Askath's name was renowned throughout the 11 provinces and even beyond. His revered reputation rested on a decorated list of self-wrought achievements, particularly in the field of war. At just seventeen, he had brought honor to Ixal by single-handedly fending off a battalion of 200 Thesian invaders, all reputed to be elite combatants. By dusk, their corpses lay in motionless piles, and the rain washed their blood into the soil, leaving behind a ruby-stained landscape where no Thesian escaped death. Banra, Ixal's God, was pleased that night.
In the Battle of the Heartless Night, Askath turned the tides of war by slaying the enemy leader, Mbainu the Peerless, in a bloody and merciless duel. For six years, Mbainu had been a mythical warrior, unbeaten and unstoppable. From East to West, his name inspired terror in the hearts of his enemies. Dubbed Peerless for his unmatched talent and skill in the art of war, Mbainu was Thesia's finest—a hundred-year talent. Yet it was this hero of Thesia whom Askath defeated in a duel so gruesome that it left every eye wincing and every soul squirming. When their final exchange came, two bloodied corpses faced each other. As one fell, the other stood and silently exhaled in the grace of victory.
The battlefield fell perfectly silent as Mbainu, the Peerless, let out one final, chilling laugh before Askath delivered the killing blow. Then, the Ixalian war horns sounded, a series of triumphant cries that crushed and sundered the souls of the remaining Thesian warriors. Faith shattered and spirits broken, the Thesian forces were quickly crushed under Ixal's palm. By the time dawn broke, the battlefield had become Thesia's graveyard.
When Askath returned to Ixal, celebrations erupted, and the people bloomed with joy. The drums thundered, flutes sang, and the streets were filled with whispers of his name. Mbainu had been a prodigy, whose spear never failed to impale an opponent's heart. But Askath's style of combat was agile and unpredictable, he was dangerously lithe and each of his strikes were lethal. For every devastating blow Mbainu landed, Askath delivered three. The two warriors wore and whittled each other down, blow by blow, until both found themselves standing before death. In their final clash, Askath nimbly evaded Mbainu's desperate spear-thrust and drove his blade through the Peerless' heart.
Mbainu was more than a warrior; he was the heart of the Thesian army. His presence inspired unwavering faith, and his death marked the end of Thesia's unending reign of supreme war-eminence. The Thesians, undefeated and invincible for so long, faltered at the first taste of defeat. By the end of the battle, the Peerless was no more, and Askath had ensured his name would leave an egregious stain on Thesian history.
That was many seasons ago, 3 years or more, and during this time Askath's reputation had become something revered by many in Ixal. His presence was described as nigh-holy, and many in Ixal saw him as their savior, a demi-god in flesh whom could do no wrong. He was righteous and beloved, those who saw him compared him to the figures from beautiful Eastern paintings. Askath's grey and solemn eyes carried an unsettling depth, so his gaze seemed to touch one's soul. It was said that, when he slept, his presence could be felt by his servants as they slept in their out-houses, troubling their sleep. As he moved, his heels never stagnated or sunk into the ground and he seemed to walk weightlessly, he could detect the slightest movements in his vicinity and react accordingly.
He had the pride and attitude of a warrior who often clashed ideals with others and would often make threats, which he followed up on reguarly. His voice often broke into crescendos and whenever his intent and demands were not met by others he would often draw his sword. Askath held deep-content for weak and cowardly men. He had no love for men who spoke like snakes, avoiding his questions and poisoning his mind with their sly comments. He knew one day these types of people would sink their fangs, so he always remained awake and ready for these types of people. It was often these kinds of people that tended to be weak as they had to resort to any means to find power. Askath struggled to trust the weak and people who acted weak, after all, weakness had killed his master.
Haiti, for that was his master's name, had died 8 years ago. In his day he was strong and calm and known as the protector of Vusha, the tenth province. However, despite his immense power he lacked the vigor and passion that usually came with great warriors, if trouble came his way he often resorted to appeals and peace-making for in his heart, he could not make peace with solving all his problems through violence. He always said that whenever he saw a dead man's eyes, the violence in the world was almost always at fault. Haiti was,understandably, a pacifist and he had made peace with many enemies, he had responded to every threat with kindness, from baskets of fruit to large fields of farmland
.It was under Haiti's protection that the tenth province became weak but also undoubtably peaceful. Whilst the other provinces were consumed with war, Vusha enjoyed it's peace, but Haiti was never at peace. He was tall, often towering, but frighteningly thin and had a slight hunchback. At his old age, he had gaunt cheekbones and thinning grey hair that he let grow long down his back. He permanently adopted a judgemental and burdened look apart from when he was bird-watching or teaching his students. He was an excellent teacher, not in regards to how strong his students became, but because he trained any student that knocked on his door. His happiest moments were the yearly red-moon festivals where all his students, former and present, would reunite at his home and training grounds to celebrate the festivities. Haiti would laugh with them, his eyes quivering to tears and his body mimicking the personification of peace.
Sometimes other provinces would ask Haiti to come and stay with them so that he could teach noble children but he often declined, there were always a few willing students from the 10th province in his care. He would train his students for 8 to 12 seasons, and often made a rule of ensuring his students left in Autumn. He loved Autumn season because the rain was pleasant and the sun's warmth was kind and welcoming. Haiti enjoyed watching the autumn leaves drop, for they left the world natrually, Haiti lived a life a long way away from violence and war.
In times when war suffocated the atmosphere, old men and children from villages would sit around log fires, warming their bodies, and praying to Banra for victory and for the survival of their relatives in battle. Haiti prayed for peaceful times, when he saw children playing he was reminded of his own childhood, how he had trained under several masters all of whom shouted at him for his nonbelligerence. Haiti was a prodigy in the art of war, but he never threw the first or the last blow. He had once spoken to a bird, which asked why he would not use his strength to achieve great things for his province and Ixal, to which he responded by saying spreading the disease of death is no great achievement. In Ixal, war and glory were revered, Haiti often wished he was born with less talent and more power to change the world to his liking.
Nevertheless, Haiti was still a master in the art of the Falling Blade, a technique passed through generations of his family. Swords were natural to Haiti, the metal blade felt like an extra limb, or rather a part of his body that had always existed, but had only been missing till the moment he held a blade. His students never mirrored this experience of his, often spending months to years to be able to carry a blade fearlessly. Atleast until he found Askath, a child forsaken by his prestigious family. On a rainy autumn eve, Haiti opened his door to find a weeping child, no older than five and a bag filled with illustrious riches.
Askath was much like Haiti, the moment his last tears fell and he picked up a sword, he seemed to learn quicker than Haiti taught. In just two years, a young Askath could beat Haiti's most senior pupils. Why had Askath been forsaken Haiti often wondered, when a child of his talent could've brought profound success to his family. The only reasonable answer was that the expectations of Askath's family were so diminished that they had not even tested his talents in the slightest, in other words, from birth he had been labelled a good-for-nothing. Such was the fate of fourth or fifth childs in noble families, it was a folk tale in Ixal that the first child took the most talent, then the second took the scraps, the third scooped the floor and the fourth and fifth and so on sat around quietly.
But Askath had talent that was unexplainable by any means, his talent was scarce, the kind blessed by Banra himself. Askath quickly grasped the concept of qi control, and soon could manipulate his qi more masterfully than even Haiti, Askath's talent did not overwhelm Haiti. However the prospect of Askath being led down the path of war was the one thing that haunted his peace. When Askath reached the age of eleven he had nearly mastered the Falling blade art. However, he had not used it once in a real battle, so after months of demands and whining, Haiti accepted Askath's wants and led him to a cave known for harboring all sorts of evil creatures. It was a place completely desolate to human touch, for who would want to enter such a place. There was no treasure within the cave, the only shiny thing one might find was a broodmother's eggs,
By the end of the first day, Askath almost passed out, the smell of blood was intoxicating, it broke his focus. By the end of the week, the cave was empty and possessed by a strange silence. Haiti knew he had taken in a dangerous pupil, so every day he would tell Askath of the troubles of war and the necessity of peace. Slowly, he grew trust in Askath, he trusted his student to not become a slaughterer, for if Askath did choose the path of war he knew entire provinces could be razed.
When Askath was eleven, Haiti also took him on regular walks, to familiarize his student, who had only knew the inside of training halls since he was a young child, with the places he would expect him to protect in the future. Haiti, the protector of the tenth province, was a failure. Atleast in the eyes of every other province. He was weak-willed and many families in his province could not afford to eat, for the tenth province was terribly poor. In Ixal, provinces fought over their most prominent assests frequently, but Haiti preferred a peaceful life. People judged him and mocked him because he was a pacifist in a nation built on war and they swore to never let their provinces stoop to the level of the tenth. One would think that their words and criticism would break Haiti, but he had long resonated with a peace that others seemed to avoid, especially in Ixal. When he and Askath would leave on walks and beggars would stare at Haiti with ravenous and famined looks, he would often be grateful that they were not dead to the horrors of war.
One day, war broke out in the tenth province. An old enemy of Haiti, who held a grudge from many years ago, had returned to claim his vengeance. He began by burning down monuments in the northern district, slaughtering any guards that got in his way. He arrived with a battalion of trained mercenaries, who had been overjoyed to recieve a mission in the tenth province, which had no reputation for war, for all the good soldiers had left for stronger provinces. The villain went on an unstoppable onslaught through the northern district, demanding that Haiti come meet him immediately. "Tell him Ragaan has returned, with a blood debt!" These words were passed down to the southern district, where Haiti was watching the doves retreat above the hills.