Threads of Destiny-Prologue

The ache in his bones and soul was growing worse, Khashin thought.

His armor and harness hung heavy on his shoulders as torrential rain pounded down from the clouds overhead. Not a single droplet touched him or his Soul-Brother.

<We are not so feeble as that,> the deep and ancient voice of his Soul-Brother rumbled in his thoughts. Beneath, his Beast-Self tossed its head, letting out an equine snort, and with his Man-Self’s hand, he patted the beast’s neck. Sparks danced on his hooves as they churned air, and powerful wings beat once, carrying them higher toward the sheared off mountain peak that was their destination.

All around, the shadows of his shamans and warriors danced in the storm, the beat of the drums indistinguishable from the rumble of thunder.

If only he could recognize their faces, the old man thought, narrowing his eyes behind his bone flight mask as he peered ahead. Gone were his brothers and sisters. Even his beloved Dagasai had been laid to rest among the earthbones. Their children, too, had passed, and most of their grandchildren as well. He had difficulty recalling the names of those left.

Yes, they would soon seek the stars together.

Not this day, however. Today, worldly duty beckoned.

Khashin felt the moment that his cadre’s storm met the other’s, clouds crashing against one another with an earthshaking rumble. With a thought, his Beast-Self angled down, mighty wings spread wide, and began to circle the peak.

In the distance, he saw his equal do the same, emerging from the rains to circle once, then twice, and finally a third time as the beat of the drums rose to a crescendo from both sides.

As he made the third pass, Khan Khashin’s Man-Self let out a long breath, and together with his Soul-Brother, he loosened his grip on their oversoul.

The storm shook, and the air rippled under the spreading force, clearing rain and cloud as the full might of a man near the pinnacle of the Sixth Heaven emerged. Across from him, the other Khan’s soul emerged, roiling outward to clash with his at the center. Beast and Man alike let out a grunt of effort, Soul shoving against Soul as the sky above them cleared, leaving a perfect circle of sunlight shining down on the mountain peak.

He grimaced as the other Khan gave way for him, a show of respect for his age and deeds but nothing more. To think that this boy half his age could match him so. He was growing feeble.

His Beast-Self’s hooves clattered, kicking up sparks as it cantered across stone instead of sky, and he came to rest within earshot of his fellow Khan.

“Khan Khashin of the Lightning Drinkers greets you,” he announced as they came to a halt, his voice scratchy with age and wear.

“Khan Galidan of the Behemoth Eaters gives his respect,” the younger man’s voice boomed from where he sat atop his own mount. It was a massive thing, a great eagle with golden feathers that outmassed his own Beast-Self twice over and more.

Khashin peered through narrow eyes at the younger man. Just as he was, the other man was dressed for battle, his face concealed behind a carved mask of bone. “Why did you request this meeting?” the old Khan asked, cantering forward.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Khan Galidan reached up, removing his mask. He had the face of a man in his prime, clean-shaven with sharp eyes that pierced like spears. “I would speak to you of the grand Kurultai and the opening of Skyson’s vault.”

Khan Khashin grunted, removing his own mask and exposing his badly weathered face to the high mountain wind. “You wish our warriors to ally in the Game then?”

“That would be most welcome, mighty Khan,” Galidan agreed. “I had hoped to speak of the other matter however.”

Now, Khashin scowled. “Fool,” he spat. “Do you think yourself mightier than Ogodei?”