not help but rejoice in Shinae's shining presence, the earth gathering its last dredges of beauty to place before the woman's gaily smiling eyes. Such was the affect that she had on all things, be it human, animal, or not living at all. All things sought to please her, to show her their finer sides and whence she came was a deeply rooted sense of beauty and strength that would not be overshadowed by the darker aspects of life.

She lifted her fair face up to be kissed by the sun's warm lips and her eyes closed with a feline delight while her skin basked in the gentle touch of a caressing breeze. The heavenly light refracted off Shinae's cheek, a sinuous line of liquid gold absorbing the sun's glow and throwing it back a hundred fold into the cool air. The Breathing Sun's mark lay along her cheeks in the form of a twisting dragon, its scales outlined in sparkling gold and silver. As she smiled at nothing and at everything around her, the snake-like creature seemed to slide across her features, slipping beneath her azure eyes and cradling her cheeks in the curve of its long tail. The mark of the Breathing Sun was one bestowed upon a chosen few and Shinae wore hers with all the pride of one newly cleansed of past deeds. When mortals looked upon her countenance it was this token of heavenly favor they saw first and which opened their hearts to her healing presence. The Shining Dragon was the sign of better things to come and the Avatars who bore them were breathing pillars of hope.

When Shinae turned her gaze to the browned hills of the west, a new look crossed her fair features - wrinkles formed between her brows and she frowned. There was a blackness creeping forth from the Land of the Forger, a tendril of nothingness which challenged her light. With the regal bearing of a queen, she gathered her powers about her, a cloak of light and life, a shield of purity, a sword of hope. Her face hardened with determination and the dragon blazed forth with the power of her creator. The creature seemed to come alive, its scales glinting wildly and its body twisting with battle lust.

The Avatar of the Breathing Sun strode forward with purpose, nothing but her faith in hand. Her flawless eyes never turned from the blight which darkened the land and yet in her heart was nothing but hope and love for the wretch which sought to destroy her and all she strove for. To feel anything else would mean to lose the battle before setting foot on the field and she intended not to lose. Her lips moved with quiet words and curled again into a seraphic smile. And to the ends of the earth every shadow shrank back in fear and darkness shuddered to think of this shining beauty who challenged without ever raising a hand.

* * * * * *

There was no pleasure, no abhorrence, nothing which would have been natural to feel at such a time. The blade pulled free with ease and after being wiped clean, joined its twin in the double sheath across the muscular back. Tragach straightened, his eyes black slits and his mouth a tight line. His jaw clenched when his gaze fell upon the slumped form before him. The Calling had finally ceased and little by little his blood cooled in his veins. In a hand's breadth time from now the blackness would engulf him once more and any chance for true sorrow, sorrow of a man, would be gone until the next Calling.

He studied the body which lie at his feet and reveled in the pain that welled in his heart. It was an emotion, one that he knew he should be feeling. He pulled the pain to him, played with it, nurtured it and then beat himself with it, reveling even more in the self-imposed punishment. Absently his hand lifted to caress the hilt protruding from over his shoulder, the thought of sliding his wrist along the blade's deadly body whispering in his mind as it had a hundred, a thousand times before. Knowing the outcome, he deliberately grasped the well-worn hilt and slid the blade from its bed. Casually he put forth his arm, palm up and drew the diamond sharp edge along the tender skin of his wrist. Blood oozed forth and beaded on the metal blade but no mark remained where the sword had passed. Tragach didn't even blink as he instinctively wiped clean his sword and slid it home on his back.

He no longer kept count of the times he had done this same act, every motion, every pause, every time the same lack of freedom. The first time he had tried to release himself from this bondage had been the night the Forger had noticed him. Tragach did not at first realize what such attention meant but once he found out, it was too late for him to acknowledge that he'd rather die than hold it. He had felt it as his soul was drained from him, the only thing left in its place an empty nothingness, the black void that he now acknowledged as 'Tragach.'

Even as he took a breath he felt the coldness of his curse settle over his mind and briefly he tried to resist, screaming to the ruthless Forger, "I am Tragach li'Kitun of the li'Tigon clan! I am not your creature but my own!" Yet even as the words formed they were painfully shattered against his master's fist and the warrior shuddered to his knees. It had been years since his last attempt to rebel against his chains and he shuddered again as the image of him lying in semi-consciousness, shaking with the potency of the Forger's poison in his veins flashed before his eyes. The power which held Tragach's chains was not a kind one and when it found its chosen Assassin an unwilling participant it eagerly broke him into a more than willing slave. The first punishment had merely been a mental slap which left Tragach dazed and unsteady on his feet while the next stole the breath from his chest and took the ground from beneath him. The third had been more severe as Tragach had put up a stronger fight. . . The chosen Assassin could almost have sworn that he had broken the Forger's link but the Forger, if truly it had been bested, crushed Tragach's mind in his grasp and left him strewn on the ground like a broken toy. That had been the last attempt.

Tragach waited for the rest of the punishment to come and gritted his teeth in expectation but nothing came. Shakily, he rose to his feet and shrugged his swords higher on his back, the well-oiled leather creaking in a familiar sound. He closed his eyes and probed the link placed between every Assassin and the Forger, trying to find a weakness, which always before had remained hidden - if one existed at all. Then heat flowed through his body and he slumped in resignation, knowing the Calling before it even took over. Quickly, a mere breath after the heat, came the burning fire and Tragach loosed a roar filled with rage and frustration and despair. It tore from his throat, leaving it raw and sore but the intensity of his emotion carried his yell to the distant hills and sent it rebounding off into the horizon. Birds scattered from their perches and turned the heads of a nearby herd of wild horses, their ears twitching and nostrils aquiver with frightened nervousness. Inevitably, Tragach succumbed to the Calling, as every Assassin before him, and the eyes that roved the skyline were dead black and cold, non-blinking and all seeing.

The name of his chosen target flowed with his blood in his veins, echoing in his ears with every heartbeat and flashing across his vision with every breath. Shinae te'Briochna, it whispered; the Avatar of the Breathing Sun, it beat. He smiled and it would have made any who saw it shiver in fear and revulsion for it held no hint of Tragach's former humanity. He set forth with eager steps into the Land of the Breathing Sun, his fingers clenching and unclenching in anxious anticipation -- the Calling had fully taken over.

* * * * * *

Shinae strode forth confidently, her steps light and sure, her gaze unblinking as it took in the approaching darkness that had nothing to do with the westbound sun. Soon—soon...

Trusting her feet to their path, the Avatar of the Breathing Sun closed her eyes and eased herself into a light trance, invoking the aide of her Creator. Father of Life, your daughter is in need of aide for a darkness has blighted your light. My spirit is in need of your strength and warmth.

MY LIGHT IS YOURS, DAUGHTER SHINAE. IT SHALL BE AS YOU REQUEST.

She shivered at her Creator’s might as her eyes opened and, for the first time, saw he who dared question His power. Her feet continued forth unfailingly, spring green following behind her in a living train. The Breathing Sun’s warmth sang in her veins and pulsed in pure light from her smile. She was now only a vessel for His will, He would fight this fight and she would simply be a bystander in her own body. The presence of her Creator’s spirit sent her heart trilling with an unadulterated joy. This was how it had been when first she was Chosen to be an Avatar, this warmth, this love, this raw power. Her Creator was not a cruel master as was His brother, the Forger. He did not coerce His follower’s souls but invited them and loved them. And for that He was beloved and given His Avatar’s undying love and unending loyalty. The Avatars found purpose and truth in the Breathing Sun’s service. Push back the darkness of the Forger and his Assassins, who killed only to empower their master with innocent blood, and spread light and hope wherever it would be welcomed and nourished.

Her parents could not have dreamed of a better existence for their youngest daughter... If they had been alive to dream.

The Breathing Sun wrapped this sad thought in His hand and blocked it from His daughter’s mind, shielding her from the pain that would only leave her vulnerable to His brother. Shinae’s eyes shone brighter again, the blue blazing forth above a shining dragon of liquid gold and silver. Her heart eased and a silent thank you whispered through her body.

The sun had just begun to kiss the horizon but Shinae te’Briochna created her own light, all the brighter for the fading of the day and she would not be darkened by this approaching night. Her eyes sharpened, far seeing and made all the stronger by her Master’s presence. Her smile only grew as her eyes picked out the figure of an Assassin, his trained movements as clear as the darkness which emanated from his spirit... What was left of it. Her feet wanted to carry her to him but her Creator bade her stop, making the Forger’s Assassin come to her.

As she stood, she studied the approaching man, testing his resolve with small bursts of warmth and light that she sent into his heart, his ravaged spirit. He grew tense and she sensed a struggle within but an overpowering evil seeped into his veins and more of his spirit broke away, falling into a black deeper than the velvety black of a moonless sky.

SO BROTHER, YOU HOPE TO STAND AGAINST ME WITH HER? The Forger’s scorn ripped across the air and his Assassin continued on. THANK YOU FOR BRINGING HER TO ME. YOU’VE ONLY SAVED MY ASSASSIN THE WORK OF FINDING HER. His Assassin bared his teeth in what Shinae could only assume was a smile, an echo of the hatred she heard in the Forger’s voice.

The Breathing Sun bolstered Shinae’s light and lifted ever so slightly from her mind, answering his brother. YOU HAVE GROWN STRONG SINCE LAST I BESTED YOU, BROTHER. HAVE YOU GROWN SO BOLD AS TO ATTACK ONE OF MY OWN? DO YOU HAVE SUCH FAITH IN YOUR FOLLOWERS? WILL HE STAND BESIDE YOU EVEN WHEN YOUR POWER FAILS TO HOLD HIS SPIRIT? TURN BACK, BROTHER, RETURN TO YOUR LAND OF DARK AND BE THANKFUL THAT I LEFT YOU THAT. The Breathing Sun’s tone was that of an admonishing older brother and somewhat amused but this last cracked between the Assassin and His Avatar like a whip, stinging the man with light. Shinae trembled for she had never seen her master so, yet she had never seen Him against His brother.

The Forger snarled and it was mirrored on the Assassin’s face, the double scars contorting the man’s expression into a rictus of hate and pain. Shinae’s heart reached out to his tortured mind, pitying this poor creature whose soul had been stolen. She would not hate him, could not hate him, for this would only strengthen her enemy, but she felt no impulsion to feel so. Shinae’s master smiled silently, telling her that she had made the right decision.

She took a tentative step forward, pausing to see if the Breathing Sun would stop her but when she met no resistance, she continued with a braver step, her cloak of light spreading to envelope more sky and brushing against the Assassin’s own guard of darkness. The Assassin flinched back from the light and the Forger snarled again, slashing at his Assassin’s mind with vicious rebuke, punishing him for giving ground. Shinae smiled her loving smile and confusion clouded the Assassin’s formerly flat eyes. She was getting through to him; she could win. Father, help me! she cried.

The Breathing Sun laughed lightly. SO, YOU’VE MADE YOUR CHOICE THEN, BROTHER? SO BE IT. BUT I ASK YOU THIS, WILL YOU ALLOW YOUR ASSASSIN - the word dripped from his tongue with what could only be haughty disbelief – TO FIGHT THIS BATTLE OR WILL YOU TRY TO TAKE ME YOURSELF? He paused meaningfully. REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED WHEN LAST WE MET, BROTHER- YOUR HAND IS STILL DOING FINE. SIMPLY TELL ME WHEN YOU WOULD LIKE IT BACK.

Dark and light met with a blinding flash and deafening roar, the Forger lunging at his brother’s spirit with feral intensity. The Breathing Sun met him and pushed him back with negligent ease. Shinae took the opening of the Forger’s guard, stepped to his Assassin, and did not pause even when he faced her with his double swords bared. Reaching out before he could react, she took his face between her hands and delved into his thoughts.

* * * * * *

Tragach stared across the slowly closing space between him and the shining form of his target. The rage of his master coursed through his body, blinding him with red. It was all he could do to stand firm as Shinae te’Briochna approached him, her smile of warmth and love never faltering, even when he instinctively drew his twin blades and crossed them before his chest. Before he knew what was happening, she pushed his swords apart as if they were mere toys and placed her cool hands on either side of his face. Her touch was agony and he was thrown into a maelstrom of memories which he was forced to face for the first time since his will was taken from him by the Forger.

Kethalyn. Her name was Kethalyn. He lived for and would have died for her. Black hair, glossy as a calm lake and eyes that never failed to shine when she saw him. She had finally become his, with all the extravagance that his rank called for. He was a Marked One, a warrior of the finest ilk and he had the Trial Scars to prove it. He was the youngest of the li’Tigon clan to ever claim such status. But he would have given all this up had Kethalyn only spoken one word. Yet she loved him unconditionally and asked him to give up nothing, not his roaming, not his fighting. And he loved her, asking himself countless times how he could possible deserve such a woman as Kethalyn. And then she was taken from him. Taken from his arms, from his heart with such ruthlessness that it sent him spinning down a spiral of self-hate, guilt, and despair. He should have been there to protect her, that was what he did, that was who he was. He was a Marked One! But that mattered not to a god, especially one of the Forger’s heartlessness. The Forger had killed Kethalyn, violated her body – how Tragach had worshiped her body! – and then discarded her like a used rag. The intense hatred and despair Tragach felt left him open to the Forger’s influence... How could he have been so blind?! How could he not have seen?! Yet, by the time he finally realized what had happened, he had already been taken by the Forger as an Assassin... and repudiated by his clan as a weakling, undeserving of his Scars. At that point, he had welcomed the presence of his master... How could he not see?! By the time he did, it was too late; his soul was the Forger’s.

Shinae’s closed eyes saw this, felt this, heard this, and cried, her tears glittering over the now quiet dragon and falling upon Tragach’s sword-clenching fists. How could a man be filled with such self-hate and nothingness?! How, with the Breathing Sun willing to heal such pain and ease such suffering? She could not understand.

In the back of her mind, she could sense her master and, again, that odd frown creased her brows as she sensed His strength beginning to flag. Was that possible? Could the Forger actually win against her Creator? NO! She would not let him! Her thoughts turned back to this Assassin, Tragach li’Kitun, her hands still against his face. She must help this man though. Tears sprang once more to her eyes. She could not leave any man in this hellish bondage. But in order to help him, he must open up to her, by his own volition... and she knew only one way to allow him to do that.

Tragach’s eyes snapped open as the last memory faded, his eyes meeting Shinae’s blue ones. She had seen what no other person had seen. She should die for this! How dare she presume to invade his thoughts! He tried to snarl but found his body in the control of someone else. He tasted the link between his soul and the Forger and nearly dropped his swords. For the first time since he had been named Assassin, the link gave beneath his thoughts, thrumming weakly. She had done this... with her probing and tears. Frozen limbs free, the swords lowered voluntarily and sanity crept back into his eyes. Her smile lent him its warmth and then he was being drawn into a light-filled plain, the brightness stunning his mind to near unconsciousness, which had become accustomed to the void.

Romil and Petrana. These were her parents. She loved them more than life itself and lived only to make them happy, only to please them and make them proud of her. Even then she had been beautiful, no more than eight winters old. Yet even then the mark of the Breathing Sun had been upon her, if not in the form of the dragon, then in the light which she bestowed upon all things. Her life wanted for nothing: she had devoted parents, a loving village, and the world at her fingertips. Then a gaping hole was torn in the perfect picture- the Forger slaughtered her village, making certain that her parents were dealt with most harshly. The Assassins who answered the Calling skinned them, taking pleasure in their screams and hung them up on the front gate, where Shinae would be sure to see them when she returned from one of her excursions in the woods. And she did. Her knees hit the ground hard enough to jar her teeth and bring tears to her eyes. Then the grief took over and her body had become a quivering mass of sobs. In that moment of despair she had felt the Forger’s intense pleasure but then that pleasure had turned to shock as the Breathing Sun caressed the dragon across her cheeks and filled her spirit with life and light. Of her own will, she had turned her back on the Forger, dismissing his power and embracing the position of Avatar. If only her parents could see her--

Warm tears dried on both Tragach’s and Shinae’s cheeks as she relived that painful time and he felt her undisguised grief, followed by joyous release. Is this what happy was, is this what true release was like? He could no longer remember. It had been so long since he had felt either—

"Let me show you them then, Tragach," Shinae offered. "You need only accept the Breathing Sun and open up to the light. Help me to defeat the Forger and his grasp on you will be destroyed." She paused. "And you can have your soul back, instead of that unfeeling nothingness." She met his eyes, her unwavering blue gaze not challenging or demanding, only offering and hoping. He gazed back and saw urgency as well behind those blue depths.

Again, Tragach tested the Assassin’s link and felt a surge of – could it possibly be elation? – as he felt the link give beneath his thoughts and snap, shocking him to his knees. A roar rocked him to his very core and the Forger tried to take his mind back, tearing at the meager defense the warrior was able to erect around himself. He watched as Shinae faced what was the Forger and defy him, again, throwing her light around both Tragach and herself. Again the god roared and swatted at Shinae’s wall, jarring her to her toes. But the wall stood and the former Assassin and Avatar watched as the Breathing Sun took His brother in His grasp and shook him, leeching away His brother’s power and dispersing it so as to keep the Forger from ever regaining it. When the Father of Light was finished, before the two immortal followers was a mere mortal, his right arm ending at the wrist. The former god cursed at the sky, at his brother, at Shinae and Tragach and tried to lunge at the shining Avatar. Yet, before Shinae could so much as lift up her hands, a broad sword quivered back and forth from the Forger’s chest and only fell out when the now mortal man hit the ground, dead.

Shinae slowly looked over her shoulder, her blue eyes wide and wet. Tragach was breathing deeply but a smile pulled at the dark scars running down his cheeks, a true smile, one not tainted with the bitterness he once held in his heart.

"Thank you, Tragach li’Kitun. I owe you a life debt." Shinae dipped her head in gratitude.

"Already paid, Shinae te’Briochna. You gave me my soul back," he reminded her, his voice rough and deep.

Thank you, Father of Light, Shinae whispered silently. Your mercy is great.

YOU’RE WELCOME, MY CHILDREN, the Breathing Sun replied and by the look on Tragach’s face, he could hear the god’s voice as well. BUT IT WAS YOUR COMPASSION, MY DAUGHTER, WHICH RETURNED WHAT HAD BEEN LOST. MY SON, WILL YOU OPEN YOUR HEART TO ME, AS SHINAE HAS?

Shinae need not hear Tragach’s answer for a gold and silver dragon appeared across his cheeks, it’s sinuous curves softening the harsh scars which still told of the man’s former pride and honor. Both of which were now his again.

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