[Tyr Zalo Hawk]: 712.Stories.DawnMeetingDusk.1

Chapter 1: Never Enough

Blood splashed up like water, soaked with sin, into the air before showering down over the solitary figure in white. His dark brown hair now tainted with crimson life, was more a symbol of death than the scythe he had used to spill it. Ivory robes drenched in retribution of his enemies crimes, his emerald eyes flashing sideways just in time to catch the movements of his next victim, this lone man stood fearlessly in the face of all, including death.
A single, clean slash tore upwards through his attacker’s chest and exited just above the right shoulder. Before the man even knew he was dead, his soul had been ripped from its body and locked into the very blade which set it free. He was only one of the thousands to die that day. His family would later be informed that he had not reported back after the battle. No one did body counts in those days. There was no point in trying to recognize the crushed faces, the limbs torn and thrown hundreds of yards from their owners. War was simply the unforgiving game that played with life. To live was to win to see another battle, to die was lose everything.
Here, amongst the bodies strewn across the ground and their still fighting comrades, was this man who went to war in white. This young, strong willed man who’s scythe was his only companion, and who believed that the gift of death to the sinner, was as magnificent as the gift of life they had been blessed with. He sided with neither group, and to all on the battlefield he was simply known as ‘The Angel of Death.’ To meet him, was to meet your end. But this simple man was by far no angel. He was simply robed in white and seemed untouchable by mortal blades.
Hours upon countless hours had already been raged through by the thousands of warriors who called the war their home. Both sun and moon had risen and set so many times, that to many it seemed as though the change never occurred. Time was only a weakness to them, something that could be overcome with enough diligence and training. But this weakness was showing more and more as minutes changed into hours, or even days. The sloppiness of swings and blocks were costing even the most skilled soldiers their lives. Escaping to rest was impossible because both sides knew that neither would allow it. The massive amounts of fatigue, hunger and thirst for both blood, and water couldn’t be satisfied even if they had the time to rest and begin again.
The ‘angel’ watched all this as he gracefully swung again, cleaving off a young man’s sword arm in a single stroke. Shocked at the loss of his own arm, but dulled by both fatigue and the overload of adrenaline he had experienced, the youth attempted to charge with his shield only to find that death had already overcome him in the shape of a blade rammed squarely through his still beating heart. There was no place for remorse in the angel’s purification of this unholy slaughter. They had begun this war hoping that their enemies would fall and they would emerge victorious. Now they were fighting battles with the other side, this death bringing angel and the last enemy they expected to find: themselves.
As foe and ally fell nameless into the ocean of blood sodden grass and dirt, the angel’s now scarlet robes seemed all the more terrifying, because he was now veiled in that downpour of blood which had discolored them. Blades clashed and chopped, hacked and bounced off of one another until another helpless, lifeless body plummeted to the waiting hands of Hades. To the angel who saw death as the only way to forgive a sinner, it was disgusting.
The damned shouldn’t be allowed to force repentance for those who are just as horrid as they are. He thought while he sent another pathetic waste of life to its waiting grave. Everyone here, fighting for their petty reasons and excuses, was a criminal to him. If for no other reason than that they wanted to kill to satisfy their own goals, they were what he loathed in humanity. But all things come in time, both right and wrong. I should only hope to be lucky enough to right the wrongs before they are complete.
While this ‘angel of death’ walked through a plain of nightmares, thinking to himself about what had to be done, elsewhere there was peace. Somewhere far away, where they had never even heard of war, a small village existed. This village, called Karth, was barely larger than the churches built inside the castles of Kings and Queens. Its occupants found both peace and happiness in the simplistic life they lived. They were able to find these things, even amidst the war torn land the rest of the world knew all because of what Karth was. It was beautiful.
Cherry blossom trees bloomed and fell year round, leaving the ground coated with fresh, crisp scents and a tender touch. Hills of green, littered with the pink blossoms, stretched out for miles before either fading into the thick southern forest, or sprouting up into the magnificent lavender mountains of the north. Waterfalls cascaded from cliffs in the distance, forming fresh, crystalline rivers all year round. The sky was always blue, even when it rained, and both sunrise and sunset were so miraculous that it was said God himself came to watch every day. Winters were cold, yes, but never enough to even scratch the splendor of the area, and the village placed quaintly inside of it.
To the villagers, who had grown up in such splendor, there was only one thing more beautiful than the miracle they lived in. This one thing was a woman. She had smooth, flowing ivory hair that lay down her back, reaching down all the way to the back of her knees. Her skin was smooth and supple, her fingers long, yet delicate, her every feature softened by the warmth she seemed to emanate from every fiber of her being. Tall, slender, well curved and dressed in a pale silver gown of such brilliance she seemed as though she were made in heaven. However, the villagers found one odd thing about her appearance which were the marks found on the palms of each of her hands which would change with the cycles of the moon.
At the same time though, she was a complete mystery, an enigma. No one knew where she came from. She had simply shown up at the village one quiet afternoon, carrying some of the harvest that several others had gone to gather. Carrying herself with the grace of the stars, this young woman with her gentle, welcoming smile and iridescent sapphire eyes simply became part of the village. Questions were asked of course, but all the answers she gave were more puzzling than the reasons they had for the questions.
‘Who are you, and why did you come to this village?’ One would ask her.
‘Look to the sky at night to know who I am. Look within that which you can not hide from to find the reason I am here.’ Her eloquent voice would answer while another smile crossed her thin lips.
So they simply accepted her as another blessing they had been allowed to enjoy. She was given her own small house and was allowed to stay so long as she helped with the work, which she was glad to be able to do. Of course, her coming was far from unnoticed, especially by the young men of the village who would try to sneak past her webs of words to her heart, a task which none of them had ever come close to doing.
‘Hello there, Luna.’ One of the boys would start off, trying his best to seem important.
“Hello.” Luna would reply, brushing her hair back from her eyes so that she could see whoever it was.
‘Just thought I’d drop by and see how you were doing.’
“Then you have my thanks.” After this she would turn and start working again as if the conversation had already ended.
‘Well,’ the boy would start in again reluctantly. ‘Do you maybe have time to talk?’
“Time is but a memory. So long as I am able, time is eternal. What did you wish to speak of?”
‘Oh, just wondering if maybe you wanted to go out to the falls with me today, enjoy some swimming maybe?’
“Meaningless pleasures truly are divine. Oh, if only memory would allow.”
After a few moments of awkward silence from the boy, he would attempt his question again, only to be met with the same response. “Memory simply doesn’t allow. Perhaps it is fate.” And she would simply go back on with whatever she had been doing previously. The others boys would always find this quite humorous, until it was their turn to fail.
But on that day, when the once colorless figure was suddenly red amidst the black horror of death, it rained at the village and Luna wept for the first time in the many years she had been there. She had not seemed to have aged a day since she first came, but today her deep, blue eyes were overflowing with hot, stinging tears that fell down softly like the rain outside. When asked about why, she would respond in an angry, yet quivering tone, “Never enough for them. Their lust knows nothing of confinement.” And the tears poured down more fiercely.

Days later, the battle was finally over. All of the soldiers who had fought and survived were going home, while the dead were going to their new home somewhere far away. Happy that the fighting over, yet too weary to even lift their mouths into a smile, the soldiers drudged away from the manmade ocean of death. The man who had come to the field in white had left just before the battle ended, disappearing along with the morning mist. No one even noticed, because no one cared.
Miles away though, sun was rising on Karth lighting the shadows of night and returning brightness to the valley. Luna had already risen. She was out in the nearby forest, gathering the late spring berries for dinner that evening. Her hair flowed elegantly over her right shoulder as she bent down to pluck the ripe berries from their bush, and her voice could be heard singing an enchanting song to the new day.
‘Truths… of the night… go show others… the way. Our world… is turning bright… it is time… for the day.’ The tune carried out, as if by magic into the air and through the village. Animals and humans alike listened in silent delight to her heavenly voice. Even the morning dew clung to the grass blades so it could stay and listen, just a little bit longer. The entire world seemed to have stopped for her song.
Then suddenly her voice cut off and the world resumed. Birds chirped, dew faded into the air and the people all started to awaken themselves. But Luna had stood up again, her eyes gazing tensely into the eyes of a stranger who had appeared nearby. His clothes were once the same bright ivory as her hair, but had been faded through some darkness that tainted them. The two stared at each other silently, Luna’s gaze being one of disgust, but the man’s being instead one of intrigue.
Suddenly, Luna’s voice broke into the silence again. ‘You have no place here. These people have no need of the death in your heart and the blood on your hands. Leave, please.’
The next few moments passed slowly. Time slipped by on the wings of a snail, carrying with it a blanket of mixed emotion and unrest. Then he nodded and turned away with a single phrase. “Even the moon who leaves every morning, will undoubtedly return when it is dark enough for her to shine.” With that, he disappeared into the trees, but not from her life. She could never escape him, not even if she ran farther than this. A small sigh escaped her lips. Then she walked off, leaving the basket of berries and her quiet life in Karth behind.
‘Perhaps it is time. Perhaps it’s dark enough for me to go back now…’