"Ife?" Irai's concerned voice snapped her out of the whirlwind of memories. "Is everything okay?" he reached out, wanting to place his hand on her shoulder, but then yanked it away, remembering her reaction a few minutes ago.

  "Why, is something wrong?" asked Ife wryly, and immediately felt a prick of shame—for being so mean to Irai—the one who despite all her harsh words and cruel actions, had never abandoned her.

  "Well, at one point you just froze in place. I stood there waiting for you to finally come to your senses, but the years went by and you just kept standing there. And then, eight hundred thousand years later—"

  "Jerk!" she punched him lightly in the shoulder, which caused him to laugh heartily.

  "Suppose I really am a jerk," he said, pretending to think about it. "But then you're a jerk too—"

  "What?"

  Ife swung at him again, about to hit him, but Irai bounced away just in time.

  "Hush, hush," he said smiling, raising his hands in a sign of surrender. "See, if I'm a jerk, and yet, you understand me, then you're a jerk too, because only jerks, can understand each other's jerkish thoughts—"

  "Do you want to die?" asked Ife, taking another swing at him.

  But this time, Irai didn't fight back even for looks; only laughed loudly, letting her throw punches at him, which, despite her furious expression, were completely painless.

  "Really, I'm sorry for making such a bad joke," Irai said when they both had already calmed down after their playful altercation and were trying to catch their breath. "I really only meant to just—"

  "Oh, shut up," Ife said, but there was no anger in her voice. "So be it, I forgive you."

  Irai's face brightened happily, then took on a mischievous expression that didn't bode well for his sister.

  "Really?" he asked with a sly narrowing of his eyes. "I love you so much!" he suddenly hugged her, yes so tightly that she felt herself gasp.

  "Let me go!" she said, trying to break free.

  "I don't want to! You're my little sister!" he capriciously said, like a little child. "Can't I hug my little sis—"

  This time, Ife hit him again. But this time, it was hard. Very hard. So hard that Irai had to release her from her embrace and grab his stomach, bent in half from the pain.

  "There," he panted indignantly, "all I wanted to do was hug my little—"

  "Shut up, or I'll hit you again."

  Irai pouted in feigned offense.

  "I'm your big brother! You're supposed to listen to me, not hit me."

  Ife rolled her eyes.

  "You're only a year older than me."

  "And smarter by a whole ten..." muttered Irai quietly under his breath, but not quiet enough — Ife heard him.

  "What did you say?"

  She swung again, but he laughed and intercepted her hands, stopping her from hitting him.

  "Just remembered I wanted to buy something..." he said suddenly, looking at something behind him.

  "What exactly?"

  "Something that's a surprise," he replied, and then playfully flicked Ife on the nose and ran off, shouting: "Wait for me here! Don't go anywhere!"

  "Jerk..." muttered Ife, feeling her heart—which was destined to shatter in a few minutes—grow warmer.

  "Airena?" a tall guy who appeared out of nowhere asked her. "You're Airena, aren't you?"

  The name was strange.

  She'd never heard it anywhere in her life. None of the girls—much less guys—she knew were called Airena; certainly not her.

  And yet the name was familiar, the kind of familiarity that comes with an exotic spice from a faraway corner of the continent that you're sure you've never tasted—simply because you couldn't—but that settles with a familiar flavor on the rough skin of your tongue.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  But she was sure that no one she knew, or herself, had ever been called Airena. At least, not anymore.

  "No, I'm not," Ife snapped back. "You have me confused with someone else."

  The taller guy was approached by two others — one more muscular, with rough exterior features and scars all over his body, and the other, as if in contrast — delicate, like the petals of a flower, with a sweet smile on his face.

  The muscular one looked her over and then asked:

  "Are you sure it's her?"

  "No, but of everyone we've met, she looks the most like her," the tall one replied. "According to him, she's had looks from childhood that even the gods themselves would envy," he said the 'gods' word quietly, clearly afraid of being overheard.

  "It's my pleasure, of course," Ife interrupted their conversation. "But I'm not Airena. Goodbye."

  She turned to leave as the muscular man suddenly grabbed her shoulder.

  "You're not going anywhere—"

  At that moment, Irai returned, who literally wedged himself between his sister and one of the guys—just as he had with the merchant—forcing the latter to let go of Ife and back away. His eyes no longer sparkled with mischief; fury blazed in them.

  "Don't you dare touch her.”

  Muscleman wanted to answer him something, but sweet one gestured him to stop and then said:

  "No need to worry, we're not going to hurt her. On the contrary, we only want to protect her—"

  "I want a lot of things too, but not all dreams can come true."

  "You—" the muscular one began, but the taller one interrupted him.

  "No matter what you say, we'll still take her; the only question is whether Airena will come with us willingly, or whether we'll have to take her by force—"

  "Just try that..." gritted his teeth and muttered Irai.

  "I already told you I'm not Airena... Don't you get it the first time?" asked Ife, feeling the anger boiling up inside her.

  All three boys looked over at each other.

  "Could she not remember?" asked the sweet one.

  "Such a thing is entirely possible from both physical trauma and psychological trauma," replied the taller one. "And given that she suffered both of those injuries in that situation, the likelihood is more than likely."

  All this talk was beginning to really stress Ife out.

  Why are they talking about her like they know something about her? And what is this situation in which she supposedly suffered both injuries? What is that simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar name Airena? Where were they supposed to take her? And most importantly, who was this strange man who had told them that she had been incredibly beautiful since she was a child? I mean, had this man known her since she was a child? But if he knew her from childhood, then it turns out that—

  "I already said she's not going anywhere with you. I'm not letting her go."

  "What right do you have to decide for her whether she's coming with us or not?" the muscular man asked, clenching his fists in anger.

  Irai arched an eyebrow.

  "I have the same question for you. And as for me, I'm just repeating to you the answer that Ife herself has voiced to you several times already."

  The muscular one was about to reply—or rather snap back—when the sweet one interjected into his and Irai's conversation.

  "You don't know what you're talking about," he said with a shake of his head. "Trust me, she's not what she seems. She might even be lying to you or using you. Her real name is Airena, and she—"

  "Okay, that's enough of that," Irai cut him off sharply. "Even if it's as you say — I don't care. She doesn't want to go anywhere with you-and even if she did, I still wouldn't let her go anywhere with three very strange and one very aggressive," he threw a disparaging glance at the muscular one, "men. I'm her big brother and it's my duty to protect her.”

  The sweet one tried again:

  "Actually—"

  "All right, that's it…" the muscular man interrupted him, pulling his dagger from its sheath. "I've had enough."

  His movement was fast. Too fast for Irai to dodge. Too fast for Ife to have time to push her brother away. Too fast for his partners to prevent the irreparable. Too fast for him to regain his senses and stop himself.

  With a sharp thrust of his hand, he slashed Irai's carotid artery with the dagger. Blood gushed like water in a fountain, coloring everything and everyone around him the scarlet hue of a sunset he and Ife would never see together again.

  Irai instinctively grabbed his throat, trying to stop the blood. His eyes widened with horror and his knees weakened, causing him to fall face-first into the sand. He wheezed, coughing and choking. He was dying.

  Ife screamed.

  It was a wild, inhuman scream, gradually turning into an animal howl.

  Dropping to her knees beside Irai, she rolled her brother over onto his back, then gently lifted his head and placed it in her lap. She clasped the wound with trembling fingers. Tears streamed from her eyes — like a stream, they flowed down her cheeks and fell directly onto Irai's unhealthily pale face.

  "No... don't die! I forbid you to die! Don't go... Don't go... If you leave me alone I'll kill you! Do you hear me, asshole?! Don't you dare die!" screamed Ife hysterically as she saw her brother's soul rapidly leaving his body.

  "Help! Please help!" Ife pleaded, continuing to stare at Irai and hoping someone would come to their aid. "Why is there so much blood coming out of you?! I didn't give it permission to do that! Go back where you came from, you bitch!"

  Someone would definitely come, someone would definitely save him. He couldn't die. He couldn't die like that. He didn't deserve to die like that. He didn't deserve to die at all. He deserved life. A long, maybe even eternal, happy life. That's right, that's all he deserved. There was no way it could go wrong. It couldn't end wrong. He couldn't die.

  The screams of terror of the merchants and the shoppers and the tense argument of those three guys — she didn't hear all of that. It was something distant.

  In an instant, someone's rough hands suddenly grabbed her and literally ripped her out from under Irae's body, who in turn was simply tossed aside as if he were not a person at all, but a thing. A thing that was simply ruined, and simply thrown away.

  After all, that was what one did with things that were spoiled.

  But Irai was not a thing.

  And even more so, Irai was not a spoiled thing.

  Irai was just a young boy who had to experience the death of both his parents early on, as well as take responsibility for his newfound younger sister.

  Irai was a boy who despite all the hardships, kept a mischievous glint in his eyes, and a hope that one day everything would be alright.

  But unfortunately, in the end, he still had to become a spoiled thing, losing his mischievous sparkle and hope for a bright future.

  "We need to get her out of here," broke a familiar voice through the veil in Ife's head.

  "Throw her on my back?" asked another familiar voice.

  "No, she'll kick. Just knock her out and—"

  And then she saw something she would never forget.

  Irai's eyes—so dear to her, once full of the mischievous sparkle that had settled into his warm brown eyes—had faded.

  He was dead.

  Irai died.

  And Ife died with him.

  She screamed again.

  But this time, her scream didn't sound like an animal, no; her scream sounded like thunder.

  Thunder, whose vibration was so strong that it could destroy all living things, because of just one lightning strike.

  Golden threads burst from the bodies of the people around her and began to wrap themselves around their owners: merchants and shoppers; adults and children; innocent and guilty. Around everyone who, like Irai, was going to die.

  They screamed. They begged. They cried.

  But Ife didn't care.

  She screamed too. She begged too. She cried too.

  But no one helped her.

  Then why should she help them?

  When the golden thread wrapped around the next person suddenly broke with a crunch, he was silent. Silent forever.

  Silent just as Irai had been silent.

  There was no blood; there was only the dark night, the golden threads, and the smell of death, so palpable in the air that it could not only be smelled, but seen and touched.

  When everyone was already dead, and Ife's screams had died down, she crawled over to Irai's lifeless body, and gently covered his now pale eyelids.

  Suddenly she noticed something shiny in her brother's hand — Ife opened his palm—so carefully, as if it were a flower bud that would never bloom—and saw in it a gold ring in the shape of a scorpion.

  "Little scorpion," Ife whispered the nickname Irai had given her back when she was very young. "Sis, you're just like them, spraying venom at everyone, not because you're bad, but because you're trying to defend yourself," she repeated what her brother had once told her.

  That's what he'd backed away from then. That's what he wanted to buy. That's why, said to wait for him.

  He wanted to give her a gift.

  But he couldn't.

  And he never could again.

  Never again.

  The word echoed in Ife's head.

  The same golden tears flowed from her golden eyes and dripped onto Irai's dead body, leaving the same golden streaks that unfortunately could not resurrect him, no matter how much Ife waited.

  "You were my life, Irai. But I... I was your death."

  This time, the golden thread burst from Ife herself.

  And this time, it wrapped around herself.

  It got tighter and tighter.

  And then, when it was ready to break, Ife suddenly felt a hard blow to her head.

  She fell to the sand, next to Irai's body.

  "...You need to rest."

  Before she could even process the words—or the pain—another sharp blow came.

  And then, the darkness swallowed her up.