Wukong scribbled away on the parchment in front of him while reading the book just above it. Classes have resumed, and so have the assignments from teachers. Although what he is writing has nothing to do with that, he has already completed those; these notes are for his use. The book he is reading over is weather-worn, with its spine peeling, and the pages have aged spots. Every time he handles it, it feels like it will fall apart. The diary of Matriarch Davar has been through much, traveling with her everywhere so that she could record everything she saw. What Wukong has is the original, while the other tribes were given an exact copy. Traditionally, he would never have laid eyes on the diary until he turned thirty, but traditions can be broken for just cause.
“It’s odd not to have our classes disrupted,” a female voice said. Wukong had noticed the approaching presence and closed the diary, shuffling his notes together to place them in an upside-down position. The dairy and its contents are not for everyone's eyes, but the one who approached him is not seeking a glimpse. Awena Nisha, a young girl with fair skin, her face dusted with freckles and her hair waist-length, wavy, off-white, and tied back with a feather. Her rounded cheeks and gentle eyes give her a soft appearance. She is adorned in a dress that falls in soft, unbroken lines, skimming the figure without clinging. Her sleeves are snug at the elbow before falling open in gentle flares, and her neckline is modest. The color of her dress is white, with patterns of falling feathers in a golden hue. On her back is her clan’s insignia, a swallow depicted in mid-dance.
Awena is in the same year as Wukong and is considered one of the brightest females. Although she has a more natural talent for their more physical classes, her control over her body allows a particular grace to her fighting style. Where she lacks in power, she makes up for it in defensive maneuvers that utilize an opponent's strength against them. Cian even envied her style, and Wukong remembers the boy pestering her to teach him some of her tricks, which helped Cian achieve a new peak in his fighting. Wukong was also forced to seek training lest he fall behind his rival.
Wukong quite liked Awena; her clan is notorious for being transcendent entertainers well known throughout Faux Point, and she carried that showmanship with her upon arrival during their first year. Her willingness to perform led the students to believe she would be an attention seeker, disrupting their classes for her amusement, but she never lived up to their expectations. Awena acted well-mannered and showcased her abilities effectively during sparring sessions with a flurry of moves, as well as in written assignments through descriptive wording and beautiful handwriting. Wukong supposed that was why he got along with her; she respected the rules of The Cornucopia.
“I would think you would see it as a reprieve.”
Awena smiled at Wukong’s words, her crimson eyes sparkling with amusement. “I was never bothered by Cian’s disruptions because he chose his moments carefully. He kept his mouth shut during important lectures, but livened the boring ones.”
“You are more than capable of filling in his shoes,” Wukong said pointedly. Awena scrunched her face, her nose wrinkling as if she smelled something bad. “And face Grandmaster Edwin? I’m not that brave.”
Wukong huffed through his nose. “Then why do you mention Cian, if you do not plan on following in his footsteps as a student?”
The gentle smile returned to Awena’s face. “Perceptive, Son Wukong, although I find it offensive that you didn’t assume this was a quaint chat.”
“I would have, if current events were different,” Wukong said, casually tapping Matriarch Davar’s journal with his pencil. The girl looked down at the book and nodded. “My mother sent me a letter this morning,” Awena said, forgoing her casual manner and adopting a serious tone. “The Kemp Vekoslav Coliseum is being prepared for an event. Father is overseeing the preparations and is working to shift the arena for less than a hundred spectators and two combatants. Of the spectators, it’s expected for every tribal leader to attend with accompanying guests, and a few notable clans like the Farfallas.”
“What event are they intending to hold?” Wukong asked, although he deduced the answer. Whispers that are delicate in their travel from one ear to another, yet find no issue in spreading far, not dissimilar to a butterfly’s pattern. It is a masquerade to not come off as simple gossipers, but that is who the Farfalla Clan are. If they are invited anywhere, it is so they can act as heralds, for they truly are efficient in their craft. This means that the event taking place is no mere athletic competition regularly put on by the tribes; no, if news must be spread, then a ceremony must be taking place.
“A rightful heir ceremony,” Awena confirmed Wukong’s suspicions. “Patriarch Bomin wishes to appoint his successor over Heartsease, and as is the tribe’s custom, whenever twins are born and neither wants to concede the role of tribal leader, they must prove themselves.”
Wukong felt utterly flabbergasted. He is familiar with all the customs of each tribe. Out of the seven, only Heartsease does not recognize the twin first out of the womb as the heir. They proclaim that no one knows which child was conceived first; therefore, they both deserved the opportunity for the heirship. The opportunity presented itself in the form of a ceremonial combat, in which the twins would go toe-to-toe against each other, using whatever items or weapons played to their strengths. Whomever won the fight would be crowned the next tribal leader. The only way a fight can be avoided is if one child bows to the other, not contesting that their sibling should be the leader.
He has known the two eldest sons of Heartsease for years, and they had made apparent whom their tribe’s heir would be. Although Cian and Keegan are not twins in the natural sense, they were born on the same day, at the same hour, and cried in tandem, which is how Cian liked to tell it. When Patriarch Bomin adopted Cian after the death of Patriarch Benaiah, the tribes and clans recognized Cian as his son wholeheartedly. Thereby making Cian and Keegan twin brothers despite only sharing blood as cousins. Ironically, if Patriarch Benaiah had still been alive, there would be no need to hold the ceremony because Cian was the original heir. That being said, his father had died, and he had been taken in by his uncle, changing the dynamic. Not that technicalities mattered, Cian had conceded his claim to the heirship and made it clear he would follow his brother, so what changed?
“Thank you for informing me of this,” Wukong said, bowing his head slightly in gratitude. Awena’s cheeks turned a shade of dull pink, further extenuating her freckles as she bowed back to Wukong. “It’s always a pleasure to help a son of Davar.” With nothing further, Awena took her leave, allowing Wukong to ponder over her words.
It has been months since the incident at Lake Kai, yet what occurred underground is not something easily forgotten. A fight to the death brings out a person's true nature, and Cian and he both witnessed Keegan’s. It would be hypocritical of him to say that he had not wished their assailant to feel as much pain as he caused them, but there was more to Keegan’s words than idle promises of requital. The boy had wanted that man to experience torment. Wukong had seen that anger when they were first swept into the tunnel; it had perturbed him before, but he had thought it rational considering how unfair he was being toward Cian. He could not rationalize it when Keegan was adamantly fighting against him to reach Shiloh’s conduit. Could that be what changed Cian’s mind? It was doubtful as Cian seemed unsurprised by the choices of his brother, and then the boy had probed if Wukong had mentioned any of it to his father. Cian did not seem to mind hiding his brother's woes, and he may have done so before. Whatever the case, the two will have to fight against each other, and Wukong can already see the outcome.
—————
The sea is a beautiful sight to behold. Its waters expand far, and its depths seem to know no bounds, not to mention that exotic life is abundant underneath its shimmering surface. One would think they would never tire of the sight of endless waves, but Cian can attest they do become a bit much. He had only ever ridden aboard a steamship once, and that was to get to Almaga to start his academic career at The Cornucopia. From what he remembered then, the novelty of riding the steamship had dissolved within a few days, very much the same as now. So he cannot be faulted for his over-enthusiastic celebration when the ship finally docked at the port town of Nora Zora. Cian jumped from the boat when it stopped moving, and that is a literal description.
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With one foot on the ship's railing, Cian pushed off; the force behind the jump sent him into a wide arch. He crossed the gap between the boat and dock, landing in a roll, and startling dockworkers. When Cian got to his feet, he laughed joyfully at being able to stand on solid ground, well, solid wood that was not the deck of the ship.
“Son Cian, I ask that you refrain from taking idiotic avenues!”
From where he stood on the dock, Cian looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. His tribe has a special group of soldiers called the Lamb’s Guard, instituted by a patriarch long ago, and their function is to watch over the tribal leader’s children. They are to act as a shield and a sword against anyone wishing to harm the children, as well as prevent them from participating in dangerous ventures. Cian likens them to strict, sometimes overbearing, handlers, and the one traveling with them goes by the name of Warden—one of Cian’s favorite people in the world. Warden is an older gentleman in his late forties, with a pointed beard and mustache that frame his mouth. He is dressed in loose robes that make him appear thin, but they are a farce, hiding his muscled frame underneath. The coloring is a monochrome of violet, yellow, and white, and on his back is the Heartsease tribe insignia, a wild pansy. His long, charcoal-gray hair is kept in a tight bun, with no loose strands visible. The man’s face is set into a frown, his crimson eyes flaring as he looks at Cian in disapproval. “The ship was becoming a bit stuffy!” Cian shouted in response. He made a big show of stretching his limbs.
“Since you’re down there, catch!”
Keegan, unperturbed by the scene, started tossing the party’s belongings downward to his brother. The unexpected flying projectiles nearly hit Cian, and he is only saved by his reflexes, although he thinks Keegan is purposefully trying to hit him. “My Scion, the crewmen are supposed to handle our belongings,” Warden said, his voice laced in exasperation. “No need to make them work hard when Cian can do it. Besides, it's fun tossing things at him. Why not try it?”
Warden gives Keegan a deadpan stare because he is supposed to be an example to the children and not participate in whatever games they play. That being said, tossing one large trunk should be no issue, and Warden must admit it was amusing to see Cian scramble to get it before it landed in the water below.
Once they officially disembarked, the company of three traversed the streets of Nora Zora. Despite having docked early in the morning, the town was lively as its people went about their daily business. The port is not very large, nor is it the main port on the continent, but it is heavily utilized to transport raw goods from Begonia to the tribe of Davar.
Most of the buildings in the town are storage houses, but there are a few scattered inns and restaurants strewn about. Since they had disembarked before the ship could serve breakfast, Warden directed the children down a street overlooking the beach and ocean. The man knows of a delightful inn that specializes in warm porridge with fruit, and is served by the nicest of elderly ladies. How Warden described the meal made Cian anxious to try it, his stomach rumbling noisily. His impatience drove him to run ahead of Warden and Keegan, their pace decent yet too slow for Cian’s taste. Warden had already given him directions, and Cian had never been known to get lost, so he was confident as he navigated around people and carts. It became a game for him to weave between the moving bodies and jump onto the back of wagons to hitch a ride. Cian became so engrossed that he began adding daring feats. One in particular had him scale a short building to run across the rooftops of the adjacent buildings before spotting one with a canvas awning at the entrance. He did not hesitate to tuck his arms in and leap off the roof ledge; the awning sagged under his weight, but held, and Cian bounced off as it retracted.
The child had been prepared to land on the street below, but at the same time, a man walked out of the building and from under the awning. There is a harsh thump as Cian lands on top of the man. “I am so sorry, sir!” Cian cried as he rushed to roll off the man. He reached out to check if the person was alright, but then the man sat up and smacked Cian upside the head. “What do you think you are doing?” the man yelled in admonishment. “Have you no idea how dangerous that was, son?”
Cian rubbed his head as the man fumed. “Imagine if you had landed on a woman, or God forbid, a child!”
“I deeply regret my actions, please forgive me,” Cian said, bowing to the man in an attempt to quell his anger. The man stopped his ranting and huffed, carding his fingers through his hair that had come undone from its hair tie. He gave Cian a critical look before seeming to come to a decision. “I must apologize as well. I shouldn’t have readily raised my hand against you, especially since you were quick to apologize,” the man said, extending a hand. Cian accepted, allowing the man to help him to his feet. He then began wiping dirt from his garments, and cringed when he saw the man’s burgundy tunic was far more stained. The man, for his part, simply combed his charcoal-gray hair with his fingers and re-adjusted his hair tie. “What is your name, boy?” the man asked once everything had settled down. “Cian, son of Bomin of the tribe of Heartsease,” Cian introduced himself. At the mention of his name, the man’s eyes widened almost comically, and the crimson of his eyes paled as much as his face did. “Bomin—Patriarch Bomin? You're his eldest son!”
“One of his eldest, yes,” Cian corrected. He is floored when the man suddenly drops to his knees and bows. “Forgive me, Son Cian! I didn't know who you were!”
The man groveled, and his antics caught the attention of those around them. It made Cian feel awkward because he did not know what to do in this kind of situation. “Who am I to raise a hand against the son of a patriarch?”
“You did nothing wrong!” Cian proclaimed, crouching to urge the man up, while also waving away interested onlookers. “I'm the one who jumped on you.”
At the reminder of Cian's recklessness, the man sat up and smacked the child. “And how utterly idiotic that was! Why were you jumping from a building? Are the streets so terrible you can't walk them?” the man asked, his brows scrunched in a stern line, until it dawned on him that he had struck Cian again. “Forgive me!”
It takes more apologizing from both parties and forgiveness of misdeeds, but eventually the two are squared away. Enough that the man offers up his name in return to Cian’s introduction, Karun Vritra. He is a man of average height and appears to be in his early thirties. Deep lines framed Karun’s mouth and eyes, etched into his olive skin by what Cian assumes are years of smiling or laughing. The older man is smiling now, his eyes gleaming with gentle mirth, and Cian could not help but like him. One peculiar aspect about the man’s appearance is the insignia on the back of his tunic. It is of a reptilian creature rearing up on its hind legs, hissing. The creature’s body is long and sinuous, resembling a snake, but it has four short legs with feet resembling those of a bird. At the end of its tail are a sprouting of feathers, while its head is a lizard’s with a set of fangs and a forked tongue protruding from its open maw. Before Cian could inquire about the clan’s symbol, he heard the voice of Warden calling out.
“Son Cian, please tell me you haven’t accosted that man?” Warden asked. He strode over like a parent ready to reprimand their child for being unruly. Cian was offended at how swiftly Warden judged him, even if the man was correct. “Oh, our Scion has done nothing of the sort,” Karun responded on behalf of Cian. “I fell, and the boy was merely helping me.”
Not one to provide unnecessary details unless prompted, Cian did not refute Karun’s words; instead, he gave the man a grateful smile, which he returned. Warden looked doubtful, but the inn is only a building away, and he spotted no serious injuries. “If that’s the case, do take care of yourself, sir, and may God prevent further accidents.” Warden bowed his head and motioned for Cian to follow.
“It was a pleasure to bump into you, Mr. Vritra,” Cian said, extending a hand for a handshake. Karun accepted the formal gesture with a hearty grip. “Likewise, Son Cian.”
Cian walked with Warden and Keegan, but slowed down as Keegan asked quietly what happened. He laughed lightly at his brother’s intuition, looking back at the spot where he met Karun. The man was taking items down from a wagon, and as Cian further inspected the building he came from, he realized it was a budding shop. There is a “Soon to open!” sign below the actual name of the shop, Oblitus Phasma. A strange name that had Cian wonder what wares Karun would be selling. He made a note to return one day and visit the man when his shop was fully operational.
