Brayandli Okan had never been good with people.
When it came to sparring with his peers, he excelled. Brayandli was known for the mathematical precision of his palm strikes and his natural talent with sword techniques. Whether it was weapons or history, maths or calligraphy, even painting and cartography, all it came to Brayandli as naturally as breathing. There were patterns and logic to these skills that made clear, obvious sense in his mind.
But people? Absolutely not.
Firstly, people were loud. Far too loud. Their clomping feet, their flapping mouths, even their clattering cutlery - all of it was just... So unnecessarily loud. In addition to their loudness, Brayandli had found people often said one thing but, for reasons he simply could not fathom, often meant something completely different. As a child, when he didn't know how to react (which was often) he would simply not react at all, staring the other child down until they left, or by turning on a slippered heel and running away himself.
Adults were even more difficult. Brayandli remembered his early childhood, the elder clan members ruffling his thick pale hair, pinching his cheeks, or making alarming faces and noises. At the age of four, Brayandli finally uttered his first words: “No thank you.”
This earned him a reputation among many of his peers as aloof, and others outright intimidating, whilst the adults outside of his clan simply found him gloomy. They sometimes gossiped about him when they thought he could not hear, the kinder ones musing that perhaps the prodigious son of the Okan Clan was so focused on his studies that his social skills lacked as a result, meanwhile others who were less kind simply thought him arrogant and full of airs.
Whilst Brayandli’s immediate family understood him better, both his sister and father would exchange glances at meals when he sat in silence, quietly lamenting that even as he grew into a very fine looking young man, it seemed nothing could save him from his own reclusive nature.
Brayandli was aware of his looks - he was born with the classic Okan appearance: silvery-white hair, wolf eyes inherited from the Great Wolf Sage who founded their clan, and an angular, elfin face. His was as pale as lotus petals and his eyebrows pleasantly arched, like wings upon his temples, but the effect his good looks had on others did nothing to alter his distaste for human interaction. In Brayandli’s opinion they actually made everything much worse. Had he been plain and less visibly Gifted, perhaps the gaggles of girls that visited for the summits wouldn't attempt to entice him from behind giggling hands and floating fans, only to discover his reservedness made him boring. Brayandli had overheard one such girl remark that speaking to him was like looking at a statue by a master that was never finished - it only had appeal in the shade of a late evening, or as long as you didn't study it up close.
Boys were even worse, he thought. There was often envy that led to misplaced attempts at rivalry when he received attention from the fairer sex, but those less insecure would try to win him over with jostling and friendly competition. Brayandli always struggled to understand when these things were well meant or ill intended, nor did he much enjoy the rough banter that came with teenage boys.
Brayandli simply preferred to be alone with himself, for his own company was tranquil and silent. Alone, he could focus on his swordplay, his scrolls, and his paintings. If things could remain so forever and the rest of the world could forget he existed, that would be fine.
The Okan heir certainly never expected his views of the world to be upended by a lowborn youth who had not a care or thought in the world for much of anything at all, beyond making fun of life itself.
But then, most people didn't have any expectations of Taowren Nightingale at all.
The ten days it took to reach the mountains were, for Taowren, a bright and exciting escape from the confines of the manor. The group consisted of himself, his twin cousins Tomar and Tomei, his esteemed uncle Lord Tanno and aunt Lady Quin, and a couple of stable hands. Master Inchin had been left in charge of the estate and province’s affairs, along with Lord Tanno’s aunt, Lady Muun.
The Okan Clan had strict rules about who could stay at their residence at any time. As they were located at the base of Heavenly Peaks, where spiritual power was strong, it was known to be unwise to bring those who had not been screened for the Gift, and as a result they did not allow guests to bring more than a handful of outside servants and attendants.
For Taowren’s poor cousin Tomar, the journey was incomprehensibly tedious, verging on unbearable—he was consumed by an ever-present anxiety about his unpredictable cousin. Taowren was not good with formalities, remembering etiquette, remembering rules, or following the rules even when he did remember any of them. In Tomar’s mind, Taowren was the worst possible person to bring to meet the most influential and prestigious family in the country of Turo.
Every day Tomar would try to explain to his disreputable cousin the importance of following the Okan province’s customs. Not only were Gifted folk under the age of twenty-one not allowed to enter the Okan residence, outsiders were also forbidden from exploring the mountains and land surrounding the residence. All new servants were checked for the Gift and sent to the nearest town if they had so much as a flicker of aptitude for the magic. Alcohol was prohibited for all those under the age of twenty-one, as was gambling, and engaging with brothels or other unsavoury (in Tomar’s words) places of establishment.
The upper half of the housing residences in the clan’s grounds were also restricted for guests who were not Chosen. Chosen people were not just Gifted, but those who had also bonded to an immortal Heavenly Spirit - no un-Gifted persons could enter without the express invitation of a spirit, spirit-bonded person, or a member of the Okan Clan themselves. Taowren’s head spun as he attempted to take in all the information from his stone-faced cousin.
To injure a heavenly spirit, whether bonded to a human or simply living wild on the mountain, was punishable by beating. To kill one meant execution. The Okan family members themselves were not even permitted to court romantically until they had returned from their Soul Quest up the mountain when they came of age at twenty-one—that is to say, until after they had ventured up the mountain to bond with one of the spirits that lived near the peaks.
It usually went without saying that many members of the Okan Clan, being linked and marked by the great wolf spirit, were bonded with wolves themselves. No other clan bonded with wolves; they were sacred beasts exclusively bonded with Okan Clan members. Under absolutely no circumstances should anyone outside of the Okan Clan attempt to approach one unsupervised—especially Taowren, whom Tomar was convinced would definitely try and pet one of these soul-bonded wolves like they were a mere dog. That would absolutely result in Taowren losing a hand!
Tomar said all of this repeatedly, phrasing it every way possible so that Taowren—who was prone to ‘forget’ rules when they became inconvenient—couldn’t possibly offend someone or do something stupid out of ignorance when they arrived. He pelted Taowren with lectures in etiquette, history and the labyrinthine network of alliances and marriages that held the country of Turo together until Taowren felt like his head would explode. The information slid through his fingers like water – try as he might to retain his grumpy cousin’s teachings, the answers to his sudden quizzes flittered out of reach. This usually resulted in Tomar getting more and more frustrated at Taowren’s seeming lack of interest until he would spur his horse away and sulk at the rear of the column, cursing the length of the journey whilst simultaneously dreading their arrival.
Taowren, however, took the long journey of lectures in stride. The euphoria of finally leaving the Nightingale province and seeing the world for the first time since his nomad mother had planted him on the noble family’s doorstep had taken a strong hold. Taowren was lost in the thrill of the wind in his hair, the sway of the saddle, the slow thud of his horse’s gait. It was no surprise much of what his cousin recited for him went in one ear and inevitably out the other.
It was only as the Okan Clan residence came into view over the crest of a hill that his ears began to tune in and take heed of what his cousin was currently saying.
“…And absolutely, do not try and to crack any of your stupid jokes at the head family.” This was apparently the end of a very long speech. “If Lord Balin could kill a man by looking at him, the death toll would be in the hundreds.”
“Bayfolin’s not so bad.” Tomei replied, tapping her finger to her chin as she thought about it from atop her sandy mare.
“She’s our elder though.” Tomar harrumphed, jabbing a finger at his sister, “If Taown starts saying inappropriate, nonsensical things to her it will look disrespectful.”
“What do you think I’m going to say to her?” Taowren replied, turning to grin devilishly at his cousin, “That if I woke up tomorrow with the Gift I would pray I could be half as handsome as she is?”
Tomar reddened. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m worried about.”
“I wonder where her wolf sleeps. I bet it’s at the foot of her bed.” Tomar’s temper was an easy target, one Taowren could never resist needling. “Maybe I’ll ask her that too.”
“I swear to the Gods…”
“I’ll vex you to death, I know, I know.” Taowren reigned in his horse to trot beside his stroppy cousin, all smiles. “Why are you so anxious, Tomo? We haven’t even arrived yet, I haven’t annoyed anyone.”
“I told you not to call me that!” Tomar snapped, urging his horse forward again. “And I’m anxious because I know you and what you’re like.”
From the rear, Lord and Lady Nightingale sat and watched the youngsters bicker between themselves. Lord Tanno sighed and shook his head, while his wife shot him a sidelong look.
“Tomar does have a point you know,” Lady Quin murmured, “Lord Balin has always been conservative in his values. Are you not worried he may find Taown…?”
“Taown is as much a part of this family as the rest of us.” Lord Tanno frowned a little as he spoke, “Tomar exaggerates how much he antagonises people.”
“I wasn’t talking about just that. It’s his… Nature that I am concerned with.”
“The Okan Clan have never concerned themselves with the colour of a person’s skin, Quin, only the strength of their bond,” Lord Tanno intoned dramatically, before his face creased in a chuckle. “Or how much lowland grain they can bring to their silos. Do not worry, my love. Balin may be severe, but he is not so backwards as to judge a man based on his heritage.”
“I didn’t mean that at all, I meant that Taown openly likes m—“ The rest of Lady Quin’s statement was drowned out by a call from the gates up ahead. A white-haired youth dressed in all black was standing before them and waving one arm.
“We will speak of this later, Quin. Put it out of your head for now. All shall be well.” Lord Tanno flashed his wife a smile, then clicked his tongue to urge his black steed forward, overtaking his children and ward and leading the way up to the mighty gates of the Okan Clan. Carved of dark, solid wood, the gates were heavyset and embossed with the family’s coat of arms; a wolf before three moons. Before them stood a pale figure dressed in a black, floor length robe. The figure had white curling hair pulled up into a loose ponytail atop their head, with flyaway ringlets furling in the light mountain breeze.
Bowing deeply with a smile on their thin lips as he approached, this monochromatic figure greeted the group.
“Lord Nightingale! I bid you welcome to the home of the Okan. We are most thankful that you have returned to grace us with your presence once more. You may not remember me from your last visit - I am Willow Okan. Lord Balin has asked me to see you to your rooms.”
As they rose out of the bow their hazel eyes glanced over the assembled riders, allowing Taowren a proper look at this new face. Strong cheekbones sat below the clan’s signature wolfish eyes, and their jaw was well defined, but retained a certain delicacy. It was difficult to discern if this person was male or female at a glance, for their presence was wholly otherworldly, but the voice that spoke had a feminine musicality to it. She appeared of an age with Taowren and his cousins, but stood a head taller than even Tomar. Her posture reminded him of a marble statue in the gardens of the Manor depicting a Nightingale of ages past – straight as a bulrush, with none of the flexibility. If Taowren had to describe her it would be as like a stick insect, or a beansprout. All length and no girth. Willowy, indeed. He looked away to hide the smile that rose on his face at the thought, hoping the stranger had not noticed.
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