“Please, Enlil, hear me,” Kiur prayed silently before the altar inside the ziggurat. It was at the crack of dawn, and Kiur couldn’t get a wink of sleep, evidently by the dark circles forming underneath his eyes. “Answer me, please.” 

Silence filled the giant temple except for the sounds of distant footsteps, the rustling of plants, and the gentle rushing of the streams nearby. 

The god remained silent—of course he did. 

Kiur could already see the shadowy delusion of his mind creeping up behind the altar dedicated to the god. Walking on the stream of water, she tried to reach out for Kiur, but he flinched back upon her touch. 

She disappeared, leaving nothing but ash to muddle the waters into shades of black and grey. 

“Of course, even you hate me,” mumbled Kiur. He left the temple he once called his second home. Now it was nothing but a hollow place he went to keep up with his routine. 

It meant nothing. 

Absolutely nothing. 

Just like the home he supposedly grew up in. 

“Tough week, huh?” Kiur turned to the familiar voice of Agarin, who would regularly sell him fresh bread on the market. 

With two big vases of ingredients in his arms, he was coming right from grocery shopping for his family. 

“Being alone with no one else to talk to does things to you.” Kiur flung a nearby pebble off a cliff toward the direction of the desert. He tried to hide his puffy face and stared off into the distance.  

“We noticed; there was a rumour going on at the market,” Agarin placed down the vases to sit down next to Kiur and scratched his bearded chin. A terrible habit and very uncanny, in Kiur’s opinion. "Have you forgotten that the city restricts the use of earth magic to prevent damage to the surroundings?" 

“Which neighbour squealed?” asked Kiur with a strained face. 

Agarin laughed in response. “You were so inconspicuous about it that anyone could feel it. Even my son—who’s not a magic adept yet—would have been able to tell.” 

“I should apologise to the neighbours,” Kiur mumbled with a hand on his mouth. 

He didn’t mean to lose control, but his mind was so blurry lately. It was harder and harder to remain focused and control his emotions.

“You can do that tomorrow, but tonight, would you like to stay for dinner?” 

“Dinner?” 

“Yes, food and conversation. You know the drill. My husband won’t mind, and it’s long overdue for you to pay us a visit again.” Agarin picked up one of the big vases. “Get the other one. Having some company during dinner should help put your mind at ease.” 

Kiur struggled to keep up the pace without stumbling while carrying the heavy vase. 

He thought about refusing the dinner—just so he could avoid it and carrying the vase—but couldn’t find a good excuse. 

Agarin and his husband were acquaintances of Kiur’s mother, Esha. They knew Kiur for all his childhood. Maybe Agarin simply felt obliged in helping Kiur, even if it was something as simple as dinner. 

“I’m home; I got the ingredients and a guest!” Pushing aside the curtain of the house entrance, Kiur entered their small but welcoming home. 

The crackling of fire could be heard from the back and was quickly replaced by the displeased grunts of a man. 

“A guest!?” an annoyed yell filled the living room they had just entered. “What guest? I can’t remember to have ordered one to–” The moment Gitlam, Agarin’s husband, stepped out, he became quiet. 

He scrutinised Kiur and gave a silent nod.

“I see.” The dwarf gestured to Kiur with another nod to follow him. “Come with me and get your hands dirty; only the diligent get food. Also, no accessories, and put down that shawl. You don’t want them to get dirty.” 

It was the first time Kiur set foot in Gitlam’s workshop, his sacred kitchen. 

He was an eccentric and infamous baker in the community. 

Simply for the feud he had going on with the brewery, but he was always nice to everyone who bought his bread.

As a child, Kiur and his friends liked to visit their shop. Gitlam always got them free samples when Agarin wasn’t looking—but they all knew he simply turned a blind eye to this and enjoyed their visits. 

“Three of my labourers have cancelled today. All of them are sick from the Sumer Fever that goes around,” Gitlam complained about his day. “Without the girls, I can’t finish the dough for tomorrow. As this is urgent, I will make an excuse for you to help me. You better work for your bread, understood?”

“Understood,” responded Kiur as he began kneading dough. It was his first time making bread. It wasn’t particularly easy for him, either. 

His hands were getting stiff. Worse than a writer’s cramp during work. 

“Try to feel the elements on your hands,” Agarin’s and Gitlam’s daughter tried to advise Kiur.

Her name was Ninda, a human child found by Kiur’s mother in Kutha and later adopted by her fathers. She was several years younger than Kiur and regularly helped out her fathers at work. 

Her face looked somehow gloomy. “Infusing the dough with magic particles makes it fluffier.” 

“I’ll try that, thanks.” Kiur nodded. 

Unwilling at the attempt, Kiur tried it out for curiosity’s sake. Willing the magic from his core and through his channels to his hands, he let it flow into the dough. He felt the dough change, becoming bigger and less sticky, though it made him more exhausted. 

“Not like this,” Gitlam reprimanded Kiur with a sudden slap on his back. “You will tire out all your strength if you keep that up. Gather the particles from your surroundings as they teach you in school. Ninda, wrap it up while we take care of the oven.” 

“Yes, Father.” When Ninda walked over to finish the rest, Kiur noticed something strange. His eyes saw a teal light around the young girl, followed by a gentle breeze.

It smelled like the forest after a morning dew.  

“You’ve noticed she is adept in wind magic?” asked Gitlam in a low voice, firing the oven with his fire magic and instructing Kiur further. 

“I did,” confessed Kiur, following the instructions closely by keeping a steady amount of heat.

A grunt came from Gitlam, his eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t want to ask, but would you mind to-” 

“I will keep quiet. Don’t worry.” 

Gitlam nodded at Kiur’s answer, his stern face softening. “The heat should be enough,” he clapped Kiur on the back again, but not as hard as before. “Thank you for understanding. We don’t want to involve the temple just yet. That’s why Tabira isn’t here today, either.” 

Every child got their magic abilities tested at a certain age. 

It was customary since anyone could learn magic and needed proper education and guidance to learn how to use it responsibly. 

Water and Wind were two of the rarest elements in their country; They often nudged those children to become future priests.

Kiur knew the process since he worked in the temple. They taught them to sing laments to the gods and run temples and communities, to improve the lives in the communities.

It was not unheard of to leave their families and move to a different city and start a new life there. 

They adopted Ninda at an age when she needed to be tested. Her parents must have known and delayed the process willingly and only trusted Kiur with the truth, knowing he would keep quiet.

After all, his brother had the same problem once, which caused their mother a lot of distress.

“How was baking bread for the first time?” asked Agarin, setting the table. 

“My hands are sore. I feel like I was inscribing tablets for 12 hours straight.” 

“Ha,” Gitlam hit Kiur on his back yet again, making him wince from being hit repeatedly on the same spot. “That’s baking for you. My girls are the best at it. You need some more practice if you want to succeed in this profession. Let’s eat; I am starving. Agarin, did you see our son?” 

“Resting, I will get him.” 

“No need, I will,” offered Gitlam when Kiur felt a tug on his robe. 

It was Ninda. “Cover your ears.” 

“What?”