Part 20

Volume Two

Fire burns across the battlefield,

The roars of demons shake the earth.

The lion of the sky is roaring,

Demons are stepping into the heavens.

Iron horses are racing forward,

Warriors are taking oaths of battle.

Barzak stands barefoot,

Fire in his eyes and thunder in his voice.

The wings of Samardun mark the dawn of a new age.

From the ruins of the city, a new kingdom rises.

Even at the face of death, the song of life can be heard.

— Bahar Balan

[Queen of Kailira]

Chapter Four : The Mysterious Warrior Barzak

From this moment begins a tale buried deep within the oldest layers of history—
a story of endless time, of countless ages past.

Long, long ago.

Nearly a hundred thousand years ago.

In the depths of the forest of Loonzar.

The sky then was deep bluish-grey,
the sun like a sorrowful eye painted on a plate of copper.
The air carried the scent of unknown flowers,
and from hundreds of mountains behind came the constant rumble of breaking thunder—
as if emotion itself was breathing, waiting for something vast and destructive.

That day—

At the crown of Loonzar Forest, a sudden flash of lightning.

Then a crack of fire opened.

The sky seemed torn in two,
and from that rift descended a stream of unknown light.

A boat made of glass—
but it floated in the air.
It came gliding over flame and thunder to the edge of the land.

Beneath the hull of the vessel,
particles of starlight were racing.

And from that ship descended him.

A man.

Who was he?

…..

Nearly a hundred thousand years ago.

The shell of the world was still alive then.
The islands floated upon half-visible rivers of molten stone,
the stellar trees could still speak,
and the rivers carried the shadows of the past upon every tide.

At such a crossroads,
in Loonzar Forest—
where daylight fears to enter,
and night forgets even its own shadow—
there was born a mysterious man:

Barzak Bhagar.

His birth was no ordinary day.
That night, two moons burned together in the sky.
Between them, a red comet tore through the star-filled heavens.

The sky trembled,
the forest trembled.

From a snow-covered peak far away, a crimson light rolled down like blood.

A sorcerer was fighting an ancient demon there.

And within that very light—Barzak was born.

His body seemed a reflection of stone and rain combined.
Over six feet ten inches tall, a sculpted frame that reminded one of some ancient, battle-scarred titan.
His blue-black hair fell to his shoulders like the night itself had taken shelter upon his head.
His eyes were blue—and a single glance from them could silence all emotion.

Some said, when he looked into your eyes, you would see your own fear.

Barzak was not merely a man—he was an echo.
From birth, he was silent—yet his presence felt like the wind itself spoke, and the trees bent to listen.

His birthplace was a sacred grove—
where stood a thousand-year-old tree,
its bark engraved with an ancient clock in an unknown script.
The tree’s name was Valhar—“The Body of the Current.”

When Barzak was born, that tree suddenly shone with light.
With solemn gravity, it whispered—
“The wind has returned—not to bring death, but the debt of the past.”

From that very moment, legends began to form around Barzak Bhagar.
He cried for the first time on the ninth day after his birth—
and his cry caused a waterfall of snow to collapse a hundred miles away.

The day he first walked, shadows lost their direction.

Such a being—so powerful, so unknown, so silently destructive—no kingdom could ever claim him.

Some said he came from beyond memory itself.

And some, trembling, only whispered—
“Do not look into his eyes. There’s something there that is not an eye.”

Yet the forest of Loonzar embraced him.

It sheltered him, hid him,
and one day it would send him forth into the ribs of war—
from which would rise a new sun…
or the old light would fade forever.

And his arrival, his footsteps, still echo through time.

….

Beyond the forest of Loonzar,
upon the plains of the continent of Astralind,
where the settlements lie—
the day of Barzak’s arrival is remembered not by history, but by fear.

He came through a blazing rift in the sky,
riding a vessel of glass and thunder.
In his beauty shimmered the starlight itself,
and his voice—so powerful that storms fell silent,
and even stone eyes wept.