#batuhan kharlu

[sea-and-storm]

🤡 - What’s something dumb they’re embarrassed about?

It took me entirely too long to think of an answer for this one but when it hit me, I cackled.

Whenever Ghoa thinks about the end of her night after Nabi's Nameday get together with the gang, she can't help but wish the ground would open up beneath her and swallow her whole.

There she is, trundling into Nabi's clinic in the middle of the night with a half-full bottle in one hand and already having lost a shoe somewhere along the way - a hot damn mess barely managing to stand on her own two feet. And with the realization that her inn room is impossibly far away, she decides that there is a perfectly serviceable bed right here.. That it's already occupied is of little consequence in her inebriated state.

The details are fuzzy from her drunken stupor. She doesn't remember if Batu said anything as she plopped herself unceremoniously down onto the cot next to him, pushing him over to make a spot for herself. And she certainly doesn't remember anything after that, though from past experiences.. the poor Kharlu probably didn't get much rest that night for her tossing and turning and flailing of arms, legs, and tail.

The only thing she does remember is waking up the next morning with no idea of where she was at, head pounding, clothes and hair a mess, and sicker than a dog. When she finally realized where she was and that she wasn't alone, that's when she scrambled from the bed in a mad dash for one of Nabi's hangover curatives before she hurled - whether from the alcohol or embarrassment, it's impossible to tell. Probably both.

Though Ghoa is exceedingly glad and relieved that Batu managed to get his memories back after they were taken from him, a small part of her hopes that maybe, just maybe.. that one didn't come back.

[afreesworn]

3: Muster

“Seriously? Her?”

Shael’s incredulous question was probably on everyone’s minds, they were just not giving voice to it. At least, that was what Nabi assumed. But as silence started to settle in rather awkwardly amongst them all, Nabi was starting to question her own idea.

It was a strange notion to begin with, that this extra credit club— it was a nice way of saying detention class — showcase their own talents with an act in the spring festival. It was teacher Batu’s idea, to draw more attention to their strategy based dice game that, surprisingly, had captured the interest of everyone in the group. While it was a learning curve for everyone, since they started this exercise, everyone who had rolled up a character began to attend the after school sessions faithfully. Even Ghoa, who feigned disinterest at the start, started to show up with her own personalized jeweled dice with a decorated case for it, that even had her own initials carved into it.

“What? If I am going to play, I am going to play in style,” the Mankhad purred. “I know these beauties will bring me luck.”

Shael rolled her eyes at her, but Nabi caught her arching her brows when Ghoa’s first few rolls were in the high teens. A few days later, Shael too showed up with her own set of steel etched dice, that she proudly told Nabi she won in a game.

Jude only snorted his disdain at the notion of spending any money on something they were forced to do for school credit, but when the game began, Nabi noticed his intense concentration and focus. He wanted to win, and was not shy about pointing out errors that others were making.

He was the first to scoff at Nabi when she consciously made a decision that didn’t favor the party. “But… my character likes animals! She wouldn’t want them hurt!” Nabi explained. Surprisingly, she expected more derision from him, but when their teacher gave her extra points for staying faithful to one of her character “traits”, everyone took note, reviewing their own character’s flaws and inclinations. Jude said nothing else on the matter, and Ghoa started to make extra effort in bringing to life her own character’s lively persona. 

Nabi couldn’t say the party’s quest went smoothly always; it was a mixed bag of mistakes, hard-earned lessons, and surprises. But when they achieved victory over an opponent while also learning more about each other’s characters, none could deny the air of satisfaction that lifted them all.

Except Pjel. The viera maintained her stoic silence. She made her moves on the board without any fanfare, and her character being mute, she stuck to that trait religiously. She never spoke a word, in character or out. But her rolls were impeccable and she was fearless in battle. There was no doubt that the group could not have succeeded without her.

Nabi was still unsure her reason for being in detention, whether she missed classes, had a failing grade, or if it was for other disciplinary reasons. Every time she tried to strike up a conversation with Pjel, she was just met with silence and a blank stare.

So when teacher Batu put on the group their next task, to put together an act at the spring festival, everyone stared at him dumbfounded. Ghoa laughed bemusedly, while Shael rolled her eyes again. Jude muttered and Pjel, as usual, said nothing on the matter.  But once the session was over and their teacher left them to their own devices, protests and gripes began to rumble amongst them.

That’s when Nabi injected the idea about performing a song. 

“What… like a band?” Shael snorted out loud. 

“Wh-why not?” Nabi blinked, eyes wide. “You play in a band, the bass guitar right?”

The Highlander immediately narrowed her eyes, as if warning not to share too much. “Yeah well… we broke up a few months back.”

“A ridiculous idea,” Ghoa hummed. “I can’t imagine doing death metal or whatever you call music.”

“You have a lovely singing voice, Ghoa!” Nabi quickly interjected before Shael retorted back at the Mankhad. “I heard you at the last Starlight festival.”

“Oh… that!” Ghoa waved her off with a chuckle, but her smile widened. “That wasn’t even my best. You should see some of my posts on--”

“Yer actually serious,” Shael cut her off, staring at Nabi. “Ya can’t just wave yer hand and put a band together. Okay so ya got a bass and singer. Ya need drums and lead guitar and--”

Shael was interrupted yet again when sounds of tapping drew all of their attention. Pjel was tapping her feet and gloved hands were percussing over the edge of the table. And as they all stared in disbelief, the viera proceeded to slap and bang on the wooden table, the plastic chair and the floor with her hands and feet. And the rhythm that was starting to fill the room, it made Nabi grin horn to horn.

“Seriously? Her?”

Nabi shrugged exaggeratedly at Shael, looking both surprised and delighted. “We have… our drummer!” She laughed with a sweep of her hand at Pjel. 

“Pfttt.” Shael threw her hands in the air. “Well, none o’ that be of any use unless ya got a lead guitar.” 

Nabi chewed her lips and started to look around the room. 

“Well, no way we can count on him,” Ghoa groaned, rolling her eyes at the door. Jude had already left, he never lingered long after these sessions were over. Nabi knew not where he had to go, but he always left in a hurry. “Besides, I doubt the likes of him knows a thing about carrying a tune or holding anything other than a knife or a bottle of booze.”

“The idea was ridiculous, anyroad,” Shael added, gathering her bag. “No way we can muster a band together.” She tutted with a frown. “It’s just one of teacher’s crazy ideas. Again.” She started out the door.

Nabi sighed, her shoulders sinking. And as everyone else started to leave the classroom, she hurriedly picked up her own books and followed. 

But the idea refused to leave her.

[sentryandco]

#1: Crux

For as long as he could remember, Arasen knew he was destined for something important. He had prepared himself for it. He had prayed to the gods that when the time came, he would be worthy of the path that would reveal itself to him.

Then when the horrific visions came of the futures that could be, Arasen was nearly undone by the terrors that visited him every time he closed his eyes. But he didn’t bemoan that the gift of Sight was truly just a curse that no longer allowed him to see beyond the suffering that lay ahead. Instead, he persevered, escaping the precipice of insanity from the sleepiness nights and overwhelming despair. He had to learn that compassion and mercy had no place in his life, for if he was to walk the path that would lead to the salvation of all, he couldn’t afford any distractions that could detract him from his goal. He would fulfill his duty by any means necessary, truthfulness and happiness be damned.

And now, within the bowels of the earth beneath the ancient ruins that held powers capable of granting his ultimate wish, it was here that Arasen saw his destiny. This was where his years of torment and nightmares would end, where the prophecy of the Lost Daughter would be finally fulfilled.

Only, there were two paths that await him.

The first choice was the obvious one. It was what he had been working for, his years of machinations finally bearing fruit. The Lost Daughter had been found, and she had been brought to the altar of the ancients, where her blood and soul would give life to the god that slept. He needed only to nudge the tides of battle in favor of the black irises, so that they would take what is rightfully theirs, and awaken the nameless entity that slumbered beneath the mountain.

It should have been an easy decision. All those years he had labored, deceiving everyone, hardening his heart, and damning his soul, what was it for if not for this moment? 

And yet, it had been a journey of solitude. None else had walked this path with him, only the crushing weight of the foreboding knowledge was his companion.

But somewhere along the way, he saw the Lost Daughter for more than just the ends to his means. Nabi was warm and full of life. She was so eager to share her joy but also too generous in her mercy. Even after finding out about his machinations, she forgave him, and even offered him a second chance. But he should have expected that. The sacrifice had to be worthy of the greatness that awaited.

What surprised him, however, was the flawed and unworthy companions his cousin had around her. Arasen had long come to accept that the rest of the world was tainted. It was because of the imperfections, the hubris and greed in people’s hearts, that allowed for so much suffering to exist in the first place. And that was initially what he saw in everyone that Nabi called her friends and family.

Arasen had no hesitation in lying to them, using them, and manipulating them. He was certain a few of them would have to die, even if by his own hands. So then, why was he fighting by their side now?

Stormchild was easy to figure out, but dangerous to scheme around. A cold-hearted killer, whenever she threatened to take his life, Arasen had no doubt she would carry it through. But she held her hand, and risked much, including her own life, for the sake of his cousin. 

Then there was Saltborn. Quick of temper with a sour disposition, the hyur took a disliking to him immediately. Arasen was certain the Confederate had to die, for he was closest to Nabi, and the strongest obstacle in his way. Arasen had even put a blade to his throat, fully intent on killing him.

But in a twist of fate, Saltborn instead saved Arasen from drowning beneath the tumultuous sea, and even forfeited his chances to kill him outright, when more than a few opportunities were laid at his feet. With much reluctance, the hyur spared the Kharlu, even after fully remembering all the pain that the Xaela had caused him. All because of the slim chance that Arasen could now save Nabi from her fate. Arasen knew full well that he would not be here, if it wasn’t for Saltborn.

Then there was Ghoa. She was most like him, with her honeyed tongue and selfish motivations. And initially, whenever she extended a hand of friendship towards him, Arasen thought it much like his own incentive, to keep everyone close and yet at a distance, to watch them and discern their weaknesses. Enthralling her was an absolute necessity. But Arasen soon realized just how easy it turned out to be. Was it because she loved Batuhan that she assumed the best of him as well? Arasen could not deny that Batu’s fondness for the Mankhad may have softened his own disposition towards her. But that did not stop him from using his blood magic to tug on the woman’s thoughts, turning them to his own favor. 

But to his surprise, when faced with a great need, Ghoa offered something of herself, without any manipulation on his part. A schemer caring for the sake of others. That caught him off guard. But moreso, it reminded him that he too had such good intentions, at the very start of his own journey. So when had things gotten so warped?

It was because of all of them that he was even giving this second choice a thought. 

As Arasen stared up at the colossal darkness that loomed before them all, he reminded himself of the pure idea that began his journey. The prophecy had been about salvation and sacrifice. But what he hadn’t realized until now, was that somewhere within it all, was also a thread of hope. Of an impossible dream that could be realized if one was willing to give all they had for the sake of others.

Arasen touched his chest for the rune that was etched there, a tactile reminder of his childhood promise and his bond. Of his original ideals. To choose the second path would be to break the enchantment upon Ghoa. To return to Batu all that Arasen had taken from him. He would be severing his bonds with all of them. A wash of loneliness returned to him, but with it a sense of contentment. He wasn’t following Chanai and Siban’s designs, he wasn’t being driven by visions of death. The path he chose now was for hope, and a future of happiness, not for himself, but for others.

He would prove himself worthy.

[r2ruen]

C&F: Flower Arc

Featuring: @shaelstormchild [Shael Stormchild], @sentryandco [Batuhan Kharlu] and The Dickhole [Arasen Kharlu], @afreesworn [Nabi Kharlu], @anchor-management [Anchor Saltborn], and @jaliqai-and-company [Ghoa Mankhad]

This was. Quite the project. But! I adore these characters and the stories weaved by not only the very talented DM (or whatever an rp equivalent would be called) @sentryandco​ who is the mind behind our current antagonist and some of the most bestest beloved “NPC” characters--i hesitate to even call them that (shoutout to Batu and wherever you are Myuto), but also all the flavor added on top of that of everyone's character’s individual stories and personalities I get to see unravel as time goes on. I always get inspired to do like... poster style Chapter/Arc pics in the past, but have never tackled one. AND SO I FIX THAT TODAY.

So this is dedicated to all of them and the current Arc. And also as thanks to you-know-who-you-are. 

So thank you. 

[sea-and-storm]

CIGARETTES & FIREFLIES DRABBLE MASTERPOST -- - -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

FIGHTING PITS ARC -- -

TOO LITTLE - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Nabi Kharlu, Elam Grave, Lehko'a Nhali.

TOO LATE - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Nabi Kharlu, Elam Grave.

EXPECTING THE WORST - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Elam Grave, Nabi Kharlu.

CROWDS - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Elam Grave.

THE PACKAGE - Hisanobu's Perspective MENTIONS: Hisanobu Mifune, Saya Mifune, Ghoa Mankhad.

GARDENIA - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Hisanobu Mifune, Saya Mifune, Elam Grave.

WEAKNESSES - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Elam Grave, Hisanobu Mifune, Nabi Kharlu, Anchor Saltborn.

DEAREST NABI - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Nabi Kharlu, Elam Grave.

INDISPENSIBLE - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Elam Grave, Nabi Kharlu, Anchor Saltborn.

OPPORTUNITY - Saya's Perspective MENTIONS: Saya Mifune, Hisanobu Mifune, Ghoa Mankhad.

DOUBLE OR NOTHING - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Elam Grave, Nei Uzuka, Saya Mifune, Shael Stormchild.

ESCAPE - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Elam Grave, Nei Uzuka, Musa, Hikomoro, Nabi Kharlu, Anchor Saltborn, Shael Stormchild, Tserende Valqirelle.

NEVER BEEN BETTER - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Lehko'a Nhali, Elam Grave.

FAREWELLS, PT. 1 - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Nabi Kharlu, Elam Grave.

FAREWELLS, PT. 2 - Saya's Perspective MENTIONS: Saya Mifune, Hisanobu Mifune, Ghoa Mankhad, Elam Grave, Nei Uzuka.

FAREWELLS, PT. 3 - Hisanobu's Perspective MENTIONS: Hisanobu Mifune, Saya Mifune, Ghoa Mankhad.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

FLOWER ARC -- -

LUCKY - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Lehko'a Nhali, Batuhan Kharlu.

PROOF - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Akhutai Khatayin, Arasen Kharlu, Batuhan Kharlu, Nabi Kharlu, Bayanbataar Kharlu.

NIGHTMARE (TW) - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Lehko'a Nhali, Ino Ghostwalker, Batuhan Kharlu, Nabi Kharlu, Anchor Saltborn, Shael Stormchild, Bayanbataar Kharlu.

COMFORT (TW) - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Lehko'a Nhali, Nabi Kharlu, Batuhan Kharlu, Anchor Saltborn, Shael Stormchild, Otsuyu.

STARLIGHT - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Shael Stormchild, Anchor Saltborn, Batuhan Kharlu, Nabi Kharlu.

FAVOR (TW) - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Lehko'a Nhali, Arasen Kharlu, Nabi Kharlu, Tugan Kharlu, Bayanbataar Kharlu.

BENEATH THE WAVES - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Arasen Kharlu, Anchor Saltborn, Batuhan Kharlu, Nabi Kharlu, Shael Stormchild.

CRUX (TW) - Arukh's Perspective MENTIONS: Arukh Mankhad, Ambaghai Mankhad, Ibakha Mankhad, Ghoa Mankhad, Chakha Kharlu.

MUSTER - Arukh's Perspective MENTIONS: Arukh Mankhad, Ghoa Mankhad.

SWAY - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Arasen Kharlu, Batuhan Kharlu.

ANSWERS - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Arukh Mankhad, Ibakha Mankhad, Ambaghai Mankhad, Unegen Mankhad, Galdan Kharlu, Tseren Kharlu, Maa Kharlu, Chakha Kharlu.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

CORRUPTION ARC -- -

REFLECTIONS - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Arukh Mankhad, Ibakha Mankhad, Ambaghai Mankhad, Unegen Mankhad, Arasen Kharlu, Batuhan Kharlu.

NOSTALGIA - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Anchor Saltborn, Naseem Malakar, Farrah Malakar, Bashir Malakar, Leila Malakar.

MISTAKES WERE MADE - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Nabi Kharlu, Egil Nylor, Estrid Nylor.

CROSS - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Nabi Kharlu, Egil Nylor, Estrid Nylor, Luri Kai.

CHANNEL - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Luri Kai, Nabi Kharlu, Estrid Nylor, Egil Nylor, Anchor Saltborn, Shael Stormchild.

YAWN - Ghoa's Perspective MENTIONS: Ghoa Mankhad, Luri Kai, Nabi Kharlu, Egil Nylor, Estrid Nylor.

[sea-and-storm]

REFLECTIONS || A Drabble..

Ghoa's eyes land upon the glowing evening horizon from the high-rising stone pedestals and bridges of Limsa Lominsa, and instantly her mind has wandered just as far from her present. 

It drifts from those near that walk Eorzean soil alongside her now, and rather ventures out to those who tread much more distant lands. It's been some time now since last she saw their faces;  for some, that time has stretched far longer than mere moons. But despite the time and the malms that separate them now, thoughts of them come to her now as if they stand right beside her. 

:readmore:

First, her mind flits to Arukh. The brother she never knew she had, but who had apparently watched over her as best he could whilst their paths did intertwine with one another. There's a twinge of regret that lies buried in her chest even now, that she had declined his offer to return to Kugane back with her once the ruins had been set to rest. Even more, that regret gives birth to guilt, that she would ever even consider tearing him away from those he so obviously cared about. 

She wonders how he's been in the time since they parted. Does he think upon her in moments of quiet reflection, just like this, and feel the same long overdue joy and relief at finally having been able to know one another? She hopes so, just the same as she hopes that those thoughts of her don't take away from his living of the present and the enjoyment of the love that surrounds him. After all, they're of the same blood, and she knows how wont she herself is to looking back to the past and asking, "But should I have…?".

And with the thought of kinship, so does her mind wander again. Their names are Ambaghai and Ibakha, and there's still a nervous eagerness that swells like a rising tide within her when she thinks of them. The parents that she never met -- not truly, anyroad -- and whom had apparently never stopped loving her even long after a much younger Ghoa had resolved that their absence proved their apathy. 

She hopes that the day will come soon when she will be able to meet them and know them. Arukh had told her once that her absence in their lives had left their once vibrant mother heartbroken and their once warm father cold and distant. She wonders now if the message that she had sent along with her brother to them had helped begin to stitch together the pieces of Ibakha's broken heart and to rekindle the lost warmth within Ambaghai. "One day when it is safe, I will return to you," she had asked Arukh to tell them. "Until then, know that you are never far from my mind nor heart."

But theirs was not the only message she had asked her kin to relay in her stead, and it is to that recipient that her train of thought wanders next. When Arukh had told her that Elder Unegen still lived, Ghoa had felt a weight lift upon her shoulders that she had nary been aware of its existence. She thinks back again now to the last words they exchanged before and feels heat rise to her cheeks. Yet it isn't anger that slights them now, but regrets. She had begged and pleaded with Unegen to intercede when the Kharlu had chosen her, and when she had refused, Ghoa had hurled vile accusations of betrayal at her -- and Unegen had remained somberly silent through the barbs and jabs that her young apprentice had inflicted upon her. 

"Tell her that I understand why now," Ghoa had asked Arukh to relay to the now elderly shaman. "That I know she was faced with an impossible choice, and I no longer blame her for the decision she made to keep the tribe safe." Much more quietly, she had added, "And tell her that I am sorry I ever doubted her love."

Her brow furrows at the recollection and she lowers her head, words of quiet prayer on her lips that have become all the more common these days. She beseeches the Storm, the Sea, the Dusk Mother and any other gods that might lend a listening ear to help those trying to bring peace to the coastlands so that she might one day soon be able to make that apology again in person as her mentor deserves.

Peace. That word again sets her thoughts to wing, and this time they land on a man for whom her emotions are yet still conflicted. Ghoa has yet to truly forgive Arasen for what he had done to her, bending her will under his thumb without her knowledge. The feeling of betrayal still coils like a venomous serpent in the pit of her gut, threatening to strike with fangs bared if she draws too close. Normally, this feeling is enough for her to recoil, to keep a safe distance from those uncomfortable thoughts. But today, she dares to venture closer.

Last she saw the Kharlu shaman, he seemed but moments from crumbling under the weight of all his careful machinations now collapsed upon his already heavy shoulders. And despite the anger that wells within her when she thinks back to what he has done to her and those she cares for, alongside it also rises a thread of well-meaning concern. She hopes that Arasen still remains upright despite that undoubtedly crushing weight;  more than that, she hopes that it might even become lighter in time if he only just allows others around him to help share his burdens. In that particular stubbornness of his, Ghoa has seen herself and she knows just the same the freeing lightness that comes when one no longer feels that they are alone in their trials.

Maybe, she thinks now, she might be closer to forgiving him for his trespasses against her than she thought she was previously.

Yet there is more forgiveness than hers than Arasen ought seek, not least among them being that of the man to whom her thoughts now inevitably turn as they often do in quiet, thoughtful moments like this. Batuhan was subjected to a far worse betrayal than she, as Arasen was anything but a brother to her. In the wake of all that had happened, the hurt and disappointment that the older Kharlu had felt was obvious to her. It hurts her heart now just as much as it did then to think upon it, and she can only hope that one day the trust and love between them might be restored. For both of their sakes. 

But more than his relationship with his ward, Ghoa worries more for the warden himself. She had left him clear instruction that he was to take care of himself in her absence. Was he? He had promised her he would, and she knows that Batu is anything but the type to break his word. Yet even if he does keep his word to her, as she is sure he will, there's always a niggling fear in the back of her mind wont to remind her of the dangerous game that he and the others play in their efforts to see peace return to the coastlands. Perhaps that is truly the hardest part of this separation, she realizes now, knowing that even the most fervent promises are not always strong enough armor against the dangers of life itself.

But she breathes deep, holding the briny sea air within her lungs for a long moment before she lets it go slowly. With it, she releases the fear and uncertainty; for the time being, at least. As she ever has to remind herself when her thoughts wander here, all she can do is have faith: in Batuhan's promise to her, in the friends and allies that surround him, and to the gods that hear her quiet prayers to keep not only him but all others near to her heart safe and happy in her absence. 

It's another of these pleas that Ghoa finds herself uttering quietly to herself. When it ceases, her silver gaze once more focuses upon the sunset-stained horizon before her rather than thousands of malms away to the Steppe beyond it. 

And she smiles in contented peace, the corners of her eyes wrinkling in mirth, as she wonders if any of those whom cross her mind are now standing at the sea's far edge thinking of her, too. 

[afreesworn]

1: Crux

“It started with me… so… if I can end it… with me… then…”

Those were her own words. Beneath that mountain. 

It seemed a lifetime ago, when in truth only a few winters had passed, when Nabi was willing to give her life to save another.

The decision wasn’t an easy one, by no means. As matter of fact, when she believed it was the only option left to her, it scared her to the core to accept it. But accept it, she did. What was the worth of her life, anyroad? Her suns were simple, selling herbs and medicines to strangers. She never struggled to survive, she had known no hardship. She held no position of import and there wasn’t some great ambition she looked to achieve. But there were others, like her mother, who had sacrificed so much, so that Nabi could lead a normal life. Anchor had traded his freedom for hers, willingly accepting his lot to fight to the death in a blood soaked arena, so that she could return to her aunt and uncle, minding the herbal stand in the Rakuza District.

There was nothing so important about her, that it was worth another man’s sacrifice. Nabi couldn’t accept it. It was more than fair to give back to that trade. For a man who had struggled and fought so hard for what he had, Anchor surely deserved his more.

But since their escape and starting their new life together, that outlook began to change. 

Nabi came to know Anchor, the dark sides of him, his losses, and his grief. And somewhere along the way, she made a promise to herself that she would never leave Anchor alone in this world. He had lost those who were precious to him, and she had come to learn the steep price of that loss. It left him with a deep festering wound, one that had yet to heal. So simply doing all she could to make sure he lived, was not enough for her. Not any more.

And yet, those words returned to her once again, as countless vines and roots reached for her. How appropriate they sounded to her now. More than ever. The reason they were all here, in this dark place beneath the ruins where no sunlight ever touched, surrounded by the mythical flowers that foretold her own birth, it was because of her. It did start with her. And all the tribulations they had endured, it could end with her.

But now, those words no longer belonged to her. 

It wasn’t just the promise. Nabi had learned what it meant to stand her ground, fight for those she loved. She watched them grit their teeth and bear the pain, so that they could continue to struggle onward. Anchor did this every sun, fighting his pain, fighting his sorrow, fighting his guilt to push forward.

Ghoa somehow smiled, genuinely so, despite all the hardships that were forced on her, by the Kharlu no less, and accepted Nabi as her kin. She opened her heart to Batuhan, who belonged to the very tribe that took the Mankhad forcibly from her home. Ghoa showed Nabi what it meant to face the hardships, and rather than succumbing to it, find a way to forge a new life past it.

“We almost lost ya then,” Shael’s voice echoed in the back of her mind. “I ain’t lettin’ ya do that again.” Nabi could almost feel the woman’s whisper brushing against her locks. “Ya hear?”

Nabi knew, if she just surrendered herself to what the generations before her expected of her, then Shael would be absolutely furious. Probably even more than Anchor. That scared her a little. And Nabi was just starting to see the Highlander smirk and grin a bit more freely of late. Tserende’s departure did hurt the hyur, that much was obvious, so Nabi couldn’t do that again to her friend. Like Anchor, Shael had lost everyone else she had loved in her life. 

Besides, Nabi also promised herself to one day see all of them become friends with one another.

So there would be no surrender. No sacrifice. Nabi refused. She could not leave them. She didn’t want to. And deep down, she knew it was for herself too. Mayhaps, she wasn’t as selfless as her cousin thought her to be.

Nabi clasped the butterfly charm to her chest and closed her eyes, focusing on the aether around her. The sorrow and hunger were so prevalent in these black flowers. But she knew, like all other times of hopelessness, it wasn’t absolute. It couldn’t be. So she would show them what it would mean, to endure. To not just accept one’s fate. And push past. To see the light and possibilities beyond.

She heard the small bell of her charm let out a single note, before the wave of dark flora crashed into her.

[sea-and-storm]

YOUR 'OH' MOMENT || Ghoa Mankhad

THE KISS . .

You typically wait until the last second to believe the truth because it would destroy you to believe it and then find out it was a lie. You are someone who has never wanted to want, but has rarely been able to do anything else. The idea that you might have to break down your walls for the sake of someone else, someone who could easily decide they don't like what is on the other side, is harrowing. Why let people get close enough to be rejected? You are enough for yourself... and you will tell yourself that every time you catch yourself staring at their mouth, smirking at their joke, finding a reason to flick their shoulder.

Until the kiss. That's when the flood of want, want, want bowls over you and you realize that you are torn between two ways of living. Oh, you think, because despite how complicated you have made it, the moment you kiss, somehow, things seem incredibly simple. They won't be once you start thinking again, but for now, for this moment, you live in the quiet peace of revelation. Oh.

TAGGED BY . . my fellow feels junkie @afreesworn!

TAGGING . . Everyone, because I'm too friggin' lazy to do my tags!

>> QUIZ HERE! <<

[sea-and-storm]

FFXIV WRITE 202O: Sway (#2)

"My final command:  do everything you can to get Batu out of here. Do not let him come for me, no matter what."

Arasen's words almost seemed to echo within Ghoa's mind as they were spoken aloud, and with their reverberation awoke no small number of questions within her. What did he mean by 'his final command'? When had he ever commanded her before? And why did part of her, buried deep down inside, feel like it already intuitively knew the answer to those very questions despite having no explanation for them?

Confusion was plainly written across her face as she stared back at him, searching for answers. But right there on its heels was a compulsion to follow his words, even despite her questioning of the peculiar sway they held upon her. And as he released her arm from his urgent grasp, in spite of the sinking feeling settling like a stone at the pit of her stomach, she made no move to interfere as he began tracing the rune in the air and muttering the arcane words that activated it.

That dread of his intentions came true but a moment later once his form disappeared, and in its place Batuhan had been pulled from the cocoon of oppressive darkness that had swallowed him whole. The older Kharlu she gave but a quick look-over, to make certain that he was still hale and whole. Yet her thanks for the gods that he was would have to wait as she turned back to face the roiling darkness that lay outside the shield of light that protected them. In particular, to the concentrated mass of darkness where she all but knew that Arasen now lie in his warden's place.

Only then did a sudden and lightning quick flash of memory break through to the front of her mind, fuzzy and lacking detail. Blood, and a finger curiously dragging across her palm as it was tended to. A subtle push to use her own swaying power upon Nabi. A hand on her arm as if to convey trust and safety as secrets she had sworn to speak to no one were coaxed from her lips. And a face that featured in them all, with those flashing golden eyes.

A shaking exhale left her in a soft curse, both at the memories and at the sight before her. Indeed, it sparked anger within her like a bolt of lightning amongst dry grasses, quickly setting it aflame. Yet still, she couldn't find it in herself to be at peace with allowing him to be taken by the shadowy colossus that sought to pull him into its heart. No matter his transgressions against her, no one deserved the fate of being swallowed up whole by pain and fear and hate. And though it was perhaps a selfish thought, his perishing here would be one final injury to suffer by denying her her rightful catharsis of confrontation. 

The seething anger did not fade then, but merely changed direction. Silver eyes narrowed upon the beast they all now faced, and static began to crackle in the air around her as she once more brought up her hand to lash out towards it. 

If it wanted Arasen so badly, then it would have to fight her for him and she was newly determined not to lose.

[sentryandco]

#6: Deliverance

“He’s so young, but so focused.”

“I hear his gift of Sight was most distressing.”

“I know it is usually an ordeal, but I’ve never heard it driving someone mad.”

“Mayhap the boy’s father is right. That he is cursed. His mother died so young, after all.”

Arasen thought he was dreaming at first, the way the different murmurs flitted through his consciousness. He recognized their words but not their voices. He’d heard such sentiments before, throughout his childhood, after he had recovered from his ‘illness’ under Siban’s care. After a while, they started to seed his own mind, and he too came to wonder if he had been blighted by the gods. He had always thought the opposite. For as long as he could remember, he was always staring at the light of the heavens, looking to the horizon. He knew there was something more. Something he wanted to reach for, but never quite knowing what that was.

But bereft of his parent’s love and shunned by most of the tribe, the only constant in his life was his teacher and his faith.

And his warden. 

Batuhan was the singular presence in his life who Arasen knew without a shred of a doubt, that the older Xaela cared for him. Loved him. Believed him and trusted him. Batu had seen something in him as a child, swore a blood oath to protect him for all his life, and even after the nightmarish visions visited the youth, Batu remained steadfast in his devotion to the boy.

Tugan and Siban tried to sever that bond, the former because he thought it useless and a waste of a formidable warrior’s time, and the latter, for reasons that were unknown. But Batu somehow managed to keep watch over Arasen throughout the years. And just the knowledge of his proximity and loyalty, comforted the youth in his loneliness. 

“The gift is not the fault of the boy,” Arasen heard another voice, and this one he recognized. While Siban’s tone always held composure of aged wisdom, it was Chanai’s that always enticed him with a hint of warmth and reassurance. He had always watched his aunt from a far, admired her, for she had only shown compassion for those she mended. But to him, there was a palpable distance. And an air of sadness whenever she looked upon him. But he distinctly remembered her coming to his defense when many other wives gossiped ill about him.

“It is a burden that was placed upon him. And the fact that he wasn’t driven mad by it, it is a testament to his strength. There were those far older and greater in power, who succumbed to it and was driven insane. Who committed atrocious crimes. That threw us back into war.”

When Arasen heard this as a youth, he didn’t understand all that Chanai was saying. She had spoken to others, then argued the same point with Siban. About some mistake they had made, how they had cursed innocents. The woman whose golden gaze held only kindness and warmth, now sounded furious as she railed against their mentor.

It was that night, after Arasen had heard Chanai and Siban argue, that his aunt was summoned to an audience with his father. And after that conversation, Chanai disappeared, with his cousin in tow, into the night.

Why were these things returning to him now of all times? 

Then Arasen remembered. He had used the rune of binding to trade places with Batu. His warden had become ensnared in the colossus’ rolling miasma of nightmares, and was being drawn into its black pit. He was now where Batu had been, within the tangled coils of shadows, bound within the cursed roots of the black irises.

He couldn’t move. He felt his heart race, and he wanted to tear free from what was holding him down, but his body would not obey. His limbs remained leaden, and he felt the chilled fingers of cursed flora as they climbed along his neck and cheeks, coiling over his horn and digging into his scales. 

And as they did so, more whispers of the past seeped into his senses. These ancient flowers bore witness to generations of war and violence. Were they now revealing to him his part in it all? In trade for his life, were they granting him the truths he sought? 

“Infantcide!” Chanai seethed. “That is what relit the fires that continue to burn and destroy us today! To think… I was no better! I am the same! All of us given visions that make us believe that sacrifice of one for the good of all is justified!” Her voice broke. “She is innocent! They all were!”

Arasen saw himself right back in that moment, listening just outside, his hands shaking as it held to the leather hide of the yurt. What little he could peek inside through the seams, he saw Siban remaining silent, her eyes closed. Arasen watched as Chanai glared at the old udgan, before turning around and storming out. 

But what his young self failed to comprehend then, Arasen fully understood now, sinking within the depths of the nightmare’s embrace. In seeking to stop the violence, the seers had committed atrocities. And in the name of peace, they took the lives of innocents. Driven by voices and visions of their Sight, they believed wholeheartedly that it was their calling.

Until Chanai broke its hold over her.

And somehow, Arasen did too, albeit much too late. But now this was his choice. To gladly give his life so that Batuhan and his cousin could survive. So that good people may go on, and those that caused suffering pay the price. 

It felt right and just. Arasen held onto that feeling so desperately, as despair and dread began to claw deeper into his mind, the grip of the plants becoming tighter around his throat, its branches crawling into his nostrils. A deep chill started to raise goosebumps along his skin, causing a shudder from within.

That was when a shimmer of gold began to pierce the dark all around him, the braids of vines being ripped away forcefully. Rough hands grabbed at his horn and shoulder, and yanked him forth, pulling him out of the darkness.

[sentryandco]

Prompt #17: Obeisant

Arasen had long become hardened to the glares, the looks of disapproval and distrust that most never bothered to hide from their faces. His father had always made his displeasure known to his own offspring -- a son of a powerful warlord who wanted nothing of battle. It was a lingering sore to the mighty warrior’s pride, and had Tugan Kharlu had his way, his first born would have been left out in the prairie in the cold of night, for the wolves to devour.

“Take the screaming whelp away,” his father had ordered. “The gods have cursed him and taken his mind. This is no blessing.”

Even now, Arasen remembered those words, and the disgust that burned in his father’s eyes like embers. He was but a child, looking to his parent for succor when the grisly visions his young eyes were not prepared for still came for him, but instead he was cast out to die like a wild animal.

It was only by the grace of Siban, the only woman in the tribe who might have had more sway than the warlord, that the bedeviled youth was saved. She took him in to nurture him through his torment wrought by hallucinations, somehow able to pierce through his endless wails to lend soothing words. While Bayanbataar nor Tugan approved of her decision, neither challenged it, for who would dare defy the gods? As eccentric as she was, none could ever question her visions, not even the Khan.

So it was to Siban that Arasen owed his life, and it was to her that he would bow his head in earnest when sanity returned to him. To the rest, Arasen learned quickly how to act, to show deference when he felt nothing but disdain in his heart. His greatest test of his pretense was when he bent his knees, his forehead lowered to the ground in obeisance, in front of his father who had once sentenced him to death. Tugan had no choice then but to accept him back as his blood, for the boy had since been ordained by Siban that he too had been gifted with the Sight, and would learn under the old woman.

But the glower never faded from his father’s face. There was no hint of pride that a sire might show his cub; it was as if his progeny was a stranger to him. Tugan was too proud of a creature to hide his feelings, so the rest of the tribe also began to mirror his father’s wariness. If the eldest son could not earn the approval of the second most powerful warlord in the tribe, no one else dared to show him respect either. So as Arasen matured, he became very skilled at plucking even the sliver of distaste behind people’s mannerisms, even when they were disguised. It also begot numerous calluses around his heart, for if he could not be hurt, he was all the more able to maintain his composed veneer. It became his way of survival, and eventually, his means of realizing his destiny.

So the daggers thrown his way in the way of scowls by the crew of the Wavecutter pained him not. As he made his way off the Confederate ship, he merely curled a polite smile and offered a nod in Shigeyori’s direction before disembarking. But once his feet touched upon the pier and his face was no longer visible to any of them, Arasen was relieved to be finally free of their scrutiny.

The events of the day had taken their toll, even on him. And nearly drowning in the sea was the least of it. More than nearly losing his life, it was the moments of complete honesty that lingered with him still.

Nabi had glimpsed his darkness. His willingness for cruelty as he had shown her. It was his knee-jerk response to the gentleness that she showed him. Was vindictiveness the only thing he could offer in return for kindness? Was it the only thing he was capable of?

The younger Kharlu peered up at his warden that walked in front of him as he was led through the beach of Onokoro. His exchange with Batuhan still weighed his mind, along with doubts he held for the others, and the dread of what the judgement his cousin would bestow on him. But despite his trepidation he followed, until all the eyes of those who mattered were on him. Did they burn with hatred? Were they cold with indifference? Darkened with misgivings?

It wouldn’t have pained him. He had not felt the weight of such things for as long as he could remember. He should have been able to meet all of them without cowering, as he had done all these years. His faith in his path and his belief in himself had dulled any ache it would have wrought. But when his amber gaze were met by a pair of warmer golden eyes, Arasen could not deny that single pang deep within.

He wasn’t allowed to wallow in that strange sensation. With a pointed look from Batuhan, Arasen dropped to his knees and lowered his head onto the sands, his hands placed humbly upon his lap. He bowed deeply in front of Nabi, no matter what her guardians wished for his fate.

“I’ve come to beg you for your forgiveness, cousin.”

[sentryandco]

Prompt #4: Shifting Blame

“I would have word.”

Arasen had come to recognize that tone very well. On numerous occasions over the years, more than he could count, Batuhan had taken his ward aside, away from the judging eyes of his father, and spoken to him quietly. It was less when he was younger, for mistakes he made then were forgiven by the way of naivete and idealistic foolishness. But later on, when he began to learn the ways of steering other’s viewpoints, enabling him to make more bold choices for the sake of his own gains, often times it came with his warden’s stern disapproval. 

Batuhan never had the heart for the suffering of the innocent. But he was wise enough to know that such a price was what many within their ranks were willing to pay, for the path to nirvana was not without its darkness. But the older Kharlu remained ever the steadfast guardian, wanting to protect his young ward and their small but growing sect from the pitfalls of ambition. 

Arasen always took his counsel to heart. It was important to him to know where his brother in oath stood in all things. But the younger Kharlu never returned the same courtesy.

He couldn’t. If Batu ever fully became aware of all the sins he had already committed, and his willingness to go even further, Arasen knew he would receive more than just harsh words of rebuke. Would the man who swore a blood oath to protect and stand by his side suddenly turn against him? Arasen didn’t want to know. It pained him to imagine the day when his ardent guardian would no longer stand with him. Even if he had come to accept that such may come about of his own doing.

But on this very sun, Arasen believed that day had arrived. When rage lit his eyes like lightning at the sight of Nabi bound and partly unclothed, Batu had thrown him against the wall, his arm pressed crushingly over his neck. Such was a scene Arasen had envisioned, somewhere in the back of his mind, when fear and doubt often took hold. But hurried words had somehow stayed his warden’s fury. Since Ghoa had already laid the blame of the entire ordeal on Toragana, it was easy for Arasen to nurture it further. But while Batu allowed him to breathe, from that moment on, the younger Kharlu felt a distance between them that he hadn’t before. There was wariness where once there had been complete trust. Arasen found himself wholly unprepared for the depth of pain it wrought.

Had he been too reliant upon their bond? Or the magic that had entwined their souls together? Arasen believed that Batu’s growing fondness for others had been completely erased after the seal was spent, but something had changed after his visit with Saltborn and Ghoa. Had the two stirred up memories that were buried by his command? Had they such a power to break the influence of his blood bond? Or was his own warden starting to resist it on his own?

It was impossible to ignore the growing doubt in the older Kharlu’s eyes as more revelations came to light after. After having shared with Nabi much of the venom that flowed deep within his veins, believing that she would not wake in time to tell the others,  Batu freed her from the spell that enfeebled her. That left Arasen no choice but to tell the truth to the rest, or at least as much as Nabi and Batuhan knew. And if it wasn’t for Batuhan standing between Saltborn and himself, Arasen was certain that he would no longer be breathing.

So where did his brother stand now? Batu came to his defense again, at least when his very life was threatened by Pjel. ‘He is not whole, nor beautiful. But he is the lost daughter’s kin and my blood brother,’ Batu had told the Viera warrior, willing to put his body between her sword and his ward. Was there still a thread of kinship left between them? As frayed as it was?

Arasen had believed until now that he was willing to pay any cost the gods might ask of him. He had resigned himself in the past, with much difficulty, that if the gods asked for his brother’s life, he would give it. He had accepted the solitude and loneliness that this prophecy demanded of him. And yet when death came for him, when the depth of the ocean swallowed him whole while he still hadn’t fulfilled his destiny, when it seemed that the gods would forsake him after all he had sacrificed, it was the hand of a hyur that Arasen had marked for death that reached out to save him.

Now, he didn’t know what to believe. 

Arasen stared dumbly back at Batuhan, the younger Kharlu momentarily lost to his thoughts. He shook his head, giving Batu a weary smile. It was salvageable. Not all was lost. A new path had to be forged. 

And it started first with repairing what was left of the bond between him and the only person in the world who cared for him.

“Yes,” Arasen said quietly. “Let us talk.”

[afreesworn]

“I heard someone was buyin’.”

     “Very well. It is owed to you all.”

            "Ya know. This be the last place I were 'fore Grave took me under that bloody mountain...?"

[r2ruen]

Happy Halloween!Trauma Team Special! Feat. Nurse Angie Costume.  @shaelstormchild, @sentryandco, @jaliqai-and-company, @anchor-management, and @afreesworn

Based on the image below. Aka Trauma Team. Made by Atlus. 

[sentryandco]

The Oaths We Swear

It still hurt.

Batuhan’s hand rose to his chest, clutching at his leather tunic as he closed the door to the storage room behind him. He did not want to make a show of his discomfort to those he left inside, they seemed uncertain of him as it was. And he of them.

But it was not entirely born out of distrust. Despite his lack of recollection, a part of him knew that he had forgotten them. Somehow. That single memory that returned to him, of his word given to the hyur, it was enough. Batu knew they had met before. They had spoken long before this sun. And somehow, he had felt enough faith in the man whose face was now estranged to him, to swear on his life that he would protect the lost daughter.

How had he forgotten?

One hand suddenly shot out to the wooden wall of the hallway, his palm slamming awkwardly on the grained surface, skidding over it as his weak fingers found no purchase, his feet sliding as the ship titled violently against another wave. The far door leading to the deck was flung open, as two more figures appeared within its frame, they too struggling to find balance amidst the gale that pelted them with rain and wind. Lightening and thunder crackled behind them as shouts of sailors outside echoed in the distance.

“Batuhan, wasn’t it?” A female voice called out to him, her tone lacking any gentility. It was the Jhungid udgan. Something about her felt cold and distant, her very visage mirroring the darkness, the white dots upon her ebony brow like stars in the night. Only there were no peace to be found in her reflection, the six white circles upon her head starkly punctuated the lightless complexion of the shaman even more. Her black gaze, with its eerie white limbal rings, was fixed on him, her black robes settling upon her thin form as the warrior next to him forced the door closed behind them, shutting out the storm.

“Toragana,” Batu answered back dully. He regarded her, silently thankful that the throbbing in his chest made it easy to greet her with what would seem a flat, half-lidded look. The escaped wife had suspected that this udgan was why he couldn’t remember her. And while he was not studied in it, Batu knew of the various arts that the udgan were capable of, calling upon the gifts granted to them by the gods. He doubted not that Toragana would be capable of such strange feats. But as Batu lowered his hand purposefully away from his torso, the rune beneath felt as if it was freshly carved into him only minutes ago. And it gave him doubt.

“Checking on the prisoners?” Toragana asked as she carefully began to make her way down the narrow hallway. The wooden beams of the ship creaked all around them, boldly fighting against the turbulent sea. Another Xaela, one armed with a longbow across his back, was accompanying her, though he slowed as they neared Batuhan, his eyes narrowing on the Kharlu. When their eyes locked on each other, there was more than just wariness there. Batuhan sensed rancor behind the male’s gaze, the other’s lips just barely holding back a snarl. And yet there were no reasons that Batu could recall that warranted such animosity. Had they met before? It was Jhungid passing a Kharlu, it was very possible that they had crossed each other on another battlefield. But here, on this ship, they were supposed to be working together to bring an end to that yearly warfare.

Batuhan kept his eyes on the archer as they both passed by, just answering Toragana with a nod. When they slowed by the door to the storage room, Batu tensed and stilled, waiting. Both the hyur and the escaped wife within, seemed weakened from a recent bout. If the two Jhungid meant them ill, it was unlikely that those inside could put up much of a fight.

“I had to put the male down,” Batu grumbled, placing his hand on the door as if the matter within was already settled. “The escaped wife is looking over his wounds.” He flicked his eyes at Toragana. “Will you be performing the rite of passage?”

If the udgan was considering reaching for the door, the question stopped her in her tracks. The white rings of her dark eyes flared for a moment, before she narrowed a look upon Batuhan. The archer behind her stiffened as well at the mention of the fallen warlord. “It will have to wait until we can lay Kiratai upon the soil of his homeland," Toragana snapped. "His spirit will not rest easy until he knows the embrace of Nhaama.” There was a bitter cut to the edge of the udgan’s words. Even though she had immediately declared the untimely death of their warlord -- at the hands of a foreigner no less -- the will of the gods, it was clear to Batu that all of the Jhungid entourage seemed shaken by it. He would be too, had he witnessed Arasen’s death in the same manner, just fulms away from him, a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead.

Toragana and Batuhan exchanged one more icy look before the shaman turned sharply and began to make her way down the corridor, undoubtedly to where they had taken the body of their former leader. The archer followed, although his eyes were slow to leave Batuhan.

A long exhale plumed from Batuhan’s nostrils as he pushed off from the wall, making his way to the opposite end of the corridor. He had only bought the hyur and the escaped wife a little bit of respite, but he hoped that they could make some use of it, before Toragana decided what her next play would be. Would she make a show of strength by making the prisoners suffer? No, as the escaped wife reminded them all when the hyur faced off against all of them at the pier, the Jhungid needed to keep the Confederate alive, as a way to make the lost daughter cooperate.

A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat as Batuhan stalked toward the last door on the hallway. There were too many questions and he had no answers to any of them. Was the escaped wife Arasen’s ally? Were they using the Confederate to force the lost daughter into fulfilling the prophecy? Was she not supposed to be a willing participant? Who shot Kiratai dead? Were there more enemies waiting for them on shore? Why could he not remember? Why was the rune, the one that was burned into him years ago when he accepted his lifelong bond with his ward, the mark that was supposed to symbolize their fealty and trust in each other, why did it ache in his chest everytime he questioned all these shadows in his path? Why was Arasen’s words, imploring him to forget everything since they parted ways, and only to remember his duty, why was that the last thing that rang crystal clear in his mind?

No. That wasn’t the only absolute. There was another unerring memory. The oath he swore to the hyur. The lost daughter’s guardian. Batuhan swore that he would protect her. It was his own words, and Batuhan was not wont to break his promises.

As he reached for the door leading to the captain’s quarters, he paused, looking to the slow movement of his weakened hands. Injuries he did not recall and yet his hands moved instinctively as if he had grown used to their slower speed. He had been this way for moons. He had become accustomed to the afflictions that he could no longer remember receiving. This void that existed in his mind began to burn like kindling, sparked by simmering frustration. He wanted answers. He pushed the door open, expecting to find the one person who he knew would have them within.

Batuhan paused as his eyes widened. Where he had expected to see the petite form of the lost daughter tucked in bed, he saw her now unconscious, her hands bound in rope. More, her robe had been pulled down and off her torso, exposing her entire back. Arasen was kneeling over behind her, his fingers tracing Nabi's bared skin, when lightning flashed through the portholes in the walls. They lent the amber within the younger Xaela’s eyes a cold but eerily glow in the dark, as his gaze snapped to the door.

“What… are you doing?!”

[sentryandco]

Bound by Blood

“How come you’re not afraid of blood?”

A pair of amber eyes peered up at him, wide and curious. The summer skies lit his pale irises even more brilliantly, like jewels that had caught the ray of the sun and trapped it within its facets.

Batuhan regarded the young Xaela with equal interest, a small smile quirking up one corner of his lips. He was older than the boy by eight summers and easily towered over him at his full height. “Should I be afraid of it, boy?”

Arasen smiled wide, white teeth gleaming within the tanned complexion. “Not at all! It’s only that there are others who don’t like seeing it. Their own anyroad. It might be that aether makes up our soul, but it’s our blood that gives us our strength.” The younger boy puffed out his chest and proudly pounded his fist against it twice. “It’s our passion and life, pumped through our veins.”

The older Xaela tilted his head with amusement. The boy had enthusiasm of his youth, but there was wisdom and knowledge in his eyes. Confidence in his words. “Is that why you are studying in the ways of the blood shaman?”

Arasen bobbed his head excitedly. “I am going to be the best there is.”

Batuhan huffed, laying his larger hands on top of the boy’s head, tossing his braids about and letting the beads at the ends of them clack around playfully. “I guess then I better look after you very carefully.”

The younger Au Ra pouted, frowning and waving off Batu’s hand. He clearly didn’t appreciate being treated like the child that he was. “Well, good thing you are not afraid of it then,” he muttered. “Since we will be bound by blood. Through a ritual.”

Batuhan nodded sagely. “Until the end of all suns. I, as your warden, will always be able to find you. And know if you are in danger.” There was an odd twinge in the back of his mind, that after the ritual, he will forever be linked to this young boy. And yet Arasen belonged to a strong and important bloodline, and Batu had been watching this boy from afar. Unlike so many others of his age, Arasen always looked to the stars and to the distant horizon. As if looking to a life and possibilities beyond what was right in front of him.

That was something worth protecting.

“You are not afraid of it are you?” The older Xaela teased, eyeing the boy. “It is not an easy rite. You will shed as much blood as I.”

Arasen paused before answering, a frown pinching his young face. When he did look back to Batu, it was after a good amount of thought, and there was new eagerness to his expression. “I am not afraid. I want to know firsthand what it’s like, to feel blood magic. Runes written in blood are far stronger, you know. I already know what summoning and weaving aether feels like, but using blood… that is going to be something else.” The young Xaela grinned from horn to horn in anticipation.

Any other might have doubted the wisdom of being bound to a boy that spoke such nonsense and with such fervor. But Batu saw the dreamlike idealism on Arasen’s face, the boy continuing to talk about endless possibilities of blood magic. Of how it can change the properties of runes, promising to find ways to enhance even the oldest and simplest of spells, of healing what was incurable before, and many more that was beyond Batuhan’s limited understanding of such magic.

The boy wanted to better the world. And Batuhan wanted to see that world.

“I am sure even our bond can be improved…”

~

“How long?” Arasen stuttered, his eyes wide. It lacked the light and clarity that Batu was used to seeing. “How long have you been here? Were you following me?”

Batuhan narrowed his eyes, tilting his head slowly as he scrutinized his ward. “Long enough to know that you and they were not strangers.” His jaw was set, and his tone hardened. “You were hidden from me.” The older Xaela never liked it when Arasen dampened their link, making it impossible for him to use their bond to track him. It was something that should not be possible, and yet for Arasen, almost anything was possible when blood magic concerned. Batu had learned this long ago.

“As long as I have been residing here, I have been patrolling the area regularly. I became aware of more Xaelas on this isle in the recent suns, so I followed them. And after scouting them, I discovered they were Jhungid. They wore no obvious markings, but I recognized their scent upon the wind. The udgan of various tribes often carry a unique totem on them that they would never discard. And with the Jhungid, it is a peculiar mix of herbs. I would recognize it anywhere.” His gaze and tone sharpened slowly as he looked over the younger Xaela. “I followed one of them here, to discover that you were meeting with them.”

There was a pause as Batuhan lowered his chin, locking his gaze with his ward. There was a keen and almost accusatory edge to his expression, one that would brook no lies.

“...How do you know them?”

What happened next was something Batuhan was wholly unprepared for. His eyes flickered to Arasen’s hand, one that rose with the palm facing him. And in that instant, he felt a sharp piercing pain on his chest, beneath his shirt. When he pulled the fabric away, Batu saw the mark. It was the one that was branded upon him years ago, the rune that bounded him to his ward. Only now, it was bleeding like it was a fresh new wound. Droplets of blood began to seep through the pores that had long sealed over with scarred flesh.

And suddenly, this sensation was familiar to him. Batuhan remembered that this had happened before, these old tattoos from the rite of binding coming to life again. It had involved the Jhungid back then too. But somehow, that memory had been hidden away, until now.

Batuhan’s hand locked around Arasen’s, and despite its weakened state, the grip was firm, fueled by outrage. “What are you doing?” Again the memory returned, he had asked this very thing before. Years ago. Back then, Arasen had worn a sorrowful smile. He shook his head and whispered words that were still lost to him.

The ward that looked back to him now, however, wore an expression of panic and frustration. “I am sorry, my brother, that I must invoke this mark once again.” His hand pressed against Batu’s chest, the crimson stain spreading across his splayed fingers. “Three commands you will abide, you will not question and you will not remember. You will only obey the will of the one who bound you.”

Batuhan’s hand shook, with pain as well as a newfound rage, as rivulets of his own blood began to trail down over his knuckles. But his body couldn’t move. It was as if invisible chains had sprouted from where Arasen’s hand laid against the mark, and held him still where he stood. The whites of his eyes surrounded the deep green pupils as the older Xaela glared down at the ward he had trusted all his life.

“You bound me…” he hissed, furious and incredulous.

Arasen’s visage softened where Batu’s was riled. “I did,” the younger Xaela said quietly. “Long ago. When I thought I would use this to save you.” But the flicker of tenderness didn’t last long as Arasen bore into him, his voice turning cool and losing what little remorse it had. “I am lucky I had the foresight to bind you thrice.”

Batuhan glared at Arasen, and barely managed to shake his head. “What are you planning to do?” he demanded hoarsely.

“I will ask you to believe me, as you have always done.” Arasen’s voice was calm and his words were slowing impossibly. Batu saw the younger Xaela blink, but when those eyelids opened again, his eyes were shining like the brightest sun, blinding all else from his sight. His words echoed loudly, almost painfully, as if reverberating within the cave walls.

“And help me get my cousin back home.”