Our tale, dear friend, crosses the ocean. It spans the great seas, and lands, particularly, in a large city in Neverfailia.

There, so far and far away from Farfadel, the sun was rising. It was normally a cause for joy and celebration amongst the Neverfailians. After all, who knew what day the sun would not rise again and darkness would ensnare the world? Ah, well, it was the sort of fear that the old ‘uns tried to instill in the youth, who were quite certain that the sun would always rise for them.

Nevertheless, there was a thriving amount of spells sold and set for the purpose of one’s own personal sun always rising. Great prayers were given up to this purpose. Shrines were built to the sun and the Sun Lady who lived in the heavens. But for one Neverfailian in particular, it was a dismal day no matter the state of the sun. Or perhaps, it was particularly miserable because it was happening.

For Djedefre was about to undergo the exam of his life. Having been trained in competition with his three other compatriots, the assassin was earning his mark today. Today, if he passed the day’s trials, he would be branded for life and all would fear his presence. If he failed however – the crocodiles would eat his flesh. And crocodiles, I shall have you know, are not persnickety. They eat!

But something was complicating this already poor situation even more for Djedefre. He was beginning to discover that he had … feelings.

Now you may laugh, dear friend. After all, don’t we all have feelings of some sort? But ah, for this hopeful soon to be assassin, feelings were a terrible thing. Feelings got in the way. Feelings, as it were, ought to be only directed at oneself or for one’s guild leader. But Djedefre was discovering, as the sun rose and basked the pointed temple tops in glittering blessings, that he had feelings not for himself, not for the guild leader, but for –

A cold presence that arrived beside him.

That one. The eldest by three days in his group of four apprentices. The most obnoxious. The most powerful trickster. The most sneering and cold and… handsome?

Akhom was tall, lithe, yet well sculpted, but not obnoxiously so. Like most citizens of this part of Neverfailia, he wore very little in order to bask in the sun’s warmth. He wore no sandals, a pair of flowing dark pants, and, as a sure sign of being up to no good, the assassin’s black cloth draped about his shoulders that could be wrapped about one’s face should they risk being seen. It was rarely used, as assassins, we all know well, are simply not seen. They merely… arrive. In the shadows. Sort of. You know!

But let us return to our characters.

By comparison to Akhom, Djedefre was short, dressed in the obligatory black scarf and the pants (no one runs around pant-less in Neverfailia, I shall have you know that). Yet there was a core difference ‘tween the two beyond what meets the eye. Djedefre yearned for… something other than assassin-hood. He was fidjety, and not altogether certain of everything in life. He wanted to grow, to run, and perhaps to paint. He was not sure of anything, and he wanted to discover life, not end it in so many ways.

Akhom, ah, Akhom, he seemed sure of every step he took in the sands. He was silent (a perfect assassin’s trait), he was severe (another good trait) and he was practically invisible in his merging with the shadows some days (an optimal trait!). He was an ideal assassin, what else can there be said?

As it was, Akhom strode to beside Djedefre, planting himself by his side. It was deliberate, obviously. Arms crossed, Akhom glared out at the rising sun, somehow standing just a little too close to Djedefre for this to be usual. Again, more deliberate!

Their eyes met (more deliberate! Alright, I shall stop now.). Djedefre’s were a warm brown, Akhom’s were icy blue in a striking contrast with his dark skin. For a moment, Djedefre’s heart went pitter patter in his chest. A kiss? He thought feverishly, not remembering that such a relationship – between assassins! - was forbidden.

But no. Something sweeter. “Do well today,” Akhom said flatly, in a very assassin-y tone.

Djedefre felt himself melt just a little bit. The sun was definitely warm today. Too warm, too close. He looked away, shifting his arms across his chest. “I will.” He said a little too sharply for his own tastes.

Akhom nodded slowly. Djedefre watched him from the corner of his eyes. Then, as no other answer came, he added. “You do well too, today.”

Akhom continued nodding like a branch swaying in the wind. Both contemplated the sky in silence.

Then, their day began. We shall leave them to it.