JÛNA-VILKA, MINE CAS-VARNA
A Song For the Dark
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Januchten would visit it from time to time — the endless expanse that housed horrors beyond Hell itself. One might think the creature would feel far away, the way it skittered and scuttled in the darkest recesses, its claws reaching ever towards infinity, but it sought light as well, if only to snuff it out. For all that he never saw the fingers around his throat, itching to steal what the fall left behind, he knew the weight of their intent.
Had he been more than a bit of scattered stardust stuffed in a shell, the presence of that dark hand might have incited his heart to fight free of his chest.
Yes, he feared the creature. Any who came face to face with the eternal abyss, harbinger of Ragnarok, and felt no fear bore the mark of the fool — and Januchten was no fool. If his scarred body served as proof of his bravery and prowess in battle, his yet beating heart signaled his wisdom.
Certainly, wisdom had done well by him throughout his years of service to S’ari-vaste and the invisible hands that manipulated her strings. Just as it flared to life in him now, as he stood on the precipice of disaster, sending shivers sticky-crawling across his skin and twisting his guts like the hair of an undefeated Tactician.
