{One should never doubt the cruelty of the world around them}

"Dad!" A young child called out as he ran through the fields of the farm.

"Wait up!" He was a small thing, no more than five years old with light blond hair and brilliant blue eyes that shone in the early morning sun. Clad in a simple tunic and breeches, the boy rushed through the fields, hands brushing over tall grass as he followed after the man ahead of him, a carefree smile adorning his face.

The man ahead was a tall, black-haired figure, a good six feet in height with a thin shirt that strained against his muscular frame beneath. His strides were long and steady as he moved through the fields at a gentle pace.

The young child struggled to close the gap between them, for every step he took the man only seemed to pull further away. The gap between them never shrinking, only growing and the world around the boy shifting, the light of the morning sun suddenly turning to the dark of night, the only illumination of the world emanating from the Blood Moon above. And then came the searing heat that scorched the skin from his back.

{Some say that the cruellest of beings are Fomorians, but that is a fallacy}

The boy turned, the light from the burning house touched his face, igniting the panic that welled up within him, spreading across his face. A fire that spread, encompassing the field all around him, embers of flames and ash of wheatgrass and timber floating into the air. The growing roar of the flame extinguished by the agonising screams of a woman as she reached out from the flames, trying to grasp at the boy. Yet her charred fingers grasped nothing but air till they finally burst into ash that was carried away on the wind.

At first, it was just a foul smell, no worse than emptying the closed stool every day. A foul smell that only made him recoil in disgust, but that changed when it fully hit him. It was less like a smell and more like a wall, it filled his nose, could taste it in the back of his throat, the heat and the smell of burning flesh. Even as a child, he knew exactly what the smell symbolised and who it was from.

His mother.

Even with the feel of his skin blistering, the sweat trickling down his brow and cheek, he could do nothing but stare out. Eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, as he looked into the wall of flames before him, embers floating out through the air and resting upon his face. The tears in his eyes drying up as quickly as they gathered.

{A lie told to make people feel secure and safe}

As the heat grew stronger, the screams grew in turn until they became overwhelming. In response, the child curled into a ball, clutching his ears tightly as he tried to muffle the sounds as best he could. Eyes sealed tight as he whispered urgently for it all to, "Stop." But no matter how much he cried for it to stop, it never did.

{Humans, not just Fomorians, are capable of great cruelty}

"Boy!" Suddenly he was jerked to his feet, arms clutched tightly by two large hands that shook him till his eyes opened wide with fear. There, the face of his father appeared before him blood seeping from his eyes and mouth. "Run!"

{But there is a reason Fomorians are feared above all else}

"Run, Siegfried!" His father shouted sharply, his voice cutting through the fog of fear clouding his mind.

But Siegfried could not move, his feet were rooted to the ground, horror-filled eyes fixated upon the shadowed figure rising behind his father. A grotesque being towering high into the sky, a mass of shadows with malevolent red eyes and wicked fangs that split into a crooked smile.

{They are the representation of humanities worst fears}

"Take this and run!" A knife was thrust into his palm, Siegfried instinctively clutched at the leather handle, his face reflected upon the blade. "Now go!" There was fear in his voice, a concern for his well-being, but also deep anger hidden beneath the surface, bubbling furiously and threatening to burst free. Without a moment to think, a hand suddenly pushed him away. Siegfried stumbled onto the ground. His feet giving out under him. Knees striking the ground painfully. This sudden burst of pain was the very trigger needed to cause Siegfried to surge to life, with tears in his eyes and both hands clutching the blade for dear life.

{And humanity, despite their great strength; are filled with fear}

"You're not going anywhere, Stormrider." A demonic voice snarled out; Siegfried turned around to find the shadowed monster that had previously appeared behind his father rose up from the ground at his rear. In the distance, his father floated, crucified to nothing but air, blood dripping to the ground from wounds all across his lacerated body.

But just as the Fomorian raised its bloodied, clawed hand into the air in preparation to cut him down, light pierced through the darkness and Siegfried was jerked awake. Chest heaving, eyes wide, skin pale and clammy as the last moments of his nightmares played over in his mind again and again.

As light peeked through the vines covering the entrance of the cave, Siegfried slowly looked down at his hands.

They were shaking.

He had no time to dwell upon it, instead, his fingers slowly curled into fists only to grasp nothing but air. Panic gripped him and Siegfried spun, hands fumbling around on the ground until his fingers brushed against a firm, cold handle. Quickly he groped out, both hands wrapping around the handle of the double-sided short sword, a large chunk of the blade missing. The purple paint of its handle peeling away revealing black metal matching its blade which contained symbols inscribed upon its sides. Delicate and detailed runes were inscribed onto one side which he easily traced with one finger.

As soon as he had it in his hand, the rapid pounding of his heart slowly began to calm. The familiar weight of it in his hand, the roughness of the handle wrap and the grooves of the runes.

Flipping the blade into a reverse grip, Siegfried rolled to one side, pulling the furs around him in an attempt to conserve some warmth. There he began to scratch away at the floor, spelling out the words.

I am not tolerated, yet always present,

I must be killed, yet do not die,

I always perish, yet forever live,

It is I, Weakness, the enemy of man.

I fear the strong, yet I shall inherit the earth,

That is the nature of this world.

With those words playing in his mind like a prayer, - a cry for help? - Siegfried finished the last letters before rising to his feet, eyes slowly scouring the barren, wet cave towards the dying fire, his tight grip upon the short sword never once loosening. Even as his breathing became quiet and his heartbeat steady, there was still a need to check the world around him, the images in his mind still plagued him and so, he scanned the surroundings. A need to make sure that he was truly alone.

Still disturbed by his nightmare, Siegfried made the mistake of looking directly at the dying fire, this mistake rendered the once discernible cave to become submerged in darkness. He could barely make out the animal carcasses to the left of him. The crackling of the dying flames illuminating the grotesque bones littering his surroundings, casting dancing shadows along the wall. As Siegfried looked around, his gaze always returned to the dancing shadows, just hoping that was all they were and nothing more.

Then in an attempt to focus on something else, he closed his eyes and listened solely to the sound of rain falling outside. For a few moments, he took deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling deeply before slowly, opening his eyes. He looked around, eyes blinking as the cave around him became clearer, making sure to not look at the dying fire once again.

It was at that moment a particularly strong gust of wind, blew the vines covering the entrance upwards, light flooding in from outside before it closed. He could see everything, the water trickling down the slope of the cave, gathering in little holes here and there. It'd make for good drinking water, so that wasn't something he would have to worry about in the future. Above all else, he was alone, a comforting thought.

His steps were light and quiet as he made his way towards the entrance, one hand reaching out and parting the flapping vines that obscured the opening from the outside. Leaning his head out, rain drenching his messy hair making it fall in front of his eyes almost like the vines which had covered the cave entrance. This forced Siegfried to part it with his fingers allowing him to see once more.

The world, despite the heavy clouds overhead, possessed a certain beauty. Not far beyond the short, sloped clearing outside his cave his eye could make out the dark emerald canopy of the forest which blanketed the valley below, in flashes of lightning he could see where the treeline became ragged as the forest gave way to the scree and rock that reached up to the distant mountain. A thick fog settling in the centre, where trees and emerald leaves swayed in the wind. To the east lay a thick rolling sapphire sea, the sound of crashing waves could be heard against the cliffs at the foot of the mountain. Heavy rain poured down the sides of the mountain in which he found himself situated at a perfect height to view the beauty of the world laid out before him.

Another burst of light followed by a thunderous clap of sounds, amplified by the surrounding mountains caused him to return to the relative warmth and safety of the cave. Siegfried turned to the pile of food, then to the weapons laying behind it, taking stock of what he had. A long, worn shaft showing signs of wear, its once blackened head now showing signs of rust and in need of oil. Beside it, a chipped, but still working longbow, far too big for his small body to properly use and a quiver filled with only a handful of arrows. Some were missing feathers and others having only wooden tips sharpened, the arrowheads missing. From those, a possibility of four working arrows could be made, far better than the six broken ones.

They were thrown to one side, lying next to the pile of animal carcasses. Some parts of the arrows were lying atop a small stream of water. It was the only place that was largely dry, but not entirely. The only other areas not wet from the rainwater was where the fire and his bed were placed, nought but a few steps in front. Carefully selected areas, that changed depending on the flow of the water and the amount of rain that poured down.

Another crack of thunder made him pause, once again looking to the storm raging outside. He could feel it in the air, in his bones, this was going to be a long storm and a powerful one and he wasn't the only one who sensed it.

It was just a brief moment, a slight movement and rustling of bushes that seemed out of tune with the tempo of the storm. Body tensing and no longer feeling the cold or rain, he listened more intently through the sounds of the storm. Eyes scrunched and scanning the area, he held his breath so as to block out any noise from himself and a sense of calm came over him. Time seemed to slow as his mind whirled to life as he waited for the next flash of lightning or movement. He didn't have to wait long as when the next flash of lightning came down, the bushes parted and then he saw them.

They were small, dark-green skinned creatures, no taller than a few feet with a large red spot upon the top of their heads. Their skin matched leaves and foliage of the forest, blending into the surroundings around them. A favoured hunting tactic, making them difficult creatures to hunt and requiring one to be constantly on high alert lest they work into a trap.

In their hands, crudely forged weapons of stone scrapped against the surface of the mountain. Little spears, axes and clubs, nothing more than sharpened stone attached to sticks. Chittering sounds carried by the winds through the moments of silence that formed between the cracks of thunder.

As these creatures rushed up the mountainside, gone was the panic of the nightmare and now a sense of purpose overcame him, and Siegfried turned back to look at his stash of weaponry and food. There was nought but a moment's hesitation before Siegfried swiftly pulled back the vines into place, covering the entrance of the cave.

He moved quickly, his stride eating up the distance between him and the dying embers of the campfire, one eye closed as to help retain visibility. Quickly he gathered loose bits of dry grass he had brought in as kindling many days ago, clumping it together over the embers. There was a moment in which he waited, eyes never once flickering up even as the sounds of chittering grew closer. Then just as the smoke began to rise, the strands of dried grass began to deform and blacken, moments later the blackening gave way to small shafts of flame.

He placed the burning grass smoothly down upon the fire, reaching out to his side where there was a pile of small sticks and branches collected over the course of many days, a deliberate choice made for making a fire with ease. Removing the need to exit his cave and look for the resources necessary. With a steady hand, he placed a small number of sticks down in a pyramid-like structure carefully so not to put out the fire, lightly blew on the flames to waft them to life. It was a fluid, controlled and methodical process, one achieved from years of practice and repetition.

It was not an instant success, time seeming to pass minute by minute, the chittering of the creatures outside grew louder and louder. Siegfried's gaze flickered to the cave entrance, picking up the shadows of those converging upon the entrance, then a small, clawed hand reached out, parting the vines and in-stepped one of them.

Its lips were pulled back, sharpened and yellow teeth baring in a snarl as large, golden yellow eyes sat upon a small angular, head glaring at him. It was bald, the only thing of interest being the large, scaly red spot upon its head, a stark difference from the smooth, oily emerald skin making up the rest of its body. In its three-fingered grasp, a thick stick of wood with gnarly, sharpened rocks lining both sides of it was raised in a threatening gesture. A low screech that rose in pitch escaped its lips, saliva dripping down from its yellowed teeth.

Despite this, his actions remained calm and methodical, his mind focusing on the task at hand, unperturbed by the encroaching creature upon his territory. The flames from the burning grass caught the sticks and with every nurturing breath, coaxed the fire to life. Even as he added more wood to the fire, feeding it like a hungry beast, he always kept the fire between himself and the creature.

Careful to avoid eye contact, well-aware of the response he would receive, Siegfried instead kept the creature in his peripheral vision, never once losing sight of it. Looking, yet not looking at the same time, a subtle difference that would prevent the creature from becoming violent.

As the campfire roared to life, light illuminated the cave causing the creature to shriek out in fear, all those gathered outside fleeing away in terror. As the fire began to burn, Siegfried moved past the pile of carcasses and grabbed hold of the spear, bringing it with him back to the flame. Laying it beside him, he sat before the crackling fire, occasionally placing more wood to feed it. With one hand gripping the blade of his broken short sword and both arms wrapped around his knees, Siegfried stared out to the flapping vines hanging over the entrance, waiting and watching.

Unmoving and silent.