Speaking of priorities. Ishram cleared his throat. “Are there still sacred weapons that need to be smuggled from my father’s armory?”

Ross shook her head. “Nope, we got the ones that we could before he realized, and then hid them.”

“Anything else? I’m thinking about get to my room and just sleep, otherwise.” 

Ross little frown lasted only a few seconds, before she let out a small, oh!, reaching out for her laptop. She clicked a few times, and then turned it towards him. “I have this,” she smiled. “Charoen sent it, so maybe it may be porn... or a troll. Or Taavi. Or maybe both. I haven’t had the courage to check. Too scared.”

“Ross.”

“Ugh, okay! It’s from your sister. I haven’t opened it though. Just checked if it was legit and saw her face.”

Ishram straightened his position, left his drink on the desk, and took the laptop. For Ishram was written on top of the window. He looked at Ross, and she pushed him, a silent encouragement. She also smiled and got up, ready to leave him some space, but Ishram stopped her. He circled her wrist and tugged, a quiet request. “Stay.”

Ross hesitated, something uncomfortable Ishram couldn’t place in her movements, before she nodded and dropped near Ishram, on the chair armrest. Ishram leaned back when Ross’ arm circled his shoulders, took a deep breath and pressed play.

The black screen lit up, showing a close shot of his sister’s face. Blue eyes were looking somewhere past the camera. When Zjarr drew back, Ishram could see her completely. She’d cut her hair on the sides of her head, drew the other locks in a complicated braid. A few red pearls hanged from a few of them. The new haircut brought light to her strong and sharp features, only her blue eyes spoke of a softness no one really could see in her. Her smile confident, fond, like someone remembering the past as a good memory.

“Hi, brotherling,” Zjarr said, her voice was low and deep, somewhat mechanical due the video, Ishram imagined. She was wearing a dark tracksuit opened on her breasts, showing a tank top right under. She looked good, and healthy, and all the more radiant. Ishram’s heart shrunk in his chest. He almost leaned closer to the screen, but he knew he couldn’t reach her.

Hi, he mouthed. He smiled.

His eyes were still fixed on his sister sitting down on some sort of military trunk. The whole shot showed a small, wooden room with shelves and toolboxes and other stuff wrapped in plastic. Zjarr sat down and crossed her legs widely, one ankle resting on her knee. “Welcome back to the future.” Ross snorted. “I know you probably won’t be here before another thirty years, but I am bored and Amar is not as helping as he thinks he is.”

Zjarr’s eyes shot upwards when voiceover interrupted with a “Hey!” Ishram recognised Amar’s voice and his heard shrunk once more. He hated it. But also he was grateful he could see, or just hear, them like this.

Zjarr chuckled briefly, before her face shifted to something determined. Ishram knew that look far too well. There was little anyone could do when his sister set her mind on something, and he knew her. He knew she had found yet another purpose in life.

“I am working on something. I cannot tell you exactly what it is, as it isn’t certain yet, but we have a lead.” She took a deep breath, getting ready to drop whatever heavy idea went through her head. “On you and this godforsaken anathema our masters have decided for you. I promise, Ve’Ravje, when you see this, it will be the last time you go back to your cage.”

Ishram paused the video in a knee-jerk reaction.

A choked sound escaped his constricted throat. He didn’t want to talk about- anything related to that. They just did not talk about it. Zjarr knew better than to bring up alternatives and solutions when he was around. They had... too many arguments about it to remember. He thought they’d reached an agreement; leave it alone. They could do anything but this, and Zjarr had agreed.

But Ishram knew, too, that Zjarr had reason to bring up something like this. She wasn’t the kind of person who acted on feeling and inspiration. She needed concrete certainties that she could do something, before setting her mind to it. If whatever Zjarr was talking about was true, that could mean a lot of things for him. One, in particular, he’d never allowed himself to even consider.

Ishram shivered.

“What is she talking about?” Ishram whispered, eyes glued to his sister’s face. “When was this taken?”

Ross hesitated, concern blossoming on her sharp features. “Last week, and... let’s just- let the video end.”

Ishram thinned his eyes, and reluctantly pressed play once again. The movement felt forced, mechanical. The video resumed, and Zjarr reanimated with a fond smile on her lips. Reassurance Ishram didn’t feel. “I love you, Ve’Ravje. Hopefully, we will see each other soon.”

As soon as she got up, she gestured towards the camera, and as Zjarr left the shot, Amar quickly replaced her on her seat.

Amar wore a dark blue t-shirt with something written on it, Ishram couldn’t make out the words. His blond hair curled at the end of its waves, his gaze was gentle and quiet - but Ishram knew better it was only the appearance of his features. His eyelid drew a smooth, curved line, cutting his dark green eyes. Freckles were sprinkled all over his light amber skin when he approached the camera.

Ishram couldn’t help but smile when Ian shifted on the trunk, his lips curled at the edges - his heart fought his mind. He felt sick. “Hey Ish,” Amar started. His voice was quavering, but still felt gentle. “Zjarr will throw a slipper at me but,” his eyes shot up as he interrupted his speech to chuckle. When he went back to the camera, his smile had washed away a bit. “I miss you. I don’t know how she does that. It’s the third time and... Jesus, thirty years?”

Amar dragged a hand on his face. Was he shaking? Ishram couldn’t tell if it were the camera or if he saw correctly.

“I really hope this works, that we’ll have it sorted out by the time you come to us. I don’t know if I can do this again.”

Ian was still smiling and looking at the camera. “I love you, too. See you soon.” Zjarr’s joined the shot, waving goodbye at the camera. The video went dark.

Ross took the laptop out of Ishram’s hands, leaving it on her desk. She didn’t speak a word when she leaned back on the chair, resting her weight on Ishram’s shoulders. Ishram couldn’t stop looking at where the laptop was, his eyes still, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. What did his sister mean? How could it be that there was something able to help him? More importantly, why were they only considering it now?

Ishram shook his head when Ross touched his head with a hesitant hand.

“Ishram. Ishram look at me,” Ross called, but Ishram didn’t move. Tension raised in his shoulders. He resisted the urge to move away from Ross’ touch. “Ishram, you have to breathe.”

Ishram’s head felt as if someone filled with stones, and it was now sinking. He closed his eyes, his breathing was slow, but harsh, broken. He clutched his hands, and released the tension. If he opened his eyes, he wasn’t able to keep them fixed. His mind brought him back to places he swore he’d leave behind. Buried.

A small man, staring at him from above. He was looking, sharp eyes and empty face. It didn’t matter how many times Ishram would look at him, he would still be staring. Clenched fists and arrogance. You will obey.

“Ishram.”

Ishram blinked. “I killed them. They’re all dead. I’m already free.” He looked up at Ross. He didn’t notice he was holding onto her forearm. “It’s supposed to stay like this. He will never allow it, not after all he’s done to obtain the throne. I am no threat, if I can’t serve a Kishaard.”

“What?”

Ishram stood up. “She’ll get herself killed. This is beyond treason. I need to stop her.” His guts twisted inside him. What was Zjarr thinking? Why would she even want something like this? Why would she ever go after something so foolish?

“What do you mean ‘serve a Kishaard’? You’ve only served humans.”

“No, Ross, I did not!” Ishram snapped. “The last one who tried to change the rules died by my father’s-” Ishram stopped. He wanted to take it back. Why accuse his father of something he was only partially responsible for, when Ishram was clearly the one who fell for it. “By my hand.” His voice broke.

Ross was staring at him with a pained expression. She knew better than pity him, but it still felt like something Ishram didn’t want. Concern. “Did she? Change the rules.”

Ishram closed his eyes. “Yeah, she did it. Right before I killed her.”

Ross didn’t reply. Ishram wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were staring at the drawer in front of him. A sigh, and Ross got up. “Sleep on it. You’ll have time to think about it anyway, until you can reach her. Maybe it won’t sound like a bad idea once you’re with her.”

Ishram took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He kept silent, but knew that Ross was right. Maybe this time it would be different. Maybe Zjarr did find a way to change the rules without their father knowing. Just maybe, this time everything would work out.

[:::]

Andrea couldn’t sleep properly.

Since they’d arrived, he couldn’t help but stare at the five-star resort brochure in front of him. Ross said it was one of the places owned by Ishram and his sister. Apparently not even Ishram knew about them all. They’d been invited to follow a man in a black polished suit, who escorted them away in one of the farthest rooms in the residence. One of the biggest compounds in the resort.

Andrea had fought the urge to ask for something less, only to mentally punch himself. They were spending Ishram’s money. He would’ve made sure to spend as much as possible.

They’d left all their luggages in the living room. The place was huge, it had three rooms with king-sized beds and a flat-screen TVs. Andrea tried to relax throughout the evening, but he was restless. He’d took another shower, jumped when a waitress knocked on their door and told them she’d brought dinner. It was slightly creepy, but Andrea was starving.

“Is the mini-bar included?” he’d asked as soon as the woman came in.

She looked at him and nodded. “Yes, it’s all paid for,” she’d confirmed.

So that was how Andrea ended up in his room, opening all the bottles in his fridge and drinking only a few of them. 

Then, he went to check his parents’ room, and Ishram’s. It was right in front of him, unlocked and empty. Nothing but a breath-taking view of the sea and the private beach the resort owned. He’d considered taking the key from the door, hide it inside one of the drawers, but eventually decided against it.

The less he had to interact with Ishram in the next hours, the better. His parents were still in their room. From time to time, Andrea could hear his mother’s voice rising, before his father would calm her down.

They argued and screamed, and Andrea put his earbuds on when he heard sobbing.

The alcohol helped him drift through most of the evening, because when he woke up, it was late at night and his lips were dried. He’d also forgotten to remove his binder, and now his chest ached with a dull restricting sensation. 

His phone had ran out of batteries, and now he sat quiet in the middle of the night. Andrea got slowly up, and moving away the bottles he lazily dropped on the other half of the mattress.

He never drank before this much. In a way, it was too easy how fast he’d fallen asleep. He almost wanted to skip the hard part and try again, maybe he’d be able to knock himself up a second time and use his hangover as excuse to not get out of bed tomorrow.

Against his shitty judgment, he decided to not go through with the plan.

He couldn’t find a reason to relax, nor did he want to numb himself to the point he could do some stupid ass decision.

So he was left dizziness and lightheadedness, like his mind wasn’t yet back inside his body. His mind awoke to the rushing thoughts of the day; Ross’ words, Ishram’s, and everything they could imply.

Andrea stood and closed the curtains; he could already see the dawn’s lights, and he wasn’t planning on being woken up by them. He also turned off the TV, unnerved by the strong light.

He hadn’t allowed himself to think about it, but his guts twisted whenever his mind dared to go near the thought. He’d left Seth back, in the mud, without even thinking. No burial, no word to his parents. He just... ran.

And now here he was, with his best friend’s killer. Because he needed to be kept alive by him. Andrea felt like throwing up again. Guilt crawled slowly through his guts, like called by his head, hungry for the sharp thoughts Andrea was going to cut himself on.

Fucking stop, he forced himself to think.

It was than, that he heard something. He raised his head, frowning. It was too early in the morning, for anyone to be awake. The noise came from outside his room, it was low and by time to time it faded away, before returning. It was almost like tune, a very monotonous one.

For a moment, Andrea feared they’d been found. Irrational, and impossible as it could be. He knew it wasn’t the case; Ishram would be ready and armed already, yet he couldn’t help but swallow the knot in his throat, heart pounding.

Andrea opened slowly the door of his room, popping his head outside and checking the corridor. Nobody was there, although some lights in the living room were still on. The tune now was clearer, too. 

It came from Ishram’s room.

When did he come back? Andrea knew for sure, Ishram wasn’t with them when he got drunk and passed out on the bed. Why did it take him so long?

Andrea doubted it was all because he had to catch up with the time gap.

Andrea stepped outside his room, grateful that it didn’t creak. The moquette made it so his steps were silent, and his socks helped him get closer to Ishram’s room without tipping his attention.

A warm, dim light came through under the door, it was barely there, but as Andrea’s eyes got used to the darkness, it was clear. Inside, Ishram spoke in a language Andrea had never heard. It was edged, yet gentle in its sound. Like threading his pad against an knife’s edge to test its sharpness.

It felt like a prayer, but it was a song. A dull one. Sad, in a way.

Curiosity prickled at his thoughts, fighting against the urge to go back and leave Ishram to his privacy. Curiosity killed the cat, supplies his mind, but Andrea knows he’d be dead already if it wasn’t for sheer luck.

If he were to live with this new world, he was entitled to know and discover as much as he could.

Andrea pushed the door.