Tales of the birth of the famous killer Goh Zanar number scarcely fewer than tales of the creation of all that exists. On both continents where he left his bloody trail, there were strange and terrible rumors. It was said that he was conceived of one of the evil spirits that had stumbled upon the world of Faeo, and that the first person he had slain was his own mother.

      It was said that he himself was a spirit, incarnate into a small child, and that he was the personification of evil, sent into the wold of Faeo as punishment by A'Aron the Just. Tongues wagged day and night, but it was all much simpler. There are two episodes in his life that we know of that turned him to the path he took.

      Born in one of the villages in the Smiru River valley, of a normal mortal woman Ilina, Ikar – for such was the name given to him at birth – did not know his father from childhood. His life flowed quietly and in a measured manner, and it appeared that this would continue a long, very long time. But the fate of the boy turned out otherwise ...

      Dawn was near. Rays of light from the Mirrow star had not yet been able to illuminate and warm the sleeping village, when the crimson light of flaring fires lit it up, and the breath of battle heated it. No, not a battle, a massacre. A squad of Orcs emerged from the nighttime darkness that enveloped the village. Slaughtering the half-asleep guards, and not expecting to encounter any resistance, the orcs spread out through the village like inexorable running water. The attackers' roar of victory cut off the anguished cries of the defenders. The people, caught off-balance, met the invaders as best they could. Understanding that to lose now meant in essence that all is lost, and that what life remained was turned into a short-term borrowed currency, the people fought with desperate fierceness. Into the fray entered kitchen and village implements, and men fought on the threshold of their own homes, together with the woman and children able to hold any kind of weapon. The clang of steel, the groans of the dying, the sickly-sweet smell of blood, and the entire scene were lit by the houses turned into giant bonfires.

      Ilina, awakened at the first sounds of combat, dashed into her son's room and collided with him in the doorway.

      “Mama...”

      “Darling...”, Ilina spoke quickly, - “I gave you everything I could ... everything that I could have given and ... if you are lucky in the Mountains of Chion, you will find your father.”

      “I won't leave you, Mama.”

      On the street a roar and a crash sounded as the attackers broke into the interior courtyard of the house.

      “Forgive me, my little one.” Ilina gasped.

      Taking Ikar by the hand, she pulled him into her room, shut the door, and embracing her son, began to mutter.

      “In the name of the stars of Mirrow that warm all that exists – I release you... In the name of the forests, mountains, rivers, valleys – I release you... In the name of the wildlife in the forests, birds in the trees, fish in the water, grass in the field, trees in the forests, and the spirits in the mountains – I release you... Become named and unnamed, invisible and visible, existing and nonexistent, found and lost...”

      Abruptly relinquishing her embrace and separating her hands to the side, Ilina took a step back. In her right hand flashed a narrow dagger of bizarre form.

      Ikar stood for a second, wobbling, and collapsed face down on the plank floor. His body began to flow along the floor, literally sinking into the planks, until it had totally disappeared as though he had never been.

      The door leading in to the room burst open and an Orc rushed in. Recklessly swinging his axe toward Ilina who threw herself on him with her strange weapon, the Orc did not wait but sprang toward the chests along the wall, guessing correctly that that was where valuables were kept. Ilina, receiving an axe wound in her chest, collapsed to the floor, pouring our her blood on the place where her son had earlier fallen. A strange smile played on her lips.

      “The ashes shall arise...” she mumbled, before her eyes closed forever. A detachment from Basturion City came after it was all over. The Orcs departed towards the Berona Ranges, taking with them a few prisoners. In place of the once flourishing village of Smyrna stood a smoldering burning ground, and the smell of burnt flesh overpowered all the other smells. After the detachment departed to bring to Basturiongrad the woeful news, there was a certain movement in the very heart of the fire site of what was once the home of old Tukin. Black ashes circled in a whirlwind, rose into the air, and wove together the figure of a person. The figure stood for an instant and, bowing down, fell to his knees. A wild scream cut through the thick air, and the figure rushed about, throwing himself from one heap of ashes to another as if seeking something, and fell.

      On his knees before what had been his native home, Ikar wailed. Where had that nimble, slender youth been lost, with black hair like the wing of a bird?

      An old man was on his knees and crying. His black hair acquired the color of white snow, and woe bowed down the thin figure, but the most terrible change was with his face. What was just recently his young refined face, at which more than one girl in the village glanced, was transformed into a certain likeness of an empty, dull mask. The skin of his face, earlier cast in a greenish color, became white as chalk, and his extended ears acquired the size and form of standard. No emotion was reflected on his smooth, expressionless face, and only tears flowed from his wide open eyes like rivulets from melting ice fields. He stood and cried over his lost life – over the life that would never be again, neither in this world nor in the next.

      Complying with his mother's parting words before her death, Ikar set out for the Chions Mountains to find the last relative left alive in this world - his father. In the depths of the Chions Mountains, at Hell's Pass, was the School of Maasdar. The school of killers. Students for the school were recruited by the graduates as part of the graduation exercises, or as a measurements of the development of their career. The school accepted basically children up to 10 years of age, since it was thought that this age was most conducive for the breakdown of the boy's worldview and the inculcation of new dogmas and rules. In addition, training exercises from such a young age, when the reflexes are not yet developed, provided excellent results. Graduates of the school of Maasdar were esteemed on both continents, and many rulers would have liked to have in their retinue such excellent killers. More than that, they dreamed of subjecting them to themselves. But from age to age, their position did not change. The school was bound by ties that were beyond anyone's power to break, either by torture or by gold. The hierarchy of the school was simple. An Apprentice (everyone who entered the school became an Apprentice) after seven years of instruction completed three training tasks and six orders, and was transformed into a Graduate. Once every seven years, a graduate received the right to summon to ritual combat and kill his teacher. If he succeeded, he took the place of the teacher and, after undergoing consecration, became one of the highest hierarchs of the school. But consecration required that he renounce his former name and accept a new name assigned to him by the Hell's Pass.

      Every seven years, a ritual battle took place in the crater of a volcano that was hidden in the mountains and was long extinct. Those wishing to enhance their status always appeared. It was considered that students defeated by the hand of a teacher, or, as happened rather rarely, defeated teachers, were presented in sacrifice to the Hell's Pass, which hosted the school.

      The seven years spent in Maasdar made a man out of Ikar. Cruel, cold, taking for himself the most important truth in life – that the dead do not present problems for the living, if of course they are not buried at the Iley graveyard. And now, when the school of killers had given him all that it could, the time had come to carry on the decisive battle – battle with his Teacher.

      The duel proceeded as ordinarily, and there was not crowd of observers, only several teachers. Possibly, it would be interesting to someone to watch how the teacher would struggle with the student, but in the school they did not consider the duel anything special, much less entertaining, and therefore only those who needed to be there were present.

      In the cavern, brightly lit by the flame of torches on the walls, Ikar stood opposite his teacher. By the unwritten rules, combat was without weapons – knowledge against knowledge, mind against mind. The opponents moved very quickly, striking and parrying blows. At a certain moment, Ikar's Teacher moved awkwardly, exposing his neck, and instantly the hand of Ikar flashed, extended by the blade of a strange bizarre form. The Teacher fell limp at the feet of his student and killer. His body suddenly acquired a strange ashen cast and crumbled into a fine dust.A light breeze passed through the crater, where the combat took place. The breeze blew out a few torches, and lifted and swept away the dust that had once been a man.