This Was the Horse That Devoured His Du
They say there was once a horse not born, but shaped—fashioned in shadow and flame, deep in the hills where no man walks. It came from no mother’s womb, no stallion’s line. It simply was. They named it Dusmaar, the Silent Charger.
And this was the horse that devoured his du.
What was his “du”? Some say it was his rider—Duvalis, the warlord who carved his name into stone with sword and silence. Duvalis found the horse atop the ridge one dusk, eyes like smoldering coals, its breath steaming in the dead summer air. The two were said to be inseparable—horse and master, death and storm.
Together they rode through kingdoms, leaving behind scorched fields and empty thrones. Villages whispered of the beast who moved without sound, whose hooves never touched the earth. Where the rider’s banner flew, night followed, and where Dusmaar galloped, light fled.
But time spares no flesh, not even kings.
In the final days, Duvalis fell—betrayed, they said, or broken by the weight of his own conquests. Wounded and delirious, he tried to ride once more, to flee into myth. But the horse stood unmoving. Then, with a single breath, it opened a mouth that had never opened, revealing not teeth but void—and devoured him.
The old seers call it “devouring his du”—his spirit, his purpose, his echo.
Now, the horse rides alone. No reins. No saddle. No master. It roams the edges of dusk and memory, searching. Some say it seeks a new du. Others say it is punishment eternal—that the beast must carry the weight of all it has consumed.
Children near the old woods are told not to answer if they hear hooves at night. Not to look out the window when the wind carries the scent of burnt iron. Because if Dusmaar finds you wanting, if it sees the echo of ambition in your heart… it may decide you are its next du.
And you will vanish.
No trace.
Only hoofprints in the dust, fading with the wind.