Dear Friends:
It’s time to take a deeper dive into the evolution of Agni Kazirian, born at the crossroads of gods, empires—and something far more personal.
As I shared in a past letter, Agni’s name and his dragon-blooded tribe with their striking blue hair began as a nod to the Breath of Fire RPG series. But like many creations, he took on a life of his own. I forget where the surname Kazirian came from—only that it felt ancient—Roman? Armenian? Middle Eastern? Like the name of an emperor. Eventually, I broke out the two halves linguistically (in the spirit of Tolkien, though I’m a pale shadow): “Kazi” as “dragon,” “Rian” as “moonless night, or the period of the night between midnight and 2 am.”
A name born to rule, and to haunt.
Agni began as a brooding archetype—my self-insert from a dark era of my life. He was the classic late-90s antihero: the type with a leather trenchcoat, mysterious scars, and too many belts. He scowled. He rasped. But underneath that was something far more fragile. I can name the moment I had poured my anger into him—February 20, 1999, 4:10 pm. I collapsed to the floor in tears. For weeks, I barely ate or slept. I would leave classes in tears, unable to stop.
But others saw a seed of nobility in him, One reader on the old message board roleplay said, “he drew me in. I wanted to know him.”
Agni became a tool of self-discovery. He still moved like I imagined I would, had I the tools and discipline of a legendary warrior, but I humanized him. His power came at a cost—it came before wisdom. And Anton Kazirian gives nothing without cost.
But I wasn’t ready to write him until I faced my own abyss. That came in 2016-2017, when I faced what would eventually be diagnosed as bipolar disorder. My emotions became an unstoppable tempest. I tried medications that made me feel like I was leaving my body. But the worst was feeling like my thoughts no longer belonged to me. That something unseen and sinister goaded me. That experience gave me the emotional language to write Agni. Not just as a character, but one pulled by invisible forces beyond him. But this is not a tale of mental illness—at least not yet. It deserves its own book, one from my perspective, in a memoir tentatively titled Dark Night of the Soul.
Together with my writing coach, Jen Braaksma (jenbraaksma.com), I rebuilt Agni. What emerged was a fusion of myth and memoir—his fire met my own.
We first traced his true origin. The story of Son of the Borderlands—the first book—was built from key elements of his past. My first writings of this new Agni would become the start of the second book (in progress).
But where did his tale begin? Was it (1) the raid that bereft him, and put the first darkness within him, at age six? (2) His ancestor’s first whisper to him, at age eight? Or (3) his greatest conquest at twenty-five?
The answer was clear: it was (2) Anton’s call. (1) would not have distinguished him; he was a precocious boy, but if raids were common, what made him special? And (3) was the victory of a fully-formed warlord.
Anton’s call made Agni, Agni.
With the aid of my coach, Jen Braaksma, I crafted a new Agni, with the best of the old and my own life experiences.
The first task was to identify his origin. We discussed several potential points for when Agni’s story began—(1) the raid on his manor which set him on the path of war at age 6, (2) his ancestor’s first call to him at age 8, and (3) his greatest victory as a general, 2 years before the start of Son of the Borderlands) at age 25. Eventually, I decided on the second of those as his true origin, because (1) though he was a precocious boy, if raids were common in his day, what made him special? And (3) the Avician Campaign was the victory of a fully-formed warlord. (2) Anton’s call was what made Agni, Agni.
Agni was not a puppet. Anton Kazirian—the wraith who watches the centuries—did not steer his every move. He let Agni grow. Let him study, fight, rise. To learn from mortal scholars, to foster his own drive. He let Agni be beaten, imprisoned, and tortured without guidance or companionship.
But Anton instilled a darkness in his heart. Even as Agni experienced human love and companionship, Anton gave him a hunger. A sense of grandeur. A vision of order without mercy. And so, Agni became a genius of war. A breaker of nations. And sometimes, a man capable of great cruelty. To Anton, all human morality is subordinate to the revival of the Empire Kazia.
Son of the Borderlands explores layered forms of power—divine, political, martial, personal. Agni is caught in all of them. He wins vengeance against Blevenia, whose raiders killed his mother, only to realize it is thin gruel. He is betrothed to a duchess and given a command before he is grown, and must rely on others, especially Alexander, to temper his judgment. And he brings Avicia, the richest nation in the Mortal Realms, to its knees, using the threat of forbidden magic. He does not fully understand, or grasp the consequences, of any of this.
At the start of the novel, Agni has finally known peace. Two years of it. He defends his homeland and lives his purpose. He walks the streets as protector.
But true peace is fleeting.
He knows what awaits. A marriage. A summons. Imprisonment in silks. Two nations he humbled that have not forgotten. And an ancient despot who will call on him.
And so the story begins.
For the Borderlands,
Joe