Ch. 0 Prologue

I still remember one of my earliest childhood memories which still haunts me to this day. Particularly about my family, my father, who loves me a lot but made me cry.

It’s evening and I am in the middle of our living room. Watching tv in my diapers. A popular kids show was currently airing but I couldn’t concentrate. I toddled to our kitchen with the help of my tiny legs.

I instinctively knew my father was there to make dinner. I pulled on his pants to get his attention. He turned towards me, stopping whatever he was cooking back then.

“Where is momma?” I asked him with the innocent voice of an infant.

“Momma is at work,” he answered patiently, stopping his cooking process and picking me up. His face scrunched up, his nose sniffing the air. He couldn’t help himself and say, “Princess, you need to be changed.”

He walked back to the living room holding me carefully in his arms. The TV was still running so he switched the channel. The news was being broadcasted. As far as I could remember it was a special one back then.

The reporter was standing in the rain before a grand structure, reading from a digital notepad with jittery hands. He was nervous, eyes fixed on the next line to read. Between the reporter were two crowds, one protesting violently while the others waited eagerly for the news to be delivered.

They were waving bright and colourful flags and signs in contrast to the bleak and aggressive ones of the other discontent group.

“The 1st of June will mark a special day.”

I couldn’t really understand nor remember what the reporter was saying except that with each word he uttered one of the crowds was becoming more and more impatient until they started cheering gleefully.

Erupting in laughter, tears and shouts of joy that I was happy for them too, raising my arms to share their emotions as they waved with their rainbow-coloured flags.

I really didn’t know what it was but how they shared their emotions had moved my little heart.

Then the unrest began.

One stone found its way hitting a joyous man on his face, colouring his face in bright red. The other crowd was shouting, throwing whatever they could at the once-merry crowd as the reporter ran away for his own safety.

I watched in disbelief as I had to witness the cruelty the other crowd had to react to the joy of others. Why would someone do this? What could drive others to do something so violent?

The camera then shook violently as it was redirected into the enraged face of a stranger before what I think was the police to stop it from escalating any further.

I still remember the face of my father who shut off the tv by yanking out the cable, not caring to use the remote in his hand. I felt like pulling myself away from my irate father but remained still, petrified to move.

His squinting eyes were staring sharp daggers at the black TV. Sharply inhaling the very air between his tightly clenched teeth. The exhaled breath brushed against my shaking body, making me shiver from fear.

“This country is going on the rocks. This society and generation, all of them are idiots,” my father sat me down and came closer to take a look at me.

“Papa, what’s wrong?” I asked him, afraid to make a single move. He had this look of anger and disappointment in his eyes.

My father was holding the bridge of his nose, thinking deeply on what he should say next. “My princess,” he began, trying to sound like his usual self which he clearly wasn’t by how furrowed his brows were. “I will explain it to you. You have seen that group flaunting with their rainbow flags? They got exactly what was expected for joining a protest like they did.

“Promise me, my little girl.” My father’s cold hands held tightly to my tiny arms, making sure I would listen to his next words. “The coming generation is bedevilled by wrong ideals. You will grow up to be a fine and proper woman, learning from the mistakes of our society and not turn into someone like them. You will listen to your parents. Alright?”

Was I alright? Probably not, I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t.

How could my father say such a thing to a toddler like me? One who couldn’t discern right from wrong in the words he was saying.

At this very moment my father didn’t realise how he was putting a permanent stigma on my very life which would never go away. I wouldn’t grow up as the woman they want me to. Lamenting myself over all these words because I couldn’t fulfil their ideals.

I tried to be their perfect daughter. Feminine, traditional, good in school and in many other ways they would have liked me to be. Even if it meant to bend myself over and over in the most painful of ways.

In the end I couldn’t fulfil their ideal by liking men. This wasn’t something I could do nor wanted to.

That year, this country and society did a leap forward but the people who would support it are few. So very few. A path riddled with lots of obstacles and too many prejudices.

With some rooted so deeply, it will take even more effort to overcome.

My mother came back home. Soaking wet from the rain. She was smiling joyfully, unaware of the news and what my father just said.

I could only cry, cry my eyes out like I did in the arms of my father. Back then I couldn’t understand what he meant. I was but a child but the angry way he looked and held me made me cry.

It was a heavy cry, and I wouldn’t stop until this memory ended and would linger within me forever.

Every time when I think back to this very moment, I wish to exchange my whole situation, to leave behind everything that pains me. Sometimes I wish to just disappear and never return.

It pains me to think like that, but I am not sure how long I will be able to take it before I make a mistake. One I will never be able to redeem myself from and I will have to forever live with that.

I wish to be happy. To be someone else. To finally be me.

Ch. 1

Nippur, a major city state in Idaris

Kiur rested his feet on the artificial stream of the ziggurat temple Ekur. It was noon, the hottest time of the day where everyone would rest to avoid the sun’s and desert’s heat that drifted up to the mountains.

“Scribe Artor. Scribe Artor!” One of the priests was calling for Kiur, approaching the young man who was listening in to the class held for the children. “It’s time we return to our duties-” attempting to come up before Kiur the priest was stopped by his colleague.

Shaking her head, she said. “Give him a few more minutes, we will call him when it’s urgent-”

“It’s alright,” Kiur turned to them with his typical casual smile. One he was used to doing in his childhood but not with the same vigour anymore. “I will get right to my work duties, thank you for coming for me.”

Stepping out of the stream, Kiur walked past the priests just as they were about to whisper between each other. As they usually did when they thought Kiur was out of reach.

“I don’t understand, why do we have to pay so much extra attention to him? He’s no one important, not even an official,” the priest complained but his colleague shook her head again.

“Don’t mind it and just get back to your own assignments. Don’t let the gala priest hear you.”

Having overheard the little conversation Kiur ignored it willingly and kept his weary smile even though he couldn’t fool anyone with the frown on his forehead. Those who passed him in the hallways gave him a nonchalant glance and greeted him politely while others chose to be quiet.

They didn’t know what to say nor did Kiur as he greeted them all politely.

It has been six months since he left the confines of his home. His mother helped him to adjust him in her work regime at home and with the help of his aunt slowly into the safety of the temple. First, they planned to do it after his 18th birthday, but he wasn’t ready yet.

He was no longer the boy known for his benign and compassionate nature. It took him everything just to keep up his put-on smile.

“Watch out, get out of the hallway!” They heard one of the priests yell and spotted the aisle to one of the chambers collapsing. Wrought claystone rupturing from the foundation and coming loose.

Those who were born as natural earth mages protected themselves or others nearby by stopping them in mid-air or redirecting the fall of the rocks but for Kiur, it was almost too late.

“Are you alright, child?” asked Enlil who had just saved Kiur, holding up a large chunk of rock. She was one of the head priestesses of the Ekur Ziggurat and a prestigious dwarven mage who educated Kiur all his childhood.

“What was that?!” yelled one of the priests to the class of students and their teacher.

“I’m sorry, I lost control-”

“The temple is sacred, don’t lose your temper here!” The priests reprimanded the novice for their carelessness until Enlil stepped up to guide the process along.

Enlil was benevolent and caring as the namesake deity of their city state. Everyone would listen to her guidance and Kiur knew her well. She was the younger sister of his foster mother, and he was once her apprentice to become a priest.

“Wait,” Kiur slowed down his pace for his aunt considering her short legs and high status. “Let me guide you to the chamber of the scribes. We can talk along the way.”

“It’s alright, I don’t need a guide, I know where it is after so many years,” Kiur feigned confidence in his speech, trying to dodge his aunt in answering her questions.

“How are you lately?”

“How’s work?”

“Do you need a break?”

Those were the kind of questions she would constantly ask him for his wellbeing. It was her habit to take care of anyone. Especially for Kiur as he was supposed to succeed her before he had to drop out of his position.

She and anyone near to Kiur were constantly worried about him. Even behind the veil that covered half her face he could feel her emotions she was barely hiding.

“Come on, does one of the most important gala priests not have to sing laments to the gods? I believe Enlil is waiting to hear your voice.”

“Enlil is forbearing,” Enlil paused, sensing she needed to let go of the topic. “But you are right, I will return to my duties and so will you. Promise me you will be alright.”

“I will be alright,” Kiur lied to his aunt like he did so towards his own family. He wasn’t alright and he probably never will. Having picked up a piece of claystone, Kiur let it float in his hand.

It levitated under his whim but then his emotions flared up and the claystone turned to ash.

——☼——

“Pick up your pace or I will blow you out of the arena!”

“You are too fast, captain!”

“We are not as fast as you with our magic, please be slower.”

“You are not putting your heart into it, I am not even using any magic!”

The one who was shouting at others was Kiur’s older brother Archil, disciplining future scouts.

Both are not related by blood and were adopted by their mother Esha under similar circumstances years ago.

Being a family where each member is a different race isn’t something unseen but both Archil and Kiur stood out from the rest due to their appearance.

Eye colour meant a lot in their culture. It can determine the nature of a person and their magic. Kiur was born with eyes as red as garnet stones and was very active as a kid. So everyone’s estimation was he would be a natural fire mage until he proved them otherwise. On another end his hair colour was like the golden sand of the desert and his skin tanned like brass from the sun.

Archil also had lighter coloured hair in contrast to how everyone has usually brown hair. He’s a born Therianthrope, a desert fox who can change most of his animalic features by will, like his sharper nails and canine teeth. The most prominent ones are his pointy and fluffier ears which he hides underneath his hair.

“This should be it for training,” and when everyone let their guard down Archil’s viridian eyes started to glow and he released a gust of wind. Only one dwarf remained standing it. “I will see you tomorrow morning, get some rest. Good work on your form today.”

The dwarf jubilated as she received a compliment from him.

Archil was around 28 years old now and a member of a scout unit working with the military.

He’s anything a sibling could wish for. He watches out for you, is strict when you do something wrong, he can be funny, would worry about you and is there for you when you need him.

If anything, everyone would be proud to have Archil as their brother.

“You should join in our routine,” Brushing the dust off of his red and beige robe, Archil sheathed his curved sword. “It can free up your mind and helps to stay in shape. When was the last time we trained together?”

“When I was fourteen, so over five years,” answered Kiur as they walked together through the shaded market area.

“Five years, huh?” Archil scratches his shaved chin with his sharp black nails, feeling like his beard growing again. “Can’t believe how much time has passed. Feels like yesterday when you and your friends threw rocks around or when mother was telling us a bedtime story.”

“I remember most of them were about the race migrations, the thaig settlements beneath the Idris mountains and especially—”

“—Sovereign Enkidu,” they both finished the sentence, knowing full well the importance of the story as it was about the founding of their nation. “It’s such a well-known story that any of us can retell it, even the children. Mother really was quite fond of it.”

“Two Maarouk and one Sheermal bread, please.” Kiur ordered some loafs of bread filled with sweat paste in the inside. A typical delicacy in their country they always enjoyed buying in the market.

“Here you go child and some grapes along the way.”

“Thank you, I’m surprised you remember.”

“Who wouldn’t forget the child who got into trouble for stealing grapes because he liked them so much?” Asked the merchant Agarin with a laugh on his bearded face with Archil holding back his snicker. “It has been a while, but do you mind visiting me and my husband for dinner some time?

Uncomfortable about it, Kiur tried to look away, “I will think about it.” He tried not to give a definite answer to the question.

Paying for the products Archil responded, “Greet the husband and children from us!” And the two brothers waved their goodbyes, continuing their way home where their mother was waiting.

Working as a scribe she would have to do a lot of odd jobs ranging from documenting, record keeping and administration.

She’s one of the highly literate people in their country Idaris so she even has to travel around a lot to keep up with the demand for information. Kiur saw her work first hand but now as a scribe apprentice he only worked at the temple which tended to be just as busy.

On a good day.

“The channel seems awfully busy today,” pointed out Archil as they stood in the middle of a stone arch bridge connecting two separate mountain layers. Just below them was an artificial channel constructed by the dwarves for travel between the city states and their sister nation in the south.

Near the port areas were ships docked the size of entire buildings with people buzzing around.

“They don’t look like merchant ships.”

“Because they aren’t. Those are transport vessels for the north,” explained Archil with a hint of worry. “What an unusual sight, especially for this time of year. I presume they are support units to scout out the tunnels.”

“Do you think you will be called to duty?” Archil was no exception for leaving home a lot. Performing rescue and reconnaissance missions but also helping out in the desert when someone got lost or missing.

Or when he had to track someone dangerous.

It wasn’t unusual for him and their mother to be gone for several months on end.

“Hm,” Archil had trouble hiding his emotions. Looking at his younger brother Archil knew he couldn’t tell the truth. “Probably not or else we would have gotten notice by now. Let’s get going before the bread gets cold.”

Their home was one of the few bigger houses built with refined claystone. Two stories tall, a small garden, several cellars and the view to the other cities that were lying further down to the south.

Entering through the curtain of the doorless entrance they were greeted by the cool air generated by the mana stones. A bright juniper green carpet brushed softly on their bare feet with each step they took.

Stone tablets and cumbersome clay vases littered the floor of her workroom. Shelves bursting from the seams with more tablets, scrolls and parchment.

Esha was hard at work cataloguing each new tablet into their respective vase and carving a new stone tablet. Each one containing information either about agriculture, merchandise, stories, history, minor complaints or just listing up what needs to be done till the next summer solstice.

What Kiur felt overwhelmed about was Esha’s regular routine in the morning before switching to the next.

It was no surprise that she would sometimes not sleep and forget to eat so it was up to her sons to remember it for her.

“Leave everything in one of the empty corners, I will take care of it when I come to it,” the middle aged dwarven woman dismissed her sons, confusing them for somebody to bring in even more work.

Exchanging looks with one another the brothers decided to play along and clear up the room a bit. One of them hauled the full vases and the other sorted the tablets by their topics.

“Do you want some coffee from Kaffa?” kneeling down before his mother, Kiur offered her a freshly brewed and hot cup of her favourite beverage.

“Hm?” She blinked awake from her work, faced with a hot cup of aromatic brew. “This work piles up so much that I didn’t notice either of you coming in,” taking a sip of her cup Esha’s amber coloured eyes lit up with light. “I remember this place to be messier. I will finish the clean-up for you.”

With a cup close to her lips and a twirl of her finger orange and yellow light emitted from her arm. They formed globes of magic spreading out like waves and letting the tablets and vases fly.

It reminded Kiur of his first spectacular sight of magic his mother had shown him as a child.

He was barely the age of four and scared of Archil who looked like a beast fresh from a hunt. Their mother had work to do and all of a sudden, a little child to watch out for.

Putting Kiur on her lap she made her work fly like birds who returned for spring.

Never having experienced magic before, Kiur would have mimicked the movements of his mother’s finger like he did now. When he had finally discovered his own magic he tried to let everything fly on his own. Instead, he accidentally broke an entire shelf of work which Esha had to repair again.

It was a joyous day when Kiur first received it. So, it was all the worse when he lost it.

Character Profiles

Name: Kiur Artor

Age: 19 ; Gender: Male ; Race: Human

Magic: ?

Kiur works as a scribe apprentice in the Ekur Ziggurat from the Nippur Citystate. Under unknown circumstances he has lost his apprenticeship to become a priest. With the help of his family, he tries to recuperate back to a normal life.

As a child he got into trouble for stealing grapes with his friends.

Likes: Grapes, languages, a warm bath, listening to classes during his break, Cereals with Fruit