Amixia’s ears picked up a peculiar sound that slowly awoke her. Early in Faye’s mornings, out of the tree barks emerged these beautiful, tiny birds, with large, sharp and slim beaks, almost the size of their bodies. Their head and wings, as well as a long line that stretched across their backs, were of a beautiful arctic blue color, while the remaining parts of its body, excluding the beak, were painted bright lemon yellow. They had a name as unusual as their color pattern and shape – Vylah. On top of the upper side of the beak, there were at least a dozen of sprinkled teeny holes through which they created sounds. Most of the time, from what she understood, they used those pits to communicate between each other, warning about incoming predators, announcing meals for the others to join, signaling that they were ready to mate. However, in the mornings they used them to sing. They would emerge out of their homes, fly high above to the tallest point of the tree and begin. Words could not fully explain the magnificence of it, they created those high-pitched, fruity, ringing sounds that at first started off as annoying, outright irritating to some, but the more someone listened to it, the more they would become ensnared by it, enchanted in such a way that they would find it difficult to not hum alongside them.

  This was probably the part which Amixia loved the most about mornings. She slowly opened her eyes and took in a faint shade of light that accessed their bedroom to a small, ovally shaped window, situated close to the ceiling on the right side of the bed, right in front of her. She gazed out through it and allowed her skin to absorb the ray, while also enjoying the rose pink maples, the azure blue oaks and the black birches that were shaken by the gentle wind. Her face mustered a smile.

  Behind her, on the opposite site of the mattress, almost on the verge of falling on the wooden, dusty floor stood Nakol, sleeping with his mouth seemingly open. Turning slowly, she placed her hand on his chest and gazed at him. His brown, long, swept back hair looked like a complete mess, no comb could ever manage to untangle it and if it did, it was most likely going to use up its entire lifetime. His full grown beard that Nakol would often boast about in her face and scratch uncontrollably, had its minuscule hair strands all over the place and even white hairs sprinkled here and there. She was unable to completely see his mouth, but judging by the intense snoring that it started to produce, it was most likely in a hideous and awry position. The croaking sounds that came out of it made Amixia tighten her whole face and it managed to completely drag her out of the serene landscape the trees and vylahs awoke her to. She pushed his shoulder, trying desperately to wake him up, but to no avail. The snoring continued and it seemed to increase in intensity. She rotated her body slightly, placed her cold right foot on his left pelvis, pinched his skin a little with her tiny fingers and pushed him gently a couple of times, whispering “Wake up.”. Only after repeating this process a couple of times was Nakol brought back from his deep, unbothered sleep. Whatever work he was doing in those mines was completely and undeniably draining his every ounce of resource, making him capable of only one thing when he returned home, usually very late into the night, that of diving face first into the mattress and dozing off.

  He proceeded to chew randomly and breathed deeply, moving his head from one side to another slowly, all in an effort to open his eyes. All Amixia could do was watch him meticulously and keep herself from snorting while he did his morning dance of coming back to life. Eventually, Nakol managed to open his eyes and took in her lover’s sight which made him beam.

  

  
• Good morning, sunshine. he babbled, resting his palm on her face


  

  Amixia responded back and grinned. The torturous sounds he made ceased and tranquility was allowed to once again take hold of their surroundings. He caressed his cheek, carefully taking in every single detail about it, from her chubby childish cheeks to her tiny delicate ears, even her short baby nose. Her white skin felt smooth at the touch of his fingers. Amixia dragged herself closer, shutting her eyes and hugging his robust body. His fingers danced across her face and all of a sudden, without a warning, he pinched her cheek and pulled it outwards. The girl sighed heavily and bumped his leg signaling for him to stop. He let out a suppressed laugh, pulled her even closer and kissed her forehead.

  

  
• You know I love your cheeks. They are adorable. Nakol proclaimed, gazing into her eyes


  
• You know I hate when you do that! she huffed


  
• I know. That’s precisely why I love doing it so often.


  

  Nakol let out an irritating chuckle which made the girl punch his chest. It intrigued he how one moment he was completely asleep, far away from this realm, laying on the mattress in such a grotesque way it was a wonder his back still functioned properly and the next he became this devious, infuriating yet pleasant person, always joking and brightening the mood of those around him simply by being there and uttering a few words which were sure to display his charismatic aura. Not to mention that smile which seemed to instantly wipe away any sort of contempt, sorrow or anxiousness she may feel, simply by materializing.

  He helped himself up and sat on the edge of the bed, wiping his face. Amixia pressed herself against the wooden creaky headboard and glanced outside again, this time allowing the sun to bathe her in its rays. Without a warning, Nakol jumped out of the bed aggressively, startling the girl in the process. His bare long feet touched the dusty, bumpy maroon colored floor, each step he made releasing a groaning sound. He positioned himself at the foot of the mattress and started warming his body up by swinging his arms wildly, rotating his torso and stretching his legs.

  

  
• You barely woke up. Amixia said, puzzled by his actions


  
• No excuse for not getting my morning exercise. Besides (he trailed off, struggling for air) it’s already quite late. We must begin our days, my love.


  

  Amixia frowned and pointed out the small window, mentioning that the sun barely came up. He lifted a finger and shook it left and right, cutting her out and then kept on exercising. For a brief moment, Amixia looked over her left shoulder and saw the scratched yellowy bed stand idling and thought seriously about throwing it at him. She quickly gave up as she realized the amount of effort and strength it would take for that to be plausible, attributes which she lacked profoundly, looking at her bony arms.

  

  
• And I also need my body ready for whatever today is going to throw at us, since we have a very important task (he stopped exercising, gawking intently at Amixia) from Paladon itself.


  

  The girl’s lips split slightly and her eyelids bulged as she heard the word Paladon. It echoed in her mind, sending chills throughout her whole body.

  

  
• Pal… Paladon? she inquired


  
• You heard that correctly, my love. Paladon is interested in our sweet, beautiful Galaria for some inexplicable reason. They came to us two days ago, about a dozen soldiers, all wearing the same exact armor, at the mines south of Faye and gave us this very elegant looking letter. I didn’t take it, Belemon did. But he read out loud for everyone to hear and honestly, whoever wrote that piece of paper has such a majestic way of speaking that I’m truly curious if he goes to the shitter by himself or is carried graciously through the breeze and held by those scary looking soldiers.


  

  Amixia snorted and allowed him to continue.

  

  
• The letter went something like this (he cleared his throat) “On behalf of the Royal Eternal Council of Paladon, I, King Philimon the Third hereby kindly and gently request the aid, support and cooperation of the strong, courageous and brave miners operating tirelessly inside Faye’s arduous and complex mines to help us in our task of procuring various important and essential minerals and materials, vital to the development, growth and stability of our great kingdom. We believe in the strengthening and developing of Galaria’s and Mokan’s diplomatic and economic relationship and we strive to deepen our partnership.”


  

  He stopped, stuck his tongue out and rolled his eyes, clearly not touched by the delicate and grandiose way in which the letter was written. Amixia knew that for Nakol, clear, succinct and to the point choice of words was the way to go and the moment someone chatted to him in a more elegant way, his ability to focus would dwindle and become the size of a grain, if not smaller. And yet, the girl knew very well that was not the only thing that made his attention span diminish, it was not even close to the top, but she still loved him nonetheless.

  The man kept intoning the letter they were given, poking fun at it and at the end bowed in an effort to receive a round of applause from Amixia. But the girl stood still and grimaced, unable to shake her mind off of it. She’s heard tales and rumors about Paladon, mostly from the elders who seemed to possess more knowledge about them. At one point, one of the blacksmiths caught a small glimpse of one such soldier that belonged to their army and went into detail to her and the others about his appearance. He told them about their specific armor, colored in red and white, with a striped texture on the chest. Their helmets completely hid away their heads and in the middle, there was this big, protruding crystal shaped like an upside down pyramid, that was colored blue. It stretched so far that it reached the edges of the helmet, completely shrouding the wearer’s face. How they were able to see through those massive crystals was unbeknownst to Amixia. Next to their thighs, she remembered the blacksmith saying, they carried swords, quite large in size. Unfortunately, he was unable to see them unsheathed, but the blacksmith swore he caught a glimpse of the hilt of their weapons and there was another crystal on top of it, identical to the one on their helmets. While the description given by her fellow blacksmith intrigued Amixia, painting a strongly vivid picture of those soldiers as being fearsome and unyielding, what she could not get out of her head was the way he talked about it. The profoundly sweaty forehead, the uncontrollable shake of the palms, the rapid blinking and stiff position he took as he babbled on, seemed more important and said more about them, than any physical description given. He was both terrified at the sight of such a warrior and amazed that he was fortunate enough to have witnessed it with his own eyes.

  For a moment, Nakol stopped clowning and noticed the look on his lover’s face. It darkened a bit, her gaze wandered into nothingness as she hugged herself, her nails restlessly digging into her skin like a frenzied mole. Her white linen dress hung disjointed from the shoulders and her hair could have used some brushing and tidying up. His eyes widened and he decided to slowly approach her, sitting on the side of the bed, close to her knees. The girl was startled and gave off a forced smile as she gazed opposite of him, still not ready to escape her thoughts.

  

  
• Are you alright, my love? Nakol queried, visibly troubled by her sudden mood shift


  

  Amixia gave no response and opted instead to fix her eyes on the wooden rusty wall in front of her. Obviously those soldiers were dangerous, everything about them screamed to avoid them or to be careful if you found yourself crossing their path, and still Nakol was going to not only carry out a task at the command of Paladon itself, this obscure place only tales spoke about because no one was lucky enough to actually witness it with their own eyes, but he was going to work for them while being supervised by their very warriors. The question that lingered in her mind was what kind of treatment were they going to receive? Mining was already a dangerous responsibility that not many deemed worth risking their lives for, more so in Faye’s mines, which were known among the residents as being the most complex mine system around Galaria. Constantly struggling to breathe in that enclosed environment, with fragments of rock falling on you, hitting you in the face or submerging your body in dust, all while flinging a pickaxe around like a madman, desperate to find something, anything that could provide useful and that you were able to sell to make a living. Every time Nakol spoke about his work, he made it sound so effortless, but his body’s response to it begged to differ. And to add to all of this a constant pressure from those soldiers, breathing down your neck, possibly even forcing you to bring results or otherwise… Who could know what would happen otherwise? To the miners? To Nakol? What if they decide to teach them a lesson, to submit them to their will using force? Could she bear to see Nakol come home with bumps on his head, with parts of his body swelling, with a broken and twisted nose, with a few missing teeth or even worse than this? Could she bear to watch the love of her life go through this?

  Unknowingly, the girl rocked front and back, squeezing hard on her small biceps with widened eyes. Nakol’s eyebrows drew together and he let out a relieving sigh. Placing his palm on the girl’s shoulder, he pulled Amixia in a hug and squeezed her intensely, giving her a long kiss on the head. The thunderous, fast-paced beating of her heart diminished and she was able to find comfort in Nakol’s warm arms. Maybe she was worrying too much out of nothing, maybe her thoughts were betraying her, crafting these bleak scenarios only to keep her in this dark and anxious state, unable to see the good that may arise from this situation they found themselves in. After all, the letter did mention a hefty amount of lazugs they will be paid for their troubles. She flung her slender arms across his neck and kissed him passionately, her whole body flooding with the love she had for the man that sat in front of her. Their lips parted and now their faces sat close to each other, their noses slightly touching.

  

  
• I’m scared. she lamented, her head bowing slightly


  
• I know you are. That’s one of the reasons I love you so much. he chirped, carefully stroking her cheeks


  
• I don’t want something to happen to you, my love. We don’t know what Paladon and its soldiers are capable of. We have no idea what they may do to you if you don’t-


  

  The man shushed her, hurling his finger across her face.

  

  
• It’s going to be alright, my love. I’ll make sure to make them adore me not only through my incredible mining capabilities, but also through my charming, irresistible personality.


  

  Nakol winked and jerked his lips, making this amusing, clowning face. The girl could not control her laugh and just like that, she found herself beaming once again, not a trace of doubt or anxiety left in her, seemingly vanishing like they never existed in the first place. She gazed into his eyes happily, trying to decipher how he did it, how he managed to always get the best out of her in the darkest of scenarios, but she was simply incapable of understanding. She settled only for feeling it.

  

  
• Promise me you’ll return to me with not even a scratch on you?


  

  Nakol grinned, finding her troubled thoughts amusing and outright adorable. He recalled how many times he made sure to reassure her that nothing was going to happen at the mines, that he would return unscathed and that she would always find him in bed the next morning, right next to her. Every such promise he made, he made sure to keep, and this time was no different. Although now the situation looked slightly different than before, with Paladon in the mix, he knew very well that the main reason she stressed so much was out of pure love for him.

  

  
• My dear beloved, (he began, tossing behind her ear a clump of hair) I promise you I will return to you unharmed, ready to be cared for and loved.


  

  They smiled in unison and joined together for another kiss.

  ~

  The night set in and with that, out of the peaceful and serene silence, a screeching, ear deafening sound reverberated in the markin camp, waking up every single warrior, bear, wolf, bird and possibly human in the process. At the precise moment the moon arose, a designated markin warrior, which could be anyone since it’s being done in rotation, would rouse before anyone else, stumble to the middle of the camp where a dusty, old, large bell would sit undisturbed and he would proceed to ring it, alarming his brethren that a new night had started. The sound it made was this horrid, metallic, scraping amalgamation of low frequencies, so torturous was it to the ear, that it was a true miracle the markins were able to keep their hearing intact.

  Gakeh opened his eyes with a sudden movement, annoyed by the bell. He sighed and lifted himself off the stony, cold floor. He stepped closer to the opposite wall, and took a glance outside the wide rectangle window, noticing markins already emerging outside, making their way towards the main hall. The realization of the event that was to occur, made him clench his jaw and roll his eyes elegantly. He thought to himself about the speech that Kalah was about to give, the one he gives at the beginning of every night. For a brief moment, he could not help himself but wonder what was going to happen if he would be absent from it, but he came to his senses just as fast as the thought of not going left. Markins must obey their commander without asking questions, such was the markin way.

  He turned and noticed his armor carefully tucked in on a wooden salvaged chair. The markin strode towards it and began dressing himself, carefully setting in place all the different parts that made up his armor. He exited his chamber and walked towards the main hall, where more and more markins gathered and bowed on one leg to listen respectfully to the commander. Gakeh caught a glimpse of Kalah sitting in front of the warriors with his arms behind his back, his massive belly protruding, almost covering his entire body. The dimly illuminating candles revealed his wide eyes watching him attentively. Gakeh slowly shifted his eyes downward and bowed, losing sight of him in the process. The room fell completely silent, no markin dared mutter a word, a sigh, nothing. Only the slight breeze outside and the flickering of candles gave the room some desperately needed life. They stood incredibly still and waited for the commander to begin, but like usual, he loved taking his time with it, so much so in fact that it almost seemed like he was testing them to see who would fret or who would dare speak before him. And Gakeh knew very well that Kalah did not do things unintentionally.

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  The commander valued total submission from anyone, especially the markins and if anyone dared test him in any way, shape or form, he always made sure to make it a teaching moment for the others. The sheer brutality with which he would beat a disobeying markin or torture an innocent human life, smashing their teeth into a million tiny pieces, pulling his hair strands with such ferocity that it would make their whole scalps bleed, digging his sharp nails into their eyes and pulling them out, tossing them at the base of his feet and stepping on them over and over again. All while putting a vicious and disgusting smile on his ugly, scar-filled face. The markins learned to respect him not through his leadership skills which Gakeh always believed lacked clarity and a real purpose, but through his relentless violence, which was mostly reserved for humans, although markins were never truly safe either.

  Yet no one dared challenge him, no one dared step up and call out his inability to properly lead the markin race. Everyone followed his orders, most of them willingly, out of respect, which Gakeh could not find a justification for, and some through terror, doing everything in their power to avoid his horrifying grasp. Gakeh could not help himself but worry about the trajectory of where their race was headed, for if they had no real purpose besides murdering and pillaging, what was to become of it? How could they build something when all they were taught to do was destroy and pillage? One could argue that making humanity fear you was a way to ensure the markins stayed on top of the food chain, able to do everything they pleased without being pestered, but was that truly the case? Humans, for their lack of strength, had one clear advantage over them – their numbers. In this very room where they sat, bowing down to their captain and nervously anticipating his speech, he could count about 100 markins, including himself and Kalah. Go to any village in Galaria, even the most obscure and isolated ones, and you would find at least a thousand humans, even more than that if the place was larger and more developed. Mankind’s strength stood in their numbers and while Gakeh knew taking a markin down was no easy task, he’s unfortunately seen it happen before.

  His thoughts were shaken up by the captain’s voice which echoed through the stony hallway. He shouted out loud “Markins!” and the warriors became even stiffer than they already were. If before, the markins muttered no word and waited patiently, now they barely let out a simple breath, opting to completely cease functionality of their lungs. The room was completely overrun by a strong dreadful sensation that paralyzed everything, even the candles barely waved from the wind that used to blow stronger just a few moments ago.

  Kalah proceeded to yell out loud words of encouragement to the soldiers, in an effort to stir their thirst for more innocent blood. Gakeh couldn’t be less touched by his statements. He saw right through him and knew that his ways were deeply flawed and to spread terror in Galaria will sooner or later bite them in the ass. And when that would happen, all of these motivational declarations would become useless. The markins must be held to a higher standard than simple mindless killing machines, doing someone’s bidding because they don’t know better or they are too scared to think differently. Humanity could be used as a tool to further their expansion, to aid them in building something greater, a kingdom or even an empire. They could mingle with them and establish a new stronger, more powerful generation. Markins could rule over all of Galaria. If only his fellow soldiers could be made to see the vision as clearly as Gakeh could.

  Kalah rattled on about instilling panic in Galaria’s villagers and the amount of words his vocabulary was able to accumulate, were seemingly coming to an end. Yet, the captain had one more ace up his sleeve. He unsheathed his long, obsidian colored sword, with so many dents in it no one knew how that thing still managed to cut through anything. It was mangled, even the extended hilt had small pieces of metal strapped to it to make it maneuverable, which gave the whole blade an uneven and grotesque look. While hard to see from where he stood, Gakeh could still make out a few clumps of dried maroon blood that merged with the blade after all the times it was used to take lives. He lifted his sword up above his head and eyed his soldiers attentively, not losing sight of one of them. The captain ferociously cried out loud “I am unshackled!”, the markin salute.

  As soon as the soldiers heard the signal, they followed him by unsheathing their blades and plunging them in the ground. They all roared in unison “We are unshackled!” and in an instant, the whole room came alive. It occurred to Gakeh that in an instant, the markins’ moods switched and the paralyzing fear was now substituted for excitement. It was undeniable the effect Kalah had on them and how much devotion he managed to stir in the markins. Such power, understood Gakeh, was not used for the right reasons, because this eagerness was directed towards proving something that everyone already knew. What was the point of asserting dominance if nothing productive came out of it? It amazed Gakeh that Kalah would see things so simplistic, so dull and stupid. Foolishness was allowed to exist and dwell among them when they could do so much more with the power they possessed.

  The soldiers started marching out of the building and into the camp, ready to begin their tasks. Since Kalah taught markins that humans were to be used mainly for pleasure purposes, they had to do things themselves. Some markins were blacksmiths, some were hunters, others cut down trees for wood and mined for stone and other precious metals. They mostly relied on pillaging, but Galaria’s villages were not particularly rich in assets either. In an instant, the whole camp came alive in the middle of the night. Gakeh’s main responsibility was to be Kalah’s right hand and assist him in everything he demanded or overseeing that his brethren were fulfilling their duties successfully. That was precisely how he got to understand him so well and to witness his lackluster leading capabilities. From time to time, Kalah even managed to amuse him and he struggled to hold in chuckles, but he kept a respectful attitude every time. He dreaded trying to please and to like someone he considered a plague on their kind, a monster that twisted their minds and halted them from achieving something greater, and yet he managed to put on a mask with such refinement, that the commander never seemed to suspect his displeasure. However, as time passed, he felt growing more and more impatient and conflicted as his role demanded of him to assist in every debauchery Kalah would want to please himself with. Such cruelty he mustered, that he would often demand Gakeh join him in his acts. He’s had restless nights thinking about all he’s done to delight the captain and he still finds himself struggling to rest occasionally. Gakeh could not stop hoping and dreaming of a moment where he will be able to supersede the commander. He felt deep within him a strong, unrelenting desire to bring the markin race to a higher and glorious purpose. Something that Kalah, thought Gakeh, would never be able to accomplish.

  Marching through the camp, Gakeh proceeded to provide assistance to his fellow warriors. Most of them refused due to their unrelenting stubbornness, but some half-heartedly accepted. When Kalah had no quest for him to carry out, he would often give out support to his brethren. It filled him with a weird, dulled sensation that he learned humans call “joy”. From what he understood, it usually was accompanied by a grin or a smile, yet he found himself unable to do that. The only times he would manage such a thing, was when he felt angry. It occurred to him that the facial muscles could not allow for such a thing to happen if he did not feel hatred brewing within him. Gakeh found it fascinating and perplexing at the same time and as he analyzed his kind, he noticed this pattern manifesting into the others as well. Predominantly in Kalah, which beamed whenever he spoke or thought about murdering or destroying.

  However, this was not the main reason he aided others. He searched for allies, anyone able to openly question the teachings of their captain, without worrying about the consequences of such actions. Simply going to a markin and asking him about their thoughts and opinions was no easy task, most of them were unable to discuss their feelings, but even more did not want to. Pride was the main driving force behind this, but their devotion to Kalah was a close second. Gakeh had to find a way to make them open up which could prove impossible, but he was not dissuaded from at least trying. He spent a reasonable amount of time examining their species, how they interacted, how they spoke and acted, what they desired and reached the conclusion that they all shared almost identical ideologies. The main thing markins craved was a leader because they had a strongly submissive character. Carrying out orders, pleasing the higher ups in command, getting praises and rewards made them feel complete, gave them a sense of purpose, of belonging. And Gakeh was no different than them, experiencing all of those characteristics.

  The tricky part came, he believed, when you tried to separate them from such a figure that they grew accustomed to follow. Making a markin open his eyes to his dumbness was like trying to teach a horse how to fly. The most viable way was to point out Kalah’s ways as being wrong and to challenge him. But to do so openly, in front of everyone and to intentionally try to paint in him a bad picture, meant suicide. Maneuvering through such a situation delicately would be a challenging journey to embark on, and yet Gakeh understood the complexity of it and was still determined to carry out his dream.

  ~

  It seemed like the smoke clouds that seized their city were finally beginning to recede which allowed Zykon to at long last catch his breath. He’s been hard at work, searching through the wreckage for potential survivors, carrying the bodies of the fallen ones to be given a proper send off, aiding the ones in dire need of help, all while his mind was concentrating on his mother and her wounds. Everywhere his eyes wandered he could only see destruction and death. At the current moment about two thousand people were found deceased and another thousand needed immediate medical care. Master Delemon gave word to the neighboring cities to provide any assistance they could, they received a few healers but not merely enough to take care of all the wounded. It was a complete annihilation of what they once used to call home.

  Their beautiful, majestic, sphere-shaped, white colored, bricky tall houses were now reduced to rubble. The once pure and tremendous city of Kaluh’a’jul, the mighty city of the covenant with the same name, was now brought to its knees. Zykon found it hard to believe that his home had been devastated and his fellow friends and family, people that he knew and grew up with, individuals whom he admired and idolized, were now gone, leaving behind them only a spiritless husk. To look them in their lifeless eyes and to carry them to be burned is an image he would not be able to shake off his mind for years to come. One moment he was living out a life of willing servitude to the covenant, carrying out tasks for Master Delemon, dedicating his life to his teachings, taking care of his mother in the meantime and helping her with chores when time allowed so, and the other he woke up to a completely new world. A broken world, beyond repair. Nothing could bring back the folks that were lost.

  He sat on a few pieces of bricks that clung to each other and placed his palms on his face, allowing tears to flood it. He desperately held back his emotions until now because he did not want to disappoint his master. The way he took so many responsibilities onto him, how he managed to lead so many people, to encourage and to provide comfort in times of need, to keep a positive outlook on things, the way he took care of everyone without breaking a sweat or giving the impression that his own health was in peril because of it, bewildered the boy. How could someone be so selfless? To never once think about yourself, but to always have the benefit of others as one of your main goals? He envied the man and yet he wished to be like him. But he did not think it was plausible. It took such a massive event for him to fall flat on his face and to cry frantically in his palms while Master Delemon did not once show any sign of grief. How did he manage it?

  His thoughts were interrupted by a heavy hand placed on his shoulders. The boy was startled and he looked up and was met by Master Delemon himself. His azure eyes reflected the sunlight so strong, he swore it could burn someone’s face to ash. And yet, no trace of ill-intent was found on the man’s face. His presence alone gave you peace and made you still, no matter the difficulties you faced. He gave a reassuring grin to the boy and curved his knees, adjusting to his level.

  

  
• You did well. I’m proud of you.


  

  Suddenly, Zykon’s eyes widened with shock and his eyebrows lifted so high, one could confuse them as being an extension of his hair. He did not feel like he did anything too grandiose, but Master Delemon apparently saw otherwise. In an instant, the sorrow he felt turned into joy and the boy managed to smile back at him. He babbled a thank you, unable to keep his coolness. Master Delemon let out a short laugh and scratched his golden hair.

  

  
• Now we need to think about the best way to proceed given the circumstances. Our city is a ruin (he gestured with one palm to a massive pile of rubble), as you can see for yourself.


  

  Zykon positioned his eyes in the direction his master was pointing. Those ruins were once someone’s home. Or perhaps they were the hospital and the Ghagharin marketplace. No one could draw a clear conclusion as to what it used to be, no matter how hard they tried. The more Zykon looked at it, the more his palm enclosed, eventually forming a fist. What trace of joy Master Delemon’s words provided, now turned to a faint feeling of anger.

  

  
• We need to find who did this! Zykon growled


  
• We don’t need to look too far to understand who the assailants were. We already know. He related, slowly lifting his body


  

  He spoke with an indifferent tone in regards to the attackers which made Zykon raise an eyebrow. The issue was incredibly serious, they lost their home and yet his master was acting so weirdly casual about it, almost like he expected such a thing to occur.

  Master Delemon gestured for the young boy to follow and he quickly stumbled to his feet and joined him, pacing in unison. He could not help himself but analyze his demeanor. His colossal height made him tower above many people, including Zykon. He walked with his arms clasped behind his back which made his already broad shoulders look even bigger. His chest bulged out of his body which gave an uneven yet strong and elegant look to him. He paced slowly, with intent like he always knew where he was headed and nothing could stop him from reaching that place. The boy’s gaze was fixed on him and no matter how hard he attempted to look anywhere else, it seemed like his body did not wish to obey him. From time to time he would even fall a bit behind and he would have to pick up the pace once again. Master Delemon noticed the boy’s behavior and could not help but grin. Ultimately, they arrived at the main gates of the city which now had substantial holes through them. The entire wall had dents in it and signs of forced entry, but the main gate, the primary area through which the enemy invaded the city, suffered the most damage. From a makeshift tent emerged a young man, around twenty years of age, with spiky thick black hair and a heart shaped head. He bowed when they approached and whispered “Master” towards Master Delemon. He turned around and carefully pulled the velvety veils to reveal a person laying inside on its back.

  Zykon scratched his head and frowned, asking the man “Who is this?”. At first, the man they just met wanted to answer, but he glanced at Master Delemon with his mouth open. Master Delemon waved dismissively as if to allow him to speak.

  

  
• This is one of the attackers. (he declared) While we were not able to find many of the assailants between the casualties, the ones we found gave us a definitive idea as to who was bold enough to carry out such an attack.


  

  The boy leaned forward, taking a closer look at the body. “And who would that be?”. Hearing the boy ask, Master Delemon entered the tent and crouched next to the body. A long, rectangular piece of white cloth covered it and the master started peeling it off at the corpse’s right hand. By taking it apart, it was revealed before them a mark. Zykon’s eyes widened and he gasped as the realization kicked in.

  

  
• That’s… that’s the Mark of Famah’ugh! He exclaimed


  
• Indeed it would seem so. (Master Delemon added, grabbing the hand for a closer inspection) This was no ordinary attack. This was meant to annihilate us entirely, destroy our culture and values, the very foundation of our belief. Our very faith in God.


  

  Zykon opened his mouth slightly, trying his best to process what he witnessed. “The Mark of Famah’ugh” reverberated in his mind, giving him an uneasy feeling. He recalled how in Bahar three main religions existed, theirs being among them. Each one followed the teachings of a specific divine figure. Throughout history, a lot of disputes occurred for this specific reason, multiple wars have been fought in an effort to impose one’s ideology, values and god over another’s, which in turn left in its wake only destruction and death at unprecedented levels. The situation became so bad and believers of one faith despised the believers of another so much, that entire cities had to be moved to distance themselves as much as possible, avoiding any interaction. Eventually, peace was won by the religious leaders of those times who valued cooperation and acceptance, believing instead that they could achieve greater heights by working together, putting aside their zealousness. Zykon recalled Master Delemon speaking at length about this topic. “The only way for a brighter, prosperous future is through learning about the mistakes of the past and avoiding at any cost repeating them in the future” was a famous line he recalled the master using. And yet another conflict seemed to be brewing between the same believers that once decided to lay down their arms. Almost instantly, an insidious feeling flew in the air around them. Zykon reached inside the tent and sat opposite to his master, crouching. He grabbed the piece of cloth and pulled it towards the body’s legs, in an effort to reveal his face. A young boy, no older than Zykon, hid behind the fabric. He had brown long hair, with a scar over the right corner of his mouth which he deduced must have come from a sharp blade. His skewed nose gave it the impression that it’s been moved out of its original position, possibly due to repeated blows. The boy placed his palm on his right shoulder and squeezed it to reveal an elegant muscular form to it. At a first glance, he seemed rather scrawny but Zykon believed it was intentional to maybe hide his strength. This would allow someone to easily be mistaken for someone meek and small, fragile, unable to take any violent action of any kind. It occurred to Zykon that the boy that rested before him had been experienced in this sort of environment, perhaps playing a part in many such acts of utter ravage. They were almost identical in terms of age and yet Zykon could never have such level of brutality and cold-heartedness to carry out this kind of atrocious act and to give your life for a cause of terror and despair. He asked the Master to pass the corpse’s arm to him to take a better look. As he came in possession of it, the boy thoroughly analyzed the mark on the arm. There was this ominous feel about it that Zykon couldn’t truly understand. The form of the mark was that of a rhombus, tattered on the sides. It seemed like whoever drew the mark ran out of ink in the process. Right in the middle, there were two swords - one quite large with a protrusive curving blade that stretched outside one edge of the rhombus and the other tinier, resembling a knife that crossed with the other sword. Above them, floated a pale human head with sharp cheekbones and an elongated jawline. While the face seemed alive, it lacked eyes, being replaced by deep dark holes instead. It gave the impression that they were sucked into a bottomless pit, unable to ever climb up and see the light of day. There was this serious and devious feeling one would get if he stared for too long at the levitating head. Its expression was dark, lacking empathy, devoid of any sign of love, affection or care. The whole head was incredibly bony, so slim it made the skin appear glued to it. The whole scene was completed by those flames that engulfed the blades and stretched high enough to reach the head’s chin.

  

  
• That’s Famah’ugh. attested Master Delemon, pointing a finger to the insidious face.


  

  The boy whirled his head and gawked at the master. He spoke so softly, with a deep, yet comforting voice. His posture did not even shift whatsoever in the meantime, still keeping his shoulders back, his chest puffed out, the look on his face emanating complete serenity. For a moment, Zykon did not know what to be baffled by more, the boy who laid dead before him, part of a religion that seemed dedicated to eradicate them for who knows what reason, the mark and the details of it which could give anyone chills just by staring at it for more than a few seconds or that his master appeared so still and unbothered, so completely at peace even after everything that happened. They lifted themselves up and exited the tent, closing the veils. They strode for a few paces, Zykon stuck in his mind, scratching his head and squinting his eyes, trying to make sense of everything he’s just learned while the master gazed towards the main gate, out in the dunelike landscape. The situation seemed more dreadful than what it initially suggested. Finding themselves the target of another religion with whom they’ve shared those sands for hundreds of generations, eventually learning to accept and coexist with them after multiple blood curdling conflicts, only for that peace that was won so long ago through valiant efforts to seemingly fade out of existence, for no clear reason. Why would someone go this far and plot such a large scale attack, obliterate an entire city and risk your own people for this cause? What did Kaluh’a’jul do to pose such a threat to them that they deemed it was unacceptable to remain standing?