One more year passed, and Breiðr became another place. Or perhaps it was always oppressive, but only began to show itself as such after that night.

That night itself was never discussed. The voices of the poor were never listened to in the first place. Through word of mouth, I’d heard the event was dismissed amongst those in the upper rings as an unfortunate tragedy committed by some vagabonds from the Ranges. A common excuse used throughout history. As if they would possess the political power to organize such an event – but that explanation suited those unaffected just fine. Those affected, however, became more withdrawn. If ever there was an air of hostility between the guard and the poorer civilians it only increased – a few individuals wanted to speak but were silenced. We thought better than to invoke any more attention on us.

Nevertheless, initially Breiðr seemed to go down a brighter path. At least to the public.

Flight bans were lifted, but strictly regimented. Still, people began to drift in and out of Breiðr with relative ease. Flight licenses still had to be obtained; though it was easier to get one. Poverty reduced since more people could acquire flight jobs. The Armed Fleet began to lessen in size; instead, it was the personal guard that was strengthened.

“That means they care about the civilians?” Nimkii said.

“That means the enemy is now within,” I replied.

This statement was true. Flight licenses being easily acquired was merely a paltry prize; a way to soothe the growing tensions of the lower rings. There were some whispers in the marketplace talking of a new advisor for the king; apparently, he had issued the order.

Fear was settling in my bones, as it had that night.

And so was my destiny.

On my seventeenth birthday, I awoke not accompanied by that boy’s head on my toes, but by a vision. A vision of a temple settled deep in the crevice of a ravine. The surroundings were tanned and dusty, and the air smelt dry.

“What does it mean?” Luo Yu asked when I told them both.

“I believe it to be a sign of our quest.” I spoke. “We need to leave.”

I saw a few different feelings pass through their faces. Fear, sadness, and a strange helplessness.

Nimkii whispered. “How? My brother and I tried that, and it didn’t work.”

The boy never spoke of his brother much, so it startled me that he’d mention it now. It seemed to startle him too from the way he quietened. 

“We need to try,” Luo Yu insisted. “Or else we’ll just rot here.”

“Nimkii was right,” I replied.

“About what?” Luo Yu said, his head tilted.

“About you,” I rose from my bed, “you do listen.”

Luo Yu smiled before shaking his head. “You talk about what you’ve taught us all the time, you should do that less.”

We laughed, and that is when I thought of how dreadful it would be to never hear that anymore. The harmony of our laughter. My thoughts certainly reflected on my face, as they both exchanged a look before encasing me in a warm hug.

I clutched them back, feeling our hearts beat as one.

===

Two nights after that conversation, I awoke in the morning to Luo Yu sitting at the table. He was pensive, something he’d scarcely shown in his older years. Luo Yu was more into playing the teasing friend to make Nimkii laugh, our back and forth always did amuse him. When I greeted him, he nodded.

As I fixed myself with breakfast – a loaf of bread and some rice – he cleared his throat and spoke. “Would you like to go to the market today?”

The wording sounded awkward despite his request being very regular. At first, I’d thought it to be fatigue, perhaps he had not slept enough. But his tone wasn’t tired – far from it – in fact it sounded overly alert and conscious. Combined with the stilted speech, it must be something hard to speak about.

I nodded, and after a silent meal, we left. To confirm my hypothesis, I asked whether we should leave a note for Nimkii.

“No, he’ll figure it out,” Luo Yu replied.

That was enough to know he’d discussed this with Nimkii beforehand. Not wanting to seem over-eager I’d taken the lead shopping. Luo Yu followed behind; he’d opted for just his crutches today so the sound of them created a familiar rhythm.

“I killed my mother.”

Is what he whispered while I bought some fresh tomatoes. I nearly squirted the fruit’s contents all over us. Needless to say, that seller did not seem keen to serve us much after that. A hasty apology later, we took a rest near one of the makeshift benches in between a few stalls.

“Go on,” I motioned a tad clumsy.

“I said before that my mother-” he paused, placing a hand on his chin. “No, do you remember how the spring drought ended?”

The answer was yes, of course, its ending was quite a shock to most. After a tumultuous bout of no rain, snow suddenly fell from the sky. Many saw it as a divine message from the Spring Gods themselves; while some became hassled by the inconvenience it caused. My father was away on one of his first expeditions and I was busying myself with the environment around me too much to have a reaction. I was simply annoyed that it’d occurred so late.

“I did that.”

“You made it snow?” I rose, then sat back down to avoid drawing attention.

He nodded. “In scripture the Spring god makes rain by dancing. One night I snuck out and, well you saw what happened.”

“…Then I suppose those who’d said it was a gift from the Spring gods were right.” I said in response. Before those words had even left my mouth, I’d known it to be the wrong thing to say.

“It was no gift!” His voice cracked. That comment did not sit well with him. Luo Yu always had an issue with being seen as his god, but his anger was of a different make – it almost seemed guilty. “That selfish choice killed my mother. When I returned to our pathetic little hobble – she was buried there.”

“Luo Yu,” my voice was gentle, for he was beginning to quiver.

“No, I don’t know why you think whatever’s happened to us is a good thing. I’ve seen you wonder about it, but you have no idea what it means to be this way,” His face was twisted as if to cry, but no tears came. “This power has never been a gift.”

“I’m not afraid of that power,” I replied.

“Why aren’t you?” Luo Yu gripped his arm. “Nimkii is never going to see his family again because of that power. I’m in Breiðr instead of the Summits because of this power.”

“But we met because of this power.”

He was silent. Then he spoke. “And now we could die because of this power.”

I let those words still the air. Having vaguely assumed Luo Yu’s feelings on his power, it was uncharacteristically callous of me to challenge him. Such callousness towards someone I considered my family reminded me of many years ago, when I’d done the same to my father – in a far more intentional way – but I vowed to myself not to make the same mistake. Not to hurt those I love just to make them act as I want. Although a part of me wonders still, how wrong it is to do that when my words push individuals to become better.

But this was not an instance of something like that, I’d always believed our divine powers to be a reward for the many years of loss we’d experienced. This interaction was just a mere difference in opinion. Nevertheless, my insistence was insensitive, so I apologized almost immediately.

“It’s fine, I just wanted you to know,” he said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten as mad.”

“I think its fine to get angry when you’re passionate about something,” I smiled. “Even I get angry.”

“I know,” he returned the smile, before his face darkened, “I can tell. You’re so angry, all the time.”

His reply shocked me then, and it continues to shock me. Perhaps it’s because my anger was like a hidden talon, tucked into the tufts of my chest unless I’d wished it to strike. Although I knew both of them to be perceptive, it surprised me that something like my anger was easy to see. Sorrow, despair, happiness – those were all emotions that I’d express without restraint, to some degree. But anger, was something I’d kept close to my chest – or so I’d thought.

My shock had shown on my face, for Luo Yu took to putting his hand on my shoulder. “Nimkii will wonder where we are.”

“You’ve already told him,” I chuckled, eager to shake off my dulled senses.

“Of course you figured that out,” he laughed, tucking his crutches underneath his arms. “You’re so annoying.”

“I am, but only because you provoke me.”

He rolled his eyes. As we walked back, I heard him clear his throat to speak. But he stopped himself. When we returned, Nimkii asked how it went.

“It was fine,” Luo Yu smiled.

Nimkii grinned as well, and then asked if Luo Yu wanted to finish the book they were reading together; the previous tenants had left behind a myriad of hatchling tales that the pair had taken to – the same one Nimkii had quoted on the day of the ball. I still wonder what Luo Yu wanted to say to me, in moments of recollection. Although some part of me is relieved that I never heard it. Contradictions, contradictions.