TKC 339
Many ages ago a powerful man drew his first breath. This man
was born in a star and thus was he created of fire. He was creation. Thus says the legend. Thus goes the story of the genesis
of Ilfinay Makar, the conqueror of Makaran, the founder of the Ilfin
civilisation. Ilfinay was Majesty; he was Supreme; he is Eternal.
According to legend, Ilfinay Makar shaped souls. He created souls. To this day he twirls his
finger in the star-spangled dust of the ether and a soul is made new. Thus
every soul born to Makaran is ever an original, for Ilfinay continues to work
his incredible magic.
The man in that legend is Enris’ grandfather.
He died in the ages of mists, when time was not yet
measured, and his legacy passed to his two sons, Linus and Lorn. The legend,
however, claims that Ilfinay did not in fact die; he transcended.
I twist my head to stare directly at Enris Makar, heir to
that legacy, as the legend dances into my thoughts. Enris is master over a
mighty talent, his Warrior, but I have already stumbled into the notion that he
is more powerful than is at first obvious to a reasoning Ilfin.
“Say no more,” Enris murmurs into my ear.
By the stars, what can I possible say? I will be seen as
insane if I share even the tiniest sliver of an image garnered from the mind of
Enris Makar. How do I tell anyone of the kaleidoscope time that resides inside
his being? I dare not say I see hands conducting the music of stars or that a
man walks on a cosmic spiral, vanishing and reappearing with every alternate
step.
Swallowing, I stare ahead once more through smoke and fire.
Enris seeks the talent his legendary grandfather is known for. Enris desires to
control the births and deaths of souls.
Why?
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