Read Vera - The Forsaken Sun (vol 1) :: Day 3: What Is the Truth?

"What was that, Mother? Why didn’t he attack us? Why did he just... leave like that?" Helga’s voice trembled, confusion knotting her brows as she stared at the fading silhouettes of Mazzi and his riders vanishing into the horizon.

Catherine didn’t answer at first. A small, sharp smile curled her lips as the wind toyed with her silvery hair.

“He reacted... oddly the moment I accidentally mentioned Frook. That flicker in his eyes—rage giving way to panic—told me enough. So I tested him.” Her voice dropped, amused and calculating. “When I mentioned who we were seeking, his expression changed again. Terror. Pure terror. That boy knows exactly who we’re after. That’s why he abandoned the raid and ran ahead—to warn them.”

"In that case... Mazzi knows the woodcutter," Ceasar said grimly, "And he knows your brother."

"Do you think he knows my brother?" Helga asked, barely above a whisper.

"Possibly. Or maybe he just suspects," Catherine replied. Her tone sharpened. “Either way, if Mazzi reaches Frook before us, they might run. We can’t risk that.”

“Now? You want to move right now?” Jugo gawked.

“Yes, now,” Catherine snapped. “We must be there before him. Or everything we’ve done—this entire journey—will be for nothing.”

Ceasar straightened, his voice like steel. “You heard her Majesty! Pack everything. We leave for Frook this instant! Medics, tend the wounded in the cargo! Everyone else, move out!”

Meanwhile, racing across the high ridges—

Mazzi and his men thundered across the jagged terrain, heading for Frook with dust kicking up in spirals behind them.

“Mazzi,” Sicil called out from beside him, “why are they looking for your father and brother?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Mazzi growled. “But whatever it is, it’s not simple. The queen of Loistava doesn’t leave her palace just to play hide-and-seek with a woodcutter. Something’s up.”

At the same time, on the slope to Egur—

Banami and Vera loaded their goods onto their creaky donkey cart, preparing for market day.

“You didn’t see Aaron yesterday, right?” Vera asked, adjusting the ropes around the sacks.

“That punk?” Banami chuckled wearily. “Nope. He barely shows his face these days. Always hiding from trouble or chasing it—hard to tell which. His aunt’s looking after his sick grandmother. I gave her some food and coin. Hopefully, he stays away from Egur... they’ll hang him on sight.”

Vera fell silent. His hands hesitated over the cart’s edge.

If Banami hadn’t saved me... Aaron would still be here. He wouldn’t have become Mazzi. He’d be the one beside him now, loading the cart, selling incense. Not hiding in the shadows like I am. I ruined his life.

Vera stood silent lost in thoughts as Banami understood,

“Stop that,” Banami said without turning. “He didn’t become who he is because of you. He made his own choices. He fights for the people of Nek-asrof. That doesn’t make him wrong—it makes him dangerous, yes—but not broken. You’re not the cause, boy. Never were.”

As always, Banami’s words were warm—meant to comfort—but they couldn’t extinguish the guilt that burned inside me. The road stretched ahead, endless and hot, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t meant to be part of this world at all.

Earlier that morning—

“Mazzi, they’ve left for Egur. It’s market day,” Sicil called, standing at the threshold of Banami’s mountain cottage.

Mazzi scowled and kicked a nearby log. “Damn it! We need to find them before the queen does.”

He yanked his reins, swinging onto his horse.

“But Mazzi,” Sicil protested, “the horses are tired, and you’re wanted in Egur! We can’t just waltz in.”

Mazzi’s hands trembled on the reins, jaw clenched. “That old man’s gonna get Vera killed. What the hell did you do, Banami? Why would the former queen herself come crawling through the dirt to find you?”

His anger surged—he threw a clay pot at the stone wall and watched it shatter.

Xena dismounted nearby, her voice calm but cutting. “Your father might be many things, but not a man important enough to summon royalty. Unless... it’s not about your father.”

Mazzi turned slowly.

“It’s about your brother,” Xena said, eyes narrowing. “You told us Banami brought Vera home just after King Willard died, right? Always hidden, always blindfolded... What if Vera isn’t Banami’s son at all?”

Mazzi froze. The desert wind suddenly felt colder.

“What if he’s....? What if he’s the one the queen is here for?”

Sicil’s jaw dropped. “That would make him... a.....”

STOP - Mazzi’s head was spinning. No. No, it’s not possible.

Then—

A memory struck like lightning.

Vera, five years ago. The sun streaming through the cracked door of the cottage. Vera stepped out briefly to hand something to Mazzi. The wind caught his blindfold—and for a breathless second, gold. Bright and luminous. Mazzi had blinked and Banami had yanked Vera back inside, slamming the door without a word.

He never saw those eyes again. But the words Banami has told him later that day is clear now, "Aaron, you are the big brother here, if anything happenns to me, protect Vera. That boy has went through a lot, you be a brother to him when he needs you. I know he can make a change, for me, you and everyone here."

Mazzi’s fists clenched. “I knew something wasn’t right. I knew.”

“You okay?” Sicil asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Mazzi muttered. “He’s a pain in the ass. Quiet, stubborn, stupidly brave—but he’s my brother. Even if I can’t say it.”

He turned, fire burning behind his eyes. “Let’s ride.”

Earlier – Inside the Loistava Palace

The obsidian throne hall of Loistava stood cloaked in cold silence—until the heavy doors creaked open. A minister scurried in, bowing low before the monarch seated like a shadow beneath the golden sun crest.

“Your Majesty,” the minister began, voice trembling. “The spies from Utshani have reported… an unexpected movement. Catherine has left the palace.”

The goblet in Logan’s hand stilled mid-air. His sharp, angular face turned slowly toward the man, his dark brown hair cascading like the coiled tail of a beast. Those eyes—dark as obsidian and twice as cruel—narrowed. A chill passed through the court.

“What... did you say?” he whispered, voice like a knife in silk. “Say it again.”

“Catherine... her daughter Helga, Grand Cross Knight Ceasar Arkellis, and an armed escort—they’re traveling through Nek-asrof toward Egur.”

Logan rose, his long coat sweeping the marble floor. “Now? After all these years? What is she looking for…?”

The atmosphere thickened like a noose tightening. Whispers rippled through the nobles standing in line, but none dared meet his gaze.

“She’s searching for someone,” the minister added quickly. “The specifics are unclear, but her servants hinted at a search. For a person.”

A low, vicious laugh echoed through the hall. “How delightful,” Logan sneered, stepping off the dais. “Catherine finally crawls out of her tomb. Who could she be chasing with such desperation?”

At that moment, a tall young man stepped forward and knelt—ash-gray hair brushing his shoulder, steel-gray eyes unblinking.

“If it pleases Your Majesty,” he said, “allow me to follow them. I will uncover her objective—and ensure she doesn’t succeed.”

The courtiers murmured in shock.

“Marcus Trova? That bastard dares speak?”

“Unworthy blood. What’s he playing at?”

Logan eyed the young Duke of Ostrov with both irritation and amusement.

“Ahh… Marcus. Your father told me once that if you wanted a place in my kingdom, you'd have to show your true self. So prove it. Find out what that bitch is up to. But remember—your sister sleeps under my roof now. Tread carefully.”

Marcus bowed lower. “I offer my loyalty. I’ll be your blade in the sandstorm. Your teeth in the throat.”

Logan grinned. A sharp, hungry grin.

“Very well. Marcus Trova and his men shall track Catherine and report everything. And if you fail…” He didn't need to finish.

As Marcus departed, a tall, elderly man stepped forward—Nayogi Kao, first minister and a remnant of King Willard’s old court.

“My king,” he spoke in hushed tones, “he is Trova’s blood. We cannot trust him fully. And if Catherine truly seeks Raya’s so…”

Logan hurled the metal goblet—striking Nayogi hard enough to make him collapse to his knees.

“Do not say that name!” Logan thundered. “Do you think I don’t remember that boy? That cursed child? If he still breathes and she finds him first…”

His voice became a whisper of murder.

“Send the shadows. Trail Marcus. If they find him—slaughter them all.”

---

Present – Outside Frook Village

The heat had begun to rise, but the wind still whistled like a prophet through the dusty trees. The village of Frook lay eerily silent. Its people had left for Egur’s market day, unaware of the storm converging on their doorstep.

Mazzi stood by the entrance, arms crossed, a storm behind his sharp crimson eyes. Sicil and Xena flanked him, both uneasy.

“They’re almost here,” Xena murmured. “What now?”

“I don’t care about Catherine,” Mazzi muttered. “I don’t care about the royals, the throne, any of it. But if Banami’s been keeping secrets because of him… then I’ll finish what he started.”

“You still care,” Sicil said with a crooked grin. “You’re just bad at admitting it.”

Mazzi clicked his tongue. “Shut up.”

The carriages rolled into view, dust clouds trailing behind them. As they halted, Catherine emerged like a queen unbothered by sand or heat. Helga and Ceasar stepped down behind her.

“So our suspicions were correct,” Catherine said, voice as cool as ice. “You know the woodcutter we’re looking for.”

Mazzi offered a half-smile. “Unfortunately, there’s only one woodcutter in Frook. He happens to be my father. So yes. I do. And I’d think it’s only natural to protect my family when strangers with swords come knocking.”

Helga stepped forward, her gaze unflinching. “We’re not here for your father.”

Catherine’s smile sharpened like a dagger.

“We’re looking for someone younger. Seventeen, perhaps. Someone pretending to be blind, hiding eyes that burn like gold beneath a rag.”

She paused, then delivered the name like a curse and a prophecy in one.

“Vera”

Silence descended like a thunderclap.

Mazzi’s mouth parted—but no words came. Sicil's hand gripped his sword. Xena inhaled sharply.

Even the wind seemed to still.

Mazzi stood frozen, fists trembling. That brat… that quiet kid... is he really—

Helga stepped closer. “Mazzi,” she said gently, “will you speak the truth now?”