He had survived to lead his clan.
Laying aside his grief as best he could, he had lived only for the clan's welfare.
As a chieftain, he had spilled enough blood to fill the raging sea and had taken countless wounds on his own flesh for his people. He had led his clan to glory against all the mainlanders and northern clans who had sought to conquer them. With most of his family dead, he had given his clan everything he had. His loyalty. His love.
He had even offered them his own life to protect them from the gods.
And in one heartbeat, his clansmen had taken the last thing on this earth he had loved.
Ceara.
His cherished little sister whom he had sworn to his mother, father, and uncle he would protect at any cost. Ceara with her golden hair and laughing amber eyes. So young. So kind and giving.
To satisfy one man's selfish ambition, his clan had slain her before his eyes while he lay tied down, unable to stop them.
She'd died calling out for him to help her.
Her horrified screams still rang in his ears.
After her execution, the clan had turned on him and ended his life as well. But Talon's death had brought no relief to him. He had felt only guilt. Guilt and a need to right the wrongs done to his family.
That vengeful need had transcended everything, even death itself.
"May the gods damn you all!" Talon roared at the burning village.
"The gods don't damn us, we damn ourselves by our words and deeds."
Talon turned sharply at the voice behind him to see a man clothed all in black. Cresting the small rise, this man was unlike any he'd seen before.
The night wind swirled around the figure, billowing out his finely woven cloak as he walked with a large, twisted warrior's staff held in his left hand. The dark, ancient oak wood was carved with symbols, the top decorated with feathers fastened by a leather cord.
Moonlight danced upon hair that was an unearthly jet-black which the man wore in three long braids.
His silvery, shimmering eyes seemed to swirl like phantom mists.
Those glowing eyes were eerie and haunting.
Standing to the height of a giant, Talon had never before had to look up at anyone and yet this stranger seemed the size of a mountain. It wasn't until the man drew nearer that Talon realized he was only a few inches taller and not as ancient as he'd first seemed. Indeed, his face was that of a perfect youth who stood on the precious threshold between adolescence and maturity.
Until one looked closer. There in the stranger's eyes lay the wisdom of the ages. This was no lad, but a warrior who had battled hard and seen much.
"Who are you?" Talon asked.
"I am Acheron Parthenopaeus," he said in a strange accent that spoke Talon's native Celtic tongue flawlessly. "I was sent by Artemis to train you for your new life."
Talon had been told by the Greek goddess to expect this man who had roamed the earth since time immemorial. "And what will you teach me, Sorcerer?"
"I will teach you to slay the Daimons who prey upon hapless humans. I will teach you how to hide during the day so that the rays of the sun don't kill you. I will show you how to speak without revealing your fangs to the humans, and all else you need to know to survive."
Talon laughed bitterly as blinding pain swept through him once more. He ached and he hurt so much that he could scarcely breathe. All he wanted was peace.
His family.
And they were gone.
Without them, he no longer wished to survive at all. Nay, he couldn't live with this weight in his heart.
He looked to Acheron. "Tell me, Sorcerer, is there any spell you have that can take this agony from me?"