Taut muscles burning like the rage within him, Aekis eschewed the thought of stopping to catch his breath. Racing through the forest with wolves at his side, he hunted recklessly.
He didn’t hide when the monks of Neva hovered past him on their step-pods. He didn’t flinch when thorny pea shrubs tore through his skin, or when tree branches slapped against his body. He didn’t care that his face was covered with cobwebs and twigs.
Tears streaming down his cheeks, wailing like an angry child, he tore through wood and stone, bent on the chase. His quarry — the assassin. One life for another. Blood for blood. Whoever it was, they would not be spared. They would know the wrath of an Astraleid. Zov’ha’s death will be avenged!
A shadow skittered ahead, bouncing from tree to tree, heading for a gorge. Seeing that the assassin would be trapped unless they turned around, Aekis sent forth his wolves to charge ahead. The shadowy beasts howled and snarled as they gained speed.
As Aekis dashed into the gorge, a cool heavy air filled his overworked lungs. He heard the trickling of a small stream nearby and bit back the urge to stop and take a sip of water, swallowing to keep his parched throat moist.
Coming to a halt where his wolves had cornered his prey, he observed six dark figures standing in a circle. They were only shadows, their purple-grey forms clearly visible under the moonlight. They all looked the same — resembling someone short and lean. With opaline daggers in their hands, they stood in various stances, as if waiting for a brawl to begin. Traps!
I’m going in, came Certificate’s whisper, trigger-happy now that he was free.
‘Not yet!’ Aekis barked, but it was too late. The wolves pounced on the figures. A slashing of daggers — the wolves disintegrated. Certificate growled as he rematerialised next to Aekis. The figures disappeared.
Aekis walked into the moonlit clearing fearlessly. His pale skin glistened white like milk. Unsheathing his sword, he howled, ‘Akshmira! Show yourself! I know it’s you!’
The Zylalong scout hopped down noiselessly from a low hanging branch to his left, silhouetted against the dull grey horizon. ‘My, my,’ she purred. Aekis could only see her green eyes sparkling under her skull-adorned headdress. ‘You’ve ripened into a comely Astraleid, wolf-boy.’
‘Why are you so far away from home?’ Aekis was panting, and his gruff voice came in short, quick breaths.
‘Blood-hunt,’ she crooned, swaying her lithe body as she spoke. ‘All Akshmira’s playmates come to the mountains here. They wait.’
‘I don’t care,’ Aekis brandished his sword and directed it at the petite Zylalong. Taking cautious steps forward, he said, ‘You will die for killing Zov’ha.’
‘Way to thank Akshmira for just saving your mana!’ her eyebrows knotted in disappointment. ‘White-haired witch could have swallowed your melon.’
Aekis noticed the flash of an opaline dagger near her waist. He would not be so easily tricked! Certificate, go around. I’ll keep her busy.
The Zylalong raised her head and licked the air around her. She let out a short, derisive laugh, ‘Akshmira can taste your Replicant, wolf-boy,’ Aekis felt like her voice was fading, even though she stood still. ‘Save that pretty face for the aftertime. Prepare, Astraleid, for the impending storm.’
And then Aekis realised his folly. She was gone. The figure in front of him dispelled into the chilly night air — a decoy.
Falling to his knees, he dug his hands into his face. An Astraleid does not mourn, but he did. For the first time in his life, he weeped.
The apparition was right there, black and golden. And then everywhere. Calluses paraded her skin then bubbled away. Feeling a stinging pain at the temple, she felt it with her index finger. But there was nothing there. Looking down… nothing. Being bodiless seemed bizarre, but there was also a sensation of being timeless — there was no other way to explain it.
Now the apparition appeared before her. Great wings rolled forward to encase her, creating a dome. She felt trapped, and it stank like a bird cage.
Mother, she breathed. But, she realised, she had never met her mother.
No, you have not, said the figure as if in reply. As it came forward, there was a comforting warmth. You still possess our memories that will aid you in the days to come. If you lead, we shall be your retinue.
There was the familiar scent of oak and palm oil, then.
Father?
The apparition took the shape of a tall Poban, covered in white fur. His kind countenance and deep, wise eyes looked upon her with affection. ‘My little Zov.’
Father! I’m finally here… with you! The wings that had arced around her disappeared, leaving behind a trail of falling feathers.
‘You were always here, Zov,’ his voice was firm, but polite. ‘But you are not where you think you are, child.’
She did not respond. Am I Zov? That little girl that grew up to become Captain of the Duskwatch. The abandoned half-Astraleid who pieced the puzzle of her life so haphazardly, that rather than building a castle on the clouds, the resulting structure pierced them, bringing black rain upon those who stood behind her. What choices lay before her now?
‘Do you remember everything I taught you?’
Of course not. You died when I was little. I remember nothing.
‘And that’s why I left others in charge. To teach what I could not.’ She instinctively knew that there was truth to his words. How else did she know so much about her father?
Father… I think… I’m sorry. I failed. Your Zov has ceased to exist.
‘No, child.’ This did not elevate her mood. She realised she felt nothing. In a void, in dark waters that felt thick as oil, she neither floated nor drowned. ‘This is genesis. To prepare you for the impending storm. This isn’t defeat. This… is not the end. Do you remember what I taught you, Zov? Defeat is a burden…’
…one must be acquainted with in order to persevere.
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