"Amil, pick yourself up."
Steel rang against steel as Amil hit the ground for
the fourth time. Dust rose around him. He groaned and rolled onto his back,
staring up at the orange-stained sky.
His brother stood over him, wooden practice blade
resting casually on his shoulder.
"If these were real blades, you'd be dead four times
in a row," he said calmly, running a hand through Amil's hair.
"Not like you'd allow that, older brother," Amil
grinned from the dirt.
A pause. His brother extended a hand and pulled him
up with effortless strength.
"You rely on me too much," he said.
Amil laughed. "But that's what older brothers are
for."
His brother withdrew his hand, letting Amil land
back on the ground. Then he bent, placing his hand lightly on Amil's head.
"An older brother is meant to hand you the sword—not
help you wield it."
He stood and watched as Amil struggled to rise.
"Dark times are coming, younger brother. I won't
always be here to protect you."
Those words echoed in Amil's mind now as he held her
lifeless body in his arms.
"Maya!!!" he screamed into the night. His tattoos
glowed faintly—unresponsive as he called for strength.
Two years ago, his older brother rode into battle in
cheers. The Zenin now had their equal and victory was certain—but Amil's older
brother never returned home.
Amil rushed home after the war, hoping to welcome
his brother back in victory, but the cost of triumph was higher than anyone
imagined. Instead of a celebratory welcome, Amil returned to the corpse of a
legend.
His older brother.
Umar Lynkwei. Heir to the Lynkwei, Chief Commanding
officer to the Konar Dynasty's royal army. A prodigy. A name now spoken in
reverence to victory over the Zemin War.
Umar taught Amil all he could, but some lessons
could only come from experience.
On the night of Umar's Ancestral send-off ceremony,
Amil stormed inside, furious at how cruel he now realized the world to be.
His father was killed in the Zemin War. Although he
did not gain victory, it fueled the Lynkwei to strive for triumph. A few years
later, victory was finally theirs, and the Dynasty would strive in peace—but at
a cost heavier than sorrow itself… his brother's own life.
"Arrg!" Amil screamed as he barreled into the
corridor, stopping at a mysterious vase.
"Fucking relics." In his rage, he smashed it against
the wall. Glass shattered, and from the pieces, a soft glow spiraled upward.
His eyes widened.
"Shit." Amil muttered, chasing it as it darted down
the hall. Faster. Higher. Until it disappeared beyond the library doors.
The library loomed ahead, filled with ancient tomes,
histories of their clan and dynasties. Amil had never cared to step
inside—until tonight and at this very hour.
The Ancestral send-off often takes place before
midnight, so at the stroke of twelve the deceased could perfectly align with
its ancestors. Beyond the walls, the chiefs and elders struggled to send Umar's
spirit away, but with every attempt it could not cross toward the ancestral
plain.
"The urn!" the oldest chief bellowed, and with that
the already darkened sky now raged with lightning and ear-splitting thunder.
The other chiefs elders looked at him blankly,
unsure what he meant but the storm intensified, striking fear into every one of
their hearts.
The oldest chief smiled faintly,. "The…awakening…"
his lips curled with something unreadable as he struggled to speak
"it has
begun."
The other elders tried to understand, their eyes
searching his face, but the oldest chief only breathed deeply, serene, before
his body slumped. His final words carried the weight of mystery, leaving the
others silent, uneasy beneath the storm's fury.
Deep in the building, Amil dove into the library,
searching frantically for the glowing object. Defeated, he turned to leave when
a deafening boom shook the room. Glass shelves exploded, books flying in a
violent swirl. The blast sent him sprawling to the floor.
Through the chaos, a book hovered above the
wreckage, illuminated from within. Bloodied, Amil climbed over rubble to reach
it. The book rose higher, and he slammed onto shards of glass, piercing his
skin.
The book landed gently on a table. Amil dragged
himself toward it, stretching a hand to open it. It unfurled violently, pages
ripping open in a blinding light. The wind that followed sent him crashing into
the wall and then the ground.
Amil grunted in pain when he heard the
disappointment in his brother's voice.
"Amil, what have you done?"