In your image are we born, Tzernobog. The Sun is your fire - and it breathes unto us life.
A calling of fire that we answer, subconsciously and consciously; it guides us, moves us, sustains our hopes and dreams and desires.
It is your body that we tread upon so cautiously and carefully, ensuring you are not disturbed in your most sacred of slumbers.
So why was I, in our family that has lived within your Expanse for generations, the one born without wings?

Our Souls are but Flames; dancing as joyously as the next - it fuels our rage, our happiness, our sadness, our love and hate.
For miles and miles did us Magyars walk, and for miles and miles did lethargy and anger plague my existence; 'til the day in which I was cleansed within your flame.
My flame, the Primordial fire; the touching of souls, reigniting existence and washing away all my sin. Clearing me anew.
My anger remains, but directed unto a purpose; one in which I had promised him:

Arise like a Phoenix within it's ashes. Seek meaning, seek the journey.
Become the fire that breathes new life, revitalizing those who need it - or purging them completely within the sacred flames.
Perhaps this blood of mine dates even further generations back.

To the Stars: We may not understand each other yet, but perhaps in the future, we will. Our meanings understood, but ourselves are not; a stubbornness to overcome. In time, for I am still young. No malice is held, no malignant feelings retained. Such a thing that I hope you are well aware of. And if not, that is fine; but we all live as we all desire.
You, as well, who dance to the beat of your own flame.

To the Flame of Death: Our covenant remains as in tact as the day it was taken; I've oft made notice that the flames you gifted unto me, the ones I am seeking to learn more about as I live and breathe, tend to dance amongst my burns and mix with the Djinn's ink. A silvery flame, and yet one that seems to burn hotter: the blue-ish tint, signifying it is reacting from the heart and soul. How apt, I'd think; and often I wonder if the same has been happening to you. I receive your letters, but am unable to make much note of them - and cannot help but wonder... Is my rage needed soon? For your sake...
Or the worlds?

To my Warrior Sun: I wonder if in some way you are influencing me now. For all my posturing, indeed, you still seemed to stick to me like glue. What an odd sort, I thought, but you are perhaps the closest one to your own flame. Something I admire you for, as you never seem to shy away from much - yet I can't help but question your taste at times, and your out of left field stupidity astounds me the most and agitates me so much that sometimes I wonder if it is on purpose.
But you are living life, aren't you? Embracing the sun, day to day. I can't fault you for being you.
Do not let your own fire burn you; as it moves us along, so too can our own flames burn us.
I will watch over you.

To my Khan: You are wise and fierce in equal measures. When I approached you for more duty, you could have easily denied me completely for my mistakes in the past, an anger uncontrolled. And yet you gave me a chance - one I took, and hope to Tzernobog and the spirits I had done well enough in your eyes. My roots are forever with the Magyars, and as such, my allegiance is yours. Whatever wisdom I gain is yours, as you are our rightful ruler; guide us where you see fit, whether it be to riches or ruin. But in the same vein as our Warrior Sun, my Khan...
Do not let your soul flame overtake you.
I wonder, where shall you take us?

To the Venerated Queen: Our meeting was my greatest pleasure. Like our Khan, you are wise and fierce - I respect you, greatly. To know you heard my points well makes my heart soar with joy. Your fire beats to the drum of the trees as they sway within the wind, a wall of fire to protect that which you hold dearest. You may not be in need of it, but do understand that if you require something of me, you may send a letter. I will see whether or not I can do it for you.

The world burns.
It burns with sin, it burns with prejudice. I look and all I see are others burning themselves from the inside out.
...And yet, are they aware of such?
My training has only just begun, but I must move quickly for in time I will be called.

...Ah, it is getting late. Perhaps that is the end for these series of thoughts.
The world will learn soon, I feel.
I will gain your wings, Tzernobog - even if I must showcase my soul on the outside.

The qilin is said to appear upon the imminent death or arrival of a sage or illustrious ruler.
It is depicted often with parts of their bodies on fire.
In this case, we may consider them a 'wingless dragon'.

So many years have passed since Arpads' disappearance.
I have held the mantle of Khan in his absence as well as I ever could have.
Assigned the Tsagan and Kargan to my closest advisors and friends, Tyr and Tuule.
Gave Kasia the role of Tarqan...

And with the assistance of Tyr and Tuule as well as a few others,
even gave way for new life. A fire spirit.

So, tell me:

Why?
So many chances for them to have just placed their walls elsewhere.
A peaceful option. Instead you force it.

Why?
So many times were they simply let off with injury and warning.

Why?
Not once have we said we would kill them.
Simply to chase them away, off of our lands.

So why?

You wanted a villain.
Now, for your egregious actions...
You're getting one.


Either you will be avenged or I will join you, my friend.

Either way, they will all burn.