Advent: Firestar, #2

By David Harrell

The indomitable strength and power of the Legion were once a source of pride for the Firan people, and those who heard of their deeds in battle once cowered at the news of their coming. Their numbers were without peer, their endurance for hardship was without equal, and no one among the other realms could match their ferocity and determination in combat. They had once been divided, and then they were united, and for a time in history, their dominance was unchallenged, but pride preceded their fall as they were torn asunder at the coming of the Great Beast.

 

Its shadow of death swept over the Firan forces in a tidal wave of war, and the blast from its nostrils incinerated men and consumed their bones reducing them to ash. Its talons were like a blade on the wind, and its roar was like the sound of a thousand thunders, and the heavens themselves were commanded by its fury, and no one could stand against it and live. It had taken days to gather the Legion and years to unite the tribes, but in a single night, the Great Beast came and destroyed all the Firans had hoped for.

 

Fifty years followed this tragic event, and the people of the Burning Realm lived in relative peace. The war was over, the population was healing, and unification seemed once again to be within reach. Though rumors of evil floated about, and though the tides of destruction were felt by some, festivities and celebrations were carried out to herald the season of joy they were in, but on their borders was a darkened figure whose presence would soon be felt by all, and the Great Beast watched the glow of the horizon and rose to return to the Burning Realm.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Harrell
• Release date: Jan 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9798223241478

Book preview

Chapter 1

Damaged

DRUM BEATS PULSED in passionate rhythm as bronzed feet stomped the flat and barren earth, and the heavy burden of the overcast sky was of little consequence to the lithe and spirited dancers. The time for celebrations and festivals was nearing its apex, and every tribe of the Burning Realm took it upon themselves to prepare for the days ahead. Their revelry was tempered, however, by a series of recent tragedies and aged recollections.

Fifty years had passed since the once mighty nation of Fira was emasculated, and the population had only begun to heal. Fifty years had passed since the dark shadow of destruction crossed over them, and the tribes had yet to recover their pride. Fifty years had passed, and the shame of the Burning Realm’s forced withdrawal from the Grand War was not yet lifted from the minds of her people. The history of that day reverberated in their hearts, and the pain it brought reminded many of its consequences. Some even wondered whether the recent pangs of humiliation were an omen of something greater, and while there were many whispers, there were few acknowledgments. Most wished to simply forget what happened and put the event behind them. A few, members of leadership, were unwilling to face the event at all, but the rest turned their eyes towards a better future and hoped in the promise of greater things to come.

The Keepers, however, could never forget, for they were entrusted with the history of the twelve tribes, and it was their duty to not only maintain the knowledge but teach it to others as well. This most often occurred when the children were gathered to listen, and while pride was shown in the recitation of legends, grief was present in every word used to disclose the nation of Fira’s role in the Grand War. It was the first to ally with the Aural and Hollow Realms against the Saline Realm’s magic arts, and while Firan influences were many throughout the campaign, their national pride was shattered when they became the first of the realms to withdraw. The Firans, however, were notoriously prideful, and when the children questioned the reason for the withdrawal, the keeper would tell them of the Great Beast whose power and might caused even legionnaires to fear. Such an effect was no small feat to accomplish, and as the little ones listened with heightened interest, the keeper would speak to them and say, The Great Beast was a mighty and terrible creature with eyes of crimson and a voice of thunder, and its form was like a tremendous shadow, and its mane was like the starless night. Death navigated the currents of its breath and destruction followed in the wake of its stride, and with talons outstretched, it swung its arms into the souls of men like a harrowing blade.

The children’s mouths often fell open in awe while the stubborn among them crossed their arms and puffed out their chests. Some even said in defiance, I bet I could take on this beast!

But the keeper telling the tale would swiftly chastise the child and answer, Foolishness! I speak not of the creature from your dreams, child, but from the waking nightmare who forced us from the Grand War! I speak of the Great Beast who devoured legions of legions at the one time when all tribes were united as one! Foolish one! Could you consume an entire city, people and homes, in the span of a moment? Does fire escape from your nostrils when you breathe to consume men and burn them to a cinder? Does the earth churn in the rhythm of your stride? Can you bury your brothers with the beat of your feet? Can you submit their bones to the bowels of the earth through the mere expression of your will? Can you? For if you cannot do even these things, then the Great Beast is surely a greater terror than you! After such strong admonishment, the shaken child was usually compelled to silence. If not, disrespect was followed by discipline, for the keepers held the tale with solemn memories, and they would allow no one to make light of it.

Since their withdrawal from the war, the twelve tribes began a traditionally long and often interrupted process of reconciliation, and the spirit of the year quickened the hearts of everyone involved. Such prospects for a complete and lasting union between the tribes had not been seen since the Great Beast’s passing, and before that, since the start of the war. Even so, the people were hopeful and prayed that nothing would deter them from achieving the unity and peace they always desired, but unknown to anyone in the region, a dark figure crossed over into the territory whose exploits in the neighboring realm went completely unnoticed. The Great Beast had returned, but he was not how the denizens of the Burning Realm imagined him to be.

He was a young man in appearance and human, but his dark skin and raven-colored hair were made wet with perspiration due to the heat of the day. His eyes were heavy-laden but unwavering in their determination, and as he pressed ahead, the black cloak he wore flapped in the air of the heated winds that passed over him. He then complained in the native tongue of the land from which he was exiled, and after a moment of rest, he wiped his brow for the seventh time. He was weary from traveling and remembered little of the region from his previous tour, but as he tried to recall what he knew, his thoughts were hindered by dark thoughts and maddened impressions. He heard his mother’s voice say to him, Don’t be angry, Darrio, and the Great Beast, Darrio, shook his head of his mother’s words and cursed. He could not remember what he forgot about the region, and after a short period of frustration, he did not care to. All he could remember was that the Burning Realm was a troubled place of troubled history and a land rightfully referred to as the land of war.

Division and discord were close companions to the twelve tribes in the past. They argued without pause among each other like love-starved siblings in need of approval. There was thus no shortage to the list of grievances between them though acts of open bloodshed were few. No harm among brothers, was a commonly held creed by the people though it was misinterpreted by some. Nevertheless, everyone was believed to be part of a much larger family no matter how dysfunctional it was, and little attention was paid to the degrees of separation. Raising one’s hand against another in anger was considered a shameful act, but damaged emotions and feelings of inferiority were in abundance. Their feats of physical accomplishments were often answers to outlandish challenges, and the people lived out their lives in a steady state of competition. Men battled men to bring honor to their families and glory to their tribes, and women battled women for the hearts of honorable men and the glory of birthing strong children. Boys battled boys for the right to carry the mantle of adulthood, and girls remained locked in an ever-strategic war of relationships and associations on the path to becoming women. The men were strong, and the women were strong. Both sexes of all ages were determined in this. The harsh lands of the region demanded it of them, and weakness was a condition synonymous with death.

This mode of thought was considered by the other six realms to be the double-edged sword contributing to both the great strengths and weaknesses of Fira. The warriors were classified among the seven realms as fearless and daring but also shortsighted and reckless. Even so, there was no one contributed with sense who wished to engage a legionnaire of the Burning Realm. Their ferocity in close-quarters combat was unrivaled by any other military body of the time, and the only competition they had, so far as accolades were concerned, were the Hunters of the Hollow Realm. The two were scarcely separated in mention when it came to their fighting prowess, but the Hunters were considered to be equal, if not superior, in their overall potential. The only thing that held them back from higher levels of acclaim was their population. The Hunters were relatively few in number while the Legionnaires were trained in far greater quantities. Hunters were also rarely seen, even during the war, but the Legionnaires, amassed in great numbers, shouted before a battle, and their collective war cry once alarmed the hearts of any man who heard them.

Much had changed since the Legion’s defeat, but their reputation for wholehearted engagements and lack of retreat remained intact. Concession was seen as a sign of cowardice among the people and was nearly counted among them as a sin. Running from a conflict invited shame to the chase, and too much shame was synonymous with weakness. This attitude fueled the Firans during the war and was part of their military infamy, but even in social settings, failure was considered to be a greater thing than flight. A defeat, if honorable, had no stigma attached since a lesson could be learned from the struggle. It was thus in the best interests of the one being challenged to meet it and to meet it well. It was well known, in fact, that the initial conflicts between the Saline Realm and the Outer Realms started as the result of a tribal challenge, and the tribe that was challenged, the Benji tribe, was unwilling to concede. Their goal was to simply prevail against the mystic arts of the neighboring region and acquire some land for themselves in the process, but the results of that attempt damaged them and plunged the entire world into war.

The Firans often argued over who was responsible for framing the contest, but details of the event were lost over time, and the keepers who once kept the name of the presenting tribe in confidence had forgotten, but Darrio did not care. He made no distinction between the tribes or families of the Burning Realm and viewed everyone at the time equally as enemies, but this time was different, and the reason for his return had little to do with the nation itself. He did not even know of the stories that were told of him since his departure nor were they of any consequence. Darrio’s only concern was the location of a single target and the destruction of everyone associated with him.

As he continued his search, a pair of beastmasters happened upon his position during their routine patrol of the borderlands. They wore little in the way of armor and fabrics, for the air was not dry but dense in the region. Comfort and ease of movement, then, were of greater necessity than armored protection, and this was true for the majority of Firan attire though natural variations and elements of decoration remained. Much of the latter was used to distinguish the citizens and soldiers of one tribe from another. The rest distinguished between families of the tribe. The beastmasters were thus adorned in this way with bangles encircling their wrists and ankles that identified them as members of the same tribe and family.

Their cold-blooded mounts, known as dressels, were equally adorned, and were commonly subdued by the Legion to serve as steeds due to their naturally vicious nature and sensitive nostrils. Their great stature, green eyes, thick scales, and long, serpentine necks and tails also made for an intimidating sight, but Darrio was unmoved by their appearance. The dressels, one male and one female, even hissed and pulled their noses back at the scent of the foreigner, for something in the air of his presence caused them to recoil, and the two creatures increased their distance from him.

The beastmasters were confused by this but were more puzzled by the sight of the figure in front of them. His features showed him to be a native of the Hollow Realm, but his attire was clearly Saline in origin. One of the beastmasters even held a humanized version of the Great Beast in his mind, but he soon pushed it out. The notion that the figure before him could have been the Destroyer seemed ridiculous, and there were recent stories of his supposed actions in the region. The beastmaster dismissed them as rumors spread by those who could not explain what they saw, and the weary stranger had just entered the realm and appeared too young besides. Nevertheless, as the man observed and pondered, the other beastmaster spoke and asked the stranger, Who are you, and what are you doing here? State your business.

Darrio looked up with tired eyes and answered, Sho’ra ono suso su onasta chi. Wey sud yi evi bon?

The men exchanged puzzled glances. Did you understand him?

I don’t speak Salian.

Darrio sighed. Miros. Yi di’no ha tom fo tis. Morpa.

We can’t understand you, boy. Firan. Can you speak any Firan?

Darrio shook his head in frustration. He had sampled the languages spoken in the Outer Realms before, save one that he already knew, but he only committed one word from each of them to memory. Their meaning in translation, however, was the same, for Darrio did not consider much else to be of relevance at the time. He never considered he would be an exile either, but Darrio decided to further his point with a small display, and the ground in the immediate area trembled. The dressels reared back and stepped further away from the young figure, but when the shaking ceased, Darrio spoke and combined his word with a glare. Move.

The beastmasters settled their mounts and drew their weapons. You have no business here, sorcerer! Leave this place!

Darrio could not understand their words, however. He could only read their movements, and they were prepared to strike if he did not leave, but Darrio had no intention of going back. It was not in his best interests to engage in a scuffle though. The legions and tribes of the Burning Realm were unlikely to aid an agent of the Saline Realm, but they were sure to be less stubborn if they knew who Darrio really was, and Darrio did not want to give his pursuers any advantages. Instead, he shook his head and pointed his palm to the ground. What then began as a spark in front of his hand erupted into a flash of intense heat and light.

The dressels and beastmasters were stunned with momentary blindness, and a windstorm of dust and ash was stirred around them to further cloud their vision. A shock coursed through the ground, and a single, thunderous beat was heard in front of them. It was then followed by the rapidly fading sound of cloth flapping in the wind, but soon after this, there was silence. When the dust finally settled and the beastmasters could see, they found that the young figure was no longer among them, and in his place was a risen block of earth and a scorched patch of ground in front of it.

Darrio was far from the site by the time the men regained their bearings, and he shook his head as he continued his retreat. Had the circumstances been different, he would have fought. Darrio held no love for the Legion. Still, he could not afford to make the nature of his identity known. He was hated far and wide for his role in the Magic War, and being hunted by the very nation he fought for only made his circumstances worse. He was alone on a self-imposed mission and separated from the only person he cared about. To add a second nationwide hunt to the seemingly endless list of problems would have only complicated things further, and Darrio was already suffering from a headache that stemmed from his last battle.

He settled a few miles away from the border in an abandoned creature burrow to collect his thoughts and senses, and as he set his head back to the ground, he recalled his objectives. The man he was searching for was an ancient named Bacchus, a self-proclaimed scientist of the old world who worked for a group known to the Salians as the Shadow Casters. They were labeled as such because of their display over the powers of darkness, once one of the two lost elements of magic, and their goal, as was known, was to gain the second lost element of light and initiate an event known as the Great Cleansing. It was their belief that in doing so, the world would enter a new age where the forces of magic were dominant, and the god of magic, Magnus, would descend and reign as the supreme being of the world. Darrio had no intention of allowing this to happen. He then remembered they were divided into four factions with a master residing over each, and the one who commanded these four, the master of masters, was supposedly present in the Saline Realm. Darrio had yet to identify the man but succeeded in destroying the organization’s Pillar of Water shortly before his exile. This left only three other factions to reveal and eliminate. Everything else about the ancient group was a mystery. There was no knowledge of how they gained the dark element to begin with, how they intended to gain the power of light, or who the remaining masters were, but Darrio figured he would uncover the truth of these mysteries in time. If not, then it was of no consequence. Their deaths were more important to Darrio than their motivations, and as he remembered the small face of a girl he lost to them named Saria, his anger burned all the more.

Darrio rose from his position and soon realized that there was some comfort to be taken in his circumstances. With his powers no longer restrained by the leaders who sought his demise and with no superiors to answer to, he was free to do as he wished and bound by nothing but the constraints he chose to set upon himself. No one could tell him to withdraw his ambitions or submit himself to another’s, and as Darrio stretched his fingers and clenched his fists, he fastened his will and committed his mind to his tasks. The Shadow Casters would be destroyed, Bacchus would be found, and Saria would be avenged.

Just then, another spark of pain ignited itself in Darrio’s mind, and he found himself becoming more and more irritable. Shomo, he groaned. His mind had been struck with dark magic during his last battle with the Shadow Casters, and some of its effects continued to linger, but after taking a moment to calm his state and stabilize himself, Darrio decided to seek shelter elsewhere. The frequent disruptions would only serve as a hindrance to his cause, and the atmosphere of the region only exasperated his condition. Besides this, he was hungry.

Darrio stuck his head out of the burrow and looked east. Though he scattered his scent with the winds, he wanted to be sure he was not being pursued, but the beastmasters were nowhere in sight. Darrio then pulled himself out of the burrow and surveyed his surroundings. The flat and dusty lands of the Burning Realm stretched all around him, and the overcast sky loomed above him with a thick blanket of clouds. Yi shoto tis pos, Darrio sighed, and he continued his trek west for a time before turning south. This path kept him near the borderlands, for Darrio did not want to risk going deeper into the region just yet for fear of being recognized. He then spotted a small village and cautiously drew near, but he did not enter until nightfall.

The homes were small and primarily composed of creature hides, stone, and clay. There were no cuts or openings for a window view, and two legionnaires, foot soldiers of the Legion, were patrolling the pathways between homes. Darrio sensed the approach of a passerby and placed himself deep among the shadows. Discovery would not have been in his favor. He was tired, hungry, and felt weaker with every moment. It had been too long since he ate, but the person passing by was partially familiar.

He was a young man with dark, shoulder-length hair, and his skin, like most of the Burning Realm natives, was bronzed in the heat of the region. It was a different hue and lighter than Darrio’s skin, however, and as Darrio watched, he could see the young man was transporting a bundle of skins in his arm. Darrio then witnessed the young man suddenly slow to a stop. He seemed aware of Darrio’s foreign presence which was an unusual skill for a Firan to have. They were not particularly known as a spiritual people, though they did not lack in this regard, and after a while of doubts and hesitation, the young man turned his face toward Darrio’s direction, peered into the shadows, and dropped the hides he was carrying.

Darrio rushed forward and forced his hand over the young man’s mouth. He did not want to risk the cry of a fearful youth giving away his position, but the young man put up no struggle and continued to stare intently at Darrio. When Darrio was convinced the young man would not scream, he released his hand.

The young man spoke, It’s you. He then smiled and repeated, I can’t believe it’s really you!

Darrio raised a finger to his mouth and shushed the young Firan, and the young Firan quickly complied. Darrio could tell by the expressions that he was recognized but was puzzled as to why this recognition was not accompanied by fear, anger, or hatred. Miro, Darrio uttered.

I’m sorry, the young man answered.

Darrio could not tell if the response was an answer to his statement or not, but the young man appeared to be waiting for another word. Wan era sho suleera ata?

I’m looking at you. Don’t you remember me?

Though Darrio did not understand the words spoken to him, he knew that it was a directed response to his query. Sho onasta chi?

Yes, the man replied. He then apologized. Sho’a sora. Sey.

Hon?

The man responded in the tongue of the Saline people, and Darrio heard, You really do not remember me, do you?

Darrio shook his head and apologized. Bo…sud yi?

You should. I was the one from the Burning Realm you released. You and the wise man and the still one were there. Do you remember me now?

Darrio drew upon his memory and recalled the moment. They were searching for shadow casters at the time, and the young man was caught as a strange element of their organization. Firans collectively hated the magic arts, but a few individuals were attracted by their power and promises of strength. After a short interrogation, Darrio and those with him released the young Firan as an act of mercy, and after Darrio remembered these things, he nodded. Yi rema nan.

Then I’m glad, the young man replied. But what are you doing here? You are a long way from where I met you.

Darrio did not have the heart to explain. He remembered other details of their meeting including the young man’s desire to avenge his brother and sister who he believed had been killed by the Great Beast during an attack on his village. Darrio, however, was not in the region during the time of the young Firan’s recollection, and though the face of what he saw was blurred, he knew the names and titles that Darrio carried. Darrio then began to wonder why the young Firan had not yet figured out his identity. Enough time had passed, and Darrio was the only dark one to his knowledge with a regular presence in the land of magic. He then considered that the young man before him was a dense one, and he asked if a place of rest could be provided for him.

The young man nodded vigorously. Yes, yes! You can stay in my father’s house. I will explain everything to him, and he will allow you to rest.

Darrio felt some apprehension at the mention of the father. He was hoping to keep knowledge of his presence isolated, but this idea no longer seemed possible. Darrio sighed and told the young man to lead the way.

Then let me tell you my name. It is Sofa. Sooo faa.

Sofa, Darrio repeated.

Is your name…? I mean to say, what is your name?

Darrio cursed in his mind. He could not afford to divulge it. Dimitri, he answered.

Dimitri? That is a Hollow name. Are you really from the—?

Darrio shook his head. On. Yi’a ono.

Yours must be an interesting story then. Come, Dimitri. Come and meet my father.

Sofa led Darrio to a large, earthen home with a stone fence built beside it. The roof was capped with decorative skins, but a patch remained exposed as if what had once been there was taken away. Nevertheless, the house stood out as a place of honor in the village, and only a few such homes had such decorative crowns. Inside was an older man of medium age, his wife, and two children who were no more than half of Sofa’s age. One was a boy, and the other was a girl. The man, Sofa’s father, regarded the intrusion with suspicion and then fear at the sight of Darrio. Who is this, Sofa? the father asked. And where are my skins?

This is the one I told you about. The one among the three who released me. His name is…his name is Dimitri.

Is that why he’s dressed like a Salian? They’re our enemies, Sofa. Why did you bring him?

Dimitri is no enemy. He saved me. I do not know his reasons for being here, but—.

Then ask him. You know the language. Ask him to state his purpose for being here.

Sofa looked at Darrio and asked his father’s question. Darrio answered, and Sofa translated. He’s looking for someone.

Who?

Sofa repeated the process, Darrio answered, and Sofa replied, A dangerous man. Darrio then continued to speak, and Sofa interpreted as best as he could. He came into this region, and he is missing one of his arms. He is part of a circle of magic users who wish to bring the world to an en—, he paused. To an end?

Darrio nodded.

How?

Darrio shook his head and spoke again to Sofa.

He says he does not understand all of the details, but the man is as much of a threat to our realm as he was to his.

So a rogue sorcerer has entered our land, the father replied, and you have been sent to find him.

Sofa relayed his father’s sentiment to Darrio, but Darrio shook his head. He answered, and Sofa replied. No one sent me. I am in exile, and this mission is my own.

Exile?

Sofa translated, and Darrio nodded. Sofa replied, He says they are trying to kill him.

Why? What did you do?

Darrio answered, and Sofa spoke. Nothing.

Nothing?

Sofa repeated the question, and Darrio answered. I did nothing.

Nothing does not exile a man from his homeland.

Darrio shook his head, and Sofa translated. I don’t expect you to understand, and I can’t tell you everything, but if they find me, they will try to kill me. I can not die until the Shadow Casters are destroyed.

Shadow Casters? the father repeated, and he turned his attention to Sofa. Isn’t that the group you shamefully left this house to join?

Um. Yes, Sofa answered, except they do not call themselves Shadow Casters, and the Salians were hunting them at the time I was found. But instead of killing me, he, this one, and those with him released me.

Sofa’s father groaned. Then tell him I am grateful that he spared my son despite the circumstances in which he was found, but I am still not sure about him. We of the Burning Realm have reasonable terms for hating the Salians.

Sofa told this to Darrio, and in response, Darrio crossed his arms and replied through Sofa saying, The Salians have reasons for hating you too. The war was triggered by your people. You were the ones giving the Hollow and Aural Realms reasons to pick a fight.

It was another tribe who provoked this, Sofa’s father answered, but I suspect you all see us as one people. He then sighed. I don’t suppose Dimitri is your real name, is it?

Darrio spoke, and Sofa asked, You think you know something?

Well, you obviously didn’t have Salian parents, and I’ve never heard of anyone from the Hollow Realm volunteering to live in the region. They oppose magic even more than we do, so there’s some conflict in what I am seeing here.

Sofa told this to Darrio who only shook his head and relaxed his arms. My name, Darrio said through his translator, is the least of your worries right now. Just allow me to stay for the night. I’ll leave tomorrow, and you’ll never have to see me again.

Tell him he can stay, Sofa’s father replied with a wave of his hand. But I don’t want to see any tricks or acts of sorcery from you while you’re here. You’re a guest in this home. Surely you Salians can understand hospitality.

Fine. You won’t even know I’m here.

You can rest just outside my quarters. I do not want to lose sight of you, understood?

Sofa translated, and Darrio nodded.

And Sofa.

Yes?

If you bring an unknown stranger into this house again, especially a Salian, without my prior knowledge and approval…I will break you. Do you understand me?

Sofa bowed with both respect and fear. Understood, Father.

Darrio was then taken to the space just outside of the father’s sleeping quarters and given a mat to sleep on, and Sofa gave thanks once more for sparing his life before departing to his room. Darrio was just happy to be alone, and after he set his head down, he pondered his next move. His target was going to be difficult to track and would likely have allies in the region. This assumed, of course, that his quarry was still located within the Burning Realm. The Shadow Casters surely established a significant foothold in the region to recruit natives, and Sofa was not the only Firan Darrio had encountered among them. There were others directly after him who fell under less favorable conditions in battle, and while Darrio remembered in part why Sofa joined, there seemed to be little incentive for anyone else. Magic and Firan culture, as Darrio understood it, were incompatible with each other. The young men especially would have desired to honor the forefathers who died to fight against it. Why invite the shame if not for vengeance? Darrio could not understand, and he believed the answer was either very simple or more complicated than he cared to explore.

Darrio later fell to sleep though his rest was uneasy. He was haunted by twisted nightmares of his long-deceased parents and riddled with guilt for his role in the war. How could you? he heard his mother say.

I’m sorry! Darrio replied.

All those people, echoed the voice of Darrio’s father.

I’m sorry! Darrio said again. He then heard the familiar sigh of his former captain. Seris? but no one answered. Seris?

Still no answer.

Talk to me!

Darrio then heard his own voice though it was not him speaking. It was his sorrow. I bet He hates me.

And Darrio turned his thoughts inward and answered, Shut up.

Darrio’s anger then spoke. You should’ve killed them. You should’ve killed them all.

I’m not listening to you.

Not good enough, sorrow said.

Not strong enough, anger followed.

Not enough, they said in unison.

Darrio shouted. Shut up! Both of you, shut up! and Darrio was then awakened by the forceful shaking of Sofa’s father.

Wake up! he said. Wake up, damn you!

Darrio prepared himself to fight back, but as he quickly regained a sense of his surroundings, he wrestled with Sofa’s father to release him. The land around him had been trembling, and several items were scattered across the dusty ground. When Darrio was fully awake, however, the trembling stopped, and he groaned and took hold of his head. The pain of his darkness-induced headache returned, and it had become worse.

What is wrong with you? the father asked. Your unrest shook the entire village!

Darrio was irritable and replied in anger, but he did not feel like himself and continued to grasp at his head.

Sofa was nearby, and he asked Darrio, What’s wrong?

But Darrio replied that he did not know. He had a strange nightmare, one he did not wish to discuss, and was then awakened.

Do all nightmares result in the ground shaking for you Salians? the father asked.

Sofa was silent at first, but when his father compelled him to translate, he presented the question to Darrio. Darrio shook his head and answered through Sofa, No. My last battle, one of the shadow casters hit me. I had more control than this, but I think the attack has messed with me.

Then you’re quickly becoming a danger to my household.

Sofa interpreted, and Darrio replied again in anger. I did not ask to be an exile, Sofa translated. I wanted to be left alone, but those ungrateful…um, people, just wanted to see me dead and—, but Darrio groaned once more and interrupted Sofa’s translation.

There was a light rumbling, like an aftershock, during Darrio’s moment of pain, and Sofa’s father commanded, Control yourself!

Sofa relayed the order, and Darrio did his best and shook his head. I’m sorry, he said again through Sofa. I shouldn’t have come here. Not like this. I’ll leave.

No, Sofa’s father stated.

No?

On? Darrio repeated.

If I let you go now, the neighbors will see, and our family will be shamed by this for two more generations. You will stay until this thing passes, and if anyone should ask, I will muse that it was a tremor and nothing more.

Are you sure about this, Sorha? the wife asked.

We hold enough shame due to Sofa’s actions. I will not invite more because of mine. He then turned to Darrio. You will stay, and I will help you regain what control you have lost.

Darrio replied through Sofa and said, The effects of the darkness are temporary. I’ll probably be over this soon enough.

And in the meantime, you are in no position to find the man you are searching for. If you are discovered, what is to stop you from doing even more damage? When I am convinced you can fully control yourself and not endanger my family in the process, then I will release you but not a moment sooner.

You think you can keep me here?

I think I can inform whoever I wish of your presence and your direction. You are being chased, are you not? That is what you said.

When Sofa told this to Darrio, he cursed, Shiek, and sighed. Fone, fone.

Fine, fine, Sofa translated.

Good, Sorha replied, and he turned to his wife. Sonja? Please go outside and muse with the others. Let them believe it was a quake and nothing more. If the others see that we’re not among them, it will draw suspicion.

It will draw suspicion also that I’m outside and you’re not, Sorha, Sonja replied.

Let them think what they want. Everyone knows how I’ve been good to you, but my concern right now is with the Salian. If need be, tell them Sofa was injured. They will believe that.

Sonja did as requested and exited the home through the front door.

Breathe, Dimitri, Sorha said. Sofa. Tell him to breathe.

Subre, Sofa said.

Darrio rolled his eyes but followed the instructions, and his residual feelings of anger and sadness subsided.

Satisfied, Sorha spoke again. We will have to change your clothing, and I will have to make up a story of why you’re here and assure the others that you’re okay. Tell him, Sofa.

Sofa told this to Darrio who looked back at Sorha with distaste in his eyes. Wey?

Why? Sofa translated.

There is no telling how long you will have to remain, Sorha answered, and no one stays for long durations under my roof without work. I’ll say you’re a traveler from the Hollow Realm, a peddler maybe, and you were looking to make your fortune here but were robbed on the way.

Sorha then nudged his son to relay his plan, and Darrio responded through him saying, What are you helping me for? I thought you hated Salians.

I do, and I have no reason to like you personally, but…you did release my son in mercy, and we hold this to be an honorable thing. After Sofa told Darrio this, Sorha followed up with a single command. But there is to be no sorcery from you. Your hands and your feet will do the work. No tricks of enchantment or mysticism or what have you.

When Darrio heard this, he nodded his head, and Sofa gave his father the reply. Alright.

We shall start tomorrow. Sofa? Watch over him, and if he shows distress, wake him.

Sofa nodded, and Darrio was left alone by Sorha. Sofa’s younger brother and sister were watching from a distance, and Darrio asked Sofa about them. He thought they had been killed.

There were two others, Sofa answered, older than me. The eldest tried to defend the village, and my older sister died trying to support him. Darrio then asked whether he truly saw the Great Destroyer attack, and Sofa looked back at Darrio. I’m not sure of what I saw.

Darrio was quiet, and he then asked, Di sho…kno ho yi na ten?

Sofa nodded in response and then smiled as he whispered, But you were not the one who attacked my village. I don’t understand this, and I don’t know what has happened, but I just know you are not the one.

Darrio shook his head. Sofa?

Yes?

Sho’ra a dio.

I may be an idiot, but I’m still not as dense as you probably thought I was, huh? Rest. If you have questions, you can ask them tomorrow, and do not worry about my father. He is a hard man, but he is fair even to those he dislikes.

Lik chi?

Like me, Sofa answered, but rest now. Rest.

Sofa left Darrio and instructed his younger siblings to bed while putting their fears at ease. Darrio then returned his head to the mat and cursed again before falling to sleep.

The following day, Darrio was given a handful of garments and allowed to change in Sofa’s room, but he refused to allow anyone but Sofa to handle his weapons or the clothes he wore underneath his cloak. Sofa was present during the change under Sorha’s command to keep an eye on Darrio, and when he saw the violet outfit Darrio wore underneath, he gasped. Wan? Darrio asked.

I’m sorry, Sofa replied. It’s just…the man who attacked wore the same style of clothing. His pattern was different, but the trim was similar. Darrio then asked about the false Beast and Sofa shrugged. I did not get a good look at his face. It was dark. I only remember what he was wearing and those red eyes of his. When Darrio asked Sofa’s thoughts on the motivations of the man and why he attacked the villages, Sofa sighed. I don’t know. It makes no sense to me.

Darrio then removed the top of his garment, and the flesh scripts inscribed on his skin were revealed. Sofa was amazed and traced their pattern. There were two prominent formations on Darrio’s back and one on his chest. The entire pattern, however, stopped at the base of his neck, covered his front and back, and extended down to the middle of his forearms. There was a smaller, independent formation on his chest as well, but it displayed the same sharp edges as the others. When Darrio saw Sofa’s excitement, he became embarrassed. "Wan te hena era su suleera ata, Sofa?

Huh? I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen anything like this before. What are those? They’re unlike any tattoo I have seen.

Tattoo? There was no equivalent word in the Saline language.

Sofa tried to explain. Um, markings. Decorations for the skin.

Darrio shook his head and explained they were not for decoration. The High Elders of the Saline Realm lifted bans on certain amplification methods during the Magic War. Flesh scripts were among those methods.

Then they are like the markings on the robes we wore, Sofa mused. The ones that gave us the power to use magic. You have the same kind of markings on your clothing.

Darrio nodded but informed Sofa that he did not need them. One of the distinguishing characteristics of flesh scripts was their ability to grow. The basic imprint for three of the four schools of magic was already inscribed on him, and they simply grew from there.

What are you missing?

Darrio answered by telling Sofa it was the illusionary school’s print he lacked and the only area he relied on his garments for. The two formations on his back, from his left to right side, grew out of the prints of restoration and destruction while the one on his chest sprang from the print of manipulation. The destruction pattern overcame the restoration pattern though the latter remained present.

Could they not fit the illusionary print on you?

Darrio shook his head. Et’i ono ta.

Then why didn’t you receive it? but Darrio would not answer. Well, you must still be powerful if they cover you like this.

Darrio huffed and continued to change.

There is so much about magic that I do not know. Perhaps it is best that I do not. I have tried to take the wise man’s advice and do something constructive.

Lik wan?

Like building. I have tried helping my father fix things around the hut, but I wish to make things. Things that will be useful for our family and village and tribe, but I do not know how to make things or even where to start.

Et somas lik sho neera ah torsle.

A teacher?

Seya.

But where would I find one? I know there is no one in this village willing to teach me.

Wey?

Because of what I’ve done. When I left to involve myself with the magic arts, a craft used by our nation’s most hated enemy, I shamed not only myself but my father and family as well. But I thought if I could destroy the Great Beast, then the honor I stood to receive would cover it, but…I am such a coward. I am not strong enough to face any man. How much more the one spoken of by the Keepers?

Sho men chi.

Sofa shook his head. You’re not as the Keepers described you to be. I thought I would face a monster, but after you released me, I came to realize who you were, and I began to wonder. It made no sense the one I had heard about would release me or feel any compassion for me. I was a foreigner and an enemy at that.

Sho weh hajuno.

Maybe. Or maybe my ancestors were giving me an opportunity to redeem myself. In any case, I do not wish to waste it.

When Darrio finished changing, he found himself lightly covered, sleeveless, and embarrassed. Tis si’no suso su wok.

The scripts on your arms are showing.

Darrio tilted his head and sarcastically thanked Sofa for the reminder. Yi fea naka.

Naked? Sofa then looked over his attire which was similar to Darrio’s. I don’t feel naked. Why do you feel naked?

Darrio shook his head, and the two continued to rearrange the clothing, but there was little change in the end. Only a long pair of pants was added to cover his legs.

How do you feel now? Sofa asked.

La naka. An yi shoto tesa covas.

Sofa shrugged. What’s to hate? I think you’re a little overdressed, but this is really the best that we can do. I’ll take your old things and put them in a separate skin, but Darrio told Sofa to leave his weapons out. Why?

Darrio did not answer and instead chose to repeat his request.

Sofa shrugged and complied. Okay.

Darrio’s garments were then placed in a skin bag separate from Sofa’s belongings while his twin, crescent-edged daggers were situated in an isolated corner of his room. After this, the two went to Sorha who was waiting for them in the center room. Darrio and Sofa sat before him, and he asked, Are you ready?

Sofa translated, and Darrio nodded.

"Then know that the techniques I will be teaching will not dissolve, nor are they intended to dissolve, any of the feelings