It was the dawn of a new day, and two things on this day were certain.

It was a clear, beautiful day, where the wind only just tickled one's mane as it shifted across one's nape, just enough to take the bite out of the heat of TallSun.

And the General was dead.

---

It was a very normal, quiet morning. The Ardent one had risen early, as he always did, he had bid his family farewell as he proceeded to wander away from the Oasis of the Throat, through the great stone wave, towards the border of the land.

He hadn't made it to the borders.

In the curve of the great wave, there laid a great hulking form of mostly dark feathers, though the odd white one wove its way through like a river of contrasting colours. Muscles formed from years of activity rested, at last, never to move again. Lungs did not fill. Nostrils did not quiver.

Eyes did not change from their warm, rich indigo hue.

Legs were bent beneath him, as if he had chosen the moment before his death to lay down, to curl up and await death's cool embrace to settle over him. Peace was upon his façade, a deep satisfaction of a life full of adventure, of love, a life where he served those he cared for with honour and integrity. The spear that usually tucked itself amidst the masses of feathers had fallen out, and now laid beside him.

What happened to our fallen General?

Born in the lands of Isilme, to the greatest and original leaders, Naryl the FireSlayer and Azureus the WeaponMaster, Ázzuen was a twin, a brother to the vibrant and electric steed Voltaic. They felt like they ruled the lands, even as they grew in gangly yearlings, learning the ways of the wind and fully intending upon leading the herd one day, in the wake of their parents.

Tragedy had struck then, an event that would change the outcome of their lives forever.

They had watched, helpless, as their mother killed their father, with their father's own spear.

And then she killed herself on it.

Stained red with the blood of his parents, the spear had become Ázzuen's then, he had wretched it from his mother's very chest and flew from the lands, forgetting in his grief that his brother was left behind, that the herd would fall without both of them there to help it survive.

The Cliffs had fallen then. But they had risen again too.

Ázzuen would not be rising again.

What had happened during those years of running, hiding, fighting? Exactly that; living without a purpose, he had fought for any cause that seemed worthy at the time, he had lost himself in the blood and grit of war, he had fought blindly, mastering the weapon which had killed his parents, wanting to return home but unable to face the history that was written in blood back there.

Helovia had been the beginning of his life, the true place where he was able to find his purpose, to live, and fulfil the potential his bloodlines had offered him.

The StarBreather, oh, how she had breathed life into him. She had stolen his gaze from the beginning, his heart shortly after that. He had sworn to be her protector, to provide her with a home, and together they had secured just that, and brought forth a family too. The blue roan maiden had gifted to him more than he had ever thought possible, she had made him realise his dreams of having a family, of having something to fight for, to live for, to cherish and hold above all else.

And then Helovia had brought him a most curious twist. A historical repetition, a flashback, as scents of Isilme flooded his senses and Kri came in with her mission, a link to his brother. And then his brother had come too - and just as swiftly as they had reunited they were torn apart, as war stole his brother's life from him before he even had a chance to tell him… tell him what? How much he loved him? How sorry he was?

Did it even matter now?

What had happened to our fallen General?

---

Ázzuen had lived a good life. He had accomplished almost everything he had said he would when he was but a young, foolish colt. He had risen through the ranks to a respectable position, he had served his leader with honour and devotion, he had raised a family who filled his heart with endless surges of pride and joy. He had earned the title Ázzuen the Ardent for the life he had lived.

Two things on this day were true.

It was a beautiful day.

And the first General of the Tuuli was dead.

larfsalot.deviantart.com