Now Fencer was mortal once, as all are mortal who dwell under the Sun and must count their years like coins slipping through the fingers. He knew hunger and weariness; he knew the small shames and the small kindnesses; and he walked the streets as any other, unseen by history.
But there came upon his mind a seeing; whether by dream, by omen, or by the harsh schooling of life; of Evil, not as a tale told to frighten children, but as a craft and a hunger, patient and clever. He beheld what it could do when left unchallenged: how it makes sport of the weak; how it teaches the cruel to call their cruelty “law”; how it whispers that mercy is folly and that laughter is shame.
Then he grew silent for a time, and those who knew him said: “He has stared too long into a darkness that stares back.” Yet in that silence a purpose gathered, like thunder behind the hills.