“Kiur, help me with this part. I can’t decipher their writing.” Esha asked when they were back at home and working.

Gently setting down his own work, Kiur came over with a metallic cage that held a lit candle inside. “This looks like Tabira’s cuneiform,” he answered, wandering over the various characters. 

Esha inspected the tablet closer, taking the caged candle into her hand for a better look. Her weary eyes squinted in an attempt to decipher it.

“Daughter of a metalworker, this girl has terrible handwriting! She should have studied smithery like her parents instead of working in the temple.” 

“She’s trying, mother. Imagine how hard it must be to write when you are missing a finger and develop a cramp when working for hours on end.” 

“Right,” Esha realised her mistake, recalling the circumstances. “Now I feel bad; we should get her something. Isn’t she about your age? You should get her something.” 

“Mother, she’s expecting, did you forget?” Kiur laughed off the subject as he did years ago whenever they joked around when a young girl proposed for his hand in marriage. 

Esha’s face contorted in laughter and then in disbelief. “You were serious? Time flies by so fast. Who did she marry? Or is she carrying for a family?” 

“A family, remember the baker family?” 

“Ah, Agarin and Gitlam. A great couple; they already have two wonderful kids. Especially Ninda, she was such a shy little girl when I found her in Kutha.” 

Kutha, a deserted and former city-state in the southern ranges of their country and closest to their sister country Navarre. It was the one place which was viewed as a problem city. 

It was once a flourishing cultural centre for all citizens but now it rested in ruins and was flooded with refugees, causing it to be dubbed The City of the Dead. 

Both now and then, people from the west frequently found their way to Kutha by following an impossible trail through the mountains and desert. They would end up unable to go any further and remain there. 

Both countries regularly checked on the place to support the locals as much as they could. 

Nobody really knew why or from where they were coming or fleeing from. Some claimed it was from a drought, others cited the wildlife or an escape from the Reiszer Nations. 

They knew that the Reiszer Nations was an authoritarian state in the far west that enslaved people but the fact that the escaping individuals were native to Idaris and Navarre meant that it couldn’t be the only case. It was impossible to tell what the real reason was. 

It was as if no one knew the answer, not even those who were escaping. 

Most of them who survived were children. Young children like Kiur who—according to Esha— were born in Kutha. 

“I hope it’s not as bad as last time,” Esha mumbled, worried. “Can’t believe Archil had to go right before my trip. I can’t possibly cancel it.” 

Esha was still not convinced it was safe to leave Kiur without someone to watch him, despite how important the trip was for her. She went there at least once a year to check on the city and on particularly bad years she would go there frequently. 

Delaying it by a month or two meant she would need to travel there during the Summer Solstice which was not an option for any sane individual.

“Mother, I thought we talked about this. I will be alright while both of you are gone.” 

Concern coloured her face, hands holding the stone tablet tightly against her chest. “I don’t know, I’m worried. Part of being a parent is worrying about their children, no matter the age.” 

“Don’t worry, I promise I won’t burn down the house,” Kiur assured her, trying to lighten the mood. “At least not again.” 

“Funny,” she muttered, obviously not finding it funny. “Tell me, how old is that shawl of yours?” 

Inspecting the tears, strains and faded green colour Kiur concluded, “Around six years, give or take.” He loved wearing shawls, especially the ones his mother picked out for him at the market. 

He didn’t know why she asked but when it was the day when Esha had to leave for her trip to Kutha, Kiur saw her holding a new shawl in her hands. One as blue as lapis lazuli and as smooth as silk with a golden lion brooch on top of it. 

“I didn’t plan to give it out so soon. It was meant for a special occasion, but I want you to have it now, so you know your mother is thinking about you.” 

“I know you do, but I don’t need any presents.” 

Kiur kneeled and let his mother take his old shawl and wrap the new one around his white robe with the beige fringes. The golden brooch was then pinned on the shoulder end of his robe and shawl, fitting right in with the other accessories he wore like bracelets, earrings and a necklace. 

It always amazed Kiur how everyone liked to put on jewellery, but he didn’t complain. He loved it too.  

“That’s my pretty son,” Esha hugged Kiur and kissed him on his cheek. “No burning down the house.” She chortled, finally finding the humour in the joke. “I know you will be alright but please be safe.” 

This was it, his mother was leaving and Kiur was left alone at home for the first time since he was 15. 

“This won’t be so bad, it will be alright… it will be alright,” Kiur repeated with uncertainty as the facade of their house loomed over him. “It’s gonna be okay.”