Eight years ago… Asenya, Xerbia

Cradled in a valley surrounded by the Ire’zol mountains, Central Asenya was spread over hundreds of kilometres, flaunting an array of dilapidated skyscrapers that tore through the low-lying clouds. Colourful neon billboards and bright lights flooded the city at night, the luminosity of which was intensified by the cover of snow piercing every nook and corner, even the darkest alleys. 

Though the Asenyans had rebuilt most of what they could salvage after the Divine Purge, the city evinced only a third of its former grandeur. Life was hard with hazardous blizzards frequenting the valley. 

It was always cold, even during summer. But none of it compared to the deadly crimson fog that descended from Hell’s Teeth mountains every night forcing the denizens to find shelter lest they asphyxiate and perish. 

Novgrod, a relatively busy suburb of Asenya, was home to a club called The Lynx, situated in the basement of a commercial complex. It was a hole-in-the-wall establishment that did not display flashy neon signs like the bigger, more-popular nightclubs. Rather it remained inconspicuous and attracted locals who preferred secluded spaces to attend to their scandalous avocations or shady businesses. 

Zov’ha had her back pressed against the cold, tiled wall of the club’s restroom, her legs wrapped around Yar’cax. With her hands on his shoulders, she hungered for his warm lips, moaning occasionally whenever her stomach tingled or her heart thumped faster. 

She could feel the spikes on his body poke her mildly — a subtle pleasurable pain. But she knew he was being careful not to come too close as to cause her harm. It had been like this with them for as long as they had been together. 

The only source of light was a dull blacklight tube above the sink to their right, which made brightly-coloured objects glow vividly. It was not the cleanest of restrooms in the neighbourhood, but the heavy scent of lemon myrtle dominated the air, which meant that the place was well maintained and was cleaned regularly. 

Bass-heavy rhythm of electronic music dully resonated from outside. It was a slow beat — unrushed, just as they were. They had been at it for almost an hour, uncaring about their friends in the club who they had arrived with. 

Yar’cax leaned back, gazed into Zov’ha’s grey eyes, and whispered, breathing heavily, ‘You really think this is the last time you’re going to fire up?’ 

‘Uh huh,’ Zov’ha replied almost immediately, still in the throes of passion. She was playing with his soft wavy hair, feeling the spikes on his skull — he has horns, she thought childishly, though she knew they were just bone protrusions. Placing her hand on his chest, she pushed him away lightly, ‘This is the last time… after today I promise I won’t do it!’ 

‘That’s what you said the last time, Zov,’ he argued amicably. Yar’cax considered himself fortunate. Zov’ha was the most desired girl in the city — the only subhuman in centuries! He was lucky she had a liking for Calcars. But not for any Calcar. He was a true-Calcar — no Poban-like fur, no mechanical embellishments like a Mechanov — he had four working limbs, albeit a bit twisted here and there, and most of his organs functioned as intended.   

‘Come on, Yax, just for tonight,’ Zov’ha crossed her hands and looked at him pleadingly. Her yellow crop jacket glowed brightly under the blacklight, and the vivid hue bounced off her face. 

He smiled and produced an unlabeled aluminium can from one of the many pockets of his cargo trousers and held it up in front of her. A sly grin spread across Zov’ha’s face — an expression that Yar’cax had seen often when they indulged in something absolutely wicked. With her eyes fixed on his, she unhurriedly retrieved her gas mask that she had left by the sink. 

Clipping it on at the back of her neck, she adjusted the facepiece to make sure no air would escape. Yar’cax uncapped the aluminium can and attached it to an inlet valve at the front of her mask and mumbled, ‘Ready?’ 

When she nodded, he gently pressed the nozzle under the can. It filled her mask with an acrid fume that she inhaled welcomingly. She felt a bit faint as the chemicals hit her nerves; her eyes rolled back, and she swayed unsteadily. Yar’cax placed a hand on the small of her back for support. She chuckled, holding on to him. ‘Let’s go,’ he mumbled. 

‘Aren’t you going to have some?’ Her voice came muffled through the mask.

‘I’ve had some already. Maybe later, okay?’ 

‘Okay,’ Zov’ha whispered, turning towards the mirror. She noticed Yar’cax running his hands through his hair, styling it upwards like he always did. He had not zipped up his jacket and she could see his broad, hairless chest shining in the dim light. ‘You go on ahead, I’ll come along in a while.’ 

‘Don’t be long,’ he said, winking at her reflection in the mirror.   

When he left her in the empty restroom, she continued to stare into the mirror. Thinking of the events of the day made her snicker uncontrollably but that might have just been the narcotic. They made me Captain of the Duskwatch! Are they crazy? If they knew about her furtive relationship with Yar’cax they would surely banish her from Asenya. She took a deep breath, inhaling the remaining fumes from her gasmask. Her messy hair shone brightly — she had recently curled them. Maybe it was time for a change — a short cut would suit her ashen hair, she thought nonchalantly. It would make her look more comely as a captain.    

A sense of loneliness began roiling within her, as she inched towards psychedelic hysteria. Memories of her childhood suddenly seemed to torment her for no apparent reason. No one but Yar’cax knew who she truly was — a half-Astraleid. Project Asenya had been a top secret collaboration between The Council of Breeders of Asenya and the Astraleids of Orbita Cygnus. 

Zov’ha and her siblings had been the product of that experiment. Her birth, and the consequent death of her Astraleid mother, had led to the termination of the project. Her only surviving sister, Zy’heria, was considered a true Astraleid, because she had inherited all of their mother’s traits, including the “Exaglia”. 

But when they were only children, Zy’heria had been taken away to live in Orbita Cygnus. Their father, Councillor Svao, died around that time, which left Zov’ha fending for herself all alone in a cold, unwelcoming country. 

She had friends… yes, good friends, but her uniqueness singled her out even amongst them, her emotional turmoil driving her to a life of hedonism. Being a member of the Svao family had its benefits — she was allowed to get away with anything. The nepotism had not only favoured her life of delinquency but had also led to her recruitment by the Duskwatch, where she had learnt the art of combat and some level of discipline. 

Her training, guard duty, and time with her comrades were the only things that helped her employ restraint on her decadent activities. A consummate strategist, fighter and shooter, the best in all of Asenya, she was promoted to lieutenant even before she turned eighteen. Her troop respected her and unquestionably followed her every command. Now, she was being made captain. 

Feeling overly inebriated, Zov’ha steadied herself — perhaps firing up the can wasn’t such a good idea. She took off her mask and breathed in the cool scented air of the room. Looking around to make sure there was no one else, she reached into her pant pocket to produce a strip of tiny pink pills. 

She plucked one out, closed her eyes, and placed it carefully on her tongue. It tasted bitter… but it was worth the price for the euphoria she would experience once it was absorbed into her bloodstream. She opened her eyes again and smiled as the medley of drugs began taking its effect. The music had changed outside — it was cheerier now, quick double beats over synthesised phasic effects. 

She raised her hands above her head, tapping her feet and swaying her body to the beat. Recovering from the bout of despair, she turned around to leave, careful to avoid the slippery glitter on the floor.

The club was notably uncrowded for a weekend. The few patrons who lingered kept to the bar. Zov’ha could sense their gaze following her to the booths. She had accepted the fact that she would be stared at everywhere she went, so she had learnt to revel in the glory rather than be indignant about it. 

She made her way past empty two-seater tables towards the U-shaped booths lining the walls. Only one of them was occupied on the right side, where four boys sat together, two on each side, and as Zov’ha approached Yar’cax beckoned the others to scooch so that she could fit in. 

‘Captain Zov’ha Svao, at your service, brothers!’ Yar’cax proclaimed as she took her seat next to him. 

‘Let’s not make a big deal of this, boys,’ Zov’ha waved, taking a seat next to Yar’cax. 

‘You kidding?’ said a Calcar boy sitting opposite her, raising his beer. ‘You’re the youngest captain Asenya’s ever had!’

‘Because she’s the only living “human”,’ replied a chubby yellow-furred Poban sitting at the centre of the U-shaped booth. 

‘Almost human,’ Zov’ha corrected him, pointing to the fur on her face and arms. 

‘Still,’ the Calcar continued, ‘you’re only nineteen! Most of us really start life at thirty… that’s if we figure it out at all.’

‘Or if we’re still alive, ay, Xu’levan?’ The Poban chuckled, raising his furry left brow, and grinning widely. 

‘Zov’s not the only one who’s reaching for the stars,’ Xu’levan continued. ‘My man Yar’cax here... nominated as our next faction leader!’ 

‘Really?’ Zov’ha gasped, punching Yar’cax playfully. ‘Could’ve given me a hint! Or did Xu’l ruin your surprise?’ 

The silent Mechanov boy who was sitting beside Xu’levan abruptly turned and gestured to him in the Asenyan Sign Language, which Zov’ha recognised as ‘What happened to your current leader?’ 

She saw Xu’levan reply to him using his twisted Calcar hands, struggling with some of the signs as he had fewer fingers than the others, ‘The old man’s dying, and they need a replacement.’ 

The Mechanov gasped, but then he turned towards Yar’cax, smiling as he held out a mechanical hand for a handshake. He then continued to chat with Xu’levan, his hands gesturing excitedly. Those two are so adorable, Zov’ha thought. I’m so glad they found each other. Dar’yn and Xu’levan, Mechanov and Calcar… from two different factions… two different worlds. If the sages ever found out about them… about any of us in here…  

‘So,’ the Poban huffed, turning towards Yar’cax. ‘You got plans, Chief?’ 

‘I’m just a candidate for now, Mon’ay. And nah, man, I’m only twenty-one. They’ll probably go for Ki’kin. He’s older, and he’s got a bigger gang up in Ey’dvar.’

‘Aw,’ Zov’ha said, puckering her lips, ‘I’ll vouch for you.’ 

‘You will, will you?’ he replied, putting an arm around her. Zov’ha leaned in to kiss him, caressing his cheek, intent on getting intimate again. 

‘Oi,’ Xu’levan called out, which made Zov’ha stop and turn towards him. ‘Now this place ain’t snuffed, but the Sage’s could have eyes here too.’

‘Ah come on, they’re young,’ Mon’ay waved, being the eldest of them. ‘Sages won’t go charging them for canoodling.’

‘Ay, we were going to tell you all,’ Yar’cax said in a low voice, leaning forward a little. ‘The two of us may put in a proposal to the Sages. We’ll contend our relationship with evidence.’

‘What makes you think they’ll approve?’ Xu’levan countered, calmly. ‘Zov’s probably got better matches. Her genes are the best amongst us. Don’t you think the Sages’ll have plans already?’

‘That’s just it,’ Yar’cax motioned for everyone to lean forward, so they could talk more secretively. ‘We’ll send in the proposal way before the ceremony, you know? We’ll challenge every other match.’

‘Yeah, like that’s how it works,’ Mon’ay guffawed sarcastically. ‘What makes you think they’ll listen to a bunch of Novgrodians?’

‘They’ll listen to the captain of the Duskwatch for sure,’ Zov’ha declared, trying to stymie their truculent attitude. 

‘For sure,’ the Poban replied, again sarcastically, and this time more dramatically. 

Dar’yn had followed the conversation by reading their lips. He gestured to them, ‘If you get caught, you’ll be imprisoned and put on trial.’ 

‘Ay, look,’ Yar’cax whispered, taking a deep breath. They had not figured out the minutiae of the proposal as yet, or the consequences. But he knew they were doing the right thing. ‘We aren’t in a rush. There’s time. For now we got the club. This place’ll be safe. Look at them go…’ He nodded towards three Mechanovs in a dingy booth on the other side of the club. Under a pink neon-sign, they were engaged in passionate foreplay, writhing in the shadows, oblivious and care-free. ‘People love this place. They can be themselves here. We’ll stay safe from inquisitive eyes for now.’

‘This isn’t going to last for long, man,’ Xu’levan whispered, shaking his head. ‘Once the Sages find out, this place will be burnt down like The White Vixen.’ 

‘What makes you so sure?’ Yar’cax challenged him. ‘It's either the lip of the cliff or the maw of the abyss. We have to make the jump!’

‘Who’s in charge of keeping the streets clean and the Sages happy?’ Xu’levan asked rhetorically. 

‘Duskwatch…’ Zov’ha and Yar’cax replied together, and then looked at each other. 

Xu’levan looked at Zov’ha and nodded, ‘That’s right, Captain!’ 

Yar’cax leaned back and put his hands behind his head, and the others moved away from the huddle. 

Xu’levan was right. Everything was about to change. Zov’ha was going to become Captain of the Duskwatch. Yar’cax was a candidate to lead his people. Now feeling a bit unhinged, the effects of the drugs wearing off, Zov’ha knew she was heading down a slippery slope towards a terrible melancholy. They made me Captain of the Duskwatch! Are they crazy?

Present… Rud’vyr, Xerbia

Abbess Anandil Homa sauntered alongside Friar Dew towards the viewing area of the automated surgical station within which lay the Astraleid they had found within the subterranean chamber of Neva’ar’s Dagger. 

‘I am the first Abbess in more than a hundred years to meet a real Astraleid,’ Anandil whispered with a wry smile. She had gleaned every information possible on Zov’ha Svao in the past few days from the reclusive libraries of the facility. When she noticed the friar give her a sidelong glance she said, ‘I mean, half-Astraleid. But she will be revered nonetheless.’

‘It’s hard to believe that Asenya would keep their relationship with the Astraleids a secret, My Abbess,’ Friar Dew said, coming to a stop in front of a glass wall through which they had a clear view of the surgical station below. 

‘Asenya keeps everything a secret,’ Anandil scowled. She noticed Zov’ha tossing around in deep sleep in a glass chamber below. ‘She’s healing fast. She will be awake in a few hours. Friar, get ready to welcome our goddess. She will be pleased to find herself within Neva’ar’s Drift.’