A.D. 1012
The air reeked of blood.
The echoes of battle cries, death throes, and desperate pleas for mercy wafted across the land like mist—a land once filled with trees and bushes and rivers and lakes and life, now reduced to scorched, barren dust.
One man stood alone in the wake of a war that had shaken the very existence of the Wonderkind to its core—a man clad in a deerskin cloak, his leathery, tanned skin marked with black and matching the twin ebony antlers protruding from his skull. He stared steadily out across the wasteland through wizened hazel eyes, his chin-length dark brown hair moving ever so slightly in the light breeze.
A soft clomping sound came from the deer-man's left, but he did not turn, even as a being capable of uprooting an entire continent from the Earth's crust came alongside him.
Mother Earth joined the deer-man in staring into the distance, unable to stop a few tears from sliding down her face. She didn't know how many times she'd cried over the past few days; in fact, she was surprised she had the emotional strength and wherewithal to even function.
The next sound to overwhelm the silent breeze was twofold: the thudding of large, clawed hands that carried forth the owlish Sluagh, and the slithering of the colossal seven-eyed serpent known as the All-Seer, arriving on the deer-man's right and the Doe's left, respectively.
"Are you ready, Mother?"
Mother Earth turned, broken out of her trancelike stare.
The deer-man had fixed his gaze on her—that powerful, unflinching gaze, filled with such resolve, such determination, that even the Magnakind Alliance felt compelled to give this common Wonderkind their respect.
After a moment of silence, Mother Earth nodded. "I am," she answered softly. "But remember that I cannot help you build this city; I must conserve my energy for the Second Haven. However, I will do what I can to restore this land."
"That is all we ask of you, Mother," the Sluagh stated, dipping his head to his fellow Magnakind.
Mother Earth nodded back before facing the empty wasteland again. She breathed in deeply, slowly raising her arms to shoulder height and extending them outward to her sides with the palms of her hands facing up. She exhaled, eyes closing, mind calming, heart slowing.
And once more, there was silence.
The breeze went dead, coming to a quiet halt.
The ground itself seemed to seize up with a deep, groaning, rumbling, rattling noise.
More silence.
The deer-man watched Mother Earth carefully, his eyes boring into her face. He took note of her serenity, her absolute calm, and the way her hair had begun to move in slow-motion, undulating like a gentle wave crossing the ocean.
Suddenly, Mother Earth's eyes snapped open, glowing with a light so powerful and bright that neither the deer-man nor the other Magnakind could tell what colour it was. Her hair floated out behind her, billowing furiously as a wild burst of wind exploded from her in all directions.
With this awesome display of power came an even greater one in the surroundings: fully-grown trees broke through the earth and shot upward in seconds, grass rippled across the ground in all directions, and all kinds of bushes and flowers joined the neonatal flora in their rebirth. Streams and ponds flowed up from the dirt, along with a huge, deep lake in the midst of it all.
As the onlookers watched the forest being reborn all around them, the Sluagh could not help but chuckle. "Your power never ceases to amaze me, Mother," he remarked as the growth began to slow. "Praise the Maker for His gifts."
"Amen," the deer-man and All-Seer murmured in unison.
Then, once the forest was recreated, the Matriarch fell to her hands and knees, breathing heavily with exhaustion. "It's done," she gasped out. "The Enchanted Forest is restored."
"You have our thanks, Mother," the All-Seer told her, nudging Mother Earth with his snout.
Mother Earth fell on her side from the bump and rolled over onto her back with a weary laugh. "You're welcome," she breathed out, closing her eyes.
The deer-man surveyed the rearisen woodland, breathing in deeply and catching the scent of fresh grass, spring leaves, flowers, freshwater. Paradise once lost, now found.
A good starting point.
"Have Xirxine starbeam her to the Serengeti," the deer-man suddenly said, speaking to neither of the two other Magnakind in particular. "She can recuperate there before building their haven."
"I have an eye near that Keypoint," the All-Seer informed him. "I will contact the Mask on the Mother's behalf."
"Thank you. Once that's done..."
The deer-man clasped his hands behind his back and looked at the All-Seer out of the corner of his eye. "...we can begin."
Following the Great Battle with the god-hunters, Blood Hunters, and the Order of Man, the Magnakind Alliance set to work building the seven Safe Havens upon the world's Keypoints. Under the supervision of the Cervidian visionary, the Pact-bound cities were built in the Oceonica Forest, the Amazon Rainforest, the Xishuangbanna Rainforest, the tundras of Siberia and Antarctica, the wilds of Daintree, and beneath the Serengeti. After the Great Founding, the Alliance rested, with only the semi-dormant Parriarchs and the Eyes of the All-Seer left to preside over the havens.
However, before the Founders began their slumber, a cruel darkness crept into the mind of the man who gave them their charge—a shadow, an infection, a poison, seeping into the very fabric of his soul.
Fear.
A.D. 1015
Adam Black Horn was sick.
Three years had passed since the construction of the Safe Havens had begun. It was not that they were incomplete; with such power at the Founders' command, and such great quantities of Wonderkind willing to assist, it had only taken one trip of the planet 'round the sun to raise the cities in full. However, changes were constantly being made to the infrastructure of not only the city itself, but the society within. Therefore, construction was not truly finished.
Unfortunately, Adam knew with certainty that he would not see that finish line. His body was giving out; the hereditary illness that had gripped his family for centuries was taking hold.
Still, he continued to supervise the construction, the changes, the constant renovation of the First Haven. He had to see it through as far as he could, for his son was not yet ready to take command. He was so young—not yet twenty. How could he possibly do what his father had done?
However, this was not the greatest concern swimming about in Black Horn's mind. No... as he sat in the woods, watching his native people dance around the campfire in celebration of the new year, his head was filled with thoughts of the builders. The Peacekeepers. The Alliance.
The Founders.
"Father."
Adam kept his eyes on the fire, his fading sight seeing the flames as dimming, dancing lights. "Hm" was his simple reply to his son, who had approached and crouched next to the log upon which his father sat.
Young Jedidiah Black Horn followed his father's gaze, glancing at the fire for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh and placing a scrap of paper next to Adam. "Mother sent word from the south," he reported. "The girls are doing well. They have found husbands, and are building families." He smiled and chuckled a little. "They want us to visit. Before..."
Though the dancing and chanting continued, the silence between father and son following Jedidiah's unfinished sentence was stifling.
"I cannot leave," Adam rasped after a few moments. "There is too much to do."
"You've done enough already," Jedidiah said quietly.
"Too much left to do," Adam retorted insistently, finally turning to his son, whose face he could barely see.
"What is left?" Jedidiah shot back. "There's no need to watch over this place anymore. Are you even capable of doing so?"
Adam faced the fire again, electing not to respond. "I have been... contemplating," he said instead. "Thinking about... them." He extended a hand behind him, pointing toward the city in the distance.
Jedidiah looked in that direction.
Looming over the horizon, silhouetted by the moon against the starry night sky, were the enormous figures of the Snake and the Owl, directing their Basilisks and Hollows as construction continued even through the time of celebration.
"The All-Seer?" Jedidiah asked in confusion, turning back to his father. "The Sluagh? What are you thinking about them? Have they not met all your standards for this great city?"
"It is not about my standards," Adam snapped gruffly, thumping his staff to the ground in annoyance.
Jedidiah flinched a bit, somewhat startled by the harsh action.
Adam gripped his staff with shaking hands, setting his jaw and exhaling through his flaring nostrils. "They have done what they were meant to do," he muttered, slouching a bit with weariness. "But I worry... of the way the people speak of them... the way they look at them." He shook his head slowly, his eyes reflecting the fire. "They whisper of 'gods'," he continued in a hushed voice. "They thank them and praise them in prayers muttered under their breath. I have even seen in one house a shrine to the Earth and Sky, in blatant ignorance of the One Who made them." He turned back to Jedidiah, the intensity returning to his gaze. "Worse... the Magnakind hear of this and do nothing," he hissed. "They turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to all of it, and continue on their merry way."
"It is not their responsibility to fix—" Jedidiah began to protest.
"It is their responsibility to PREVENT!" Adam barked, this time slamming his staff to the ground with unrestrained vehemence.
The celebration came to a staggering halt. The dancing, the music, the chanting—everything stopped, and everyone around the fire turned to stare at their leader.
Adam looked around, his bloodshot eyes surveying the crowd. Then, pushing mightily against the earth with his staff, he rose to his feet and scowled at no one in particular. "They are blinding themselves," he snarled. "Stopping up their own ears. Their hubris is corrupting them—as it corrupted the Phoenix of the Glorious Kingdom. That so-called 'goddess'. Feh." Adam let out a scornful scoff. "I will not let that happen here. The Magnakind will not lord their power over us. They will not fall victim to the notion that they are 'gods'. I will make sure of it."
"And how do you plan to do that, Father?" Jedidiah inquired, putting a hand on Adam's shoulder in an attempt to calm his down. "You are a mere Wonderkind. They are beyond us—beyond everyone."
Adam grunted and began to shuffle away from the fire, leaving the confused celebrators behind. "It doesn't matter. Even if they will not see, even if they will not hear the whispers, I will. I will 'pay attention to the whispers, so that we will not have to hear the screams'." He cast a dark glare at Jedidiah over his shoulder. "I will use their blind arrogance against them," he growled, "and do whatever it takes to keep this Safe Haven safe."
Jedidiah watched his father hobble away, concern overtaking his features. "'Have a vision not clouded by fear', Father," he whispered. "Please... don't do something you will regret..."
A network of tunnels had recently been excavated beneath the First Haven, and Adam had made sure to memorize it; he had to, seeing as how he was the one who'd designed it. The workers had planned to dig deeper, but strange occurrences had taken place when they'd attempted to do so— disturbances in the natural order, inexplicable events, visions into other worlds, that sort of thing.
Regardless, the network served its purpose for those attempting to access the Power Well from convenient locations in the city. And Adam made sure that there was at least one tunnel that no one knew about—no one but him and the ten workers who'd created it.
Those ten workers now took turns standing guard at the centre of the tunnel, though their presence was purely for symbolic and intimidatory purposes. If the Hollows discovered it or the All-Seer's Eyes infected it, there would be nothing they could do about it.
As it stood, the existence of the secret tunnel remained, thus far, a secret, for which Adam was grateful. He trudged into the darkness of it on the night of the new year, nodding to the guards and muttering passing words of greeting.
"What are you doing down here, Chief Black Horn?" one of the guards inquired as Adam walked past.
"Precautionary measures," Adam croaked in response, not meeting the guard's questioning gaze. "Keep lookout."
The guard shared a confused look with the other. "...Yes, Chieftain," the first answered after a beat, his tone cautious and a bit concerned.
Adam ignored it—he was used to hearing it, after all. Ever since his sickness had been exacerbated and the symptoms had become obvious, every gaze cast in his direction and every word addressed to him had been laced with sympathy. He despised how frail it made him feel—no... how aware it made him of his frailty.
Just another reason to do what he planned to do. When he was gone, someone had to take his place. Someone with the resources to keep higher powers at bay, should the need to do so arise. His son was neither strong enough nor skilled enough, and he did not possess the resources necessary.
So Adam would provide them.
Upon reaching the end of the tunnel—a large blockage of dirt and stone—Adam raised his hand, and the markings on his flesh began to change from black to glowing white. The symbol that had become synonymous with the havens—one forged from the magic of the Keypoints and their connection to the Magnakind—appeared on his palm, spinning clockwise at a steady pace.
In response, the dirt and stone split down the middle, with the two halves being absorbed into the tunnel wall on either side. Beyond the wall was a small pool of white light that glowed even brighter than Adam's thaumaturgic tattoos—pure magic in liquid form.
The Power Well.
Adam remained where he was, not daring to step over the threshold into the area where the well was resting. He knew the All-Seer's Eyes watched it closely, never looking away for fear of its corruption.
But he was in their blind spot.
Adam spread out his hands, causing more symbols to swirl around his forearms and fingers. In response, the symbol of Safe Haven appeared over the Eyes in the Power Well's pit, effectively blinding them to his presence.
He was clear. It was time.
And with that knowledge came a sudden, overwhelming sense of dread. For the first time in years, Adam began to tremble—not from his illness, but from the fear seeping into his mind. That cold claw gripping his heart.
Adam sank to his knees with a troubled groan, leaning heavily on his staff for support. He could feel something like a hand resting on his shoulder, gentle yet firm, the breath of the Great Spirit whispering in his ear.
Don't do this, He said.
Trust Me, He said.
"I cannot," Adam whispered back. "I cannot!" He gripped his staff tighter. "I know You will not stop them... I know You will leave them be! And then... then what? They fall victim to pride? Subjugate us? I cannot allow that! I cannot listen!"
The sensation faded, the Spirit now gone.
Adam gritted his teeth and glared at the Power Well, refusing to allow the tears gathering in his dying eyes to fall. The white light faded from the symbols around his hands, and he began to use something that was not magic, not drawn from the latent power of the earth. His eyes turned all black as the blackest night, and his antlers began to grow as his tattoos began to branch out and spread all over his body. He released his staff, letting it fall, and began to move his fingers in the air, stretching and popping strings of black light between them in a sporadic, jerky fashion.
And he spoke an incantation born from sorcery.
"I bind the power of the Great Beasts to the blood of the Black Horn," Adam rasped as his fingernails, black and long as claws, cut through his palms. "When their dark time comes, let the chosen descendant take their will and bend it to his own."
He bled black blood that was drawn to the Power Well like iron to a magnet. It slipped along the ground and into the lifeblood of the Earth itself, mingling with its inner power.
"For the sake of the world, and to keep the Safe Havens safe," Adam went on as his antlers and claws reached their full length, "let this Black Binding be completed." He closed his blackened eyes and let out a quiet sigh. "And may the Great Spirit forgive me," he whispered.
Darkness overtook him as he was bound to the Power Well, his mind falling into an empty place, a void, a desolate plane of nothing.
Adam opened his eyes.
He was greeted by the sight of fog—fog so thick he couldn't see anything, not even the ground. Vague shapes moved about in the darkness—shapes he heard, for he could not see them.
"Adam?"
A voice—a woman's, curious, intrigued, somewhat uncertain. Unfamiliar.
Adam frowned and extended his hand, causing symbols to swirl around it and a gust of air to gently wisp the fog before him away.
As the mist cleared, he was given a clear view of the one who had spoken. She was a Cervidian—or, at least, part Cervidian—and possessed malformed legs. No—not malformed; simply... different. They were like a jackrabbit's—powerful, muscular, tapering into paws at their end.
Her light tan skin was marked with black like Adam's own, her hair rusty maroon with a single braid dyed glaucous blue. Most prominently, she possessed a pair of antlers, black as black could be.
The woman gasped, an excited smile coming to her face. "By the Maker, it is you," she breathed in fluent Tsalagi, staring at Adam in wonder and awe. "I can't believe it."
Adam lowered his hand, narrowing his eyes. "You are Black Horn," he said, scrutinizing the woman intensely. "My kin."
"Yes! Yes, that's right!" The woman laughed, walking slowly toward Adam. "I can't believe this is actually happening," she whispered, seemingly to herself. "Is it because of the Binding? Is that even possible...?"
"Binding?" Adam repeated sharply, drawing the woman's gaze back to his own. "You speak of the Black Binding?"
"I do," the woman confirmed, stopping right in front of Adam. "I've performed it." Her eyes shone with eagerness at her next words. "The Magnakind, they—they serve me now."
Adam was silent for a moment as his own eyes were clouded by distress and sorrow. "I see," he muttered. "So they have turned. My greatest fears came true."
"What? Oh, no-no-no-no," the woman said quickly, waving her hands and letting out another laugh that sounded as if it were meant to be reassuring but confused Adam greatly. "No, they didn't turn. I turned them."
More silence.
Then Adam rasped, "You what?"
"I turned them," the woman repeated casually. "I had to, in order to solidify my role as Chief Peacekeeper of the First Haven. It's my birthright, after all. The havens and everyone in them—they belong to our bloodline."
Adam stared at the woman, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. "I—I don't understand," he said, confused and growing angrier by the moment. "You subjected the will of the Magnakind to your own because you want to rule the havens?"
"Because I am entitled to rule the havens," the woman corrected him, clipping her words slightly as she began to walk toward Adam again. "This is about heritage, Adam," she said in a low voice, stopping about a foot away from her ancestor. "And taking back what's mine."
Adam shook his head, his anger giving way to fear and dismay. "So this is what I've done," he whispered. "My fear gives way to folly, and my safeguard... becomes a shackle."
The woman smirked. "That's about the long and short of it." She began to back away, putting her hands behind her back as she did so. "I know it's not what you wanted, but it's what we deserve. With the Magnakind at my beck and call, I won't just take our havens back—I'll take back our whole freaking continent!" She threw her head back and laughed for a moment before letting out a happy sigh and smirking at Adam again. "For the Tsalagi," she purred, "for the Black Horn tribe... and for me."
Again, the cold claw of fear gripped Adam's heart, and he felt as if this sunken world was spinning around him. What had he done? What had he DONE?
"Oh, and by the way," the woman called as she turned and began sashaying off into the mist, "good luck trying to hide the Binding from me in the past. I already know you do, and you already know I find it. Forbidden knowledge is what I'm all about." She glanced over her shoulder and winked. "After all... they didn't name me 'Eve' for nothing."
The fog suddenly folded over Adam, engulfing him and whirling around like a hurricane, deafening and furious, violent, buffeting him from all sides and drowning him in darkness—
Adam gasped and clutched his chest with a hand, taking in wheezing, ragged breaths as the pathway to the Power Well closed in on itself, sealing the secret tunnel once again. He felt a burning sensation all over his body, and looking down, he saw the outlines of his thaumaturgic tattoos glowing a soft but fiery red as the Black Binding was sealed into his flesh.
"Jedidiah!" he croaked as the pain began to fade, grabbing his staff and struggling to his feet. "Jedidiah!"
"Is everything alright, Chieftain?" one of the guards called from the distance as Adam hobbled their way.
"I must find my son!" was Adam's hot-blooded response. As he walked past the guards, he waved his staff at them and snapped, "Destroy this tunnel! No one must know it ever existed!"
"But Chieftain—" the other guard began to protest.
"DO IT NOW!" Adam barked, not stopping on his mad dash for the exit.
The guards glanced at each other again, but did not hesitate further before placing thaumaturgic runes along the tunnel walls.
Adam emerged from the tunnel with the guards close behind and did not slow, not even looking back as the runes detonated at the entrance and all throughout the tunnel, causing it to cave in on itself. He continued to yell his son's name as he limped toward the forest on the outskirts of the First Haven, his already-raw throat turned ragged by the calls.
Finally, Jedidiah burst from the woods, crying, "Father, what are you doing? Why are you—"
Adam immediately grabbed his arm and squeezed it tightly, cutting him off. "Jedidiah," he hissed, "listen to me very closely. I have made a terrible mistake. The magic of this haven is corrupted—bound to our cursed blood!"
"What? What did you do?" Jedidiah exclaimed, horrified.
"I intended only to protect us! But it's all gone wrong!" Adam's expression turned desperate, and he whispered, "Will you make me a promise, son? Please?"
"I—y-yes," Jedidiah stammered, confused and distraught. "I will. What is it? Tell me."
"Promise me," Adam answered in a hurried susurration, "that when my time on this Earth ends, you will flay the skin from my bones and burn it. Burn it until there is no trace left! And if these marks have been scorched upon my bones, grind them into dust and scatter them in the sea!" He shook Jedidiah violently. "Promise me!"
"Alright, alright! I promise!" Jedidiah insisted, putting his own hands on his father's arms in an attempt to calm him down. "I promise, Father!" He drew Adam into an embrace, holding him tightly and squeezing his eyes shut. "Oh, Great Spirit," he whispered, fighting back tears, "whatever my father has done, please forgive him. Forgive him, I beg you!"
Adam returned the embrace, trembling once again as he did in the tunnel. "I saw a vision," he murmured, "of the one who would bind the Magnakind. She is Eve, cruel and corrupted by knowledge forbidden. Overborne with twisted justice. She will doom not just this haven, but every haven. When her time to walk this Earth comes, she must NOT find the Black Binding inscribed in my flesh."
"I understand, Father." Jedidiah pulled away and held Adam at arms' length. "I will do everything in my power to ensure the safety of this haven," he swore. "Rest assured, Father: Eve Black Horn will never find the Black Binding." His eyes flashed with determination.
"Never..."
A.D. 1994
The sound of drums and many voices resonated through the Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest, where dozens of Cherokee natives from the Tsigamogi Tribe and Chitimacha Reservations had gathered for a sacred ceremony. Healers, medicine men and women, shamans and more all performed spiritualistic rituals as the dancing and singing carried on, all centred around a single woman and the child she was giving birth to.
That child was born to the songs of her people, deposited onto a soft bed of leaves and animal skins. Her mother, who had given birth from a squatting position, slowly fell backward onto the ground in exhaustion. Several tribeswoman went to support her, speaking gentle words of congratulations as they did so.
The child's father emerged from a tent, hastily set up on the outskirts of the ceremonial grounds, and made his way to where the baby lay, crouching down and lifting her into the air.
She did not cry.
A jolt of fear made the father stiffen. He moved his hand toward the child's face—
—and froze as she opened her eyes and gripped his finger with a small, chubby hand.
Irregular. Unnatural.
Those eyes... deep brown and filled with curiosity, a yearning for understanding far beyond what a child should possess.
Filled with wonder at the sight of this unusual infant, the father crouched down next to the mother and placed the child upon her breast.
Mother and daughter locked gazes, eyes filled with joyfulness and inquisitiveness.
"What is her name?" the father asked, his voice soft.
The mother looked at him, and then at her daughter once more. The child was falling asleep, eyelids fluttering shut, and still she made nary a sound.
"Eve," the mother answered, locking eyes with her husband. "For Adam... she is Eve."