Born an experiment by a mad Planeswalker intent on conquering the defenseless and damaged landscape of Dominaria, the man to be known as Akmogenos did not start the happy being he is today. The Planeswalker, a madman from Ravnica, intended to create perfect soldiers to overtake the remains of Dominaria by augmenting the natural raw might of the creatures known as Orggs, already bred for war, with the iron hide and the ability to adapt to complex battle situations inherent to the nature of the Vulshok, the mountain humans of what was then Mirrodin. Born to an Orgg mother through a complex imbuement process, the seemingly stunted creature was not the glorious beast of warfare the mad walker was expecting, and so to ensure he was the optimal outcome he was raised with other purebred Orggs of the same age as a control group. Over the months of maturation, in which the boy grew quickly, the mad walker observed that the runt among his fellow Orggs was uninterested in the combat training forced upon him, focusing more on the devices the mad walker used in his work and helping his pure Orgg kin when they were punished. As the boy was trained to find the weaknesses in the local’s armor, he instead became enthralled by its moving segments, and when taught of the devices once and still used for combat on the plane and how to destroy them, he instead marveled at their complexity. What’s more, unlike the other, bulkier yet softer skinned and cowardly true Orggs being trained, the metal-plated hide of the boy prevented him from being reprimanded to much effect. Perhaps, the mad walker thought, it was time to start over, this time with less human, more Orgg. Seeking to kill the young hybrid and be done with this perceived failure, he instead discovered that he had unwittingly caused the birth of something beyond his expectations, for as his knife dove down upon the child the mad walker was engulfed in a blast of light, and when the light dimmed the child was gone.

	The child awoke in a field, calm, tranquil. A soothing breeze rolled over plentiful grass fields and a great mountainside cut the sky from the land along the horizon. The boy laid back in the grass and for the first time in his life experienced true peace. This did not last, however. Soldiers in shining armor began to approach, and holding their swords tight they set about the thing they believed a monster, causing him to flee. Frightened and afraid, the child ran, as far and as fast as his mighty legs could, till no warrior’s cry could be heard, nor any blade glinted in the sunlight. When he finally stopped for breath, he was alone, lost in the horizon mountainscape, hungry and exhausted. As he curled up near a large rock, watching the night sky uncertain of his future, a noise caught his attention. Above him on the rock an Ox that twinkled like the stars in the sky appeared and demanded to know his identity. The child said he did not know, he had never been referred to anything but boy, save today, when he was called monster. The Ox stepped down and the heat of his hooves warmed the air around them. The Ox told the boy that, though the boy was ragged and rough, the Ox proclaimed that he was a craftsman of some renown, and knew that though he could smell the malevolent intent of the artist behind the boy’s creation, this did not deny the boy the fact that he was a work of skilled and beautiful art. Silent and humbled by the Ox’s words, he was led from that rock to a dark and empty temple in the mountains. The temple held a massive anvil and hammer at its center, a lava-filled pit as a forge, and walls decorated with suits of armor and weapons meant for warrior much larger than he. The boy was told that here he could stay here, and that for each day the boy worked the forge with the materials it held, he would be brought food and water. The boy obeyed, and though he had no he had no skill, the boy was a quick learner, and understood the workings of the forge. The boy was met with a problem, though, for while the temple was well furnished with tools to work, it held no ore with which to do so, only the armors and weapons of old. Confused and desperate, the boy asked for answers from the Ox, whom had vanished and refused to answer. Frustrated, the boy took out his aggression on a suit of massive armor, and as the metal bent and buckled against the floor, he saw the scraps he had made and understood the materials he was meant to use.

	The boy set to work on the next day, smelting the old to forge the new, and though his suits were crude at first, little different from the jagged metal plates of his own hide. By day’s end, as the sun was beginning to set, a man not unlike the soldiers of the plains, yet much larger than they, entered the temple. The boy fled to a darkened corner and watched, fearing the large man might accuse him of monstrosity like the soldiers, and finish what they had intended to do. Instead, the man surveyed the crude plates, scoffed, and and exited, leaving a loaf of dry bread and a jug of water at the entrance. The boy understood that this must be what was meant by the Ox and, after finishing his small meal, set to work reforging the crude suit. The work took through the following day and well into the next, but eventually the boy had finished with a suit that appeared as though it might function if used. It was still long before dusk, and the boy wondered what he should do with the time before the man from before would arrive, so he began absent-mindedly carving small details into the armor. These details were ones he had used to draw in the walls of his pen on Dominaria, perhaps drawn as distraction from the monstrosities the mad walker had been committing just out of sight, or perhaps out of some urge within him to explore complex patterns even if they were his own, he did not know. Staring at his handiwork and lost in thoughts of what might have become of his brothers and sisters, exhaustion overtook the boy and he drifted to sleep. When he woke, the armor was gone, and in its place were a loaf of fresh bread, water and grapes. The boy had never had fresh fruit before, in fact having been fed meat almost exclusively, his other nutrition needs supplied to him by the mad walker magically that he might not find favor in food other than his foes. He decided that night that these small purple ovals of sweet water were his favorite food. This was not all that was left by the giant’s visit, for near the forge pit the boy found new ore, pelts and suits of old armor. Finishing his meal, the boy spat in his four hands, rubbed them together, and got to work.

	Many years had passed, and the boy, now man, had come into full confidence of his work. He would be visited day in and day out by the giants of the land and from these new friends he would both learn and teach, taking in their broken and battered armors and bronzed garb to reforge them into new suits and decoration. Often he would experiment with these new suits, exploring gimmicks and special intricacies that both confused and delighted his giant suppliers. Eventually word had spread of the “giant smith of the mountains”, and not long after did he find himself working with satyrs and even human soldiers like those that chased and hunted him. He cared not, he held no grudge, for their coming to him let him explore the passion he had grown, and the joy and admiration he saw in the faces of these whom he forged for were enough to overwhelm any bitter ill will he might have had. As demand increased, so too did his need for hands, and with knowledge from the giants and the satyrs, he set about constructing artisans of stone and metal to aid him, each night developing their complexities and their ability to retain and apply information until they were adequate at the job he needed them for. He found their invention to be something very enjoyable, and so on his personal time he would often tinker with making similar things. Every day that passed in which the man and his golems helped the people who came to him leave with happy faces he knew good was done. He knew that he was on the right path and that his actions might be bettering the world outside his mountain home.

	It was a bright and quiet morning when the man met the Ox again. The Ox stood in the doorway of the temple as the light of dawn began to stream in. The man asked what the Ox was here for, and the Ox told him that hard times were ahead. It said that conflicts between it and its kin, the Stag, had come to a head. It continued that the Stag had become too greedy, and that to prevent its harming the world, the Ox would have to loose a weapon perhaps as dangerous as the Stag itself. The man asked the Ox how he could help, and the Ox replied that his best help would be to be safe and leave. The Ox told the man that though he seemed like the giants of the mountains, there was a fire in him, a spark that the Ox knew not how to forge, foreign to here, and that the man must now follow that fire wherever it may lead him. The man pleaded with the Ox to stay and help, but the Ox refused, and told the boy that his time at this temple was complete, and that he had done great good. It stood before him and declared that as reward for this good the man had finally earned himself a name, and that name would forever then be Akmogenos, Born of Akmon, once an unshaped mound alone and afraid now reforged into a man of decency and respect. The man, now like the boy as he was found, knelt and wept before the Ox, closing his eyes. He knew the Ox had left for the brightness of the entrance lit his eyelids from outside but, as he opened his eyes, he found he was in the temple no longer, and instead in a vast plain of gnarled blades of steel grass and shimmering metal hexagon plates. With his heart heavy but his will steeled by the gift of a name, his name, Akmogenos stood and stepped out of his past on Theros and into the light of the White Sun of Mirrodin.