Zekar and his identical twin brother, Ryker, made their way through the thick forest on a journey toward the next tribe's land—Velanthri. The forest they traversed was wild and untamed, its ancient trees standing like silent sentinels, but the boys were never ones to fear. Especially Zekar, who was danger itself wrapped in human flesh. The eighteen-year-old thrived on living life at the edge of recklessness, where peril and thrill intertwined as one.
"I've told you a thousand times, let's get out of here, Zekar," the much calmer twin, Ryker, said in the Druvkaur language—a tongue known to have traveled far and wide across Varnathian. The language, called Drk, was so popular that people from other tribes often learned it simply for the sake of understanding the handsome, dark men of Druvkaur, whose voices carried both strength and allure.
Zekar waved his brother off as though he hadn't heard him—though he had, perfectly. They soon came to a stop where a massive tree had fallen across their path, its trunk split and scarred as though struck by unseen force. Zekar placed his hand on his waist as a grim expression crossed his dark, strikingly handsome features, his sharp gaze sweeping the scene.
"Kruun ve'shara thiir?"[1] He asked his brother.
"Naar volir, dra'khar. Dûr e'laan Velanthri?" [2]Ryker replied with a shake of his head, his voice steady. Though he shared the same features as Zekar, he carried a calmer presence, like still water beside a raging flame.
The twins were hardly taught English, as their parents had never learned it either. They had only picked up bits and pieces from a few friends who liked to show off their skill in the foreign tongue, treating it as a novelty rather than a necessity.
"Let's lift it," Zekar said in Drk. His brother nodded and joined him, stepping closer as Zekar tied his tousled black-brown hair into a rough ponytail, fingers moving with practiced ease.
While Zekar liked his hair long, wild, and unruly—much like his spirit—Ryker preferred his straight and short, neatly kept. That, and the small mole on Zekar's jaw, were the only things that truly set them apart to the untrained eye.
The two young men—though in the Empire of Varnathian, eighteen was already considered a man—slipped their hands beneath the fallen trunk and heaved it aside, muscles straining as they pushed it out of their way. They exhaled heavily, breath misting the cool forest air, and continued their journey toward Velanthri without further delay.
They spoke of many things in Drk as they walked, their voices low and familiar, spotting foxes and other harmless forest creatures that scattered at their approach. At last, they reached Gem Stream—a glittering current that marked the entrance to Velanthri. The Gem Stream was known as the gate of the tribe, its waters said to carry both beauty and warning.
By the time the twins arrived, it was early night—too late to return to Druvkaur, yet still light enough for them to see with their sharp dragon eyes. The Druvkaur were said to be descendants of dragons, possessing traces of their ancient magic—fire among them. Yet none had ever grown powerful enough to fully transform into a dragon. Those who tried, failed. Those who pushed too far, died, their ambition burning them from within.
As they approached the stream, the boys noticed a breathtaking figure bathing in the water, pale and luminous beneath the moon's glow. Zekar immediately turned away and covered his brother's eyes with his large, dark palm.
"Ve'thal e'lanthra thun!" — There's a girl in there! he whisper-yelled, his voice tense.
"Kah, vaar ven'drith ael marak'nith?!" — Then why are you covering my eyes?! Ryker whispered back, trying to peel his brother's hand off his face. But Zekar only tightened his grip, fingers firm and unyielding.
"She's bathing in the stream!" he hissed. Ryker sighed and scoffed beneath his breath.
"So you get to see her and I don't?"
He received a firm knock on the head for that comment, muttering an "Ow!" under his breath as he rubbed the spot.
"Fey'tal, kash mir'la katha. Mir'la tiir, va'kan! Vaal serin dra'kar khul." — Of course I'm not looking at her. I'm looking at you, fool! I have some decency as a man.
Zekar cleared his throat, though truthfully, he had already caught a glimpse of her fair white skin and flowing silver-white hair, glistening with water. He could even make out the freckles scattered across her body like constellations. It was not strange to say he had fallen in love already, or something dangerously close to it.
"She's done—she's putting on her clothes," he murmured, his tone quieter now.
"How do you know she's putting on her dress?" Ryker finally swatted his brother's hand away. "Because you were watching her, of course." He narrowed his eyes, and Zekar's awkward throat-clearing only proved him right.
"She beautiful," Ryker said in English, the words tumbling out awkwardly, rough with unfamiliarity.
"Indeed," Zekar replied, his gaze fixed ahead.
Neither realized that their steps had unconsciously drawn them closer to the girl, who was now finished dressing and gathering her belongings along the stream's edge. Like a predator drawn to its prey, Zekar moved toward her—just as she turned and saw him.
The sight of the towering figure before her—a young man with a wild mane and an aura of untamed power—made her gasp. A startled scream escaped her lips, sharp and piercing in the quiet night air.
[1] ENGLISH– What happened here?
[2] ENGLISH: Like I know, brother. Do I live in Velanthri?