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Chapter I·XV - Powers

2022-06-29T13:05:40Z

Lanstiril:

{{NavChap|[[Chapter XIV - Savagery]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XVI - Civilizations]]}}
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<center><big><big><big><big>'''XV - Powers'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2481'''</big></big></center>

{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|If Belenor forgot the number of years it took him to mourn, he did so, as Brandille had announced him. There was that day when the first image that came to him when he woke up was not the severed head of his friend. Then that other time, when he didn't think about him all day. Month after month, the ghost of Garius, until then clinging to his shoulders, gained in lightness. And then one day, he vanished, without the Fyros even realizing it, leaving only the happy memories behind. Today, thinking back on this strange period, only the memory of the first two years seemed clear to him. Two difficult years, so much his relation with Varran had degraded… Because since the death of his twin, the colossus was only the shadow of himself. An aggressive and sad shadow. His friends thought they would seen him sink definitively all when his father, already quite weakened by his work in the mines, committed suicide a few months later. So when, in 2477, Melkiar obtained the highest academic rank and decided, to the great displeasure of the army, to leave Fyre for good to join his tribe, he took Varran under his wing. As sad as the goodbyes were then, Belenor experienced Varran's departure as a relief. Like a new beginning. And to move on, he took refuge in work.

Thus, while finishing his studies, the Fyros joined the teaching staff of the Academy. While the military strategy courses he was teching to the young academicians occupied much of his time, his new status also granted him certain privileges. One of them was access to the private sections of the Great Library of Fyre. Thus, Belenor had plenty of time to delve into a subject that had interested him greatly at the acme of the writing of his story: the study of the Karavan, the Kamis, and the many cults that were dedicated to them. This is why he was so interested in the study of the Karavan, the Kamis, and the many cults dedicated to them. Indeed, his encounter with the Black Kami had deeply upset him. Was it the same one that appeared a few months after his birth, above his cradle, as his parents had told him? If so, what ties did he share with him? Why had he saved him? And then, what about that voice, which he was sure he had heard, just before the Kami attacked the Dune Riders?

:"I need you, Belenor... Think of the Happy Days, Belenor... I am always by your side, Belenor. Never forget.''

Obsessed by these questions, the Fyros had combed all the studies on the Kamis available at the Academy. He wanted to know everything about these spirits of nature. Of course, he knew that the knowledge compiled by the Empire was not enough, and that sooner or later he would have to go to the highest place of known Kamic knowledge: the city of Taai-Toon, where the Great Library of the Zorai people was rebuilt after the Empire had sacked Zoran in 2328. Unable to resign himself to leaving the Academy without the highest rank, like Melkiar before him, Belenor had to find something to quench his thirst for knowledge. Thus he began to frequent the Kamis temples of the capital, sometimes accompanied by Xynala, where they were both initiated into various ritual practices. Although freedom of worship was a right granted by the Empire to its citizens, the spirituality of the Fyros was never to prevail over the "Four Pillars of the Empire". That is why the Empire allowed, under certain conditions only, the construction of temples within its cities. Moving thus from theory to practice, Belenor was surprised to see how the followers of the various Kamic faiths maintained good relations, despite certain major disagreements. The most important of these was the existence and identity of the Supreme Kami. According to the majority of cults, the Supreme Kami was Jena, the Goddess of the Day Star and the Mother of the hominity, while for other more animistic currents, there was no Supreme Kami. If in "The Sacred War", the story he had written a few years earlier, Belenor had amused himself by imagining the Supreme Kami as a gigantic entity buried somewhere in the depths of Atys, none of the Kamic cults he had studied described such a being. Yet he had never forgotten the time he had met that Zorai trader in the tavern more than ten years before. He had never forgotten the frightened look she had given him as he spoke the words "Black Mask"… A black mask he had seen himself caressing in a vision, triggered by the Black Kami's physical contact, as he and Xynala had gone to Garius' improvised burial chamber. Deep down, Belenor was convinced that his childhood dreams, the very ones that had fed his story, were not insignificant. Perhaps they had something to do with this Black Kami. So the Fyros got into his head to meet a Kami, in order to discuss with him.
[[file:Kami 1.jpg|right|400px|alt=Fire Kami]]
This is the request he made to Messen Dyn, an old Kamist monk with whom he had befriended. Hesitant at first, the old Fyros finally accepted the young follower's request, not so much to do him a favor as to make him understand that the Kamis were not loquacious creatures. In his opinion, if the young homin was really blessed by the Kami, he should by himself understand the fate they had in store for him. The first few times Messen tried to invoke a Kami, the ritual failed: sitting cross-legged in front of the great brazier that overhung the altar, the two Fyros meditated and prayed for a long time, without success. And then one day, when there was no indication that this meditation session would be special, the great fire suddenly stopped flickering. As if they had just solidified, five red flames froze, while at the bottom of the blaze, the blackened logs seemed to be animated by strange movements. Surely some unseen force was shaping the flaming and carbonaceous material. Only when the Fyros realized that the two yellow shapes he was watching at were nothing more than a pair of eyes, did he know that the ritual had worked. Endowed with long, hairless, brown limbs and five horns that looked like burnt wood, still glowing at the tip, with red and orange veins running down to its large yellow eyes, the Fire Kami was in the process of extricating itself from the inferno. A few seconds later, it is the arched back, crouched on the edge of the altar in front of the incandescent flames, that the divine creature observed silently the two homins. Messen thanked his guest for a long time then explained him briefly why he had called upon him. And while the old monk gave the word to Belenor, and that this one thanked in his turn the Kami of Fire, the divine creature jumped back and disappeared in a spray of flames…
{{Couillard}}
Sitting comfortably on his father's rendorhide chair, elbows resting on his magnificent solid wood desk, and hands busy playing with the braid of his long mahogany beard, Belenor stared dully at the flame of the wall lantern. Even today, the memory of this brief encounter remained burning. As much as the disappointment that was associated with it. For since that time, he had never seen a Kami again. Taking his eyes off the hypnotic light source, the Fyros turned his attention back to his student's assignment. But no sooner had he frowned, detecting a gross error, than he heard a knock on the door.

:''"Come in."'' the Fyros ordered without taking his eyes off his copy.

:''"I'm sorry to bother you so early, young master, but your friends just arrived already. They are waiting for you in the lobby."

Looking up from her copy, Belenor smiled at her nanny.

:''"You know you never bother me, Penala."

The Fyros put down his igara quill, stood up leaning on his father's desk, and headed for the door. The wrinkled face of the old lady, who had just spread her arms, showed an affectionate smile. It is without waiting that Belenor snuggled up against her. The relation that the young homin maintained with his nurse was particularly strong. Much stronger than the link of blood which bound him to his parents. She was the one who had fed him, bathed him, looked after him, raised him. A substitute mother, in short. Therefore, if he was often reluctant to take his mother in his arms, Penala's embraces brought him, on the contrary, always much comforting. With her nose buried in her greying hair, Belenor tried to delay the moment of separation: the girls could wait a few minutes. It was not the opinion of Penala, who, kissing him noisily on the cheek, put an end to the embrace.

:''"Come on master Belenor, you might be late. Isn't this day important for you?"

:''"Yes, it is, Penala, you are right. The truth is that I'm a little stressed, I must admit… I didn't sleep well, and I feel quite tired. Four years have passed, that's a long time. I hope that everything will go well."

:''"Everything will go well, I'm sure. Have you any lunch? Eating might give you some strength."

:''"No, my stomach is in a knot."

:''"So do me the favor to take a detour to the kitchen before you join your friends. And don't forget to enjoy this day, it would be a shame to pass that by. Oh, I also wanted to tell you that this braid looks great on you! When I was your age, your father wore the same braid."

:''"So, I would have preferred to do without this compliment, Penala."'' Belenor grinned before returning her kiss.

His nurse gave a slight laugh, kissed him one last time, then gently pushed him out of the office. Half obediently, Belenor went through the manor at the run, but headed straight for the entrance hall, without passing through the kitchen. As agreed, Xynala, Tisse and Brandille were waiting for him next to the big doors of the cave manor.

The two Fyrossa, each dressed in their scarlet military uniforms, were busy looking at a large amber sculpture that decorated the entrance. Four years ago, when Melkiar and Varran had departed, they had both decided to leave the Academy and join the military full time. The trophies they had won during their teenage years, combined with the last academic rank they had earned and the fame they had gained in recent years as reservists, had allowed them to enter as officers. From then on, the two homines had become very close, forgetting all about the love fights of their adolescence. Xynala Zeseus, now a lieutenant, was in charge of one of the mobile platoons responsible for maintaining order in Fyre. As for her, Tisse Apoan, promoted to lieutenant instructor, was in charge of teaching marksmanship to the military and academics. In many ways, the exemplary careers of the two Fyrossa were emblematic of the porosity that existed between the Academy and the Imperial Army. Brandille, for her part, wearing loose, brightly colored clothes that matched her multicolored braids, stood on the tips of her boots and was monitoring the outskirts of the mansion through the screened hatch in the main door. Watching his friend from the top of the open staircase that led to the entrance hall, Belenor knew instantly that something was not quite right: Brandille was strangely motionless.

:''"Hello, you three."'' said the Fyros as he came down the steps two at a time. ''"Is everything all right, Brandille?"

:''"Except for the awful smell that's been attacking my pretty little nose since this morning, you mean?"

:''"What do you mean? What smell are you talking about?"

:''"Ah, so you don't smell anything either."'' exclaimed Xynala, turning around. ''"The first thing that Brandille told us at noon, when we came to look for him with Tisse, was that we didn't smell good… Here's the mood."

Turning around with a bounce, Brandille put her hands on her hips and looked falsely outraged.

:''"It is not you, specifically, who does not smell good. I can't count the number of baths we've already shared, so I can attest to the impeccable quality of your grooming. It's not you, it's on you. It's in the air, and it's settling everywhere!"

:''"And what does that smell look like, Brandille?"'' continued the Fyros.

:''"I could hardly tell you, Enor. A pungent, sickening smell. For the moment that's still light. But my little nose – and you know how reliable it is – is certain that the smell is only getting closer. Ah, by the way, it has just revealed to me that it is carried by the west winds!"

:''"The west winds?"'' questioned Tisse mischievously, his fingers lost in his long red hair. ''"Ah, but that's good, we have the answer! That's Melkiar and Varran, who have returned from the depths of the Desert after four years without bathing!"

At these words, Belenor and Xynala burst out laughing. Brandille rolled his big mauve eyes to the sky, opened the doors of the manor wide and pinched her nose.

:''"You three make a fine bunch of comics. Would you like to join my troupe? I'm recruiting non-stop right now, for my new show. In fact, there's a rehearsal tonight!"

:''"By no mean."'' replied the redhead. ''"If we're on leave today, it's not to work tonight!"

:''"More seriously Brandille, this smell is worrying you?"'' continued Belenor while passing the door step following Tisse and Xynala.

:''"Quite enough, yes. But maybe Tisse is right, and that it emanates simply from the two other weirdos. He's expected at the imperial palace, isn't he?"'' asked Brandille as she headed for Dyros Avenue.

:''"Yes."'' Belenor swallowed. ''"That's right."

If the reception of her friends had allowed him to forget her anxieties, at least during a few moments, these had just reappeared at gallop. Because today marked the return of Melkiar and Varran in the Fyros capital, after four years of absence. Four years during which few letters had been exchanged. Four years of separation, which perhaps questioned the depth of their friendship. Belenor remembered how, eleven years ago, when to convince Xynala that the heartache she felt would pass, like all the negative and positive emotions that crossed the homins during their life, he had taken as an example the affection that all of them felt for each other.

:"One day, we won't be friends anymore, that's a certainty. The potential reasons are numerous: ideological differences, weariness, physical distance, or simply death. Everything passes Xynala. Everything…"

At this hour, the Fyros hoped to be mistaken. And if, having discussed it with his three friends, they were all much less worried than he was, he had not managed to reassure himself. Especially since he still felt responsible for Garius' death, even though he had been tried many times to persuade him otherwise…

During these four years, it was also likely that Melkiar and Varran had changed a lot. Especially Melkiar, whose father had been killed before his eyes, on the battlefield. This strengthened the bond between him and Varran a little more. Becoming chief of the Dragon's Tears tribe, Melkiar succeeded in going even further than his father, Tigriron, and perpetuated the coalition formed by the latter at the time of the war against the Dune Riders. Signing a peace treaty, the tribes of the former coalition placed themselves definitively under the protection of the Dragon Tears. But this historic event was only the beginning of a great series of political victories. So, just a few months ago, Melkiar finally succeeded in bringing all the tribes of the Western Desert under his leadership. An unthinkable feat, reminiscent of the unifying military campaign that Dyros the Great, the first emperor of the Fyros people, had led more than two hundred years earlier. But unlike Dyros, he had not had to resort to arms. His bravery, charisma and great intelligence seemed to have been enough. At this thought, Belenor smiled inwardly, and remembered the speech he had given on the day they met, already eighteen years ago:

:"When I grow up, I plan to bring all the tribes to the west of the Desert, where I was born. Life there is much harder than here. No regular army, no aqueduct… I would like to found a great city there, equal to Fyre. Of course, waging war on the rebellious tribes to force their cooperation might be enough. But that's does'nt fit my values. I promise myself to do it my way: to prove my bravery, to perform feats, to gain their trust."

Today, Melkiar's dream was within reach. For if the one who was nicknamed The Prodigy had travelled to Fyre, it was precisely to meet Emperor Cerakos II, who had succeeded his father Krospas, who had died two years earlier during a traditional varinx hunt. To discuss with him his desire to found a city that would adequately accommodate the tribes he was now federating. A city that, built around Fort Kronk, would become the great imperial city of the far western desert. Belenor understood why Xynala, Tisse and himself had fallen in love with Melkiar. His ability to gather widely around him, and to move forward - ever further - was fascinating.

:''"Enor, you're listening to me?"'' exclaimed Brandille, her nose still pinched.

Not observing a response, the acrobat leaped in front of his dreamer friend then continued in his nasal voice.

:''"You think too much, I can see it in your eyes. In those moments, it's like time expands. Like you pause the conversations, and take the time to write your thoughts in between everyone's lines. Why use the third person, anyway? Anyway, let's move on… I'll repeat myself, Enor: no, these four years of separation are not enough to put your friendship in question. Yes, Melkiar's life has changed a lot: he now has many more responsibilities than once. But you remain his friend, Enor. Not to mention the fact that he tied his fate to yours that day. Remember? You're the one who'll tell his story. That's what he says at the end of his speech. At the end of the first chapter of your adventures."

Stopped short, both by the leap and the monologue, Belenor glared at Brandille.

:''"Brandille, I hate it when you do that…"

:''"When I do what, Enor?"

:''"When you read my mind, Brandille."

:''"I don't read your mind, I've told you that. I'm not a Kami."

:''"Yet you…"

:''"You're just a real open book, Enor. And I know you like I wrote you!"

The Fyros sighed, Brandille clowned with her pinched nose, then both followed Xynala and Tisse through the alleys, toward Dyros Avenue. Built in the widest crack of the fissure that hosted Fyre, this busy thoroughfare connected the Imperial Palace directly to the city wall that closed the city to the south. As expected, the avenue was particularly crowded on this market day. Arriving at the top of that avenue, the four comrades were only a ten-minute walk from the Palace, of which they could already contemplate the immense central tower from which the Emperor used to speak to his people. A ten-minute walk from Melkiar and Varran, therefore, whom they would certainly find in front of the Palace, on Hempios Square. And if Xynala, Tisse and Brandille seemed to be in a hurry to get there, Belenor slowed down the pace, progressively, until he stopped completely. Now with his back to his friends, the Fyros looked down the avenue, towards the south, frowning.

:''"No need to delay the inevitable Enor."'' Brandille joked, turning around.

:''"No, Brandille, it's not that. The smell you were talking about, I think I smell it."

And as a singular air dawned Brandille's face, the nozzles of kün-trazen, the great belfry at the top of which the warning horn was fixed, resounded throughout Fyre. Instantly, a deadly silence invaded Dyros Avenue. With a lump in her throat and a tight heart, Belenor quickly sought out the eyes of Xynala and Tisse, hoping to find some answers. The annual invasion simulation exercise had taken place only a few months earlier, and both were officers. So surely they must have known why kün-trazen had just started his sinister song. Unfortunately, he found no answer in the eyes of the Fyrossas. Simply a mixture of incomprehension and fear. But the worst sound was yet to come. The same one that rose almost immediately from the Southern Gates, and whose memory would pursue the hominity forever: the ghastly buzzing of decline. Soon, the first cries rang out at the bottom of the avenue, as the buzzing and the acrid smell intensified. And then Belenor saw them in the backlight: the strange winged creatures whose silhouette would be so familiar to them in the future. It took Xynala no less than that to regain her composure and unhook the bullhorn from her belt.

:''"General alert! Let the reservists head for the nearest barracks! As for the others, take refuge in the shelters and escape tunnels! Follow the procedure!"

And at the same time, as the first flying beings sped over the main artery, Belenor's lungs burst into flames. An aggressive toxic veil had just poisoned the atmosphere. Like many of the bystanders around him, he fell to his knees. Some even vomited or lost consciousness. With a grimace on his face and squinting eyes, the Fyros watched helplessly as the avenue was swept by a wind of panic. In the distance, one could even make out startings of a fire. But what was going on? Except for the attempts of some tribes, at the dawn of the imperial era, Fyre had never been attacked. And even less invaded. So, what were these strange winged creatures, much larger than the largest birds ever recorded? Undoubtedly the evil creations of the Matis, to whom the Karavan had long ago revealed the secrets of genetic manipulation. After all, although at peace with the Fyros since the Treaty of Karavia, signed in 2436, the Kingdom of Matia remained the ancestral enemy of the Fyros Empire… As if to indicate to Belenor that this was not the time for history lessons, an onlooker accidentally hit him and made him fall on his side.

"Enor, up!" hissed Brandille, helping him to his feet before the mass of crazed citizens trampled him.

For around the little group, panicked Fyros were rushing at full speed toward the Imperial Palace – the most fortified place in the capital – creating dangerous crowd movements as they went. They seemed to be fleeing from the southern part of the avenue, obscured by the thick black smoke produced by the fire-fighting systems, and where for a few seconds already, the distant screams had given way to terrible howls.

:''"Don't panic! Stay orderly! Follow the procedure!"'' shouted Xynala to the terrorized crowd.

:''"Tisse, up there!"'' she suddenly exclaimed, raising one of her clubs.

:''"I know, I saw it,"'' the redhead replied calmly.

Left knee placed on the ground, Tisse had already shouldered the impressive rifle that never left his back. Because in the air, to some tens of meters only, one of the mysterious creatures was pricking on them. Raising his head in turn, hoping to finally examine the nature of the threat, Belenor was instantly seized with dread. No, such a monster could not have come out of a Matis laboratory… Concentrated as ever, Tisse did not falter in front of the horrible aspect of the beast. The sniper held her breathing, waited a few long seconds, then fired. The bullet shot towards the kipesta's streamlined body and ricocheted limply on its iridescent carapace.

:''"Tisse, the wings!"'' shouted Belenor, whose spine was tingling.

Methodically, the Fyrossa reloaded her weapon, readjusted the sight and barrel, then fired a second time. The bullet flew again towards the kitin and tore off this time the three right wings. Then, without waiting, Xynala dashed forward and leapt under the squealing, zigzagging monster. And even before it reached the bottom of the rift, she struck from the air a violent clubbing blow on its ovoid skull, thus accentuating the impact of the fall. The flying creature crashed heavily in the dust at the same time that the Fyrossa landed on the ground. And it is without fear that Xynala dashed again towards the foul beast to finish the job. Armed with her two fetish short clubs, she had no trouble to completely crush the head of the kipesta. Trembling, his nose pinched, Belenor cautiously walked over to the sickening corpse, and with his free hand, pointed to the swollen gland and oozing proboscis that lay beneath the monster.

:''"That yellowish substance they produce, it's flammable. We have to stop them before the fire suppression systems run out. Otherwise, Fyre is headed for disaster!"

As if to give credence to the Fyros' words, the ground suddenly shook then. Would a new threat soon be added to the list? Unsettled and terrified, Belenor tried to find comfort on the faces of his friends, but to no avail. The Fyros army may have been the most powerful in Atys, but nothing had prepared it to face an air invasion, the first in all of homin history. At this precise moment, Belenor hoped that the great strategists of the Empire were working out an emergency plan. And while some might consider him one of them, his stress-fogged mind prevented him from that claim for the time being. Someone had to step in, and fast. A wise and experienced person. Like the general Euriyaseus Icaron, whose voice suddenly sounded behind him.

:''"Xynala, Tisse, go to the nearby barracks and assemble a squadron of reservists each! You are promoted to captains for the day! And if you succeed, you can be sure you'll stay that way! Pass on my instructions to the officers you find there!"

Mounted on a mektoub armored to the trunk, the venerable Fyrossa, the same one who had refereed the famous duel between Melkiar and Xynala during the Academy Games, almost fifteen years earlier, had just arrived at their level. She had donned heavy armor and held a long, sharp pike in her hand. Through her visor, she looked in succession at the two Fyrossas with an enraged air. Thus perched, armed and clothed, nothing but the numerous decorations covering her breastplate could lead one to believe that the warrior was over seventy years old. Once again, her age testified to the great longevity of the homins, far superior to that of the animals that populated the Bark. Placing the head of her mount in the direction of the south, the Fyrossa continued.

:''"Shooting weapons will need to be given to each soldier, and the most sophisticated magic amplifiers will go into the hands of the most skilled mages! Once equipped, you will ride the freight elevators to the top of the Backbone! Your goal is to lure these flying monsters out of the city's faults! Is everything clear?"

:''"Yes, General!"'' shouted Xynala and Tisse in chorus.

:''"Good my girls. I'm off to the South Gates now! I count on you!"

Without delay, General Icaron gave the mektoub a whiff of her spurs and it sped off into the thick black smoke. Followed by Brandille and Belenor, Xynala and Tisse made their way to the barracks carved into the northwest wall of Dyros Avenue, where many Fyros were already equipping themselves. Obeying orders, they enlisted the officers present there and had the reservists equipped. Brandille and Belenor were given rigid leather armor and a pair of high quality amplifiers. In the end, it took the four hundred Fyros gathered there ten minutes barely to get equipped. Ten long minutes during which the infamous buzzing never stopped. During which the ground shook several times. During which many of their number probably perished under the flames of the flying monsters… Ten endless minutes, then, during which Belenor had tried hard not to let his growing anxiety get the better of him. His friends needed him, he should not lose his means. Not like in front of the Dune Riders. Because the slightest mistake would be fatal. As it had been for Garius six years ago… More determined than ever, the Fyros stormed out of the barracks, accompanied by his three friends and many other soldiers.

And at the same moment, the Dragon's Backbone cracked. The shockwave, of unheard-of violence, threw Belenor and his comrades to the ground. Half lying on Brandille, the Fyros stood up as best he could. What he saw then horrified him: the tremor had cracked the crevasse under the barracks, and with a sinister grind, an entire section of the bark wall was beginning to tip slowly forward. Panicked, the soldiers rushed in the opposite direction, not hesitating to trample those of theirs remaining on the ground. Tisse and Xynala, busy helping the wounded to get up, were certainly relying on the large roots that were still holding the wall. Unfortunately, with a second loud crack, a huge piece of unbound bark suddenly broke away from the main wall. Paralyzed by fear, Belenor did not even feel Brandille, who, with his hand firmly clutched to his shoulder, tried in vain to pull him out of the reach of the death trap.

:''"Tisse, Xynala, flee! Quickly!"'' he succeeded in shouting in spite of everything.

The sky darkened abruptly as the two Fyrossas turned their heads towards him. And if Xynala's face was distressed, Tisse was not: his face showed calm and great determination. For endless seconds, his long red hair waved. Then, everything collapsed.
{{Couillard}}
Belenor reopened his eyelids, face against bark, mouth full of soot. Despite the violence of the shock, he seemed well and truly alive. Alive but wounded, in view of the horrible pain that bruised his right leg, now swollen and twisted. Mentally directing the Sap that was irrigating him to his broken limb, the Fyros crawled painfully in the rubble and dust cloud. Between the pieces of bark and the corpses. Terrified, lost, and unable to see more than five meters away, he felt panic assail him. Around him, the evil buzzing of the flying creatures had given way to the silence of desolation… And his hearing, just accustomed to the oppressive sizzling of the wings, had become particularly sensitive to the other sounds around him: the plaintive grinding of the bark, the crackling of the flames, the heart-rending lamentations and the distant cries. It was thus without difficulty that he recognized the tone of Xynala's voice in the howling that resounded not far from there. Knowing now where the two Fyrossas were, Belenor accelerated as best as he could. And if he tried several times to answer his friend, he did not succeed, so much his throat was obstructed by the soot. It is then that, like a Kami, Brandille appeared out of the fog of dust and helped him to stand up. The acrobat did not seem to have suffered any injury. Nor even his outfit any snag.

:''"I'm here, Enor. Let me help you."

Firmly leaning on Brandille's shoulder, the Fyros dragged himself towards the place where Xynala's cry had sounded, passing on the way some haggard and wounded soldiers who were wandering in the mist like spirits. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he saw her: Xynala was kneeling in front of a gigantic bark block.

:''"Xynala, I'm here,"'' Belenor coughed. ''"Where... Where is Tisse?"

For all answer, Brandille seized his friend's hand and shook it hard. Belenor swallowed and continued.

:''"Xynala?"

This time, the Fyrossa turned her head. And Belenor took a step back. For his blood-covered face was tense with rage. For her bulging eyes were reddened with tears. And because in front of her, the body of Tisse Apoan lay, half crushed under the immense mass of wood.

:''"She… She pushed me. I… I couldn't save her,"'' Xynala stammered through clenched teeth.

Gently grabbing her long red hair, she used it to cover the exposed part of her friend's body. Like a shroud.

:''"I did not succeed in raising this block of bark. I… I'm not strong enough… I never was… I hate this body! I hate myself!"

Full of fury, Xynala began to hit the block of bark with howls of fury. As for Belenor, he almost collapsed, his legs wobbling and his eyes misty with tears. But Brandille, faithful to his post, prevented him from doing so and helped him to sit down. And then his lips whispered:

:''"Enor, that…

:''"No, Brandille,"'' cut in Belenor. ''"Please don't. Don't tell me it will pass. Anything but that…"

:''"Okay, Enor, sorry. Get up, we have to go."

Get up? No, he didn't want to. If going somewhere else meant having to witness the end of others close to him, then he would rather stay in this field of ruins.

:''"Please, Enor, get up. The smell is getting stronger, more creatures will be here soon."

More monsters? Perfect. Soon he wouldn't have to feel this pain anymore. All he had to do was… Brandille slapped him.

:''"Enor! I know that look! Those thoughts! You have no right to abandon me, do you hear me?"

Forgetting his dark thoughts for a few moments, the Fyros shook Brandille's hand and returned his gaze to Xynala. His friend was still pounding the bark tomb of Tisse with his fists. Then abruptly, Brandille pointed to the fog with her free hand. The dust was slowly beginning to settle.

:''"Xynala, over there!"'' hissed the acrobat.

Without missing a beat, the Fyrossa picked up Tisse's rifle and fired a shot by guesswork. The bullet flew and an ignominious squeak sounded in the distance. At the very place where a strange gallop was beginning to be heard. A gigantic herd seemed to be approaching the homins.

:''"Brandille, how many of them are there?"'' continued the Fyrossa, snagging Tisse's rifle on her back and drawing her two short clubs.

:''"Too many, Xynala. Much too many. And they are different from the other creatures."

The Fyrossa's face, distorted by hatred just a short time ago, now showed a steely determination. A determination similar to the one Belenor had read on Tisse's face before the bark block crushed her.

:''"I'll hold them off. You run to the shelters."

:''"Wha… What? What are you telling, Xynala?"

:''"You heard me right, Belenor."

:''"Do you really think we'll let you sacrifice yourself, like Tisse? You're dreaming Xynala! You're dreaming!"

The Fyros, whose injured leg had regained its vigor, abruptly straightened up and slip on his magic amplifiers. Brandille, still on her knees, stared in the direction of where everyone expected the kitins to appear. Gallops were getting louder.

:''"Belenor, that's an order, I'm your leader! Better yet, I've even been promoted to captain by the general!"

:''"Don't listen to her, Brandille! Get up and slip on your amplifiers! I'll take care of supporting Xynala with my healing magic. You take care of the monsters. As soon as the first ones appear, you char them!"

And as if the mention of it had summoned it, the first creature sprang from the fog. This thing had, in terms of horror, nothing to envy to the flying monsters that had set the city on fire a short time before. Five feet tall, it resembled a monstrous bronze-colored spider, whose stinging abdomen arched under its six legs, and whose curved skull was fitted with a pair of serrated hooks. Taken together, the two sections of its body gave the creature the appearance of an enormous jaw. With mad agility, the kincher sprang at the small group. Then five more burst out of the mist. Then ten. Spreading her arms against the rising wave of kitins, Xynala infused Sap into her throat and let out a superhomin roar, hoping to focus the enemy's attention.

:''"Belenor, Brandille! Flee!"

:''"Never Xynala, never! Rather die! Damn it Brandille, get up!"

Brandille, strangely motionless, contemplated the crazy race of the monstrous insects, which were now converging on Xynala. But this was no time for meditation. Because in a few seconds, the warrior's clubs would meet the sharp legs of the first kinchers. There were dozens of them.

:''"You fools, run away!"

Without another word, the Fyrox charged toward the kitins. Fully aware that, one or three fighting, they would not make it, Belenor tried to catch Brandille's gaze. The most important person in his life. His jaw clenched and his eyes moistened, he addressed his friend one last time.

:''"Brandille! You have no right to abandon me! Do you hear me? Brandille, if you don't want to fight, get up and take my hand… I want to be with you, all the way…"
And as Xynala leapt to her certain death with her clubs drawn and her legs loaded with Sap, Brandille bent her head skyward and howled. But the high-pitched sound that came from her mouth was nothing like a scream. Nor was it even anything like any other atysian sound. It was a high-pitched, piercing blast of sound that penetrated all levels of Belenor's being, and resonated with every single draconic ash that made him up. A crystalline thunder, whose score was instantly deciphered by all the cells of his body. For this superhomin cry concealed within it some dire vibrations. A terrible omen. A primitive signal: the one that triggers apoptosis, cell death.

The shock wave produced by the scream instantly dissipated the gigantic cloud of dust and propelled Belenor several meters backwards. Crashing heavily into the sawdust, the Fyros howled in turn. Brandille's scream was piercing his skull, from which waves of pain spread throughout his body. Was this what the Zorai felt when the growth of their mask was not supported by the magic of the Kamis, as he had imagined in the story he had once written? Whatever the answer to that question, the Fyros had never suffered such torment. To endure this pain was inconceivable. There was not a chance he would escape. Thus, he who had imagined himself being devoured by one of these creatures, was finally going to be killed by his friend, right here. With his mouth distended, his eyes revolted and his arms spread wide, Brandille did not stop howling. Her body was vibrating unreal, faster and faster, until it was eating away at the bark around her. But Belenor was not the only one to suffer the wrath of his cry. For for several dozen meters around, the kinchers were falling like flies, crushed by Brandille's implacable cry. Reaching the limits of his endurance in handling the Sap, Belenor felt his heart slow down. He was no longer in position to regenerate his self-destructed cells. And as a black veil began to blur his vision, the screaming stopped.

Half unconscious, the Fyros did not know how much time it took him to get up. Feverish, nauseous, drooling and glassy-eyed, he ran a trembling hand over his face. Noticing the red color of it, he understood that blood had flowed in large quantities from his nose, his eyes and his ears. This certainly explained the horrible headache that was pounding his skull. Totally disoriented, he looked around him, taking advantage of the lifting of the fog to find his bearings. The monstrous wave of giant insects had broken from the bottom of Dyros Avenue, crushing everything in its path. Now transformed into a dead sea, it was just agitated by some nervous spasms. A sea in which Xynala had drowned. If he had survived the scream, there was no doubt that she had too. She must have… Staggering in the supposed direction of the Fyrossa, he glanced at the crater dug by Brandille, in which her body had disappeared. If he feared for Xynala's life, he knew Brandille was still alive, though very weak. He could feel it, without understanding how or why.

Then the ground shook. For the umpteenth time. Looking down the avenue, Belenor let himself fall to his knees. The Southern Gates were spewing out a monstrous swarm. A gigantic tidal wave of wings, stings and fangs. This time, there was no Brandille to save them, only a miracle could guard them from the coming cataclysm. Raising her head and closing her eyes, Belenor then dedicated a thought to each of her loved ones. To Varran and Melkiar, whom he would have so much liked to see one last time. To Tisse and Garius, whom he would soon join. To Xynala and Brandille, by his side, until the end. To Penala, of course, whom he hoped would be safe. Even to his father and mother, whom he loved, despite everything. Finally, he devoted his last thought to Messen Dyn, the old Kamist monk whom he had so assiduously spent time with in recent years. So, with his eyes closed and his face fixed on the Day Star, he began to pray to the Kamis, much especially the Black Kami. Then he thought of the Supreme Kami, whoever he had been. After all, who else but him could perform miracles? Several seconds passed, waiting for death and praying. And then, against all odds, Jena answered the Fyros. With a heavenly squeak. Above Fyre, now bathed in darkness, a gigantic Karavan flying machine had just appeared. Upset, Belenor raised his arms to the sky and burst into tears. He had never forgotten what Melkiar had said to him that day while sitting in the tavern.

"I hate the Karavan as much as I hate the Kamis… They think they are our masters… And that will last as long as we continue to name them 'Powers'! For as long as homins chain themselves to them, so long will they remain slaves in their eyes! As for me, I have already made my choice, that day: rather to die free than to live enslaved!"

Deep down inside, despite the deference he showed to the Kamis, Belenor understood Melkiar's position. But what could the homins do, alone, in the face of so much horror? How could they free themselves from the bondage of the Powers, without losing all that they had acquired so far? Whatever the answers to these questions, at that moment, the Fyros had already made his own choice: that of life.
}}
{{NavChap|[[Chapter XIV - Savagery]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XVI - Civilizations]]}}
{{Portal|The Great Library|Fyros}}
[[Category:The Sacred War]]

Chapter I·XIV - Savagery

2022-06-29T13:05:09Z

Lanstiril:

{{NavChap|[[Chapter XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XV - Powers]]}}
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<center><big><big><big><big>'''XIV - Savagery'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2475'''</big></big></center>

{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|When Belenor opened his eyelids, he saw only darkness. Where was he? What day were we? And why did his skull hurt so much? Since his nose was clogged he couldn't smell, but the taste of blood on his palate made the Fyros wince. What had happened to him? Spitting to relieve his respiratory tract, he noticed with a few seconds of latency that the bloodied mucus he had just rejected had flown straight towards the dark sky, soiling the sleeves of his suit in the process. For his arms were swinging strangely above his head. Gradually recovering his spirits, Belenor looked at his feet. They were entangled in a root net, through which a brazing light seemed to filter. The Fyros bent forward several times to grab it, but to no avail. The ground refused him. He sighed and spat a second time. Again, the mucus flew over his head. Above, or below? Then memories came back to him. Melkiar's terrified look, the explosion, the shock against the wall of the crevasse, the fall. Frozen with horror, the Fyros looked once again at his entangled feet. This brazing light was that of the explosion. From the surface. At this revelation, he was taken by a terrible dizziness. Because he was indeed suspended by the feet in the void. If his first reflex was to scream for a long time, Belenor understood at once that it would not be of any help to him. So he tried to grab the net of roots, again and again, without success. If he wanted to get back up, he had to get rid of his gear. All the precious provisions and supplies it contained. He had no choice... Compelled, the Fyros grabbed the straps of his bag and cautiously untied them. And as his ballast dropped, one of his legs unhooked. Screaming once again, Belenor managed in panic to pull himself up enough to grab the net with both hands. He then had only to channel the Sap that was irrigating it to force the thin roots to spread slightly, enough for his small carcass to make its way to the surface of the mesh.

Belenor's first instinct was to see if any of his comrades had been as lucky as he had. His heart sank with fright as he saw the few pieces of armor still smoking around him. As he checked to see where they came from, terror gave way to relief: they all belonged to the Dune Riders who had been blown up... Still trembling, the survivor ran his right hand over the wound that was gashing his forehead, closed it with a flick of his finger and looked up. At first glance, he must have been two hundred meters below the surface. By chance, he had been thrown by the shock wave, and had fallen down the side of the wall to the root endings of an in depths tree. Had it been the same for his comrades? Belenor swallowed and cautiously walked to the edge of the net, to the place where it was bending under his weight. Now accustomed to the darkness, he was guessing the presence of lights at the bottom of the crevasse. The depth seemed to him quite excessive. He hoped, just as deeply, that his comrades had managed to cling to the edge of the crevasse… Then, imagining himself to be the unique survivor, the Fyros felt his heartbeat quicken and his tears rise. And while, disoriented, he moved back towards the bark wall, he stumbled halfway: he had caught his feet in a strange root, which was now clasping his left ankle. This same ankle cut off by a Rider ambushed on the root bridge earlier in the night. That same root… consisting of five fingers. Then Belenor screamed and struggled like a madman. And if he thought he heard a voice, the echo of his screams totally masked it. The scene lasted for long seconds, during which the hand did not let go.

:''"Belenor, is that you?"

:''"Let me go, let me go!"

:''"Belenor, it's me!"

:''"Let go of me!"

:''"Belenor, it's Garius! Calm down and help me!"

:''"Let go of me, let go... Ga... Garius?"

:''"Yes, damn it, it's me! Help me, I'm stuck!"

Immediately, sadness and fear moved on to the purest euphoria. He was no longer alone. Everything. Everything but loneliness. Using his strength and drawing on the Sap, Belenor helped his friend to extract himself from the mass of tangled roots that imprisoned him, starting with his massive arms. On Atys, the speed of growth of some plants was such that it was sometimes risky to fall asleep for too long in the middle of nature. When the colossus had regained control of his upper limbs, he had no trouble pulling out the roots that were binding his legs. Feverish, Belenor could not hold back and jumped into his friend's arms. He was so relieved! Then, he observed him from feet to head. The blast had torn the armor plates from his torso, his helmet, and had caused deep burns to his neck, face and skull. For a few minutes, the two Fyros checked to see if others of theirs were buried in the root net, and found that they were well an d truly alone. They only found Garius' gigantic axe.

:''"There's no one Garius, there's no point. Sit down here, I'll take care of you."

The colossus lowered his head and obeyed. He fidgeted with the handle of his weapon nervously. Belenor, who had not lost his precious magic-amplifying gloves, began to give his friend care. Silently at first. Then Garius spoke up:

:''"Belenor, do you think that..."

:''"Garius, it's no use."

:''" But, V... Varran."

Understanding the concern he was feeling for his twin, Belenor placed both gloved hands on his friend's now healed shoulders. He himself could not help but think of Brandille.

:''"Garius, we have no idea what happened to the rest of the squad. But if we survived, then there's hope for them too. After all, we were closer to those who blew themselves up. They were logically less affected by the explosion."

:''"Yes, you're right, Belenor," replied the colossus, nodding his head with a determined look."

:''"Do you see the fault in the wall?"'' added the healer, pointing to the place where the roots were coming out of the bark.

:''"Uh, yeah?"

:''"That's our way out. These thin roots are from a tree whose trunk is probably not on the surface, but rather in a nearby cavern. It's as if the tree is trying to reach the other wall, and close the crevice, you know? Anyhow, Melkiar had told us that the subsoils in the area were particularly porous. Besides, Fort Kronk is known to be connected to a vast network of galleries. If we're lucky, it may be that we stumble upon it!"

At these words, Garius stood up hurriedly. He was bursting with new energy. With a determined step, he walked towards the wall of the crevasse.

:''"You're really too smart Belenor! Let's do it. Let's go into your cavern, find the galleries, join the others andsmash the Riders' faces in for good!"

Happy to see that his friend had regained his determination, Belenor went towards him.

:''"There remains one size problem, though, Garius."

Arms crossed, the colossus turned around. And, with a frown on his face, he stared at his friend.

:''"Go ahead, Belenor, come up with it."

:''"I just told you. We have a size problem. Your size. I'm not sure you can fit through the fault."

For all answer, the muscular Fyros showed his axe to Belenor. He couldn't resist adding a comment, however.

:''"Pickaxe or axe, same fight, Belenor! I am miner's son, no obstacle scares me. And especially not when it comes to exploring the depths of the Bark. We're not Fyros for nothing, right?!"

And without further formality, the colossus struck a violent blow with his axe at the crack. A block of bark and a piece of root immediately separated from the wall, widening the fault a little. Smiling, Belenor sat down. Garius didn't imagine how comforting her presence was.
{{Couillard}}
The excavation work turned out to be less complicated than expected: the further the two Fyros went into the fault, the wider it became. After an hour of lumbering, Garius no longer needed to cut through the bark to move inside the wall. Only the roots of the tree they were trying to reach climbing sometimes turned out difficult to move. Often, they had to contort themselves. And even though the lanterns Belenor had crafted allowed them to see where they were going, it was not uncommon for them to hit their heads or get their hands stuck. And then finally, after a long hour of crawling, with Garius in the lead, the colossus let out a cry.

:''"Belenor, I see light! There, there's light! Right there! Ah, fucking root, get out! There, Belenor, do you see?"

:''"I can only see you, Garius!"'' answered Belenor curtly, exasperated. ''"Then move on!"

:''"Wow, it's too beautiful Belenor! Rrrah, I'm stuck…"
[[file:Rotoa-L.jpg|right|400px|alt=Some rotoai in the Prime Roots|Some rotoai in the Prime Roots]]
Garius struggled, involuntarily kicked his friend in the nose, screamed a good deal, and finally managed to extricate himself from the fault, thanks to the pulling out of a few fine roots. Too fast, surely, since Belenor saw him lose his balance and hurtle down a short slope. If the Fyros welcomed without surprise the swearword that his friend uttered, his heart raced when the thud of a large eddy reached his ears. Water? Hastily, and with much more ease than Garius, Belenor escaped from the fault. The beauty of the panorama that was offered to his gaze petrified him with amazement. He had just entered an immense cavern whose bark walls and ceiling, located at about fifty meters from the ground, were studded with amber blocks. Sometimes diaphanous, sometimes reflecting the light produced by the numerous fireflies and bioluminescent plants which populated the depths, the iridescent partitions of this marvelous decoration reminded Belenor of certain sites of excavations which he had been able to visit at the time of his passage to Coriolis. On the other hand, he had never seen plants as beautiful as the gigantic rotoa that stood in the center of the lake into which Garius had fallen. This endemic plant of the Prime Roots, so much celebrated for its beauty, had to measure in the fifteen meters. An impressive specimen, which would have delighted the Matis botanists, whose attraction for the rotoai was well known. Indeed, the rotoa was a plant born from the fusion of roots of different plants, one of which had specialized in the reproduction of the chimeric species, via the conception of flowers with pink, mauve and white tints. Flowers that, seen from here, had to measure in the six meters of circumference. A magnificent plant therefore, but also a precious object of study for the scientists of Atys, for whom the rotoa represented the incarnation of the symbiotic being.

:''"Belenor, the water is so fresh! It's crazy to think that it's so nice, when only a few kilometers to the east, the caverns are real furnaces! Come on, let's go for a swim!"
[[file:Lumper.jpg|right|400px|alt=A lumper in the Prime Roots|A lumper in the Prime Roots]]
The Fyros closed his mouth and walked towards his friend. It was while he was walking that he noticed the fine rain of multicolored pollen that filled the space and contributed to the overall hypnotizing kaleidoscopic effect. So that was the ecosystem of the Prime Roots? When he reached the edge of the pool, he began to unfasten his suit. Then, noticing that a group of four lumpers were cautiously quenching their thirst not far away, he hesitated. These emerald-coated, spine-backed herbivores with four long, powerful, bowed legs posed no threat. On closer inspection, their big, red, fleshy eyes on either side of their heads even hinted at the awe they felt about the two homins. On the other hand, their presence testified to the existence of wild fauna in these caves, some of whose species were probably far more dangerous than the lumpers. Belenor shuddered as he thought of the vorax, lizards endemic to the Prime Roots endowed with spiny backs and gigantic jaws full of razor-sharp teeth. Predators that could, he had been told, grow up to five meters long. He had never met one. And although his curiosity was great, the Fyros wanted to avoid make such a predator's acquaintance as he was taking his bath. So, while filling his gourd, he called out to his friend without delay:
[[file:Vorax.jpg|right|400px|alt=A vorax in the Prime Roots|A vorax in the Prime Roots]]
:''"Garius! You should come out. We don't know what creatures inhabit these caverns…"

:''"Oh come on, just a quick swim! We've earned it!"

At the same time, a terrifying roar sounded in the distance, and spread in echo until making the water of the pool lap. Immediately, the spiny backs of the lumpers bristled with with a shudder like that of a wind chime. Belenor watched the animals hurriedly leave the watering place, then set his gaze on Garius again.. The colossus looked far less relaxed.

:''"Well, okay, it's dangerous, I'm going out."

For the next few hours, the two Fyros explored the succession of caverns that were opening up to them. As soon as they were able to, they headed west, and thus towards Fort Kronk. If they passed a few groups of ambushed varinxes, they managed to stay away from the vorax. The only one they saw - a huge specimen - was taking a nap on the central island of a large lake. Arriving at the end of a cavern that didn't seem to open onto any other, they both began to search for a passage hidden by vegetation. After a few minutes of investigation, Garius uttered a curse unlike any he was used to. By its intonation, Belenor knew he had discovered something noticeable.

:''"What did you find, Garius?"

Standing in front of the wall he had just cleared, the colossus had poked his head into a side fault.

:''"It's… It's incredible Belenor, come and see!"'' replied the colossus, his voice muffled by the thickness of the bark.

The Fyros' heart raced as he hurried toward his friend. What had he discovered? When he reached his level, Garius shifted to the right and motioned for his comrade to stick his head through the fault. Then the Fyros stood on tiptoe. And like Garius, he was struck with amazement by the landscape drawn before him. The cavern in which the two Fyros found themselves, yet hundreds of meters wide, was nothing like the one they were now observing from their window. It was only a speck of dust stuck to the ceiling of a cavern of continental dimensions. For it was a true world that the two Fyros were looking at. A buried and secret world of forests, seas and root mountains, stretching for miles beyond the cavernous horizon. At first glance, the sky of this dark world must have been several hundred meters above the ground. A sky covered with amoebai, these strange translucent plants in the shape of a star, whose extremities were sometimes covered with bioluminescent stinging hairs. Plants which were much less luminous than real stars, which did not make it easy to observe the buried continent. Because of this, Belenor did not know if what he saw was a ruined city nestled between two mountainous roots, or a simple illusion fantasized by his imagination…
[[file:Dzikus.jpg|right|400px|alt=Amoebai in the Prime Roots|Amoebai in the Prime Roots]]
:''"So this is the real Prime Roots, Belenor? It's nuts! You imagine how much there is to discover in the depths of the Bark? It's beyond me… You know, Belenor…"

Garius stammered something and then fell silent. His friend, fascinated by the view, did not notice that he had broken off. A few silent seconds passed, then the colossus resumed:

:''"Even though I'm worried about our friends, I'm really happy to have this adventure with you... I'd also like to apologize, again, for all those times Varran and I bullied you. I..."

:''"Garius, we've been over this many times. It's in the past, you are both forgiven. And I, too, am happy to be on this adventure with you. Sincerely."

Over the years, Belenor had almost forgotten the days when the Deco twins bullied him. That all was belonging to the past now. A bygone past he did not want to remember. Yet, some memories came back to him, much against his will. In particular, the day when he had met Melkiar for the first time. The day when this mysterious child with supernatural charisma had warned him of the loneliness which would be destined to him if he did not modify his behavior quickly. Patting the massive shoulder of his friend, the Fyros continued.

:''"We'll have plenty to report back to the others, won't we? They're fine, I'm sure. In fact, maybe they'll have some stories to tell us too! You know, Garius, when I observe this panorama, I understand how the thirst for discovery can drive our people to dig so deep. How it can drive us to take so many risks. I also understand better why the Karavan asks us so ardently not to explore the Prime Roots. Maybe they don't want us to discover certain things... I thought I saw some ruins, over there between the two mountains. You see them?"

Belenor, again lost in thought, stared intently at the hallucinated ruins. Ten long seconds passed before he realized that Garius had not answered his question.

:''"Garius?"

Without taking his eyes off the landscape, the Fyros put his hand on his friend's shoulder again. Unfortunately, it was already too late. Even before he could react, the colossus' body fell backwards. By reflex, Belenor plunged his hands into the magic-amplifying gloves attached to his belt. He soon realized that this would be of no use to him: the moment he pulled his head out of the fault, he saw nine homins facing him. All of them wore the motley mix of ochre-painted armor the Dune Riders wore usually, and one of them clutched a long blowpipe in his hands. Belenor swallowed and raised his hands in submission. Everything was fine. Garius had been merely put to sleep. And he, well aware, was smarter than all those Riders combined. He would easily succeed in negotiating. Everything was fine. His eyes searching for the chief, he swallowed a second time.

:''"Well… Hello, I'm Be…"

Unfortunately, the club that came striking his skull did not let him the opportunity to introduce himself any further. All the more so as it struck him at the exact spot where his head had hit the bark wall a few hours earlier. And even before he could infuse Sap at the site of the injury, he collapsed onto his friend's body.
{{Couillard}}
It's hobbled and gagged that Belenor regained consciousness. Facing him, eyes wide open and mouth muzzled, Garius grunted. He was probably trying to tell him something. Scanning the space quickly, the Fyros analyzed the situation: they were both tied to a makeshift chair and sitting in front of a large tree stump that seemed to have been placed there for the occasion. For the place they were in was strangely empty. It was a kind of circular duct of about twenty meters in diameter, whose ends were lost in the darkness. Nothing to do, therefore, with the caverns teeming with life that they had traversed earlier in the night. Inspecting the walls more carefully, Belenor had a click: this strange conduit was a vein of dried-up sap. A vein of sap that had been emptied, cleaned and transformed into a corridor of displacement. A corridor that undoubtedly belonged to the network of artificial galleries that Melkiar had told them about. Did this mean that the Riders were still haunting the underground of valley of Fort Kronk, despite the victory of the Dragon's Tears? It probably did. But it also meant that they were close to the surface, and thus to their allies. For a few minutes, Belenor tried to loosen his bonds, to no avail. Then the sound of boots echoed through the impenetrable shaft. Some homins were approaching. Worried, the Fyros sought comfort in the eyes of Garius, who winked at him. At the same time, a large axe emerged from the darkness and stuck into the tree stump. Garius' axe.

:''"Pretty axe. How many of our people did you kill with that weapon?"

A helmeted Rider had just leaned on the makeshift table, lantern in hand. His accent was very strong. Garius, still muzzled, stammered a reply. The man tore off his gag without mercy.

:''"You were saying?"

:''"Ah, fuck… Thus yes, I was saying: not enough!"

Passing his hand behind the neck of the colossus again, the Rider grabbed his smooth skull and crushed his head against the stump. Raucous, muffled laughter echoed around the prisoners in the darkness. Well determined not to show any sign of weakness, Garius laughed in turn. On his side, Belenor was gesticulating like a demented as gibbering incomprehensible words. It was quite obvious that he wanted to speak. Falsely compassionate, the Rider freed him in turn from his muzzle. It is without wasting a second that Belenor hammered with his speech.

:''"Greetings, proud representatives of the Dune Riders tribe! I introduce myself, Belenor Nebius, ambassador of the Fyros Empire sent to your country to mediate negotiations between your tribe and this of the Dragon Tears!"

The lie was big. Witness the taken aback look Garius gave him. In the same way the various squads of Captain Apokillo's squadron had been sent to different strategic locations in the far-western desert, the squad led by Melkiar was a mere reinforcement sent by the Empire to bolster the defenses of Fort Kronk. The Empire had never planned to negotiate. But if this lie were to pass, the hope of negotiations, coupled with the diplomatic immunity that every ambassador enjoyed in principle, could save their bacon. Instantly, murmurs were heard in the darkness. His introduction had made its small effect.

:''"An ambassador, eh?"'' replied the Rider dryly. ''"I well so recognize the Empire. Destroy then negotiate. I was told that Thesop was a tyrant without honor, and that with his assassination, everything would become easier for us. Lies. Nothing has changed since Krospas rules your decadent empire. Living behind these walls has definitely turned you into servile cowards. I am ashamed to share your blood!"

More patriotic than anyone else, Garius sought to rise, ready to unhinge the jaw of the one who had just insulted his people and his Emperor. Unfortunately, the bonds that held him to the chair were too many and tight. Even for him. So the Fyros spat on the Rider's armor. Immediately, fists sprang up from the darkness and beat him up. The makeshift chair toppled to the side and the beating up went on. On the ground.

"We've tied you up tight, so you won't be able to get free. And then we filled your suits with vials of oil. If you try to ignite your bonds, your whole body will go up in flames."

At these words, the Savage sat astride the stump, facing Belenor, in front of the axe.

"Well, let's talk among civilized Fyros. I am Aekoros, one of the leaders of the Savage tribe. I have a first question for you, Belenor Nebius: are you from the squad commanded by the son of the tribal leader Tigriron?"

Baffled, Belenor gave Garius a quick glance. So, the Riders were looking for Melkiar? He should have known better. Ideally, he had to make sure the latter was safe and sound without revealing their membership in the squad. An impossible lie to defend. Especially now that he had posed as an ambassador to conduct negotiations between the Dune Riders and the tribe led by Melkiar's father… While, however, he didn't despair of finding a solution quickly, Garius didn't give him the opportunity to rack his brains long enough.

:''"If you ever have touched a single hair from Melkiar, I will..."

The kicking resumed at once. Belenor, who was beginning to panic, could not contain her emotion.

:''"Stop it! And, Garius, let me do the talking! Yes, we are part of Tigriron's son's squad. Our mission was to reach Fort Kronk in order to start negotiations with the Dune Riders tribe. But we were attacked by some of you on a root bridge and…"

:''"I know what happened. You were lucky that only part of the bridge collapsed. I, what I want to know is where is the son of Tigirion located. We saw you all come down into our galleries."

At these words, Belenor's heart heaved. Had only one part of the bridge collapsed? So, Melkiar and the others had survived! Better yet: they had gone looking for them through the network of dried veins. They could land any minute to free them. In the meantime, he had to buy time.

:''"You're wrong, we got separated from our squad during the explosion! We fell into the crevasse and miraculously found a passage to the caverns. We don't know where others are. But as an ambassador, I am a valuable prisoner! If you find them, you'll be in an advantageous position to negotiate!"

Yes, that was the only viable strategy. By the time the Riders got them back to Melkiar and the others, he would find a way to negotiate. Or even to trap them. He had to spend whatever time he had left imagining all the possible solutions.

:''"You want me to believe that you survived a fall of several hundred meters? What do you take me for? I know this part of the desert better than anyone."

:''"Then you probably know that the walls of the crevasses are often covered with roots! We fell into a kind of net, and only then did we climb back to the source of the roots, through the fault of the wall. You must believe us. We don't know where they are!"

:''"And if knew where they were… Kof kof… we wouldn't tell you."'' said Garius, coughing up blood. ''"We'd rather wait for them to find us… and kill you all."

:''"Garius, keep your mouth shut!"

The beating up resumed immediately. But at a hand signal from their superior, the goons stopped. A heavy silence settled in the darkened duct, where only Garius' wheezing breath could be heard. And then the Rider stood up, put down the lantern he was holding on ground, grabbed the edges of his helmet, and slowly removed it. He was a Fyros of about forty years of age, whose weathered, wood-colored hair blended in with his burnished, scarred face. Daintily, he placed one of his gloved hands on the handle of Garius' axe, whose blade was still stuck in the stump. Belenor couldn't decipher the look he gave her.

:''"Is this a trap? You think you're smarter than me, don't you?"'' he said, stroking the pommel of the weapon.

:''"No, no, absolutely not! Don't listen to him, there is no trap! We don't know where our comrades are!"

:''"You Imperials are all the same. You take us for morons. Degenerates, primitives... Yes, we are savage Riders. But not because we are not civilized, no. Because we cherish our freedom, and we are ready to do anything to preserve it! My comrades, on the bridge, who blew themselves up: they were sick. That's what happens when you breathe the torrents of air in the Desert of Fire for too long. This is what happens when you don't live behind walls. Of course, they would have preferred to live a few more years. But surrounded as they were, they decided to go for it. They had nothing left to lose, they had already accomplished everything. And you know what? I've already accomplished a lot too."

:''"Please, listen to me!"

With one hand, the Rider grabbed Garius by the collar of his suit and slammed his swollen head against the stump. The colossus' chipped mouth let out a mocking hiss as Belenor's eyes were filling with tears.

:''"You have yet anything to say?"'' the Rider asked, leaning into his ear.

:''"Yes… I... I piss on your ancestors."

:''"But… Garius, shut up! Aekoros, listen to me. Why would I lie to you, why?! We are both precious hostages, you... you have everything to gain by keeping us prisoner and negotiating our release with Melkiar! You have everything to gain, and we have a lot to offer!"

:''"Both? I thought you alone were the precious hostage… Lies. More lies. You definitely don't take me seriously. Hold him steady!"'' he threw in a firm tone to his goons, slapping Garius' skull.

:''"Please, what are you planning to do?!"

For all answer, the Savage tore the axe from its base and started pacing, obviously immersed in his reflections. Several tens of seconds passed thus. And then, in a whisper, Garius tried to reassure Belenor.

:''"Don't worry, Belenor. Everything… Everything is fine… Kof kof… Everything will work out fine."

:''"Kee… Keep silent Garius, I... I beg you, the Fyros stammered, his eyes misty with tears. U… Use the Sap and heal your wounds. I'll… I'll handle the situation, okay?"

Garius, his head still pressed against the stump, improvised a toothless smile. At the same time, the Rider stopped his thoughtful walk.

:''"Well, I've decided to believe you, Mister Ambassador. We're going to hold you hostage and try to… 'negotiate' with the one called Melkiar."

Belenor's heart raced again.

:''"Thank you! You... You just made the best decision of your life! You won't regret it!"

:''"I hope not. Anyway, if you tried to fool us, you'll end up like your friend."

:''"Wha… What do you mean?"

And, with a precise blow of his axe, the Rider decapitated Garius. The Fyros' head, with a final smile, fell to the ground and bounced back to Belenor. And with each bounce, the blow reverberated through the Fyros a hundredfold. From his heart to his skull. Then he screamed. He screamed as he had never screamed before. His soul shattered; his mind burst into flames; the mountain of his memories fell into ruin, taking with it his last affects. Without wanting it, he vomited himself, expelling all that could still attach him to reality. That is to say, of his very existence. He vanished in a corner of his head, leaving his uninhabited envelope at the mercy of the world. Hoping to forget. To forget the image of Garius' grimacing head, which he could not bring himself to take his eyes off. To forget this pain. To forget everything... But nothing remains empty forever. Nothing. Then, no sooner had he thought himself forever extinguished, than a secular shadow crept into him, and a liturgical chant emerged from the depths of his heart. In rhythm, the shadow began to dance.
::'''''"I want to die…"
::'''''"You can't, I need you Belenor.''

:''"Make him shut up! Let him stop screaming!"'' bellowed the Savage over the screams of the unfortunate Fyros.
::'''''"This… this world is so cruel…"
::'''''"Think of the Happy Days, Belenor."

:''"Gag him, or cut out his tongue!"
::'''''"I... I can't accept this..."
::'''''"You must accept it, Belenor. You have to move on."

:''"But make sure he stays conscious!"
::'''''"I… I don't want to lose them…"
::'''''"I am always at your side, Belenor. Never forget."

:''"I want him to understand how we suffer…"

:''"I… I don't want… I don't want to lose them,"'' sobbed the Fyros, whose screaming had stopped.

:''"Lose them? Your comrades? If the trap I plan to set for them using you as bait works, that's what will happen."'' the Rider answered coldly.

:''"No… I don't want to lose them…"

:''"Nothing is fair in war, Belenor Nebius. Nothing. You will join them soon, don't worry."

:''"No… No… No…"

:''"Come on, muzzle him."

Two of the goons advanced toward the Fyros, who no longer even tried to struggle. And as the one on the left was about to gag the prisoner, he stopped short. Something seemed to have caught his attention, behind Belenor, in the shadows. Not understanding what he saw, the goon glanced at his comrade. This one had just begun a slow movement of retreat, palms turned towards the ground.

:''"What are you two waiting for? Gag him."

:''"Chief... There's something there. Can't you see them? Two spheres…"

The goon didn't have time to finish his sentence when a tentacle of darkness came out of nowhere and pierced his chest at the level of his heart. A wave of panic swept through the group of Riders, who drew their axes and guns. But nothing could stop the storm they had raised… For, from the darkness, a multitude of other black appendages descended upon the unfortunate men, unable to defend themselves. Hearing the distant echo of the cries of horror, Belenor partly emerged from his catatonic state. Where was he? Who was making these cries? And what was that hot, thick liquid that was pouring down his face and seeping through the gaps in his armor? Then the Fyros looked up. In spite of the faint glow of the lantern, he could easily recognize a jungle Kami: the depth of that black, the whiteness of those eyes. But this one was different from the usual Kamis. For his small body was suspended from six long black and hairy legs, seeming to spring from his spine... Still elsewhere, Belenor watched the strange Kami pass over him, slowly. He should have been terrified by the sinister appearance of the divine creature, he knew it. Yet he felt no fear. He didn't feel anything anymore.

"The... The Dune Riders have always worshipped the Kamis… So… So why?"

Belenor looked down. A Fyros with wood-colored hair and a face full of scars, the same one who had just spoken those words, was lying in a mass grave of homins. His legs were missing. So that's what the liquid that was staining his face was: blood.

:''"You… You were hiding your game well… Belenor Nebius…"

Did they know each other? When the Kami stopped above the amputee, the latter pointed the dagger he was holding against his throat. He seemed determined to end it all. And just as he was about to cut it, his movement stopped short. The Fyros' arm was quivering. As if an invisible force prevented him from continuing. He stammered:

:''"You… You are not gods… You are… demons!"

Intrigued, Belenor turned his gaze again to the spirit creature. Above the amputee, the Kami was changing its appearance. His body, naturally plump, was swelling visibly. Its head was expanding so that its livid eyes gradually migrated to its temples. His little legs curled up, until they disappeared completely. But the worst was yet to come… For with a foul gurgling sound, the black and swollen mass tore itself apart. From bottom to top. It is only when Belenor saw the ignoble slit barded with teeth that regained consciousness of himself: his body, still tied to his chair, was now seized by a visceral fear. Yes, he was paralyzed with terror. And as the nightmarish maw came closer to the Rider, who was also paralyzed, he sank. He sank and dreamed. Of Garius' head, Varran's howls of despair, Tisse's given grooming, Xynala's caresses, and Melkiar's faded stare.
{{Couillard}}
For the third time in a few hours, Belenor regained consciousness. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Xynala's face, eyes closed, located a few centimeters from his own. The Fyrossa, lying against him, seemed to be sleeping. So, he had not dreamed: his friends had found him. Everything was real, even Garius' death… Looking around, he noticed that they were both in a small alcove carved in the bark, lit by the glow of a lantern hanging from the ceiling. Then Belenor looked again at her friend's sleeping face. She seemed so serene. Relieved to know she was safe and sound, he kissed her on the forehead. Although drowsy, Xynala reacted by passing an arm under his armpit and by tightening herself against him. The touch of his warm skin was so soothing.

"Xynala, can you hear me? I need to see Garius' body. Where is it?"

With a start, the Fyrossa woke up. And hardly did she cross the glance of Belenor that her eyes were loaded with tears. At once, she buried her face in the neck of her friend. The Fyros felt the powerful muscles of her arm contracting, against his back.

:''"Belenor, I was so afraid for you… But… Garius… I am so sad…"

:''"Xynala, I need to see his body. Please, where is it?"

Loosening her embrace, the hominin lifted the sheet that covered them and stood up. She was naked.

:''"We put him in a separate room, she said, picking up her leather suit. Melkiar watches over Varran, and Tisse and the others stand guard. We've taken refuge in a buried lair belonging to the Dragon's Tears."

:''"And Brandille?"'' asked Belenor, trying to ignore Varran's distant cries.

:''"Brandille has gone to Fort Kronk for reinforcements. They should be here soon. Only he could travel the last few miles without risk."

Reassured, Belenor got up and dressed in turn. Then he followed Xynala to the improvised burial chamber. Strangely enough, the sight of the sheet covering Garius' body, whose head had been skilfully placed back on the neck, did not trigger any rise of tears in him. As if the immense sadness he felt was impossible to express. The survivor sat down and rested his forehead on the immense draped torso of his deceased friend.

:''"I'm sorry, Garius. I panicked. Things could have ended differently, I'm sure. I will never forgive myself."

:''"Belenor, we… we need to know what happened."'' Xynala stammered as she leaned towards him.

Then, Belenor explained everything to her, in great detail. Xynala waited for him to finish before speaking again.

:''"Okay, thanks. You can't imagine how scared we were, when we saw you fall… Luckily, Brandille told us you were alive. You Belenor, specifically. He felt it. He was adamant. Varran was very worried about Garius… So, we scared off the pack of Riders, and without waiting, Melkiar led us to the galleries. We wandered for a long time, trying to get closer to the crevasse. Then, after several hours of searching, Brandille felt that you Belenor were in danger. So we sped up, and finally we came upon a mass grave in the middle of a shaft. And on you…"

Brandille had sensed that he was in danger? Like the Kami who had come to save him. At least, that was the assumption he was making.

:''"I don't understand Xynala."'' Belenor breathed, her forehead still resting on Garius' chest. ''"If the Kami had intervened earlier, he would have survived. So why? Why me?"

:''"Be… Belenor. I think you can ask him directly."'' Xynala replied before bowing face down to the bark.

Then, still seated, the Fyros turned around. A few feet away, a black Kami was staring at him with big, white, empty eyes. With a clumsy gait, the divine creature advanced to Belenor, who, remembering the monstrous mouth that had devoured the chief of the Riders, started to move backwards. However, the homin did not get discouraged.

:''"I… I thank you for coming to save me, O mighty Kami. But I… I can't stop thinking about my friend… Why? Why didn't you intervene a few minutes earlier?"

The Kami, who had stopped at Garius' body, looked back at Belenor. The survivor widened his eyes and swallowed. For now the spirit creature's eyes were filled with sadness. Without knowing why, Belenor held out an arm. And then, the Kami reacted in a totally unexpected way: he leaned its head against the hand of the homin and rubbed itself against it, as an animal would have done. Belenor didn't have time to appreciate the fabulous softness of his coat when a vision crossed him. A vision with the appearance of a memory. He was caressing the mask of a Zoraï. A firm mask, warm and black. As if he had just been burned, the Fyros abruptly withdrew his hand, which he then observed for a long time. And then, Xynala tapped on his shoulder, releasing him from the meanders of his mind.

:''"Belenor, look, the Kami!"

The divine creature, who had been bending over Garius' body, lifted the death sheet with a glance. At the sight of his friend's severed head, Belenor's heart leapt. Suddenly, he stood up, followed by Xynala.

"You… You can bring him back to life? You are a Kami, you have incredible powers! You… You can, I'm sure of it!"

Without reacting to the homin's words, the Kami placed its three large claws on the upper lip of the corpse, two of them at the level of the nostrils. It was only when they saw Garius' head moving and blood flowing that the two Fyros realized that the Kami's claws were extending into their friend's skull. If Xynala took a step forward, Belenor grabbed his arm. He had to know. Was he able to bring him back to life? Long, silent seconds passed. And then, finally, the Kami pulled his paw from Garius' face. His long claws were covered in blood. Turning to Belenor, he held out his palm, in which lay a small ball of flesh. Gently, the homin passed his hand over the strange bloody mass. What was that thing? And where was that imperceptible echo coming from, which he could barely make out? Unfortunately, a familiar voice called out to him and prevented him from concentrating any longer on the strange beat.

:''"Belenor, you must explain to me what happened."

The Fyros turned around. Melkiar, just entering the room, was staring at him with a dark look. However, as soon as the survivor opened his mouth to answer, the air became charged with energy: behind him, the Kami had risen into the air and was pointing with a sparkling claw at the newcomer. With the same hand that a few seconds before had unveiled the strange bloody booty. At the sight of the spirit creature's angry gaze, Belenor's body froze. Why was she looking at Melkiar like that? What had he done to deserve such treatment? While he longed to understand the scene that was unfolding before his eyes, this was anything but a time for questioning. For as the claw charged with magic, Belenor felt the draconic ashes that composed his being resonate with those of the divine creature. All around him, the whole small room began to vibrate. Then, listening only to his courage, he threw himself between the Kami and Melkiar.

:''"No! Please! He is my friend, don't hurt him!"'' he shouted, spreading his arms.

Then, instantly, the claw of the Kami took back its black color and the air discharged of the energy which it had just accumulated. The spirit creature, which had turned its gaze back to Belenor, floated to the ground. It floated to the ground, then sank slowly into it, as if the latter had no consistency. The homin stared at her two large white eyes for a long time. What had just happened? He did not understand. And if there was an answer, it would not come from the Kami. Because inexorably, the creature was melting into the bark… When his little fist disappeared, probably still clenched around the strange globe of flesh, Belenor wondered again about the nature of its contents. He also wondered what the Kami's absence would leave, when his two large white eyes vanished in turn. Would he ever see his savior again? He couldn't be sure. Yet he felt no sorrow. For the first emotion that overwhelmed him was relief. Yes, they had have a close shave.

:''"Be... Belenor. What was that Kami doing there? You really have to explain everything to me, please."

When the Fyros turned around, as if dazed, Melkiar looked at him with a forbidden air. He had so much to tell him… But again, he had no time to answer him. Because behind his friend, the person who meant the most to him had just appeared.

:''"Enor!"

Forgetting Melkiar completely, Belenor rushed to Brandille and threw himself into his arms. And then, for the first time since his awakening, he burst into tears. He screamed and cried for a long time. He was able to express his immense sadness, at last. Brandille, who let his despair express itself without intervening, never broke contact. And then, when the howling became a moan, her friend approached her mouth to her ear.

:''"Don't forget, Enor. This immeasurable pain you feel, it will pass. For everything passes. So goes life. So goes time."
}}
{{NavChap|[[Chapter XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XV - Powers]]}}
{{Portal|The Great Library|Fyros}}
[[Category:The Sacred War]]

Chapter I·XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils

2022-06-29T12:59:26Z

Lanstiril:

{{NavChap|[[Chapter XII - Family]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XIV - Savagery]]}}
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<center><big><big><big><big>'''XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils (to come)'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2475'''</big></big></center>

{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|:''"Thorns!"

In spite of the deafening tumult of the wind, all recognized Brandille's distant voice. And in a fraction of a second, the troop threw itself to the ground. The whole troop except Eurixus. At the same time, a gigantic flaming thorn rose from the sawdust mist, brushed against the imposing root on which Melkiar and Varran had tied themselves, and swooped on the unfortunate Fyros, whose accumulated fatigue had taken the better of reactivity. His torso exploded under the impact of the projectile.

:''"Shit, Eurixus is dead!"'' shouted Xynala, her voice muffled by her breathing mask.

:''"Untie him!"'' shouted Melkiar between gusts of wind.

:''"Not once again Melkiar, we must bury him!"

:''"Xynala, we don't have time! Burn his body and leave his ashes to the Desert! No one will forget him!"

With the spikes of her boots partially embedded in the soft ground, the Fyrossa swore and put on her magic amplifiers. She grabbed the strap Tisse handed her, hooked it securely to her harness, then unhooked the respirator and weapons from the tossing corpse of their dead comrade. Unfortunately, his precious bag had exploded from the impact and could not be retrieved. Once the gear was grabbed, Xynala stared at the thick amber visor of Tisse's mask. She waited for the homina to nod in response, then counted to three. Then, the two Fyrossas untied simultaneously the snap hooks which bound them to Eurixus. Like a rag doll, the body flew away toward the end of the procession. Finally, Xynala imposed her will on the Sap that irrigated her and, with precision, sent a jet of flame towards the soldier's body, which instantly set ablaze. Cloistered in his protective suit, and lying on the unstable and bubbling ground, Belenor was not able to see more than two meters away. He understood nevertheless what it was about when he saw the flaming mass passing behind the curtain of scarlet sawdust. He had heard Xynala's complaint. Garius, the last link in the homin chain, laid a reassuring hand on the Fyros' thick helmet.

:''"Don't worry, Belenor, I'm watching over you. Come on, let's get up!"

Belenor swallowed and obeyed.

''"One more death"'', he thought. If he hadn't really had time to befriend Eurixus, his loss was no less upsetting. They all were. Definitely, Belenor had not expected so many difficulties, and this despite the fact that Melkiar had warned them many times about the danger of this expedition. Or rather, he had thought he was ready. After all, the daily trainings at the Academy was demanding and varied. But in the end, he understood that nothing could prepare the inhabitants of the comfortable Fyre for the living conditions of the desert west, and especially those of the terrible Desert of Fire. You had to live it to believe it.

''"Let's regroup!"'' yelled Melkiar over the din of the red-hot storm.

Garius placed his large hands on the protected back of Belenor, who did the same with the soldier ahead of him. And while Melkiar and Varran pulled on the cable at the head of the procession, Garius and his comrades pushed with all their might. Finally, each soldier managed to plant his hardened amber sardine into the protective root. With his harness securely attached to the wooden anchor, Belenor put all his weight on his tether and let his limbs sway in the wind. After several hours of constant exertion, her muscles refused to relax, as if stuck in a state of permanent contracture. His ability to handle the Sap had failed, too. For if protective suits could absorb some of the thermal damage, magic remained homins' best ally when it came to protecting and repairing their bodies.

:''"Soldiers, Fort Kronk is only a few hours away! Once we have passed this dune, after the storm has dissipated, we will finally be able to see it in the distance! Also, it will mean that we arrive at the end of the Desert of Fire, and thus that the hardest will have been done! So do not despair, comrades! For if the Desert wills it, at dawn, it is sheltered that we will sleep! And when we awake, we will be able to feast in honor of Eurixus and all our departed!"

In response to these words, the soldiers shouted with hope. Belenor, his body swaying in the wind, glanced at his comrades. Their squad, like the five others that made up Captain Apokillo's squadron, had originally consisted of twenty-five soldiers. Now it numbered only nineteen… The Fyros regretted having left the city of Coriolis, where the different squads had been formed. Especially since he had enjoyed the trip from Fyre with the squadron, as well as the long stop they had made in the famous mining city, source of so much glory and misfortune. Coriolis was not really a city, but rather an agglomeration of mines and excavation sites crammed into a gigantic valley in the Dragon's Ridge. A cluster of slums, too, in which the impetuous Fyros miners were crammed. The few comfortable dwells in the city were occupied by imperial officials, important figures and guild leaders. Such was the case of Tiralion, Belenor's father, who had finally decided to settle there after the enthronement of the sharükos Krospas, despite his wife's refusal to follow him. For Eutis, this would have meant having to give back her senatorial dress, something she had never wanted to consider. Officially, this decision manifested her desire to be physically closer to his Pickaxe Heads, and thus to her business. But in truth, Belenor and her mother knew that Tiralion, fearing reprisals from the new imperial power, had simply fled the capital. On the occasion of his son's expedition, and their stopover in Coriolis, Eutis had decided to accompany the trade caravans. Belenor could have done without his mother's presence, as well as this social welcome meal, during which his father had introduced him to some wealthy notables looking for a good match. However, it was not for lack of having repeated to him many times that he did not wish to take again his business, nor that of another, as cute and sympathetic would be the homins that one would present to him. Fortunately, his nurse Penala had accompanied his mother to Coriolis, and had been present at his side throughout the stay. Her company had greatly softened the family gatherings. Nevertheless, the Fyros tried to escape his father's residence as much as possible, preferring to lose himself in the bioluminescent mazes of the cavernous sites, and in particular in the infamous Amber Mines, which had passed under the control of the family business only a few weeks ago. Like all Fyros, Belenor was fascinated by the bowels of Atys and the mysterious relics and ancient ruins they held. However, he also knew how the fever of discovery could lead his people to take reckless risks. Exactly forty years earlier, encouraged by the harvesting of strange materials, Fyros miners had drilled a vein of acid at the bottom of the Amber Mines, and by this imprudence, caused the death of tens of thousands of people. Unfortunately, for many citizens of the Empire, this catastrophe was not directly of hominin origin. For them, Fyrak the Great Dragon, the mythological enemy of the Fyros people, was primarily responsible. Thus, forty years later, the Coriolis plain had become a distorting mirror of Fyros beliefs: never had the region been so rich in mining activity. Never had there been so many digs for Fyrak's lair. Like a minority of Fyros, Belenor was angry at the folly of his people, and feared that a second apocalyptic event would soon occur: a landslide, an acid flow, an earthquake, or worse… After all, if the bowels of Atys held many treasures, they also undoubtedly concealed many nightmares. Real nightmares. Nightmares potentially much more terrible than the most dreaded creature of the fyrosian mythology…

:''"Slide!"

Belenor was drawn out of his thoughts by Brandille's distant shout.

:''"Let's climb!"'' urged Melkiar.

Without waiting, Belenor grabbed his lanyard and somehow pulled himself up the towering root, which his comrades were already climbing. When he finally planted his notched gloves in the thick wood of the woody growth, he realized when looking at his feet that the ground had already turned into a thick flow of blazing sawdust.

:''"Belenor, speed up!"'' shouted Xynala.

The Fyros was seized with panic when he saw that the dune upstream had swollen several cubic meters and was now swooping in their direction. If his comrades were high enough to dodge the wave of burning sawdust, he would undoubtedly have to take it. So Belenor grabbed tightly onto the root, hoping not to be torn off by the impact. But this was without the strength and reach of Garius' arms, who, hanging by his ankle from Xynala's arm, managed to grab his comrade by the shoulders, to push him away from the bark wall, and to propel him above him. Varran and Melkiar caught Belenor just as Garius was getting to his feet, narrowly dodging the torrent of fire. Placing the Fyros against the root, the colossus pressed his hands and feet down hard, so that he stuck to the bark.

:''"Belenor, we like you, but we're not going to kill ourselves for you, okay? So stop daydreaming, this is really not the time!"

:''" Pa… Sorry Varran."'' Belenor blew, still under the shock.

:''"Respite!"
[[file:Botoga.jpg|right|400px|alt=Botoga|Botoga]]
Again, Brandille's voice rang out. And again, her omen was right: the updraft was slowing down, and as a result, the curtain of sawdust was opening towards the horizon. Looking for his friend, Belenor saw only a huge botoga, lit by the night glow of the amber star. Situated away from all the cracks, the tree with its belly trunk and its canopy in the shape of a leafy umbrella did not seem to be worried by the fire storms. And if the charcoal color of its bark testified well to recurrent and intense fights, it illustrated above all its strong adaptation to the extreme conditions of the environment. Lingering for a few seconds on its high branches with thick foliage, which swayed in the wind, Belenor saw an irregularity in the center of the plant umbrella, under the stars. A small gesticulating form, whose two arms were waving in cadence. Brandille. The Fyros smiled behind his mask, happy to see that his friend had found a cool and comfortable perch, even if imagining her coming down without help worried him. For if himself was now suspended at about ten meters from the ground, the tree Brandille had scaled must be about fifty meters high. Ah, Brandille… Without his presence, the group would undoubtedly have been amputated of half of its soldiers. Indeed, since their departure from the plain of Coriolis, the last western region under imperial jurisdiction, events had gone from bad to worse. While the journey had been marked by numerous attacks from the Dune Riders, it was the violent torrents of air from the Prime Roots behind terrible fire storms, that had put the group in peril. Of course, the far western desert was known for its extreme winds and hellish temperatures. But Melkiar himself, though born in a neighboring region further south, had been surprised by the violence of the disturbances. Belenor was linking these abnormal phenomena to the sudden rise in temperature observed under the bark, accentuating so the pressure differential with the surface. Brandille, who had a very special relationship with the wind, had helped to find the best passages through the dunes and crevasses, and had managed to accurately predict each storm rise. To this day, all the deaths were related to carelessness or lack of reactivity. Thus, Lieutenant Diocaneon Xydos, in charge of leading the military squad to Fort Kronk, had disappeared when he fell into a crevice while the group was fleeing from a herd of shalahs, those pachyderms with their heavy, shaggy yellow coats, their faces covered with pudgy leather patches, and their two long, strong tusks. Individually, these animals were relatively easy to shoot, but a whole herd was a deadly threat. Although he was a mere reservist of twenty-five years of age, Melkiar had naturally taken command of the troop. None of the soldiers in the squad, even among the most experienced, had objected: the young academician had shown himself, since their departure from Coriolis, to be the most capable of exercising it.

Hanging from the root, the group waited for about ten minutes until the last gusts of wind died down, then finally headed for Brandille's botoga. The acrobat, who had reached the foot of the huge tree without difficulty, was sucking on a piece of waterlogged bark when Belenor saw him on the side of the dune. The Fyros raced down the powdery slope, rushed towards Brandille and grabbed her by the armpits. He had missed her touch. A few seconds later, Melkiar arrived at the bottom of the dune, his breathing mask in hand. Belenor removed his and smiled at his friend. He was not used to seeing him so bearded. He himself had not shaved for several days, and now wore a thick mahogany beard vaguely reminiscent of his father's. Meeting Belenor's gaze, Brandille winked at him and stroked his fine down. Sometimes, the Fyros had the impression that his friend was able to read his thoughts. And then, suddenly, Melkiar bowed low to his two comrades.

:''"Again, thank you for your help Brandille. You're holding your own as a scout better than anyone. Without you, I don't know what would have happened to become of. Unfortunately, we lost…"

:''"I know Melkiar,"'' Brandille cut in, her gaze lost to the horizon. ''"I saw his body burst into flames, turn scarlet, then fly away... It was very beautiful, seen from above, under the glow of the amber star. You looked like a tree branch waving in the wind. A branch of which the root that served as your anchor would have been the trunk. A branch of which Eurixus would have been the leaf reddened by the autumn falling from its tree…"

At these words, the homins and homines lowered their heads, remembering their missing comrade.

:''"But don't let the sadness go through you, friends! And cry only if you whish to water this wonderful botoga, to which we also owe a lot. For as you know, the leaves do not fall from their tree without reason: they become the nutrients that feed the young shoots we will cross on our way, one day soon. Yes, today, Eurixus has become the humus of tomorrow. So smile, and listen to this chorus!"

Brandille turned his back on his comrades, began to inton a song, and hopped off to the west. Towards where, on the horizon, Fort Kronk rose like a mirage on the high, dark cliffs of the Dragon's Backbone.
{{Couillard}}
''"The closer we get to the goal, the further away it seems."'' No matter how hard Belenor tried to rationalise, at that moment, that was exactly what he was thinking: never had the miles seemed so long. After three weeks of walking through the furnace, the mere idea of being able to sleep in a safe and cool place seemed unreal. A mirage among many others… Because the Desert of Fire, which they had left only two hours before, only offered very rare moments of calm. During the day, the heat emitted by the daystar added to that of the depths, making the atmosphere unbreathable. The only way out was to call upon the power of the Sap to limit the damage, or to escape the boiling surface by climbing trees and roots. These life-saving promontories were often populated by animals, also in search of coolness, rest and food. Besides, Belenor had still not recovered from the death of Xacallon, who while hunting rendor alone on a high root, when he had been attacked by a pack of hungry varinx. These stocky felines, with yellow fur spotted with black, had the particularity of having a fireproof skin, making them the undisputed masters of the desert. For these predators, capable of moving efficiently in the middle of the day, the aerial promontories of coolness were real breeding grounds, which they scanned with attention from the ground. At night, the temperatures dropped slightly, allowing the homins and animals to move around more easily. The troop had therefore got into the habit of setting out only after the amber star had risen. Unfortunately, this was also, obviuosly, the strategy of all the homin tribes daring to face the furnace. Thus, the attacks of the Dune Riders had almost always taken place in the heart of the night… Finally, after such a journey, it went without saying that the simple comfort of a fortress as safe as Fort Kronk was a fantasy.

Belenor, who was striving to follow in the footsteps of the soldier ahead of him, sighed and looked up for a few moments. The troop was walking across an imposing root bridge about ten metres wide, which allowed them to cross a long crevasse. Going around it would have lengthened the end of the journey by two hours. On the horizon, Fort Kronk seemed so close and yet so far away. For a long time, this fortress had been designated as the last inhabited area of the known world, where the maps became mute. Beyond it, there was nothing more than a sea of dunes stretching westwards into infinity. The fort had been built in the broken bend of the Dragon's Backbone, where the continental plateau met the mountainous root barrier and the immense cliffs to the south, which separated the Desert from the Wide Puddle. The crack in which the Fyros had settled was very similar to the one that hosted the city of Fyre. But unlike the imperial capital, which had expanded and consolidated decade after decade, the fortress at the end of the world had never been anything more than a fort, as its name so aptly indicated. A fort that, as soon as it was built, became object of covetousness and source of conflict. To this day, no one was able to say who was really behind its construction, so many different tribes had fought to possess it. The huge, rugged plain between Fort Kronk and the Desert of Fire was considered the largest battlefield in the country. Never had so many Fyros died as in front of Fort Kronk, as evidenced by the number of weapons and pieces of armour from all eras that the strong winds managed to dredge up daily. The last battle, only a few months old, had pitted the Dune Riders tribe against the short-lived coalition formed by the Tears of the Dragon. It is on this occasion that Tigriron, the father of Melkiar, the commander of the coalition, succeeded in recapturing the fortress from their long-time enemies. Enough, thus, to supply the desert plain with more swords. At this moment, perched on the imposing root bridge, Belenor feared that a new torrent of air from the depths would raise a storm of sawdust… and blades. But there were worse things than blades in this desert of a hundred perils. There were the gigantic and magnificent purplish thistles that covered the Backbone at Fort Kronk, and whose imposing thorns were regularly torn off by the violence of the winds. The Fyros thought back of Eurixus, killed a few hours earlier by one of these thorns, and shook his head.

:''"Stop daydreaming and watch where you're walking."'' said Garius, still on the tail of procession.

:''"You're right, sorry."'' replied his friend, lowering his head. ''"I really think I reach the end of my rope, I'm unable to stay focused for more than thirty seconds."

:''"Yeah, I understand. I can't take it either. In fact, in the Desert of Fire, we had no choice. The slightest deviation could kill us. But here, it's not so hot. So we think that the worst is over… But in truth, the whole fucking desert wants our skin, fire or not. So let's watch it, it can go very fast, you know."

:''"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Garius. How many hours' walk do you think we've got left?"

:''"Two. Three maybe?"

:''"So, three more hours… Tell me, Garius, can I ask you a favour?"

The imposing Fyros frowned and Belenor turned around, a mischievous smile on his face.

:''"Could you carry me?"

Garius laughed. At the same time, proving the colossus right, Belenor stumbled and slumped in the sawdust.

:''"You're an idiot, Belenor. That'll teach you! I told you to watch your step."

The Fyros held out a massive hand to his friend, whose face now showed embarrassment. Although Belenor grasped it, he did not manage to get up.

"Wait Garius, I think I've caught my ankle in a root. I…"

Suddenly his chest rose. And time froze. Out of breath and with dilated pupils, Belenor stared at the strange root that clutched his left ankle. A root with five fingers. Understanding who the hand belonged to, the Fyros instantly grasped the magnitude of the threat: they had to leave the root bridge at all costs and reach the desert plateau. Belenor barely had time to shout "Riders!" when a hatchet sprang up from the sawdust and sliced off his foot. At the same time, several of his comrades fell to the ground. And like Kamis, thirty or so beings sprang up from the root, as if they had been one with the bark until then. Reacting as quickly as he could, Garius plunged his huge hand into the sawdust and grabbed the throat of the homin in ambush in his hideout. Without further ado, he appealed to his superhomin strength and sent him tumbling five metres away. The savage bounced violently off the bark, tried in vain to secure a grip, then fell screaming into the abyss. Never had Belenor been so reassured by Garius' presence as he was at this moment. Disregarding any pain, the Fyros grabbed his severed foot and positioned it on its stump. The operation would take a few minutes, but he knew that he would be able to reattach his foot with the powers of the Sap. Naturally, Garius stayed with his friend. Drawing his gigantic axe, he verbally threatened the Dune Riders who tried to approach him. With a quick glance, Belenor took stock of the skirmish: while Melkiar, Varran and a few soldiers had rushed at the Dune Riders, and had already managed to kill several of them, Xynala was trying to keep them away from the wounded ones, now in Brandille's hands. As for Tisse Apoan, she was scanning the horizon with her rifle. Soon the number of Dune Riders dwindled, and five of their number found themselves trapped between Garius on one side and the rest of the soldiers on the other. Unfortunately, the ambush seemed to be only part of the enemy's plan.

:''"Homins! To the west!"'' shouted Tisse, who was watching the surroundings from the area secured by Xynala.

And indeed, a few dozen meters from the melee, where the root bridge allowed to join the desert plain leading to Fort Kronk, a platoon of homins was forming. If Belenor hoped they were reinforcements from Fort Kronk, he was instantly disillusioned when he recognised the flag of the enemy tribe: a scarlet-coated mektoub positioned in front of an ochre sphere representing the amber star. The surviving Dune Riders were no longer the only ones to be surrounded. Despite this, Melkiar kept his composure and encouraged his comrades.

:''"Soldiers, do not weaken! We are better equipped and trained than they are. No matter how many of them there are, as long as you follow what we have learned, nothing will happen to us!"

Belenor, whose left foot had finally come back to life, took up position behind Garius. As perilous as the situation was, he knew Melkiar was right. All they had to do was stay focused and apply everything they'd seen in past scenarios. After all, this wasn't the first time they faced Dune Riders. And while these homins were definitely the best at setting traps and surviving in extreme environments, they were far less impressive in pitched combat. The Fyros sighed and placed his gloved hands on Garius' huge back. The fact that he had written a story about a religious war did not mean that he endorsed or appreciated armed fights. In fact, he remained very critical of the Imperial Army. If he had signed up as a reservist, it was simply to travel with his friends, to discover the country, to live unique moments and to feel new emotions. To annoy his parents, too. Because before this expedition, his whole life was about Fyre. And not just any Fyre. The rich, comfortable and cultural Fyre, accessible only to the bourgeoisie, of which he was one.While his friends had gradually begun to emancipate themselves from the capital over the past five years, he had become bogged down in a sociable routine. A life that he cherished for its comfort and cultural richness, and that he despised just as much, so much it reminded him of what he hated about his parents... Parents whom he had the impression of resembling, despite himself. Because at twenty-one, Belenor did not like the homin he had become. It was under the impulse of Brandille, but especially Garius, that he had finally decided to leave his comfort zone and accompany Melkiar to the end of the world. However, today, and despite all that he had learned during his journey, he regretted having left. Never. Never had he gotten used to death. Never had he expected to dream about it at night. Definitely, his place was behind a desk, pen in hand, not on a battlefield.

Crossing under Garius's armpit the disorientated gaze of a sickly-skinned Dune Rider, Belenor remembered the emotions that had run through him the few times he himself had come close to death in the past weeks. And just as he imagined he would succeed in demanding their surrender, the squad of Riders perched on the edge of the crevasse began to bang together their weapons in rhythm. At the same time, one of them began to utter hoarse shouts, still in cadence. His cries were soon echoed by all his companions. This was the first time Belenor had witnessed this tribal practice. Taken aback, he exchanged a glance with Melkiar, who seemed to share his confusion. Then suddenly the pace quickened, and the Dune Riders in the centre of the root stuck together to form a compact group, as if they were trying to protect something. Belenor swallowed as he met the eyes of the sickly Rider again. A deep determination was now inscribed in them. And without his knowing why, a vision of horror passed through him. Commanded by his instinct, the Fyros screamed with all his being:

"Flee, they'll blow themselves up!"

Belenor, who was preparing to rush back, had just enough time to give Melkiar a last look. For the first, and perhaps the last time in his life, he saw terror in his friend's eyes. The explosion was terrible. Without him being able to do anything, the shock wave threw him against the wall of the crevasse, which he hit head-on. Unconscious, he fell into the depths of Atys, in a shower of fire, broken wood and pieces of charred flesh.
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{{NavChap|[[Chapter XII - Family]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XIV - Savagery]]}}
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[[Category:The Sacred War]]

Chapter I·XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils

2022-06-29T12:58:08Z

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2022-06-29T09:33:45Z

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2022-06-29T09:32:00Z

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2022-06-28T13:30:03Z

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Chapter I·I - A Fate Paved with Glory

2022-06-28T13:10:32Z

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''I - A Fate Paved with Glory'''</big></big></big></big></center> 
<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2464'''</big></big></center>

{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator'' • ''Cheng Lai'SuKi, illustrator''|
The toddler opened his eyes and gurgled. Waving his chubby little arms, he searched with his clumsy fingertips for the rag doll that had been sharing his nights since he was born. Not finding it, he squirmed to extract himself from his cocoon of sheets, and grabbed the protective bars of his little crib to stand up tall. Like on so many mornings before, he found the doll lying on the floor, gazing up at him with a disappointed look. Unhappy to have been inadvertently pushed from the warm and cozy nest thy shared. He was struggling to join her, trying some clumsy acrobatics, when the drape of the room he was in opened. Each morning he beheld the same apparition. He never got tired of his mother's incredible beauty. Totally forgetting his doll, he flapped his arms, laughing, eager to again be with the one who was torn from him every night by his father. Behind her tattooed mask, the [[Zorai]] gave him a smile and murmured some words. Even though he didn't understand her words, her voice was the most beautiful melody he knew.

:''"Good morning, my darling. Another restless night, I see."

She approached the crib, picked up the doll then held out her arms to him. The boy, who was already stomping his linens with impatience, mimicked her gesture and squealed with delight when his mother grabbed him by the waist and held him aloft. She twirled him through the air for a few seconds then put her bony forehead against his still pristine one, finally lowering him down to her heart where she held him tight.

:''"Today is a great day for you Pü. Mom believes in you. Like your brother, the destiny awaiting you is paved with glory."

The toddler immediately calmed down at the touch of his mother's mask and blue skin. She tasted so good. She smelled so good. She was so soft. Opening his mouth, he ran his tongue over the warm flesh to catch the sweet scent of his mother's sweat. While heading towards the main room of the house, the Zorai extracted one of her voluptuous breasts from her tunic made of soft fibers, which she gently presented to her son. The little boy did not need any encouragement. He grabbed the soft curve with both hands, while his mouth latched onto the dark patch of skin which nourished him every day.

The dwelling of Pü and his family consisted of a large circular hut, which contained the main room, and two smaller huts flanking the large one, which housed the parent's room in which Pü slept and his older brother's room. The foundation of these accommodations had mainly been constructed of soft woods, vines and various large leaves selected for their waterproofing abilities. After Grandmother Bä-Bä's, this dwelling was the most imposing in the tribe. In the center of the main room was the family table, on which a vast amount of varied food rested. Around the table, Pü's father and brother were eating in silence. Pü stared at the two [[homins]] in succession, still sucking on his mother's breast.
[[file:His big black.png|right|400px|alt=His big black mask was scaring him...|His big black mask was scaring him...]]
He guessed a smile under the mouth slit of his brother's [[The Zorai Mask|mask]]. He wasn't yet used to seeing him like this. Until recently, the older boy's face had been naked still and regularly displayed peculiar grimaces that had no other purpose than to make his little brother laugh. But when the boy grew to be twelve years old, a horned mask had grown too. Pü loved his big brother Niï very much. He tickled Pü, played with him, and showed him incredible acrobatic choreographies which plunged the little Zoraï in a state of overexcitement and which had a knack for annoying their mother.

His father did not look at him and kept eating in silence. Pü didn't know what to think of him. '''His big black mask was scaring him''', and he didn't remember ever having guessed a smile behind it. Moreover, he had already seen him behaving harshly with his brother, lounging at he boy violently with sharp objects that Niï nevertheless managed to dodge. He had also on several occasions caught him abusing his mother in the parental bed. Firmly seizing her hair, grabbing her wrists, crushing her with his powerful musculature, and even giving her at times slaps on the lower part of the body, while she muffled her screams in the cushions.

Yet neither his brother nor his mother seemed to resent the big Zorai. His brother seemed to keep regarding his father up as a role model, and his mother always ended their nightly brawls with tender strokes that Pü was jealous of, looking at them from his crib. He definitely did not understand. And warily, he preferred his father to continue to ignore him, while his mother and brother were busy bringing him love and laughter.

Lunch continued in silence until his father spoke up.

:''"Niï, quickly finish lunch and go prepare our formal wear, please. Meanwhile, your mother will dress Pü for the ceremony. Also, make sure our weapons are properly oiled."

The young Zorai grabbed a last handful of dried fruit in a hurry, stood up, and bowed to his father.

:''"I readied our weapons last night before bedtime, Father. And I'll get our outfits ready straightaway."

His Father answered him by slightly inclining his head, then refocused on the contents of his plate. At the same time, his mother got up and took Pü off her breast. The little one, already full, did not flinch but continued to cling to her exposed flesh to maintain contact. She proceeded to change his night soiled swaddling for a prettily braided panty. About ten minutes passed and the family was ready to leave.
{{Couillard}}
Pü squinted as his mother came out of the hut. Despite his tribe having settled in the gigantic stump of a felled sky-tree, the bark ceiling, badly damaged, let in a few rays of sunshine in at certain times of the day. One of which had just found the eye of the little Zorai, who took refuge between his mother's breasts. In the absence of true celestial light, the community had taken to illuminating its dwelling with lamps containing fireflies.
Although some might have described the atmosphere as gloomy, Pü loved it when his mother took him for a walk through the sloping and winding streets or on the suspension bridges that connected the different levels of the small city. The village, much higher than it was wide, was built vertically. The dwellings were located on the heights, while the lower levels were reserved for communal areas, such as stores, places of worship, the dojo, and the dining hall. Pü loved the dining hall. The other Zorais were very kind to him and he had tasted nice food there. Yet this time, the toddler sensed that the walk was anything but ordinary. Other members of the tribe were present in great numbers, forming a path from the family hut to the village heights. All wore their black ceremonial dress, consisting of a loincloth of vegetal fibers, a wide belt of braided straw but especially recognizable by the imposing white amber lens that adorned each of their solar plexuses. As the family moved forward, led by Pü's mother, the people bowed deferentially and joined the group. The toddler, full and lulled by his mother's walk, dozed off into a light sleep. As this scene suggested, his family was no ordinary family.

Looï Fu-Tao, Pü's mother, worked outside the village as a diplomat. She was In charge of maintaining relations with the Zorai Theocracy, the political regime that had governed the country for almost three centuries, whose headquarters were located in [[Zoran]], its capital. For some forty years, the Great Sage [[Min-Cho]] had been the highest homin authority in the Theocracy, who, assisted by the Council of Sages, ruled the [[Jungle]], the native country of the Zorai people. While the Sages hoped that the members of the "Cursed Strain Tribe" – as they liked to name it – would eventually accept the authority of the Theocracy, nothing helped. It had been several generations since the tribe had seceded, and things didn't look like they were about to change. But Looï was not only a diplomat. In the village, she was first and foremost the High Priestess of the Black Cult of [[Ma-Duk]], the depository of religious authority.
[[file:Sang Fu-Tao was.png|left|400px|alt=Sang Fu-Tao was the Black Mask|Sang Fu-Tao was the Black Mask]]
Her husband '''Sang Fu-Tao was the Black Mask''', the First Warrior, military chief of the tribe. A few months after his birth, Niï, their eldest son, had been promised a great destiny by Grandmother Bä-Bä, the witch and seer of the village. According to the prophecy, Niï Fu-Tao would someday succeed his father as the Black Mask, and above all, would become the Sacred Warrior. Elected by Ma-Duk the Great Genitor, Niï Fu-Tao would be brought to tour the world, converting the lost to the True Faith, subduing the atheists and exterminating the heretics. For the Zorai Theocracy, this prophecy was precisely falling under heresy.

For the conflict that opposed the tribe to the rest of the country was first of all religious. Indeed, all Zorais worshipped the [[Kami|Kamis]], mysterious spiritual entities that protected the [[ecosystems]]. Able to change their appearance at will and to travel without physical constraint, these divine guardians permanently ensured that no one compromised the fragile balance of [[Atys]], the plant world where all were coexisting. Although discreet, they shared close relations with the homins, as long as those showed respect for nature. Among the different homin peoples, the Zorais were by far the most receptive to the magic of the Kamis. Already provided with a large size and a blue skin, which distinguished them from the rest of the hominity, a bony and horned mask grew on their face, down from their forehead, during their adolescence. This mask represented the true soul of its wearer and testified to the unique link he had with the Kamis. However, if every Zorai worshiped the Kamis, not everyone agreed on the identity of the Supreme Kami. For the majority of Zorais, the Kamis served [[Jena]], the Goddess of the Day Star and the Mother of Hominity. For the dissident tribe, Jena was an usurping goddess from the sky, alien to Atys and intending evil. According to them, the one and only Supreme Kami was Ma-Duk, meaning "Great Mask" in the Zorai language. He was the Great Genitor, asleep in the depths of Atys. A god that no one recognized but them.

But the discordance did not end there. The Zorai Theocracy, which had become particularly isolationist in the last century, had built the Great Wall, a gigantic edifice protecting the borders of the Jungle from all foreign contact. However, this Great Wall had never prevented the Theocracy from maintaining relations with the [[Karavan]], a strange group of hominoids dressed from head to toe in amazing black armor and using prodigious instruments. These peculiar entities, whose true nature no one knew, lived in the skies of Atys. Equipped with a technology unknown to all, and traveling with curious vehicles capable of overcoming gravity, they crisscrossed the sky to spread the word and serve the interests of the goddess Jena. In exchange for their loyalty, the Karavan had given the Zorais the secrets of magnetism and electrostatic properties, and had also taught them to write. The Kamis abhorred the Karavan, and did not hesitate to make this known to the homins, but this never prevented the Council of Elders from accepting their gifts and to use Karavan knowledge to levitate the buildings of Zoran to this day. For the dissident tribe, as an apostle of Jena abhorred by the Kamis, the Karavan had to be seen as a serious threat and fought accordingly.

These theological divergences heated the minds of the Great Sage Min-Cho and his advisors, who were unable to accept any ideological criticism and made the dissident tribe want to wage holy war. But rather than attacking the tribe head-on, fearing the prowess of its soldiers and the mysterious powers of Grandmother Bä-Bä, the Zorai Theocracy made the tribe pass for a common pagan sect in the eyes of peoples of the Jungle. This had worked quite well up to this point.

For Pü Fu-Tao, the youngest child, who had just been awakened by the distant echo of a bird call, none of this held any interest yet. However, with his big black eyes, he gazed at the villagers with astonishment, aware that today something seemed different. Perhaps he knew, deep down, that something important was about to happen. When, recognizing the alleys between the huts, he understood that they were going to Grandmother Bä-Bä's house, his heart began to race. He did not like the old woman. Her gaunt mask frightened him, her odor stung his nose, and he had heard some associated her presence with illness.
Grandmother Bä-Bä was in fact also the village healer, whom people went to see to find solutions to their problems. Although the Fu-Tao couple represented the authority within the tribe, everyone knew that Grandmother Bä-Bä was actually the central pillar of the community. It was said that she was older than the oldest Zorai in the country and that she had helped deliver every member of the tribe.

When the column of people arrived at Grandmother Bä-Bä's huge hut at the highest point of the village, Pü, feeling tears welling up, clutched his mother's robe tightly. Looï put her forehead against his, which had the effect of reassuring him, and advanced towards the big hut, her son in her arms. The boy had just enough time to glance behind him to see his brother waving to him, before heavy curtains obstructed his vision and the characteristic smell of the dwelling reached his nose. In the back of the main room, Grandmother Bä-Bä was working over an amber stockpot. Despite her highly advanced age, she was surprisingly lively and agile, quickly pulling out various plants and roots from the multitude of pockets that made up her apron. Nothing suggested such vitality, however, as her livid, bony, dry body was crossed with deep wrinkles. Grandmother Bä-Bä was constantly postponing death, and everyone knew that she owed this to the powers granted to her by the Kamis.

:''"Come closer my daughter.”, she said in a cavernous voice, without looking at her guests. “Set your son on the altar, I will be ready soon."

Obediently, Looï walked over to a beautiful carved stump. When she gently placed her son on the firm surface, breaking the mother's touch, he started to cry.

:''"Don't comfort him, my daughter. Tears feed the predictions."

The young Zorai did not understand. No matter how much he called for her, his mother did not react, staring at him with a strange look on her masked face, bending over him. As Pü reached out, trying to grab his mother's long tresses, the old woman's hideous mask cut off eye contact. His tears redoubled.

:''"Hold him tight, and don't panic like you did with your first son. Everything will go well."

Grandmother Bä-Bä pulled a dagger with a finely engraved black blade from her apron and gently grabbed the young Zorai's hand. At the touch of the cracked skin, Pü shivered and began to struggle. Unfortunately for him, his mother would not let him, and held him tight. What had he done wrong? Why did he have to go through all this? As he felt like it could not get any worse, thIngs got much darker. The old lady put the blunt side of the weapon on his palm and closed his little fingers around the blade,one after the other. Then, all at once, she squeezed quickly and firmly.
Electrified by the pain, Pü started to scream, while his mother looked at him with a deadened air. All the while holding him immobile.
He loved her so much and had always thought that she loved him too. But now she left him at the mercy of this witch, and took part in his abuse! What was happening?

:''"Its almost over. I just have to collect the precious liquid. Don't try to calm him down, pain will strengthen the blood."

The old woman placed the dagger on the altar and retrieved a small leather purse from her apron. One by one, she took out seven strange orange dice, which she wet on the bloody blade. Once the last relic was blessed with blood, she softly sang a few ritualistic words. The strange, dark symbols engraved on the dice's amber faces seemed to absorb all light in the hut. The amber around them coming to fiery life.
Pü stopped crying, hypnotized by the terrifying spectacle unfolding before his eyes. The witch threw the dice with great force and without hesitation upon the altar. They did not stop rolling around the smooth surface, their orange glow and black shadows painting moving scenes onto the walls of the hut. Like living frescoes that told a story.

Pü beheld a circle of homins and Kamis, dancing on the circular walls of the hut. He could almost hear them singing.
Suddenly the Kamis turned into gigantic maws and devoured a large part of the homins, who were trying in vain to fight back.
The scene then focused on the survivors of the macabre dance, who, led by a Zorai, climbed a mountain of corpses. Although the slope became steeper with each step, new homins joined the group and supported their climb.
Finally, once he had reached the top, the warrior brandished his sword towards the sky and shattered the star that was sitting there. At the same time, the dice stopped moving and gave the light back to the hut.

Grandmother Bä-Bä took a long look at Looï without uttering a word. The Zorai Priestess bent over her son and gently took hold of him.
Pü, whose mind seemed to dwell on distant happenings, regained contact with reality the moment his mother held him to her chest. His trial was over, she still loved him.
He fell asleep on the spot.
[[file:Carefully avoided meeting.png|right|400px|alt=carefully avoided meeting the gaze of her husband|carefully avoided meeting the gaze of her husband]]
:''"You know what you have to tell them, my daughter,"'' the old homina finally said without taking her eyes off Looï.

Taking a few steps forward, she placed a finger on the child's mutilated hand. The wound closed immediately.

:''"From now on, your son's future, and perhaps the future of all hominkind, depends on your lie. It is a necessary evil. Never forget."

:''"I know, Grandmother… Thank you for everything,"'' she whispered, her voice trembling.

Feverishly, Looï kissed her son on the cheek, and walked towards the exit of the hut, clutching him to her heart. In his sleep, Pü could feel its strong beat.
Pushing aside the curtains as she stepped forward, she faced her people. Each member of the tribe stared at her with a heavy gaze, waiting for the verdict. She '''carefully avoided meeting the gaze of her husband''', and above all, that of her first son. Clearing her throat a little, she then spoke up.

:''"Grandmother Bä-Bä has thrown the dice! Today I have the great honor of announcing the predictions she made on the occasion of the first birthday of my second son, Pü Fu-Tao.
While Niï, the future Black Mask, will become the Sacred Warrior, going all the way to heaven to destroy the Karavan and Jena, Pü will assist him throughout his journey! He will be his Shadow, who will advise him at every moment and will not hesitate to sacrifice his life to protect him! Praise be to my sons! Praise be to Ma-Duk! Tonight we will hold a feast to the glory of the Sacred War and the coming of the Happy Days!"

An unrivaled cheer ran through the assembly. Waking up with a start, Pü swept the crowd with his gaze. Which stopped sharply on his father's black mask. The little Zorai opened his eyes wide in amazement; for the first time, he saw a smile on his fathers face.
}}

{{NavChap|[[The Sacred War]] |[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter II - Brotherhood]]}}
 
{{Portal|The Great Library|Zoraï}}
[[Category:The Sacred War|Ch 1]]

Chapter I·I - A Fate Paved with Glory

2022-06-28T12:56:31Z

Lanstiril:

<noinclude>{{Trad
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<center><big><big><big><big>'''I - A Fate Paved with Glory'''</big></big></big></big></center> 
<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2464'''</big></big></center>

{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator'' • ''Cheng Lai'SuKi, illustrator''|
The toddler opened his eyes and gurgled. Waving his chubby little arms, he searched with his clumsy fingertips for the rag doll that had been sharing his nights since he was born. Not finding it, he squirmed to extract himself from his cocoon of sheets, and grabbed the protective bars of his little crib to stand up tall. Like on so many mornings before, he found the doll lying on the floor, gazing up at him with a disappointed look. Unhappy to have been inadvertently pushed from the warm and cozy nest thy shared. He was struggling to join her, trying some clumsy acrobatics, when the drape of the room he was in opened. Each morning he beheld the same apparition. He never got tired of his mother's incredible beauty. Totally forgetting his doll, he flapped his arms, laughing, eager to again be with the one who was torn from him every night by his father. Behind her tattooed mask, the [[Zorai]] gave him a smile and murmured some words. Even though he didn't understand her words, her voice was the most beautiful melody he knew.

:''"Good morning, my darling. Another restless night, I see."

She approached the crib, picked up the doll then held out her arms to him. The boy, who was already stomping his linens with impatience, mimicked her gesture and squealed with delight when his mother grabbed him by the waist and held him aloft. She twirled him through the air for a few seconds then put her bony forehead against his still pristine one, finally lowering him down to her heart where she held him tight.

:''"Today is a great day for you Pü. Mom believes in you. Like your brother, the destiny awaiting you is paved with glory."

The toddler immediately calmed down at the touch of his mother's mask and blue skin. She tasted so good. She smelled so good. She was so soft. Opening his mouth, he ran his tongue over the warm flesh to catch the sweet scent of his mother's sweat. While heading towards the main room of the house, the Zorai extracted one of her voluptuous breasts from her tunic made of soft fibers, which she gently presented to her son. The little boy did not need any encouragement. He grabbed the soft curve with both hands, while his mouth latched onto the dark patch of skin which nourished him every day.

The dwelling of Pü and his family consisted of a large circular hut, which contained the main room, and two smaller huts flanking the large one, which housed the parent's room in which Pü slept and his older brother's room. The foundation of these accommodations had mainly been constructed of soft woods, vines and various large leaves selected for their waterproofing abilities. After Grandmother Bä-Bä's, this dwelling was the most imposing in the tribe. In the center of the main room was the family table, on which a vast amount of varied food rested. Around the table, Pü's father and brother were eating in silence. Pü stared at the two [[homins]] in succession, still sucking on his mother's breast.
[[file:His big black.png|right|400px|alt=His big black mask was scaring him...|His big black mask was scaring him...]]
He guessed a smile under the mouth slit of his brother's [[The Zorai Mask|mask]]. He wasn't yet used to seeing him like this. Until recently, the older boy's face had been naked still and regularly displayed peculiar grimaces that had no other purpose than to make his little brother laugh. But when the boy grew to be twelve years old, a horned mask had grown too. Pü loved his big brother Niï very much. He tickled Pü, played with him, and showed him incredible acrobatic choreographies which plunged the little Zoraï in a state of overexcitement and which had a knack for annoying their mother.

His father did not look at him and kept eating in silence. Pü didn't know what to think of him. '''His big black mask was scaring him''', and he didn't remember ever having guessed a smile behind it. Moreover, he had already seen him behaving harshly with his brother, lounging at he boy violently with sharp objects that Niï nevertheless managed to dodge. He had also on several occasions caught him abusing his mother in the parental bed. Firmly seizing her hair, grabbing her wrists, crushing her with his powerful musculature, and even giving her at times slaps on the lower part of the body, while she muffled her screams in the cushions.

Yet neither his brother nor his mother seemed to resent the big Zorai. His brother seemed to keep regarding his father up as a role model, and his mother always ended their nightly brawls with tender strokes that Pü was jealous of, looking at them from his crib. He definitely did not understand. And warily, he preferred his father to continue to ignore him, while his mother and brother were busy bringing him love and laughter.

Lunch continued in silence until his father spoke up.

:''"Niï, quickly finish lunch and go prepare our formal wear, please. Meanwhile, your mother will dress Pü for the ceremony. Also, make sure our weapons are properly oiled."

The young Zorai grabbed a last handful of dried fruit in a hurry, stood up, and bowed to his father.

:''"I readied our weapons last night before bedtime, Father. And I'll get our outfits ready straightaway."

His Father answered him by slightly inclining his head, then refocused on the contents of his plate. At the same time, his mother got up and took Pü off her breast. The little one, already full, did not flinch but continued to cling to her exposed flesh to maintain contact. She proceeded to change his night soiled swaddling for a prettily braided panty. About ten minutes passed and the family was ready to leave.
{{Couillard}}
Pü squinted as his mother came out of the hut. Despite his tribe having settled in the gigantic stump of a felled sky-tree, the bark ceiling, badly damaged, let in a few rays of sunshine in at certain times of the day. One of which had just found the eye of the little Zorai, who took refuge between his mother's breasts. In the absence of true celestial light, the community had taken to illuminating its dwelling with lamps containing fireflies.
Although some might have described the atmosphere as gloomy, Pü loved it when his mother took him for a walk through the sloping and winding streets or on the suspension bridges that connected the different levels of the small city. The village, much higher than it was wide, was built vertically. The dwellings were located on the heights, while the lower levels were reserved for communal areas, such as stores, places of worship, the dojo, and the dining hall. Pü loved the dining hall. The other Zorais were very kind to him and he had tasted nice food there. Yet this time, the toddler sensed that the walk was anything but ordinary. Other members of the tribe were present in great numbers, forming a path from the family hut to the village heights. All wore their black ceremonial dress, consisting of a loincloth of vegetal fibers, a wide belt of braided straw but especially recognizable by the imposing white amber lens that adorned each of their solar plexuses. As the family moved forward, led by Pü's mother, the people bowed deferentially and joined the group. The toddler, full and lulled by his mother's walk, dozed off into a light sleep. As this scene suggested, his family was no ordinary family.

Looï Fu-Tao, Pü's mother, worked outside the village as a diplomat. She was In charge of maintaining relations with the Zorai Theocracy, the political regime that had governed the country for almost three centuries, whose headquarters were located in [[Zoran]], its capital. For some forty years, the Great Sage [[Min-Cho]] had been the highest homin authority in the Theocracy, who, assisted by the Council of Sages, ruled the [[Jungle]], the native country of the Zorai people. While the Sages hoped that the members of the "Cursed Strain Tribe" – as they liked to name it – would eventually accept the authority of the Theocracy, nothing helped. It had been several generations since the tribe had seceded, and things didn't look like they were about to change. But Looï was not only a diplomat. In the village, she was first and foremost the High Priestess of the Black Cult of [[Ma-Duk]], the depository of religious authority.
[[file:Sang Fu-Tao was.png|left|400px|alt=Sang Fu-Tao was the Black Mask|Sang Fu-Tao was the Black Mask]]
Her husband '''Sang Fu-Tao was the Black Mask''', the First Warrior, military chief of the tribe. A few months after his birth, Niï, their eldest son, had been promised a great destiny by Grandmother Bä-Bä, the witch and seer of the village. According to the prophecy, Niï Fu-Tao would someday succeed his father as the Black Mask, and above all, would become the Sacred Warrior. Elected by Ma-Duk the Great Genitor, Niï Fu-Tao would be brought to tour the world, converting the lost to the True Faith, subduing the atheists and exterminating the heretics. For the Zorai Theocracy, this prophecy was precisely falling under heresy.

For the conflict that opposed the tribe to the rest of the country was first of all religious. Indeed, all Zorais worshipped the [[Kami|Kamis]], mysterious spiritual entities that protected the [[ecosystems]]. Able to change their appearance at will and to travel without physical constraint, these divine guardians permanently ensured that no one compromised the fragile balance of [[Atys]], the plant world where all were coexisting. Although discreet, they shared close relations with the homins, as long as those showed respect for nature. Among the different homin peoples, the Zorais were by far the most receptive to the magic of the Kamis. Already provided with a large size and a blue skin, which distinguished them from the rest of the hominity, a bony and horned mask grew on their face, down from their forehead, during their adolescence. This mask represented the true soul of its wearer and testified to the unique link he had with the Kamis. However, if every Zorai worshiped the Kamis, not everyone agreed on the identity of the Supreme Kami. For the majority of Zorais, the Kamis served [[Jena]], the Goddess of the Day Star and the Mother of Hominity. For the dissident tribe, Jena was an usurping goddess from the sky, alien to Atys and intending evil. According to them, the one and only Supreme Kami was Ma-Duk, meaning "Great Mask" in the Zorai language. He was the Great Genitor, asleep in the depths of Atys. A god that no one recognized but them.

But the discordance did not end there. The Zorai Theocracy, which had become particularly isolationist in the last century, had built the Great Wall, a gigantic edifice protecting the borders of the Jungle from all foreign contact. However, this Great Wall had never prevented the Theocracy from maintaining relations with the [[Karavan]], a strange group of hominoids dressed from head to toe in amazing black armor and using prodigious instruments. These peculiar entities, whose true nature no one knew, lived in the skies of Atys. Equipped with a technology unknown to all, and traveling with curious vehicles capable of overcoming gravity, they crisscrossed the sky to spread the word and serve the interests of the goddess Jena. In exchange for their loyalty, the Karavan had given the Zorais the secrets of magnetism and electrostatic properties, and had also taught them to write. The Kamis abhorred the Karavan, and did not hesitate to make this known to the homins, but this never prevented the Council of Elders from accepting their gifts and to use Karavan knowledge to levitate the buildings of Zoran to this day. For the dissident tribe, as an apostle of Jena abhorred by the Kamis, the Karavan had to be seen as a serious threat and fought accordingly.

These theological divergences heated the minds of the Great Sage Min-Cho and his advisors, who were unable to accept any ideological criticism and made the dissident tribe want to wage holy war. But rather than attacking the tribe head-on, fearing the prowess of its soldiers and the mysterious powers of Grandmother Bä-Bä, the Zorai Theocracy made the tribe pass for a common pagan sect in the eyes of peoples of the Jungle. This had worked quite well up to this point.

For Pü Fu-Tao, the youngest child, who had just been awakened by the distant echo of a bird call, none of this held any interest yet. However, with his big black eyes, he gazed at the villagers with astonishment, aware that today something seemed different. Perhaps he knew, deep down, that something important was about to happen. When, recognizing the alleys between the huts, he understood that they were going to Grandmother Bä-Bä's house, his heart began to race. He did not like the old woman. Her gaunt mask frightened him, her odor stung his nose, and he had heard some associated her presence with illness.
Grandmother Bä-Bä was in fact also the village healer, whom people went to see to find solutions to their problems. Although the Fu-Tao couple represented the authority within the tribe, everyone knew that Grandmother Bä-Bä was actually the central pillar of the community. It was said that she was older than the oldest Zorai in the country and that she had helped deliver every member of the tribe.

When the column of people arrived at Grandmother Bä-Bä's huge hut at the highest point of the village, Pü, feeling tears welling up, clutched his mother's robe tightly. Looï put her forehead against his, which had the effect of reassuring him, and advanced towards the big hut, her son in her arms. The boy had just enough time to glance behind him to see his brother waving to him, before heavy curtains obstructed his vision and the characteristic smell of the dwelling reached his nose. In the back of the main room, Grandmother Bä-Bä was working over an amber stockpot. Despite her highly advanced age, she was surprisingly lively and agile, quickly pulling out various plants and roots from the multitude of pockets that made up her apron. Nothing suggested such vitality, however, as her livid, bony, dry body was crossed with deep wrinkles. Grandmother Bä-Bä was constantly postponing death, and everyone knew that she owed this to the powers granted to her by the Kamis.

:''"Come closer my daughter.”, she said in a cavernous voice, without looking at her guests. “Set your son on the altar, I will be ready soon."

Obediently, Looï walked over to a beautiful carved stump. When she gently placed her son on the firm surface, breaking the mother's touch, he started to cry.

:''"Don't comfort him, my daughter. Tears feed the predictions."

The young Zorai did not understand. No matter how much he called for her, his mother did not react, staring at him with a strange look on her masked face, bending over him. As Pü reached out, trying to grab his mother's long tresses, the old woman's hideous mask cut off eye contact. His tears redoubled.

:''"Hold him tight, and don't panic like you did with your first son. Everything will go well."

Grandmother Bä-Bä pulled a dagger with a finely engraved black blade from her apron and gently grabbed the young Zorai's hand. At the touch of the cracked skin, Pü shivered and began to struggle. Unfortunately for him, his mother would not let him, and held him tight. What had he done wrong? Why did he have to go through all this? As he felt like it could not get any worse, thIngs got much darker. The old lady put the blunt side of the weapon on his palm and closed his little fingers around the blade,one after the other. Then, all at once, she squeezed quickly and firmly.
Electrified by the pain, Pü started to scream, while his mother looked at him with a deadened air. All the while holding him immobile.
He loved her so much and had always thought that she loved him too. But now she left him at the mercy of this witch, and took part in his abuse! What was happening?

:''"Its almost over. I just have to collect the precious liquid. Don't try to calm him down, pain will strengthen the blood."

The old woman placed the dagger on the altar and retrieved a small leather purse from her apron. One by one, she took out seven strange orange dice, which she wet on the bloody blade. Once the last relic was blessed with blood, she softly sang a few ritualistic words. The strange, dark symbols engraved on the dice's amber faces seemed to absorb all light in the hut. The amber around them coming to fiery life.
Pü stopped crying, hypnotized by the terrifying spectacle unfolding before his eyes. The witch threw the dice with great force and without hesitation upon the altar. They did not stop rolling around the smooth surface, their orange glow and black shadows painting moving scenes onto the walls of the hut. Like living frescoes that told a story.

Pü beheld a circle of homins and Kamis, dancing on the circular walls of the hut. He could almost hear them singing.
Suddenly the Kamis turned into gigantic maws and devoured a large part of the homins, who were trying in vain to fight back.
The scene then focused on the survivors of the macabre dance, who, led by a Zorai, climbed a mountain of corpses. Although the slope became steeper with each step, new homins joined the group and supported their climb.
Finally, once he had reached the top, the warrior brandished his sword towards the sky and shattered the star that was sitting there. At the same time, the dice stopped moving and gave the light back to the hut.

Grandmother Bä-Bä took a long look at Looï without uttering a word. The Zorai Priestess bent over her son and gently took hold of him.
Pü, whose mind seemed to dwell on distant happenings, regained contact with reality the moment his mother held him to her chest. His trial was over, she still loved him.
He fell asleep on the spot.
[[file:Carefully avoided meeting.png|right|400px|alt=carefully avoided meeting the gaze of her husband|carefully avoided meeting the gaze of her husband]]
:''"You know what you have to tell them, my daughter,"'' the old homina finally said without taking her eyes off Looï.

Taking a few steps forward, she placed a finger on the child's mutilated hand. The wound closed immediately.

:''"From now on, your son's future, and perhaps the future of all hominkind, depends on your lie. It is a necessary evil. Never forget."

:''"I know, Grandmother… Thank you for everything,"'' she whispered, her voice trembling.

Feverishly, Looï kissed her son on the cheek, and walked towards the exit of the hut, clutching him to her heart. In his sleep, Pü could feel its strong beat.
Pushing aside the curtains as she stepped forward, she faced her people. Each member of the tribe stared at her with a heavy gaze, waiting for the verdict. She '''carefully avoided meeting the gaze of her husband''', and above all, that of her first son. Clearing her throat a little, she then spoke up.

:''"Grandmother Bä-Bä has thrown the dice! Today I have the great honor of announcing the predictions she made on the occasion of the first birthday of my second son, Pü Fu-Tao.
While Niï, the future Black Mask, will become the Sacred Warrior, going all the way to heaven to destroy the Karavan and Jena, Pü will assist him throughout his journey! He will be his Shadow, who will advise him at every moment and will not hesitate to sacrifice his life to protect him! Praise be to my sons! Praise be to Ma-Duk! Tonight we will hold a feast to the glory of the Sacred War and the coming of the Happy Days!"

An unrivaled cheer ran through the assembly. Waking up with a start, Pü swept the crowd with his gaze. Which stopped sharply on his father's black mask. The little Zorai opened his eyes wide in amazement; for the first time, he saw a smile on his fathers face.

}}
{{NavChap|[[The Sacred War]] |[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter II - Brotherhood]]}}
 
{{Portal|The Great Library|Zoraï}}
[[Category:The Sacred War|Ch 1]]

Chapter I·I - A Fate Paved with Glory

2022-06-25T10:00:24Z

Lanstiril:

{{NavChap|[[The Sacred War]] |[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter II - Brotherhood]]}}
<noinclude>{{Trad
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{{Clear}}
<center><big><big><big><big>'''I - A Fate Paved with Glory'''</big></big></big></big></center> 
<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2464'''</big></big></center>

{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator'' • ''Cheng Lai'SuKi, illustrator''|
The toddler opened his eyes and gurgled. Waving his chubby little arms, he searched with his clumsy fingertips for the rag doll that had been sharing his nights since he was born. Not finding it, he squirmed to extract himself from his cocoon of sheets, and grabbed the protective bars of his little crib to stand up tall. Like on so many mornings before, he found the doll lying on the floor, gazing up at him with a disappointed look. Unhappy to have been inadvertently pushed from the warm and cozy nest thy shared. He was struggling to join her, trying some clumsy acrobatics, when the drape of the room he was in opened. Each morning he beheld the same apparition. He never got tired of his mother's incredible beauty. Totally forgetting his doll, he flapped his arms, laughing, eager to again be with the one who was torn from him every night by his father. Behind her tattooed mask, the [[Zorai]] gave him a smile and murmured some words. Even though he didn't understand her words, her voice was the most beautiful melody he knew.

:''"Good morning, my darling. Another restless night, I see."

She approached the crib, picked up the doll then held out her arms to him. The boy, who was already stomping his linens with impatience, mimicked her gesture and squealed with delight when his mother grabbed him by the waist and held him aloft. She twirled him through the air for a few seconds then put her bony forehead against his still pristine one, finally lowering him down to her heart where she held him tight.

:''"Today is a great day for you Pü. Mom believes in you. Like your brother, the destiny awaiting you is paved with glory."

The toddler immediately calmed down at the touch of his mother's mask and blue skin. She tasted so good. She smelled so good. She was so soft. Opening his mouth, he ran his tongue over the warm flesh to catch the sweet scent of his mother's sweat. While heading towards the main room of the house, the Zorai extracted one of her voluptuous breasts from her tunic made of soft fibers, which she gently presented to her son. The little boy did not need any encouragement. He grabbed the soft curve with both hands, while his mouth latched onto the dark patch of skin which nourished him every day.

The dwelling of Pü and his family consisted of a large circular hut, which contained the main room, and two smaller huts flanking the large one, which housed the parent's room in which Pü slept and his older brother's room. The foundation of these accommodations had mainly been constructed of soft woods, vines and various large leaves selected for their waterproofing abilities. After Grandmother Bä-Bä's, this dwelling was the most imposing in the tribe. In the center of the main room was the family table, on which a vast amount of varied food rested. Around the table, Pü's father and brother were eating in silence. Pü stared at the two [[homins]] in succession, still sucking on his mother's breast.
[[file:His big black.png|right|400px|alt=His big black mask was scaring him...|His big black mask was scaring him...]]
He guessed a smile under the mouth slit of his brother's [[The Zorai Mask|mask]]. He wasn't yet used to seeing him like this. Until recently, the older boy's face had been naked still and regularly displayed peculiar grimaces that had no other purpose than to make his little brother laugh. But when the boy grew to be twelve years old, a horned mask had grown too. Pü loved his big brother Niï very much. He tickled Pü, played with him, and showed him incredible acrobatic choreographies which plunged the little Zoraï in a state of overexcitement and which had a knack for annoying their mother.

His father did not look at him and kept eating in silence. Pü didn't know what to think of him. '''His big black mask was scaring him''', and he didn't remember ever having guessed a smile behind it. Moreover, he had already seen him behaving harshly with his brother, lounging at he boy violently with sharp objects that Niï nevertheless managed to dodge. He had also on several occasions caught him abusing his mother in the parental bed. Firmly seizing her hair, grabbing her wrists, crushing her with his powerful musculature, and even giving her at times slaps on the lower part of the body, while she muffled her screams in the cushions.

Yet neither his brother nor his mother seemed to resent the big Zorai. His brother seemed to keep regarding his father up as a role model, and his mother always ended their nightly brawls with tender strokes that Pü was jealous of, looking at them from his crib. He definitely did not understand. And warily, he preferred his father to continue to ignore him, while his mother and brother were busy bringing him love and laughter.

Lunch continued in silence until his father spoke up.

:''"Niï, quickly finish lunch and go prepare our formal wear, please. Meanwhile, your mother will dress Pü for the ceremony. Also, make sure our weapons are properly oiled."

The young Zorai grabbed a last handful of dried fruit in a hurry, stood up, and bowed to his father.

:''"I readied our weapons last night before bedtime, Father. And I'll get our outfits ready straightaway."

His Father answered him by slightly inclining his head, then refocused on the contents of his plate. At the same time, his mother got up and took Pü off her breast. The little one, already full, did not flinch but continued to cling to her exposed flesh to maintain contact. She proceeded to change his night soiled swaddling for a prettily braided panty. About ten minutes passed and the family was ready to leave.
{{Couillard}}
Pü squinted as his mother came out of the hut. Despite his tribe having settled in the gigantic stump of a felled sky-tree, the bark ceiling, badly damaged, let in a few rays of sunshine in at certain times of the day. One of which had just found the eye of the little Zorai, who took refuge between his mother's breasts. In the absence of true celestial light, the community had taken to illuminating its dwelling with lamps containing fireflies.
Although some might have described the atmosphere as gloomy, Pü loved it when his mother took him for a walk through the sloping and winding streets or on the suspension bridges that connected the different levels of the small city. The village, much higher than it was wide, was built vertically. The dwellings were located on the heights, while the lower levels were reserved for communal areas, such as stores, places of worship, the dojo, and the dining hall. Pü loved the dining hall. The other Zorais were very kind to him and he had tasted nice food there. Yet this time, the toddler sensed that the walk was anything but ordinary. Other members of the tribe were present in great numbers, forming a path from the family hut to the village heights. All wore their black ceremonial dress, consisting of a loincloth of vegetal fibers, a wide belt of braided straw but especially recognizable by the imposing white amber lens that adorned each of their solar plexuses. As the family moved forward, led by Pü's mother, the people bowed deferentially and joined the group. The toddler, full and lulled by his mother's walk, dozed off into a light sleep. As this scene suggested, his family was no ordinary family.

Looï Fu-Tao, Pü's mother, worked outside the village as a diplomat. She was In charge of maintaining relations with the Zorai Theocracy, the political regime that had governed the country for almost three centuries, whose headquarters were located in [[Zoran]], its capital. For some forty years, the Great Sage [[Min-Cho]] had been the highest homin authority in the Theocracy, who, assisted by the Council of Sages, ruled the [[Jungle]], the native country of the Zorai people. While the Sages hoped that the members of the "Cursed Strain Tribe" – as they liked to name it – would eventually accept the authority of the Theocracy, nothing helped. It had been several generations since the tribe had seceded, and things didn't look like they were about to change. But Looï was not only a diplomat. In the village, she was first and foremost the High Priestess of the Black Cult of [[Ma-Duk]], the depository of religious authority.
[[file:Sang Fu-Tao was.png|left|400px|alt=Sang Fu-Tao was the Black Mask|Sang Fu-Tao was the Black Mask]]
Her husband '''Sang Fu-Tao was the Black Mask''', the First Warrior, military chief of the tribe. A few months after his birth, Niï, their eldest son, had been promised a great destiny by Grandmother Bä-Bä, the witch and seer of the village. According to the prophecy, Niï Fu-Tao would someday succeed his father as the Black Mask, and above all, would become the Sacred Warrior. Elected by Ma-Duk the Great Genitor, Niï Fu-Tao would be brought to tour the world, converting the lost to the True Faith, subduing the atheists and exterminating the heretics. For the Zorai Theocracy, this prophecy was precisely falling under heresy.

For the conflict that opposed the tribe to the rest of the country was first of all religious. Indeed, all Zorais worshipped the [[Kami|Kamis]], mysterious spiritual entities that protected the [[ecosystems]]. Able to change their appearance at will and to travel without physical constraint, these divine guardians permanently ensured that no one compromised the fragile balance of [[Atys]], the plant world where all were coexisting. Although discreet, they shared close relations with the homins, as long as those showed respect for nature. Among the different homin peoples, the Zorais were by far the most receptive to the magic of the Kamis. Already provided with a large size and a blue skin, which distinguished them from the rest of the hominity, a bony and horned mask grew on their face, down from their forehead, during their adolescence. This mask represented the true soul of its wearer and testified to the unique link he had with the Kamis. However, if every Zorai worshiped the Kamis, not everyone agreed on the identity of the Supreme Kami. For the majority of Zorais, the Kamis served [[Jena]], the Goddess of the Day Star and the Mother of Hominity. For the dissident tribe, Jena was an usurping goddess from the sky, alien to Atys and intending evil. According to them, the one and only Supreme Kami was Ma-Duk, meaning "Great Mask" in the Zorai language. He was the Great Genitor, asleep in the depths of Atys. A god that no one recognized but them.

But the discordance did not end there. The Zorai Theocracy, which had become particularly isolationist in the last century, had built the Great Wall, a gigantic edifice protecting the borders of the Jungle from all foreign contact. However, this Great Wall had never prevented the Theocracy from maintaining relations with the [[Karavan]], a strange group of hominoids dressed from head to toe in amazing black armor and using prodigious instruments. These peculiar entities, whose true nature no one knew, lived in the skies of Atys. Equipped with a technology unknown to all, and traveling with curious vehicles capable of overcoming gravity, they crisscrossed the sky to spread the word and serve the interests of the goddess Jena. In exchange for their loyalty, the Karavan had given the Zorais the secrets of magnetism and electrostatic properties, and had also taught them to write. The Kamis abhorred the Karavan, and did not hesitate to make this known to the homins, but this never prevented the Council of Elders from accepting their gifts and to use Karavan knowledge to levitate the buildings of Zoran to this day. For the dissident tribe, as an apostle of Jena abhorred by the Kamis, the Karavan had to be seen as a serious threat and fought accordingly.

These theological divergences heated the minds of the Great Sage Min-Cho and his advisors, who were unable to accept any ideological criticism and made the dissident tribe want to wage holy war. But rather than attacking the tribe head-on, fearing the prowess of its soldiers and the mysterious powers of Grandmother Bä-Bä, the Zorai Theocracy made the tribe pass for a common pagan sect in the eyes of peoples of the Jungle. This had worked quite well up to this point.

For Pü Fu-Tao, the youngest child, who had just been awakened by the distant echo of a bird call, none of this held any interest yet. However, with his big black eyes, he gazed at the villagers with astonishment, aware that today something seemed different. Perhaps he knew, deep down, that something important was about to happen. When, recognizing the alleys between the huts, he understood that they were going to Grandmother Bä-Bä's house, his heart began to race. He did not like the old woman. Her gaunt mask frightened him, her odor stung his nose, and he had heard some associated her presence with illness.
Grandmother Bä-Bä was in fact also the village healer, whom people went to see to find solutions to their problems. Although the Fu-Tao couple represented the authority within the tribe, everyone knew that Grandmother Bä-Bä was actually the central pillar of the community. It was said that she was older than the oldest Zorai in the country and that she had helped deliver every member of the tribe.

When the column of people arrived at Grandmother Bä-Bä's huge hut at the highest point of the village, Pü, feeling tears welling up, clutched his mother's robe tightly. Looï put her forehead against his, which had the effect of reassuring him, and advanced towards the big hut, her son in her arms. The boy had just enough time to glance behind him to see his brother waving to him, before heavy curtains obstructed his vision and the characteristic smell of the dwelling reached his nose. In the back of the main room, Grandmother Bä-Bä was working over an amber stockpot. Despite her highly advanced age, she was surprisingly lively and agile, quickly pulling out various plants and roots from the multitude of pockets that made up her apron. Nothing suggested such vitality, however, as her livid, bony, dry body was crossed with deep wrinkles. Grandmother Bä-Bä was constantly postponing death, and everyone knew that she owed this to the powers granted to her by the Kamis.

:''"Come closer my daughter.”, she said in a cavernous voice, without looking at her guests. “Set your son on the altar, I will be ready soon."

Obediently, Looï walked over to a beautiful carved stump. When she gently placed her son on the firm surface, breaking the mother's touch, he started to cry.

:''"Don't comfort him, my daughter. Tears feed the predictions."

The young Zorai did not understand. No matter how much he called for her, his mother did not react, staring at him with a strange look on her masked face, bending over him. As Pü reached out, trying to grab his mother's long tresses, the old woman's hideous mask cut off eye contact. His tears redoubled.

:''"Hold him tight, and don't panic like you did with your first son. Everything will go well."

Grandmother Bä-Bä pulled a dagger with a finely engraved black blade from her apron and gently grabbed the young Zorai's hand. At the touch of the cracked skin, Pü shivered and began to struggle. Unfortunately for him, his mother would not let him, and held him tight. What had he done wrong? Why did he have to go through all this? As he felt like it could not get any worse, thIngs got much darker. The old lady put the blunt side of the weapon on his palm and closed his little fingers around the blade,one after the other. Then, all at once, she squeezed quickly and firmly.
Electrified by the pain, Pü started to scream, while his mother looked at him with a deadened air. All the while holding him immobile.
He loved her so much and had always thought that she loved him too. But now she left him at the mercy of this witch, and took part in his abuse! What was happening?

:''"Its almost over. I just have to collect the precious liquid. Don't try to calm him down, pain will strengthen the blood."

The old woman placed the dagger on the altar and retrieved a small leather purse from her apron. One by one, she took out seven strange orange dice, which she wet on the bloody blade. Once the last relic was blessed with blood, she softly sang a few ritualistic words. The strange, dark symbols engraved on the dice's amber faces seemed to absorb all light in the hut. The amber around them coming to fiery life.
Pü stopped crying, hypnotized by the terrifying spectacle unfolding before his eyes. The witch threw the dice with great force and without hesitation upon the altar. They did not stop rolling around the smooth surface, their orange glow and black shadows painting moving scenes onto the walls of the hut. Like living frescoes that told a story.

Pü beheld a circle of homins and Kamis, dancing on the circular walls of the hut. He could almost hear them singing.
Suddenly the Kamis turned into gigantic maws and devoured a large part of the homins, who were trying in vain to fight back.
The scene then focused on the survivors of the macabre dance, who, led by a Zorai, climbed a mountain of corpses. Although the slope became steeper with each step, new homins joined the group and supported their climb.
Finally, once he had reached the top, the warrior brandished his sword towards the sky and shattered the star that was sitting there. At the same time, the dice stopped moving and gave the light back to the hut.

Grandmother Bä-Bä took a long look at Looï without uttering a word. The Zorai Priestess bent over her son and gently took hold of him.
Pü, whose mind seemed to dwell on distant happenings, regained contact with reality the moment his mother held him to her chest. His trial was over, she still loved him.
He fell asleep on the spot.
[[file:Carefully avoided meeting.png|right|400px|alt=carefully avoided meeting the gaze of her husband|carefully avoided meeting the gaze of her husband]]
:''"You know what you have to tell them, my daughter,"'' the old homina finally said without taking her eyes off Looï.

Taking a few steps forward, she placed a finger on the child's mutilated hand. The wound closed immediately.

:''"From now on, your son's future, and perhaps the future of all hominkind, depends on your lie. It is a necessary evil. Never forget."

:''"I know, Grandmother… Thank you for everything,"'' she whispered, her voice trembling.

Feverishly, Looï kissed her son on the cheek, and walked towards the exit of the hut, clutching him to her heart. In his sleep, Pü could feel its strong beat.
Pushing aside the curtains as she stepped forward, she faced her people. Each member of the tribe stared at her with a heavy gaze, waiting for the verdict. She '''carefully avoided meeting the gaze of her husband''', and above all, that of her first son. Clearing her throat a little, she then spoke up.

:''"Grandmother Bä-Bä has thrown the dice! Today I have the great honor of announcing the predictions she made on the occasion of the first birthday of my second son, Pü Fu-Tao.
While Niï, the future Black Mask, will become the Sacred Warrior, going all the way to heaven to destroy the Karavan and Jena, Pü will assist him throughout his journey! He will be his Shadow, who will advise him at every moment and will not hesitate to sacrifice his life to protect him! Praise be to my sons! Praise be to Ma-Duk! Tonight we will hold a feast to the glory of the Sacred War and the coming of the Happy Days!"

An unrivaled cheer ran through the assembly. Waking up with a start, Pü swept the crowd with his gaze. Which stopped sharply on his father's black mask. The little Zorai opened his eyes wide in amazement; for the first time, he saw a smile on his fathers face.

}}
{{NavChap|[[The Sacred War]] |[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter II - Brotherhood]]}}
 
{{Portal|The Great Library|Zoraï}}
[[Category:The Sacred War|Ch 1]]

The Sacred War

2022-06-20T19:59:34Z

Lanstiril:

__NOTOC__
__NOEDITSECTION__
<noinclude>{{Trad
|DE=
|EN=The Sacred War|ENs=4
|ES=
|FR=La Guerre Sacrée|FRs=0
|RU=
|H=1
|palette=}}</noinclude>
=='''Preface'''==
{{Quotation|''Cheng Lai’Suki''|
I introduce myself, Cheng Lai'Suki, translator and restorer of this book. A few years ago, when my friend Vao and I were crossing the [[Witherings]] on our way to [[Aeden Aqueous]], a lucky fall led us to discover a hideout tucked away in an air pocket between two thick roots. The place was very roughly furnished with shelves, a desk and a small bed. Several objects were also strewn about the floor, including many books. Among these, one particularly intrigued me: ''The Sacred War'', by Belenor Nebius. It was an old and battered collection, written in the ancient [[Zorai]] dialect<ref>The texts narrating this discovery are available on the [https://app.ryzom.com/app_forum/index.php?page=topic/view/28654/ ROLEPLAY forum]</ref>. We also found a dagger with a finely chiseled black blade, and a set of seven orange dice, with between four and twenty sides that were not numbered, but engraved with fine intersecting lines.

For the next few months, I studied the book. It told a story from another time. It was a story set in the [[Old Lands]] more than a hundred years ago, after the kitins' [[Great Swarming]] had ravaged them and forced the people who lived there to flee to the lands we now occupy. This story was the story of the Black Mask, who in the wake of the devastation and his encounter with the Great Genitor, gathered survivors and began the Sacred War against the [[Karavan]] and its minions.

Although I have never been able to authenticate the historical content of this story, the author of the story has been answering questions that obsessed us, me and so many others since our childhood. Unfortunately, as you know, today's civilizations have little knowledge of the Old Lands, most of the information about them having been lost during the Great Swarm. Every document from that time is therefore a valuable source of knowledge. However, this epic tale, because of its setting, could just as well be a fictionalized account. After all, how can one take seriously the story of a black-masked Zorai, who traveled for a time in the company of the terrible [[Marauders]], and who, invested with [[Kami|kamic]] powers, exterminated the faithful and the agents of the Karavan still present on these lands ravaged by the kitins?

No matter, such is the answer. Themes such as family, relation to faith, free will, and the search for our origins have moved me deeply in the story of the Sacred War. I am glad to have found this book, and I hope that by sealing its contents in an amber cube and depositing it in the Temple of Knowledge, many people will will be caught up by Belenor Nebius' tale, as I was. If it is possible that some decide to make this heretical text disappear, know that I remain in possession of the original manuscript.

I dedicate this work of restoration to the Sages, who will forever delude themselves, and to the disbanded guild of the ''Rôdeurs d'[[Atys]]'', which I know to have been linked to this story in some way.}}

=='''Table of contents'''==
:<big><big>'''Volume I - Crossed Destinies'''</big></big>

::<big>'''''The child soldier'''''</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter I - A Fate Paved with Glory]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter II - Brotherhood]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter III - Dying to Be Reborn]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter IV - Sylvan Exile]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter V - The Seed of Doubt]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter VI - The Awakening]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter VII - Slaying and Polishing]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter VIII - Lies]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter IX - Solitude]]</big>

::<big>'''''The children of the Empire'''''</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter X - Heroes]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XI - The Generation of Miracles]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XII - Family]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XIV - Savagery]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XV - Powers]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XVI - Civilizations]]</big>

:<big><big>'''Volume II'''</big></big>
:<big><big>(to come)</big></big>

=='''Acknowledgements''' (non diegetic)<ref>See also post at the [https://app.ryzom.com/app_forum/index.php?page=post/view/206739 OFFICIAL NEWS forum].</ref>==

{{Quotation|''The author''|
Thank you so much to all of you who reviewed the proofs of this first book: Nolwen, Anaïs, Catherine, Nilstilar, Drumel, Namcha, Tamarea. Thanks to your advice and encouragement, I have been able to turn a hobby into something more. Big thanks to Tamarea, and especially to Nilstilar, passionate advisor and proofreader, who helped me enrich my writing style and pushed me to never give up. Thanks to Winch Gate, of course, without whom this book could never have ended up in your hands. Finally, thanks to Nicolas for introducing me to Ryzom, thanks to the players I've met over the years, and thanks to the Rangers of Atys, whose legends and myths inspired this story. I am thinking in particular of Kalchek, whom I never had the chance to meet, and of Damakian and Kalbatcha, who managed to pass on the flame to me. "Never forget", they kept saying. Know that I have never forgotten.
So once again, thank you all. I could never have made it without you.}}
 
----
<references/>
----
 
{{Portal|The Great Library}}
[[Category:Literature]][[Category:History]][[Category:The Sacred Ware]]

The Sacred War

2022-06-16T20:16:35Z

Lanstiril:

__NOTOC__
__NOEDITSECTION__
<noinclude>{{Trad
|DE=
|EN=The Sacred War|ENs=4
|ES=
|FR=La Guerre Sacrée|FRs=0
|RU=
|H=1
|palette=}}</noinclude>
=='''Preface'''==
{{Quotation|''Cheng Lai’Suki''|
I introduce myself, Cheng Lai'Suki, translator and restorer of this book. A few years ago, when my friend Vao and I were crossing the [[Witherings]] on our way to [[Aeden Aqueous]], a lucky fall led us to discover a hideout tucked away in an air pocket between two thick roots. The place was very roughly furnished with shelves, a desk and a small bed. Several objects were also strewn about the floor, including many books. Among these, one particularly intrigued me: ''The Sacred War'', by Belenor Nebius. It was an old and battered collection, written in the ancient [[Zorai]] dialect<ref>The texts narrating this discovery are available on the [https://app.ryzom.com/app_forum/index.php?page=topic/view/28654/ ROLEPLAY forum]</ref>. We also found a dagger with a finely chiseled black blade, and a set of seven orange dice, with between four and twenty sides that were not numbered, but engraved with fine intersecting lines.

For the next few months, I studied the book. It told a story from another time. It was a story set in the [[Old Lands]] more than a hundred years ago, after the kitins' [[Great Swarming]] had ravaged them and forced the people who lived there to flee to the lands we now occupy. This story was the story of the Black Mask, who in the wake of the devastation and his encounter with the Great Genitor, gathered survivors and began the Sacred War against the [[Karavan]] and its minions.

Although I have never been able to authenticate the historical content of this story, the author of the story has been answering questions that obsessed us, me and so many others since our childhood. Unfortunately, as you know, today's civilizations have little knowledge of the Old Lands, most of the information about them having been lost during the Great Swarm. Every document from that time is therefore a valuable source of knowledge. However, this epic tale, because of its setting, could just as well be a fictionalized account. After all, how can one take seriously the story of a black-masked Zorai, who traveled for a time in the company of the terrible [[Marauders]], and who, invested with [[Kami|kamic]] powers, exterminated the faithful and the agents of the Karavan still present on these lands ravaged by the kitins?

No matter, such is the answer. Themes such as family, relation to faith, free will, and the search for our origins have moved me deeply in the story of the Sacred War. I am glad to have found this book, and I hope that by sealing its contents in an amber cube and depositing it in the Temple of Knowledge, many people will will be caught up by Belenor Nebius' tale, as I was. If it is possible that some decide to make this heretical text disappear, know that I remain in possession of the original manuscript.

I dedicate this work of restoration to the Sages, who will forever delude themselves, and to the disbanded guild of the ''Rôdeurs d'[[Atys]]'', which I know to have been linked to this story in some way.}}

=='''Table of contents'''==
:<big><big>'''Volume I - Crossed Destinies'''</big></big>

::<big>'''''The child soldier'''''</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter I - A Fate Paved with Glory]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter II - Brotherhood]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter III - Dying to Be Reborn]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter IV - Sylvan Exile]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter V - The Seed of Doubt]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter VI - The Awakening]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter VII - Slaying and Polishing]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter VIII - Lies]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter IX - Solitude]]</big>

::<big>'''''The children of the Empire'''''</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter X - Heroes]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XI - The Generation of Miracles]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XII - Family]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XIV - Savagery]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XV - Powers]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XVI - Civilizations]]</big>

:<big><big>'''Volume II'''</big></big>
:<big><big>(to come)</big></big>

=='''Acknowledgements''' (non diegetic)<ref>See also post at the [https://app.ryzom.com/app_forum/index.php?page=post/view/206374 OFFICIAL NEWS forum].</ref>==

{{Quotation|''The author''|
Thank you so much to all of you who reviewed the proofs of this first book: Nolwen, Anaïs, Catherine, Nilstilar, Drumel, Namcha, Tamarea. Thanks to your advice and encouragement, I have been able to turn a hobby into something more. Big thanks to Tamarea, and especially to Nilstilar, passionate advisor and proofreader, who helped me enrich my writing style and pushed me to never give up. Thanks to Winch Gate, of course, without whom this book could never have ended up in your hands. Finally, thanks to Nicolas for introducing me to Ryzom, thanks to the players I've met over the years, and thanks to the Rangers of Atys, whose legends and myths inspired this story. I am thinking in particular of Kalchek, whom I never had the chance to meet, and of Damakian and Kalbatcha, who managed to pass on the flame to me. "Never forget", they kept saying. Know that I have never forgotten.
So once again, thank you all. I could never have made it without you.}}
 
----
<references/>
----
 
{{Portal|The Great Library}}
[[Category:Literature]][[Category:History]][[Category:The Sacred Ware]]

The Sacred War

2022-06-16T20:14:42Z

Lanstiril:

__NOTOC__
__NOEDITSECTION__
<noinclude>{{Trad
|DE=
|EN=The Sacred War|ENs=4
|ES=
|FR=La Guerre Sacrée|FRs=0
|RU=
|H=1
|palette=}}</noinclude>
=='''Preface'''==
{{Quotation|''Cheng Lai’Suki''|
I introduce myself, Cheng Lai'Suki, translator and restorer of this book. A few years ago, when my friend Vao and I were crossing the [[Witherings]] on our way to [[Aeden Aqueous]], a lucky fall led us to discover a hideout tucked away in an air pocket between two thick roots. The place was very roughly furnished with shelves, a desk and a small bed. Several objects were also strewn about the floor, including many books. Among these, one particularly intrigued me: ''The Sacred War'', by Belenor Nebius. It was an old and battered collection, written in the ancient [[Zorai]] dialect<ref>The texts narrating this discovery are available on the [https://app.ryzom.com/app_forum/index.php?page=topic/view/28654/ ROLEPLAY forum]</ref>. We also found a dagger with a finely chiseled black blade, and a set of seven orange dice, with between four and twenty sides that were not numbered, but engraved with fine intersecting lines.

For the next few months, I studied the book. It told a story from another time. It was a story set in the [[Old Lands]] more than a hundred years ago, after the kitins' [[Great Swarming]] had ravaged them and forced the people who lived there to flee to the lands we now occupy. This story was the story of the Black Mask, who in the wake of the devastation and his encounter with the Great Genitor, gathered survivors and began the Sacred War against the [[Karavan]] and its minions.

Although I have never been able to authenticate the historical content of this story, the author of the story has been answering questions that obsessed us, me and so many others since our childhood. Unfortunately, as you know, today's civilizations have little knowledge of the Old Lands, most of the information about them having been lost during the Great Swarm. Every document from that time is therefore a valuable source of knowledge. However, this epic tale, because of its setting, could just as well be a fictionalized account. After all, how can one take seriously the story of a black-masked Zorai, who traveled for a time in the company of the terrible [[Marauders]], and who, invested with [[Kami|kamic]] powers, exterminated the faithful and the agents of the Karavan still present on these lands ravaged by the kitins?

No matter, such is the answer. Themes such as family, relation to faith, free will, and the search for our origins have moved me deeply in the story of the Sacred War. I am glad to have found this book, and I hope that by sealing its contents in an amber cube and depositing it in the Temple of Knowledge, many people will will be caught up by Belenor Nebius' tale, as I was. If it is possible that some decide to make this heretical text disappear, know that I remain in possession of the original manuscript.

I dedicate this work of restoration to the Sages, who will forever delude themselves, and to the disbanded guild of the ''Rôdeurs d'[[Atys]]'', which I know to have been linked to this story in some way.}}

=='''Table of contents'''==
:<big><big>'''Volume I - Crossed Destinies'''</big></big>

::<big>'''''The child soldier'''''</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter I - A Fate Paved with Glory]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter II - Brotherhood]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter III - Dying to Be Reborn]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter IV - Sylvan Exile]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter V - The Seed of Doubt]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter VI - The Awakening]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter VII - Slaying and Polishing]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter VIII - Lies]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter IX - Solitude]]</big>

::<big>'''''The children of the Empire'''''</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter X - Heroes]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XI - The Generation of Miracles]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XII - Family]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XIV - Savagery]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XV - Powers]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XVI - Civilizations]]</big>

:<big><big>'''Volume II'''</big></big>
:<big><big>(to come)</big></big>

=='''Acknowledgements''' (non diegetic)<ref>See also post at the [https://app.ryzom.com/app_forum/index.php?page=post/view/206374 OFFICIAL NEWS forum].</ref>==

{{Quotation|''The author''|
Thanks to Lai, who like Looï gave birth to Pü, is the one who allowed my ideas to bloom. Thanks to [[User:Namcha|Namcha]], Atys, God, the Law, the one who governs what is possible or not, the one who allowed me to anchor this story in the reality of Ryzom. Thanks to [[:fr:User:Nilstilar|Nilstilar]], who by sublimating the Form, helped me to transcend the Substance, and who like Sirgio di Rolo and Pü, sees in spite of himself his soul to link with the author's one. Thanks of course to all those who, in one way or another, have brought me advice and knowledge.}}
 
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{{Portal|The Great Library}}
[[Category:Literature]][[Category:History]][[Category:The Sacred Ware]]

Chapter I·XVI - Civilizations

2022-06-16T20:13:10Z

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''XVI - Civilizations'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''An 2481 de Jena'''</big></big></center>

{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|
<poem>
::''In their flying crafts,
::''Starving and lonely,
::''Led by the wind song,
::''They found a star below.

::''In the endless night,
::''Pilgrims and orphans,
::''Gifted of untold powers,
::''They made rising daylight.

::''In their mill of ideas,
::''Impatient and haughty,
::''Forgetful of the past,
::''They paid the price of blood.

::''In their wavering ships,
::''Visionaries and torturers,
::''Hands reddened with blood,
::''They gave birth to chimeras.
</poem>
Kneeling on the ground and raising her arms to the sky, Belenor watched with misty eyes the floating ship of the Karavan, whose strange black matter reflected the bright glow of the day star. Its enormous ventral cannons, still in rotation a short time ago, were now pointed towards the Southern Gates. Even where the wave of insects was breaking. Whatever the Karavan was, wherever it came from, and whatever the link that bound it to the hominity, on this day, the Fyros people would forever remember its providential arrival. For in the face of this monstrous swarm, what else but their prodigious technology could stand as a bulwark? The magic of the Kamis, certainly. But who knows, maybe the Karavan's strike force would be enough? Belenor hoped so. As if to sweep away her fears, a gigantic arc of electricity suddenly materialized between the flying ship and the teeming mass of kitins. The vile squeak that then echoed through the city was demonstrating the violence of the shock. During long seconds, the enemy army was struck down in a chain reaction. In one attack, the Karavan had dealt a terrible blow… But this was without the resistance and tenacity of the monsters. For no sooner had the arc disappeared than the horrible, chitin-smoking magma reformed. As if they were one, the surviving kitins mutated into a huge arm that rose into the sky. With the distance and the smoke, Belenor was unable to make out the scene clearly. But he easily recognized the flying creatures that had set Fyre on fire at the beginning of the invasion, this time gathered in a compact swarm. But the swarm was also swarming with walking monsters. And while the larger ones now seemed to be climbing the walls of Dyros Avenue to gain height, the smaller ones were as for them carried by groups of winged creatures. With the aim of dispersing the column of insects, the ship above them launched several bombardments salvos. Unfortunately, this did not prevent the titanic hand from reaching its target and beginning to plow through its black hull with claws and fangs. To prevent it, a multitude of small machines immediately emerged from the ship and opened fire on the attackers. This was the beginning of a terrible aerial battle between the army of kitins and the Karavan fleet.

Suddenly realizing that his rescuers would not prevail as easily as he had hoped, Belenor felt panic come over him. Then Garius' voice rang out behind him.

:''"Belenor!"

Stunned, the Fyros staggered to his feet. Garius? No way. He was losing his mind. Yet it was his friend he saw when he turned around: a giant with a shaved head and shoulders as broad as botoga branches. His friend or Varran, obviously. The Decos twin, dressed in a yellow and black spotted varinx skin outfit, characteristic of the Dragon Tears tribe, was coming from Hempios Square, north of Dyros Avenue. Where a number of Fyros seemed to have gathered. Where several small Karavan machines were making rounds around the Imperial Palace. Varran raised his large arms and shouted a second time.

:''"Belenor! Melkiar and I heard Brandille screaming! Where is he? And Tisse? And Xynala?"

At the same time, Xynala emerged from the mass grave of kitins filled by Brandille's scream. Belenor's heart raced. She was alive. He was so relieved.

:''"Here Varran,"'' Xynala spat, pulling some greenish material from her blonde hair.

:''"B… Brandille is ri… right there,"'' Belenor stammered, pointing at the crater, not taking his eyes off the Fyrossa.

:''"And Tisse?"'' continued the colossus.

Xynala exchanged a look with Belenor, then both lowered their heads. The homina unhooked from her back the impressive rifle of the deceased, and walked towards Varran, trampling along the way the carcasses of the insects.

:''"Tisse got run over trying to save me,"'' she said, pointing her gun at the bark grave. I couldn't do anything…

With a dark look, the colossus lowered his head in turn. Then, he clenched his fists. Enough for Belenor to feel the joints of his fingers crack.

:''"Shit! Right now, we have to flee, and fast. Some of those monsters didn't take the Karavan as a target, and are trying to reach the Imperial Palace! There are a lot of people there! I'll take care of getting Brandille back! You, hurry to the Palace!"

And indeed, a few insects similar to the ones under Xynala's feet, but much larger in size, were moving up the avenue in pursuit of the fugitives who were trying to reach Hempios Square. A soldier mounted on a mektoub was busy attracting the attention of the creatures in order to protect their backs. Without waiting, Varran leapt toward the crater as Xynala and Belenor dashed toward the Palace. Just like fourteen years ago during the quarter-coriolis, Belenor was running up Dyros Avenue. And if the memory of this trial of the Academy Games was not among the best of her childhood, the desire to survive this cataclysm was obviously stronger than his aversion to foot-race.

Focused on their race, the two Fyros raced north. They were soon joined by Varran, carrying Brandille on his left shoulder, whose supple armor and multicolored braids had partly burned. Her buttocks were turned towards the sky and her head hung on the massive back of the colossus. Without losing sight of the debris which littered the avenue, he who was so used to stumbling, Belenor decelerated in order to observe the face of his friend. Eyes closed, Brandille was completely inert. Motionless. Worried about his health, but still feeling the life circulating in his little body, Belenor refocused on his race. He had become aware of the strange bond between him and Brandille as a result of his trip to Fort Kronk. After all, if the Black Kami was his first savior, it was Brandille who, seemingly able to sense his presence from a distance, had led the others to him. From then on, Belenor had wondered about their relationship, and had realized that, as far back as he could remember, a special bond had always united him to his friend. At last, it was only earlier, after her scream, that he had had the confirmation of it. After having felt that Brandille was still alive, whereas her body lay far from his glance, in the small crater.

The mad dash continued so for a few minutes. Two hundred meters behind them, the mektouber was still trying to bait the huge kinchers and protect the fugitives. Unfortunately, the valiant soldier and his mount could not be everywhere, and some of them had already perished under the paws and fangs of the monsters. When he reached a hundred meters from the Hempios square, Belenor glimpsed some imperial soldiers, accompanied by some Karavan agents. Their strange black suits made them perfectly identifiable. Each of them was positioned under the large root arch that marked the end of the avenue, while a flying machine hovered above. That's what Belenor thought, before realizing that the machine was actually moving in their direction.

:''"Enor?"

Raising his head abruptly towards Varran, the Fyros observed Brandille's large mauve eyes. The arms now leaned on the shoulder of the colossus, the acrobat displayed a particularly serious air. Very different from the laughing pout to which Belenor was accustomed. Something was wrong.

:''"Brandille?"

:''"Forgive me, Enor, but I have to leave."

:''"L… Leave? What are you telling?"

:''"If you want me back, you have to let me go."

:''"Whoa! You're not going anywhere li'l guy, Melkiar ordered me to bring you back!"'' protested Varran as he tightened his powerful arm around Brandille's buttocks.

Baffled, Belenor stared again at the Karavan's machine, whose dull roar was gaining in intensity. It was getting closer to them. Then a flash of clarity came through him. Was that it then? The Fyros swallowed and looked one last time into his friend's big mauve eyes. The idea of being separated from Brandille terrified him.

:''"You'll come back, for sure?"

:''"Yes, my Bele nice, I promise. As sure as the wind will ever blow."

:''"A... All right. Then fly."

:''"What the hell is going on?! Stop your bullshit, we stay together and keep running!"'' exclaimed Xynala.

And for any answer, Brandille began to sing, without leaving Belenor of the eyes. Instantly, her singular voice reflected in echo around the Fyros in a strange hypnotic effect.

::''In their wildest dreams,
::''Impostors and dictators,
::''They made your knees bend,
::''They defeated the Depths.

::''In the sidereal cage,
::''Her shaped and him growed,
::''Of their untold powers,
::''They engraved my destiny,

No sooner the last verse sung, the acrobat slipped down along Varran's back. Not understanding how he could have escaped him, the colossus braked and tried to seize the little being. But it was without Brandille's athletic abilities who rolled on the ground, did a few somersaults and landed on a high block pulled off from bark. Unable to react, the three Fyros watched the acrobat in silence. And if Xynala and Varran shared the same bewildered look, Belenor smiled: at last, Brandille's face had recovered its jovial pout. Gratifying him with a last wink, her friend raised her arms high in front of the Karavan's machine, now very close, and howled :

::''And then I cry out, I wake up!
::''In their clutches, I marvel!
::''Then I flee, I fly in the wind!
::''She am alive, he am alive!

Without wasting another second, Brandille leapt over his friends. The black vehicle, which had begun to accelerate, immediately swerved into the air and dashed after the acrobat, who was now gliding at breakneck speed towards an alley adjacent to the avenue. At this point, Belenor was able to watch in detail the Karavan's vehicle, whose shape reminded that of a teardrop. It was a vehicle about fifteen meters long and five meters wide at its most rounded part. And if it was provided with a multitude of strange technological excrescences, of which Belenor did not know the use, the Fyros guessed nevertheless some guns and the system which, probably, allowed the machine to overcome the gravity. On the side of the machine, the open side doors also let glimpse several soldiers in black suits, armed with strange spears and guns. Soldiers ready to intervene. Belenor's heart sank as he realized that the machine was faster than Brandille. Luckily, its size worked against it, and too wide, it had to gain altitude again just as the acrobat disappeared with a roll down the small winding alley. The machine did not give up, however, and ran up the hundred meters of the bark wall at a fast pace before continuing to stalk its prey low over the Backbone.

The three Fyros watched at each other for some long seconds. What had just really happened? Why was the Karavan pursuing Brandille? Undoubtedly, it had to do with her supernatural scream. But more importantly, was it possible that anyone, no matter how cunning, could escape the Karavan's omnipotence? With his eyes closed, Belenor raised his face to the sky and gritted his teeth. He had absolutely to think of something else. As if to help him do so, a shout echoed in the distance behind him. That voice. It was that of General Euriyaseus Icaron.

:''"Varran, it is really you? Xynala? Help these civilians join the Palace!"

In unison, all turned their heads to the south of the avenue. Fifty meters below, the general was busy fighting two three-meter high kinchers. She was the mektuber they had seen earlier below. Between her and the group of friends, a female homina and two children, visibly on the verge of exhaustion, were running towards the Palace. Without missing a beat, the three fyros rushed towards them. Xynala grabbed the girl, Varran the mother and the boy. Belenor, for his part, slip on his pair of amplifiers and supported the mektouber with his healings. The armor of the venerable Fyrosse, as well as that of his mekboub, was chipped all over. The mount even seemed seriously injured. However, this was not preventing the brave animal from carrying the body of a homin with the help of its powerful trunk. Finally, thanks to the magical support of Belenor, the general managed to finish off one of the two monsters with a well-placed pike. And as the group finally arrived at the entrance to Hempios Square, a strange hissing sound was heard. A flash of light later, the last kincher collapsed in the sawdust, his skull pierced. Not understanding what had just happened, Belenor turned back to the great root arch. In front of him, a Karavan agent was pointing his right arm at the creature's carcass. The light projectile had been emitted by the strange device that equipped his forearm.

It was the first time that Belenor had observed a Karavan agent so closely. Measuring about one meter sixty, the hominoid was dressed in a full-body suit that revealed a feminine form, but did not reveal a single square inch of skin. To this tight clothing was associated a veil hung at the level of the basin and a hood covering the helmet of the individual. A helmet consisting of a large white visor and what appeared to be a breathing mask. Next to the agent, several other ones, some of them with a more masculine build, were silently scanning the celestial battle. The Fyros gazed upon the mysterious beings for a few seconds and then suddenly felt a strange psychic pressure. The shooter had turned towards him and seemed to fix him from now on. Immediately, Belenor turned gaze away and stepped under the arch. As Melkiar and Brandille had once told him, Karavan agents gave off a supernatural aura, both terrifying and fascinating. Now he understood. And without a doubt, the sensation was like to the one he had felt the seldom times his eyes had rested on Emperor Thesop the Fratricide, like that time on the winners' stand after his victory at the Academy Games. Imagining his friend constrained by several of these agents, the Fyros felt panic assail him again. At that moment, all his thoughts were turned to Brandille. Alive, Brandille was. He could feel it. But was his friend free? She had to be… Her promise had to be kept.
{{Couillard}}
Hempios Square was named after the first son of Dyros the Great, who had become the second emperor of the Fyros almost two centuries earlier. An emperor who, following the teachings of the Karavan, had encouraged the state alchemists to continue studying the pyrotechnic properties of certain materials. Thanks to this, the manufacture of firearms was generalized, which allowed the Empire to impose itself in front of the dissident tribes, but also to exist a little more on the international level. Moreover, since this time, the mastery of fire had become a strong characteristic of the Fyros civilization.

Usually crowded with soldiers and citizens employed at the Palace, Hempios Square had been transformed into a gigantic refugee camp, where mixed soldiers, distraught citizens, Karavan agents and vehicles, but also a large number of slain homins, whose bodies had been carefully gathered on the left side of the immense secular building. On the right side, three large air transporters were welcoming homins on board. The same transporters that were sometimes seen on the outskirts of the rare villages inhabited by tribes serving the Karavan, and that allowed the agents to collect the precious resources gathered by their followers. Once the arch was passed, the general Icaron ordered his mektoub to lay on the ground the body of the Fyros that he had carried all along. Then, the homine and the two children rushed to his bedside. The father, to whom Belenor had given magical care, had now recovered. However, he was still unconscious, probably traumatized by the ordeal. The family thanked their saviors a thousand times, and, now safe, General Icaron asked Xynala what had become of Tisse. The latter mechanically repeated the answer she had given to Varran. Sincerely touched, the venerable Fyrosse expressed at length her sorrow and praised the merits of the newly promoted captain. Without understanding that she had just accentuated their disarray, the general finally greeted the young people, then moved towards a group of soldiers that she had just spotted. Dejected, the three friends watched her walk away in silence. Then Varran asked Xynala and Belenor to follow him. He intended to lead them to Melkiar, who was at the place where the victims were gathered.

To reach their friend, the small group had to go along the bark wall that delimited the square and go around the crowd of survivors. All were huddled and extremely quiet. Only the tears of children, the lamentations of those who had lost everything and the distant bombardments of the Karavan disturbed the oppressive deathly silence that now reigned over the historic heart of Fyre. On the way, they passed several dozen carcasses of giant insects, piled up against the bark wall. Belenor took a close look at one of them, and noticed that this creature was quite different from the ones that had broken through the Southern Gates. For if its general aspect reminded in several points the "walking jaws" of the first wave, many other elements differentiated it. First of all, it was much more imposing. Its legs, in particular, were thicker and more vigorous. Then, its skull was provided with two enormous nozzles oozing a strange organic liquid, instead of the pairs of hooks. Its abdomen, no longer arched under its six legs but erected at the back of the thorax, was devoid of sting. Finally, the bronze color of the carapace had given way to a jet black studded in places with yellow patterns. Notably, a pair of sinister eyes seemed to be drawn on the creature's swollen skull, making it even more menacing. To imagine all these creatures alive, Belenor felt a nausea.

After a few minutes of walking, the group finally reached the area reserved for the victims. Then Belenor's heart sank. There were already hundreds of them, and new ones were arriving on stretchers with every passing minute… While some of the deceased were surrounded by their devastated loved ones, others seemed to be waiting patiently to be found. Around them, many Fyros wandered in this vast field of tears. Haggard, looking for their friends, their parents, their children or their loves. Of course, they were still alive. But in their hearts, they were as good as dead. Without stopping, Varran led Belenor and Xynala towards a large group of people people dressed in clothes identical to his own. Focusing on these homins, Belenor tried not to look at the shrouds he was stepping over. It was then that he recognized Melkiar, kneeling in front of the body of a homina whose black hair reminded of his own. Lying next to her, a tame varinx, two meters and a half long, was licking the face of the deceased. Unlike the other members of his species, this specimen had a black coat tending to blue, adorned with brown spots. One of the Fyros whispered a word in Melkiar's ear, and he stood up and turned back to his friends. Although his hairless face was marked by fatigue and grief, the homin had lost none of his charismatic aura.

:''"Xynala, Belenor, I have missed you so much. Into my arms, my friends."

The two Fyros blushed slightly and walked over to their comrade, who hugged them without further ado.

:''"Xynala, why are you carrying Tisse's rifle?"'' he then whispered without loosening the noose of his arms.

Instinctively, the Fyrossa accentuated the pressure of the embrace. Her voice was knotted by the emotion:

:''"Tisse sacrificed herself to save me. It all happened so fast, there was nothing I could do…"

A veil of sadness crossed Melkiar's eyes, soon replaced by a comforting glow.

:''"Since you have'nt be able to do anything, it means that there was nothing to do, Xynala. I know you by heart: if the possibility had been given to you, you would have acted, for sure…"

Melkiar caressed his friend's shoulder and then continued:

:''"Belenor, where is Brandille?"

Torn by many emotions, Belenor did not hear the question. Between the relief to know his friend alive, the joy to find him, the sadness to know Tisse dead or the concern for Brandille, the Fyros did not know where to turn. A few seconds passed before Melkiar called him again:

:''"Belenor?"

:''"Ah, yes, sorry Melkiar... Brandille ran away from a Karavan machine that wanted to catch her. I don't know more, but Varran told me that you heard her scream. It's certainly related…"

Melkiar sighed and loosened his hug, much to the chagrin of Belenor and Xynala. With a broad wave of his hand, the tribal leader pointed to his comrades.

:''"All these brave soldiers are members of my tribe, and I will introduce them to you later. They know you, I have told them a lot about you. As planned, we were about to meet with Emperor Cerakos II, to discuss the political situation in the western desert. Then the kün-trazen nozzles rumbled. The fire-breathing flying creatures appeared just as the emperor's herald arrived at the bottom of the stairs leading to the Palace."

:''"Are they the ones who attacked the Palace?"'' asked Xynala, pointing to the extensive damage to the landmark building.

Then Melkiar pointed to the pile of carcasses Belenor had observed on the way.

:''"No. When the Southern Gates gave way, a platoon of these creatures fell from the sky. It was probably hiding in the heights. But rather than sweep up the fleeing men already gathered en masse in the square, the monsters tried to rush into the Palace. We managed to hold them off, at the cost of heavy casualties. Then, just as we thought the battle was lost, the Karavan appeared out of nowhere. It was only afterwards that we learned that there had been other battles inside the Palace, where more of these monsters had managed to infiltrate. Fortunately, the imperial family escaped unharmed. According to the Karavan, the swarm, which is still struggling with their massive ship, served as a diversion so that the dark creatures could act. Assuming that the insects in the main wave were low-ranking soldiers, these monsters were undoubtedly elite soldiers. Which also means that these creatures are not mere beasts, but conscious beings capable of developing elaborate strategies."

Looking again at the deceased, Melkiar clenched his fists.

:''"I must admit that without the help of the Karavan, all would have shared her fate…"

For all answer, Varran swore. Then, without ceasing to grumble, he put his big hand on his friend's shoulder.

:''"By the way, speaking of the gingo…"

At these words, everyone turned around. Five Karavan agents were indeed heading towards the group of Fyros. One of them, with a masculine build, was wearing a yellow and black suit instead of the ones all of them were ordinarily dressed in. Belenor, who had always associated the Karavan with the color black, froze for a few seconds in front of the agent. Perhaps it was a high ranking officer. The agent in yellow then stepped forward and called out to him. As he heard the muffled, sizzling, monotone voice, impossible to identify the kind or nature, the Fyros felt a strange dizziness. As before, the agent seemed to exert some pressure on his mind.

:''"Follow me. You too,"'' he said in mateis, pointing at Xynala.

Instantly, Melkiar and Varran stepped between the agents and their two friends. The black varinx, who had until then been lying next to the deceased, stood up and snarled.

:''"What do you want from them?"'' Melkiar answered immediately.

:''"These homins were accompanied by an individual who fled as one of our shuttles approached. They must be questioned. Now follow me."

Belenor exchanged a look with Xynala then swallowed. None of them could do anything if the Karavan decided to interrogate them by force. So they might as well cooperate. And then, maybe this was also an opportunity to understand what linked Brandille to the Karavan.

:''"Okay, we'll go along with you,"'' he nodded to the general surprise.

:''"What? He's trying to manipulate you, Belenor, pull yourself together!"'' exclaimed Melkiar.

Recognizing the enmity his friend was feeling for the Karavan since ever, Belenor put a soothing hand on his shoulder. Melkiar was worried about him! Finally, Brandille had been right: the years of separation had not weakened their friendship. The feelings were well and truly still present.

:''"No Melkiar, don't worry. I know perfectly well what I'm doing,"'' he said calmly, although inside he wasn't so sure he was in control of his mind.

Silent, Melkiar stared intensely at Belenor for a long time, then returned his gaze to the agent in yellow.

:''"So be it. But then, only if we can go with them. We also know the Tryker you are looking for. And we will have to be interrogated together."

Again there was silence. Through his impenetrable white visor, the agent seemed to be watching Melkiar, who held his gaze without fail.

:''"I don't care"'', he finally decided, before turning around and heading towards the Imperial Palace, followed by his goons.

The four friends left the shroud field to follow the Karavan agents. Before leaving, Melkiar ordered his other companions to burn the body of the homine near whom his friends had found him kneeling. The black varinx, who had followed the group, did not let Melkiar out of his sight. Distrustful, Belenor was observing the predator from the corner of his eye.

:''"Don't worry, Belenor, he's harmless,"'' said his friend, stroking the animal's big head. As you know, my tribe has always raised varinx. This one is called Krodaken. He was born three years ago, just after my father died. A good beast.

:''"I'm sorry to interrupt, but do you know why these people are getting on the Karavan machines?"'' Xynala asked, pointing to the three transporters they had seen when they arrived in the square.

Now within range to observe the large vehicles, the small group lingered a few moments on the scene. That of a barrage of Karavan agents holding back a compact mass of homins, and allowing access to the ramp to only a few people, most of them richly dressed. Of course, this treatment was not to the liking of the majority, and irritation was beginning to spread through the crowd.

:''"I imagine that a few wealthy people had negotiated with the Karavan to leave Fyre while the plebs took care of defeating the enemy,"'' Melkiar spat. ''"While the fate of the majority of the capital's inhabitants remains unknown, this band of navel-gazing cowards is preparing its escape. I can't stand them! Have they forgotten the second of the Four Pillars of the Empire? Honor? The Emperor is currently discussing with the Karavan the next step in the battle. I hope that once we get rid of these monsters, all these cowards will be justly punished."

Finally reaching the foot of the stairs leading to the Imperial Palace, the four friends saw about fifteen other agents. If several were dressed in yellow, others wore a new, unknown armor, more massive and variegated with black and red. When they reached about twenty meters, they all turned simultaneously towards the homins, making the end of this march particularly oppressive. When finally, with a gesture of the hand, the agent in yellow made sign to the Fyros to stop, all obeyed. The agent then joined his fellows, while the four others dressed in black remained with the homins. A quick discussion later, the agent in yellow returned to them accompanied by his acolytes.

:''"Good. You will be questioned one by one. To facilitate the gathering of information, we will place you in an altered state of consciousness. As long as you cooperate fully, no harm will come to you.

:''"What? That's not what was agreed!"'' Varran barked in rough matéis, arms crossed and chest out, naively believing that his gigantism could impress the agents.

:''"Yes, it was only agreed that we would be interrogated together, not put to sleep, or whatever,"'' Melkiar added in a threatening tone.

Worried about letting the Karavan probe his mind unchecked, Belenor instinctively looked around for a way out. He saw one of the small vehicles which had so far been hovering over the square flying towards them. Did this have anything to do with the interrogation? Were they going to be transported elsewhere? The Fyros swallowed: the thought of being alone and unconscious in one of those strange black machines terrified him. The agent in yellow stepped forward and brandished his right arm forward.

:''"As I told you earlier, I don't care. I don't care about your pleas. You are in no position to demand anything. Cooperate."

Arms spread wide and palms turned back, Melkiar urged his friends to back off. Realizing that the homins were not going to obey them wisely, several agents unhooked a gray baton-like stick from their belts, the end of which immediately became charged with electricity. Then they moved forward. Simultaneously, the vehicle landed behind the four Fyros with a dull rumble. In the shape of a crescent, it must have been about twenty meters wide. Behind the cloud of sawdust that the descent of the machine had just raised, a door slid upwards, and a small ramp extended to the ground. Two more agents emerged from the dust-cloaked shuttle. The homins were now surrounded.

:''"Let's obey, Melkiar…. We have no choice,"'' whispered Xynala.

:''"Are you really going to let them triturate your mind? They are certainly capable of rewriting our thoughts. It's too dangerous."

Cornered, the four friends clutched together back to back. Capitulate or resist, there was no other alternative. True to his convictions, Melkiar stroked the pommel of his sword with his right hand and Krodaken's head with the other. The varinx was showing its fangs. And just as he was about to draw his weapon, the supernatural voice of a Karavan agent thundered in fyrk on Hempios square.

:''"Envoys and children of Jena, I call your attention. Emperor Cerakos II wishes to address you with a message of the utmost importance."

Although the announcement seemed to come from several of the flying vehicles that crisscrossed the square, all the agents there instantly turned toward to the Imperial Palace. At the top of the stairs, the young Emperor, dressed in his red battle armor and a helmet of impressive horns, stood beside his sister Leanon and his wife, Empress Lydia. The latter was carrying in her arms the infant Dexton, who would one day inherit the title of Emperor. In front of them, an female agent dressed in white raised her arms to the sky. The amplification of his voice transmitted through the aircrafts greatly was heightening the psychic pressure.

:''"Stop your activities and listen carefully to this speech. For time is running out!"

Around Belenor and her friends, all the Karavan agents now had their helmet visors turned towards the staircase. They no longer seemed to have any interest in the four Fyros. More broadly, the attention of the huge crowd was entirely focused on the imperial family. The Emperor descended three steps and the agent moved to the side. There was now almost total silence in Hempios Square, disturbed only by the distant sound of the fight that still pitted the Karavan's flying ship against the monstrous swarm, and by the detonations that erupted at regular intervals near the great root arch. The voice of the Emperor, also transmitted and amplified by the flying vehicles, then rang out.

:''"People of Fyre! My brothers, my sisters! The hour is grave, and more even so than you can imagine! For these monsters, which the Karavan names kitins, have invaded not only the capital of our glorious Empire, but also all its cities, as well as those that dot the territories of the Kingdom of Matia, Trykoth and Zoran!"

For Belenor, the announcement was like a bomb. A long wave of shivers ran down his spine. So the entire Atys was affected by this invasion? The number of these creatures was unbelievable. They must have numbered in the tens of millions… The Emperor continued.

:''"And unfortunately, as powerful as the Karavan is, it is not yet able to stop the Swarming that is currently sweeping across the world! This is why I had to make a particularly difficult decision. That of leaving our homeland, in order to protect our children, but also to allow the Karavan to fight to its full potential, without worrying about endangering human lives!"

At these words, several protests arose in the crowd. And before his friends could even react, Melkiar made his way to the stairs. The agents, so authoritative a few moments ago, let him do so without saying a word. They seemed to have taken the message of their white-clad fellow at face value. Melkiar climbed five steps and spoke in a loud voice.

:''"My sharükos, I am Melkiar of the Dragon Tears tribe. I understand the gravity of the threat, but escape is not a credible option! The Empire is populated by millions of Fyros, spread across our territory, from Fort Kronk to the first plateaus of Matia: it is impossible to organize such an exodus, especially since only a handful of them will be able to hear your message!"

Several hundred pairs of eyes immediately fell on Melkiar. The Emperor looked at him in silence for a few seconds and then went down five steps.

:''"Melkiar the Prodigy. I wish our meeting could have taken place under different circumstances. For alas, you are right: although my message is being broadcast at the moment in each imperial city, we will not be able to save all the citizens of the Empire, and I will forever be responsible for it. But there is still time to save our civilization! The Karavan is currently present in each of the Fyros cities, where it has made several of its transporters available. I am announcing that the children can already board them! Some citizens selected by the Karavan according to their profession can also board! This includes generals of the Army, members of the Academy and the Senate, as well as high ranking officials of the Empire."

Further protests arose from the crowd that was beginning to stir. Belenor rushed in turn on the steps of the staircase, which Melkiar was now climbing two by two. He didn't know what his friend was intend to, but when in doubt, he wanted to be able to stop him.

:''"Are you serious, sharükos?! Three carriers, filled with orphans and the wealthy? Three carriers, only, attributed to Fyre? How many for Coriolis? Only one?! The western desert is populated by tribes settled in small villages! The Karavan will never go to their aid!"

In Hempios Square, dangerous movements of the crowd were beginning to arise, as many Fyros tried to reach the transporters. The Emperor descended five steps again, closed his eyes for a brief moment, then clenched his fists.

:''"I know, Melkiar! I know! You think I have no awareness of this all? As we speak, hordes of these kitins are ravaging our beloved country and killing our brothers and sisters. If I could give my life to save each and every one of them, I would, a thousand times! But we are no match for facing this enemy. We must accept the Karavan's conditions.

:''"The conditions? So it is the Karavan that wants to save certain citizens preferentially?"'' asked Melkiar without stopping to run. ''"My sharükos, pull yourself together! They are manipulating you! We must fight!"

:''"Melkiar, you don't understand then?"

:''"Yes, I understand perfectly! I…"

And just as the breathless Belenor was about to finally catch up with Melkiar, now only ten steps away from the Emperor, the agent's voice rang out again. Her words slammed on the depth of his skull and almost made him fall.

:''"Silence! Your Emperor has spoken, and by my voice, Jena commands you to obey him! Children and authorized citizens will join the transporters, because the future of your civilization depends on them above all. As for the others, they will not be abandoned, and valiant envoys of Jena will escort them on their journey on foot to the retreat where the transporters will go. Know that many Karavan agents have already given their lives to save you! This is the will of your Mother, the Goddess Jena, who is willing to make the greatest of sacrifices for her Children! So obey, homins! For if your people are living at this very moment the worst catastrophe in homin history, know that your indiscipline is the sole cause!"

Half stunned by the psychic bomb that had just been emitted, Melkiar stepped back a stair. Facing him, shoulders hunched and head down, the Emperor was now staring at his feet with a devastated look. He had been taken into his confidence. He knew the horrible truth, which the agent would now reveal.

:''"Fifth Commandment of Jena: 'Into the bowels of Atys thou shalt not descend, that the Holy Light may not leave thy heart, and the Darkness of the Dragon may not devour thy soul.' Now, as they had gone deeper than ever into the Amber Mines of Coriolis, yesterday some fyros miners discovered and attacked a nest of kitins. Today, the entire hominity is paying the price!"

At these words, Belenor's heart heaved and his knees buckled under his weight. Not because of the vocal detonation, but because of the meaning of the speech. For the Coriolis Amber Mines had been bought by Tiralion Nebius six years earlier. His father, driven by the quest for profit, had ordered his Pickaxe Heads to increase the output, despite safety regulations and the lessons of history. Thus, after the terrible fire that had ravaged the Desert in 2435 and caused the death of tens of thousands of Fyros, the Amber Mines found themselves at the heart of a new ecological catastrophe. And this time, his father was the one responsible. His name would forever be associated with this tragedy. Eyes bulging and jaw clenched, Belenor grabbed his face and dug his nails into his skin. It couldn't be. This day was an endless nightmare, from which he would soon wake up. He had to. It could not be otherwise.

:''"My friend, get up. I know what you're thinking, so don't forget: you're not your father. Do you hear me, Belenor?"

With a blank stare, the Fyros looked up and saw Melkiar, who, hand outstretched, was staring at him with a determined look. Desorientated, Belenor seized it and stood up. The Emperor, who had regained his composure, addressed his people again.

:''"My brothers, my sisters! If it is too late to rewrite the past, it is still early enough to chart our future! I will not abandon you, and I will myself lead the refugee column to the Karavan's retreat!"

:''"To do this, you'll use the evacuation tunnels from the Palace,"'' the agent continued in her sizzling, monotone voice. ''"The same tunnels that cross the Dragon's Backbone towards the northwest. Once you reach the northern desert, you'll head for the rainbow, which you then can glimpse fifty kilometers north. It will be your beacon. The valiant Emperor Cerakos II will lead this expedition, accompanied by powerful soldiers of the Karavan. Only when you arrive there will you be transported to…"

And the sky exploded. A deafening explosion accompanied by a wave of heat swept through the whole of Fyre. Belenor, who almost lost his balance again, held on tightly to Melkiar's arm. In the sky over Fyre, the monumental Karavan flying ship, now smoking and aflame, was slowly falling towards the Southern Gates. Victorious, the thousands of surviving kitins did not rest for a second and swooped down on the Palace. Immediately, the Karavan machines levitating over the square spread out in a circle facing the bark wall that bounded it, and dropped thick pylons that planted themselves firmly in the ground. Once the maneuver was complete, the strange devices began to whistle loudly, and a few seconds later, a gigantic diaphanous, bluish dome materialized around and above the square. The crescent-shaped vehicle next to Varran and Xynala took off immediately, and the agents surrounding them sped off in different directions, as did each of those around the Palace. The supernatural voice of the agent dressed in white thundered again.

:''"Children of Jena, time is against us, this protection will not last forever! I urge you to obey your Emperor! The survival of your civilization depends on it! Let the children and selected citizens embark immediately, and let the others join the evacuation tunnels of the Palace!"

All over the square, a huge commotion broke out. The Emperor, who had just been joined by his wife and sister, hugged each of them. Then, he caressed the downy hair of his son. Unfortunately, the farewell couldn't last forever, and barely an embrace later, the two Fyrossas were descending the stairs in a hurry. Everyone knew that Empress Lydia, but especially Leanon, the youngest daughter of the late Emperor Krospas, did not join the transporters out of fear of the kitins, but out of duty. For if anything should happen to Cerakos II, the imperial line would be preserved. As many Fyros were starting to climb the steps towards the Palace, Melkiar walked up to the Emperor. The two homins were only one year apart.

:''"My sharükos, forgive me, but I cannot obey you. I have joined Fyre to discuss with you the future of the tribes of the western desert. There are many who await my return. It is unthinkable that I abandon them."

:''"I know, Melkiar, I know. I do not intend to stop you, and I hope that you will be accompanied by many volunteers. I just want you to know that I am not running away from Fyre for the sake of it, but out of responsibility. The Karavan is very clear about our chances of survival if we decide to attack these creatures head on. I am the thirteenth sharükos, and I carry the weight of our entire History on my shoulders. If there is a small chance to save our civilization, I must take it. So don't judge me too harshly, I beg you."

At the same time, the first kitins collided with the energy barrier, causing the air inside the dome to vibrate, while further south, the flaming Karavan ship finally crashed, causing a long, powerful tremor that reverberated all the way to the Palace. Melkiar turned around for a few seconds and looked at the damage from his promontory. These monsters were formidable, he had to admit. And especially in such quantities. Clenching his fists, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

:''"I understand, sharükos, I didn't mean any disrespect. Since you allow me to do so, I will not follow you, and will try to gather the survivors. You!"'' he then said in matéis to the attention of the white-clad agent, who was busy tapping on the forearm of her suit. ''"I need to know how long this 'rainbow' you mentioned will remain visible. And where the refugees will be transported."

:''"The refugees will be transported to the Prime Roots via this rainbow, and I don't know how long the latter will remain functional,"'' she said without taking her eyes off her forearm. ''"Know that your plan is foolish, Melkiar. If you do not flee, you will die. You will die from the kitins, or from the Stellar Fire. And do you know that the Karavan has already taken an interest in you? Your characteristics are beyond comprehension, you are an exceptional homin. Your life is precious and your loss would would cause great wrong to Jena. Are you sure you want to go so far west again, and gamble your life against the life of those who are nothing?"

Melkiar stood up, bowed to the Emperor, and turned around. The first refugees, some of them terrified and dressed in rags, were already arriving at their level. Melkiar embraced with a glance the homins present before answering, in a furious pant:

:''"Those who are nothing? Definitely, we do not speak the same language, nor do we see the world in the same way. These homins, whom you despise and some of whom will die under your bombs, you must know that they have for them their strength in numbers, and that they have nothing to lose but the few chains that still hinder them. And once they have broken free from the yoke of the Karavan and the Kamis, the world will be in reach of their hands."

A small flashing craft stopped about twenty meters above the agent, and slowly the latter rose into the air. Without taking her eyes off Melkiar, she then uttered these last words:

:''"May the Mother of Hominity forgive your blasphemy and arrogance, homin, and may she give you the strength to carry out your quest. Find the survivors, and take refuge from the kitins and the bombing. For no matter how my words have been interpreted, know that Jena holds each of you in her heart. From the most magnificents of her heirs to the weakest of her offspring. Your success will thus be celebrated, as much as your failure will be mourned. Farewell."

Belenor, who had only been distractedly listening to the exchanges between the Emperor, Melkiar, and the agent, was staring at his feet, unable to think of anything but his father. Shortly before, while praying to the Kamis in the face of the swarm that was pouring in from the Southern Gates, he had had an affectionate thought for him. This had not happened for a long time. Now he kept suppressing a nausea with great difficulty. The Emperor greeted Melkiar, said a few last words to him, and then climbed the steps that separated him from the Palace. Long minutes passed so, during which Melkiar, posted in the middle of the stairs and joined by Xynala, Varran and the members of his tribe, tried to convince other homins and homines to follow him. To his surprise, many agreed, whether they were soldiers or simple civilians. They crossed paths with General Euriyaseus Icaron again, who, obviously not having agreed to join the choice seat reserved for her in one of the transporters, promised to do everything in her power to protect the Emperor and secure the place of retreat until their return. Still lost in his thoughts, Belenor watched the events unfold before his eyes, apathetic. He did not even react when Varran insulted his father at length, and even dared, in the state in which his anger had plunged him, to question once again his responsibility for Garius' death. Xynala and Melkiar immediately blamed Varran, but once again, Belenor did not react. It was not until much later, when the bulk of the refugees had finally reached the Palace and the energy dome was beginning to weaken slightly, that a familiar voice finally managed to get his attention.

:''"Young master, is that you?"

Eyes vacant, the Fyros took a long look at Penala. His nurse looked exhausted. Exhausted but alive. Throwing herself into the arms of the young homin, the old lady burst into tears. Then, Belenor suddenly emerged from her torpor, and in turn burst into tears. Melkiar and Xynala, who knew their friend well, exchanged a relieved look: Belenor was an emotional person, someone whose frank expression of feelings was a sure sign of good mental health. To see him crying like that was therefore reassuring.

:''"I am so relieved, Master Belenor. So relieved. Your… Your mother is waiting for you near the transporters,"'' she said, reflexively dusting off her armor. ''"I've never seen her so worried, don't keep her waiting. We checked on the records the agents hold, and you are indeed on the list."

On the list? Yes, that was probably true, since he was now a member of the teaching staff at the Academy. This meant that he could join his mother and flee to the safety of the Karavan's promised refuge. But he could also, on the contrary, accompany Penala, to watch over her until she reached that rainbow. And then there were his friends, of course. Xynala and Varran stared at Belenor for a long time, then Melkiar addressed him.

:''"Belenor. If you wish to join your mother, I understand perfectly. I wish I could have spent more time with mine…"

Then, Belenor understood that the black-haired woman in front of whom he had found his friend kneeling, in the field of shrouds, was none other than Melkiar's mother. Too focused on his fears, the Fyros had been deeply lacking in empathy, and had not even been interested in the identity of the deceased. One by one, Belenor stared at Penala, Melkiar, Xynala, Tisse's gun and Varran, in whom he recognized Garius. And then suddenly, Brandille's face appeared to him. His dear friend, who had promised to return. His dear friend, from whom he would be forever separated if he fled from Fyre.
{{Couillard}}
Leaning against the bark wall of the narrow tunnel, Belenor sipped his broth in silence. Although he had left her in good hands, leaving Penala had definitely been painful for him. But abandoning Brandille was inconceivable. Moreover, it was not impossible that the Fyros would soon find his nurse, his mother, or even the lecture halls of the Academy. Maybe this swarm would be contained by the Karavan without Fyre being completely destroyed, maybe the Kamis would miraculously reappear, or in the worst case, maybe they would all meet up somewhere else. Far from home, of course, but reunited and alive. This besides was more or less the plan: to make a grand tour of the Desert, gather the survivors, then join this mysterious "rainbow" whose position the white-clad agent had roughly indicated, and which should take them far from the kitins, in the Prime Roots, while the creatures were eliminated by the Karavan's Stellar Ffire. That said, after ten days of trudging through the tunnels that lined the depths of Fyre, in constant fear of being spotted by a kitin patrol or dying in a rockslide, the Fyros was already missing the comforts of his family's mansion. Which, moreover, was perhaps at this hour already reduced to dust… Remembering the time when the massacres were only fiction, he imagined himself rereading ''The Sacred War'', comfortably installed in the second living room. This living room which he particularly liked, and in which his father also adored to bask… Belenor fixed a few moments the reflection which reflected him the broth and was taken of a new nausea. Physically, he looked so much like him… With his stomach in knots and unable to eat anything else, the Fyros offered his bowl to Messen Dyn, who had been rescued in the ruins of his small temple two days earlier. The old Kamist monk smiled at his young follower, accepted the precious food, and put down the parchment he was writing on.

Yes, write. He had to write. He had to get his mind off of things. Turning his attention to Melkiar, who was busy reassuring two orphans he had rescued that morning, he reminded himself once again of their meeting.

:''"Someone will have to tell my story. Someone will have to make me the hero they need. I like to surround myself with talent, Belenor Nebius. And one day, I'll need someone like you.''

With a sudden rush of emotion, the Fyros felt the tears welling up. Yes, it was time for him to grow up. It was time for him to move on: if his first book was about the exploits of a fictional character, although inspired by strange dreams he suspected had been sent to him by the Kamis, the second would tell the story of a real hero. Yes, it was decided, he would soon begin the biography of Melkiar, and would definitively turn the page on the Black Mask and of ''The Sacred War''. At twenty-seven, he was past the age of chasing his dreams, and now he had to focus on reality. Where his friends were waiting for him.

At the same time, several hundred kilometers to the southeast, in the depths of the Jungle, Pü Fu-Tao was expressing his pain by slaughtering isolated kitins, without taking into account the advice that the mysterious inner voice kept giving him. On his deathbed, Grandmother Bä-Bä had summoned him to lead the Sacred War, and to help him do so, to find a Fyros and a Matissa. But for the young Black Mask, now alone in the world, the Sacred War was like a punishment. So, just like Belenor, he too wanted to turn the page on this history.

A barely sketched history, of which the Black Kami seemed to be a key character.

A story that would end up catching up with them, and make their destinies cross.
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Chapter I·XV - Powers

2022-06-16T19:41:13Z

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''XV - Powers'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2481'''</big></big></center>

{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|If Belenor forgot the number of years it took him to mourn, he did so, as Brandille had announced him. There was that day when the first image that came to him when he woke up was not the severed head of his friend. Then that other time, when he didn't think about him all day. Month after month, the ghost of Garius, until then clinging to his shoulders, gained in lightness. And then one day, he vanished, without the Fyros even realizing it, leaving only the happy memories behind. Today, thinking back on this strange period, only the memory of the first two years seemed clear to him. Two difficult years, so much his relation with Varran had degraded… Because since the death of his twin, the colossus was only the shadow of himself. An aggressive and sad shadow. His friends thought they would seen him sink definitively all when his father, already quite weakened by his work in the mines, committed suicide a few months later. So when, in 2477, Melkiar obtained the highest academic rank and decided, to the great displeasure of the army, to leave Fyre for good to join his tribe, he took Varran under his wing. As sad as the goodbyes were then, Belenor experienced Varran's departure as a relief. Like a new beginning. And to move on, he took refuge in work.

Thus, while finishing his studies, the Fyros joined the teaching staff of the Academy. While the military strategy courses he was teching to the young academicians occupied much of his time, his new status also granted him certain privileges. One of them was access to the private sections of the Great Library of Fyre. Thus, Belenor had plenty of time to delve into a subject that had interested him greatly at the acme of the writing of his story: the study of the Karavan, the Kamis, and the many cults that were dedicated to them. This is why he was so interested in the study of the Karavan, the Kamis, and the many cults dedicated to them. Indeed, his encounter with the Black Kami had deeply upset him. Was it the same one that appeared a few months after his birth, above his cradle, as his parents had told him? If so, what ties did he share with him? Why had he saved him? And then, what about that voice, which he was sure he had heard, just before the Kami attacked the Dune Riders?

:"I need you, Belenor... Think of the Happy Days, Belenor... I am always by your side, Belenor. Never forget.''

Obsessed by these questions, the Fyros had combed all the studies on the Kamis available at the Academy. He wanted to know everything about these spirits of nature. Of course, he knew that the knowledge compiled by the Empire was not enough, and that sooner or later he would have to go to the highest place of known Kamic knowledge: the city of Taai-Toon, where the Great Library of the Zorai people was rebuilt after the Empire had sacked Zoran in 2328. Unable to resign himself to leaving the Academy without the highest rank, like Melkiar before him, Belenor had to find something to quench his thirst for knowledge. Thus he began to frequent the Kamis temples of the capital, sometimes accompanied by Xynala, where they were both initiated into various ritual practices. Although freedom of worship was a right granted by the Empire to its citizens, the spirituality of the Fyros was never to prevail over the "Four Pillars of the Empire". That is why the Empire allowed, under certain conditions only, the construction of temples within its cities. Moving thus from theory to practice, Belenor was surprised to see how the followers of the various Kamic faiths maintained good relations, despite certain major disagreements. The most important of these was the existence and identity of the Supreme Kami. According to the majority of cults, the Supreme Kami was Jena, the Goddess of the Day Star and the Mother of the hominity, while for other more animistic currents, there was no Supreme Kami. If in "The Sacred War", the story he had written a few years earlier, Belenor had amused himself by imagining the Supreme Kami as a gigantic entity buried somewhere in the depths of Atys, none of the Kamic cults he had studied described such a being. Yet he had never forgotten the time he had met that Zorai trader in the tavern more than ten years before. He had never forgotten the frightened look she had given him as he spoke the words "Black Mask"… A black mask he had seen himself caressing in a vision, triggered by the Black Kami's physical contact, as he and Xynala had gone to Garius' improvised burial chamber. Deep down, Belenor was convinced that his childhood dreams, the very ones that had fed his story, were not insignificant. Perhaps they had something to do with this Black Kami. So the Fyros got into his head to meet a Kami, in order to discuss with him.
[[file:Kami 1.jpg|right|400px|alt=Fire Kami]]
This is the request he made to Messen Dyn, an old Kamist monk with whom he had befriended. Hesitant at first, the old Fyros finally accepted the young follower's request, not so much to do him a favor as to make him understand that the Kamis were not loquacious creatures. In his opinion, if the young homin was really blessed by the Kami, he should by himself understand the fate they had in store for him. The first few times Messen tried to invoke a Kami, the ritual failed: sitting cross-legged in front of the great brazier that overhung the altar, the two Fyros meditated and prayed for a long time, without success. And then one day, when there was no indication that this meditation session would be special, the great fire suddenly stopped flickering. As if they had just solidified, five red flames froze, while at the bottom of the blaze, the blackened logs seemed to be animated by strange movements. Surely some unseen force was shaping the flaming and carbonaceous material. Only when the Fyros realized that the two yellow shapes he was watching at were nothing more than a pair of eyes, did he know that the ritual had worked. Endowed with long, hairless, brown limbs and five horns that looked like burnt wood, still glowing at the tip, with red and orange veins running down to its large yellow eyes, the Fire Kami was in the process of extricating itself from the inferno. A few seconds later, it is the arched back, crouched on the edge of the altar in front of the incandescent flames, that the divine creature observed silently the two homins. Messen thanked his guest for a long time then explained him briefly why he had called upon him. And while the old monk gave the word to Belenor, and that this one thanked in his turn the Kami of Fire, the divine creature jumped back and disappeared in a spray of flames…
{{Couillard}}
Sitting comfortably on his father's rendorhide chair, elbows resting on his magnificent solid wood desk, and hands busy playing with the braid of his long mahogany beard, Belenor stared dully at the flame of the wall lantern. Even today, the memory of this brief encounter remained burning. As much as the disappointment that was associated with it. For since that time, he had never seen a Kami again. Taking his eyes off the hypnotic light source, the Fyros turned his attention back to his student's assignment. But no sooner had he frowned, detecting a gross error, than he heard a knock on the door.

:''"Come in."'' the Fyros ordered without taking his eyes off his copy.

:''"I'm sorry to bother you so early, young master, but your friends just arrived already. They are waiting for you in the lobby."

Looking up from her copy, Belenor smiled at her nanny.

:''"You know you never bother me, Penala."

The Fyros put down his igara quill, stood up leaning on his father's desk, and headed for the door. The wrinkled face of the old lady, who had just spread her arms, showed an affectionate smile. It is without waiting that Belenor snuggled up against her. The relation that the young homin maintained with his nurse was particularly strong. Much stronger than the link of blood which bound him to his parents. She was the one who had fed him, bathed him, looked after him, raised him. A substitute mother, in short. Therefore, if he was often reluctant to take his mother in his arms, Penala's embraces brought him, on the contrary, always much comforting. With her nose buried in her greying hair, Belenor tried to delay the moment of separation: the girls could wait a few minutes. It was not the opinion of Penala, who, kissing him noisily on the cheek, put an end to the embrace.

:''"Come on master Belenor, you might be late. Isn't this day important for you?"

:''"Yes, it is, Penala, you are right. The truth is that I'm a little stressed, I must admit… I didn't sleep well, and I feel quite tired. Four years have passed, that's a long time. I hope that everything will go well."

:''"Everything will go well, I'm sure. Have you any lunch? Eating might give you some strength."

:''"No, my stomach is in a knot."

:''"So do me the favor to take a detour to the kitchen before you join your friends. And don't forget to enjoy this day, it would be a shame to pass that by. Oh, I also wanted to tell you that this braid looks great on you! When I was your age, your father wore the same braid."

:''"So, I would have preferred to do without this compliment, Penala."'' Belenor grinned before returning her kiss.

His nurse gave a slight laugh, kissed him one last time, then gently pushed him out of the office. Half obediently, Belenor went through the manor at the run, but headed straight for the entrance hall, without passing through the kitchen. As agreed, Xynala, Tisse and Brandille were waiting for him next to the big doors of the cave manor.

The two Fyrossa, each dressed in their scarlet military uniforms, were busy looking at a large amber sculpture that decorated the entrance. Four years ago, when Melkiar and Varran had departed, they had both decided to leave the Academy and join the military full time. The trophies they had won during their teenage years, combined with the last academic rank they had earned and the fame they had gained in recent years as reservists, had allowed them to enter as officers. From then on, the two homines had become very close, forgetting all about the love fights of their adolescence. Xynala Zeseus, now a lieutenant, was in charge of one of the mobile platoons responsible for maintaining order in Fyre. As for her, Tisse Apoan, promoted to lieutenant instructor, was in charge of teaching marksmanship to the military and academics. In many ways, the exemplary careers of the two Fyrossa were emblematic of the porosity that existed between the Academy and the Imperial Army. Brandille, for her part, wearing loose, brightly colored clothes that matched her multicolored braids, stood on the tips of her boots and was monitoring the outskirts of the mansion through the screened hatch in the main door. Watching his friend from the top of the open staircase that led to the entrance hall, Belenor knew instantly that something was not quite right: Brandille was strangely motionless.

:''"Hello, you three."'' said the Fyros as he came down the steps two at a time. ''"Is everything all right, Brandille?"

:''"Except for the awful smell that's been attacking my pretty little nose since this morning, you mean?"

:''"What do you mean? What smell are you talking about?"

:''"Ah, so you don't smell anything either."'' exclaimed Xynala, turning around. ''"The first thing that Brandille told us at noon, when we came to look for him with Tisse, was that we didn't smell good… Here's the mood."

Turning around with a bounce, Brandille put her hands on her hips and looked falsely outraged.

:''"It is not you, specifically, who does not smell good. I can't count the number of baths we've already shared, so I can attest to the impeccable quality of your grooming. It's not you, it's on you. It's in the air, and it's settling everywhere!"

:''"And what does that smell look like, Brandille?"'' continued the Fyros.

:''"I could hardly tell you, Enor. A pungent, sickening smell. For the moment that's still light. But my little nose – and you know how reliable it is – is certain that the smell is only getting closer. Ah, by the way, it has just revealed to me that it is carried by the west winds!"

:''"The west winds?"'' questioned Tisse mischievously, his fingers lost in his long red hair. ''"Ah, but that's good, we have the answer! That's Melkiar and Varran, who have returned from the depths of the Desert after four years without bathing!"

At these words, Belenor and Xynala burst out laughing. Brandille rolled his big mauve eyes to the sky, opened the doors of the manor wide and pinched her nose.

:''"You three make a fine bunch of comics. Would you like to join my troupe? I'm recruiting non-stop right now, for my new show. In fact, there's a rehearsal tonight!"

:''"By no mean."'' replied the redhead. ''"If we're on leave today, it's not to work tonight!"

:''"More seriously Brandille, this smell is worrying you?"'' continued Belenor while passing the door step following Tisse and Xynala.

:''"Quite enough, yes. But maybe Tisse is right, and that it emanates simply from the two other weirdos. He's expected at the imperial palace, isn't he?"'' asked Brandille as she headed for Dyros Avenue.

:''"Yes."'' Belenor swallowed. ''"That's right."

If the reception of her friends had allowed him to forget her anxieties, at least during a few moments, these had just reappeared at gallop. Because today marked the return of Melkiar and Varran in the Fyros capital, after four years of absence. Four years during which few letters had been exchanged. Four years of separation, which perhaps questioned the depth of their friendship. Belenor remembered how, eleven years ago, when to convince Xynala that the heartache she felt would pass, like all the negative and positive emotions that crossed the homins during their life, he had taken as an example the affection that all of them felt for each other.

:"One day, we won't be friends anymore, that's a certainty. The potential reasons are numerous: ideological differences, weariness, physical distance, or simply death. Everything passes Xynala. Everything…"

At this hour, the Fyros hoped to be mistaken. And if, having discussed it with his three friends, they were all much less worried than he was, he had not managed to reassure himself. Especially since he still felt responsible for Garius' death, even though he had been tried many times to persuade him otherwise…

During these four years, it was also likely that Melkiar and Varran had changed a lot. Especially Melkiar, whose father had been killed before his eyes, on the battlefield. This strengthened the bond between him and Varran a little more. Becoming chief of the Dragon's Tears tribe, Melkiar succeeded in going even further than his father, Tigriron, and perpetuated the coalition formed by the latter at the time of the war against the Dune Riders. Signing a peace treaty, the tribes of the former coalition placed themselves definitively under the protection of the Dragon Tears. But this historic event was only the beginning of a great series of political victories. So, just a few months ago, Melkiar finally succeeded in bringing all the tribes of the Western Desert under his leadership. An unthinkable feat, reminiscent of the unifying military campaign that Dyros the Great, the first emperor of the Fyros people, had led more than two hundred years earlier. But unlike Dyros, he had not had to resort to arms. His bravery, charisma and great intelligence seemed to have been enough. At this thought, Belenor smiled inwardly, and remembered the speech he had given on the day they met, already eighteen years ago:

:"When I grow up, I plan to bring all the tribes to the west of the Desert, where I was born. Life there is much harder than here. No regular army, no aqueduct… I would like to found a great city there, equal to Fyre. Of course, waging war on the rebellious tribes to force their cooperation might be enough. But that's does'nt fit my values. I promise myself to do it my way: to prove my bravery, to perform feats, to gain their trust."

Today, Melkiar's dream was within reach. For if the one who was nicknamed The Prodigy had travelled to Fyre, it was precisely to meet Emperor Cerakos II, who had succeeded his father Krospas, who had died two years earlier during a traditional varinx hunt. To discuss with him his desire to found a city that would adequately accommodate the tribes he was now federating. A city that, built around Fort Kronk, would become the great imperial city of the far western desert. Belenor understood why Xynala, Tisse and himself had fallen in love with Melkiar. His ability to gather widely around him, and to move forward - ever further - was fascinating.

:''"Enor, you're listening to me?"'' exclaimed Brandille, her nose still pinched.

Not observing a response, the acrobat leaped in front of his dreamer friend then continued in his nasal voice.

:''"You think too much, I can see it in your eyes. In those moments, it's like time expands. Like you pause the conversations, and take the time to write your thoughts in between everyone's lines. Why use the third person, anyway? Anyway, let's move on… I'll repeat myself, Enor: no, these four years of separation are not enough to put your friendship in question. Yes, Melkiar's life has changed a lot: he now has many more responsibilities than once. But you remain his friend, Enor. Not to mention the fact that he tied his fate to yours that day. Remember? You're the one who'll tell his story. That's what he says at the end of his speech. At the end of the first chapter of your adventures."

Stopped short, both by the leap and the monologue, Belenor glared at Brandille.

:''"Brandille, I hate it when you do that…"

:''"When I do what, Enor?"

:''"When you read my mind, Brandille."

:''"I don't read your mind, I've told you that. I'm not a Kami."

:''"Yet you…"

:''"You're just a real open book, Enor. And I know you like I wrote you!"

The Fyros sighed, Brandille clowned with her pinched nose, then both followed Xynala and Tisse through the alleys, toward Dyros Avenue. Built in the widest crack of the fissure that hosted Fyre, this busy thoroughfare connected the Imperial Palace directly to the city wall that closed the city to the south. As expected, the avenue was particularly crowded on this market day. Arriving at the top of that avenue, the four comrades were only a ten-minute walk from the Palace, of which they could already contemplate the immense central tower from which the Emperor used to speak to his people. A ten-minute walk from Melkiar and Varran, therefore, whom they would certainly find in front of the Palace, on Hempios Square. And if Xynala, Tisse and Brandille seemed to be in a hurry to get there, Belenor slowed down the pace, progressively, until he stopped completely. Now with his back to his friends, the Fyros looked down the avenue, towards the south, frowning.

:''"No need to delay the inevitable Enor."'' Brandille joked, turning around.

:''"No, Brandille, it's not that. The smell you were talking about, I think I smell it."

And as a singular air dawned Brandille's face, the nozzles of kün-trazen, the great belfry at the top of which the warning horn was fixed, resounded throughout Fyre. Instantly, a deadly silence invaded Dyros Avenue. With a lump in her throat and a tight heart, Belenor quickly sought out the eyes of Xynala and Tisse, hoping to find some answers. The annual invasion simulation exercise had taken place only a few months earlier, and both were officers. So surely they must have known why kün-trazen had just started his sinister song. Unfortunately, he found no answer in the eyes of the Fyrossas. Simply a mixture of incomprehension and fear. But the worst sound was yet to come. The same one that rose almost immediately from the Southern Gates, and whose memory would pursue the hominity forever: the ghastly buzzing of decline. Soon, the first cries rang out at the bottom of the avenue, as the buzzing and the acrid smell intensified. And then Belenor saw them in the backlight: the strange winged creatures whose silhouette would be so familiar to them in the future. It took Xynala no less than that to regain her composure and unhook the bullhorn from her belt.

:''"General alert! Let the reservists head for the nearest barracks! As for the others, take refuge in the shelters and escape tunnels! Follow the procedure!"

And at the same time, as the first flying beings sped over the main artery, Belenor's lungs burst into flames. An aggressive toxic veil had just poisoned the atmosphere. Like many of the bystanders around him, he fell to his knees. Some even vomited or lost consciousness. With a grimace on his face and squinting eyes, the Fyros watched helplessly as the avenue was swept by a wind of panic. In the distance, one could even make out startings of a fire. But what was going on? Except for the attempts of some tribes, at the dawn of the imperial era, Fyre had never been attacked. And even less invaded. So, what were these strange winged creatures, much larger than the largest birds ever recorded? Undoubtedly the evil creations of the Matis, to whom the Karavan had long ago revealed the secrets of genetic manipulation. After all, although at peace with the Fyros since the Treaty of Karavia, signed in 2436, the Kingdom of Matia remained the ancestral enemy of the Fyros Empire… As if to indicate to Belenor that this was not the time for history lessons, an onlooker accidentally hit him and made him fall on his side.

"Enor, up!" hissed Brandille, helping him to his feet before the mass of crazed citizens trampled him.

For around the little group, panicked Fyros were rushing at full speed toward the Imperial Palace – the most fortified place in the capital – creating dangerous crowd movements as they went. They seemed to be fleeing from the southern part of the avenue, obscured by the thick black smoke produced by the fire-fighting systems, and where for a few seconds already, the distant screams had given way to terrible howls.

:''"Don't panic! Stay orderly! Follow the procedure!"'' shouted Xynala to the terrorized crowd.

:''"Tisse, up there!"'' she suddenly exclaimed, raising one of her clubs.

:''"I know, I saw it,"'' the redhead replied calmly.

Left knee placed on the ground, Tisse had already shouldered the impressive rifle that never left his back. Because in the air, to some tens of meters only, one of the mysterious creatures was pricking on them. Raising his head in turn, hoping to finally examine the nature of the threat, Belenor was instantly seized with dread. No, such a monster could not have come out of a Matis laboratory… Concentrated as ever, Tisse did not falter in front of the horrible aspect of the beast. The sniper held her breathing, waited a few long seconds, then fired. The bullet shot towards the kipesta's streamlined body and ricocheted limply on its iridescent carapace.

:''"Tisse, the wings!"'' shouted Belenor, whose spine was tingling.

Methodically, the Fyrossa reloaded her weapon, readjusted the sight and barrel, then fired a second time. The bullet flew again towards the kitin and tore off this time the three right wings. Then, without waiting, Xynala dashed forward and leapt under the squealing, zigzagging monster. And even before it reached the bottom of the rift, she struck from the air a violent clubbing blow on its ovoid skull, thus accentuating the impact of the fall. The flying creature crashed heavily in the dust at the same time that the Fyrossa landed on the ground. And it is without fear that Xynala dashed again towards the foul beast to finish the job. Armed with her two fetish short clubs, she had no trouble to completely crush the head of the kipesta. Trembling, his nose pinched, Belenor cautiously walked over to the sickening corpse, and with his free hand, pointed to the swollen gland and oozing proboscis that lay beneath the monster.

:''"That yellowish substance they produce, it's flammable. We have to stop them before the fire suppression systems run out. Otherwise, Fyre is headed for disaster!"

As if to give credence to the Fyros' words, the ground suddenly shook then. Would a new threat soon be added to the list? Unsettled and terrified, Belenor tried to find comfort on the faces of his friends, but to no avail. The Fyros army may have been the most powerful in Atys, but nothing had prepared it to face an air invasion, the first in all of homin history. At this precise moment, Belenor hoped that the great strategists of the Empire were working out an emergency plan. And while some might consider him one of them, his stress-fogged mind prevented him from that claim for the time being. Someone had to step in, and fast. A wise and experienced person. Like the general Euriyaseus Icaron, whose voice suddenly sounded behind him.

:''"Xynala, Tisse, go to the nearby barracks and assemble a squadron of reservists each! You are promoted to captains for the day! And if you succeed, you can be sure you'll stay that way! Pass on my instructions to the officers you find there!"

Mounted on a mektoub armored to the trunk, the venerable Fyrossa, the same one who had refereed the famous duel between Melkiar and Xynala during the Academy Games, almost fifteen years earlier, had just arrived at their level. She had donned heavy armor and held a long, sharp pike in her hand. Through her visor, she looked in succession at the two Fyrossas with an enraged air. Thus perched, armed and clothed, nothing but the numerous decorations covering her breastplate could lead one to believe that the warrior was over seventy years old. Once again, her age testified to the great longevity of the homins, far superior to that of the animals that populated the Bark. Placing the head of her mount in the direction of the south, the Fyrossa continued.

:''"Shooting weapons will need to be given to each soldier, and the most sophisticated magic amplifiers will go into the hands of the most skilled mages! Once equipped, you will ride the freight elevators to the top of the Backbone! Your goal is to lure these flying monsters out of the city's faults! Is everything clear?"

:''"Yes, General!"'' shouted Xynala and Tisse in chorus.

:''"Good my girls. I'm off to the South Gates now! I count on you!"

Without delay, General Icaron gave the mektoub a whiff of her spurs and it sped off into the thick black smoke. Followed by Brandille and Belenor, Xynala and Tisse made their way to the barracks carved into the northwest wall of Dyros Avenue, where many Fyros were already equipping themselves. Obeying orders, they enlisted the officers present there and had the reservists equipped. Brandille and Belenor were given rigid leather armor and a pair of high quality amplifiers. In the end, it took the four hundred Fyros gathered there ten minutes barely to get equipped. Ten long minutes during which the infamous buzzing never stopped. During which the ground shook several times. During which many of their number probably perished under the flames of the flying monsters… Ten endless minutes, then, during which Belenor had tried hard not to let his growing anxiety get the better of him. His friends needed him, he should not lose his means. Not like in front of the Dune Riders. Because the slightest mistake would be fatal. As it had been for Garius six years ago… More determined than ever, the Fyros stormed out of the barracks, accompanied by his three friends and many other soldiers.

And at the same moment, the Dragon's Backbone cracked. The shockwave, of unheard-of violence, threw Belenor and his comrades to the ground. Half lying on Brandille, the Fyros stood up as best he could. What he saw then horrified him: the tremor had cracked the crevasse under the barracks, and with a sinister grind, an entire section of the bark wall was beginning to tip slowly forward. Panicked, the soldiers rushed in the opposite direction, not hesitating to trample those of theirs remaining on the ground. Tisse and Xynala, busy helping the wounded to get up, were certainly relying on the large roots that were still holding the wall. Unfortunately, with a second loud crack, a huge piece of unbound bark suddenly broke away from the main wall. Paralyzed by fear, Belenor did not even feel Brandille, who, with his hand firmly clutched to his shoulder, tried in vain to pull him out of the reach of the death trap.

:''"Tisse, Xynala, flee! Quickly!"'' he succeeded in shouting in spite of everything.

The sky darkened abruptly as the two Fyrossas turned their heads towards him. And if Xynala's face was distressed, Tisse was not: his face showed calm and great determination. For endless seconds, his long red hair waved. Then, everything collapsed.
{{Couillard}}
Belenor reopened his eyelids, face against bark, mouth full of soot. Despite the violence of the shock, he seemed well and truly alive. Alive but wounded, in view of the horrible pain that bruised his right leg, now swollen and twisted. Mentally directing the Sap that was irrigating him to his broken limb, the Fyros crawled painfully in the rubble and dust cloud. Between the pieces of bark and the corpses. Terrified, lost, and unable to see more than five meters away, he felt panic assail him. Around him, the evil buzzing of the flying creatures had given way to the silence of desolation… And his hearing, just accustomed to the oppressive sizzling of the wings, had become particularly sensitive to the other sounds around him: the plaintive grinding of the bark, the crackling of the flames, the heart-rending lamentations and the distant cries. It was thus without difficulty that he recognized the tone of Xynala's voice in the howling that resounded not far from there. Knowing now where the two Fyrossas were, Belenor accelerated as best as he could. And if he tried several times to answer his friend, he did not succeed, so much his throat was obstructed by the soot. It is then that, like a Kami, Brandille appeared out of the fog of dust and helped him to stand up. The acrobat did not seem to have suffered any injury. Nor even his outfit any snag.

:''"I'm here, Enor. Let me help you."

Firmly leaning on Brandille's shoulder, the Fyros dragged himself towards the place where Xynala's cry had sounded, passing on the way some haggard and wounded soldiers who were wandering in the mist like spirits. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he saw her: Xynala was kneeling in front of a gigantic bark block.

:''"Xynala, I'm here,"'' Belenor coughed. ''"Where... Where is Tisse?"

For all answer, Brandille seized his friend's hand and shook it hard. Belenor swallowed and continued.

:''"Xynala?"

This time, the Fyrossa turned her head. And Belenor took a step back. For his blood-covered face was tense with rage. For her bulging eyes were reddened with tears. And because in front of her, the body of Tisse Apoan lay, half crushed under the immense mass of wood.

:''"She… She pushed me. I… I couldn't save her,"'' Xynala stammered through clenched teeth.

Gently grabbing her long red hair, she used it to cover the exposed part of her friend's body. Like a shroud.

:''"I did not succeed in raising this block of bark. I… I'm not strong enough… I never was… I hate this body! I hate myself!"

Full of fury, Xynala began to hit the block of bark with howls of fury. As for Belenor, he almost collapsed, his legs wobbling and his eyes misty with tears. But Brandille, faithful to his post, prevented him from doing so and helped him to sit down. And then his lips whispered:

:''"Enor, that…

:''"No, Brandille,"'' cut in Belenor. ''"Please don't. Don't tell me it will pass. Anything but that…"

:''"Okay, Enor, sorry. Get up, we have to go."

Get up? No, he didn't want to. If going somewhere else meant having to witness the end of others close to him, then he would rather stay in this field of ruins.

:''"Please, Enor, get up. The smell is getting stronger, more creatures will be here soon."

More monsters? Perfect. Soon he wouldn't have to feel this pain anymore. All he had to do was… Brandille slapped him.

:''"Enor! I know that look! Those thoughts! You have no right to abandon me, do you hear me?"

Forgetting his dark thoughts for a few moments, the Fyros shook Brandille's hand and returned his gaze to Xynala. His friend was still pounding the bark tomb of Tisse with his fists. Then abruptly, Brandille pointed to the fog with her free hand. The dust was slowly beginning to settle.

:''"Xynala, over there!"'' hissed the acrobat.

Without missing a beat, the Fyrossa picked up Tisse's rifle and fired a shot by guesswork. The bullet flew and an ignominious squeak sounded in the distance. At the very place where a strange gallop was beginning to be heard. A gigantic herd seemed to be approaching the homins.

:''"Brandille, how many of them are there?"'' continued the Fyrossa, snagging Tisse's rifle on her back and drawing her two short clubs.

:''"Too many, Xynala. Much too many. And they are different from the other creatures."

The Fyrossa's face, distorted by hatred just a short time ago, now showed a steely determination. A determination similar to the one Belenor had read on Tisse's face before the bark block crushed her.

:''"I'll hold them off. You run to the shelters."

:''"Wha… What? What are you telling, Xynala?"

:''"You heard me right, Belenor."

:''"Do you really think we'll let you sacrifice yourself, like Tisse? You're dreaming Xynala! You're dreaming!"

The Fyros, whose injured leg had regained its vigor, abruptly straightened up and slip on his magic amplifiers. Brandille, still on her knees, stared in the direction of where everyone expected the kitins to appear. Gallops were getting louder.

:''"Belenor, that's an order, I'm your leader! Better yet, I've even been promoted to captain by the general!"

:''"Don't listen to her, Brandille! Get up and slip on your amplifiers! I'll take care of supporting Xynala with my healing magic. You take care of the monsters. As soon as the first ones appear, you char them!"

And as if the mention of it had summoned it, the first creature sprang from the fog. This thing had, in terms of horror, nothing to envy to the flying monsters that had set the city on fire a short time before. Five feet tall, it resembled a monstrous bronze-colored spider, whose stinging abdomen arched under its six legs, and whose curved skull was fitted with a pair of serrated hooks. Taken together, the two sections of its body gave the creature the appearance of an enormous jaw. With mad agility, the kincher sprang at the small group. Then five more burst out of the mist. Then ten. Spreading her arms against the rising wave of kitins, Xynala infused Sap into her throat and let out a superhomin roar, hoping to focus the enemy's attention.

:''"Belenor, Brandille! Flee!"

:''"Never Xynala, never! Rather die! Damn it Brandille, get up!"

Brandille, strangely motionless, contemplated the crazy race of the monstrous insects, which were now converging on Xynala. But this was no time for meditation. Because in a few seconds, the warrior's clubs would meet the sharp legs of the first kinchers. There were dozens of them.

:''"You fools, run away!"

Without another word, the Fyrox charged toward the kitins. Fully aware that, one or three fighting, they would not make it, Belenor tried to catch Brandille's gaze. The most important person in his life. His jaw clenched and his eyes moistened, he addressed his friend one last time.

:''"Brandille! You have no right to abandon me! Do you hear me? Brandille, if you don't want to fight, get up and take my hand… I want to be with you, all the way…"
And as Xynala leapt to her certain death with her clubs drawn and her legs loaded with Sap, Brandille bent her head skyward and howled. But the high-pitched sound that came from her mouth was nothing like a scream. Nor was it even anything like any other atysian sound. It was a high-pitched, piercing blast of sound that penetrated all levels of Belenor's being, and resonated with every single draconic ash that made him up. A crystalline thunder, whose score was instantly deciphered by all the cells of his body. For this superhomin cry concealed within it some dire vibrations. A terrible omen. A primitive signal: the one that triggers apoptosis, cell death.

The shock wave produced by the scream instantly dissipated the gigantic cloud of dust and propelled Belenor several meters backwards. Crashing heavily into the sawdust, the Fyros howled in turn. Brandille's scream was piercing his skull, from which waves of pain spread throughout his body. Was this what the Zorai felt when the growth of their mask was not supported by the magic of the Kamis, as he had imagined in the story he had once written? Whatever the answer to that question, the Fyros had never suffered such torment. To endure this pain was inconceivable. There was not a chance he would escape. Thus, he who had imagined himself being devoured by one of these creatures, was finally going to be killed by his friend, right here. With his mouth distended, his eyes revolted and his arms spread wide, Brandille did not stop howling. Her body was vibrating unreal, faster and faster, until it was eating away at the bark around her. But Belenor was not the only one to suffer the wrath of his cry. For for several dozen meters around, the kinchers were falling like flies, crushed by Brandille's implacable cry. Reaching the limits of his endurance in handling the Sap, Belenor felt his heart slow down. He was no longer in position to regenerate his self-destructed cells. And as a black veil began to blur his vision, the screaming stopped.

Half unconscious, the Fyros did not know how much time it took him to get up. Feverish, nauseous, drooling and glassy-eyed, he ran a trembling hand over his face. Noticing the red color of it, he understood that blood had flowed in large quantities from his nose, his eyes and his ears. This certainly explained the horrible headache that was pounding his skull. Totally disoriented, he looked around him, taking advantage of the lifting of the fog to find his bearings. The monstrous wave of giant insects had broken from the bottom of Dyros Avenue, crushing everything in its path. Now transformed into a dead sea, it was just agitated by some nervous spasms. A sea in which Xynala had drowned. If he had survived the scream, there was no doubt that she had too. She must have… Staggering in the supposed direction of the Fyrossa, he glanced at the crater dug by Brandille, in which her body had disappeared. If he feared for Xynala's life, he knew Brandille was still alive, though very weak. He could feel it, without understanding how or why.

Then the ground shook. For the umpteenth time. Looking down the avenue, Belenor let himself fall to his knees. The Southern Gates were spewing out a monstrous swarm. A gigantic tidal wave of wings, stings and fangs. This time, there was no Brandille to save them, only a miracle could guard them from the coming cataclysm. Raising her head and closing her eyes, Belenor then dedicated a thought to each of her loved ones. To Varran and Melkiar, whom he would have so much liked to see one last time. To Tisse and Garius, whom he would soon join. To Xynala and Brandille, by his side, until the end. To Penala, of course, whom he hoped would be safe. Even to his father and mother, whom he loved, despite everything. Finally, he devoted his last thought to Messen Dyn, the old Kamist monk whom he had so assiduously spent time with in recent years. So, with his eyes closed and his face fixed on the Day Star, he began to pray to the Kamis, much especially the Black Kami. Then he thought of the Supreme Kami, whoever he had been. After all, who else but him could perform miracles? Several seconds passed, waiting for death and praying. And then, against all odds, Jena answered the Fyros. With a heavenly squeak. Above Fyre, now bathed in darkness, a gigantic Karavan flying machine had just appeared. Upset, Belenor raised his arms to the sky and burst into tears. He had never forgotten what Melkiar had said to him that day while sitting in the tavern.

"I hate the Karavan as much as I hate the Kamis… They think they are our masters… And that will last as long as we continue to name them 'Powers'! For as long as homins chain themselves to them, so long will they remain slaves in their eyes! As for me, I have already made my choice, that day: rather to die free than to live enslaved!"

Deep down inside, despite the deference he showed to the Kamis, Belenor understood Melkiar's position. But what could the homins do, alone, in the face of so much horror? How could they free themselves from the bondage of the Powers, without losing all that they had acquired so far? Whatever the answers to these questions, at that moment, the Fyros had already made his own choice: that of life.
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{{NavChap|[[Chapter XIV - Savagery]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapitre XVI - Civilizations]]}}
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[[Category:The Sacred War]]

Chapter I·XIV - Savagery

2022-06-16T19:38:08Z

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''XIV - Savagery'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2475'''</big></big></center>

{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|When Belenor opened his eyelids, he saw only darkness. Where was he? What day were we? And why did his skull hurt so much? Since his nose was clogged he couldn't smell, but the taste of blood on his palate made the Fyros wince. What had happened to him? Spitting to relieve his respiratory tract, he noticed with a few seconds of latency that the bloodied mucus he had just rejected had flown straight towards the dark sky, soiling the sleeves of his suit in the process. For his arms were swinging strangely above his head. Gradually recovering his spirits, Belenor looked at his feet. They were entangled in a root net, through which a brazing light seemed to filter. The Fyros bent forward several times to grab it, but to no avail. The ground refused him. He sighed and spat a second time. Again, the mucus flew over his head. Above, or below? Then memories came back to him. Melkiar's terrified look, the explosion, the shock against the wall of the crevasse, the fall. Frozen with horror, the Fyros looked once again at his entangled feet. This brazing light was that of the explosion. From the surface. At this revelation, he was taken by a terrible dizziness. Because he was indeed suspended by the feet in the void. If his first reflex was to scream for a long time, Belenor understood at once that it would not be of any help to him. So he tried to grab the net of roots, again and again, without success. If he wanted to get back up, he had to get rid of his gear. All the precious provisions and supplies it contained. He had no choice... Compelled, the Fyros grabbed the straps of his bag and cautiously untied them. And as his ballast dropped, one of his legs unhooked. Screaming once again, Belenor managed in panic to pull himself up enough to grab the net with both hands. He then had only to channel the Sap that was irrigating it to force the thin roots to spread slightly, enough for his small carcass to make its way to the surface of the mesh.

Belenor's first instinct was to see if any of his comrades had been as lucky as he had. His heart sank with fright as he saw the few pieces of armor still smoking around him. As he checked to see where they came from, terror gave way to relief: they all belonged to the Dune Riders who had been blown up... Still trembling, the survivor ran his right hand over the wound that was gashing his forehead, closed it with a flick of his finger and looked up. At first glance, he must have been two hundred meters below the surface. By chance, he had been thrown by the shock wave, and had fallen down the side of the wall to the root endings of an in depths tree. Had it been the same for his comrades? Belenor swallowed and cautiously walked to the edge of the net, to the place where it was bending under his weight. Now accustomed to the darkness, he was guessing the presence of lights at the bottom of the crevasse. The depth seemed to him quite excessive. He hoped, just as deeply, that his comrades had managed to cling to the edge of the crevasse… Then, imagining himself to be the unique survivor, the Fyros felt his heartbeat quicken and his tears rise. And while, disoriented, he moved back towards the bark wall, he stumbled halfway: he had caught his feet in a strange root, which was now clasping his left ankle. This same ankle cut off by a Rider ambushed on the root bridge earlier in the night. That same root… consisting of five fingers. Then Belenor screamed and struggled like a madman. And if he thought he heard a voice, the echo of his screams totally masked it. The scene lasted for long seconds, during which the hand did not let go.

:''"Belenor, is that you?"

:''"Let me go, let me go!"

:''"Belenor, it's me!"

:''"Let go of me!"

:''"Belenor, it's Garius! Calm down and help me!"

:''"Let go of me, let go... Ga... Garius?"

:''"Yes, damn it, it's me! Help me, I'm stuck!"

Immediately, sadness and fear moved on to the purest euphoria. He was no longer alone. Everything. Everything but loneliness. Using his strength and drawing on the Sap, Belenor helped his friend to extract himself from the mass of tangled roots that imprisoned him, starting with his massive arms. On Atys, the speed of growth of some plants was such that it was sometimes risky to fall asleep for too long in the middle of nature. When the colossus had regained control of his upper limbs, he had no trouble pulling out the roots that were binding his legs. Feverish, Belenor could not hold back and jumped into his friend's arms. He was so relieved! Then, he observed him from feet to head. The blast had torn the armor plates from his torso, his helmet, and had caused deep burns to his neck, face and skull. For a few minutes, the two Fyros checked to see if others of theirs were buried in the root net, and found that they were well an d truly alone. They only found Garius' gigantic axe.

:''"There's no one Garius, there's no point. Sit down here, I'll take care of you."

The colossus lowered his head and obeyed. He fidgeted with the handle of his weapon nervously. Belenor, who had not lost his precious magic-amplifying gloves, began to give his friend care. Silently at first. Then Garius spoke up:

:''"Belenor, do you think that..."

:''"Garius, it's no use."

:''" But, V... Varran."

Understanding the concern he was feeling for his twin, Belenor placed both gloved hands on his friend's now healed shoulders. He himself could not help but think of Brandille.

:''"Garius, we have no idea what happened to the rest of the squad. But if we survived, then there's hope for them too. After all, we were closer to those who blew themselves up. They were logically less affected by the explosion."

:''"Yes, you're right, Belenor," replied the colossus, nodding his head with a determined look."

:''"Do you see the fault in the wall?"'' added the healer, pointing to the place where the roots were coming out of the bark.

:''"Uh, yeah?"

:''"That's our way out. These thin roots are from a tree whose trunk is probably not on the surface, but rather in a nearby cavern. It's as if the tree is trying to reach the other wall, and close the crevice, you know? Anyhow, Melkiar had told us that the subsoils in the area were particularly porous. Besides, Fort Kronk is known to be connected to a vast network of galleries. If we're lucky, it may be that we stumble upon it!"

At these words, Garius stood up hurriedly. He was bursting with new energy. With a determined step, he walked towards the wall of the crevasse.

:''"You're really too smart Belenor! Let's do it. Let's go into your cavern, find the galleries, join the others andsmash the Riders' faces in for good!"

Happy to see that his friend had regained his determination, Belenor went towards him.

:''"There remains one size problem, though, Garius."

Arms crossed, the colossus turned around. And, with a frown on his face, he stared at his friend.

:''"Go ahead, Belenor, come up with it."

:''"I just told you. We have a size problem. Your size. I'm not sure you can fit through the fault."

For all answer, the muscular Fyros showed his axe to Belenor. He couldn't resist adding a comment, however.

:''"Pickaxe or axe, same fight, Belenor! I am miner's son, no obstacle scares me. And especially not when it comes to exploring the depths of the Bark. We're not Fyros for nothing, right?!"

And without further formality, the colossus struck a violent blow with his axe at the crack. A block of bark and a piece of root immediately separated from the wall, widening the fault a little. Smiling, Belenor sat down. Garius didn't imagine how comforting her presence was.
{{Couillard}}
The excavation work turned out to be less complicated than expected: the further the two Fyros went into the fault, the wider it became. After an hour of lumbering, Garius no longer needed to cut through the bark to move inside the wall. Only the roots of the tree they were trying to reach climbing sometimes turned out difficult to move. Often, they had to contort themselves. And even though the lanterns Belenor had crafted allowed them to see where they were going, it was not uncommon for them to hit their heads or get their hands stuck. And then finally, after a long hour of crawling, with Garius in the lead, the colossus let out a cry.

:''"Belenor, I see light! There, there's light! Right there! Ah, fucking root, get out! There, Belenor, do you see?"

:''"I can only see you, Garius!"'' answered Belenor curtly, exasperated. ''"Then move on!"

:''"Wow, it's too beautiful Belenor! Rrrah, I'm stuck…"
[[file:Rotoa-L.jpg|right|400px|alt=Some rotoai in the Prime Roots|Some rotoai in the Prime Roots]]
Garius struggled, involuntarily kicked his friend in the nose, screamed a good deal, and finally managed to extricate himself from the fault, thanks to the pulling out of a few fine roots. Too fast, surely, since Belenor saw him lose his balance and hurtle down a short slope. If the Fyros welcomed without surprise the swearword that his friend uttered, his heart raced when the thud of a large eddy reached his ears. Water? Hastily, and with much more ease than Garius, Belenor escaped from the fault. The beauty of the panorama that was offered to his gaze petrified him with amazement. He had just entered an immense cavern whose bark walls and ceiling, located at about fifty meters from the ground, were studded with amber blocks. Sometimes diaphanous, sometimes reflecting the light produced by the numerous fireflies and bioluminescent plants which populated the depths, the iridescent partitions of this marvelous decoration reminded Belenor of certain sites of excavations which he had been able to visit at the time of his passage to Coriolis. On the other hand, he had never seen plants as beautiful as the gigantic rotoa that stood in the center of the lake into which Garius had fallen. This endemic plant of the Prime Roots, so much celebrated for its beauty, had to measure in the fifteen meters. An impressive specimen, which would have delighted the Matis botanists, whose attraction for the rotoai was well known. Indeed, the rotoa was a plant born from the fusion of roots of different plants, one of which had specialized in the reproduction of the chimeric species, via the conception of flowers with pink, mauve and white tints. Flowers that, seen from here, had to measure in the six meters of circumference. A magnificent plant therefore, but also a precious object of study for the scientists of Atys, for whom the rotoa represented the incarnation of the symbiotic being.

:''"Belenor, the water is so fresh! It's crazy to think that it's so nice, when only a few kilometers to the east, the caverns are real furnaces! Come on, let's go for a swim!"
[[file:Lumper.jpg|right|400px|alt=A lumper in the Prime Roots|A lumper in the Prime Roots]]
The Fyros closed his mouth and walked towards his friend. It was while he was walking that he noticed the fine rain of multicolored pollen that filled the space and contributed to the overall hypnotizing kaleidoscopic effect. So that was the ecosystem of the Prime Roots? When he reached the edge of the pool, he began to unfasten his suit. Then, noticing that a group of four lumpers were cautiously quenching their thirst not far away, he hesitated. These emerald-coated, spine-backed herbivores with four long, powerful, bowed legs posed no threat. On closer inspection, their big, red, fleshy eyes on either side of their heads even hinted at the awe they felt about the two homins. On the other hand, their presence testified to the existence of wild fauna in these caves, some of whose species were probably far more dangerous than the lumpers. Belenor shuddered as he thought of the vorax, lizards endemic to the Prime Roots endowed with spiny backs and gigantic jaws full of razor-sharp teeth. Predators that could, he had been told, grow up to five meters long. He had never met one. And although his curiosity was great, the Fyros wanted to avoid make such a predator's acquaintance as he was taking his bath. So, while filling his gourd, he called out to his friend without delay:
[[file:Vorax.jpg|right|400px|alt=A vorax in the Prime Roots|A vorax in the Prime Roots]]
:''"Garius! You should come out. We don't know what creatures inhabit these caverns…"

:''"Oh come on, just a quick swim! We've earned it!"

At the same time, a terrifying roar sounded in the distance, and spread in echo until making the water of the pool lap. Immediately, the spiny backs of the lumpers bristled with with a shudder like that of a wind chime. Belenor watched the animals hurriedly leave the watering place, then set his gaze on Garius again.. The colossus looked far less relaxed.

:''"Well, okay, it's dangerous, I'm going out."

For the next few hours, the two Fyros explored the succession of caverns that were opening up to them. As soon as they were able to, they headed west, and thus towards Fort Kronk. If they passed a few groups of ambushed varinxes, they managed to stay away from the vorax. The only one they saw - a huge specimen - was taking a nap on the central island of a large lake. Arriving at the end of a cavern that didn't seem to open onto any other, they both began to search for a passage hidden by vegetation. After a few minutes of investigation, Garius uttered a curse unlike any he was used to. By its intonation, Belenor knew he had discovered something noticeable.

:''"What did you find, Garius?"

Standing in front of the wall he had just cleared, the colossus had poked his head into a side fault.

:''"It's… It's incredible Belenor, come and see!"'' replied the colossus, his voice muffled by the thickness of the bark.

The Fyros' heart raced as he hurried toward his friend. What had he discovered? When he reached his level, Garius shifted to the right and motioned for his comrade to stick his head through the fault. Then the Fyros stood on tiptoe. And like Garius, he was struck with amazement by the landscape drawn before him. The cavern in which the two Fyros found themselves, yet hundreds of meters wide, was nothing like the one they were now observing from their window. It was only a speck of dust stuck to the ceiling of a cavern of continental dimensions. For it was a true world that the two Fyros were looking at. A buried and secret world of forests, seas and root mountains, stretching for miles beyond the cavernous horizon. At first glance, the sky of this dark world must have been several hundred meters above the ground. A sky covered with amoebai, these strange translucent plants in the shape of a star, whose extremities were sometimes covered with bioluminescent stinging hairs. Plants which were much less luminous than real stars, which did not make it easy to observe the buried continent. Because of this, Belenor did not know if what he saw was a ruined city nestled between two mountainous roots, or a simple illusion fantasized by his imagination…
[[file:Dzikus.jpg|right|400px|alt=Amoebai in the Prime Roots|Amoebai in the Prime Roots]]
:''"So this is the real Prime Roots, Belenor? It's nuts! You imagine how much there is to discover in the depths of the Bark? It's beyond me… You know, Belenor…"

Garius stammered something and then fell silent. His friend, fascinated by the view, did not notice that he had broken off. A few silent seconds passed, then the colossus resumed:

:''"Even though I'm worried about our friends, I'm really happy to have this adventure with you... I'd also like to apologize, again, for all those times Varran and I bullied you. I..."

:''"Garius, we've been over this many times. It's in the past, you are both forgiven. And I, too, am happy to be on this adventure with you. Sincerely."

Over the years, Belenor had almost forgotten the days when the Deco twins bullied him. That all was belonging to the past now. A bygone past he did not want to remember. Yet, some memories came back to him, much against his will. In particular, the day when he had met Melkiar for the first time. The day when this mysterious child with supernatural charisma had warned him of the loneliness which would be destined to him if he did not modify his behavior quickly. Patting the massive shoulder of his friend, the Fyros continued.

:''"We'll have plenty to report back to the others, won't we? They're fine, I'm sure. In fact, maybe they'll have some stories to tell us too! You know, Garius, when I observe this panorama, I understand how the thirst for discovery can drive our people to dig so deep. How it can drive us to take so many risks. I also understand better why the Karavan asks us so ardently not to explore the Prime Roots. Maybe they don't want us to discover certain things... I thought I saw some ruins, over there between the two mountains. You see them?"

Belenor, again lost in thought, stared intently at the hallucinated ruins. Ten long seconds passed before he realized that Garius had not answered his question.

:''"Garius?"

Without taking his eyes off the landscape, the Fyros put his hand on his friend's shoulder again. Unfortunately, it was already too late. Even before he could react, the colossus' body fell backwards. By reflex, Belenor plunged his hands into the magic-amplifying gloves attached to his belt. He soon realized that this would be of no use to him: the moment he pulled his head out of the fault, he saw nine homins facing him. All of them wore the motley mix of ochre-painted armor the Dune Riders wore usually, and one of them clutched a long blowpipe in his hands. Belenor swallowed and raised his hands in submission. Everything was fine. Garius had been merely put to sleep. And he, well aware, was smarter than all those Riders combined. He would easily succeed in negotiating. Everything was fine. His eyes searching for the chief, he swallowed a second time.

:''"Well… Hello, I'm Be…"

Unfortunately, the club that came striking his skull did not let him the opportunity to introduce himself any further. All the more so as it struck him at the exact spot where his head had hit the bark wall a few hours earlier. And even before he could infuse Sap at the site of the injury, he collapsed onto his friend's body.
{{Couillard}}
It's hobbled and gagged that Belenor regained consciousness. Facing him, eyes wide open and mouth muzzled, Garius grunted. He was probably trying to tell him something. Scanning the space quickly, the Fyros analyzed the situation: they were both tied to a makeshift chair and sitting in front of a large tree stump that seemed to have been placed there for the occasion. For the place they were in was strangely empty. It was a kind of circular duct of about twenty meters in diameter, whose ends were lost in the darkness. Nothing to do, therefore, with the caverns teeming with life that they had traversed earlier in the night. Inspecting the walls more carefully, Belenor had a click: this strange conduit was a vein of dried-up sap. A vein of sap that had been emptied, cleaned and transformed into a corridor of displacement. A corridor that undoubtedly belonged to the network of artificial galleries that Melkiar had told them about. Did this mean that the Riders were still haunting the underground of valley of Fort Kronk, despite the victory of the Dragon's Tears? It probably did. But it also meant that they were close to the surface, and thus to their allies. For a few minutes, Belenor tried to loosen his bonds, to no avail. Then the sound of boots echoed through the impenetrable shaft. Some homins were approaching. Worried, the Fyros sought comfort in the eyes of Garius, who winked at him. At the same time, a large axe emerged from the darkness and stuck into the tree stump. Garius' axe.

:''"Pretty axe. How many of our people did you kill with that weapon?"

A helmeted Rider had just leaned on the makeshift table, lantern in hand. His accent was very strong. Garius, still muzzled, stammered a reply. The man tore off his gag without mercy.

:''"You were saying?"

:''"Ah, fuck… Thus yes, I was saying: not enough!"

Passing his hand behind the neck of the colossus again, the Rider grabbed his smooth skull and crushed his head against the stump. Raucous, muffled laughter echoed around the prisoners in the darkness. Well determined not to show any sign of weakness, Garius laughed in turn. On his side, Belenor was gesticulating like a demented as gibbering incomprehensible words. It was quite obvious that he wanted to speak. Falsely compassionate, the Rider freed him in turn from his muzzle. It is without wasting a second that Belenor hammered with his speech.

:''"Greetings, proud representatives of the Dune Riders tribe! I introduce myself, Belenor Nebius, ambassador of the Fyros Empire sent to your country to mediate negotiations between your tribe and this of the Dragon Tears!"

The lie was big. Witness the taken aback look Garius gave him. In the same way the various squads of Captain Apokillo's squadron had been sent to different strategic locations in the far-western desert, the squad led by Melkiar was a mere reinforcement sent by the Empire to bolster the defenses of Fort Kronk. The Empire had never planned to negotiate. But if this lie were to pass, the hope of negotiations, coupled with the diplomatic immunity that every ambassador enjoyed in principle, could save their bacon. Instantly, murmurs were heard in the darkness. His introduction had made its small effect.

:''"An ambassador, eh?"'' replied the Rider dryly. ''"I well so recognize the Empire. Destroy then negotiate. I was told that Thesop was a tyrant without honor, and that with his assassination, everything would become easier for us. Lies. Nothing has changed since Krospas rules your decadent empire. Living behind these walls has definitely turned you into servile cowards. I am ashamed to share your blood!"

More patriotic than anyone else, Garius sought to rise, ready to unhinge the jaw of the one who had just insulted his people and his Emperor. Unfortunately, the bonds that held him to the chair were too many and tight. Even for him. So the Fyros spat on the Rider's armor. Immediately, fists sprang up from the darkness and beat him up. The makeshift chair toppled to the side and the beating up went on. On the ground.

"We've tied you up tight, so you won't be able to get free. And then we filled your suits with vials of oil. If you try to ignite your bonds, your whole body will go up in flames."

At these words, the Savage sat astride the stump, facing Belenor, in front of the axe.

"Well, let's talk among civilized Fyros. I am Aekoros, one of the leaders of the Savage tribe. I have a first question for you, Belenor Nebius: are you from the squad commanded by the son of the tribal leader Tigriron?"

Baffled, Belenor gave Garius a quick glance. So, the Riders were looking for Melkiar? He should have known better. Ideally, he had to make sure the latter was safe and sound without revealing their membership in the squad. An impossible lie to defend. Especially now that he had posed as an ambassador to conduct negotiations between the Dune Riders and the tribe led by Melkiar's father… While, however, he didn't despair of finding a solution quickly, Garius didn't give him the opportunity to rack his brains long enough.

:''"If you ever have touched a single hair from Melkiar, I will..."

The kicking resumed at once. Belenor, who was beginning to panic, could not contain her emotion.

:''"Stop it! And, Garius, let me do the talking! Yes, we are part of Tigriron's son's squad. Our mission was to reach Fort Kronk in order to start negotiations with the Dune Riders tribe. But we were attacked by some of you on a root bridge and…"

:''"I know what happened. You were lucky that only part of the bridge collapsed. I, what I want to know is where is the son of Tigirion located. We saw you all come down into our galleries."

At these words, Belenor's heart heaved. Had only one part of the bridge collapsed? So, Melkiar and the others had survived! Better yet: they had gone looking for them through the network of dried veins. They could land any minute to free them. In the meantime, he had to buy time.

:''"You're wrong, we got separated from our squad during the explosion! We fell into the crevasse and miraculously found a passage to the caverns. We don't know where others are. But as an ambassador, I am a valuable prisoner! If you find them, you'll be in an advantageous position to negotiate!"

Yes, that was the only viable strategy. By the time the Riders got them back to Melkiar and the others, he would find a way to negotiate. Or even to trap them. He had to spend whatever time he had left imagining all the possible solutions.

:''"You want me to believe that you survived a fall of several hundred meters? What do you take me for? I know this part of the desert better than anyone."

:''"Then you probably know that the walls of the crevasses are often covered with roots! We fell into a kind of net, and only then did we climb back to the source of the roots, through the fault of the wall. You must believe us. We don't know where they are!"

:''"And if knew where they were… Kof kof… we wouldn't tell you."'' said Garius, coughing up blood. ''"We'd rather wait for them to find us… and kill you all."

:''"Garius, keep your mouth shut!"

The beating up resumed immediately. But at a hand signal from their superior, the goons stopped. A heavy silence settled in the darkened duct, where only Garius' wheezing breath could be heard. And then the Rider stood up, put down the lantern he was holding on ground, grabbed the edges of his helmet, and slowly removed it. He was a Fyros of about forty years of age, whose weathered, wood-colored hair blended in with his burnished, scarred face. Daintily, he placed one of his gloved hands on the handle of Garius' axe, whose blade was still stuck in the stump. Belenor couldn't decipher the look he gave her.

:''"Is this a trap? You think you're smarter than me, don't you?"'' he said, stroking the pommel of the weapon.

:''"No, no, absolutely not! Don't listen to him, there is no trap! We don't know where our comrades are!"

:''"You Imperials are all the same. You take us for morons. Degenerates, primitives... Yes, we are savage Riders. But not because we are not civilized, no. Because we cherish our freedom, and we are ready to do anything to preserve it! My comrades, on the bridge, who blew themselves up: they were sick. That's what happens when you breathe the torrents of air in the Desert of Fire for too long. This is what happens when you don't live behind walls. Of course, they would have preferred to live a few more years. But surrounded as they were, they decided to go for it. They had nothing left to lose, they had already accomplished everything. And you know what? I've already accomplished a lot too."

:''"Please, listen to me!"

With one hand, the Rider grabbed Garius by the collar of his suit and slammed his swollen head against the stump. The colossus' chipped mouth let out a mocking hiss as Belenor's eyes were filling with tears.

:''"You have yet anything to say?"'' the Rider asked, leaning into his ear.

:''"Yes… I... I piss on your ancestors."

:''"But… Garius, shut up! Aekoros, listen to me. Why would I lie to you, why?! We are both precious hostages, you... you have everything to gain by keeping us prisoner and negotiating our release with Melkiar! You have everything to gain, and we have a lot to offer!"

:''"Both? I thought you alone were the precious hostage… Lies. More lies. You definitely don't take me seriously. Hold him steady!"'' he threw in a firm tone to his goons, slapping Garius' skull.

:''"Please, what are you planning to do?!"

For all answer, the Savage tore the axe from its base and started pacing, obviously immersed in his reflections. Several tens of seconds passed thus. And then, in a whisper, Garius tried to reassure Belenor.

:''"Don't worry, Belenor. Everything… Everything is fine… Kof kof… Everything will work out fine."

:''"Kee… Keep silent Garius, I... I beg you, the Fyros stammered, his eyes misty with tears. U… Use the Sap and heal your wounds. I'll… I'll handle the situation, okay?"

Garius, his head still pressed against the stump, improvised a toothless smile. At the same time, the Rider stopped his thoughtful walk.

:''"Well, I've decided to believe you, Mister Ambassador. We're going to hold you hostage and try to… 'negotiate' with the one called Melkiar."

Belenor's heart raced again.

:''"Thank you! You... You just made the best decision of your life! You won't regret it!"

:''"I hope not. Anyway, if you tried to fool us, you'll end up like your friend."

:''"Wha… What do you mean?"

And, with a precise blow of his axe, the Rider decapitated Garius. The Fyros' head, with a final smile, fell to the ground and bounced back to Belenor. And with each bounce, the blow reverberated through the Fyros a hundredfold. From his heart to his skull. Then he screamed. He screamed as he had never screamed before. His soul shattered; his mind burst into flames; the mountain of his memories fell into ruin, taking with it his last affects. Without wanting it, he vomited himself, expelling all that could still attach him to reality. That is to say, of his very existence. He vanished in a corner of his head, leaving his uninhabited envelope at the mercy of the world. Hoping to forget. To forget the image of Garius' grimacing head, which he could not bring himself to take his eyes off. To forget this pain. To forget everything... But nothing remains empty forever. Nothing. Then, no sooner had he thought himself forever extinguished, than a secular shadow crept into him, and a liturgical chant emerged from the depths of his heart. In rhythm, the shadow began to dance.
::'''''"I want to die…"
::'''''"You can't, I need you Belenor.''

:''"Make him shut up! Let him stop screaming!"'' bellowed the Savage over the screams of the unfortunate Fyros.
::'''''"This… this world is so cruel…"
::'''''"Think of the Happy Days, Belenor."

:''"Gag him, or cut out his tongue!"
::'''''"I... I can't accept this..."
::'''''"You must accept it, Belenor. You have to move on."

:''"But make sure he stays conscious!"
::'''''"I… I don't want to lose them…"
::'''''"I am always at your side, Belenor. Never forget."

:''"I want him to understand how we suffer…"

:''"I… I don't want… I don't want to lose them,"'' sobbed the Fyros, whose screaming had stopped.

:''"Lose them? Your comrades? If the trap I plan to set for them using you as bait works, that's what will happen."'' the Rider answered coldly.

:''"No… I don't want to lose them…"

:''"Nothing is fair in war, Belenor Nebius. Nothing. You will join them soon, don't worry."

:''"No… No… No…"

:''"Come on, muzzle him."

Two of the goons advanced toward the Fyros, who no longer even tried to struggle. And as the one on the left was about to gag the prisoner, he stopped short. Something seemed to have caught his attention, behind Belenor, in the shadows. Not understanding what he saw, the goon glanced at his comrade. This one had just begun a slow movement of retreat, palms turned towards the ground.

:''"What are you two waiting for? Gag him."

:''"Chief... There's something there. Can't you see them? Two spheres…"

The goon didn't have time to finish his sentence when a tentacle of darkness came out of nowhere and pierced his chest at the level of his heart. A wave of panic swept through the group of Riders, who drew their axes and guns. But nothing could stop the storm they had raised… For, from the darkness, a multitude of other black appendages descended upon the unfortunate men, unable to defend themselves. Hearing the distant echo of the cries of horror, Belenor partly emerged from his catatonic state. Where was he? Who was making these cries? And what was that hot, thick liquid that was pouring down his face and seeping through the gaps in his armor? Then the Fyros looked up. In spite of the faint glow of the lantern, he could easily recognize a jungle Kami: the depth of that black, the whiteness of those eyes. But this one was different from the usual Kamis. For his small body was suspended from six long black and hairy legs, seeming to spring from his spine... Still elsewhere, Belenor watched the strange Kami pass over him, slowly. He should have been terrified by the sinister appearance of the divine creature, he knew it. Yet he felt no fear. He didn't feel anything anymore.

"The... The Dune Riders have always worshipped the Kamis… So… So why?"

Belenor looked down. A Fyros with wood-colored hair and a face full of scars, the same one who had just spoken those words, was lying in a mass grave of homins. His legs were missing. So that's what the liquid that was staining his face was: blood.

:''"You… You were hiding your game well… Belenor Nebius…"

Did they know each other? When the Kami stopped above the amputee, the latter pointed the dagger he was holding against his throat. He seemed determined to end it all. And just as he was about to cut it, his movement stopped short. The Fyros' arm was quivering. As if an invisible force prevented him from continuing. He stammered:

:''"You… You are not gods… You are… demons!"

Intrigued, Belenor turned his gaze again to the spirit creature. Above the amputee, the Kami was changing its appearance. His body, naturally plump, was swelling visibly. Its head was expanding so that its livid eyes gradually migrated to its temples. His little legs curled up, until they disappeared completely. But the worst was yet to come… For with a foul gurgling sound, the black and swollen mass tore itself apart. From bottom to top. It is only when Belenor saw the ignoble slit barded with teeth that regained consciousness of himself: his body, still tied to his chair, was now seized by a visceral fear. Yes, he was paralyzed with terror. And as the nightmarish maw came closer to the Rider, who was also paralyzed, he sank. He sank and dreamed. Of Garius' head, Varran's howls of despair, Tisse's given grooming, Xynala's caresses, and Melkiar's faded stare.
{{Couillard}}
For the third time in a few hours, Belenor regained consciousness. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Xynala's face, eyes closed, located a few centimeters from his own. The Fyrossa, lying against him, seemed to be sleeping. So, he had not dreamed: his friends had found him. Everything was real, even Garius' death… Looking around, he noticed that they were both in a small alcove carved in the bark, lit by the glow of a lantern hanging from the ceiling. Then Belenor looked again at her friend's sleeping face. She seemed so serene. Relieved to know she was safe and sound, he kissed her on the forehead. Although drowsy, Xynala reacted by passing an arm under his armpit and by tightening herself against him. The touch of his warm skin was so soothing.

"Xynala, can you hear me? I need to see Garius' body. Where is it?"

With a start, the Fyrossa woke up. And hardly did she cross the glance of Belenor that her eyes were loaded with tears. At once, she buried her face in the neck of her friend. The Fyros felt the powerful muscles of her arm contracting, against his back.

:''"Belenor, I was so afraid for you… But… Garius… I am so sad…"

:''"Xynala, I need to see his body. Please, where is it?"

Loosening her embrace, the hominin lifted the sheet that covered them and stood up. She was naked.

:''"We put him in a separate room, she said, picking up her leather suit. Melkiar watches over Varran, and Tisse and the others stand guard. We've taken refuge in a buried lair belonging to the Dragon's Tears."

:''"And Brandille?"'' asked Belenor, trying to ignore Varran's distant cries.

:''"Brandille has gone to Fort Kronk for reinforcements. They should be here soon. Only he could travel the last few miles without risk."

Reassured, Belenor got up and dressed in turn. Then he followed Xynala to the improvised burial chamber. Strangely enough, the sight of the sheet covering Garius' body, whose head had been skilfully placed back on the neck, did not trigger any rise of tears in him. As if the immense sadness he felt was impossible to express. The survivor sat down and rested his forehead on the immense draped torso of his deceased friend.

:''"I'm sorry, Garius. I panicked. Things could have ended differently, I'm sure. I will never forgive myself."

:''"Belenor, we… we need to know what happened."'' Xynala stammered as she leaned towards him.

Then, Belenor explained everything to her, in great detail. Xynala waited for him to finish before speaking again.

:''"Okay, thanks. You can't imagine how scared we were, when we saw you fall… Luckily, Brandille told us you were alive. You Belenor, specifically. He felt it. He was adamant. Varran was very worried about Garius… So, we scared off the pack of Riders, and without waiting, Melkiar led us to the galleries. We wandered for a long time, trying to get closer to the crevasse. Then, after several hours of searching, Brandille felt that you Belenor were in danger. So we sped up, and finally we came upon a mass grave in the middle of a shaft. And on you…"

Brandille had sensed that he was in danger? Like the Kami who had come to save him. At least, that was the assumption he was making.

:''"I don't understand Xynala."'' Belenor breathed, her forehead still resting on Garius' chest. ''"If the Kami had intervened earlier, he would have survived. So why? Why me?"

:''"Be… Belenor. I think you can ask him directly."'' Xynala replied before bowing face down to the bark.

Then, still seated, the Fyros turned around. A few feet away, a black Kami was staring at him with big, white, empty eyes. With a clumsy gait, the divine creature advanced to Belenor, who, remembering the monstrous mouth that had devoured the chief of the Riders, started to move backwards. However, the homin did not get discouraged.

:''"I… I thank you for coming to save me, O mighty Kami. But I… I can't stop thinking about my friend… Why? Why didn't you intervene a few minutes earlier?"

The Kami, who had stopped at Garius' body, looked back at Belenor. The survivor widened his eyes and swallowed. For now the spirit creature's eyes were filled with sadness. Without knowing why, Belenor held out an arm. And then, the Kami reacted in a totally unexpected way: he leaned its head against the hand of the homin and rubbed itself against it, as an animal would have done. Belenor didn't have time to appreciate the fabulous softness of his coat when a vision crossed him. A vision with the appearance of a memory. He was caressing the mask of a Zoraï. A firm mask, warm and black. As if he had just been burned, the Fyros abruptly withdrew his hand, which he then observed for a long time. And then, Xynala tapped on his shoulder, releasing him from the meanders of his mind.

:''"Belenor, look, the Kami!"

The divine creature, who had been bending over Garius' body, lifted the death sheet with a glance. At the sight of his friend's severed head, Belenor's heart leapt. Suddenly, he stood up, followed by Xynala.

"You… You can bring him back to life? You are a Kami, you have incredible powers! You… You can, I'm sure of it!"

Without reacting to the homin's words, the Kami placed its three large claws on the upper lip of the corpse, two of them at the level of the nostrils. It was only when they saw Garius' head moving and blood flowing that the two Fyros realized that the Kami's claws were extending into their friend's skull. If Xynala took a step forward, Belenor grabbed his arm. He had to know. Was he able to bring him back to life? Long, silent seconds passed. And then, finally, the Kami pulled his paw from Garius' face. His long claws were covered in blood. Turning to Belenor, he held out his palm, in which lay a small ball of flesh. Gently, the homin passed his hand over the strange bloody mass. What was that thing? And where was that imperceptible echo coming from, which he could barely make out? Unfortunately, a familiar voice called out to him and prevented him from concentrating any longer on the strange beat.

:''"Belenor, you must explain to me what happened."

The Fyros turned around. Melkiar, just entering the room, was staring at him with a dark look. However, as soon as the survivor opened his mouth to answer, the air became charged with energy: behind him, the Kami had risen into the air and was pointing with a sparkling claw at the newcomer. With the same hand that a few seconds before had unveiled the strange bloody booty. At the sight of the spirit creature's angry gaze, Belenor's body froze. Why was she looking at Melkiar like that? What had he done to deserve such treatment? While he longed to understand the scene that was unfolding before his eyes, this was anything but a time for questioning. For as the claw charged with magic, Belenor felt the draconic ashes that composed his being resonate with those of the divine creature. All around him, the whole small room began to vibrate. Then, listening only to his courage, he threw himself between the Kami and Melkiar.

:''"No! Please! He is my friend, don't hurt him!"'' he shouted, spreading his arms.

Then, instantly, the claw of the Kami took back its black color and the air discharged of the energy which it had just accumulated. The spirit creature, which had turned its gaze back to Belenor, floated to the ground. It floated to the ground, then sank slowly into it, as if the latter had no consistency. The homin stared at her two large white eyes for a long time. What had just happened? He did not understand. And if there was an answer, it would not come from the Kami. Because inexorably, the creature was melting into the bark… When his little fist disappeared, probably still clenched around the strange globe of flesh, Belenor wondered again about the nature of its contents. He also wondered what the Kami's absence would leave, when his two large white eyes vanished in turn. Would he ever see his savior again? He couldn't be sure. Yet he felt no sorrow. For the first emotion that overwhelmed him was relief. Yes, they had have a close shave.

:''"Be... Belenor. What was that Kami doing there? You really have to explain everything to me, please."

When the Fyros turned around, as if dazed, Melkiar looked at him with a forbidden air. He had so much to tell him… But again, he had no time to answer him. Because behind his friend, the person who meant the most to him had just appeared.

:''"Enor!"

Forgetting Melkiar completely, Belenor rushed to Brandille and threw himself into his arms. And then, for the first time since his awakening, he burst into tears. He screamed and cried for a long time. He was able to express his immense sadness, at last. Brandille, who let his despair express itself without intervening, never broke contact. And then, when the howling became a moan, her friend approached her mouth to her ear.

:''"Don't forget, Enor. This immeasurable pain you feel, it will pass. For everything passes. So goes life. So goes time."
}}
{{NavChap|[[Chapter XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapitre XV - Powers]]}}
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[[Category:The Sacred War]]

Chapter I·XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils

2022-06-16T19:28:27Z

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils (to come)'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2475'''</big></big></center>

{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|:''"Thorns!"

In spite of the deafening tumult of the wind, all recognized Brandille's distant voice. And in a fraction of a second, the troop threw itself to the ground. The whole troop except Eurixus. At the same time, a gigantic flaming thorn rose from the sawdust mist, brushed against the imposing root on which Melkiar and Varran had tied themselves, and swooped on the unfortunate Fyros, whose accumulated fatigue had taken the better of reactivity. His torso exploded under the impact of the projectile.

:''"Shit, Eurixus is dead!"'' shouted Xynala, her voice muffled by her breathing mask.

:''"Untie him!"'' shouted Melkiar between gusts of wind.

:''"Not once again Melkiar, we must bury him!"

:''"Xynala, we don't have time! Burn his body and leave his ashes to the Desert! No one will forget him!"

With the spikes of her boots partially embedded in the soft ground, the Fyrossa swore and put on her magic amplifiers. She grabbed the strap Tisse handed her, hooked it securely to her harness, then unhooked the respirator and weapons from the tossing corpse of their dead comrade. Unfortunately, his precious bag had exploded from the impact and could not be retrieved. Once the gear was grabbed, Xynala stared at the thick amber visor of Tisse's mask. She waited for the homina to nod in response, then counted to three. Then, the two Fyrossas untied simultaneously the snap hooks which bound them to Eurixus. Like a rag doll, the body flew away toward the end of the procession. Finally, Xynala imposed her will on the Sap that irrigated her and, with precision, sent a jet of flame towards the soldier's body, which instantly set ablaze. Cloistered in his protective suit, and lying on the unstable and bubbling ground, Belenor was not able to see more than two meters away. He understood nevertheless what it was about when he saw the flaming mass passing behind the curtain of scarlet sawdust. He had heard Xynala's complaint. Garius, the last link in the homin chain, laid a reassuring hand on the Fyros' thick helmet.

:''"Don't worry, Belenor, I'm watching over you. Come on, let's get up!"

Belenor swallowed and obeyed.

''"One more death"'', he thought. If he hadn't really had time to befriend Eurixus, his loss was no less upsetting. They all were. Definitely, Belenor had not expected so many difficulties, and this despite the fact that Melkiar had warned them many times about the danger of this expedition. Or rather, he had thought he was ready. After all, the daily trainings at the Academy was demanding and varied. But in the end, he understood that nothing could prepare the inhabitants of the comfortable Fyre for the living conditions of the desert west, and especially those of the terrible Desert of Fire. You had to live it to believe it.

''"Let's regroup!"'' yelled Melkiar over the din of the red-hot storm.

Garius placed his large hands on the protected back of Belenor, who did the same with the soldier ahead of him. And while Melkiar and Varran pulled on the cable at the head of the procession, Garius and his comrades pushed with all their might. Finally, each soldier managed to plant his hardened amber sardine into the protective root. With his harness securely attached to the wooden anchor, Belenor put all his weight on his tether and let his limbs sway in the wind. After several hours of constant exertion, her muscles refused to relax, as if stuck in a state of permanent contracture. His ability to handle the Sap had failed, too. For if protective suits could absorb some of the thermal damage, magic remained homins' best ally when it came to protecting and repairing their bodies.

:''"Soldiers, Fort Kronk is only a few hours away! Once we have passed this dune, after the storm has dissipated, we will finally be able to see it in the distance! Also, it will mean that we arrive at the end of the Desert of Fire, and thus that the hardest will have been done! So do not despair, comrades! For if the Desert wills it, at dawn, it is sheltered that we will sleep! And when we awake, we will be able to feast in honor of Eurixus and all our departed!"

In response to these words, the soldiers shouted with hope. Belenor, his body swaying in the wind, glanced at his comrades. Their squad, like the five others that made up Captain Apokillo's squadron, had originally consisted of twenty-five soldiers. Now it numbered only nineteen… The Fyros regretted having left the city of Coriolis, where the different squads had been formed. Especially since he had enjoyed the trip from Fyre with the squadron, as well as the long stop they had made in the famous mining city, source of so much glory and misfortune. Coriolis was not really a city, but rather an agglomeration of mines and excavation sites crammed into a gigantic valley in the Dragon's Ridge. A cluster of slums, too, in which the impetuous Fyros miners were crammed. The few comfortable dwells in the city were occupied by imperial officials, important figures and guild leaders. Such was the case of Tiralion, Belenor's father, who had finally decided to settle there after the enthronement of the sharükos Krospas, despite his wife's refusal to follow him. For Eutis, this would have meant having to give back her senatorial dress, something she had never wanted to consider. Officially, this decision manifested her desire to be physically closer to his Pickaxe Heads, and thus to her business. But in truth, Belenor and her mother knew that Tiralion, fearing reprisals from the new imperial power, had simply fled the capital. On the occasion of his son's expedition, and their stopover in Coriolis, Eutis had decided to accompany the trade caravans. Belenor could have done without his mother's presence, as well as this social welcome meal, during which his father had introduced him to some wealthy notables looking for a good match. However, it was not for lack of having repeated to him many times that he did not wish to take again his business, nor that of another, as cute and sympathetic would be the homins that one would present to him. Fortunately, his nurse Penala had accompanied his mother to Coriolis, and had been present at his side throughout the stay. Her company had greatly softened the family gatherings. Nevertheless, the Fyros tried to escape his father's residence as much as possible, preferring to lose himself in the bioluminescent mazes of the cavernous sites, and in particular in the infamous Amber Mines, which had passed under the control of the family business only a few weeks ago. Like all Fyros, Belenor was fascinated by the bowels of Atys and the mysterious relics and ancient ruins they held. However, he also knew how the fever of discovery could lead his people to take reckless risks. Exactly forty years earlier, encouraged by the harvesting of strange materials, Fyros miners had drilled a vein of acid at the bottom of the Amber Mines, and by this imprudence, caused the death of tens of thousands of people. Unfortunately, for many citizens of the Empire, this catastrophe was not directly of hominin origin. For them, Fyrak the Great Dragon, the mythological enemy of the Fyros people, was primarily responsible. Thus, forty years later, the Coriolis plain had become a distorting mirror of Fyros beliefs: never had the region been so rich in mining activity. Never had there been so many digs for Fyrak's lair. Like a minority of Fyros, Belenor was angry at the folly of his people, and feared that a second apocalyptic event would soon occur: a landslide, an acid flow, an earthquake, or worse… After all, if the bowels of Atys held many treasures, they also undoubtedly concealed many nightmares. Real nightmares. Nightmares potentially much more terrible than the most dreaded creature of the fyrosian mythology…

:''"Slide!"

Belenor was drawn out of his thoughts by Brandille's distant shout.

:''"Let's climb!"'' urged Melkiar.

Without waiting, Belenor grabbed his lanyard and somehow pulled himself up the towering root, which his comrades were already climbing. When he finally planted his notched gloves in the thick wood of the woody growth, he realized when looking at his feet that the ground had already turned into a thick flow of blazing sawdust.

:''"Belenor, speed up!"'' shouted Xynala.

The Fyros was seized with panic when he saw that the dune upstream had swollen several cubic meters and was now swooping in their direction. If his comrades were high enough to dodge the wave of burning sawdust, he would undoubtedly have to take it. So Belenor grabbed tightly onto the root, hoping not to be torn off by the impact. But this was without the strength and reach of Garius' arms, who, hanging by his ankle from Xynala's arm, managed to grab his comrade by the shoulders, to push him away from the bark wall, and to propel him above him. Varran and Melkiar caught Belenor just as Garius was getting to his feet, narrowly dodging the torrent of fire. Placing the Fyros against the root, the colossus pressed his hands and feet down hard, so that he stuck to the bark.

:''"Belenor, we like you, but we're not going to kill ourselves for you, okay? So stop daydreaming, this is really not the time!"

:''" Pa… Sorry Varran."'' Belenor blew, still under the shock.

:''"Respite!"
[[file:Botoga.jpg|right|400px|alt=Botoga|Botoga]]
Again, Brandille's voice rang out. And again, her omen was right: the updraft was slowing down, and as a result, the curtain of sawdust was opening towards the horizon. Looking for his friend, Belenor saw only a huge botoga, lit by the night glow of the amber star. Situated away from all the cracks, the tree with its belly trunk and its canopy in the shape of a leafy umbrella did not seem to be worried by the fire storms. And if the charcoal color of its bark testified well to recurrent and intense fights, it illustrated above all its strong adaptation to the extreme conditions of the environment. Lingering for a few seconds on its high branches with thick foliage, which swayed in the wind, Belenor saw an irregularity in the center of the plant umbrella, under the stars. A small gesticulating form, whose two arms were waving in cadence. Brandille. The Fyros smiled behind his mask, happy to see that his friend had found a cool and comfortable perch, even if imagining her coming down without help worried him. For if himself was now suspended at about ten meters from the ground, the tree Brandille had scaled must be about fifty meters high. Ah, Brandille… Without his presence, the group would undoubtedly have been amputated of half of its soldiers. Indeed, since their departure from the plain of Coriolis, the last western region under imperial jurisdiction, events had gone from bad to worse. While the journey had been marked by numerous attacks from the Dune Riders, it was the violent torrents of air from the Prime Roots behind terrible fire storms, that had put the group in peril. Of course, the far western desert was known for its extreme winds and hellish temperatures. But Melkiar himself, though born in a neighboring region further south, had been surprised by the violence of the disturbances. Belenor was linking these abnormal phenomena to the sudden rise in temperature observed under the bark, accentuating so the pressure differential with the surface. Brandille, who had a very special relationship with the wind, had helped to find the best passages through the dunes and crevasses, and had managed to accurately predict each storm rise. To this day, all the deaths were related to carelessness or lack of reactivity. Thus, Lieutenant Diocaneon Xydos, in charge of leading the military squad to Fort Kronk, had disappeared when he fell into a crevice while the group was fleeing from a herd of shalahs, those pachyderms with their heavy, shaggy yellow coats, their faces covered with pudgy leather patches, and their two long, strong tusks. Individually, these animals were relatively easy to shoot, but a whole herd was a deadly threat. Although he was a mere reservist of twenty-five years of age, Melkiar had naturally taken command of the troop. None of the soldiers in the squad, even among the most experienced, had objected: the young academician had shown himself, since their departure from Coriolis, to be the most capable of exercising it.

Hanging from the root, the group waited for about ten minutes until the last gusts of wind died down, then finally headed for Brandille's botoga. The acrobat, who had reached the foot of the huge tree without difficulty, was sucking on a piece of waterlogged bark when Belenor saw him on the side of the dune. The Fyros raced down the powdery slope, rushed towards Brandille and grabbed her by the armpits. He had missed her touch. A few seconds later, Melkiar arrived at the bottom of the dune, his breathing mask in hand. Belenor removed his and smiled at his friend. He was not used to seeing him so bearded. He himself had not shaved for several days, and now wore a thick mahogany beard vaguely reminiscent of his father's. Meeting Belenor's gaze, Brandille winked at him and stroked his fine down. Sometimes, the Fyros had the impression that his friend was able to read his thoughts. And then, suddenly, Melkiar bowed low to his two comrades.

:''"Again, thank you for your help Brandille. You're holding your own as a scout better than anyone. Without you, I don't know what would have happened to become of. Unfortunately, we lost…"

:''"I know Melkiar,"'' Brandille cut in, her gaze lost to the horizon. ''"I saw his body burst into flames, turn scarlet, then fly away... It was very beautiful, seen from above, under the glow of the amber star. You looked like a tree branch waving in the wind. A branch of which the root that served as your anchor would have been the trunk. A branch of which Eurixus would have been the leaf reddened by the autumn falling from its tree…"

At these words, the homins and homines lowered their heads, remembering their missing comrade.

:''"But don't let the sadness go through you, friends! And cry only if you whish to water this wonderful botoga, to which we also owe a lot. For as you know, the leaves do not fall from their tree without reason: they become the nutrients that feed the young shoots we will cross on our way, one day soon. Yes, today, Eurixus has become the humus of tomorrow. So smile, and listen to this chorus!"

Brandille turned his back on his comrades, began to inton a song, and hopped off to the west. Towards where, on the horizon, Fort Kronk rose like a mirage on the high, dark cliffs of the Dragon's Backbone.
{{Couillard}}
''"The closer we get to the goal, the further away it seems."'' No matter how hard Belenor tried to rationalise, at that moment, that was exactly what he was thinking: never had the miles seemed so long. After three weeks of walking through the furnace, the mere idea of being able to sleep in a safe and cool place seemed unreal. A mirage among many others… Because the Desert of Fire, which they had left only two hours before, only offered very rare moments of calm. During the day, the heat emitted by the daystar added to that of the depths, making the atmosphere unbreathable. The only way out was to call upon the power of the Sap to limit the damage, or to escape the boiling surface by climbing trees and roots. These life-saving promontories were often populated by animals, also in search of coolness, rest and food. Besides, Belenor had still not recovered from the death of Xacallon, who while hunting rendor alone on a high root, when he had been attacked by a pack of hungry varinx. These stocky felines, with yellow fur spotted with black, had the particularity of having a fireproof skin, making them the undisputed masters of the desert. For these predators, capable of moving efficiently in the middle of the day, the aerial promontories of coolness were real breeding grounds, which they scanned with attention from the ground. At night, the temperatures dropped slightly, allowing the homins and animals to move around more easily. The troop had therefore got into the habit of setting out only after the amber star had risen. Unfortunately, this was also, obviuosly, the strategy of all the homin tribes daring to face the furnace. Thus, the attacks of the Dune Riders had almost always taken place in the heart of the night… Finally, after such a journey, it went without saying that the simple comfort of a fortress as safe as Fort Kronk was a fantasy.

Belenor, who was striving to follow in the footsteps of the soldier ahead of him, sighed and looked up for a few moments. The troop was walking across an imposing root bridge about ten metres wide, which allowed them to cross a long crevasse. Going around it would have lengthened the end of the journey by two hours. On the horizon, Fort Kronk seemed so close and yet so far away. For a long time, this fortress had been designated as the last inhabited area of the known world, where the maps became mute. Beyond it, there was nothing more than a sea of dunes stretching westwards into infinity. The fort had been built in the broken bend of the Dragon's Backbone, where the continental plateau met the mountainous root barrier and the immense cliffs to the south, which separated the Desert from the Wide Puddle. The crack in which the Fyros had settled was very similar to the one that hosted the city of Fyre. But unlike the imperial capital, which had expanded and consolidated decade after decade, the fortress at the end of the world had never been anything more than a fort, as its name so aptly indicated. A fort that, as soon as it was built, became object of covetousness and source of conflict. To this day, no one was able to say who was really behind its construction, so many different tribes had fought to possess it. The huge, rugged plain between Fort Kronk and the Desert of Fire was considered the largest battlefield in the country. Never had so many Fyros died as in front of Fort Kronk, as evidenced by the number of weapons and pieces of armour from all eras that the strong winds managed to dredge up daily. The last battle, only a few months old, had pitted the Dune Riders tribe against the short-lived coalition formed by the Tears of the Dragon. It is on this occasion that Tigriron, the father of Melkiar, the commander of the coalition, succeeded in recapturing the fortress from their long-time enemies. Enough, thus, to supply the desert plain with more swords. At this moment, perched on the imposing root bridge, Belenor feared that a new torrent of air from the depths would raise a storm of sawdust… and blades. But there were worse things than blades in this desert of a hundred perils. There were the gigantic and magnificent purplish thistles that covered the Backbone at Fort Kronk, and whose imposing thorns were regularly torn off by the violence of the winds. The Fyros thought back of Eurixus, killed a few hours earlier by one of these thorns, and shook his head.

:''"Stop daydreaming and watch where you're walking."'' said Garius, still on the tail of procession.

:''"You're right, sorry."'' replied his friend, lowering his head. ''"I really think I reach the end of my rope, I'm unable to stay focused for more than thirty seconds."

:''"Yeah, I understand. I can't take it either. In fact, in the Desert of Fire, we had no choice. The slightest deviation could kill us. But here, it's not so hot. So we think that the worst is over… But in truth, the whole fucking desert wants our skin, fire or not. So let's watch it, it can go very fast, you know."

:''"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Garius. How many hours' walk do you think we've got left?"

:''"Two. Three maybe?"

:''"So, three more hours… Tell me, Garius, can I ask you a favour?"

The imposing Fyros frowned and Belenor turned around, a mischievous smile on his face.

:''"Could you carry me?"

Garius laughed. At the same time, proving the colossus right, Belenor stumbled and slumped in the sawdust.

:''"You're an idiot, Belenor. That'll teach you! I told you to watch your step."

The Fyros held out a massive hand to his friend, whose face now showed embarrassment. Although Belenor grasped it, he did not manage to get up.

"Wait Garius, I think I've caught my ankle in a root. I…"

Suddenly his chest rose. And time froze. Out of breath and with dilated pupils, Belenor stared at the strange root that clutched his left ankle. A root with five fingers. Understanding who the hand belonged to, the Fyros instantly grasped the magnitude of the threat: they had to leave the root bridge at all costs and reach the desert plateau. Belenor barely had time to shout "Riders!" when a hatchet sprang up from the sawdust and sliced off his foot. At the same time, several of his comrades fell to the ground. And like Kamis, thirty or so beings sprang up from the root, as if they had been one with the bark until then. Reacting as quickly as he could, Garius plunged his huge hand into the sawdust and grabbed the throat of the homin in ambush in his hideout. Without further ado, he appealed to his superhomin strength and sent him tumbling five metres away. The savage bounced violently off the bark, tried in vain to secure a grip, then fell screaming into the abyss. Never had Belenor been so reassured by Garius' presence as he was at this moment. Disregarding any pain, the Fyros grabbed his severed foot and positioned it on its stump. The operation would take a few minutes, but he knew that he would be able to reattach his foot with the powers of the Sap. Naturally, Garius stayed with his friend. Drawing his gigantic axe, he verbally threatened the Dune Riders who tried to approach him. With a quick glance, Belenor took stock of the skirmish: while Melkiar, Varran and a few soldiers had rushed at the Dune Riders, and had already managed to kill several of them, Xynala was trying to keep them away from the wounded ones, now in Brandille's hands. As for Tisse Apoan, she was scanning the horizon with her rifle. Soon the number of Dune Riders dwindled, and five of their number found themselves trapped between Garius on one side and the rest of the soldiers on the other. Unfortunately, the ambush seemed to be only part of the enemy's plan.

:''"Homins! To the west!"'' shouted Tisse, who was watching the surroundings from the area secured by Xynala.

And indeed, a few dozen meters from the melee, where the root bridge allowed to join the desert plain leading to Fort Kronk, a platoon of homins was forming. If Belenor hoped they were reinforcements from Fort Kronk, he was instantly disillusioned when he recognised the flag of the enemy tribe: a scarlet-coated mektoub positioned in front of an ochre sphere representing the amber star. The surviving Dune Riders were no longer the only ones to be surrounded. Despite this, Melkiar kept his composure and encouraged his comrades.

:''"Soldiers, do not weaken! We are better equipped and trained than they are. No matter how many of them there are, as long as you follow what we have learned, nothing will happen to us!"

Belenor, whose left foot had finally come back to life, took up position behind Garius. As perilous as the situation was, he knew Melkiar was right. All they had to do was stay focused and apply everything they'd seen in past scenarios. After all, this wasn't the first time they faced Dune Riders. And while these homins were definitely the best at setting traps and surviving in extreme environments, they were far less impressive in pitched combat. The Fyros sighed and placed his gloved hands on Garius' huge back. The fact that he had written a story about a religious war did not mean that he endorsed or appreciated armed fights. In fact, he remained very critical of the Imperial Army. If he had signed up as a reservist, it was simply to travel with his friends, to discover the country, to live unique moments and to feel new emotions. To annoy his parents, too. Because before this expedition, his whole life was about Fyre. And not just any Fyre. The rich, comfortable and cultural Fyre, accessible only to the bourgeoisie, of which he was one.While his friends had gradually begun to emancipate themselves from the capital over the past five years, he had become bogged down in a sociable routine. A life that he cherished for its comfort and cultural richness, and that he despised just as much, so much it reminded him of what he hated about his parents... Parents whom he had the impression of resembling, despite himself. Because at twenty-one, Belenor did not like the homin he had become. It was under the impulse of Brandille, but especially Garius, that he had finally decided to leave his comfort zone and accompany Melkiar to the end of the world. However, today, and despite all that he had learned during his journey, he regretted having left. Never. Never had he gotten used to death. Never had he expected to dream about it at night. Definitely, his place was behind a desk, pen in hand, not on a battlefield.

Crossing under Garius's armpit the disorientated gaze of a sickly-skinned Dune Rider, Belenor remembered the emotions that had run through him the few times he himself had come close to death in the past weeks. And just as he imagined he would succeed in demanding their surrender, the squad of Riders perched on the edge of the crevasse began to bang together their weapons in rhythm. At the same time, one of them began to utter hoarse shouts, still in cadence. His cries were soon echoed by all his companions. This was the first time Belenor had witnessed this tribal practice. Taken aback, he exchanged a glance with Melkiar, who seemed to share his confusion. Then suddenly the pace quickened, and the Dune Riders in the centre of the root stuck together to form a compact group, as if they were trying to protect something. Belenor swallowed as he met the eyes of the sickly Rider again. A deep determination was now inscribed in them. And without his knowing why, a vision of horror passed through him. Commanded by his instinct, the Fyros screamed with all his being:

"Flee, they'll blow themselves up!"

Belenor, who was preparing to rush back, had just enough time to give Melkiar a last look. For the first, and perhaps the last time in his life, he saw terror in his friend's eyes. The explosion was terrible. Without him being able to do anything, the shock wave threw him against the wall of the crevasse, which he hit head-on. Unconscious, he fell into the depths of Atys, in a shower of fire, broken wood and pieces of charred flesh.
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{{NavChap|[[Chapter XII - Family]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapitre XIV - Savagery]]}}
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Chapter I·XII - Family

2022-06-16T19:26:46Z

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{{NavChap|[[Chapter XI - The Generation of Miracles]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils]]}}
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<center><big><big><big><big>'''XII - Family'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2470'''</big></big></center>

{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|:''"So Belenor, have you been able to progress as you wanted to on 'The Sacred War' these past few months? You were close to the end, weren't you?"

Leaning with his back to the edge of the circular pool carved into the bark, his body half immersed in the cool water, Belenor felt his muscles stiffen. Melkiar, sitting cross-legged on the circular islet, stared intently at him while waiting for his answer. He was completely naked.

:''"It's coming along, yes. There are only a few chapters missing. I'm pretty slow, you know… Then I rewrote a lot of things in the last few months."

:''"How many years have you been working on the adventures of the Black Mask? I can't remember. Time flies so fast."

:''"For seven or eight years, I think… But that's not counting the long months of breaks, rewrites and new dreams I had."

:''"Yes, of course. My question was not a criticism, rest assured."

Leaving Belenor's gaze, the Fyros called out to Varran, whose ears and bare skull alone were emerging from the bath.

:''"Do you know when your brother is supposed to arrive, Varran?"

The towering Fyros poked his head out of the water and shrugged.

:''"He shouldn't be long. He went to train with Xynala after lunch."

:''"What about the others?"

Varran glanced at Belenor, who in turn shrugged his shoulders. Melkiar sighed. Having just returned to Fyre a few days earlier, after a long absence, the Fyros had arranged to meet his comrades at the baths. Indeed, the Imperial Army had been sent far to the west of the Desert in order to push back the insubordinate Fyros tribes, and had for the occasion called upon some qualified reservists. While the Fyros Empire had from age to age have to coexist with these rebels, they had been particularly quiet these two last decades. Recently, however, the tribe of Dune Riders had achieved the feat of subjugating several rival groups, becoming the Empire's ''de facto'' main enemy right within its borders. Wanting to mark the occasion, and to remind the rebellious tribes of his power, Emperor Thesop had decided to send his troops to 'talk' with the Dune Riders. Melkiar being from the Dragon's Tears tribe, the most powerful tribe subject to the Empire in the west of the Desert, but also the greatest rival of the Dune Riders, he had been asked to join the expedition in order to play the role of intermediary. The young prodigy had accepted the imperial order without batting an eyelid, which was an opportunity for him to see his family again.

His family… Belenor stared silently at his friend, now standing and deep in discussion with Varran. They had known each other for some years now, yet Melkiar had always shown himself to be particularly secretive. Apart from the fact that his father, the famous Tigriron, was the leader of the Dragon's Tears, Belenor did not know much about his family. Of course, his friend had mentioned siblings before. However, he had never named them. He only had a vague recollection of the time when, a little too drunk, Melkiar had mentioned the existence of a childhood friend from his tribe, whom he particularly liked. Only one time, then. It was quite obvious, the Fyros did not like to discuss his childhood, and quite often, Belenor assumed that his silence was hiding something. For a few seconds, he wondered if it was shrewd to take advantage of Melkiar's recent family reunion to ask him some questions. But at the same time, Tisse Apoan's voice rang out in the adjacent locker room.

:''"Melkiar!"

The redhead, in her birthday suit, came storming into the room, jumped, arms out, over Varran and caught Melkiar's shoulders in flight. Both fell noisily into the water and almost drowned a Belenor lost in his thoughts. With his lungs full of water, the Fyros turned around and grabbed the edge of the pool, determined to avoid the next wave. But at the same time, the ceiling darkened. His heart stopped as he saw Garius, his legs curled up against his chest, levitating above the water. The tidal wave that followed was terrible and emptied much of the pool. If laughter broke out, Melkiar, back on his islet, tried to keep his composure.

:''"You are really children. You know how irresponsible it is to waste water."'' he said, trying not to smile.

:''"Yes, you really are kids."

Everyone turned their heads. With her legs slightly apart and her hands resting on her chiseled hips, Xynala looked at her comrades with a snide look. And like them, she was totally naked.

More than a social norm, the acceptance of nudity and gender mixing was part of a political strategy that was almost two centuries old. Indeed, before the foundation of the Empire in 2275, the Fyros were divided into a multitude of nomadic tribes competing for the territories best supplied with water and fire. When, after a long military campaign, Dyros the Great, the first emperor of the Fyros people, succeeded in subjugating many of these tribes, the will to unite them led the young sharükos to elaborate, with his advisors, the principles known as the 'Four Pillars of the Empire' which soon became the values shared by all Fyros: Truth, Honor, Discipline and Justice. For all that, Dyros knew that a simple motto would not be enough to contain the ardor of his new subjects, who were more accustomed to traveling and warfare than to living in peace behind gigantic walls. So the sharükos put everything on the army and education. The newborn military institution would be in charge of educating each offspring of the Empire, in order to make him a patriot convinced of belonging to the same great family. In the newborn cities, parents were obliged to send their children to local schools as soon as those reached the age of three. The tribes that were subject to the Empire but not settled in the city were given the support of imperial commissioners to educate their children. Of course, many families did not take kindly to the Empire's intrusion, as it tried to elevate its laws above certain traditions. However, the Empire never tried to erase tribal customs, as long as they did not oppose the great imperial project. Finally, when the children reached the age of seven, they had to go to a city that housed a subsidiary of the Imperial Academy, where everything was set up to accommodate them. These children, subjected to military rigor since their early childhood, were gathered in groups destined to endure for several decades. Everything was done to ensure that each individual felt close to his or her comrades and that no young patriot was rejected. This is how, under the aegis of the Pillar of Truth, nudity became an important part of the education of the Fyros people. It allowed for the desecration of differences while celebrating their power: the Fyros Empire would owes its glorious future to the combination of its individualities.

Xynala, still standing in front of her comrades, cast an affectionate glance at Melkiar. She hadn't seen him in several months, and Belenor knew how much she had missed him. His happiness was a joy to behold. A happiness that did not last. Tisse joined Melkiar on his island, grabbed him by the waist and stuck her generous chest against his muscular back. Shifting her head to the left, she smiled at Xynala. This one lost instantly her radiant air. Understanding her affliction, Belenor tried to catch her eye. In vain. A few long and silent seconds passed, then Varran spoke.

:''"Well, Melkiar, you wanted to tell us something? That's why you have gathered us here, right?"

Melkiar politely disengaged himself from Tisse's embrace and looked at each and every one of his comrades.

:''"Yes, that's right. First of all, I want you to know that I am glad to see you again. Secondly, I wanted to talk to you about the political situation west of the Desert, and the great war my father has been waging for several years now against the Dune Riders. The help provided by the Imperial Army has been a great help, of course. However, I think it is not enough. The Dune Riders are more organized and powerful than ever, and no matter how well trained the Empire's soldiers are, only those who have grown up in this region are capable of fighting there efficiently. The ground there is very unstable, with shifting sawdust and concealed cracks. Not to mention gigantic burning gusts of wind straight from the Root Primes, which often sweep through these inhospitable lands. Many soldiers have perished during our expedition. Therefore, to help the Empire and my tribe defeat the Dune Riders, I plan to join my family in…"

:''"Don't leave!"

All startled at Belenor's heartfelt cry. The Fyros looked at his comrades with a dazed expression, then blushed.

:''"Ex... Excuse me, I... I don't know what came over me."

Melkiar smiled and jumped into the half-empty pool. He moved closer to Belenor, hugged him and gave him a friendly pat on the back.

:''"... in a few years, Belenor."

Crimson, the Fyros was unable to know if the emotions running through him were related to the discomfort he had felt seconds earlier or to the touch of Melkiar's naked body. Luckily, the group's attention quickly turned to something else. One heard a scurrying noise in the hallway leading to the locker room, then a scream and a cracking sound. The "Ouch" that sprang then was followed by a few footsteps and a kind of long scrape. It is by sliding on the knees, arms spread and exposed anatomy, that Brandille dashed in the basin hall. The acrobat was beaming with elation.

:''"Hark, hark, friends girls and boys! Brandille has some incredible news for you!"

Garius and Varran bursted out laughing and Tisse looked up at the ceiling. Only Xynala, Melkiar and Belenor seemed to be really waiting for the next part.

:''"So, so! Do you want to know? Put a little more enthousiasm into it, come on!"

:''"We are listening, Brandille. What do you have to tell us ? I'm not very patient, you know."

:''"Ah, then I am not going to make you languish any longer, dear Melkiar!"

At these words, Brandille stopped for a few seconds. Melkiar frowned, the two friends exchanged glances, and finally, the news fell.

:''"The sharükos Thesop has been assassinated!"

Then so it was not only Belenor who gave a heartfelt cry, but the whole band.
{{Couillard}}
And indeed, the Emperor Thesop had been murdered. Although the murder had taken place in the Agora in the middle of a public session, no one managed to get hold of the assassin. None of those present could explain how this black-clad person had managed to get past the imperial guard and cut off the sharükos' head. Yet, for many, one had not to look far: everyone wanted Thesop dead. For a long time now, many suspected that the heroic duel between Thesop the Builder and the tyrannical Emperor Pyto, forty-two years earlier, was nothing but a fable. A propaganda to hide the fact that Thesop had actually killed his brother, and perhaps even their father. The most surprising thing about this story was the length of the tyrant's reign. How could Thesop have stayed in power so long, despite the rumors and the Fyros' heightened sense of justice? That was the main mystery. An unsolved mystery that did not prevent the citizens of Fyre from throwing Thesop's body to the gingos. Straight after, his name was erased from the Sanctuary. Thus ended the reign of Thesop the Fratricide, youngest son of Abylus the Learned and eleventh sharükos of the Fyros people. Since Thesop had no offspring, the crown fell to Krospas, the only son of Pyto. Ten years old when his father died, Krospas had spent his life with his uncle, who saw him only as a propaganda tool. Now, at the age of fifty, the legitimate Emperor could take back his due. While waiting for his coronation, which would not take place before several days, the army generals decreed a great national celebration. And a few hours later, the shooki liquor was already flowing in the streets of Fyre.

It was in their favorite tavern, located on Arispotle Square, that the group of young adults met in the early evening. The square, already crowded under normal circumstances, was overflowing with revelers and onlookers. The spicy scents of Fyre were mixing with the fragrances of sweat and alcohol, and the hubbub of the crowd was mixing with the festive compositions of the street musicians. Belenor, yet known for his punctuality, arrived several dozen minutes after the agreed time. The scowl he presented to his comrades contrasted with the jubilant atmosphere of the city. Varran, already a little drunk, called out to the latecomer.

:''"Well then Belenor, you in a huff? You won't tell me that you're sad for Thesop ?"

Brandille made room for his friend who slumped on the bench.

:''"No, that' s not it… That's my parents. Well, my father. I think he was trafficking with Thesop's closest advisors. He's afraid of reprisals and wants us to move to Coriolis…"

The Fyros ran his hands through his mahogany hair and rested his forehead against the table.

:''"In the end, I may be the one who will leave, Melkiar… Someone bring me a shookie."

Around the table, everyone exchanged silent glances. Xynala beckoned to the tavernkeeper and Melkiar leaned over the table to place an affectionate hand on the shoulder of his comrade.

:''"What about your mother, Belenor? Does she agree?"

:''"No, she whishes us to stay, even though I can feel her worrying too."'' the Fyros muttered between his fingers. I don't care if they go, as long as they leave me the keys and Penala stays by my side. But I don't want to leave..."

At these words, a sudden impact shook the table. Everyone turned to Garius, whose massive fist had just left an imprint on the yellowed wood. The Fyros' face was crimson with anger and thick veins now marked his smooth skull.

:''"Hey Belenor, I'm just starting to like you, so you'll do me the pleasure not to let your father ruin everything, right? We hate him enough as it is."

Belenor looked at Garius with a stunned expression. He was liking him? It was true that their relationship had changed a lot since their first fights. For all that Garius had never verbalized their friendship until now. The colossus smiled at him and Belenor blushed slightly. At the same time, a waiter arrived with a tray bearing seven full pints.

:''"Smile youths! You, especially!"'' he said, pointing to Belenor with his free hand. ''"Today is a great day, we'll reflect on our worries tomorrow!"

Perked up, the seven comrades grabbed a pint, toasted, and began to drink. On this strange day, the shookie was particularly good. Xynala, who had just drained off her mug in one go, slumped slightly against Melkiar's right shoulder, beside whom she was sitting. Usually not much prepared, the Fyrosse wore a pretty red combination and had done her hair in several braids highlighting the pearly reflections of her blond hair.

:''"What were we talking about again? she asked, playing lasciviously with her hair. Ah yes, the assassination. We have several theories, Belenor. Tisse imagined that the assassin could be a simple angry Pytoist patriot. I find this reasoning too simplistic. Melkiar, unlike Tisse, has a more elaborate theory. Isn't that right Melkiar?"

Tisse, sitting to Melkiar's left, frowned, irritated as much by Xynala's tone as by her sudden closeness to the Fyros. Just as well dressed as her comrade, she wore a long green dress reminding the color of her eyes, and whose large cleavage was highlighted by her long red hair, resting voluptuously on her shoulders. Vexed, Tisse finished her pint in some gulps.

:''"I don't think my theory is any more consistent than Tisse's, Xynala, Melkiar answered. Besides, the simplest theories are often the best. I wondered if the assassin could be a spy from the Kingdom of Matia. We know about the age-old rivalry that opposes the Fyros people to the Matis one. For all thta, it has been over forty years since the Aqueduct War ended. So why now? Everyone has noticed that in recent months, Thesop has lost a lot of majesty and ferocity. As if something had happened to him. Or as if he felt stalked. Hence the idea of the Matis assassin."

Pleased with Melkiar's support, Tisse also slumped against him. The alcohol helping, she even dared to put her hand against the bare thigh of the Fyros, who for any reaction, finished his pint dry. A dark veil immediately covered Xynala's face, who straightened up and broke her contact with Melkiar. Belenor crossed her eyes and tried to send her a comforting smile. In vain.

:''"Have you ever met a Karavan agent?"'' Brandille replied without warning.

This time, all turned to the acrobat. Since the beginning of the conversation, Brandille seemed to be elsewhere. Melkiar, who was getting drunk, let out a laugh.

:''"What does this have to do with Thesop, Brandille?"

:''"Everything and nothing at the same time! In fact, as far as I can remember, Thesop has always exuded a strange aura. Terrifying and fascinating at the same time. A supernatural aura that reminded me of the Karavan agents."

:''"You think Thesop was a Karavan agent?"'' said Melkiar ironically.

:''"Oh, I don't think anything, you know. I simply sow ideas in the four winds… Ideas and messes."'' Brandille replied sarcastically.

"What Brandille meant, I think, was that Thesop was maybe linked to the Karavan, Belenor continued. And maybe benefiting from their strange powers. After all, it would not be surprising if the Karavan meddled… It would not be the first time."

:''"And so the Karavan would have helped Thesop to maintain his power all these years, only to at last leave him to serve up to his people?"'' Varran asked.

Melkiar, who in turn had placed his hand on Tisse's thigh, slammed his free fist on the table.

:''"I hate them! Who do they think they are? To answer your question, Brandille, yes, I have met agents before. One day, when I was a child, the Karavan came to my tribe. I remember vividly that stormy morning when three shadows descended from the orange sky with hands full of gifts and speeches full of promises. I remember their monotone voices. Cold. As if dead. As if their thick, black helmets smothered all traces of life. They offered us resources and protection. In exchange, all we had to do was follow Jena's commandments. They asked for nothing more. Of course, my father refused. Well, he tried... In truth, it wasn't really a given. For yes, I remember the strange psychic pressure they exerted. I remember the hesitant and disoriented gaze of my father. Thankfully my mother was there in support. When my father finally refused, many of my people thought our end has come: one of the agents, more insistent than the others, threatened us with reprisals. But my parents stood firm, and in the end the three strangers rose into the heavens and went returning to where they had come from. I hate the Karavan as much as I hate the Kamis… They think they are our masters… And that will last as long as we continue to name them 'Powers'! For as long as homins chain themselves to them, so long will they remain slaves in their eyes! As for me, I have already made my choice, that day: rather to die free than to live enslaved!"

Belenor, who was also starting to get drunk, did not let Melkiar's remark pass.

:''"Melkiar, you cannot compare the Karavan to the Kamis! The Kamis are an integral part of Atys, they are its guardians. The Karavan, on the other hand, wants to take over Atys."

:''"If they are so different, then why do both claim to be sent by Jena? I know that you have fallen in love with the Kamis, Belenor, but let's face it: the 'Powers' are only two sides of the same coin."

:''"This is not true Melkiar. Some scholars agree that the Karavan is alien to Atys, and that…"

:''"Is that your argument, Belenor? The endemic nature of the Kamis would make them 'nice guardians'? Guardians of a prison called Atys? At some point, we will have to fight the 'Sacred War', Melkiar sarcastically asserted. But not the one you imagined, Belenor. The only one worth fighting: the one that will allow the hominity to break its chains!"

Stung to the core, Belenor was about to retort. But Brandille intervened again without warning.

:''"Have you ever met a Zorai homin or homina?"

Belenor looked at Brandille, dumbstruck. Then his friend pointed in the direction of the opposite corner of the tavern.

:''"Over there."

Belenor turned his head, and, with a throat full of shookie, nearly choked. A member of the Zorai people was indeed seated at the counter with his back to them.

:''"Enor, let's go talk to her!"

Without waiting, Brandille grabbed Belenor by the hand and pulled him toward the stranger. The Fyros let her, though panicked at the thought of meeting a Zorai. If he had already come across some of them on seldom times in the streets of Fyre, he had never had the opportunity to talk to one of them face to face. Besides, this was the case for the vast majority of Fyros. Indeed, it was often difficult to approach the Zorai people, who had become particularly isolationist over time. It was told that the Zorai had never forgiven the Fyro armies for having laid siege to Zoran on a misunderstanding in 2328, believing that the Theocracy was the ally of the Kingdom of Matia. It must be said that the Great Library of Zoran, which at the time consisted of several thousand volumes dealing mostly with the Kamis, had been completely destroyed by Fyross artillery... This military error had convinced the Theocracy to extend the construction of its Great Wall to all the borders of the Jungle. A Great Wall that the Zoraïs refused to open to Tryker refugees when the Kingdom of Matia invaded Trykoth thirty-five years earlier and enslaved the Lake people. Enough to make many homins suspicious of the Zoraïs, then… Belenor, for his part, was far from these considerations, and ardently wished such a meeting. So much so that he had developed a form of frustration. For, by dint of writing about a people of whom he had never actually met a representative, he feared that his fascination was excessive, that it bordered on racial fetishism. When the two comrades arrived at the counter, they realized that the individual was actually a homina. Leaning against the bar, the Zoraï was drinking a soup through a strange straw. Instantly, Belenor fell captivated by her blue skin, but especially with her mask. Of elongated form and with asymmetrical horns, it was also completely white. If the Fyros was fascinated by its shape and color, one detail intrigued him more than anything else: its texture. At that moment, he would have given anything to run his fingers over that bony face, which was said to be warm and soft. To touch this sacred gift of the Kamis, of which the Zorai people were the sole and lucky owners. Realizing that his friend would not take the floor on his own, Brandille took his best Mateis and called out to the Zorai. For while there was no guarantee that she spoke Fyrk, the Fyro language, correctly, it was rare for travelers not to master Mateis.

:''"Hello, and sorry to bother you. We are not used to meeting Zorais here in Fyre. So we were curious to meet you. Would you have some time for us?"

The Zoraï lowered her head in the direction of the two youngsters and tilted her mask to the side. Brandille, at four feet tall, looked tiny against the stranger's six feet. Belenor winced, certain that her friend had been too abrupt. His inability to read the facial expressions of his bony-faced interlocutor only accentuated his anguish. But against all odds, the Zorai withdrew the straw from the lip slit of her mask and answered in Mateis.

:''"Hello. The Fyros and Trykers are definitely quite curious. What can I do for you?"

Without further reservation, Brandille climbed onto the stool to the right of the Zorai. Belenor, hesitant, remained standing. In normal circumstances, he would probably have fled. But it was without counting the disinhibiting effects of alcohol.

:''"Thank you very much! You see, my friend here is finishing writing a story featuring Zorais. But he's never met any of you people. I was thinking you might be able to help him make his story more believable. But you are certainly very busy! Besides, what are you doing in Fyre?"

:''"I'm on a trade mission."'' the Zorai replied, tucking her straw into the small pouch that was flanking her left thigh. ''"I buy the materials needed to make jewelry protecting from magic. In particular, I am looking for hooves belonging to these particularly rare rendors, which are said to hide in your desert regions… But the assassination of the sharükos changes many things, and unfortunately, I'll have to leave again soon. A story about my people, then? Interesting. I am listening, young Fyros. What questions do you wish to ask me?"

True to himself, Belenor blushed. He was fascinated by the mask of his interlocutor, who seemed to have a slight flexibility in his jaw.

:''"Th… Thank you for giving us a little of your time. To tell you the truth, I don't have any specific questions. I hadn't planned to meet any of your people today… I… I'm pretty caught off guard."

:''"So tell me about the story you're writing."'' the Zorai replied calmly. ''"And I will tell you what it inspires me."

:''"Ah… Heu… All right. It's a story about a Zorai from a tribe that worships the Kamis, but refutes the idea that Jena is the Supreme Kami. A tribe fiercely opposed to the Karavan, who decides one day to launch a great expedition in order to preach the good word and fight against the Karavan's minions. This is what they call the 'Sacred War'."

:''"Ah? This is original. And who would the Supreme Kami be?"'' the Zorai asked, crossing her fingers.

:''"The… The Supreme Kami would be Atys itself. Or rather its heart. I was inspired by a dream I had, where each Kami was actually a fragment of a gigantic entity buried in the center of Atys. Jena would be… a usurper."

:''"An interesting, if very heretical, vision. Fortunately for you, the Sages of Zoran are quite far from Fyre. I would simply reply that there are some tribes in the Jungle with pagan beliefs, as there probably are in the Desert. In that, your invention is coherent."

Belenor's face lit up. This simple comment was of great importance to him. The Zorai continued.

:''"I assume that the tribe you have imagined has some cultural particularities related to this heretical belief?"

:''"Yes, absolutely!" said Belenor, now very enthusiastic. I tried to respect as much as possible what I knew about the culture of your people, while inventing some things. For example, I know that the Zorai sometimes paint their masks. I imagined that this tribe did not use paint, but tattoos."

:''"Tattoos?! How horrible. To voluntarily injure your mask is a serious offense to the Kamis. Not to mention the terrible pain involved…"

:''"Yes, I am fully aware of that. But this tribe is said to practice unusual heretical rites, most of them very painful. Each tattoo added on the mask would be for example an honorary rite of passage. The ultimate honor would be represented by a full tattoo, that of the tribe's chief, the Black Mask."

Brandille's stool toppled over and Belenor narrowly avoided his friend's fall. The Zorai had abruptly stood up, for no apparent reason, and was now walking towards the exit with a determined step. Brandille, now standing on the rickety seat, raised her voice.

:''"Hey! But don't you feel well?! What comes over you? I…"

:''"No, Brandille. It's okay. Leave her alone, please"'' Belenor interrupted her, grabbing her hand.

The equilibrist, who was about to insist, glanced at her friend. He was livid. If Belenor understood Brandille's anger, only he could have catched the Zorai's gaze behind the gaps in her mask. As he mentioned the Black Mask, her eyes had filled with fear. And if he did not understand the reason for such a reaction, his biggest concern was not there. Because at this precise moment, hand tightened around the wrist of Brandille, Belenor wished only one thing: not to confront itself more with his interlocutor. He was taken of an unusual and disturbing desire. That of not wanting to know more. That of forgetting, forever, this strange and anguishing moment, and all its potential of meaning. By chance, his comrades gave him the opportunity to pass to another thing: Xynala had just risen abruptly, overturning the pints that Belenor and Brandille had forgotten, and had rushed towards the exit head down. Around the table, only Varran and Garius seemed to care about their friend's sudden departure. Melkiar and Tisse as for them were too busy kissing. Without waiting, Belenor dashed for the door. He was followed closely by Brandille and the shadow of his doubts.
{{Couillard}}
In spite of the density of the crowd, Belenor managed not to lose sight of Xynala. However, he had to wait for them to move away from the living areas to catch up with her. When he finally arrived at her level, at the intersection of a small, quiet and isolated alley, Xynala instantly turned around and threw herself into his arms. She was in tears. At a distance, Brandille sat down on a bench carved into a bark wall and watched her two friends.

:''"Be… Belenor… how are you doing? You… You seem so serene… Whereas I… I can't do it anymore. I thought that these few months of absence would allow me to change my way of looking at him, but… but no. It's even the opposite, I… I love him more than ever. And then Tisse… I… I hate feeling all this animosity, this… this jealousy. I would so much like to move on, Belenor. And I'm so afraid I'll never make it… Help me, please!"

Belenor held Xynala tightly against him. He could feel the outline of her muscles through her clothes. He never thought he would see his friend in such a state of distress. She was usually so strong. So determined. So combative. A rush of emotion overwhelmed him and he felt the tears welling up. No. He shouldn't let his emotions get the better of him. Not now. That was not what Xynala needed.

"I totally understand how you feel Xynala, believe me. And if I seem so serene about Melkiar and Tisse, it's simply because, unlike you, I always knew I had no chance. Melkiar likes hominas. I like homins. As cruel as this reality is, it had the merit of preventing me from hoping.

:''"I'm sorry for you Belenor… I havn't been there enough when you weren't well."

:''"Don't apologize Xynala! I am fine now, thanks to you all. Now I want you to know that I am here for you. So, I want you to understand that what you are feeling today will pass, sooner or later."

:''"How can you be sure of that?"'' asked Xynala between sobs.

:''"Because everything passes, Xynala. The pain and the complicated episodes. The love and the good times."

At these words, Xynala tightened her grip.

:''"No, Belenor, the friendship that unites us all is eternal, I know that. We are one big family."

:''"I don't think so Xynala."'' the Fyros replied, stroking her hair tenderly. ''"One day, we won't be friends anymore, that's a certainty. The potential reasons are numerous: ideological differences, weariness, physical distance, or simply death. Everything passes Xynala. Everything… Sorry, I'm not the best at comforting. What I'm trying to tell you is simply that you'll get better, soon, and whatever happens. Such is life. So goes the time."

The Fyrossa loosened her embrace and straightened up. Her eyes were still misty with tears, but her bout of sadness seemed to have passed.

:''"Do you think you and I will ever fall in love with a homin who will feel the same way about us?"

:''"Yes, I am almost certain of it. You and I will live love. A love just as transitory as everything else."

:''"How can you remain so pragmatic, Belenor?"'' the Fyros replied, rubbing her eyes.

:''"It's Brandille. By dint of hanging out with her, I see the world philosophically."'' he replied in an ironic tone.

:''"Besides, where is he?"

Belenor turned around. Brandille had indeed disappeared.

:''"I don't know. I told you, everything passes, Xynala. Everything. Even Brandille. Or rather, especially Brandille. Because Brandille is the very definition of change. Of vitality. Don't you think?"

For all answer, Xynala smiled and kissed Belenor on the cheek. She took him by the hand and they both headed back to the tavern. She was feeling better. Belenor smiled back. Finally, he wasn't that bad at comforting.
}}
{{NavChap|[[Chapter XI - The Generation of Miracles]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils]]}}
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[[Category:The Sacred War]]

Chapter I·XI - The Generation of Miracles

2022-06-16T19:25:02Z

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''XI - The Generation of Miracles'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2467'''</big></big></center>
{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|Panting and sweating, Belenor ran laboriously through the streets of Fyre. It was early, he had slept badly and his body was aching. In short, he was in a bad mood. But why had he had the misfortune to qualify, he who hated to make the least physical effort? His honor as a Fyros, no doubt. Every year, the Fyros Empire held the Academy Games, a national event with a multitude of events open to every student between the ages of ten and eighteen. The age mix was an important part of the event, allowing each youngster to learn from the older ones, and each older to learn humility. After several days of qualifying, the long-awaited day of the finals had arrived. The quarter-coriolis was one of them. It consisted of a long distance race corresponding to a quarter of the distance between Coriolis and Fyre. Divided into five laps, the race went through the different districts of the city. This trial, one of the most recent ones, had been inaugurated thirty-five years earlier by the Emperor Abylus the Learned. It was a tribute to the Fyrossa Aporalion Deps, who undertook a twenty-four hour race between the two cities to warn the sharükos of the impending cataclysmic fire, and who died like a number of Fyros fighting the fire at the gates of Fyre. This was the first time that Belenor, now thirteen years old, had qualified to run in the quarter-coriolis. The previous three years he had narrowly failed to qualify. Today, feeling as bad as he had ever felt, he bitterly regretted his achievement. It is thus with relief that, crushed by the heat of the daystar and drowned under the cries of the crowd, he saw in the distance the famous saving tunnel. Several kilometers long, this ancient vein of sap ran under the city and through the poorest district of the capital. If, caught up in the effort, Belenor had already forgotten how many laps he was at, he had not forgotten the freshness and priceless calm of the depths of the Bark. And as he swallowed the last few strides, he dived into the only non-hostile segment of the course. Taking advantage of this moment of respite, the Fyros slowed his pace and infused his legs with Sap to ease his muscles and joints. While several runners passed him on this occasion, he had long ago put aside any idea of ranking. The last place suited him perfectly. He would distinguish himself otherwise at the end of the morning, during his preferred trial: military strategy. The past three years, Melkiar had won this event. If he had an advantage due to his age, and therefore his experience, Belenor still expected to succeed in defeating him sooner or later. Ah, how good it was to think of the calm and freshness of an amphitheater, the scratching of quills on paper, the rolling of dice on wood, the beauty of measuring instruments and topographical maps…. Lost in his thoughts, smiling, Belenor ran nonchalantly in the wide and cool dark tunnel, letting several of his competitors pass. Two silhouettes, in particular, passed him on his right and left. In the darkness, they looked absolutely identical: two huge rectangular blocks of bark mounted on two large wooden poles. Even before Belenor recognized the two Fyros, they joined hands and braked immediately. The dreamer's nose crashed into Varran's gnarled triceps, and the rest of his body, destabilised, slid onto the sawdust. The Decos twins burst out laughing and Belenor grabbed his face swearing. He was dripping with blood.

:''"Gotta stay focused Belenut! I bet you were still thinking about your black Zoraï."

:''"Yeah, it's all very well to know how to write, but that's not what will help you survive in the real world, huh?"'' added Garius.

Belenor made his nose crack and stood up like a fury.

:''"Varran, Garius! Melkiar ordered you to stop bothering me!"

At his remark, Varran got a nasty look on his face. Approaching Belenor. He grabbed him by the collar of his tunic, and without any difficulty, lifted him with one arm. Around them, several runners informed of their displeasure. Between the three of them, they were partially obstructing the path.

:''"And I, I told you to stop hiding behind Melkiar. I don't care you're on his good books. Besides, I'm sure that shoving you from time to time is more useful than coddling you like a nipper. One day you'll thank me. But for now, stay in your place."

Putting his money where his mouth was, the huge Fyros dropped him to the dusty floor. Without adding another word, he patted Garius on the shoulder and both resume their run.

Exasperated, Belenor leaned against a doorway adjoining the bark wall of the gallery and made Sap circulate his nose. He had never expected to win this race, so after all, he could use a little rest. On the opposite wall of the tunnel, large skylights offered a view of the working-class district of Fyre, whose makeshift dwellings, linked by a network of suspension bridges, were built on the bark walls of a gigantic abyssal shaft. Deprived of daylight, the neighborhood was lit with large torches, obviously combined with the handcrafted fire-fighting systems for which the Fyros were famous. Belenor had been inspired by the working-class district of Fyre to invent the village the hero of his fiction would live in, which he imagined would be built inside a gigantic jungle tree stump, lit largely by lamps containing fireflies. Soothed by this vision, the Fyros sat down and allowed himself to reverie. Unfortunately, the pause was short-lived, for no sooner had his mind escaped than a new runner stopped at his level. In spite of the half-light, Belenor recognized without difficulty his body: muscular buttocks, traced abdominal muscles, veiny forearms, massive shoulders and little developed breast. Xynala. Dressed of a wide panties and a simple bra, the warrior, whose blond hair was maintained by a broad band, put her hands on her chiseled obliques and sighed. From the top of her fifteen years, she fixed him with a severe air.

:''"Is this a joke, Belenor? Do you think it's time to rest?"

:''"But…. How about you all of you people stop bothering me for just five minutes? Varran and Garius just hit me. As if this race wasn't already pain enough…. I didn't ask for anything, you know. So now please leave me alone."

For all answer, the Fyrossa held out a hand to him. In her eyes, the severity had given way to compassion.

:''"I see…. You know them, they're not mean. They're just… a little stupid?"

Belenor grabbed her classmate's hand and stood up.

:''"No, they're not stupid, Xynala. And then stupidity wouldn't justify the harassment they've been putting me through for all these years. Because yes, it is harassment. I'll admit I was obnoxious for a long time, and I still get annoying sometimes, but I've changed a lot, I think. They haven't."

The Fyrossa smiled a compassionate smile.

:''"Indeed, you're nothing like the real pain you once were. But you know, Varran and Garius are having a hard time at home because of their father's work in the mines your family owns. No matter what you do, you can never change that, Belenor. To them, you will always be the son of the one who exploits their father."

:''"I know, I know…. That's why I try to be patient. But if they don't change at eighteen, when will they?Anyway, let's get back to this race. You're building up a backlog."

At these words, Xynala did some stretching.

:''"Oh, you know, I'm not really interested in my position in the quarter-coriolis. I'm focused as ever on the trial of free fight this afternoon. I'm hoping to beat Garius, just like last year. But more importantly, I hope that I'll finally succeed in beating Melkiar…."

Belenor, whose anger was was on its way out, smiled at his female friend. If anyone could win a duel against Melkiar, it was definitely her. For, like all members of the Zeseus family, Xynala was an exceptional warrior. Her grandparents were already famous at the time, and their reputation was cemented when, in 2435, the Kingdom of Matia took advantage of the burning Amber Mines of Coriolis to take back the holy city of Karavia. His two forefathers had sacrificed themselves to allow the Fyros living in Karavia to flee the besieged city, thus avoiding the massacre. Xynala did not know her grandparents, but her mother, who was thirteen years old when they died, often recalled their memories for her. Memories that, combined with the romanticized national history, painted a very heroic picture of her grandparents.

:''"I imagine that you too hope to beat Melkiar during the military strategy test, continued the Fyrossa. And anyway, we already know the winner of the race, don't we? Besides, I think I recognize his voice. Can you hear it? He's coming, this is probably his last lap."

The Fyrossa gave Belenor a friendly slap on the back and dashed after the runners.

:''"See you later, Belenor, and take heart!"

After watching for a few seconds the beautiful acceleration of his comrade, he turned around. She was right. Her song could be heard echoing in the tunnel. Belenor smiled. He knew well this lugubrious rhyme, whose words gained in amplitude as the interpreter approached. He knew that voice well, which had recently begun to change in such a singular way:
<poem>
''In their flying ships,
'''Lonely and hungry,
''Led by the song of the wind,
''Found a star at feet.

''In the endless night,
''Pilgrims and orphans,
''With their ineffable powers,
''Made morning sprout.

''In their mill of ideas,
''Arrogant and impatient,
''Forgetful of the past,
''Paid the price of blood.

''In their faltering boats,
''Visionaries and torturers,
''With their bloody hands,
''Given birth to chimeras.
</poem>
Belenor had caught himself closing his eyes during the song and accompanying the verses with his whispers. Definitely appeased, the Fyros opened his eyelids, all smiles. Not surprisingly, Brandille was now facing him, her large mauve eyes filled with malice. True to those of his people, the child had grown little. This was not the case with her multicolored braids, which were now floating at her buttocks.

:''"Hi again, my Belenice! What are you doing here? Are you dallyin'? Are you daydreamin'? Is something bothering you?"

:''"No, everything is fine. Thanks for your concern. And you, why did you stop running?"

:''"Because I stopped singing."'' his friend answered immediately.

Belenor frowned. If he wanted to bounce back and ask her how singing was a prerequisite for running, he knew in advance that his answer would not suit him.

:''"You know, you shouldn't stop, you run the risk of getting double-crossed over. You know the fable of the gubani and the arma, don't you?"

Brandille burst into a singular laugh.

:''"Oh, come on, I'm more than a lap ahead of the runner in second place. By the way, Melkiar is well placed this year, he has improved again. But how far will the child prodigy go? I wonder. Anyway, do you want to come with me to the finish line so I can start singing again?"

Belenor nodded and the two friends set off again side by side. His friend was well ahead, but nothing in her behavior or in her body signals showed any fatigue. Brandille was not panting. Brandille was not sweating. In fact, Brandille was not running: Brandille was sliding. Minutes passed, and with them, the light at the end of the tunnel appeared. For Brandille, the finish line was approaching, and for Belenor, the beginning of a new and endless lap was preparing. And as the calm darkness of the dried out vein gave way to the exhilaration of the audience and the sweltering heat outside, true to her reputation, Brandille leapt. Without even asking for his consent, the acrobat jumped with both feet on Belenor's shoulders and propelled himself in the air. One quadruple salto later, Brandille was landing in the hot sawdust of Dyros Avenue under the acclamations of the crowd in jubilation, agglutinated at the doorsteps, at the windows, or on the many raised passages which made it possible to navigate between the various floors of the city. If Belenor was disconcerted by the maneuver made by his friend in the middle of a discussion, he was especially surprised to have felt almost no pressure on his shoulders. Definitely, the Sap that ran through Brandille was nothing like the one that ran through the other homins, Belenor was sure of it. The Fyros had asked himself many questions about this in the past. If his friend remained enigmatic about his early childhood, and had fun telling different stories to the different people who questioned her, one element seemed to come back regularly. Indeed, Brandille sometimes referred to the Storm Isles, that mysterious maritime land located east of the Great Puddle, and whose titanic and infinite storms that constantly rolled there prevented any exploration. Although exchanges between the Trykoth Federation and the Fyros Empire had been commonplace since the construction of the Aqueduct, and although he had occasionally come across Trykers in Fyre, Belenor had never heard of homins living in the Storm Isles. Finally, Brandille had never clearly explained the reason for his presence in Fyre. As long as he had known his friend, he had always seen her dwelling in the orphanage in the capital. So the mystery remained, even so many years after their meeting.

Drunk with praise, Brandille continued to flit theatrically as the finish line drew near. While Belenor tried to stay focused on his own race, his friend's pirouettes allowed him to forget the feelings of pain and fatigue that were running through him. Finally, he passed Brandille, who preferred to perform acrobatic tricks, and began his new lap. The crowd exploded when his friend also crossed the finish line. By reflex, Belenor turned around. He almost lost his balance when he saw Melkiar, located only a few meters behind him. He was accompanied by Tisse Apoan, a particularly slim Fyrossa with a generous chest and red hair. The two runners reached his level and Melkiar slowed down. Belenor stiffened.

:''"So, Belenor, how are you enjoying your first quarter-coriolis?"

:''"S… Strenuous and boring."

Although Belenor pretended to remain focused on his race, he couldn't help but glance at his comrade. Melkiar's body was comparable to Xynala's. He was simply larger and more hairy. It was simply larger and hairier. Watching the drops of sweat beading between the young adult's pectoral muscles, Belenor had the misfortune to detect the scent of his perspiration drowned among the spicy scents that the streets of Fyre exhaled. A flash of lightning passed through him, and instantly he turned scarlet. Fortunately, Melkiar didn't realize anything. He went on.

:''"Running is not very interesting, I grant you. Nevertheless, knowing how to run a race over a long distance is important. It requires excellent management of one's endurance and precise and constant control of the Sap."

Belenor, applied to looking far ahead, nodded silently.

:''"Well, I'll leave you. If I speed up, I may finish in the top fifteen. I'm looking forward to competing against you later, quill, dice and compass in hand. And congratulations on your first race, Belenor."

At these words, the warrior accelerated, buoyed by his thighs and powerful buttocks, and caught up with Tisse. Finally, laps passed, and the race came to an end. And against all odds, Belenor did not finish in last place.
{{Couillard}}
It was already late when Belenor arrived in front of the Coliseum of Fyre. A rare building at the top of the Dragon's Backbone, the colossal circular edifice had been carved out of the stump of a huge sky-tree. Because of the lack of sky-trees in the region, scholars assumed that this one dated back to a time when the desert was not yet a desert. While Fyre had stairs, the easiest way to reach the top of the city was by large freight elevators of Tryker design, the fruit of the age-old alliance between the two peoples. Belenor passed through the great arches of the building and reached the bleachers without any trouble, despite the density of the spectators gathered en masse to attend the last trial of the day. Finding his friends was another matter. But finally, after many minutes of scanning the tide of mugs and Fyros, he spotted the large arm movements of Tisse and Brandille. The Fyros slipped between the many onlookers, passed through the alcohol fumes, climbed a floor, and finally managed to reach the two aces. For if Brandille had beaten his best time in the quarter-coriolis, Tisse, for the first time, had won the sport shooting event. Despite her fourteen years, the teenager's accuracy had become legendary within the Academy. All around the trio, eyes were on them, and at times, one came to congratulate them. While Brandille, all smiles, accepted a free mug of shooki, Tisse hugged a little girl, who, taking her courage in both hands, had come to greet her new idol. Freed from the child's endless embrace, the Fyrossa turned to Belenor:

:''"So Belenor, how are you living your coronation? Personally, I think I could get used to it very quickly."

:''"What? Oh, me? Ah, yes. I don't know."

For Belenor had, a few hours earlier, beaten Melkiar in the final trial of military strategy. Something he still couldn't truly understand. This test consisted in the setting of army battles in the form of a game with precise rules. Partially hidden behind a folding screen, each player had troops, represented by various counters, and a palette of equipment, such as calculating tables, measuring instruments, and also dice to simulate the effect of luck. A referee checked each player's moves and kept track of time. This event, although among the oldest in the Academy, was far less popular than the others. The fault lay in its apparent complexity. As a result, Belenor was far less sought after by admirers, which, all in all, suited him quite well. And if he was proud to have won the title, it was his victory against Melkiar that had particularly moved him. He would never forget the look of admiration that this one had given him, as Belenor played the move that had compelled him to surrender. Later that day, Melkiar had also lost the athletic showdown to Varran, who had then found himself in the final against his brother Garius. The twins Decos twins had been unable to separate themselves and both won the title. Eliminated in their turn in the semi-finals by Melkiar and Xynala during the free fight trial, they awaited the grand finale from the private stand of the defeated.

When, with their so characteristic creaking, the two doors of the circular arena finally opened, the daylight had lost all its brilliance and the amber star was at its peak. In the light of the gigantic blaze hanging over the amphitheater, the forty thousand spectators gathered fell silent. As expected, Euriyaseus Icaron passed through one of the doors. The Fyrossa, who had won her spurs with Xynala's grandparents, was probably the most famous general in the Empire. In 2436, then aged twenty-nine, she had participated, alongside the future Emperor Pyto, Thesop's brother, in an attack aimed at re-establishing the Water Route and the operation of the Aqueduct, "via" the reconquest of the country of Trykoth, invaded by the Matis following the devastation caused by the burning of the Coriolis Amber Mines. Continuing her military career thereafter, despite the deaths of Emperors Abylus and Pyto, she eventually had been promoted to general. While rumors were rife of her enmity with Emperor Thesop, whom some notorious separatists accused of having murdered her father and brother thirty years earlier, this had never stopped her from giving her heart and soul to the Empire. In particular, she had been responsible for several strategic coups that helped push the rebellious Fyros tribes far to the west. Now sixty years old, she was also involved in the military training of the Academy's students.

Dressed in her armor, made of stiff leather and decked out with medals, the famous heroine with white hair and a face covered with scars walked to the center of the arena. Unhooking a hollow horn from her belt, she brought the object to her mouth and began her speech. Her hoarse, amplified voice echoed through the amphitheater.

:''"Fyros people! Friends of the Empire! Like every year since the founding of our famous institute, this day has seen the final round of the Academy Games! As every year, we have been proud to see our young academicians at work in their feats! But more than ever this year, we have been astounded by the prowess of the new generation! The Generation of Miracles! Thanks to them, the Empire is securing a prosperous and glorious future!"

At these words, the crowd went wild: cheers erupted, mugs clinked and alcohol flew. Euriyaseus let the tumult subside and then resumed his speech.

:''"Patriots, I understand the fervor that moves you! Tonight, a masterpiece of battle will be played out right here in the center of our ancient coliseum! Tonight, during the final of the free fighting event, Xynala Zeseus will take her revenge against the one who has held the title of champion since he was thirteen years old! The one against whom she failed in the final, last year, and who will try again tonight to keep his title! I named Melkiar of the Dragon Tears tribe!"

The crowd erupted, and at the same time, the horn sounded. Two figures appeared in the doorway of the Coliseum and walked towards their chief coach to the applause. Both were dressed in simple armors of supple leather, which, which, while providing little protection against the blades, gave the wearer a great deal of range of motion. Since homins have unusual regenerative abilities, warriors used to taking wounds generally preferred to improve their mobility. Nevertheless, each of the two silhouettes was topped with a large helmet. This one was composed of a rigid leather base covering the skull, lateral protections in chitin falling on the forehead, the ears and the nape of the neck, and a grid of rigid thorn acting as a visor. Indeed, although able to magically heal most of their wounds, too violent shocks to the head could disrupt the regeneration process of homins. As usual, Xynala was armed with her two fetish short clubs, the head of which consisted of four sharp discs. Melkiar had opted for a more classical paraphernalia, composed of a buckler and a hatchet. When they arrived at the level of the general, this one resumed the word.

:''"Well! Before the duel begins, let me remind you of the rules of the free fight trial. Firstly, duelists are forbidden to pierce the rib cage or the skull of opponent. Second, except for healing, the use of magic is totally prohibited. Thirdly, blocking the regeneration of the opponent, for example by preventing him from removing a blade stuck in his body, is proscribed. Paralyzing or stunting the opponent remains allowed. The fight takes place in a winning round, and ends when one of the two duelists gives up, remains paralyzed on the ground for more than ten seconds, falls unconscious, or when a healer intervenes. Now, Xynala and Melkiar, take each other a bow!"

If the previously screaming crowd was now silent, the tension was all the more palpable: a heavy calm had descended on the Coliseum and heralded the coming storm. Xynala and Melkiar bowed and then took five steps back. Euriyaseus, who was going to referee the duel, slowly moved away from the center of the arena and joined the group of healers who had entered the pit earlier. Everyone spread out around the two duelists, magic amplifiers donned, ready to intervene at any moment. Long seconds passed and the long-awaited moment arrived: Euriyaseus brought his horn to his mouth one last time and gave the starting signal.

:''"Xynala, Melkiar, fight!"

The first blows were delivered by the Fyrossa. No sooner had the fight begun than Xynala infused Sap into her legs and leapt four meters forward, clubs in the air. In a deafening crash, the two weapons hit Melkiar's roundel, whose boots sank into the sawdust under the power of the impact. Seizing her momentum, the Fyrossa carried a multitude of blows to her adversary, who nimbly parried them while retreating. And then, taking advantage of the ascendancy that he had granted to Xynala, Melkiar suddenly opened his guard: pushing back one of the clubs of a powerful movement of shield, he struck a precise blow of hatchet to his rival. This was not taking into account the skill of Xynala, who tilted her other weapon in such a way that the blade of the hatchet got stuck between two discs of her club. Then, with a powerful flick of her wrist, she swung her weapon, hoping to disarm or unbalance her opponent. Not intending to give up so quickly, Melkiar vigorously grabbed the handle of his hatchet and followed the rotating movement generated by Xynala. The Fyros pretended to tip over to the side and then performed a side cartwheel while leaning on the ground. He repeated the move a second time and dodged the blow that his rival tried to strike him using her second club. Having regained some distance, Melkiar finally spread his arms in provocation. In the stands, the crowd exploded, dazzled by this first spar.

:''"Nice block, Xynala. Am I not the one who teached you that technique?"

Spreading her arms in turn, the Fyrossa answered tit for tat.

:''"Nice spin, Melkiar. Did Brandille teach you that stunt?"

Melkiar let out a sincere laugh and closed his guard. And again, Xynala leapt, ready to bring down her clubs. It was only when she was in the air that she realized her stupidity, at the very moment when her rival picked her up with a devastating back kick: facing such an opponent, innovating was essential. The tip of the boot sank into her right kidney, and she was propelled several meters backwards. Advantaged, Melkiar rushed towards the Fyrossa, now lying in the sawdust. Infusing Sap into her broken ribs, Xynala got up as quickly as she could. Unfortunately, she didn't have time to anticipate Melkiar's rondache throw: the projectile hit her right arm hard and her club flew off. The warrior then arrived at hand-to-hand combat and a long sparring began, during which Melkiar gradually gained the upper hand. Several minutes passed, and finally, the warrior struck a crucial blow to his opponent: his hatchet went deep into Xynala's left thigh, whose leg collapsed instantly. Drawing a dagger from his belt, determined to slit his rival's throat to force a healer to intervene, Melkiar thought victory was within reach. But against all odds, the Fyrossa pushed on her valid leg and her club that had become a crutch to get up. If that did nothing but accentuate the gravity of its wound, it took advantage of the effect to strike a violent blow of head to its rival who missed to lose its balance. And even before the warrior could understand what had just happened, the club of Xynala crashed on the grid of his helmet, which sank deeply into his face.

Melkiar let out a scream and collapsed backwards, while Xynala, wobbly, tore off the hatchet stuck in her thigh while clenching her teeth. Without taking her eyes off Melkiar, who was trying to remove his distorted helmet, she chose to heal the gaping wound that was torturing her leg, rather than launch an uncertain assault. Once the Fyros had been decasked, he infused Sap into his skull and repaired the facial fracture that disfigured him. Admittedly, this wound had been inflicted by the visor of his helmet. But without this latter, the worst could have happened. When Melkiar was fully healed, Xynala stood up, her left leg untouched of any injury. Now armed with a club and a hatchet, she was also still equipped with her helmet. As for Melkiar, he was face uncovered and armed with a simple dagger. If Xynala clearly had the advantage, the determined look that Melkiar sent her reminded her not to underestimate him. For a short while, the two adversaries gauged each other. Apparently affected by the echoes of the mental duel, the crowd suddenly calmed down. The tension was palpable throughout the Coliseum. Long seconds passed, as if time was suspended. And then, finally, Melkiar swooped on his rival.

The Fyros was up to something, Xynala was convinced. Holding her weapons tightly, she spread her legs slightly and lowered her center of gravity, firming her bearings. Within two seconds, he would be in contact. Without a helmet. If she could hit him in the head with her club, her chances of winning would greatly increase. So why was he exposing himself? What trap was he trying to push her into? She was not to play his game. She should not attack him. She attacked him.

With a precise strike, she forced her opponent to dodge, the Fyros not being armed enough to parry such a blow. But against all odds, instead of shifting sideways, Melkiar dropped to his knees, back bent and arms spread, and slid down on the sawdust, under the hatchet. Alert, Xynala angrily swung her club horizontally, hoping to hit the Fyros she suspected of trying to cut off his hocks. If Melkiar managed to move back enough to avoid being hit full in the head, the club hit his shoulder hard. His arm cracked and his dagger fell. But unfortunately, that wasn't enough. Xynala saw a smile on Melkiar's face, despite the pain of his fracture inflicted him. With a precise movement, the warrior sent a handful of sawdust right into the grilled visor of her rival, now located a few centimeters from her hand. Blinded, the Fyrossa made several jumps backwards while striking strikes in the wind, persuaded that Melkiar counted to take advantage of his blindness to attack him. However, it was not the case. And when she took off her helmet filled with sawdust, she saw him simply pick up the club and the rondache left on the ground. Once this was done, the Fyros walked quietly towards her, then handed her the weapon.

:''"Shall we swap, Xynala?"

The Fyrossa sighed and then returned the hatchet to Melkiar. Decidedly, this fight was going to be long.   And indeed, the duel dragged on. Even more than the one that had opposed them the year before. If Melkiar always dominated his opponent technically and physically, Xynala showed a rage and an audacity to any test. A boldness that often gave rise to great moments of bravery, which the public loved. Thus, about ten minutes after the beginning of the fight, the Fyrosse succeeded in tearing off the left hand of his fallen rival. It must be said that both fighters gave the impression of being on the verge of death. Their armors had long since shattered and their wounds had barely closed. There was the limit of the homins: their incapacity to channel without slackening the Sap which irrigated them. If Xynala thought for a few seconds that this wound would signal the defeat of her rival, it was not knowing Melkiar's obduracy: flouting all pain, the warrior took advantage of his position to plant his valid hand in the gaping wound that scarred Xynala's abdomen. At the end of her strength, the Fyrossa could not prevent herself from pushing a cry and from dropping her club. Certain that his rival was about to fail, Melkiar then infused all the Sap he could into his legs and leapt in the air. Landing on his knees on her shoulders, struck violent blows with his elbow on her bleeding skull. If the Fyrossa staggered dangerously, she held on, and bit the sex of her opponent, who also let out a howl. However, he did not break off, and continued to smash her skull. Finally, feeling the Fyrossa letting go, the warrior struck a last elbow and rotated his pelvis with a sharp blow. A dull crack resounded in the Coliseum. And although he had fallen with Xynala, Melkiar was the only one of the duelists to get up. Half-conscious, he staggered toward the healers to push them to intervene. He had broken his opponent's neck: paralyzed or unconscious, she would lose this final in less than ten seconds, he was sure. Magic amplifiers donned, the healers came running. Melkiar smiled, and to the cheers of the crowd, raised his stump to the sky. At the same time, a bolt of lightning pierced his back. Transi of pain, the Fyros turned around and put his hands behind his back. On the ground, a few meters away from him, Xynala was still lying on her stomach. She was lying on her stomach, her arm stretched forward. She had thrown a dagger at his back. The same dagger he had drawn and lost at the beginning of the duel. Melkiar fell to his knees and tried to pull out the murderous blade. It was in vain. A black veil blurred his vision and the warrior fainted.
{{Couillard}}
Melkiar and Xynala were the last to arrive in the box of the champions' tribune. Completely healed, they were now dressed, like those latter, in a beautiful green linen tunic. As soon as he passed the doorway, Melkiar stopped. Massaging his left hand firmly, he took a long look at each of his comrades: Tisse, Garius, Varran, Brandille, Xynala, Belenor. Like all the Fyros present in this room, they had all won an event at the Academy Games. And except for Brandille, who held the warrior's gaze with a smile, no one seemed to be able to bear the intensity of it. The unease spread to those who were not part of the group of friends and soon an embarrassed silence settled in the room that lasted for many minutes. Then, like a savior, a costume designer loomed and broke the ice.

:''"In line, please! Yes, here it is, stand up straight. Varran, take your tunic out of your braccae. But, Brandille, your hair!"

:''"As usual, my braids are doing their own thing. And I don't think my head wants to be styled. You spent twenty minutes trying last year, with no success, do you remember?"

The costume designer displayed a dramatic grimace, then pulled himself together.

:''"Well, never mind. We don't have time anyway. Don't forget to pack tight. There are more of you than last year because of the ties… Well, everything is in order. You can go!"

One by one, the winners exited the dressing room and took a staircase leading straight to the grandstand. With each step, the din of the crowd grew louder. Still silent, Belenor watched Melkiar. He wondered how he felt about sharing his title with Xynala. When the first winner reached the tribune, the force of the cheers shook the foundations of the Coliseum. While some were welcoming the ovations with enthusiasm, others, like Belenor and Xynala, seemed particularly ill-at-ease. The Fyros looked around at the huge tide of hominids and wondered if his parents had finally arrived. Both were busy with their respective jobs. But the Academy Games were a special time for the Fyros people to share and attract the farthest tribes of the Desert. So he could hope that his mother and father would be present tonight. But one thing was certain: his nurse Penala, who had come to support him several times today, was probably shedding a tear as she watched him. At the thought, his heart clenched with emotion. When the last of the winners stepped onto the podium and completed the line, Euriyaseus Icaron, still standing in the center of the arena, spoke to calm the crowd. Then, spontaneously, forty thousand pairs of eyes turned towards the immense balcony which, in front of the tribune of the champions, dominated the Colosseum. Accompanied by his herald, the emperor Thésop advances there. As usual, he is dressed in his imposing black combat armor, his majestic red coat and an astonishing helmet made of enormous horns of animals now disappeared. The herald, holding a leaflet in his hand, speaks.

Respectful, the victors began by listening to the long speech of their sharükos declaimed by the voice of his herald. Then, against the custom, which imposed the absolute silence during an imperial speech, Melkiar called out to his friends. Of course, no one could hear him. But such a breach of the code of conduct startled many of those present.

:''"I am proud of you. You were all exceptional."

Belenor instantly blushed. Unable to resist, he glanced in Melkiar's direction. Then he met the discreet gazes of Xynala and Tisse, who also seemed captivated by their band leader. For a moment, Belenor imagined what his two friends were feeling for Melkiar, and instantly, a deep feeling of sadness came over him. Disturbed by this emotion, he lingered a few seconds on Melkiar. This one looked intensely in the direction of the herald, and his face showed a certain form of covetousness. Melkiar had already told him about the insane dream of becoming sharükos, and until then, he had never taken it seriously. After all, imperial power was hereditary. For all that, Belenor was convinced that his friend would one day become a great leader. Looking back at the imperial balcony, the Fyros turned pale. Despite the distance, the Emperor seemed to be watching Melkiar. He was sure of it. As always, the ruler exuded an aura that was both terrifying and attractive. A supernatural aura, on which the inflexible authority depended. Panicked, and wishing at all costs not to meet the Emperor's gaze, Belenor looked up and stared at the roof of the edifice. He calmed his breathing, and slowly his heart rate slowed. With all the rumors swirling about the man some called "Thesop the Fratricide", Belenor preferred to stay away from any contact with the Emperor. To take his mind off things, the young Fyros concentrated for a long time on two perfectly identical white stars, located just above the imperial balcony. For so long a lime that he thought he saw them move. To see them blink. When he realized that the two glittering spheres were not stars, his heart raced even more. Grabbing Brandille's hand by reflex, he stammered.

:''"B... Brandille. On the roof of the imperial balcony. There… There's a black Kami."

:''"Yes, I know,"'' the child replied calmly.

Disconcerted, Belenor watched her friend playing with her colorful braids. A mischievous smile spread across her childish face as her purple eyes rested on him.

:''"That Kami has been watching you all day. Hadn't you noticed?"

Interdicted, Belenor answered by the negative of a movement of head. And when he looked again for the two white stars above the imperial balcony, he did not find them.
}}
{{NavChap|[[Chapter X - Heroes]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XII - Family]]}}
{{Portal|The Great Library|Fyros}}
[[Category:The Sacred War]]

Chapter I·X - Heroes

2022-06-16T19:23:05Z

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''X - Heroes'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2464'''</big></big></center>
{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|:''"Um… One more death. A rockslide, once again."

Sitting comfortably in his rendor leather chair, elbows resting on his gorgeous solid wood desk, Tiralion Nebius was reading the latest report sent by one of his foremen. As the guild was gaining in productivity year after year, the workers' working conditions had greatly degraded. Of course, it was more profitable to continue this way, even if it meant compensating the families of the victims. But if he wanted to continue recruiting young, spirited Fyros, he had to assure them that death was not necessarily at the end of the tunnel. For Tiralion Nebius, like his father before him, was the head of the mining guild of the Pickheads, one of the largest and wealthiest guilds in the Fyros Empire.

It all began in 2432, during the reign of sharükos Abylus, Emperor of the Fyros, when miners accidentally discovered mysterious ruins in the Prime Roots. Encouraged by this discovery, the Fyros began archaeological digs throughout the Desert, and deeper and deeper. Unfortunately, two years later, a huge fire broke out in the Coriolis Amber Mines and set the surrounding dry lands ablaze. The fire quickly spread to the homin territories, ravaging the city of Coriolis, and forming a burning trail to the great forests of the Matis. The fire raged for weeks, cutting off the huge wind-powered aqueduct that connected the Desert to the Lakes. The Aqueduct, which had been under construction since 2289, symbolized the commercial and military alliance between the two peoples: the Empire pledged to protect the Trykoth Federation, which in turn provided abundant water to the Fyros people ''via'' the Water Route. The rise of the Fyros Empire owed much to the Aqueduct and its trade route. Blaming the Fyros miners for the disaster, the Emperor took the opportunity to place the mining guilds under imperial jurisdiction and to draw up the Mining Code, which was supposed to strengthen the rights of miners and the duties of guild leaders. Unfortunately, many guilds were forced to close down as too much impacted by the implacable new laws. Most of them complied, however, even though it was no longer possible to finance ambitious digs because they were considered too risky. The crisis reached its climax when Pyto succeeded his father Abylus, who had died of illness. During this sad period, the tyrannical sharükos Pyto squandered the Empire's savings, which had already been damaged by the enforcement of the Mining Code. Aware of the risks Pyto was putting his people at, his younger brother Thesop tried to talk some sense into him, and guide him back to the right path. Unfortunately, the proud Emperor Pyto would not listen. Thus passed two difficult years, when many saw the end of the Empire approaching. But just when it was thought hope was lost forever, Thesop challenged to a duel his brother, who accepted and there lost his life. And so, in keeping with imperial tradition, Thesop took power in 2440. In the years that followed, the new sharükos strove to replenish the imperial coffers and to repeal the liberticidal laws enacted by his late father. Thus began the reign of Thesop the Builder. And so it was at this time that Tiralion Nebius' father founded the guild of the Pickheads, taking advantage of the abolition of the Mining Code to launch a gigantic mining project and to respond to the desire for Truth buried in the heart of every Fyros, and which his predecessors had not managed to quell.

Indeed, the Fyros people had always been obsessed with the depths of the Bark. Digging without ceasing despite the prohibitions of the Karavan, the Fyros were in search of Fyrak the Great Dragon, the evil entity who, according to the myth, would have brought the homins on Atys, a dark, icy desert world, in order to enslave them. According to the same myth, Jena, the Goddess of the Day Star, heard of Fyrak's treachery and provoked the Green Thrust, in order to transform Atys into a lush and luminous world, and to trap the Great Dragon in its entrails, thus freeing the homins from its yoke. Defeated by the goddess Jena, Fyrak nevertheless succeeded in leaving its imprint on Atys, and the ashes from its fiery breath became embedded everywhere, from the lines of the primordial bark to the air and the cells of every living being. Draconic ashes that contained within them the remnants of Fyrak's wrath, and that allowed the homins to manipulate the Sap and thus to perform magical feats. The agents of the Karavan only, protected by their armor blessed by Jena, were not contaminated.

However, despite the powers granted by the draconic ashes, which the Zoraï people also called spiritual particles, the greatest ambition of the Fyros people remained to find and exterminate the Great Dragon, which they knew to be the source of the great fires that ravaged the Desert, the premise of its apocalyptic return. Of course, Tiralion did not believe in the Dragon Myth. He simply knew how to sniff out lucrative investments and play the patriotic game. After all, he had also become a clever politician over the years, advised and taught by his wife.

Deep in thought, and busy playing with his long, braided mahogany beard, Tiralion was finishing the second reading of the report. One more death, one less… After all, such were the risks of the job! Satisfied with his conclusion, he grabbed his igara quill, a blank parchment, and wrote a succinct reply to his foreman: the victim's family would be generously compensated. The Fyros leaned on his desk to get up and stretched. Thus ended his long and difficult working day. Caressing his belly, already well rounded for his age, he wondered what the cook had planned for dinner. At the same time, the door opened and his wife entered the room. About thirty years old, she was dressed in the red linen robe traditionally worn by senators, and her golden hair was tied back in a bun.

:''"Good evening Tiralion."'' she said as she came to kiss her husband's swarthy skull.

:''"Good evening Eutis. How did your day at the Senate go?"

:''"Quiet, as it often is these days. But I was able to speak with an imperial controller, and I've come to an agreement. They won't send anyone to inspect your mines."

:''"Ah, that's good news!"'' the Fyros gloated. ''"Thank you, my wife!"

Eutis Nebius smiled and grabbed his hand.

:''"Come on, let's have dinner. I smelled good smells coming from the kitchens. But first, I'd like to go and kiss Belenor. Do you know if Penala has put him to bed?"

:''"Yes, maybe fifteen minutes before you arrived. She came to tell me that he had fallen asleep. Can I wait for you downstairs?"

:''"Of course."'' said Eutis, before letting go of her husband's hand to go down another corridor.

Tiralion went down a few steps and sat down at the living room table. The table was already set. The Nebius family home, which Tiralion had also inherited from his father, was one of the largest dwellings in Fyre, the capital of the Fyros Empire. Carved out of the bark of the Desert, like most of the city's dwellings, it had been built more than a century earlier, a few blocks from the Imperial Palace.The house, which spanned several floors, was organized around a central fireplace, which provided both oxygen and firewood for the rooms. Tiralion rang his servants and asked for a glass of [[shooki]] liquor, a fermented drink popular with the Fyros. And just as he was about to enjoy the delicious beverage, he heard someone running down the stairs. Eutis appeared in the living room. She seemed particularly cheerful.

:''"Tiralion, quickly, come and see!"

The Fyros frowned. He didn't like to be disturbed when he was drinking his shookie.

:''"What? What is it?"

:''"Come, I say! It's Belenor!""

Tiralion reluctantly put down his glass and stood up. He sighed. He really didn't understand the attraction some people had for newborns. Belenor was only a few months old, and his life consisted of sleeping, eating and defecating. Until he learned to calculate, his father didn't see how the child could have interested him. Unable to contain his impatience, his wife grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards upper floors. An investment. He had to consider it an investment… A few stairs later, the corpulent Fyros arrived near his son's room, out of breath. Eutis grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a stern look.

:''"Look discreetly through the door, and above all, don't make a sound!"

Tiralion rolled his eyes and approached the door of the room left ajar. What could have put Eutis in such a state? Perhaps Belenor had managed to climb over the railings of his crib, which was indeed a feat considering his young age? Yes, that was surely it. to return to his glass of shookie, the Fyros put his head through the doorway. And as he looked at his son's cradle, he screamed.

A Black Kami, undoubtedly from the jungle, floated over the crib. Taking several steps back, the Fyros hit the wall and fell backwards. Eutis rushed to the doorway, but the damage was done: the Kami was gone.

:''"Tiralion! I told you not to make any noise!"

:''"If you had warned me that one of these terrifying creatures had infiltrated the home of my ancestors, I might have reacted otherwise!"'' the Fyros railed as he painfully stood up.

:''"This creature is a Kami, Tiralion! Have some respect for the Kamis. At least they, unlike the Karavan agents, don't stop your miners from working."

Tiralion stood up and grabbed his wife's arm. All of a sudden reconciled, the couple entered their son's room. A room that was far too large and empty. A room without furniture. No floor or ceiling. Showing no concern, the parents stepped onto the root bridge that led to the crib, now suspended above the dark void. A dark and shifting void. With every step they took, the crib seemed to move away. With each step they took, the darkness became more intense.

:''"Eutis, do you think it is a good sign that a Kami is interested in Belenor?"

:''"Of course! Kamis have great powers. Perhaps they can make him the best student at the Academy?"

:''"If they can give him business sense, then let them come to see him all they want."

Gaze staring at the cradle, and walking without pause, the two Fyros laughed out loud. Distorted by the dark mass that had now become tangible, the laughter turned into long, painful sobs. Gradually, the darkness became denser. Gradually, the shadows began to whisper. And finally, at the end of the root bridge, while the little bed still seemed out of reach, the darkness carried them to their son's crib. When they reached their destination, Eutis leaned over her son's bed. She looked tender and put her head against her husband's shoulder.

:''"He's so handsome. Don't you think so?"

Tiralion looked at his child for a few seconds, then smiled. Then an eerie liturgical chant emerged from the abyss of darkness over which they were flying. And in rhythm, the shadows began to dance.

:''"I have to admit, he's pretty cute. That black mask goes well with his blue skin."
{{Couillard}}
Belenor woke up with a start. His face was tense and his jaw clenched. His thoughts were completely clouded by the strange dream he had just had, and it took him a few seconds to understand where he was. Looking at his hands, then passing them over his forehead, he checked the color of his skin and the texture of his face. Facing him, flat on the writing table of the previous row and legs wagging, Brandille stared at him with her big mauve eyes.

:''"Hey my Bele nice ! You beledoze ?"

Belenor sat up, slightly nauseous. He had fallen asleep during the history lesson. The amphitheater was now empty, so he assumed the class had already ended a while ago. The Fyros sighed.

:''"Have you been watching me sleep for long?"

:''"I don't remember. You know very well that the flow of time dilates when I stare at you too long."

Belenor closed her eyes and massaged her temples. Talking with Brandille was not going to make her headache go away. Brandille, like all Tryker people, was a small, light-skinned being with particularly childlike features. Of course, at nine years old, it was not uncommon to still have a baby face. But Trykers, unlike the Fyros, retained a childlike appearance once they became adults. Only the secondary sexual characteristics, such as hair, voice, hips or chest, were evidence of maturity. Belenor opened his eyes and looked at the youthful face still facing him, which had not lost its amused look. He couldn't help but smile in turn to Brandille. She was his only friend. Or he was, for that matter. For Brandille had no defined gender. As ''she'' often said it ''hemself'', her gender identity changed with the wind. If Belenor had taken the habit, with her agreement, of gendering her in the feminine, the Trykera accepted completely that one genders him in the masculine. Brandille straightened up in turn and sat cross-legged on the writing desk. Her body swayed from right to left.

:''"Enor, did you dream? Your sleep seemed particularly restless."

Now standing, Belenor tried to comb his mahogany hair, disheveled by her unexpected nap, and put back her beautiful beige linen tunic. Her vertigo was passing.

:''"I had a strange dream, yes. It was blending our last history class and my parents as young people. They were using 'vous' with each other like Matis do, it was very strange. Ah, there was also the Kami who came to visit me in my infant bed and the Black Mask!"

Brandille abruptly jumped up on the table and raised her arms to the sky. For a few moments, her loose pied clothes and multicolored braids seemed to float.

:''"Enor! Is today the day you and I have been waiting for? The day that will mark the return of your inspiration?!"

The Fyros smiled and gathered his belongings scattered on his writing table. The parchment he had been dozing on was moist with saliva.

:''"Maybe… If the Kamis want it. And again, I haven't told you the strangest: in my dream, the infant in my bed was the Black Mask."

:''"Oh, Enor! Your flow is so clear! Now you are one with your character, that is sure! Praise the Winds! Goodbye hesitation, hello imagination!"

:''"I hope you are right. I'm very much eager to get back to our story."

Brandille did a salto and landed with both feet on a rough step of the amphitheater. The child waved to an absent audience and climbed the stairs in a hurry.

:''"Anyway, don't worry, you didn't miss anything at the end of the propaganda… er, History class. Nothing, except the endless praises to the sharükos!"

The acrobat placed his hands behind his back, took a superior air and a serious voice.

:''"Don't forget that Thesop the Builder reconstructed with his own hands the Empire, which had fallen into decadence under the reign of his brother Pyto!"

Belenor, who had finished putting his belongings away, took the stairs in turn. Brandille put an arm around his waist and the two children left the amphitheater.

:''"And you know what I think of all this tom-tom, right, Enor? Pytoful and Thesopilating."

The Fyros raised his eyes to the sky.

:''"One day, some ill-intentioned person will hear your remarks, and word will get out that you are outraging the sharükos. Then an imperial patrol will catch you, and you will be sent back to Trykoth. You are well aware of this, aren't you? I know as well as you do what is told about Emperor Thesop. However, I remain discreet and careful."

:''"Let them try to catch me! Nobody is faster than Brandille. Not even the rumors that go around… Oh, by the way, I'm almost done weaving my next melody! I can't wait to let you hear my inner wind."

:''"Great news, Brandille. And with great pleasure"'', replied Belenor, smiling.

For the friendship between the two children, both nine years old, was based above all on their common taste for art and their overflowing creativity. Belenor drew and wrote fiction. Brandille drew, composed songs, wrote poetry, staged plays, and knew how to juggle and dance. And like two muses, both supported and inspired each other.

Finally, after a few minutes of walking through the hollowed-out and nicely decorated corridors of the Academy, the two comrades passed through the great archway and found daylight again. Going down the imposing staircase, they reached the streets of Fyre, the incredible capital of the Fyros Empire. The foundations of what would later become the flagship city of the Desert had been laid two centuries earlier, when the previously nomadic Fyros began to settle down. And the location was not chosen at random. The cave city was built in a broken section of the Dragon's Backbone, the gigantic continental shelf that separated the southern part of the Desert, administered by the Fyros Empire, from the hostile and infinite ocean of dunes to the north. The crack in which the Fyros set up their city, covering several dozen square kilometers, was the probable remnant of a prehistoric catastrophe. In this place, the network of crevasses of the plateau offered multiple advantages: protection against predators, a slight but appreciable coolness, and even a little water, produced by condensation in its deepest caves. If the majority of the city's dwellings were dug directly into the high bark walls, some of which could reach a hundred meters, many buildings had been built in a more traditional way, and were bathed with light every day. For despite its semi-underground construction, the city was never short of light, as the daystar never left the zenith, but simply lost of its radiance once night came. Combined with the relative coolness of the streets of Fyre, the sunshine also allowed for the practice of a rudimentary agriculture of drought-resistant vegetables. Finally, a large wall and guard towers had been built further down the plateau, where the crevices overlooked the desert of dunes. But in truth, few were Fyros tribes not subject to the Fyros Empire daring to approach Fyre, and never before had the armies of the Matis Kingdom penetrated so deeply into the desert west.

:''"I must take flight, Belenice! I can hear ideas germinating in my little head, I have to go quickly to water them!! If you move forward by tomorrow, will you tell me the rest of our hero's adventures?"

Belenor smiled again.

:''"I'll do that. I indeed think that inspiration is coming back to me."

Brandille kissed her friend on the cheek, winked at him, and gambolled gracefully toward the residential areas. Belenor stared at his boots for a moment. As he had already noticed, his muse sometimes seemed to float. In fact, he would have sworn that, once airborne, it took Brandille longer to hit the ground than other Trykers or Fyros. But more than his apparent lightness, it was his constant agitation that fascinated Belenor. For Brandille was never inert, physically or intellectually. Belenor had no memory of an immobile Brandille. No memory of a gloomy Brandille. Brandille was the very definition of Movement. Of Vitality. And even when his friend slept, she wriggled and hummed. Belenor took advantage of the moment and waited to see her colorful clothes disappear into the crowd. Then he went to the opposite side, to the beautiful districts.
{{Couillard}}
Plunged in his thoughts, Belenor mechanically moved towards the imperial palace. After several months of battling against this damn blank page, he was perhaps finally going to be able to resume writing his story. He felt happy and excited. Totally elsewhere, the child did not realize that he was being followed when he turned the corner of Dyros avenue to take the small alley that would allow him to reach the family home more quickly. It was only when he looked up that he understood he had fallen into a trap. At the end of the alley, two Fyros were walking in his direction: a young girl with with blond hair tending to white and and a pronounced musculature, and a gigantic boy with a shaved head, both wearing an outfit made from strips of poor quality leather. This outfit, very popular among the city's inhabitants, was crafted at low cost from scrap leather and offered great durability. Belenor turned around, thinking he could quickly get back to the crowded avenue, but in doing so, he bumped into the torso of another boy, identical in every way to the one now at his back. He didn't know the girl, but he recognized the two boys: the Decos twins, Varran and Garius, with whom he had shared many classes at the Academy. He knew what they had to reproach him with, and he could imagine how their "discussion" would end. For, unfortunately, Belenor was used to this kind of situation. Varran placed his large, dusty hands on the amber spaulders of Belenor's beautiful tunic.

:''"So Belenut, did you think you were going to get away with this?"

The child, already very frail for a Fyros, looked tiny in front of the colossus that faced him. True, Varran was five years his senior. However, he was still very strong for his age. Belenor held his gaze.

:''"Leave me alone, Varran. If any soldiers find out that…"

:''"Oh my! You stop right there, Belenor. Do you think I give a shit about the imperial guard? What's it gonna do to me? Put me in the hole because I pushed a toff's son? It's obvious that you've never set foot in the slums, you. We're already living in a hole there."

Belenor lowered his head and stared at his sandals in silence. At his back, the other two teenagers had reached level with them.

:''"So Belenor, you've lost your tongue? You were quite talkative this morning at the Academy though. Remember what you said?"

:''"Varran, listen…."

:''"You've been shitting me. Because I couldn't read this text in Matéis."

Caught in a fit of rage, Belenor finally raised his head. Varran was looking at him with a bad look. On his chin, he saw some brown hairs. He wondered what the already massive Decos twins would look like after puberty. And though he knew he would regret his words again, he retorted.

:''"I didn't make fun of you, Varran. I simply said that it was appalling that you can't read a minimum of Matéis at fourteen. It is the written and spoken language of international relations. Without it, you will never get out of your hole. Speaking Fyrk is not enough."

For all answer, the imprudent man felt his ribs explode: behind him, Garius had just struck a violent punch to his right side. Breathless, unable to scream, Belenor collapsed to the ground. His satchel fell over and many leaves spilled into the sawdust. Half conscious, his vision obscured by pain, he guessed the girl's voice.

:''"Don't you think you were a little harsh, Garius? I heard her rib cage crack.

:''"Oh, that's okay! He's good at healing magic, he won't even keep a mark from it. And he deserved a good lesson, it wasn't the first time he'd made shit of us. You don't know that, Xynala. He's not in your section at the Academy. He looks down on everyone, I swear you! And all the time! All because his father is the boss of some of our parents, and because we entered the Academy a few years after him. You know, he hardly has any friends. At least now he'll understand not to mess with us!"

Varran supported his brother's plea and then the three of them eventually walked away. When Belenor opened her eyes again, her attackers had reached the end of the alley. As she turned the corner, the named Xynala swiveled slightly and met his gaze. She looked saddened. And as the three teenagers disappeared down the avenue, Belenor instantly felt the tension drop. He was in extreme pain. But as Garius had pointed out, it would take him less than ten minutes to heal his ribs. The child struggled to his feet and put his hands on his side. His nice outfit was all messed up, which would certainly worry his nanny Penala when he got home in a few minutes. Infusing Sap into his wound, he grumbled at the sight of his precious manuscripts spread out in the sawdust. Belenor was angry. As much at the twins as at himself. When would he learn to keep his mouth shut? At the Academy or outside, for that matter. For he spent his time making remarks to others, and every time, it backfired to him. But worst of all, the contempt he was accused of expressing was the very one he blamed on his parents. At that moment, the young Fyros was hating himself.

Minutes passed, and finally repaired, the child knelt down to gather his pages. It didn't take him long to pick them all up. All but one: the first of his manuscript. And as he turned to see where it was, he jumped against the wall of the alley. Another teenager, also dressed in a leather bandage suit, was standing in front of him. He was carefully examining the missing page. How long had he been there?

:''"Um… The Sacred War. Interesting. Are you the author of this fiction?"

The Fyros turned the sheet over. It contained a text written in Matéis. Belenor stared at the teenager's black hair and eyes for a few moments and, without understanding the reason, turned scarlet. Taken by a strange panic, he threw himself on him.

:''"G… Give me that back!"

The stranger, particularly agile, had no trouble dodging him.

:''"Oh dear! Calm down, I'm not going to damage it."

Still scarlet, Belenor did not succeed in supporting his glance. He stammered.

:''"T… This text is mine! And it's written in Matéis. You won't be able to read it.

:''"Oh yes? And why is that?"'' guffawed the teenager.

:''"I know guys like you. The ones who can't string two words together in Matéis."

:''"Guys like me? Then it's true: you are a know-all, Belenor Nebius."

Upon hearing his name, Belenor looked up. The teenager was smiling mischievously at him. The child blushed a second time and looked at the ground.

:''"Yes, I know you. Varran and Garius told me about you. If we don't take into account the physical disciplines, you're the best student in your section, at the Academy. But it's mostly your arrogance that gets you noticed, isn't it? To tell the truth, I don't even know if you hear yourself speak… You know, at this rate, you might lose the few friends you have left."

Instantly, Belenor thought of his only friend. He wondered if he had already offended Brandille, before wondering if it was possible to offend Brandille… The stranger put his eyes on the sheet he held in hand.

:''"Anyway. This start makes you want to. Did you invent this character? The Zorai hero with the black mask?"

Belenor nodded shyly. The teenager exuded a rare confidence at his age.

:''"And where do you get all these ideas?"

:''"From… From my dreams," Belenor managed to answer.

:''"Frankly, bravo. Beyond being very well written, tht's also particularly inventive. You know, I totally lack imagination. So people like you fascinate me."

At these words, the stranger handed him the sheet. Belenor recovered his property, still silent, and dared this time to look at him. The teenager winked at him and then walked quietly towards the main avenue. Belenor followed him with his eyes, as if hypnotized, when, halfway along, he stopped and turned around. On his face, the mischievous look had given way to a powerful determination.

:''"When I grow up, I plan to bring all the tribes to the west of the Desert, where I was born. Life there is much harder than here. No regular army, no aqueduct… I would like to found a great city there, equal to Fyre. Of course, waging war on the rebellious tribes to force their cooperation might be enough. But that's does'nt fit my values. I promise myself to do it my way: to prove my bravery, to perform feats, to gain their trust. But to do that, someone will have to tell my story. Someone will have to make me the hero they need. I like to surround myself with talent, Belenor Nebius. And one day, I'll need someone like you."

Belenor tucked his paper away while shaking. His heart was pounding. Why was he so disturbed by this Fyros? He who usually never lost face?

:''"… You're not very talkative, are you? That's not what Varran and Garius told me. Anyway, I leave you. I'll ask the other three to stop heckling you. As for you, stop looking down on your classmates, and get your head out of your classes. Open up to the world, open up to people who are not like you. Otherwise, you risk getting bogged down in loneliness. Otherwise, you risk losing your creativity."

As the teenager reached the corner of the alley, Belenor, who had been mute until then, stammered a few words.

:''"W… What's your name?"

A mischievous smile appeared again on the stranger's face.

:''"I am Melkiar, of the tribe of the Dragon Tears. Remember that name well, Belenor Nebius, and sharpen your pen. For in a few years, you and I will have things to talk about. I am certain of it."
}}
{{NavChap|[[Chapter IX - Solitude]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XI - The Generation of Miracles]]}}
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[[Category:The Sacred War]]

Chapter I·IX - Solitude

2022-06-16T19:21:13Z

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''IX - Solitude'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2481'''</big></big></center>
{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|
Pü reopened his eyelids, mask against bark, mouth full of soot and blood. Despite the violence of the shock, the flow of life-saving Sap directed against the concussion had achieved its goal. He had regained consciousness. Awareness of his surroundings. Awareness of his left side, totally crushed under a colossal block of wood. What had happened? How many seconds had he been unconscious? Then, the image of Niï's body came back to him. In suspension. Above the ruins of the Ceremonial Square. The leg of one of the insectoid creatures stuck in the abdomen. And then this gigantic piece of bark, obscuring the sky and crushing him head-on. Totally stuck and unable to turn around, Pü tried to call his brother. Unfortunately, only a hoarse whistle came from his crushed throat, at once drowned in a pool of blood. No one heard him, yet he continued, chanting his brother's name like a mantra, hoping to summon him. Hoping that summoning would help him to ignore the immense pain that was bruising him. Partly compressed under several hundred pounds of wood, he was flooding his left side with Sap, even if it meant weakening the right side. The work of regeneration was inordinate, so much each movement that he carried out to extirpate himself from his tomb opened a little more his fractures, tore a little more his wounds, mixed a little more the splinters of his armor with his fluids. He had lost consciousness for only a few seconds. He couldn't have survived any longer, he was sure. There was still time. His brother had already freed himself from the creature's grasp, he was sure.

Finally, after several excruciating minutes, Pü managed to free himself from his coffin. No sooner was he freed than he fell into the pit, mask first, without even having time to look around. His mutilated, half-naked body crashed into a pile of chitin, and another image came back to him. In his memory, he and his companions had cleaned up Ceremonial Square after the creatures' first assault. So how could it be filled with carcasses again? Yet he had only been unconscious for a few seconds. Stunned and drained, he crawled for a few meters, between pieces of charred carapaces. How long, really, had he been unconscious? His father, brother and uncle, where were they? With his view blocked by the mound of cold carcasses, the young Zorai made his way to the pile that towered above all the others. He had to get some height. His body bruised, still unable to stand, he began to climb it. The climb was long and difficult, but he finally managed to grab the cranial nozzle of the kinrey that topped the mass grave. One of those who had skewered his brother. And as he pulled himself up to the top with a final effort, his gaze shifted to the other end of the pit, and his life toppled. As deep as his wounds were, the sprouting of his mask was still the most physically painful thing he had ever experienced. But nothing had ever prepared him for the sight of his father and uncle's pierced bodies, chest to chest, mask to mask. They were nailed to the wall of the pit by a huge severed leg. From its bluish color, he knew it belonged to the commander of the creatures his elders had faced. First Ke'val, then his father, then the wall. The Shadow had sacrificed himself to save the Black Mask… In vain. The two greatest warriors of the tribe were now dead. Transfixed by what he hoped was only a hallucination, Pü did not react. But the vision persisted. Realizing that everything he was seeing was real, he was unable to take the shock and fell asleep inside himself. What little innocence he had left was shattered along with his reason.
{{Couillard}}
It was standing in front of Grandmother Bä-Bä's hut, at the top of the village, far from the pit, that Pü regained full consciousness. Standing and staggering. Feverish. Nauseous. With drool on his lips and a glassy look in his eyes, he looked around, totally disoriented. He could not see, he could not hear and he smelled death. Death. All around him. On him. The smell of guts, the acrid smell of monsters, the smell of dead flesh. Inside him. The taste of bile, the taste of blood, the taste of tears. The pain. Around him, on him, in him. In his flesh, in his heart. The pain of some, the pain of others. The smell of nothing, the taste of the end. The memories. In him. The happy ones, the sad ones. The memory of the dead. Those of yesterday and today. His uncle, his father, and all those he had passed on the way back to the hut. That is, all of them. Because all of them were only memories. All of them! The children, the elders. All of them! All of them! All of them! Death, on him. In his hands. His brother's head, in his hands. Cold. Fallen on the side of the road, found between several heads. Those of children and elders. The head of his brother, of this brother he had abandoned, whom he had not saved. The head of his brother. Grimacing, bloody, with a cracked mask. The head of his protective big brother, who had comforted him with an "I love you" before sacrificing himself. His loving big brother, who, before throwing himself into the pit, had ordered him to find their mother. Their mother, whom they loved so much. Their mother, who would wake him up from this nightmare with a snap of her fingers.

Covered in blood and vomit, trembling and wavering, Pue staggered toward the hut, clutching Niï's head to his heart. He passed the curtains and his chest heaved. Grandmother Bä-Bä was watching him, kneeling on the ground at the bedside of Looï, who also had her mask turned toward him. The young Zorai ran to the two hominas and collapsed on his mother. He laid his brother's cold head on the bed and cuddled his mask against his mother. His tears flowed freely as he hiccupped:

:''"Mo… Mom… Father, Ke'val and Niï… they are dead… I couldn't save them… I… I couldn't do anything… Niï went to help them without me… I was his Shadow, I should have followed him too! But… But he didn't want to! He said that the Prophecy was false, that he would never be Black Mask, that the visions of Grandmother were lies! He… He told me I had to go up and protect you, but… but a piece of the stump fell on me… I… I shouldn't have agreed, I… I should have joined them… I… I hate myself, Mom, I hate myself! I want to die! I want to forget everything! I want to disappear…. Help me! Help me mom!"

The young Zorai sobbed for a few seconds, waiting for maternal comfort. Instead, a rough hand was placed on his bare shoulder and a hoarse voice answered him:

:''"It's too late Pü, I'm sorry. I tried to keep her alive as long as possible."

Pü gagged and turned his mask to Grandmother Bä-Bä.

:''"Too… too late? What… what do you mean, Grandmother?" ''he stammered, before looking at his mother. He had rushed at her without observing her first. Looï's mask was still facing the entrance to the hut. He passed his hands under its nape and made it turn to face him. It was so beautiful. So smooth. So cold. Too cold.

Pü screamed like he'd never screamed before. He cried like he had never cried before. He died ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times. If Grandmother Bä-Bä let his despair show, she never broke contact. She held his shoulder tightly and, without his knowing it, magically kept his mind from sinking for good. Minutes passed, and the screams gradually turned into moans. He had given everything. He had lost everything. He was an empty shell. Barely conscious. Barely alive.

:''"My child, look at me,"'' breathed Grandmother Bä-Bä as she gave him a final burst of vitality.

Pü turned his mask towards her mechanically, his gaze off. The witch, already very old, seemed to have gained several years at once.

:''"My last hour is near, but before that you must listen to me."

:''"Grandmother… Please… Not you… Don't leave me… I don't want to be alone… I can't…."

:''"I know Pü, but there lies your destiny… You are the new Black Mask, you are the Sacred Warrior. You will never be alone, for around you, whether you like it or not, the crowd will gather…""

With each of her words, the old woman grew in years. Under Pü's fingers, the skin on her hand seemed to evaporate. It had always been said that she was older than Zoran's oldest sages. That she was no more aging since much long ago. As if she and Death had been waiting for this moment forever. As if both had signed a pact, and that finally, the time had come to settle the score.

:''"The… The new Black Mask? It… It had to be Niï, Grandmother. But… But, because of me…."

:''"No, Pü. You have always been destined to become Black Mask, Niï was only your Shadow. A few months after his birth, your mother announced that he would one day become Black Mask, and also be the First Crusader. In reality, the dice predicted that Niï would die for him, like so many others. And one year before you were born, Ma-Duk revealed me the identity of the Sacred Warrior: the future child of Looï and Sang Fu-Tao, you. So, at their request, Looi met the Kamis, and a few months later, you were born, Pü. Tonight, the Shadows, as their duties have forever demanded, sacrificed themselves for the Black Masks."

:''"But... why? I… I don't want, Grandmother. I never believed in it. I can't carry this burden…."

:''"I know that, my child, I know it so well…. By my lie, I wanted to protect you. To protect us. But in the end, the fate Ma-Duk has in store for you seems inevitable…. By naming Niï as the future Black Mask and Sacred Warrior, I thought I could reverse the course of things, in vain…. You are a nice boy Pü. You are so good. So make me lie. Free them from ''Her''. Then free yourself from ''Him''. In the hope of Happy Days…."

:''"To... to free myself? The… Happy Days? Everyone is dead, Grandmother… Happy Days don't exist… This world is so cruel… I want to die…."

The tears began to flow down Pü's mask again.

:''"Happy Days for others, Pü, not for you. For the hominkind…."

:''"Grandmother, I do not...."

Under Pü's fingers, there was nothing but bone now. The gaunt skin had turned gray. Only her eyes, through her cracked mask, still glowed with life.

:''"Listen to me Pü, I have not much longer to go…. Don't mourn the dead, mourn the living instead. For this plague has not only affected our stump, but all of Atys…. No one could have predicted this cataclysm. Not me, not even the Kamis. Your father was mistaken, this event was not a kamic trial. My child, today the cards have been completely reshuffled…. This is a chance. A chance to fight the Sacred War your way…. Preserving your own free will. So take the dice, the dagger, the tebori and the amber cube containing the secrets of the Black Cult…. Take them and go find your companions of destiny…."

Dust began to fall from the witch's body and rise into the air like incense. Pü stood up and put his hand under his ancestor's head. Her tears fell on Grandmother Bä-Bä's decrepit mask and mingled with the ash. The flames in her eyes flickered, then faded.

:''"Don't leave me, Grandmother... I need help."

The flames in the grandmother's eyes flared up again, and she abruptly straightened her head. Her expression had changed dramatically. She seemed to be animated with a new vitality.

:''"Listen to me! You must find them. You must find the Fyros then the Matissa. Listen to me Kal! Find Damakian and Rory! Find them! Without them, you will not be able to fight the Sacred War!"

A chill ran down Pü's spine. That voice. That voice, that voice that had spoken those words. It was not Grandmother Bä-Bä's. The witch began to convulse and chant incomprehensible words. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets. Pü held her wrist tightly and put his other hand behind her head to support her.

:''"Kal? Pull yourself together, Grandmother, don't abandon me! I am Pü! Remember?!"

Pü tried to calm the old woman, but the trance continued for a few seconds before finally stopping on its own. Silence fell, and the dying, lethargic, homina stared into Pü's eyes again. She was eying him, dumbfounded. Drawing on her last bit of strength, she raised a skeletal arm and touched her throat. She whispered.

:''"This name… Whose is it? And these memories… are they real?"

Pü stared at her in turn, full of incomprehension. And without his knowing why, a stunned look appeared behind the mask of the venerable Zorai. She sank to the ground, almost smiling. Pü went with her and leaned toward her.

:''"Oh… I see… I see, my child…. Everything repeats itself, for nothing is certain…. He is groping…. He is doubting, himself too…. Courage, Pü…. Courage…. You will find a way, I trust you…."

All at once, her skin disintegrated into a cloud of ashes, leaving behind only a cartilaginous mask and a worn skeleton. A worn skeleton, the body of his mother and the head of his brother.
{{Couillard}}
:''"Boy, wake up."

:''"Pü Fu-Tao, wake up!"

:''"Damn it, I know you can hear me! Pull yourself together, boy!"

Pü opened his eyelids. With a blank stare, he swept the interior of the hut. No one was there. He was alone. He hunched a little more against his mother's swollen body, clutching his brother's bloodless head to his heart.

:''"If you think you can ignore me forever, then you don't know my tenacity! Get up and attend to the funeral rites of your loved ones. Your flesh belongs to you, you have the right to defile it. But you cannot dishonor theirs by leaving them to decay!"

Pü stood up and looked around again. He had heard that melodious, masculine voice before. That low, slightly haughty tone. That stern way of speaking. Severe but fair.

:''"That's it. Raise your head my boy, straighten up! That famous night, Life did not spare you. But Death did. And as shattered as you are, you don't desire it, I saw that in you."

No one. There was definitely no one. Pü gripped the horns of his mask.

:''"That's it, I'm going insane, I hear voices,"'' he thought.

:''"You're not insane, boy. Everyone hears voices. Every morning, when you wake up, when you are reluctant to leave your bed, a voice brings you motivation. When you set your jewelry, another helps you focus. Everyone hears voices. One's own voice, foreign voices, voices of gods… So what does it matter? What matters are advices the voice provides. And here I ardently advise you to stand up!"

Without understanding why, Pü obeyed. Machinically, he stood up. He was nauseous, his legs were numb and he smelled of urine and carrion. How many days had he been lying here? He was hungry and thirsty. Still holding his mask, he swept the large room with his eyes once more.

:''"You're not real, you're just a voice in my head!"

:''"Of course I am a voice in your head, I am not hidden behind a curtain! But tell me, why should that mean I'm not real?"

Pü remained silent for a few moments. The voice was trying to confuse him. There was a blank, then he resumed.

:''"Who are you, if you are real?"

:''"Ah, that's an interesting question. Although we met a few years ago, my memory will only come back to you when you don't need me anymore. In the meantime, you know what you have to do: prepare the funeral rite for your loved ones. But first of all, please, wash up!"

And again, Pü obeyed. The days that followed were a strange and terrible time. At times, aware of the cruel reality, the young Zorai went through depressive episodes, accompanied by panic attacks. During these moments, the voice was of considerable help. It kept him from sinking. These difficult episodes were interspersed with phases where, as if outside himself, Pü would mechanically get on with the task. He found and embalmed the one hundred and fifty-eight bodies of the one hundred and fifty-eight members of the tribe. He collected the one hundred and fifty-eight seeds of life and froze them in a single cube of amber. He carefully removed the one hundred and thirty-one masks from the faces of the one hundred and thirty-one adults before covering them with a protective layer of amber. He cleaned the village's places of worship, including the Ceremonial Square. He restored and straightened the broken totem pole, on which only the masks of those who had respected the precepts of the Black Cult of Ma-Duk all their lives were fixed, and covered it with new masks. His father's, uncle's, brother's, Grandma Bä-Bä's and mother's masks were on top when he was done, but to him, they were all heroes now. Finally, he put the tiara he had made for his mother before the invasion on her mask and buried the amber cube at the base of the totem pole.

When the fateful moment of the tattoo arrived, Pü was almost relieved. He knew that the ordeal would be painful, perhaps even more so than the growing of the mask. Perhaps enough, therefore, to make him forget, forever (or at least for a few moments) this terrible night. If only… He looked at his mask, still so white, in the reflection of a basin of water. Holding the tebori with his left hand and holding his chin with the one mutilated seven years earlier by the Matis general Sirgio di Rolo, he applied the tip of the tool, previously soaked in charcoal ink, against his thumb. The object consisted of a thin taleng rod to which a row of thin amber needles was attached. Pü carefully wedged the point between his thumb and chin. He was ready. He took a deep breath, and with a precise gesture, executed a sharp movement to perforate the cartilage. A powerful flash of pain crossed his spine. Removing the tool, he leaned over the basin: a new little black pigment now adorned the bottom of his mask. He still had so much to tattoo. So much to suffer. So much to forget. To suffer to forget. Yes, he wanted to. Just for that, he was ready to become Black Mask. Intoxicated with pain, Pü covered his entire mask in only a few hours, without ever stopping. He was thrown back into the twilight abyss that had revealed itself to him during the ceremony of his mask's growth, more than seven years before. The same bubbling void. The same liturgical chants of his ancestors. That same Black Kami, who was taking him to the depths of the world. That same sparkling heart, located at the center of Atys, which was irrigating with a primordial energy every chip of wood and piece of flesh that was within its reach. Ma-Duk, the unspeakable.

When he regained consciousness, his senses still numb from the pain, Pü did not even bother to consult his reflection in the basin. He gathered his belongings and, without taking the time to meditate one last time in front of the memorial totem, sealed the entrances to the stump with explosives, so that no one could ever enter it again. For the first time in many days, and for the last time in his life, Pü was to leave his home. At this terrible thought, his heartbeat quickened.

:''"Calm down, my boy, I'm here,"'' he heard the stern voice that had once awakened him from his desperate torpor.

:''"I don't know what to do…. Grandmother Bä-Bä, on the verge of death, even though she seemed to have fallen into a delirium, summoned me to find a Fyros and a Matissa first,"'' answered Pü in a trembling voice.

:''"Your ancestor urged you to travel, so travel! Westward, over the Great Mountain, to Trykoth, the magnificent region of the Lakes, whose waters stretch as far as the eye can see! Then further north on the coast, to Karavia, the Holy City, built on the site of the meeting between Jena and Zachini, the first king of the Matis! Then to the east, on the high green plateaus of the Kingdom of Matia, where you have already had the opportunity to get lost! And finally to the northwest, beyond the Munshia, into the arid boreal regions and deep canyons of the Fyros desert… But if I were you, I would start by visiting Zoran in search of survivors."

Pü, as if anaesthetized by the magnitude of the task before him, did not pick up on the heresy and focused solely on the end of the tirade. Zoran, the capital of the Zorai people. He wondered what had happened to the rest of his people. Zoran may have been protected from homin attacks by thick walls, but there was nothing to keep it from an attack from the depths. More importantly, if even the strongest warriors of her tribe had given up the ghost, how could the regular Zorai Theocracy guard be expected to have repelled the scourge? Hope was all he had left. Pü raised his head and looked around. The jungle was strangely quiet. No crickets chirping. Nor birds singing. Nor distant howls of predators. Only that characteristic acrid smell, which would forever mark his nightmares. Life seemed to have died out forever, and in the distance, monsters seemed to teem. Pü, his throat tight, tried to concentrate on something else:

:''"Why are you helping me?"

:''"Because, my boy, our souls are linked,"'' the voice answered calmly.

Pü swallowed.

:''"Still won't tell me who you are?"

The voice turned to laughter.

:''"If you haven't figured it out, you still need me. All good things come to those who wait, my boy."

The Black Mask breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to be alone. Everything. Everything but loneliness.
}}
{{NavChap|[[Chapter VIII - Lies]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter X - Heroes]]}}
{{Portal|The Great Library|Zoraï}}
[[Category:The Sacred War]]

'''Notes from the author''' 
''Hello dear readers. I am Belenor Nebius, Fyros of sap, author of ''The Sacred War'', scribe of the Disciples of the Black Cult of Ma-Duk and unfailing friend of Pü Fu-Tao. With this ninth chapter, the first part of our story ends. Opened when Pü was only a few months old, it ends with the cataclysmic event that ravaged the Old Lands in year 2481 of Jena., later known as the Great Swarming. I had to wait many years before Pü dared to tell me about his childhood. As you can imagine, this period revived painful memories in him. Indeed, while I have been able, during our discussions, to guess some happy, tender past moments, the violent events were the ones he was speking of with the most accuracy, hence the dark atmosphere of these early chapters. The following part will tell the story of the journey of the Black Mask, which is just as dark, his encounters with those who will become his allies or his enemies, and ultimately, with me. I will never forget this moment, which transformed me irreversibly. At this point in your reading, Pü is looking for a Fyros and a Matissa. The more erudite among you will have noticed the names Damakian, Rory, and even Kalbatcha. If these names probably do not evoke anything to most of you, their mention may have puzzled some of you. Let them know that I understand their feelings completely. They were mine when, already old and finally arrived on the New Lands, I met by chance some of these homins, who in many points, reminded me of the group that Pü, me and so many others had formed once. Homins that we had never met, and whose names had been revealed to us, long before they were born. Was it a coincidence, a cruel joke, or the very embodiment of fate? Even today, as I write these few words, I cannot say. But as you will see later, this strangeness is only one of the many that punctuated our journey, and which in so many different ways link our past to your present. Ma-Duk watches over each fragment of matter of Atys, and beyond space and time, weaves between them the web of his Great Work.''

Chapter I·VIII - Lies

2022-06-16T19:19:22Z

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''VIII - Lies'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2481'''</big></big></center>

{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|
The kinkoo was pacing back and forth. The cavity in which he had established his headquarters, several hundred feet below the Shell, had the capacity to hold dozens of Kitins of his size. Yet his followers were all cowering against the cave walls, fearing for their lives. Too long, the wait was being too long. It all began when the kipestas, sent to scout the future landing zone, came across a small nest of primates. The kinkoo had not chosen this broken stump at random. The disarticulated roots of the huge wooden frame made the Shell brittle. Although the scouting report had described those Ambigus as particularly skilled and tough, the Kitin general was unwilling to change his plans. Instead, he decided to strike a blow and launched a large swarm of of [[Kincher|kinchers]], aggressive Kitins spawned in large numbers and often sent out to scout at the start of a battle. And since then, nothing. No news from his troops.

So, the kinkoo was pacing back and forth, not hesitating to violate his unfortunate minions on the way. He didn't understand. The area of the Matrix that he had been assigned was, in principle, sparsely populated. It wasn't his choice, it was an order. He would have liked to storm the main nest in the area, but this glorious task had been assigned to a kinkoo devoted to the most ancient and powerful kizarak lord. A pretender to the throne. Yet he had dreamed himself winning the war many times, receiving the honors of his lord, the corpse of the enemy chief between his paws. Or better yet, the recognition of the Queen herself. But no. He had been assigned to an empty and quiet plot of land… At least, that's what he thought, before he lost contact with his troops. He could already see himself in horror returning to the nest defeated, broken by his inability to carry out a mission that his masters imagined to be trivial. No, he would kill himself first. Such a disgrace was inconceivable.

The kinkoo was still pacing. How long had he been waiting? He didn't know. He didn't know anymore. His cerebral ganglion, still hobbled only a few cycles before, could not, already, handle such an emotional load. After a whole life diluted in the collective consciousness, his nascent mind was still fragile and unstable. He could feel erratic electrical impulses running through his ventral nerve chain, impacting the movement of his legs and certain regulatory functions of his body. This, this was individuality. This poisoned gift, which he cherished as much as he cursed it. He tried to calm himself, but it only made him feel worse, and his senses began to blur. For the first time in his life, he was experiencing panic. He was losing his footing. Then he felt the chemical signal in the distance that he had been waiting for. A scout was approaching.

Too nervous to wait in place, the general moved toward the opening of the small gallery through which the kipesta was coming. Soon he felt the vibrations of the wings of the flying kitin, which entered the cavity a few seconds later. Aware of the seriousness of the news he was bringing, he dropped miserably to the ground and crawled toward his intended recipient. The kipesta hoped, by the display of its extreme submission, to escape the imminent and mortal anger of its master. From now on immobile, he offered to the general his back, and the olfactive message which impregnated it. The scout had been careful to describe there the defeat of the kincher battalion in detail, and knew what reaction his master would have upon decoding it. Of the lower Kitins, the kipestas were by far the most intelligent. Their proto-mind gave them the autonomy to adapt quickly in unfamiliar territory and a special ability to formulate complex messages to their superiors, mixing pheromones and variations in wingbeat frequency. The kinkoo lowered himself towards his minion and scraped at once and without care the armour to collect the information-rich mucus.

The kipesta flinched, and in an instant, the headquarters was overwhelmed with scents of rage. Several of the surrounding Kitins died instantly, overcome by the intensity of the odor charge, while others froze in place. Some even took flight, so panicked they forgot flight was their death warrant. Furious as he had never imagined he could be, the kinkoo swept the kipesta with one blow of its paw. The scout was propelled to the other end of the cave and crashed into the shell of a kinrey. The tetany added to the corpulence, the royal soldier did not flinch under the shock, while the unfortunate messenger was collapsing on the ground. He had just broken a wing, but his life was safe.

The warlord was fulminating, his body trembling. There was worse than defeat, there was humiliation. His battalion had been wiped out, and almost no Ambigu had been killed. How could this be? Yes, these primates had mastered a form of power reminiscent that of the Primessences. Yes, their interchangeable limbs were reminiscent those of the Steriles. But the power of these mythical entities was said to be out of all proportion to those of these frail, soft-fleshed creatures. Had he been lied to? No, comparing the respective powers was irrelevant. It was not their individual strength that the kinkoo had underestimated in the small bipeds, but that of the group. According to the data collected on the kipesta, the primates had as good as sensed the nature of the Kitins' attack the nature of the Kitins' attack and accordingly developed a defensive strategy to counter it. When applied with a high degree of coordination, this strategy had enabled them to repel the wave after wave of kinchers that the kinkoo naively sent out.

Strangely, this report was nothing like any of the previous ones, where the species was consistently described as particularly disorganized and individualistic. Had the kizarak lords been mistaken, or worse, had they been duped by the enemy? Was this nest simply made up of particularly bright individuals, or was there a guiding entity, akin to a Queen Kitin, controlling the species in the shadows? Whatever the answer to these questions, these creatures posed a danger to the Burning Swarm's plans, and for the kinkoo, that meant only one thing: he had to get there to eradicate the threat, and report what he would discover to his superiors. A new wave of effluvia invaded the space, and his minions, until then paralyzed, activated themselves in all haste, following the new olfactory instructions of their master. Yes, he had made the mistake of underestimating these puny creatures. But what about them? After their stunning victory, did they view themselves as safe from defeat? Did they think the Kitins were stupid beings? The kinkoo hoped so. Because the more stunned they would be, the more complete their debacle would be. He meant to take revenge, to humiliate them. To wash away the affront he had suffered with their blood, that was what he wanted.
{{Couillard}}
A few hours had passed since the end of the assault. Night would soon fall. Despite its size, the monstrous swarm had been entirely contained and annihilated. Yet the victory was not perfect. The huge stump that usually provided protection to the village had been deeply bruised and thirty-three of its inhabitants had died as a result of the many collapses it had suffered. They were toddlers and elders, too weak to flee in time, while those in charge of watching over them were too busy down below fighting off the bulk of the invaders. In Ceremonial Square, none of the soldiers saturated with life-saving magic, had perished. Such was the sad irony of war. While the many carcasses of the monsters had been mostly incinerated, some had been preserved for study. And while the bodies of the dead were being prepared for burial, a small group of experienced soldiers were sent on a scouting mission into the breach through which the creatures had entered the stump.

Pü was relieved to learn that his mother, assigned to protect Grandmother Bä-Bä, had had no trouble getting rid of the few creatures that had managed to approach them. However, he had not yet had the opportunity to see her again, as there was so much to do in the field of ruins that the village had become. And it is while he was busy, like many others, reducing to ashes a heap of chitinous remains, that he was called by Niï :

:''"Pü! Don't you think that Pia and her scouts are taking a long time to come back ? They should already have been back a while ago. I was with father just now… He's getting anxious."

The young Zorai glanced toward the Ceremonial Square below, where his father was talking with his Uncle Ke'val in front of the now-cleared tear. Half-concentrated, he replied in a monotone.

:''"Those monsters smell horrible. If more of them were on their way, we'd already be aware, wouldn't we? Our warriors should be back soon, don't worry."

It was a logical answer. Well… the first one that came to his mind, rather. For, in truth, he had not paid much attention to the question that showed his brother's concern. He was thinking of something else. He was thinking about their mother. No matter how much he had been told that she was well, he would have wanted to make sure for himself. Sometimes he looked up to the upper levels of the stump, hoping to see Looï among the villagers busy erasing the scars of the battle. But Without success: at no time did he see passing the figure he knew by heart.

:''"I hope you are right. In any case, father is asking for you,"'' replied his brother.

Pü took off his pair of magic amplifiers, blew out the film of ash that had settled on them and tied them to his belt. He headed with his brother to the Ceremonial Square and jumped into the pit. Seeing it thus deprived of its ancestral totem, now broken, did not leave him indifferent. Sang Fu-Tao, her father, turned to them:

:''"Ke'val and I are worried about the squad we sent to scout the gallery. They should have been back long ago. The orders were very clear and Pia is not in the habit of disobeying them."

Other warriors gathered around the four Zorais.

:''"But father, by sending more soldiers across the rift, aren't we risking the same thing?"'' objected Niï.

The Black Mask nodded sternly.

:''"That's why we're going to form a chain to go search them while minimizing the risks."

The Black Mask detailed the strategy to his soldiers. And just as he was about to finish his presentation, a noise echoed through the gallery. In a split second, the Zorais drew their weapons and took up their positions, ready to intervene. A deathly silence filled the pit. The soldiers focused all their senses on the dark hole from which the monsters had emerged the first time, and where they now hoped to see their comrades reappear. Pü swallowed. He heard nothing, saw nothing and smelled nothing.

:''"That's right, I can't smell anything,"'' he thought.

This thought, however banal, resonated intensely in his mind. As he had reminded his brother earlier, these creatures exhaled a pestilential smell. It was mainly thanks to this that their assault had been so masterfully countered. Their stench had betrayed their approach and allowed the tribe to mount a major defense. He didn't smell anything, so why panic? He didn't know, and yet the mental echo didn't falter. There was something else, lurking in the shadows. An insidious answer, ready to pop up at any moment.

:''"What if these scents had been emitted on purpose?"

At this thought, his chest abruptly lifted. Time froze. With dry mouth, shortness of breath, and dilated pupils, he stared into the breach. Some animals were capable of producing odorous exhalations at will, which acted as an attractant or repellent. Yes, that was it. The odor of these monsters was not their primary odor, they synthesized it as they pleased. Even more terrible was the thought that followed. If these monsters were there, a few meters away from him, hidden in the darkness of the tunnel, stripped of all scent, it also meant that they had voluntarily decided to change their strategy, and therefore that they were not the creatures without conscience that he had imagined them to be. Their suicidal stupidity was feigned, it was a lie. Pü wanted to scream something, but his body was as good as petrified. A projectile then shot out of the gap, waking him from his torpor. It bounced off one of the shields and crashed limply to the ground. It was Pia's head. Instantly, several gunners armed their launchers and pounded the tunnel. But it was already too late, Pü knew it. Distraught, he looked up at the village heights. The last of the starlight was disappearing behind the top of the stump, marking the beginning of night. Yet the sky seemed darker than usual. Black and shifting. Swarming. Full of legs and spikes. It was a diversion. This time he managed to shout:

:''"Up top! They're up top!"

The warriors looked up in turn, and the Black Mask reacted without delay.

:''"Soldiers, disperse, in pairs! Everything is on tonight! So roar your weapons, be at the top of your art! Give it all! Your soul, your heart! For Ma-Duk!"

Pü, flanked by his brother, was about to bolt to the top of the village, to join and protect his mother, as black creatures began to run down the sloping sides of the stump. But his father stopped them. Ke'val, his Shadow, had stayed close to him, facing the gap.

:''"Stay here my sons! We need you here!"

As the soldiers dispersed, a huge creature was emerging from the darkness. While its general look was reminiscent of the creatures of the first wave in many respects, there were many others that set it apart. Measuring about five meters, it was on the whole much more imposing. Its legs, much more thick and vigorous, also seemed much more dangerous and deadly. Instead of fangs, two enormous nozzles, oozing with an organic and smoky liquid, crowned the head of the monster. Her abdomen, wigh was for her deprived of sting, was not arched under the legs, but stood proudly at the back of the thorax. Its armour, of a jet black, was coloured of yellow by place. Drawing a pair of sinister eyes on its abdomen and swollen skull, the pigments formed patterns reminiscent of those, intended to ward off predators, that can be found on the wings of certain butterflies. If the giant insects they had defeated a few hours earlier were low-ranking soldiers, this creature seemed to be an elite soldier. The four Zorais backed away cautiously, without taking their eyes off her, while the crash of the first clashes could be heard in the distance. No sooner had she emerged from the darkness than a creature identical in every way to her followed on. Pü swallowed. How many of these horrors were they going to face? He got his answer when a third and final monster struggled out of the breach. When he realized that its legs were even more imposing than the first two, he understood why his father had ordered them to stay. Twice their size, the chitin colossus was an enlarged version of the two kinreys that had preceded him. In addition to the size difference, its carapace was painted in gleaming colors ranging from blue to orange, and its back was studded with sharp spikes. Positioned between his dark armored soldiers, about ten meters from the homins, his presence was all the more overwhelming.

:''"Sang, he's their commander for sure,"'' Ke'val said in a confident tone.

The kinkoo's skull swept the air from left to right, as if it were looking around. Yet, like all the insectoid creatures they'd encountered so far, it didn't seem to have any visual organs. Nothing except this huge pair of yellow fake eyes, both splendid and terrifying. When he finally turned his head towards the four homins, Pü felt nauseous. The air had just been suddenly charged with odorous effluvia. Beyond their intensity, it was especially their subtle multiplicity which upset the olfactory system of the young Zoraï. Because what he inhaled at the moment did not look like a jumble of odors without tail nor head. It was rather a coherent composition. Yes, the creature seemed to distill selected fragrances in the atmosphere, similar to the notes of a score… It tried to communicate! The nausea turned into dizziness. They had been wrong, all along. As usual, her father did not give in to panic.

:''"He's trying to communicate, he's obviously smarter than all the other creatures put together, by far. If we take him out, there's a good chance his army will be routed. Your uncle and I will take care of him. You take care of the two soldiers. Whatever happens, I ask you to stay together."

Pü put his gaze on his father's mask. He read there a determination that was second to none.

:''"We can't afford to make mistakes, you both know that. I trust you. You are my sons, my flesh. One day you will succeed to me and your uncle. But that day has not yet come. Cause today, Ma-Duk is watching us, Ma-Duk is testing us. He wants to make sure we are ready for the Sacred War! So make him proud, as you make me proud! To death!"

In a flash, his uncle tilted his shield backwards, while at the same time, Sang jumped on it with both feet. Holding the protective plate firmly with his left arm, Ke'val had only to infuse Sap into his right arm to multiply his strength, and to crush his hand on the back of the shield to propel his brother toward the titanic insect. The kinkoo, who did not expect that the homins would attack him while he was trying to communicate, and especially not from the air, did not react in time. Thrown like a projectile by his Shadow, the Black Mask hit the creature just as it began to raise one of its gigantic, sharp limbs, ready to strike. Quickly, Sang took advantage of the opportunity so offered to grab it and leap onto the spiky abdomen of the creature. As he drew his sword, Ke'val, who remained on the ground, began to cast neutralizing and debilitating spells, hoping to contain the chitin colossus. A new wave of effluvia, this time much more acerbic, invaded the space: incapacitated by the magician's powers and unable to get rid of the warrior who had just hit the back of its skull with his weapon, the monstrous insect expressed its anger.

Pü remained frozen for a few seconds. His father's speech never ceased to surprise him and occupied all his thoughts. Was he really proud of him? Since his return from exile a few years ago, Pü had been in public conflict with the Black Mask. So why this speech, why now? Was he really proud of himself? As if weary of the endless inner questioning the Zorai was accustomed to, the sky answered him with a dull roar. At least, Pü thought it was the sky. Raising his head to the heights of the stump, his heart heaved with joy as he realized that it was not: gigantic incandescent lightning bolts were sweeping across the space from the root on which Grandmother Bä-Bä's hut was built; his mother was, at this moment, demonstrating how she was definitely the most powerful individual of the tribe. It was taking only a few seconds for her sharp arcs of light to reduce to ash the black monsters, which, aware of the danger of their adversary, gathered in her direction to overwhelm her. Although Pü assumed that Grandmother Bä-Bä was magically supporting her mother, he also knew that she could not display her superiority indefinitely. Pü imagined running to join her, but his brother tapped him on the shoulder and gave him no time to think longer.

Especially since the two guards of the monstrous kitin commander had come dangerously close. Deciding to leave space for their father and uncle, Pü and Niï infused Sap into their thighs and leapt out of the pit in two jumps. The two creatures followed them, keeping their distance as if to gauge them. The two brothers stepped back without taking their gaze off them. Gradually, they moved away from each other, and started to go around the two brothers while advancing. Cornered, Pü and Niï stopped, back to back. The two kinreys were now circling around them. Once again, the way they acted had nothing to do with the first monsters they had met. The fight was going to be much more difficult than the last one. To defeat them, they would have to act in concert with extreme concentration. Their weapons had been enchanted since the beginning of the battle, and their pockets were full of Sap crystals to power them with magic. They were ready. Pü drew his short sword and dagger, Niï his hatchet and buckler, and they each charged at a creature. With his blade bouncing off the ebony carapace at the first blow he struck, Pü knew it would be a long fight. At the first outpouring of blood oozing from Niï's armor, he knew that they would not be allowed to make a mistake. The fight was promising to be grueling, physically and psychologically. First dodging, thanks to small leaps, the attacks of his opponent while watching his brother from the corner of his eye, the young warrior then sheathed his weapons to slip without delay his hands inside his magic amplifiers, without even lowering his eyes. No sooner had he donned them than the first bursts of life-saving magic shot out toward his brother. During the maneuver, and despite his skill, Pü was unable to dodge one of the many pawing blows that his assailant was trying to deliver: a sharp point pierced his breastplate to the flesh. The pain, although intense, was of short duration. Indeed, as soon as he felt the flow of blood, the healing spell sent in response by his brother closed the wound. After healing, the two warriors took up their weapons as quickly as they had sheathed them and charged at their prey again. The two brothers were experienced in this way of fighting, which was the pride of the tribe and explained the fear it inspired. No formation, no predefined roles. They were at once the shield, the weapon, and the cure.

As the minutes passed, the two brothers gained the advantage. Although the gigantic monsters were much stronger and more powerful than they were, they were not able to use the powers of the Sap to heal themselves. The homins would win by attrition before their reserves ran out. Pü was the first to finish off the creature in front, then joined his brother to help him finish off the other. Both exhausted, they returned to the pit where their father and uncle faced the commander of the insectoid army. They saw with horror that another monster, identical in every way to those they had just faced, had joined the fight. On the ground, the carcass of a second creature lay. It was not one, but three opponents that their elders had had to face. The two warriors appeared to be in an advanced state of fatigue and their armors had long since shattered. Their bloody bodies were covered with barely closed wounds. Although capable of practicing magic, the homins could not relentlessly channel the Sap that irrigated them . They were not Kamis, able as for them to manipulate the Sap of Atys indefinitely. Pü, seeing that the two elders were reaching the limits of what they could achieve, prepared to jump into the pit. But his brother blocked his way with one arm:

:''"I'll take care of it Pü."

:''"But… I can't let you go in there alone Niï, it's too dangerous! Did you see in which state are father and Ke'val?"

:''"It doesn't matter, go find Mom and Grandma Bä-Bä. Their safety is our priority."

Too focused on the fight, Pü had, for a moment, forgotten his mother. But several bearing roots had now caught fire at the top of the village. Fights were raging there. Was Looï all right? His youngest son's throat tightened.

:''"No! Father ordered us to stay together!'''' he said.

:''"Pü…. I know you're dreaming, like me, of going to check if Mom is all right. So obey me, please!"

:''"But, Niï, I am your Shadow, I cannot let you run this risk! When father dies, you will become Black Mask, I must protect you whatever the cost! The Prophecy says that…."

Without even looking at him, his brother slapped him hard. Pü froze.

:''"Seriously Pü, the Prophecy? This is when you talk about the Prophecy?! You never believed in that crap Pü, so don't talk to me about the Prophecy!"

Niï was still staring at the pit. He continued, and his voice went off the rails.

:''"Besides, no one ever really believed it…. Except father. Everyone knows it, Pü. Everyone has it understood."

Pü rubbed his mask and stammered.

:''"What is that? What… What are you talking about, Niï?"

Then his brother looked at him. His eyes shone with an unusual brightness and tears were streaming down his mask.

:''"I am not the prodigy they expected I will be. I never was. You were always far more talented than me. I will never become Black Mask, you will never be my Shadow. The prophecy associated with our name is a fable, Pü, the visions of Grandmother Bä-Bä are untruthful."

Stunned, Pü did not know what to answer. Then his brother did something he hadn't done in years. The last time, when they were not yet rivals. The last time, when they were children. He leaned toward him and pressed his forehead against his own.

:''"However, if there's one thing that's not a lie, it's the fact I love you, little brother. Mother and Grandmother Bä-Bä are the two most important people in the village, you know that as well as I do. Our entire destiny depends on them. And of the two of us, you alone can protect them.

Niï brought his hands down on his brother's shoulders, still speechless. He turned him around and pushed him hard on the back.

:''"I trust you. Go! Find them! May the Kamis guide your rush, Pü! Run there fast!"

Then, Pü jumped up, his mask covered in tears and his brain on the verge of implosion. A flood of memories and questions flooded his mind and time dilated. Her brother's words were bursting with hope, yet they sounded like the last ones. Was he acting fairly, or was he letting Niï go to his death alone? Allowing himself one last look, he turned around briefly. Niï was no longer there. He had jumped. Pü took a deep breath and resumed his run. He had to keep faith, that was all he had left. Then he heard a shout.

:''"No! Niï!"

The voice was that of the Black Mask. Faith disappeared and despair overcame Pü. Frozen with horror, he instantly turned around and put on his amplifiers. Damn him. He should never have left Niï alone, he knew it. Infusing all the sap he could into his legs, he pumped up his muscles and accelerated. The pit was only a few strides away, everything would be fine soon. But just as he was about to leap, the sky darkened. Pü looked up: a huge piece of fire-blackened bark was falling. He tried to swerve to dodge the impending collision, but too much accumulated speed caused his left leg to give way under the sudden change in direction. Pü collapsed on the edge of the pit and only had time to see his brother, his feet in the air, his body pierced by one of the huge black legs of a kinrey, before the black block hit him full force and his head hit the ground hard. Instinctively, he infused his skull with Sap to repair the trauma, but a black veil was already beginning to blur his vision. No, he couldn't go into a coma! Not now! He concentrated as hard as he could on the brain injury, the only point of light in the darkness. But then his senses shut down, one by one, and he sank.
}}
{{NavChap|[[Chapter VII - Slaying and Polishing]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter IX - Solitude]]}}
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Chapter I·VII - Slaying and Polishing

2022-06-16T19:17:13Z

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''VII - Slaying and Polishing'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2481'''</big></big></center>
{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|
Pü had just finished filing the bevel of the setting, everything was ready. Putting down his tool, he delicately seized the magnificent amber cabochon with the help of tweezers and put it within reach of mask to contemplate it one last time. It was made of a subtle mixture of three different kinds of supreme quality amber: Zun's amber, Soo's one, and Beng's one, all from the depths of the Bark. Satisfied with his work, he was about to seat it in a receptacle he had crafted the day before. This one was made of animal material. Unfit for consumption, these epidermal productions were generally thrown away after the butchering of the game. However, the skilled crafters knew of their incredible sap-conducting properties. For his creation, the Zorai had used a fragment of a [[gubani]] nail and a piece of [[arma]] thorn. The gubanis were large, gregarious, fearful herbivores with yellow fur, powerful rear end, adherent feet and two "fins" on their upper backs, improving their aerodynamics and speed. As for the armas, these heavy pachyderms with short legs, they were characterized by their greenish carapace covered with moss and equipped with spiny excrescences, their thick skin and the impressive row of horns of defense which decorated their head. But the two herbivores from which the materials in question came were not ordinary specimens. Before they perished under the blows of the hunters, they lived in dark and deep caves located under the jungle, in the Prime Roots, and dominated in strength and speed the other representatives of their species. Their appearance also stood out: gigantic, brightly colored, with lavish growths and a princely gait. When you came across one of these legendary creatures in the company of its fellow creatures, you had the impression of watching a king and his court. The components recovered from their bodies were in fact of an uncommon quality. The rarest ingredient was from the hoof of an equally amazing ancient [[rendor]], which lived in the boreal desert regions, and which explorers from the tribe had brought back from their travels. Rendors were stocky quadrupeds with a massive forehand, a small thick neck, and a large head covered by a leathery carapace that served as a helmet.

Concentrating, Pü made sure that the fossilized resin bead's girdle was at exactly the right height: there was no gap between the surface of the amber and the setting of the future jewel. Measuring each breath, he began to push the receptacle toward the jewel with a small sledgehammer, making lateral and opposite movements. He then changed the angle to bring the edges closer to the precious material, making slight movements from right to left, and finally pushed it up and down, enclosing the amber forever in its protective case. The craftsman contemplated his work, took a small triangle file from his apron and removed the marks left by the previous tool. He was describing arcs of a circle, slowly, but precisely, without ever scratching the precious cabochon. After a final examination, Pü took his chisel, ready to work the rim of the receptacle by massaging the surface backwards and towards the amber. And just as he was about to make the delicate move, his hand trembled slightly. The Zoraï bit his lips. He had almost damged his creation. From a simple amateur, such a scrape wouldn't have made a difference. But Pü was a master jeweler. Usually, he was not very demanding of himself and even less so of others. To many, he was a genius, who brought to the top of the art any activity he chose to practice. Unfortunately, being in the center of attention tended to make him anxious, so he preferred to do the minimum in public. But his relationship to jewelry making was very different. First of all, because his mother had taught him this craft from a very young age, but also, probably, because it required extreme delicacy, a trait rarely put to use during his uncle's martial arts teachings. Jewelry making was a solitary and silent art, which allowed him to forget for a while his warrior status, and thereby to symbolically oppose his father. He practiced it for pleasure and not for obligation. And for him, it changed everything, and motivated him unceasingly to surpass himself.

Pü placed the bead back between his fingers, determined to properly work the rim of the receptacle. Once finished, he would go and finish ornamenting the tiara he had been working on in secret for several weeks, and which he intended for his mother. This jewel was the missing piece. And as he was about to make his move, it was not his hand that trembled, but his arm: the jolt did not come from him. The Zoraï put down the unfinished piece with his tools and hurried out of his workshop. He took a few steps and raised his head, staring at the bark ceiling of the sky-tree from which the astral rays filtered. The ground shook slightly again. Until then, the huge felled stump had always been able to protect the village, both from natural threats and from homins. It was the refuge of many animal species, especially birds that nested in the highest strata, but also their. The tribe had settled at ground level, but had also built a number of dwellings on bark-sides and high roots, preferring however the ancestral building techniques' archaism to the pagan innovation of karavaneer magnetism. Be that as it may, for Pü, it was impossible to imagine that the rain tree would fail in its ancestral mission of protection. As if to prove him wrong, the ground shook more strongly, and the first cries were heard. Worried, he started to run towards the family home located at about ten meters, hoping to find his mother there. He tried to analyze the situation. The first hypothesis that came to mind was that of a homin attack. After all, their enemies were numerous. But the new, more violent tremors overcame this idea. As far as he knew, no homin had the power to shake the bark in this way. The threat seemed to come from below. The Prime Roots, under the Jungle, were made up of huge bioluminescent caves, real ecosystems inhabited by gigantic herbivores. Perhaps a herd of pachyderms was passing under the village? His mind wandered from hypothesis to hypothesis, trying as best it could to rationally deal with the facts. Arriving in front of his home, he hurriedly drew the drapes, calling out to his mother and brother. Not any answer. His mother was probably at Grandmother Bä-Bä's. And as he drew breath to start back up to the top of the village, his lungs burned. An aggressive toxic veil had just poisoned the atmosphere. Never had the young Zoraï smelled so acerbic an odor. This terrible scent announced the worst, he was certain of that. Squinting, he grabbed a sword from his father's rack and slipped out of the hut as quickly as he had entered it.

And the ground cracked. The shockwave, of an unheard-of violence, threw Pü to the ground. Mask against bark, he got up as best he could. What he saw then horrified him: the tremor had cracked the stump, tearing off in the process the tall root near the one where Grandmother Bä-Bä's hut stood. The huge mass of wood swept away several dwellings in its fall and crashed with a deafening crash into another part of the village. Screams came to him and a cloud of sawdust filled the whole space. Pü knew the Zoraï who lived in these houses, as did every member of his tribe. Praying to the Great Genitor, he hoped that none of them were home at the time of the tragedy. But the worst was yet to come. For he heard it. The dreadful hum of decline, the one that would chase hominity forever. Winged shadows several meters sprang from the lower levels of the village and the screams intensified. In the dust-darkened atmosphere, he could not clearly distinguish them, but as far as he knew, no bird of this size had ever been recorded. The Zoraï tried to stay focused on his goal and charged toward Grandmother Bä-Bä's hut. As if to prevent him from doing so, one of the flying apparitions swooped down on him and a huge spray of flames shot out. Pü narrowly dodged the burning spray, shocked by the vision that had just reached him. The flash of light had indeed allowed him to see the monster up close. This one was a disgusting reflection of the vile beasts that had haunted his childhood nights. A tapered and sharp body covered with iridescent scales and carried by six long translucent wings, four tubular and hollow excrescences connected to an ovoid skull, a foul hole lined with tiny hooks as a mouth, two pseudo-members welded together by a swollen gland, and finished with a proboscis from which oozed a smoky and odorous yellowish liquid. This creature was the abominable caricature of a dragonfly, that a crazy artist could have dreamed of during a feverish night.

Pü's heart rose and his neck sank between his shoulders. He felt every muscle in his body contract, his jaw tighten and a cold sweat run down his spine. It had been many years since he had felt fear. Every inch of his body was screming to him to be careful. To face this threat, three different reactions were programmed deep in his cells, selected by life long before he and his ancestors were born. Atavistic, prehistoric reflexes, anchored in his flesh until death: immobility, flight and attack. Pü was a born warrior, conditioned since his earliest childhood. So it was by pure automatism that his arm drew his father's sword and struck the horrible apparition. The amber blade struck the scaly armor of the kipesta without succeeding in piercing it, but ricocheted towards one of its stringy wings, which it sliced through. The creature gave a repulsive squeak and fled into the sawdust mist from which it had emerged. At that moment at least, fear had changed sides.

Pü wasted no time and resumed his run. The kipestas tried several times to attack him and the villagers he passed, but, more skilful than them, he easily routed them. The further he ascended the village, the more the dust cloud dissipated. What had been at first only distant glimmers in the darkness became fires. Some of the huts were already charred by the flames. Bodies too. He knew them, all of them. In the face of these visions, the young Zoraï managed to keep his composure. The urgency of the situation demanded to protect the living and exterminate the threat. The time for weeping and recollection would come later. As he stepped onto the floor before the one where he hoped so to find his mother safe and sound, the situation changed. Suddenly, the winged monsters gained altitude and flew beyond the top of the stump. The humming disappeared into the heavens and left place to the silence of desolation. Pü's hearing, which had become accustomed to the oppressive sizzling of the wings, became particularly sensitive to the other sounds around him: the plaintive creaking of the bark, the crackling of the flames, the heart-rending lamentations and the distant cries. For a brief moment, he was taken by the hope of seeing the nightmare end there. But his sense of smell sent him an opposite signal, a signal of death. The pungent odor that had poisoned the atmosphere since the invasion suddenly escalated. The Zoraï gagged and repressed a nauseous reflex with his hand. And as he was about to take the last walkway, the one that would lead him to Grandmother Bä-Bä's hut, where his mother probably was, someone shouted his name from a lower floor. It was the voice of Ke'val, his uncle.

:''"Pü, is that you? Your father and brother are looking for you everywhere! We need everyone, something even more terrible is happening. The start of the breach is by the Ceremonial Square, hurry!"

The Zoraï grabbed a vine and prepared to jump.

:''"And don't worry about your mother, she's much more dangerous than those creatures!"

Then he disappeared from his field of vision, leaving Pü in a daze. But what was he thinking? Of course his mother was far more dangerous than those flying monsters. She was the most gifted magician in the village, and that was why she was assigned to protect Grandmother Bä-Bä. Obsessed with his intense love for her, he had run to join her, when his place should have been with his brothers and sisters in arms at the front. How many of his friends could he have protected if he had been there? Pü cursed his stupidity, grabbed a vine in turn, and jumped into the void.

He soon reached the deepest levels of the village, reaching the floor just above the pit that housed the Ceremonial Square. His heart leapt when he saw the totem pole that usually stood in the center of the square split in half and lying on the ground. Zoraïs were moving the fragments. On one of the walls of the pit, a huge smoking cavity disfigured the place. There was the origin the deep crack that had bruised the stump and caused one of the upper roots to fall out of the tree. It was from there that the creatures had emerged from his nightmares and invaded reality. Some of the masks of his forefathers, which had once covered the totem pole, still lay in the dust and wood chips. Pü crossed their empty gaze. That image was more terrifying than any of the horrors he had seen today. It was a horrible omen. Fortunately, someone snapped him out of his stupor before his mind could wander any further. Pü recognized him easily. A prominent musculature, much more imposing than his own, a mask covered with many esoteric symbols, much blacker than his own... It was his brother Niï, who appeared in front of him loaded with a set of pieces of armor of reinforced wood and braided straw, and started to dress him with it. Pü spread his arms and let himself do it not saying a word, like the child that he was still in front of his big brother. With a familiar gesture, he also unhooked the long sword from his belt. On the other side of the pit, he saw his father, busy talking with some soldiers.

:''"Here is a short sword and a dagger, the weapons you handle best. You'll also take the rifle."

:''"Are we sure there are others on the way?"'' said Pü mechanically, still disturbed by what he had just seen.

:''"Can't you smell the odor? It has got stronger. An even more powerful wave is coming. Once you are ready, we will go down to the square. The strategy is simple: our group will form an arc opposite the tear where the monsters entered earlier. For we will have to contain the influx, our goal will be to make sure that each of the assaults is aimed at us. I will command this front. From the top floor, we will have the support of father who will command the second group, composed of heavy shooters and spell casters. Their objective will be both to eliminate the threat and to lavish the necessary care on us. From there, they will also have a better vantage point to oversee the battle. Finally, we have coated the inside of the tear with various flamable oils. As soon as the monsters arrive, the gunners will relentlessly pound the duct. It might be enough and we might not need to draw our weapons. But let's not count on that too much. That's all you need to know. The rest you already know."

The elder hung a long, reinforced wooden shield on the younger's back and tapped him on the shoulder.

:''"I'm counting on you Pü, you'll assist me, as usual."

Certainly, their relationship had extremely deteriorated in recent years. Often, the two brothers did not speak to each other throughout the day, and met only in the dojo for the daily training. Often, Pü let Niï win: it was not necessary to frustrate the future Black Mask. However, Niï remained his big brother, and, whatever happened, Pü felt reassured in his presence. The young Zorai checked the straps on his armor and followed his older brother into the pit. His companions nodded to him, probably reassured to see the young prodigy among them. He positioned himself not far from Niï and felt the piercing gaze of the Black Mask on him. The minutes were passing and the smell emphasizing. Then silence fell. He was going to speak.

:''"Soldiers! Form up!"

In perfect choreography, the line of warriors subdivided into a sequence of pairs placed side by side. For each pair, the soldier on the right kneeled on the ground and firmly planted his shield in the bark, then the one on the left positioned himself behind his comrade and anchored his own shield to the one already embedded in the ground. Once the twin wooden plates were arranged in this way, the rifle barrels filled the gaps between them. This formation had proven itself during a multitude of battles. The tribe being sparsely populated compared to the other groups of homins living in the region, it had become master of defensive strategies.

Kneeling in the dust, Pü took a long look at the tear through the sight of his rifle. Near it, Pia, the tribe's best sentry, was half lying on the ground, her ear pressed to the bark. Her heightened senses made her an outstanding tracker, able to spot a herd of mektoubs from several miles away. Suddenly, she raised her hand. A chill spread through the line of warriors, which tightened a little more. Pü felt the muscles of his comrades tense and the supports correct. They were ready, no matter what. And things, indeed, were not going to go as planned.

:''"I think something is wrong!"'' shouted Pia. ''"I hear what sounds like galloping, but no buzzing of wings. The approaching creatures are moving along the ground at full speed!"

Pü swallowed and saw his comrades do the same. So the flying abominations that had wreaked such havoc were not the only monsters haunting the depths? Sang Fu-Tao, the Black Mask, reacted without delay.

:''"Stay focused soldiers! Nothing changes! If these monsters are related to the first ones, they too will look like gigantic insects. In this, their leg joints will probably be sensitive points!"

Pü instantly pulled himself together. His father was right, there was no reason to panic. As always, his experience was speaking. He had been able to analyze the situation in a split second while reassuring his troops. Despite his resentment, the young Zorai had to acknowledge his unparalleled leadership skills. But the Black Mask was not satisfied with a simple reassuring speech.

:''"My brothers, my sisters, who could imagine that such monstrosities could be the fruit of our beautiful Bark? Nor you, nor anyone! For I know you, just as I, have felt it: these creatures are not natural and have been conceived for a single reason. And that is? To put our Faith to the test, of course! And who is offering us this test? Ma-Duk himself! Yes, my brothers, my sisters, you have that understood! The time of the Sacred War is fast approaching and the Great Genitor wants to make sure that we are ready to march on the world to take it back in his Name! So don't disappoint me soldiers, don't disappoint our ancestors, who are watching us right now! There are some among them who would dream of living through the glorious events that await us!"

The Zorais reacted with fanatical exclamations, while at the same time the ground began to shake, signaling the approach of the enemy troop. A final shudder spread through the line of soldiers, which tightened a little more. Individualities disappeared and, body against body, sweat and breath mixed, they became one. An impenetrable wall, black and immense, ready to absorb all the horror of the world. Bricks, in this moment and forever united by the past history and the grandiose future that presented itself to them. Pü, however insensitive he was to the religious harangue, could not himself resist the force of attraction that the group exuded.

:''"Soldiers! Who are we?"'' shouted the warlord.

:''"We are the Black Warriors of Ma-Duk! We are his armed and purifying arm! We are the guardians of the True Faith! We are the scourge that falls upon the heretics!"'' the warriors chanted in chorus, as Pü murmured it with his lips.

:''"Yes, we fear no scourge, we are the scourge,"'' said the Black Mask.

The force of the shaking intensified and the unhealthy smell reached the limit of what was bearable. But at that moment, nothing could have made the homins and hominas of the tribe give in.

:''"Soldiers, here we are! The day of glory has arrived! Awaken the cruelty that sleeps in you! Today our blades will be sullied, our shields will be shattered! A great day, a red day, before the night falls! Gunners, fire!"

Pü barely had time to see the vile shadow crawling out of the tear when shots rang out above him and a shower of grenades fell on the enemy. The shock was terrible. Fueled by the oils, a gigantic spray of flames shot towards the top of the stump, shaking the ground and throwing a cloud of pieces of bark and charred carapaces with it. Protected by his shield and anchored to the walls of soldiers, Pü easily withstood the blow of the blast, of which only a few sparks came to lick his armor. Despite the power of the blast, he was able to make out the horrible, shrill sounds of the creatures caught in the bombardment. Many seconds passed and the cataclysm was unending. Ceremonial Square would be disfigured forever, a small price to pay for their victory. Moments later, as several gunners reloaded their weapons, one of the monsters managed to extract itself from the chaos. At five feet tall, it looked like a monstrous version of a spider. A bronze-colored body, cramped, arched. Chitinous segment, curved, connecting a stinger and a faceless skull, like a curved blade, sharpened, designed to slice flesh. Hanging in its center, not eight legs, but six, articulated, and sharper than swords. On the upper part, a pair of serrated hooks, which probably served as weapons as well as manipulative appendages. This thing was no match for the flying monsters that Pü had confronted shortly before in terms of horror. It was a fantasized predator, carved out of Sap by a maniacal sculptor who would have gone to great lengths to remove any frills. With extreme agility, the creature shot at the line of warriors, snapping its hooks. But the soldiers were prepared, and from their cover, they strafed the hexapod. As expected, only the shots hitting the soft parts had any real effect. Dripping with milky blood, the monster shed pieces as it ran, eventually collapsing in a smoking heap before it had even traveled half the distance to its preys. The event happened several times and Pü was horribly surprised to discover that there were versions of the monster approaching three metres. But strangely enough, at a distance, they posed less of a threat. Their size made them slower and provided a better window of opportunity to shoot at their weak points. On a few occasions, monsters managed to reach the soldiers and were summarily executed. The strategy was always the same: absorb the impact of the attack with the shield wall, follow the creature's movement, use the energy of the rebound to push it back, take advantage of the imbalance created to open a gap and cut it to pieces. The apparent simplicity of this defensive technique was in fact the result of years of intensive training, and showed incredible cooperative work.

Minutes passed without any change in the situation. If the soldiers had hoped that the fight would end quickly, the onslaught of creatures did not end. Their numbers were simply unbelievable. The gunners continued to bombard the tear and the atmosphere had become almost unbreathable, between the acrid smell of the monsters, the fallout of dust and that of particles of melted flesh. The armor of each soldier was now covered with an oozing and smelly ashes film. But while the source of evil never seemed to run dry, the ammunition supply was beginning to reach its limit. Despite the tumult of the blasts, Pü heard his father screaming. He was as if possessed.

:''"Gunners, we're coming to the end of the last grenades, so get ready to put on your magic amplifiers! I want you to tap into the deepest of your being! This fury that lives in you, it is nothing but pure energy! Visualize it, tame it! Seize it, in the hollow of your hands, and forge it into a weapon! The most deadly weapon there is! The sharpened reflection of the soul of the Black Warriors of Ma-Duk! Show these horrors that even unarmed, we can crush them with our mere will! Tonight we will feast on the ashes of our enemies! So smile, shout your joy! For the Great Genitor is proud! Soldiers, be worthy of the look he has for you! To death!"

:''"To Death!"'' the galvanized pack roared in chorus, echoing the warlord's exhortation.

The bombardment gradually ceased, and soon the creatures flooded the pit. The tidal wave of stings and fangs crashed through the shields with staggering violence. The atmosphere, stained and darkened by the battle, shifted again as the first spells flew over the warriors: jets of flame, shockwaves, beams of electricity, tongues of acid, spurts of poison, and icy breaths. The air became charged with inflows of energy, and compressed behind his shield, muscles sheathed and feet sunken in sawdust, Pü felt the spiritual particles that made up his being resonate with those of his comrades. The sensation was increased tenfold as the line of warriors received healing salvos from the healers. The healing process of the soldiers, accelerated thousands of times, had erased the last traces of fear remaining in them. Every open wound closed immediately, every broken bone was instantly resoldered. As a result, even if every opening in the black wall allowed the monsters to reach the homins in their flesh, they never hesitated to fight back, carried as they were by a feeling of invincibility. Their souls remained out of reach. It took only a few minutes for Ceremonial Square to overflow with insects. Those who did make it to the floor above were instantly wiped out by the war mages. The carcasses gradually accumulated to the point where a mass grave several meters high covered the entire ground. Minutes passed and the monstrous wave seemed to subside. Yes, the creatures were fewer and fewer in number. Yet their behavior did not change. They charged at the homins, inexorably, as if there was still a chance, or as if that was all they knew how to do. Paws torn off, carapaces broken and flesh burned. Nothing could stop their crazy race, except the extinction of their motor functions. It was there, their weak point. As numerous and armed as they were, they were missing something. A spirit, a soul. Pü had observed the subtlety of animal behavior many times. And these monsters were not, they were less than that. They were like tools. Objects without consciousness. Therein lay the cause of their defeat.

Pü stopped at this conclusion. Yet he, the master jeweler, must have known that the responsibility for a failure does not fall to the tool, but to the person who uses it. It is by forging that one becomes a blacksmith and learning always involves making mistakes. His mother had nevertheless taught him that. A few hundred meters below his feet, the kinkoo knew nothing of the extent of his failure. But it was only a matter of time. For a kipesta that had been watching the battle was already scurrying toward the kitin general's headquarters via another network of galleries. If the emissary could not feel fear, he knew that the inevitable angry reaction his master would have to the news of defeat could cost him his life. But more than anything, he knew that the kitin general would then condemn these arrogant primates to a fate far more terrible than death itself: extinction.
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{{NavChap|[[Chapter VI - The Awakening]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter VIII - Lies]]}}
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[[Category:The Sacred War]]

Chapter I·VI - The Awakening

2022-06-16T19:14:55Z

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''VI - The Awakening'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2481'''</big></big></center>
{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|
Nearly ten meters tall, the kinkoo was moving briskly at the head of the procession. Setting the tempo and pushing aside the [[Kitin]]s that stood in his path in the galleries attached to the large tunnel he was following. The very tunnel that led to the center of the kitins' nest. There was no need to use his six powerful slashing legs, the sharp spikes that defended the dorsal part of his abdomen, or his acid-filled skull nozzles to do so. The clicking sounds of his mouth appendages, the pheromones he was infusing into the air, and his shimmering orange-blue carapace were enough to scare off any worker, soldier, or scout of the [[Kitin-nests|kitin-nest]].

To the common Kitin, the kinkoos were at the top of the hierarchical pyramid. They were both the generals who planned the colony's military operations and the personal enforcers of the [[kizarak]] lords, whose authority and power they assumed in their absence. Today was a special day, as the kinkoo was protecting his lord. Normally, this task was assigned to the [[Kidinak|kidinaks]], one of whose main duties was to secure the royal nests, from which their occupants rarely left. But today, the kizarak had to abandon the comfort of his confined den, exposing his beautiful yellow mouth petals and azure blue coat to the view of the lower Kitins. And outside the nest, who better to protect him than his trusted sword arm? So, placed second in the procession, the kizarak was letting the kinkoo lead the procession through the galleries of the kitin-nest, thus avoiding any contact with the plebs. On his flanks and behind him, the [[Kinrey|kinreys]] were forming a wall of their carapaces, thus isolating him completely. These Kitins looked like atrophied versions of the kinkoo. Only five meters tall, they had a black shell, spotted with yellow, and less sharp than their general's. For the kinkoo, such closeness to his lord was rare. Usually, orders from the latter were transmitted to him by [[Kipesta|kipestas]], iridescent kitins with six wings, an elongated abdomen reminiscent of the dragonfly, and a venom pouch located under the head and connected to a proboscis. It often happened that he did not see his lord during several cycles. If he secretly regretted this distance, he had never showed it.

The Kitins were eusocial beings with a collective consciousness and organized into a particularly strict hierarchy. Each of them occupied a specific role in the colony, one that often required little reflexive ability. Conversely, some key positions required a high degree of improvisation. As a result, the Kitins who held these positions often developed a more individual consciousness. This was the case with the kizarak lords, who ran the kitin-nest under the direct orders of the queen, and, less formally, with some of their most requested generals. Non-royal Kitins who were thought to have an individual conscience were monitored, in case any thoughts of secession crossed their minds. The kinkoo was one of them, and had recently awakened from the hypnotic state in which most of his kind would remain their whole life long. He had begun to become aware of his own existence as his lord delegated more and more tasks to him. Eventually, he had understood the thoughts that had been ordering his existence until then, and that he had been following instinctively since his birth, were not dictated by a higher being, but secreted directly by his central nervous system. The bicameral mind had collapsed, freeing the soul from the kinkoo and creating a place for the "self" next to the "we". This awakening had been particularly unpleasant for him, making a previously rigidly channeled flow of thought extremely complex. However, and contrary to what one could have believed, this acquired freedom had still reinforced his obedience: the proximity of his lord saturated his olfactory receptors with pheromones, and awakened in him strange sensations, new feelings, which more than ever gave meaning to his existence.

But it was not this proximity that was making this day a special one. The queen herself had ordered her kipekoos, royal kipestas that were more massive and colorful than their fellow kipestas, to warn all the authorities of the kitin-nest. The last time this had happened, a turf war had been declared, which had resulted in the destruction of a neighboring kitin-nest and the death of many members of the colony. So the kinkoo expected another major battle, and as he pushed back the workers who were blocking the road, he was already thinking about how to organize his troops. When the procession finally entered the royal nest, where all had been invited, as the first royal fragrances reached him, the kinkoo felt his shell stiffen. If there was anything that could stimulate him more than the smell of his lord, it was the smell of his mother. Surrounded by a security cordon of kidinaks, the Kitin sovereign, whose yellow and scarlet cranial excrescences were reminiscent of a crown, sat proudly on a huge vegetal carpet, which served as both her throne and her bed, and from which she never rose. However, the place was perfectly clean. A horde of workers was constantly working to maintain the queen's mattress, to clean her gigantic pearly abdomen, and to supply the enormous banquet that was constantly facing her. The banquet consisted largely of mushrooms and meat. Indeed, the Kitins took advantage of the dark and humid galleries that made up their vast territory to transform them into veritable mushroom beds, in which they practiced intensive agriculture. As for meat, it came from hunting animals, but also from breeding, which they practiced to a lesser extent.

The queen's nest was crowded with six-footed and flying Kitins, and the most important individuals were already all gathered. The high ceiling of the huge cavern was covered with glowworms, whose light reflected off the creatures' shells and set the whole space ablaze in a mesmerizing kaleidoscopic effect. The kinkoo moved to the front row and placed his lord next to the other kizaraks in the colony. As he was about to take his own place, a foreign smell came exciting his olfactory receptors. A kipekoo from an enemy colony darted into the nest, soon followed by other Kitins of his rank from several other kitin-nests. Instinctively, the kinkoo saw these intrusions as a frontal attack and stood up on his legs. But it only took him a split second to remember that these foreign kipekoos were actually royal ambassadors. Moreover, the queen responded to the arrival of the messengers with reassuring clicks, to calm her offspring and make them understand that everything was under control. However, a feeling of distrust pervaded the den. Under the orders of their sovereign, the kidinaks broke formation and the kipekoos passed one by one before the mistress of the place. With her massive pincers, she scraped the backs of the ambassadors to recover the olfactory messages that were deposited there.

The kinkoo was trying along to hide his emotions and control the fragrances he was giving off. It was no coincidence that the queen had ordered all of her most important subjects to assemble at the very moment the royal messengers arrived, he was convinced. For between them, the foreign kipekoos represented all the known rulers. While the kitin-nest authorities occasionally did business with other colonies, the kinkoo had never experienced such a gathering. But the myths, as memorized and passed down by the handful of conscious Kitins, referred to two great events that took place long before the queen was born, and which necessitated the formation of a huge Kitin alliance: the Burning Swarm. The first story recounted the war against the Primessences, strange entities that rose from the depths of the Great Egg, and whose intense, unblemished scent was shared, in a much more tenuous way, by all the creatures that lived there, Kitins included. Their power was so overwhelming that the early colonies had to put aside their rivalries for the first time. The Primessences had unique powers that allowed them to control the environment of the Great Egg, to change their appearance at will, to appear and disappear instantly, and to travel wherever they wished within the intricate maze of caverns. However, as soon as the first kitin-nest was invaded and the queen sitting in was eaten, the supernatural creatures headed back to the heart of the Great Egg, ending the conflict. Since this strange episode, the Primessences were showing a profound disinterest in the Kitins. According to the second story, their attention had turned to a greater enemy: the Steriles. These small, bipedal creatures resembled the bouncing primates the Kitins were so fond of, and had strong black shells with a unique, untold smell. Even stranger was the fact that they in no way shared the scent of the Primessences, which permeated every recess of the Great Egg. The explanation probably lay in the fact that the Steriles came from the Matrix, the uncharted territory above the Great Egg. While the Kitins were forbidden to break through the Shell into the Matrix, the Sterile had made many attempts to colonize the Great Egg. To do so, they had tamed gigantic black cylindrical creatures from their world, continuously digging, and burning everything in their path. It was after a major invasion that the Burning Cloud was reformed. Unfortunately, though small and physically very weak, the Steriles had two formidable upper limbs, which could spread death from a distance, and whose power was beyond the Kitins' comprehension. Fortunately, the Primessences did not seem to appreciate the presence of these extraneous invaders and for the opportunity became allies by necessity. But even though the Kitins had long been aware of the carnal bond uniting the Great Egg and the Primessences, they preferred to play it cautious and avoid contact with them. To date, the kinkoo had seen only one Primessence, during a military operation that had taken him away from the kitins' nest. This one was a black ball of hair, barely a meter tall, with two short legs and two long clawed arms, along with a pair of completely white eyes. As for the Steriles, he had never seen one. But after all, there was no evidence that these strange primates actually existed, and perhaps they were merely simulacra allowing to keep the Kitins away from the Matrix…

Lost in a stream of thoughts he still struggled to control, the kinkoo was brought back to reality by a relentless scent. The queen exhaled a scent of subjugation, and in unison, each of the Kitins present bowed, mandibles touching the ground. The kinkoo's individuality was smashed to pieces under the pressure of the psychic hold, and for the first time in a long time, he let go completely. The "self" faded away in favor of the "we". The queen straightened her massive body, and in a subtle chain of clicks, buzzes and scents, she addressed her court: the Shell had been breached and an unknown species had entered the Great Egg. Although, just like the Steriles, these strange ones resembled primates morphologically, they had by contrast much weaker interchangeable shells. These served to protect their flaccid skin, whose color varied from cream to ochre and to blue depending on the individual. In addition, their upper limbs differed from those of the legendary foes and were mainly equipped with sharp, piercing growths. As for their primary odor, it was particularly noticeable, reminiscent at times of that of the Steriles, while being impregnated with that of the Primessences. Moreover, these strange primates called upon a power reminiscent of that of supernatural creatures, even if on a much smaller scale. It was on the basis of this initial information that the name "Ambiguous" was assigned to them.

The arrival of these Ambiguous was confirming the presence of unknown species living within the Matrix, giving credence to the myth of the Steriles, and heralding the beginning of an era of violence. Indeed, the first action of the invaders had been to burn a small, isolated nest to the ground. No Kitin was spared, eggs included. The kitin authorities who owned the nest quickly retaliated, and the murderers were all eaten. Defying the age-old ban, the queen decided to send kipestas beyond the rift to identify the threat more precisely. Once returned, the scouts reported their discovery: the Matrix was a gigantic inhabitable world with a wide variety of unseen environments. Its ceiling, which seemed to be a staggering distance from the ground, changed configuration and color cyclically. At times, it had huge, moving amber spheres that radiated a blinding light throughout the space. At other times, it was studded with thousands of tiny gems, and the ambient brightness was reminiscent of the cold, familiar glow of the Great Egg. This world, rich in raw materials, was populated by a multitude of unknown species, including the one that had broken the Shell. The Ambiguous lived in nests of much varying sizes whose common feature was to be particularly disorganized. Individuals there went about their business in an irrational manner, and many of the actions they took did not seem to be helpful to the functioning of the nest they inhabited. For the Kitins, this was crucial and demonstrated the inferiority of the creatures. After all, the Kitins and the Primessences, the two most advanced species in the Great Egg, were collective beings, organized according to very precise rules and obeying forces that were singularly beyond them. In contrast, the life of these bipeds seemed to be governed only by individualism and chaos. Initially, the queen who made the discovery thought she would keep the secret and exploit the treasures of the Matrix for her own colony. However, the existence of a world beyond the Shell threatened the very integrity of the Great Egg, and despite the many turf wars that had never ceased, the kiti-nests knew how to put their rivalries aside when necessary. So the queen set out to warn all her sisters. After several reconnaissance operations and many debates, a decision was made: the legendary Burning Swarm would be reformed. Once the countries of the Matrix were conquered, they would be divided equally among the various colonies.

Finally, the bondaging fragrances began to fade, and gradually the kinkoo awoke. The queen had finished her general announcement and was now content to send chemical and auditory messages that only the kizaraks could understand. Around him, apart from the presence of the foreign kipekoo, there was absolutely nothing to indicate the historic nature of the moment. While some of the kitins left the nest in a row under their lord's orders, others waited patiently for instructions. As usual in the kitin's nest, everything was perfectly choreographed, no matter how big or small the event. Yet at the same time, the kinkoo was in deep internal disorder. Indeed, the comforting state of servitude had soon given way to the dizziness of free will. His mind was in tumult, shot through with new emotions. One, particularly strange, disturbed him and affected his body. The heat of his hemolymph seemed to have taken a few degrees, his heart rate was gaining in intensity and his carapace was crossed by slight tremors. In this moment, the kinkoo had never felt so awake and free. He dreamed of victories and recognition. For the first time, he was experiencing excitement and impatience.
{{Couillard}}
Kilometers above, Pü woke up just as the amber star disappeared below the horizon. The child had grown to about two metres in height. Seven years had passed since he had returned from his forced ritual exile. Seven years that had allowed his doubts to subside. Gradually, and in spite of the deep disagreement that opposed him to his father and brother, the young homin's convictions had begun to touch some members of the tribe: according to him, it was necessary to stop blindly following the precepts of the Black Cult of Ma-Duk, without disowning the Great Genitor. Moreover, despite his father's insistent requests, Looï and Grandmother Bä-Bä did not take sides and let things happen without intervening. To mark his opposition, the Black Mask had refused to allow his youngest son to receive the tattoos of merit which, in principle, came to complete the one received on return from exile by every Black Warrior. But for Pü, all that mattered little. He was not dreaming of the advent of the Happy Days, he was already living them, with his mother. For the young idealist, everything was going well, and there was nothing to suggest that under his feet, the most terrible enemy of hominkind was waking up….
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{{NavChap|[[Chapter V - The Seed of Doubt]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter VII - Slaying and Polishing]]}}
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[[Category:The Sacred War]]

Chapter I·V - The Seed of Doubt

2022-06-16T19:12:55Z

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''V - The Seed of Doubt'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2474'''</big></big></center>
{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator'' • ''Cheng Lai'SuKi, illustrator''|
Pü was finally free. Free to go home to his loved ones. Unfortunately, the fight had not left him unharmed, and the resurgence of pain shattered these positive thoughts. The young Zorai sat up and examined himself: his legs and pelvis were blistered, his skin was superficially slashed in many places, and a third of his right hand had been severed, deprived of a part of his little finger and of his ring finger. It is while looking at his mutilation that he realized that his fire spell had completely cauterized his stump. In addition, four of his ribs were broken. But in the end, all things considered, he was doing pretty well. And above all, his present pain was nothing compared to what he had experienced a few months ago, during the growth of his mask.

:''"'Ma-Duk offers us the ultimate pain so that no pain in the world can ever reach his soldiers.'"

As he struggled to his feet, he heard a voice. Pü reflexively tried to draw his absent weapons and got into a fighting stance, looking around for his new opponent. No one. The voice became clearer: Matéis. Pü understood that it came from the general, and that this one had thus survived. This did not surprise him much, however: he had aimed at the motor area of the Matis's brain, not to kill him, but to damage his motor system and thus prevent him from extracting the blade that prevented regeneration. Taking the life of a homin was difficult. And when it was impossible to kill his opponent with one blow, it then became essential to try to reach his regenerative abilities. So, if the Matis had survived, he was unable to regenerate his brain, and was therefore doomed to death. Nevertheless, Pü cautiously moved towards him. For this homin was by far the toughest opponent he had ever faced, except perhaps his uncle and father. As he passed into his field of vision, '''the Matis, who was looking at the daylight, the dagger still stuck in his skull, put the gaze on him'''. Blood ran down his face. He articulated with difficulty.
[[file:The Matis.png|right|400px|alt=… the Matis, who was looking at the daylight…|the Matis, who was looking at the daylight]]
:''"My boy, your last stunt was impressive,"'' he said, coughing. ''"I have never fought an opponent as agile as you."

Pü weighed him coldly without answering. He was congratulating him? He would definitely not forget this opponent anytime soon.

:''"Ah, by the way… Forgive me about what I said about your mother and your people. If I cannot condone your customs, I did not mean my insults. Zorais are not savages, just as Trykers are not slaves. And if you are indeed indoctrinated, so are we as much again. I simply wanted to provoke you… which worked out rather well."

Pü couldn't believe it. He had single-handedly decimated half of his squad and he would soon kill him. And yet, the general regretted his words and apologised.

:''"My boy, my seconds are short. Before I go, I would like you to grant two of my requests. You have won this duel, you are not compelled to accept. However, I ask you to listen to your heart."

Although his mother had told him about the code of honour of Matia officers, this was the first time Pü had observed its application. None of Matia's soldiers he had faced before had ever behaved in this way. The Zorai relaxed and knelt before the Matis.

:''"Tell me, I'm listening."

:''"Firstly, I would like you to spare and secure Sivaldo, the machine-gunner you knocked out. He is a brave soldier, like many others, and he is also my nephew. But most of all, his soul is particularly beautiful. For too many decades the Matis have spread hate, and suffered it in return. Our people need boys like him. Earlier, you offered me to run away, leaving him to you. If you need one life only, you've already got mine."

:''"I accept,"'' said Pü, who would have spared the soldier anyway.

:''"Thank you very much,"'' said the general, smiling faintly. ''"Finally, I would like you to let me sing for my wife and daughter. They are what I hold dearest in Matia. They have since ever been my reason to fight. It is for them above all that I train soldiers and protect the Kingdom."

Tears began to flow and mingle with the blood as he stared back at the day star.

:''"If you accept, I will be a fulfilled homin. Died in a magnificent fight under Jena's gaze, in honour of the hominas in my life."

Pü looked discreetly in the direction of where he had caught sight the Kami. It was no longer there. Deep down, he knew it was wrong to let an enemy utter a pagan chant. But by mentioning his wife and daughter, the general had touched him. How could he not grant his last request? Pü knelt down beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

:''"I am listening to you."

:''"I knew you would accept,"'' sighed the Matis before clearing his throat. ''"Close your eyes, let your mind go, and hear the song of the Forest. I am going to accompany it with my voice."

Losing all notion of caution, Pü obeyed him. It was true that in many ways the forests of Matia were full of wonders, which once the eyes were closed, were expressed as much in its fragrant scents as in the soothing rustle of its trees. The silence fell. The general waited for the wind to rise and began his song.
<poem>
''The Mother, I prayed to and fought for Her,
''Who as a child lulled me with sweet litanies.
''But at the hour of death, my little one and my dear one,
''To your sweetness I have returned.

''The Karan I served, and I stood up for him
''Who early rewarded my thirst for the best.
''But it is you, wife and daughter forever in my heart,
''Who unsparingly gave me the best.

''The Karavan I feared, and on their behalf acted,
''So much power did their black machines display.
''But it is fear of losing you that makes me despair,
''In the last hour that sees the life flee from body.

''The Forest I loved, and for Matia often,
''Left the artifices of a stiff Court.
''But if by some miracle another day were given me,
''It is with you both that I would spend my time.

''May Jena forgive me and his clerics curse me,
''May [[Aniro III|Aniro]] disown me and flatterers rejoice,
''May Atys swallow me up and forget me forever,
''I die full of you, my child, my sweet.
</poem>
Pü opened his eyes again, totally disoriented. His mask was streaming with tears and his heart was racing. He was dizzy and suffocated noisily. What was happening to him? Was he compensating for all the tension he had built up over those last few weeks? Partly, but not only. That song had completely upset him. It echoed so many things in him: his love for Ma-Duk, which although sincere, would never surpass the love he felt for his brother and especially for his mother; the extreme loyalty he showed to his tribe, whose customs he yet silently cursed; the fear of disappointing his father, whom he knew could deny him; and finally, the fear he felt towards the Kamis, who deprived their followers of freedom under the guise of grand designs. This stranger was in truth so little different from him. He was his mirror, and he had just taken his life. Pü clenched his trembling fists and tried to regulate his breathing. One night his mother had told him about a psychosomatic illness that could cause such symptoms in those who exposed themselves to powerful works of art. This song was one of them. It would scar him for life, he knew. Noticing his agitation, the general called out to him. His diction was getting slower and slower.

:''"Get a grip, boy, you have to learn to deal with your emotions. You are heading down so dark a road, one that you have been forced to take, and one that will bring you many difficulties."

For the first time since the beginning of the discussion, the Matis took a grave look.

:''"I have seen you fight, I have observed your way of doing and your look. You may well be an exceptional fighter, but you hate to kill. You are not one of those who get drunk on the blood of their victims. Every time you take a life, it is as if you were killing yourself. You are young, you can still take your destiny in hand and sail towards a happier tomorrow."

If only he knew, thought Pü, recalling Grandmother Bä-Bä's predictions.

:''"Come on…. I've made this moment too long…. It's time for me to join my ancestors,"'' he stammered, slumping onto the Zorai.

:''"Wait, tell me your name! And those of your daughter and your wife!"

:''"I am Sirgio di Rolo…. My wife's name is Virinia…. And our beautiful little girl… Trini…."

Pü held the general's shoulders, and laid him on the ground. He was dead. He closed his eyes and gently dislodged the murderous dagger.

:''"Sirgio di Rolo, I promise you to pray every morning for the coming year for the salvation of your daughter. I also commit to bind my soul to yours during my Return Ceremony. I hope you will give me the strength to pursue my destiny."

With these words, the child opened the small satchel that flanked his left thigh. It contained two thin, long instruments which he carefully retrieved. The first was a stem of [[taleng]], twenty centimetres long and one centimetre in diameter, one end of which had been cut to a point. The taleng, characterised by its green stems formed by a fast-growing, lignified hollow thatch, was found in abundance in the Jungle The Zorais commonly used it as a material for the crafting of utensils. The second tool, also made from taleng, was a thin, long pliers. Pü stepped over the general's chest and lifted his head with his left hand. With his amputated hand, he laboriously pushed the rod into the Matis's right nostril until he could no longer advance it. Then, with a well-felt palm strike, he perforated his skull. Blood began to flow around and inside the rigid rod, and the child closed his eyes. Although he knew roughly its location, if he wanted to detect his target accurately, he had to silence his other senses. It took him only a few seconds then to discern the imperceptible echo pulsing from within the Matis' skull, reverberating subtly in the surrounding spirit particles. '''Meditative, Pü gradually pushed the tube into the Matis' brain'''. Finally, as the taleng rod reached its destination, he opened his eyes again. Letting the general's head rest on the ground, he retrieved the thin pliers from his able hand and slipped them into the nasal tube. Although he had to concentrate again to make sure he didn't overshoot his target, a pulsation that was much more prominent than the others confirmed his success. Cautiously, the handle got back, and a small, surprisingly firm piece of flesh emerged from the tube clamped between the two prongs of the pliers. Pü looked at the cocoon of flesh to make sure it wasn't damaged. Inside it was the seed of life, said to be the seat of the human soul. The soul of Sirgio di Rolo. Pü had already been able to observe this fragile treasure, which really looked like a small grayish seed, only slightly longer than a few millimeters. Sirgio di Rolo was well and truly dead, yet he could still make out the echo of his seed of life. Pü had wondered a lot about this echo during his exile. He had even wondered if it could be a signal. A signal from the soul. But a signal to whom? To Ma-Duk, inevitably.
[[file:Meditative.png|right|400px|alt=… Meditative, Pü gradually pushed…|Meditative, Pü gradually pushed]]
A takeoff of javings startled the child who instantly came to his senses. Opening one of the small pockets on his belt, he delicately placed his macabre trophy in it. He then repeated the operation on the other three corpses, taking care to place the pieces of flesh in separate pockets. Lastly, he moved on to Sivaldo, the fainting artilleryman whom the general had asked him to spare. Like the other soldiers, he must have been about his brother's age. No doubt this Matis was probably considered by his people to be a model of beauty. He was tall and well-built, with long, bright blond braided hair. The harmonious features of his face seemed to have been drawn by hand, and when Pü lifted his eyelids to check his condition, he discovered crystalline irises. Unfortunately for the Matis, a long, deep gash now ran across his face. If the Zorai would be able to close the wound, he would not be able to completely erase the mark caused by the impact of the shield. He was indeed too weak, and had to conserve enough energy to heal his own wounds.

Once the Matis was treated, he walked to the bush where he had hidden his cubic basket. Pü gently extracted it out of the leaves and placed it on the ground. Satisfied with the location, he cautiously opened the lid, as if it sheltered a treasure. The basket contained an amber cube perfectly embedded in the wicker receptacle, which itself seemed to contain several dozen shapes. He meticulously retrieved one of the pieces of flesh that he had stored in the pockets of his belt, and placed it on the only visible face of the cube. He then had only to imprint his will on the Sap that irrigated it, while pronouncing the famous Stance of Daïsha, so that the bloody mass sinks into the amber altered by the enchantment and freezes there. The use of amber cubes as a storage system had been invented, more than a century earlier, by the famous Hari Daïsha. Now widespread in the Jungle, it was used to preserve objects, but also to store knowledge, magically. Pü reiterated the operation three times and took care to finish with the general's fragment. He carved the amber over the position of the latter so that he could easily distinguish it from the other pieces of flesh. When he closed the lid of the basket, he let out a sincere sigh of relief. For the first time in weeks, his next day would not be soiled with blood. After that, he patiently watched over the body of the survivor while waiting for reinforcements to arrive. He took advantage of this moment of respite to rest and dress his wounds. Although he repaired his broken ribs and closed his wounds, he gave up trying to regenerate his missing fingers: the mutilation left in evidence ensured him that this day would remain forever engraved in his memory. And when he heard the tumult of the Matis riders echoing in the distance, he disappeared into the darkness of the hundred-year-old trees.
{{Couillard}}
The journey back required several weeks, but it was smooth. Pü left the endless forests of the Kingdom of Matia and headed south, passing through the Zachini Scars, those dangerous and immense chasms that separated the forested highlands from the lush wet plains, and finally reached the Jungle, his homeland. He had no trouble crossing the Great Wall, which isolated the Zorai Theocracy from the rest of the world, and dodging the border guards, who seemed to rely a little too much the gigantism of the wall. True, the building was imposing. But, having climbed it several times, the young homin had a good idea of its condition: unfortunately, the lack of maintenance was seriously felt in some places. One day, enemies of the Zorai Theocracy would topple the rempart before Min-Cho or the Council of Elders could predict. The child hoped that when the time came, the Zorais would be ready to face the invader. During his entire return journey, Pü had been plagued by conflicting feelings. Ever since he had been forced to leave his village, his desire to return there as soon as possible had never left him. But if he had hoped to resume a normal life once he returned, he now could not help remembering the last words of Sirgio di Rolo:

:"You are young, you can still take your destiny in hand and sail towards a happier tomorrow."

Was he really able to regain control of his destiny? Could he stand up to the violent customs of his tribe? Would he be able to prevent his brother from leading the bloody expedition that was destined for him? So many questions that had tormented him since his leaving the Kingdom of Matia.

The amber star almost disappearing behind the north-western horizon heralded the dawn when Pü finally reached his destination. It had been many days now since he had passed the Ti-ain River and the Zoran capital, to continue south through the thick jungle. The second star, the day one, was just beginning to recover its brilliance, and swept its faint rays across the panorama that lay before him. The child had a movement of retreat. After living for several months in the heart of bewitching multicolored forests, he had forgotten the coldness of his world. At the top of the hill, the gigantic dead stump that housed his village stood eerily on the bark covered with stunted and blackened vegetation. The ancestors said that the stump was once the most imposing tree in the land, and that it contained exceptionally rare raw materials. Of course, the Karavan had tried to seize them, and the Kamis had violently opposed it. In a desperate assault, the Karavan agents had deployed a fire-breathing infernal machine. But not just any fire. It was a much more voracious and tenacious fire than usual, which had ravaged a good part of the region before tearing through the ground and continuing its course into the Prime Roots. It is said that even today the fire is still working silently in the depths of the Bark.

The child climbed the hill towards the disturbing tear that served as an entrance. No sooner had the guards recognized him than they bowed deferentially. Pü entered the stump and zipped without missing a beat to Grandmother Bä-Bä's hut. He moved by habit in the tortuous alleys of this strange multi-storey village, and instinctively dodged the roots that intertwined under his feet. The disappointment born from the comparison of the grayish landscape with the hearty forests of Matia had been quickly forgotten, leaving room for memories. He was born here. During his run, he came across several Zorais, who, once their surprise was over, all inclined their heads in a sign of respect. Pü returned their greetings, but avoided talking to them. In any case, he knew that all would soon know of his return. When he got within a stone's throw of Grandmother Bä-Bä's house, his nose pricked up and he saw purple fumes coming from the hut, a sign that the village oldest homina was preparing a concoction. He pushed open the first curtains, and before he had even fully entered the dwelling, the old homina called out to him:

:''"I was waiting for you my child, put the amber cube on the altar."

Pü passed the last cloth and saw Grandmother Bä-Bä, standing on a stool and bent in half over a large stockpot. Seeing her like that, crumpled, skeletal and twisted, Pü wondered at what age death became tired of waiting, and gave up trying to intervene. He walked to the altar and put down his basket. The ancestor was stirring a strange smelling mixture with a large wooden spoon.

:''"I'm just finishing concocting the drink for your Return Ceremony. Now go find your mother. She misses you terribly."

Pü obeyed and headed for the exit. However, he couldn't resist asking her a question.

"Grandmother, how did you know I was arriving?

Grandmother Bä-Bä clicked her tongue and Pü tensed up instantly. When he was younger, this characteristic sound was often accompanied by a cane stroke. The child's fingers hurt just thinking about it. With a sound, she had just reminded him that she was still the highest authority in the village, and that he should not disobey her.

:''"Go, I tell you! And if you want an advice, avoid mentioning precisely how the last encounter you made in the Kingdom of Matia ended, and the doubts you're facing since. The village might not appreciate it, and especially not your father."

Pü pushed aside the curtains that obscured the entrance like an automaton, disturbed both by the accuracy of Grandmother Bä-Bä's knowledge and by the idea that his father might learn the truth about the episode mentioned. However, the reason she had warned him was that she did not intend to reveal it to the Black Mask. Was she on his side? Pü didn't have time to worry any longer. No sooner had he stepped outside than he realized that half the village, including his family, was waiting for him outside the hut.
[[file:His father.png|right|400px|alt=… His father congratulated him…|His father congratulated him]]
The reunion went as he had imagined. '''His father congratulated him only briefly, but his gaze were filled with pride'''. His brother slapped him hard on the shoulder to show his affection, and then asked him how many victims he had made. For the future Black Mask, that was what mattered most. He was disappointed to learn that his cadet had only been satisfied with the hundred and fifty-one asked, while he himself had made almost twice that number in his time. As for his mother, she collapsed in his arms. Or Pü collapsed into hers. He had to make a considerable effort not to burst into tears in front of the crowd, and had to wait until he was face-to-face with her to let go completely. If his mother comforted him for a long time by covering him with caresses and soft words, she reprimanded him when she realized that he had voluntarily omitted to regenerate his cut fingers. Looï was a great healer, but once a certain period of scarring had passed, some wounds became permanent.

The very evening, the Return Ceremony took place. The entire tribe gathered in the Ceremonial Square where a drink was distributed to each villager, newborns included. It contained an alcoholic mixture of sap in which a cocoon of flesh had been dissolved. The Zorais placed in concentric circles and waited for Grandmother Bä-Bä to arrive, accompanied as always by Pü's mother. Although accustomed to the various rituals that often took place within the community, all held their breath when she raised her arm. The lights of the dwellings overlooking the square flyed in her closed palm, and a small sphere of light emerged when she opened her hand. The star flew up to the totem pole and flared, before entering the mouth of a mask. The orifices of the other faces then lit up instantly. The old lady let go of Looï's arm, which had been her support until then, and recovered the bowl she was holding out to her with a trembling movement. She stepped forward to the totem pole.

:''"My sons, my daughters, we are gathered tonight to celebrate the return of Pü Fu-tao to us!"'' shouted the old homina in a strangely amplified voice. ''"The young boy has returned stronger from his exile in pagan lands, and in possession of the one hundred and fifty-one requested seeds of life! The Great Genitor salutes his effort. But that is not all! Ma-Duk also entrusted me with something. We are now certain that the Sacred War will begin soon, and that it will be led by our children! Within a few years, we will set out. Guided by the Sacred Warrior, we will march across the world, hunting down the minions of the Karavan relentlessly!"

Pü stared at the beverage filling his bowl, as if mesmerized. The color of the liquid oscillated between purple and black, and small particles of reddish flesh floated on the surface. And then the grayish seed of Sirgio di Rolo emerged. So Ma-Duk had spoken to Grandmother Bä-Bä to tell her that the Sacred War would soon take place? Pü shuddered. He who had spent his return trip dreaming of another future, had just been coldly caught up in reality.

:''"Now drink the offering of Pü!"'' resumed Looï. ''"Feed on the essence of the Karavan's minions! They will give you the strength to accomplish the divine project in which we must all participate before long! And if the Great Genitor wills it, they will then be absolved of their sins!"

The Zorais drank the viscous liquid in one gulp and the parents took care of the youngests' dose. Pü swallowed the horrible mixture without reluctance, still lost in his thoughts. As his people began to sing in chorus the first liturgical songs of the evening, Pü looked sadly at the one he had just found, and might lose again in a few years. He hummed another tune.
<poem>
''May Jena forgive me and his clerics curse me,
''May [[Aniro III|Aniro]] disown me and flatterers rejoice,
''May Atys swallow me up and forget me forever,
''I die full of you, my child, my friend.
</poem>
A few more years of enjoying his presence. Then there would be only war, pain, blood and death. The death of others, his own, but maybe also his mother's. Whatever happened, Ma-Duk had to know: he would fight this battle for her first and foremost. Her life was more important than all the Kamis combined. And, much as Sirgio di Rolo, his last words would be dedicated to her.
}}
{{NavChap|[[Chapter IV - Sylvan Exile]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter VI - The Awakening]]}}
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[[Category:The Sacred War]]

Chapter I·IV - Sylvan Exile

2022-06-16T19:11:04Z

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''IV - Sylvan Exile'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2474'''</big></big></center>
{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator'' • ''Cheng Lai'SuKi, illustrator''|
[[file:Pu unrolled.png|right|400px|alt=… Pü was silently unrolling…|Pü was silently unrolling]]
Perched on a high branch of a large sylvan tree, '''Pü was silently unrolling his daily prayer'''. Above him, even closer, so far from the jungle, from its zenith, the day star was about to reach its full brilliance, and despite the thick leafy layer that separated him from the sky, the warm light managed to warm the young Zoraï's bluish skin. He had learned to forget Jena's astral imprint, however, striving to remember the cold and echo of the abyssal pits that dotted his village beneath the bark, and which allowed Ma-Duk to watch over him and his family from the heart of Atys. In any case, he had no choice: the heights were by far the most suitable place for meditation. On the ground, predators and patrolling soldiers were a constant disturbance, threatening his peace and preventing him from engaging in peaceful activities.

Thousands of miles away, his tribesmen were probably also finishing their prayers. Despite the distance and loneliness, Pü had tried to keep the same rhythm as before he left. At the first light of dawn, the village awoke and prepared for the routine work necessary for the smooth running of the community: maintenance, crafts, hunting, cooking, various meetings, welcoming the few emissaries and traders, etc. The goal was to make a complete and accurate assessment of the situation. The goal was to complete as many tasks as possible before the start of the long morning litany. This one was led by Looï, the mother of Pü, and ended with a collective meal in the heart of the refectory, a meal in which the whole tribe participated. After lunch, the Zoraïs trained in the art of combat for several hours. The teachings, intended for all, without distinction of age or gender, were very varied: hand-to-hand, white weapons, shooting weapons, magic. Indeed, the tribe was above all a clan of fighters, who sooner or later would participate in the advent of the Sacred War. Once the training was over, the families would gather for a meal and engage in various personal activities before going to bed. Pü had always attended evening classes with his mother, who taught him homin history, international relations, mastery of other languages and science. From time to time, he was accompanied by his older brother Niï. But most of the time, Niï took other private classes with their father, the Black Mask.

The child was jolted out of his memories when a sad sound broke the harmony of the trees' song. Above the treetops, the muffled roar of a Karavan flying machine had shaken the air and frightened away the javings, these strange creatures with jagged, greenish wings and whose long, black, shiny, barbed tongue was used to pierce their prey. Rising to his feet at full speed, Pü checked the strength of his lifeline and began to climb the last few meters of the large trunk that separated him from the sky. As his frail body pulled itself out of the ocean of leaves, he was forced to squint behind his mask, so blinding was the daylight. Not far from him, the infernal machine was losing altitude. The strange black matter which composed its hull reflected the bright astral glow of Jena, as if to taunt him. Despite this, Pü was able to identify the device. It was one of those small transporters that the Karavan usually used to harvest the resources gathered by its human slaves. Strangely, it seemed to come straight from one of the immense celestial roots that made up the [[Canopy]], that as yet unexplored part of the Bark, the word by which its inhabitants commonly referred to Atys, their world of living wood, composed solely of ever-growing plant matter. Its opulent valleys and lush hills were formed by colossal roots, on which the homins had established their civilizations. The water that filled the deep root cracks gave life to its lakes, lagoons and oceans. The most inclined roots formed its mountains and extended towards the sky in a slow and inexorable rise. Certain thermal anomalies even caused the slow burning of the root mat, giving rise to deserts. And deeper under the Bark were the Prime Roots, the most mysterious ecosystem in Atys after the one that was supposed to exist in the Canopy. It formed an immense labyrinth made of verdant and humid caverns, plunging into the bowels of the plant world right into its Heart.

Pü watched the Karavan machine dive at full speed. It was a safe bet that, as usual, a rendezvous point had been agreed upon between the Karavan and its minions, and that a convoy was on its way to deliver tribute. The young Zorai felt his heart racing. Four. He was only four short. Four, and he could finally go home for getting back to his loved ones. This was the perfect opportunity. He had to intercept the convoy before it reached the Karavan agents. Pü escaped from the naked day by dropping a few feet, and landed on the branch on which he had left his belongings. He gathered them up and packed them hastily, except for a cubic wicker basket, which he handled with care. This basket contained the fruit of many months of effort. He would never forgive himself for losing it or threatening its integrity. Sure he had not forgotten anything, he checked his harness one last time and dived. Pü sank into the green abyss at a rapid pace, moving deftly between the branches, and unhooking his lifeline from the pins he had planted during his ascent with an expert hand. He crossed for long seconds the multicolored strata of this continental forest of a thousand seasons, and ended up landing with grace on its leafy ground. Given the direction taken by the flying machine, it would probably land in the clearing located further north.

With convoys most often departing from Matia, the capital of the eponymous kingdom, it was a safe bet that the one hoped-for would take the wide, man-made trail that cut through the forest to the west. Pü was both impressed and terrified by the powers of the botanists of the Matis people. He who had seen with his own eyes the colossal root wall of Matia and the immense tree-clad complexes that stretched as far as the eye could see beyond the enclosure, and had been overwhelmed by such excess. But by doing so, and by trying to bend nature to their will, the Matis people were trying to upset the design of the Kamis, and by extension, that of Ma-Duk. The Great Genitor watches behind every piece of matter in Atys. Altering nature is tantamount to travesty his Great Work. Of course, like the mastery of magnetism and writing to the Zorais, the secrets of manipulating living matter, and in particular that of plants, had been transmitted to the Matis by the Karavan.

During his long months of exile in the Kingdom of Matia, Pü had come to understand how attractive the pagan mores of the Karavan indoctrinated peoples could be. He had been ashamed at these thoughts. But it had also given him a better understanding of the whole dangerousness of these demons come from the heavens. The young Zorai wasted no time. Slipping and jumping over the roots and ramifications of the sylvan, he covered the last few miles separating him from the path in no time. The few gingos who tried to pursue him during his crossing had no choice but to give up, so deftly did he maneuver in the dense tangle of this nature free of all matisse oppression. Arrived at the edge of the path, he hid behind a wide shrub, watching for the arrival of the convoy. Whereas he was preparing to give up and to look elsewhere for the trace of the Matis, he heard in the distance ordered noises of hoofs.

Pü swallowed. His heart rate was slowly starting to pick up. Never. Never would he get used to this sensation. His brother had however assured him that his first time would be kicky, and that the sensations felt would mark him for life. On the one hand, he had not been entirely wrong. The small hands covered with blood of a Zoraï exiled as soon as he was eleven years old, kneeling alone in front of the still warm corpse of his first victim: these images were haunting him for long weeks, day and night, to lose his mind. But this last ordeal also announced the end of his painful exile. Soon, he would be back in his country, in his stump, and could hug his mother again. This cheerful thought comforted him and helped him regain his means. The convoy was now emerging on the horizon. It was soon within observation range. In its center a sturdy, heavily laden cart was pulled by two [[mektoub]]s, placid pachyderms with nimble feet and over two meters in height, brown fur with gray stripes, but most recognizable by their long, powerful trunks and earless heads. It was driven by a Tryker, like many of those that Pü had so far come across. Indeed, it was not uncommon to find Trykers far to the east of their floating cities, doing thankless and poorly paid work in Matis land. Their curiosity and love of freedom made them excellent explorers and inventors, but their small size, childlike appearance and, above all, their peaceful and good-natured character had unfortunately led them to be enslaved by the Matis on several occasions over the past centuries. And, as Pü had learned from his mother's lessons, it was during the epilogue of the "War of the Aqueduct", only forty years before, that the Trykers had last suffered such slavery.

In 2435, intrigued by the discovery, to the west of their desert, of ruins buried under the bark, Fyros miners struck a vein of acid that set the entire region around the imperial city of Coriolis ablaze. The fire, which lasted several weeks, spread to the border of the Kingdom and cut the gigantic aqueduct the Matis abhorred. The aqueduct which linked the Desert to the Lakes region run by the Trykoth Federation, the ally of the Fyros Empire. Then the war in which the alliance and the Kingdom had been bogged down for almost a century and a half took a new turn. For the Emperor was forced to withdraw his troops from the Lakes, to send them to fight the fire that threatened his people and deprived them of water. Thereupon, taking advantage of the opportunity, the Matis army invaded the Lakes region, enslaved the Tryker people and took back the city of Karavia, which the Empire had stolen from them almost a century earlier. Karavia; the 'Holy City', reputedly built on the very spot where Zachini, on the coast of the Kingdom he later founded, had first met the Karavan and the goddess Jena. Karavia; the 'Unholy City', for Pü and his tribe, the most evil place to be found on the Bark… It was within its walls, however, that the treaty was signed the following year, which put an end to the War of the Aqueduct and freed the Trykers from the Matis yoke. But this last episode had left definite traces in the unconscious of the people of the Lakes, and many Trykers had remained in the Forest as servants… like the driver of the cart, obviously dedicated to the service of the dozing Matis on the bench beside him.

Pü, at the sight of the latter, immediately identified him as a cleric of the Church of the Light, which was called Herena. The Matis was indeed dressed in his ecclesiastical costume: a white amber crown and a long toga consisting of several large capes made of coloured feathers and decorated with braids of amber jewellery. The Church of Light, founded around the cult of Jena and placed under the aegis of the Karavan, was today all-powerful in the Kingdom of Matia, and particularly in the precincts of Karavia, retroceded to the Kingdom by the treaty named after it. It was under her influence that so many homins had been convinced of the demonic nature of the Kamis…

Higher up on the cart, perched on its tarped load, a Matis armed with a machine-gun stood watching the horizon. He was not helmeted and wore the ordinary garb of regular army soldiers: a soft, tough cactus-skin suit topped with pieces of white wooden armor. Another appeared to be sitting in the back of the vehicle. The Matis were a naturally slender people, with emaciated features and pearly skin. Aesthetes, refined and ambitious by culture, they kept reminding other peoples of their superiority, even unconsciously. Surrounding the cart, five knights served as escort. They were proudly mounted on [[capryni]]s, slender quadrupedes with thick, light skin striped in some places with blue, that wore a single antler and presented a long snout adorned with a singular goatee. '''All the soldiers were equipped with armor of strong white wood''' engraved with purple patterns, bulging at the torso and tightened at the waist. The pauldrons of the armor, as rounded as they were wide, gave the soldiers an imperious look. But the most astonishing thing was their helmet, made up of an ivory mask with an azure blue jewel on the forehead, and a solid and imposing headdress, itself adorned with white amber, and whose ends made of chitin fell down to the level of the ears, thus giving them the appearance of horns. One of the soldiers stood out from the others because of the fine decorations and engravings that studded his armor and helmet. The Matis was undoubtedly a senior officer of the Royal Army, sent with the Herena to represent the King to the Karavan.
[[file:All the soldiers.png|right|400px|alt=… All the soldiers were equipped…|All the soldiers were equipped]]
The child carefully arranged his basket in the center of the shrub and waited a few more seconds for the convoy to advance. When it was about fifty meters from his position, he calmly emerged from his hiding place and planted himself in the center of the road. Spotting him without delay, the look-out on top of the load sounded the alarm and the convoy came to a halt. The unexpected halt had the effect of abruptly interrupting the Herena's sleep, and he almost fell off the cart.

:''"Who are you? State your identity!"'' the look-out exclaimed in a powerful yet melodious tone.

In response, Pü moved forward a few feet, as the riders lined up their mounts and stood in front of the cart. The Zorai cleared his throat and got his best mateis. His mother had taught him the languages of the other peoples, with an emphasis on mateis, the one most used for international relations.

:''"I am an apostle of the Kamis, sent to the pagan lands to reveal to the misguided the existence of the Great Genitor, and to offer to certain chosen ones the Eternal Forgiveness. Children of the Bark, be happy to learn that by my doing, your sins have already been washed away. Before long, your souls will be purified and offered to the Black Warriors of Ma-Duk. Through them, you will contribute to their fight for the preservation of Atys. And if Ma-Duk wills it, you will witness the Sacred War and the coming of the Happy Days."

Despite all his good will, the young homin did not manage to infuse any passion into his homily. After so many months of morbid preaches, this ritual had become as tiresome as it was painful. Pü knew it, madness was waiting. The voices in his head were making them more and more present, and he was developing new behavioral troubles week after week. How many of his brothers and sisters had lost their footing while in exile? Many had never returned. Before he left, he had long judged them harshly, but now he understood. His vision blurred as a powerful headache began to manifest itself. He had to concentrate for a long time to extinguish the first mental murmurs. During these long seconds of absence, the Herena had joined the lookout on the top of the cart. Holding on to this one without care in order not to fall, he shouted to the cantonade.

:''"Ma-Duk? The Great Genitor? What on earth are you talking about! If we knew that savages of your kind worshipped the Kamis demons, we thought you had the presence of mind not to question the existence of our Mother, Jena! Does your infamy know no bounds? General, seize this heretic at once!"

Pü took again few steps forward, while massaging his mask.

:''"Be assured, then, that hidden in the heart of Zoran and behind their Great Wall, Min-Cho, his Council of Elders, and the entire Zorai Theocracy still worship your usurping goddess, he said wearily. Decades ago, the Kamis chose to reveal the existence of Ma-Duk to my tribe. Today, unfortunately, we are the only ones who recognize his nature as the Supreme Kami. But other apostles are working within the Jungle. One day, our Zorai brothers will understand the extent of the lies they have been fed since childhood, and if Ma-Duk wills, they will be forgiven for their sins."

The cleric's face turned red as he nearly fell from the effect of his gesticulations, which tangled the multiple capes of his outfit. Fortunately for him, the lookout was doing his best to avoid the Herena from humiliating himself by falling.

:''"Stop your infamies, savage! No forgiveness for your race of degenerates worshipping the Demons! Your skeletal faces are abominations, an offense to the Karavan! You deserve to be exterminated like all the primitives who defile Atys with their presence! Catch that savage for me without delay, that is an order!"

High perched on his capryni, the Matis general tried to intervene to calm the growing tension. It was without counting on the ardor of one of the knights, who obeyed the exhortation of the priest by dashing at full speed. Pü shook his mask to clear his last headaches and concentrated fully on the situation. From now on, everything was going to follow on very quickly. He had to silence his inner questionings. Already, the knight had crossed half the distance that separated him from the Zoraï. He held in his right hand a long hollow spear that ended in a braided amber collar. Near the horizontal bar, a handle allowed him to quickly loosen or compress the ring that ended it. This ingenious weapon was generally used to catch the future mounts of the Matis by the throat, when they were still in the wild, but was also declined to immobilize and subdue the homins without hurting them.

Pü's body was swaying slightly. It took him a few more seconds to synchronize the beating of his limbs with the gallop of the mount. When he was about ten meters away, the rider activated the mechanism of his weapon and brandished it, without slowing speed. The collar opened wide enough to encircle the masked head of the Zorai. No question, that he knew how to use his weapon. But that was taking no account of the agility of the young homin. As the soldier split the air on his right to seize his prey by the throat, Pü voluntarily dived in the direction of the attack while dodging it. Passing between the weapon and the capryni, he managed to catch the strap on the animal's side before even hitting the ground. Firmly gripping, he pulled as hard as he could, not to destabilize the speeding beast, but to throw his light child's body over the animal. He flew and landed narrowly on the capryni's hindquarters, just as the rider glanced back to see what had happened to the Zorai. As the knight met Pü's gaze, who was balancing on the animal only by the strength of his thighs, his prey, now executioner, quickly put his hands around his nape, and broke it with a sharp blow. The weapon of the Matis slipped from his right hand and broke on the ground. If Pü could not ensure his death, his paralysis was guaranteed. He let the armored body slump over him for it not to fall, retrieved the reins held by its left hand, slowed the pace and turned back. Back to his starting point, he stopped his run and jumped to the ground, to the left of the animal. The soldier's body collapsed heavily to the right. The helmet came off under the impact, allowing the Zorai to observe his inert face. '''The knight was a homina, and by that token, perhaps a mother'''. For a split second, Pü saw the mask of his mother superimposed on the face of the corpse. He closed his eyes. Three. He was only three short.
[[file:The knight.png|right|400px|alt=… The knight was a homina…|The knight was a homina]]
At the top of the cart, the cleric's face had changed from a reddish complexion to a much more livid white than usual. As for the soldiers, none of them reacted, shocked as they were by the violence of the scene they had just witnessed. Only the general had kept his composure. He moved his mount forward a few steps and turned back to the convoy.

:''"Giero, run as fast as your capryni can towards the nearest outpost! Brief the intendant on the situation and send us reinforcements. Do not underestimate the threat. Be'maty, get to the outpost too! You won't be able to keep up with Giero because of the loading, but your mektoubs are strong, so don't spare them. As soon as he has delivered his message, Giero will join you on the road. Vicho, stay in the cart! You will protect the load and the Herena with your life until Giero returns. Zani, Lichnini, Sivaldo, with me! Do not intervene until I give you the order."

The general's confident tone helped the soldiers to wake up from their lethargy. All complied without saying a word. The sentry jumped out of the cart and cocked his machine gun, the Matis sitting at the back of the vehicle replaced him at the top of the cart, which began to maneuver to turn around. Only the cleric, who was just coming to his senses, showed the intention of protesting. But the inquisitive look the general gave him dissuaded him, and his chalky pallor deepened. Usually, Pü left no survivors, for only the absence of witnesses ensured that he could continue to operate safely in these countries. Besides, he usually avoided attacking the regular army, whose every missing soldier was investigated, and preferred to attack the tribes of fanatics or the groups of bandits that dotted the kingdom. But this time, everything was different. When the firsts would speak, he would already be on his way back. He watched his four future opponents carefully, as one of the riders flung himself at full speed towards the southwest, followed by the cart. He had to avoid facing them all together. He waited a few seconds, enough time for the messenger to disappear on the horizon, and then started to move slowly. At the first step, the general shouted.

:''"Do not move on any further! For being guilty of the crime of voluntary manslaughter of a soldier of the Kingdom of Matia, you must appear before the royal justice. As our law requires, you will have the right to defend yourself during your trial. Now, cooperate, or we will be obliged to apprehend you by force."

Pü raised his hands to feign submission and continued to walk forward. He knew the Matis would not be fooled, but he had to gain a few yards. Right now, the biggest threat was the machine gunner. He had to eliminate him first. However, he should not underestimate the high ranking officer. Under normal circumstances, he would have been dealing with a simple squad leader, not an experienced homin of war.

:''"I will not repeat myself, freeze!"'' shouted the general again.

The Zorai would probably not manage to take another step before the general sounded the assault. He put his right hand behind his back and rested it on the small round shield that hung there. He had no right to make a mistake. If he missed now, the following would be much more uncertain. He closed his eyes again and let his senses fully open to the world. The direction and strength of the wind, the humidity of the air: important parameters to take into account to make the perfect throw. Reopening his eyelids, he turned his gaze to the gunman. If he was too far away to be sure, the position of his arms indicated that he was ready to fire. Pü took a deep breath and sprang into action. Faster than ever, he unhooked his shield and drew his arms back like a rope. It took him less than a second to validate his trajectory and propel his buckler. The projectile flew to the left of the path, giving the illusion of a missed throw. Pü took advantage of the general lack of understanding to dash off in the other direction. As expected, the gunner was ordered to intervene and engaged his weapon. '''With both feet firmly planted in the bark, he began to shoot at the Zorai with heavy fire'''. But the recoil of the weapon made it difficult to aim, giving Pü a few seconds before the shots hit. The child wiggled and jumped skillfully, trying to make it harder for the gunner to fire, as his shots became more and more accurate. At that moment, the Matis probably thought they were going to prevail. That was not counting on the impromptu curve that the shield's trajectory took. Skimming past the trees that marked the edge of the road, the shield deflected toward the shooter who was now positioned with his back to it. No one noticed the maneuver except the general, who was more astute than the rest of his squad and saw the deadly projectile as it was about to strike the back of the gunner's skull. He shouted something and jumped from his capryni. Quickly getting up, he ran towards the soldier. In response to his superior's shout, the latter had just turned towards the flying menace. Not seeing him react, the general tried to tackle him, but only succeeded in shoving him. The shield split deeply into the face of the dazed Matis who spun around and collapsed heavily on the ground.
[[file:With both feet.png|right|400px|alt=… With both feet firmly planted…|With both feet firmly planted]]
Pü stopped his gesticulations and caught his breath. If the gunner was certainly not dead, he seemed to be passed out, and therefore was no longer a threat for the moment. While the general lingered at the side of the unfortunate, the young Zorai mistakenly thought he would have time to consider his next move. But the two riders had a different take on that, and urged each other to attack.

:''"General, stay with Sivaldo, we are dealing with the masked primitive!"'' shouted the first.

:''"Yes general! So far, his cowardly techniques have only worked because we were not prepared for them,"'' added the second. ''"Let us avenge Tinailli's death! We promise you to honor him!"

The general protested, but the two riders flung at full speed toward the Zorai, who did not seem to mind. The last few dozen meters that separated them were swallowed up in a few seconds. But remembering the death of their first comrade, the Matis did not make the mistake of charging the young warrior. They stopped before they reached his level, jumped off their mounts and moved forward to catch him in a pincer movement. Judging by their respective behavior, the two Matis must have been inexperienced soldiers. Blinded by hatred and the desire for revenge, they did not know yet that they had just thrown themselves into the jaws of the gingo. In the distance, the general had just reached his capryni to join in urgency the two imprudents. Alone against two, the young warrior had all his chances. He had to finish it as soon as possible before the only really experienced soldier of the squad joined them. The Matis who had positioned himself at his back held a heavy, nicely ornamented amber sword in both hands, while the one facing him was armed with a long pike crowned with braided amber. Pü would have liked to read his face, but the imposing horned helmet he wore prevented him from doing so. Soon the Matis drew closer. Logically, the soldier in front of him would launch the first attack, giving the one behind him the opportunity to use a blind spot to attack. That's exactly what happened. The pikeman shouted and pierced the air with a precise gesture, hoping to impale the Zorai with a single blow. Without even moving his feet, Pü sent his right hand into contact with the spike while pivoting and shifting his pelvis to the opposite side. The protection of his forearm scraped loudly at the multiple sharp points. Abruptly twisting his wrist, he grabbed the long handle of the weapon. Instead of pushing back the offensive, he encouraged the movement, and used the momentum of the Matis to destabilize him while preserving the impetus of his assault. Deviating slightly the direction of the attack, and always without taking off the feet of the ground, he curved his back behind, and dodged the horizontal blow that the swordsman tried to strike him. He then had only to make the pike maintain its velocity so that its deadly points pierced the left thigh of the unfortunate swordsman, who collapsed under the shock while screaming. Carried away by the uncontrolled movement of his weapon, the assailant almost fell on top of the injured man. Pü seized the opportunity and helped him. Drawing his dagger with his free hand as the other dropped the spike firmly embedded in his comrade's flesh, he took a step back to regain his balance and with a precise blow drove his blade into the neck joint of the pikeman's helmet. A long spray of blood spurted out as he pulled his dagger from his opponent's carotid artery. As he expected, the soldier panicked and quickly removed his helmet to compress and heal his throat with the powers of Sap before his brain stopped getting blood. Leaving him no time to act, Pü grabbed the Matis' brown hair and delivered several sharp blows in his throat with his dagger. When the soldier's head finally separated from the rest of his body, the decapitated collapsed onto the spike, which sank even deeper into the bloody wound of the grounded man. Pü glanced back: the general would soon be here. He put away the blood-stained dagger, dropped his victim's head, and approached the badly wounded soldier who, now trapped under his comrade's heavy, still throbbing armor, was no longer able to extract the spike to magically heal his leg. The homin took off his helmet and started to moan. He must have been Niï's age, about ten years older than Pü.

:''"Please, don't kill me!"

Pü sincerely pitied him. He hated to kill. And especially when his opponents were not prepared for it. But now he had no choice. He was almost there, he couldn't give it all up now. The young Zoraï cleared his head again and ignored the Matis' complaint. He moved closer to him, placed his left foot gently on his neck, and crushed it with a heel strike. Picking up the sword of the now paralyzed man, he stabbed him in the throat, thus preventing any regeneration. One. He only needed one more. If the fainting machine-gunner was enough, the homin who was facing him from now on would surely not let him approach the wounded man without a fight. The general, who had indeed hopped on his mount to bridge the distance between himself and the Zorai, before jumping off a second time, was now heading towards the warrior with a decided step. Arrived at a few meters of him, he took off his helmet. For the first time in a long while, Pü had a backward movement. For a moment, the child thought he saw his father's mask. The Matis was in the prime of life, as indicated by the few wrinkles that disturbed the harmony of his facial features and the faint shine of his long ebony hair. But above all, it was the assurance and intensity of his gaze that reminded her of her father. Those piercing blue eyes were those of a determined man, ready to give everything to accomplish his will. Pü took a step back.

:''"It is not necessary for us to fight,"'' he said in a troubled voice. ''"I have accomplished my mission. Leave the machine gunner to me and go home. Please take my advice, and join your family."

The general placed his helmet at his feet and drew a long, wide, finely decorated sword. He gave him a icy look.

:''"I'm not going to be able to grant your request, boy. You have just killed three of my knights. Karan Domini, King and High Priest of the Kingdom of Matia, must know why the Zorai Theocracy trains child soldiers for assassination missions."

:''"I tell you again: my tribe and I do not depend on the Zorai Theocracy. Please, move away!"'' replied Pü, stepping back a second time.

The Matis stepped forward with determination.

:''"Were you forced to kill? If it's normal for a boy your age to learn to fight, he shouldn't have to spill blood so young. And certainly not under these conditions. A boy your age spends time with his friends, his brothers, his sisters, his father and mother."

Listening to the words of the officer, and on the mention of his relatives, the young Zoraï was seized with a fit of rage.

:''"Don't talk about my family! Run away, while there is still time!"

A cold smile appeared then on the general's face.

:''"I seem to have struck the chord. Could it be your parents who sent you so far from the Jungle to commit these murders? A mother is supposed to teach her children love, not death!"

A violent headache pierced the child's skull.

:''"'''I forbid you to talk about my mother!'''"
[[file:I forbid you.png|right|400px|alt=… I forbid you to talk…|I forbid you to talk]]
At his departure, she had cried. And though she had urged him not to kill for his own pleasure, she had still asked him to do it for Ma-Duk. Pü sincerely loved Ma-Duk, as much as he hated Jena. The Kamis protected Atys, while the Karavan destroyed it by plundering its resources. But was there no way to prove one's love for Ma-Duk other than by spreading blood? By her words, and her status as High Priestess, her mother approved the barbaric customs of their ancestors. Worse, she passed them on with fervor. But he, who until a few months ago drank every word his mother said, was now vomiting them. How much longer would he be able to feign his attachment to his tribe's values? And if Ma-Duk , forewarned of this last thought, was already considering that he was no longer faithful to him, could he ever become the Shadow of the Black Mask? Would his father execute him when Grandmother Bä-Bä told him the news? Would his brother and mother let him? Pü was reaching his limits, his brain was boiling. Feeling the Zorai flinch, the Matis pushed him to the limit.

:''"So the Herena was right: you are only animals! The homins of your people impregnate their hominas and turn them into egg-laying mothers, just good for producing child soldiers to be sacrificed on the altar of your hateful beliefs!"

With these words, Pü drew his dagger and short sword and ran at the Matis, screaming. He had given him the opportunity to flee, and he had not taken it. If he wished to die, then Pü would help him, as simply as he had his soldiers. It would only take a few seconds. It would all be over, soon. He would no longer have to endure this pain. At least that's what he imagined in his fury. The general's sword lit up and the young warrior was seized at the ankles before he even understood his opponent maneuver. The experience of the Matis had spoken, and the pride of the Zorai was going to cost him dearly. He had underestimated his opponent and rushed in blindly, without anticipating the use of a magical hobbling enchantment. Roots had sprung up from the bark and were completely preventing him from moving. Given the momentum of his run, Pü had nearly stumbled forward, and it was only just that he had managed to keep himself standing. Panic-stricken, he tried to extricate himself from the magical trap by slashing with his weapons the ramifications that were now running up his calves, forgetting the caster of the spell. Suddenly, while all his attention was focused on his legs, the sky darkened. His blood ran cold as he reflexively raised his head. Above him, the imposing armor of the Matis masked the light of the day: he had taken advantage of the Zoraï's panic to arrive at hand-to-hand combat. The backlight was stressing his ferocious look, which petrified Pü on all sides. The general raised his great sword in a plunging position. His white armor lit up as the light filtered in from the change in stance, and Pü had to look away to avoid being blinded.

:''"Let yourself go!"'' said the Matis with a solemn air. ''"The blow I'm going to deal you will inflict a critical wound. If you move, it could be your death. I will keep you alive until reinforcements arrive. Then we'll take you to Matia!"

If the general seemed confident in his ability to bring him alive to the Matis king, Pü would rather die a thousand deaths than become a captive of the Karavan's minions. He tried to struggle again, but the roots were now hugging his waist and beginning to creep up his belly. This was how his short life was coming to an end. At last, Grandmother Bä-Bä had been wrong. He who had grown up with the idea of becoming the Shadow of the Black Mask and dying among his own people protecting his brother, was going to die alone and far from home, with Jena's dazzling astral imprint as his last sight. How ironic. As the Zorai had turned his mask to the left so that he would not have to endure the mocking reflection of the cuirass any longer, he saw a strange light source beyond the edge of the road, under the shade of the tall sylvan trees. Concentrating, he could clearly discern two spheres of identical size. They were of a dazzling whiteness and were glowing all the more brightly because they were surrounded by darkness. No, it wasn't just the darkness... Pü made out a small black figure in the shadows. His blood went icy cold again. There were not spheres, these were eyes. The eyes of the Black Kami who had appeared to him twice until then. He was here. Ma-Duk was looking at him.

No, he could not give up. He was a Black Warrior of Ma-Duk, forged by the best fighters of the Jungle and blessed by the Kamis. As long as he could fight, he would not give up. Invigorated, his body reacted instinctively as the general brought his weapon down on him to pierce his left collarbone. He sent his right arm into contact with the massive blade to protect himself, and if his short sword did not succeed in blocking the blow, it nevertheless allowed him to deflect the attack, at the cost of a part of his hand, which flew into pieces. The state of extreme tension in which the young warrior found himself had the positive effect of making him completely ignore the pain. The sword scuffed him and planted itself heavily in the ground. Taking advantage of the second's respite he was given, Pü dropped the dagger he held in his left hand and manipulated the surrounding Sap to incant a spell with both hands. His pair of magic amplifiers hanging from his belt now entangled with the roots, he could not equip himself with them. But for what he intended to do, a crude spell should suffice. So '''he didn't hesitate, and set his body on fire to escape from his wooden prison'''. He managed to free himself from the partially burned roots just as the general snatched his sword from the ground. As he launched his second attack, Pü narrowly avoided it with a roll. The Matis followed up with a series of slashes and jabs, which the young warrior dodged with various acrobatics. Disarmed, he was not able to parry the attacks. If he was much more skilful than the general encumbered with his heavy armour, this one seemed much more enduring, and had not yet suffered any injuries. Even more worrying, his blows were becoming more and more precise. For the first time in his life, Pü was fighting a master of arms in a fight to the death. The experience of the Matis was speaking, and it took him only a short time to start anticipating the movements of the young warrior.
[[file:Not hesitate.png|right|400px|alt=… he didn't hesitate…|he didn't hesitate]]
The seconds ticked by and Pü was quickly running out of steam. Several times, the soldier managed to graze him, slashing his childlike body with the tip of his sword. Pü regularly called upon the powers of the Sap to heal his wounds and partially regenerate his stamina, but at this rate he would soon reach his limits. If he would have liked to be able to go behind the Matis' back to try to break his neck, as he knew so well how to do, the Matis would not let him have any respite. Without a weapon, he had no way to get out of this hopeless situation. While he was looking for a way out, he caught sight of a dagger hanging from the soldier's waist, hidden behind the ceremonial cloth adorning his belt. How could he not had seen her before? Pü cursed himself and imagined a plan of action, between two rolls and three contortions. He was going to go for broke. Out of breath, the Zorai waited for the perfect moment to act. Suddenly, he who was until then only backing away from the Matis's attacks, took advantage of a large strike to roll forward and pass under the sharp blade. His movement just finished, he pushed as hard as he could on his legs, and leapt on the left side of the soldier. If the Matis was disconcerted by the direction of the dodge, he reacted very quickly and returned a violent side kick to the young warrior. The child's body crunched under the soldier's heavy boot and crashed further away to the ground. Pü struggled to his feet and spat out blood. His opponent had just broken several of his ribs. But behind his mask, the young warrior was smiling: his valid hand was now armed. Although different from the daggers he was accustomed to handling, that of the Matis would do the job perfectly. The young homin took a deep breath and raised his mask towards the general. This one had turned around and was about to make a breakthrough with his sword to return to hand-to-hand combat.

:''"Give up my boy!"'' he said as he charged.

Again, Pü would have only one chance. And so far, luck had often smiled on him. Finally, maybe the Black Kami was actually watching over him. As the soldier rushed toward him, sword drawn forward, Pü waited for the right moment and threw his dagger in the air, far above him. As soon as he had done so, he infused all the Sap he could into his legs and made his thighs swell like never before. Drawing on the limit of what he could endure, he lifted a cloud of sawdust and leapt into the air with a superhomin jump.

Totally surprised by the nature of the attack and partially blinded by the fog of debris, the Matis mistakenly believed that the Zoraï was simply trying to flee. He understood too late the reality of the situation when he felt his sword suddenly become heavy on the front. Pü had just landed on the flat of the blade and was dashing like a tightrope walker in the direction of its bearer. Already very unbalanced, the Matis tried in vain to straighten up at the moment when Pü took again support on the weapon for another acrobatics. The young warrior landed this time on his shoulders, and propelled himself once more in the direction of the sky, forcing the Matis to put a knee on the ground. Pü must have been about four meters from the ground, and was flying over the cloud of dust that was beginning to dissipate. He only had to reach out with his good arm to grab the very dagger he had thrown away a few seconds before. Spreading his legs and looking down as gravity began to take effect, he put eyes on the general's face. This one had lost his terrifying look and opened wide the eyelids. Pü read admiration there. The child made another perfect throw and the dagger went straight into the skull of the Matis.

Still in the air, the Zorai prepared to receive himself properly, but his broken ribs prevented him from doing so. He collapsed heavily on his opposite side, not far from the body of the general, who was frozen on his knees in a strange position. His head was hanging back, facing the sun, and his long ebony hair was lifting slightly under the wind. Pü stretched out on his back and spread his arms. Over. His ordeal was over. He had won.
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[[Category:The Sacred War]]

Chapter I·III - Dying to Be Reborn

2022-06-16T19:08:00Z

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''III - Dying to Be Reborn'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2474'''</big></big></center>
{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator'' • ''Cheng Lai'SuKi, illustrator''|
Lost in the heart of the Fyros Desert, Pü ran at full speed across the night-cooled sawdust, fleeing for his life. While it was easy to defeat the [[gingo]]s, the long-snouted canines that hunted in packs in the heart of the jungle, they were no match for the gigantic feline that was chasing him now. But then again, he had never faced anything like the gigantic feline that was chasing him. Feeling its foul breath coming closer, he ventured to glance back. It was then that he saw the black [[varinx]] pounce on him, its mouth wide open. The Zorai dodged its attack with an expert roll and drew his spear. The carnivore had already repositioned and was about to bounce again with its agile legs. As it leapt, Pü tried to impale it with his spear. But with a deft claw, the beast threw the weapon away and it stuck in the loose ground. The child tried again to dodge the attack, without success. The enormous jaw of the beast closed with violence on his naked head. It shook him like a rag doll, while he struggled and screamed to death, feeling the predator's teeth crushing his skull.
{{Couillard}}

[[file:The bite of.png|right|400px|alt=… the bite of…|the bite of the icy water]]

:''"Pü, wake up, you must fight!"

The young Zorai got out from his nightmare. He had straightened up and his mother was holding him by the shoulders. Although he regularly fought a black varinx in his dreams, he had never lost the duel before. Covered in sweat, he instinctively brought his hand to his forehead. A small, rigid growth was puncturing his skull. His seed of life was about to grow. While all homins had a seed of life buried in their skulls, only the Zorais' one was doomed to grow like this, until it covered their faces with the mask that marked their passage to adulthood. Pü, only eleven years old, turned out to be an extremely precocious child, and to his great regret, even more than his brother. In secret, he had prayed to the Kamis for a long time, hoping to obtain his mask only after his twelfth birthday, age at which Niï's had grown. He did not want to draw attention to himself, and even less to weaken the brotherly relationship. Because Pü measured how much this relation had already degraded since, four years ago, he had torn off his bell to his elder then hardly seven years old. From that day on, Niï began to neglect him and to spend more and more time training with their father. Previously moderate, he had also gradually become more radical, following in the footsteps of the Black Mask. Thus, it was no longer a question of converting the miscreants: only the sacrificial execution could make them expiate their sins.

But what could the child, about to become an adult, do about that? If the Kamis had wanted his mask to grow a year before his brother's, then it must have been so. Besides, it would have been a lie to pretend that he himself was not looking forward to this day: Pü had always been anxious to growing up. Nevertheless, the pain that was currently splitting his skull was much more terrible than he had expected. Enough to make him regret having wanted this moment so much. The child pushed his mother away and got up hastily. Staggering, he helped himself to the wall to reach the drape of his room and reach the central room. His father and brother, already awake, were changing into their ceremonial outfit. Pü saw the confidence they had in him in their eyes. He had to face up, as they had done in their time. Yet, and he felt it again as he looked at his father's black mask, he would never be the equal of his first son in his eyes. He was doomed to grow up in his brother's shadow, which suited him completely. Pü knew the merit there was to occupy the position of second in command, and never had he envied his elder. The future role he would have to play with him was fundamental. Yes, he would become the Shadow of the future Black Mask, and he should be proud of it. For just as silence only exists in the face of noise, light is nothing without shadow. Pü fixed a few seconds the tattooed mask of Niï. Concentrating on this idea to drive out the pain, he tried to regulate his step. Unfortunately, he was crossed by an high sharp tear, collapsed on the family table and slipped on the hard ground.

:''"Niï, raise your brother!" shouted her mother, before her husband interrupted her.

:''"Don't do anything, Niï. Pü must pass the test alone, and you know that better than anyone else, Looï. No help, no matter how small, must be given to him."

His wife was about to reply when the young Zorai stood up.

:''"Father is right, I must do it alone. Have faith in me, everyone, I will know to do our name honor."

Pü said these few words while gritting his teeth, squinting to control himself. He left the hut without looking at his family and picked up the sacred basin on the ground, which was emptied and filled with water every evening in anticipation of the great moment. Undressing completely, he knelt down and poured the contents of the well over his head, as the tradition asked. Under normal circumstances, '''the bite of the icy water''' would probably have seemed painful to him. But as the burn of the shoot bruised his face, the sensation of the icy liquid was almost life-saving. Naked as a newborn and washed of his impurities, he was now ready to be reborn during the ritual. But he still had to survive until then. Still kneeling, the young Zorai opened the small chest put next to the now empty basin. It contained two tools that were essential to the sprouting ceremony: a ceremonial dagger and a whistler-stick. Pü put the whistler-stick in his mouth and struggled to his feet. Finally, with the dagger in his hand, he headed for the deeper place in the village: the Ceremonial Square.

With each of the child's exhalations, the whistle emitted a melodious and strangely evanescent chant that everyone within the stump knew. Whistler-sticks were sacred objects, carved from the femurs of tribe's ancestors. Their singing allowed the villagers to know that one of their own was coming of age, but also to communicate with the Kamis, who seemed to be able to hear them everywhere. More practically, the whistle also prevented the nascent mask from covering the Zorai's mouth, or even seeping into it, at the risk of killing him. Helping himself to the walls and barriers to progress, Pü advanced laboriously, his affliction preventing him from controlling his steps perfectly, between the moving slats of the suspended bridges and the tortuous alleys. Fortunately, he knew every corner of the village, and knew instinctively how to avoid the roots that sometimes intertwined under his feet. He could have moved around there with his eyes closed, guided by the slopes, the characteristic smell of each hut, the nightly cries of the izams installed in the vegetal niches of the bark ceiling, and the bewitching echo coming from the abyss wells that sank beneath the bark. If he usually cherished the night walks, the crossing seemed to him today infinitely long, punctuated by impulses of pain that started from his skull and split his whole being. One of them was particularly heartbreaking. His legs gave out on him as he took a hollowed-out staircase that led to a middle landing in the village. He hurtled down a steep slope, tearing up some roots in the process, and crashed to the ground. As he fell, the dagger and whistler-stick slipped from his grasp and fluttered a few feet away from him. Slumped on the cold carpet of lichens, he thought his head would explode, and put a fist in his mouth freed from the whistle to stifle his howls. Luckily, he was still alone, and no one was in situation to discover the pitiful state he was in.

[[file:What miserable.jpg|left|400px|alt=What miserable image was he giving to Ma-Duk?|What miserable image was he giving to Ma-Duk?]]
Driven mad by the pain, Pü was feeling his jaw joints distend, some of his teeth loosen, and the skin on his cheeks crack as he was managing to force his entire fist into his mouth. With his free hand, he pulled out a clump of blue hair, bleeding. His eyes rolled backwards as he convulsed on the floor. He could feel the bone material tearing at his flesh and growing against his forehead. How could he bear such pain? It was inconceivable, there was no chance of him surviving that. Letting baleful thoughts darken his reason, he was about to give up. It was then that he appeared in front of him, between two spasms: out of nothingness, a Black Kami was now leaning over his body. The protective spirit of Atys, whom Pü assumed had answered the call of the whistle, was in every way similar to the one that had appeared to him four years earlier, in his mother's workshop. Over the past few years, his mother's religious teaching had paid off. Pü had become a devout practitioner, who was feeling a deep and sincere love for Ma-Duk and the Kamis, and absolute gratitude with regard to them. A few months ago, his mother had revealed to him that she and his father had found it very difficult to conceive him, and that everything had changed after Looï had gone to meet the Kamis. A few days later, she got pregnant. So Pü was, more than anyone else, grateful to the Kamis. The child looked at the creature's arm, pointing in the direction of Ceremonial Square, and then at its eyes. Its big white eyes. His big white eyes that, empty four years before, were now filled with shame. '''What miserable image was he giving to Ma-Duk?''' He was besmirching the name of his ancestors. The normally calm young Zorai felt a fierce anger towards himself. He furiously tore his fist from his throat, knocking out a few teeth and expelling nausea in the process. Crawling piteously, he managed to retrieve his dagger and whistle stick, and when he stood up, the Kami was gone. Had he dreamed it, or was it a warning from the Great Originator? Ma-Duk's gaze was on him now, he could feel it. He spat out bile and blood, bit into the whistle, and resumed his descent.

Pü had almost reached his destination when he saw the first glimmers of light between the huts, now well above him. Finally, he climbed down a ladder, with difficulty, reaching the deepest part of the village. Here the light was scarcer, and the cold of the deep caves was rising to the surface. The Ceremonial Square was a large circular pit about twenty-five meters in diameter, five meters deep, and the bottom was covered with bark chips. Apart from the gigantic totem pole that occupied the center, it was completely empty. The structure was an impressive wooden pylon completely covered with Zoraïs masks tattooed with various pictograms. These tattoos represented the merit of the Zorai. The more a mask was tattooed, the more deserving the Zorai was. The ultimate tattoo consited of a total covering of all the others, the origin of the so revered Black Mask. Moreover, only those tribesmen who had respected the precepts of the Black Cult of Ma-Duk all their lives could hope to appear on the totem pole at their death. '''Surviving alone the growth of the mask was one of these precepts'''. With trembling legs, Pü knelt halfway between the ladder and the totem pole and stabbed his dagger into the ground. His vision blurred by pain, he lingered on each of the faces, invoking the names of his heroes, and seeking in their deadened gaze a way to lessen his torment. He had already repeated his prayer a great many times when the first member of the tribe joined him in the square, as the sharp growth was beginning to pass his eyebrows. Blinded by the cephalgias and the drops of acidic sweat that beaded in his eyes, the young Zorai did not succeed in making out the newcomer. He had to wait for him to speak.

:''"Don't be the cause of another dishonor, son. If I train you every day since you could hold a dagger, I have not only taught you to fight."

It was Ke'val, his uncle, whose presence the child blessed. He had managed to get to the square first and had dispensed his hidden advice in a low voice, so as not to risk being overheard. The young Zoraï had to overcome this ordeal alone. For the tribe, accepting whatever help was considered an act of weakness, which would prevent him forever from becoming a Black Warrior of Ma-Duk, and from one day joining the eternal totem with faces. For the other Zoraïs in the country, facing the growth of the mask without resorting to anaesthetic concoctions was pure madness. Understanding what his uncle was getting at, Pü sat down cross-legged and closed his eyes.

:"Black Warriors absorb their suffering and open themselves to pain."

:"Like bone, the spirit becomes stronger when broken."

:"Ma-Duk offers us the ultimate pain so that no pain in the world can ever reach his soldiers."

The young Zorai muttered these mantras over and over as he focused on his life seed, the heart of his torment. As his uncle had taught him in the past, he stopped trying to fight anymore, letting the waves of pain spread from his forehead to the extremities of his body. Was this the secret? Accepting pain as a friend? To become one with it? Yes, this was it. Dying to be reborn. Pü firmed his bearings and plant his fingers into the ground to keep himself upright well. Reopening his eyes, he lingered one last time at the faces of his forefathers, as the emerging mask began to obstruct his vision.

:''"Don't help me flee my pain, offer me yours. I will cherish it."

At these words, his ancestors came to life. Wooden bodies wriggled out of the totemic prison. One after the other, they fell to the ground like disjointed puppets, and once straightened, they charged at him, screaming. Pü spread his arms. One by one, the apparitions plunged into his forehead. Letting the pain consume him, the child lost all concept of reality. And as his eyes were about to be plunged into darkness, perhaps permanently, he thought he saw the large white eyes of the Black Kami who was atop the totem pole. Pü read pride in them and fell into a trance.

[[file:Surviving alone.jpg|right|400px|alt=Surviving alone the growth of the mask was one of these precepts|Surviving alone the growth of the mask was one of these precepts]]
Around him, his entire tribe was beginning to arrive from the heights of the village, descending the stairs and ladders in religious silence. They gradually placed themselves in a semicircle on the half of the square opposite the one where Pü was kneeling. The last to arrive was Grandmother Bä-Bä, helped by Looï. The old woman was the only one allowed to join the semicircle where Pü was. She stood between the little being and the big totem pole and raised a withered hand. This one contained her famous set of orange dice, which she used regularly to catalyze her power and accurately predict the tribe's future. At his gesture, the few lights still present at the level of the heights of the village flew in his palm, which had become the only source of light. A small phosphorescent ball was now floating there. The Zoraïs, although accustomed, never got tired of this bewitching spectacle. A few long seconds passed, silently, then the witch blew on the small star, which lit up with red and flew to the totem. Upon contact with the ball of light, the building instantly burst into flames and the empty orifices of the masks lit up. Grandmother Bä-Bä then began the ritual that each of those present had experienced as a child. She chanted dark incantations for the next few hours, waving her hands in a strange way, while her children hummed liturgical songs in chorus. Deep in the darkness, somewhere in the huge stump, shadows danced in rhythm. Farther into the jungle, emanating from the gigantic dead sky-tree, one could catch sight of a reddish glow illuminating the sky, and guess at sinister whispers in the wind's complaint. The Cursed Stump, definitely, lived up to its name for the ignorant. The hypnotic ritual seemed never to stop, and none of the Zorais would have risked interrupting it. Tirelessly, they stared at the young child, who, still in a trance, occasionally broke the monotony of the ceremony with his muffled cries. They thought they would lose him for good an hour after the ritual began, when, barely conscious, Pü tore the dagger from the ground and split his mask in line with each eye. But the youngest of Sang and Looï Fu-Tao held on. Everyone there in the pit knew what he was going through. They too had experienced it. All of them had been forced to dive into the abyss. And they had all come out of it greater.

A shrieking twilight abyss was sparkling before Pü's eyes. Again, the Black Kami emerged from nothingness. With its great white eyes, it stared at the child, then plunged. Pü had no choice but to follow it, sucked in by a force beyond himself. In full catch of speed in the bubbling vacuum, a development and an acceleration of the vague tonal system announced a paroxysm to come, indescribable and orgasmic. The speed became quickly vertiginous. Unable to breathe, so much the force of push was powerful, Pü felt the air to flay its skin and to infiltrate between its bones. The pain was unspeakable. He was in the process of liquefying, crushed by the endless increase in pressure. Gradually, he lost all consistency. It was then that, reduced to the state of a simple primordial soup, he finally felt it within him. The monstrous explosion of the liturgical chants of his ancestors, which concentrated in their immaculate sonority all the primitive effervescence of the Great Genitor, that which broods behind each fragment of matter. This resonance which springs up in rhythmic reverberations and penetrates attenuated in all the levels of being, and carries everywhere on Atys a terrible significance. Ma-Duk spoke to him, and the Kami took him to meet him in the glittering heart of the world. But all this disappeared in an instant.
{{Couillard}}
Pü woke up, sweating, panting, his senses disordered. He did not know where he was, nor why his body was suffering such affliction. Around him, strange misty shapes were slowly approaching. Instinctively, he looked for the weapon on his belt, but could not find it. He moved into a defensive position as his senses slowly regained their place. A body emerged from the fog, and Pü managed to make out its face. He would never tire of his mother's beauty. Deeply hurted, he was about to throw himself into her arms, hoping to find appeasement. But she stopped him and spoke in a voice that struggled to veil her emotion.

:''"Pü Fu-Tao, you have completed your passage to adulthood with success. But this ordeal was only the first. Let us know, do you wish to become a Black Warrior of Ma-Duk?"

The young Zorai, who had finally regained his senses, ran his hands over his new face for the first time. It was firm, bony and warm. In spite of the still sharp pain, he was amazed to be able to follow every lesser convolution of it with his fingers. This face was much more sensitive than the old one. Sensing that his answer was overdue and reading the emotional disorder in his mother's eyes, he stated without surprise:

:''"Yes, I do wish."

:''"Then accept your new equipment,"'' his mother replied.

Uncle Ke'val came and laid a suit of soft wooden braided straw armor at his feet, which he immediately put on. He also gave him a knapsack, a suit of soft wooden armor, a small, sturdy shield, a finely chiseled short sword and dagger, and a fine pair of magic amplifiers, looking like large, ornate gloves. In essence, like everything coming from Atys, homins were made up of spiritual particles, and irrigated by a primordial energy called Sap. Each homin was also able, instinctively, to imprint his will to the Sap that was irrigating him, in order to manipulate the spiritual particles that made him up, or those of the environment. Thus, he could modify their aspect, their nature, or their behavior. Here was the magic. Unfortunately, this required a high degree of mastery and consumed a lot of life energy. The amplifiers, because of their composition in conductive elements and catalysts of Sap, were invented in order to overcome the homin limitation, and thus to practice magic more widely. Pü stared for an instant at the present he was being given, then transfered his gaze at his uncle's mask. He read pride there. A year earlier, Shengi, his own son, had failed the mask growing ordeal. Seeing him mad in pain, Grandmother Bä-Bä had to intervene and interrupt the ceremony. By this failure, his cousin had denied himself a glorious future. Pü was particularly sad to learn of his mysterious disappearance some time later. Had he fled? Had someone gotten rid of him? The answer to these questions remained taboo. Putting these painful thoughts out of his mind, he quickly and silently equipped, then turned his gaze back to his mother.

:''"Here is an amber cube, take care of it. The tribe is currently composed of one hundred and forty-eight souls, and three births are to be expected in the next few months. You will thus have to donate us one hundred and fifty-one offerings. You may go."

:''"Thank you, Mom,"'' he replied, his voice trembling.

Unable to resist, Pü started a hugging motion. He had to embrace his mother. But, appearing from nowhere, his father interposed by catching his wrist.

:''"This is a bad idea Pü. Your mother's reassurance will not soothe you. You have to overcome these trials alone,"'' he said curtly, before being interrupted sternly by his wife.

:''"Sang Fu-Tao! The day you succeed in preventing me from embracing one of my sons has not yet arrived! So step aside!"

The Black Mask gave his wife a cold look, but obeyed her without no word as letting go of his son's wrist. Looï threw herself into Pü's arms and he held her as tightly as he could. His mask brushed against his mother's, and the contact, though imperceptible, gave him sensations unknown until then.

:''"This mask and these horns suit you so well, my son, she murmured. I have faith in you, we all have faith in you, you will return to us victorious, I have seen it. But I beg you Pü, I ask you one sole thing: what you about to do, do it only for Ma-Duk, and never for your own pleasure. Never forget. You can become a great warrior and still be my beloved treasure."

Shaken by these new sensations, her words, and especially the excruciating thought of abandoning her for so long, Pü loosened his grip and ran without a word to one of the ladders of the main square. He met the eyes of several villagers, including his brother. Curiously, he did not succed in deciphering it. It seemed strangely empty. Pü climbed in haste the different levels of the city without ever turning around: if he crossed his mother's face again, he might not be able to leave. Finally, he crossed the large and disturbing breach that served as the entrance to the village and passed the edge of the jungle. Forgetting for the first time his physical pain, he hurried without stopping, illuminated through the tops of the tall trees by the light of Jena's cursed star. He didn't even know where he was going, devastated as he was by this last moment with his mother. Reaching the edge of his limits, he collapsed on the wet leafy ground and started to scream in pain. His father knew. This special moment of tenderness was a bad idea, he has been right. The pain, that wasn't his mask, it was his heart.
}}
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Chapter I·II - Brotherhood

2022-06-16T18:59:52Z

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''II - Brotherhood'''</big></big></big></big></center> 

<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2470'''</big></big></center>

{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator''|
When Niï pushed the curtains of the hut, he was assailed by the tempting smell of dinner. While it was agreed that he would prepare the evening meal, his mother had already returned from her diplomatic mission, and was working on it in his place. Kneeling over a small amber stockpot, she was seasoning the cold soup it contained with various aromatic herbs. Looï glanced at her elder, making sure he hadn't forgotten to leave his equipment outside. Within the family household, the rules were strict, and Looï saw to it they were respected by all. Dressed in a simple woven loincloth, Niï greeted his mother. At twenty years old, the Zoraï had a body with chiseled muscles, whose blue skin, clear and smooth, reflected his youth.

:''"Ah Nii, there you are. The meeting with the neighboring tribe ended earlier than expected. Can you come and help me, please?"

The homin bowed respectfully in response and came to sit cross-legged in front of a log on which many fruits had been arranged. He picked up a dagger and began to gently cut the colorful dishes. Looï was keeping on seasoning the contents of the stockpot.

:''"Did your training go well?"'' she asked her son.

:''"Yes, and even better than expected. Guess what happened!"

Looï abandoned her soup for a few moments and turned to her assistant.

:''"Um, you finally defeated Uncle Ke'val in a duel?"

:''"No, better yet!"

Looï looked at him with insistence a few seconds, trying to read through his tattooed mask. To no avail.

:''"I renounce. Come on, tell me."

Niï put his dagger on the log and stood up. Standing in profile, he pointed to his hip with the index finger.

:''"Pü managed to catch my handbell! You would have seen him, he has been outstanding. Just when I thought he was at the end of his rope, he kicked up a cloud of dust and leaped as if he was about to cast a shock wave. Partially blinded and ready to withstand the spell, I didn't realize that this leap was a decoy: Pü didn't send a shockwave, but, taking advantage of the fact that I was staring at him, he rooted my ankles. Disconcerted, I lost my balance and barely had time to free myself from the fetter when he was already on me, bell in hand. He told me he had totally improvised, it was amazing! He's just seven years old, can you imagine?"

The ladle that Looï was holding fell to the ground. She stared at her son without saying a word.

:''"Mom, are you alright?"

:''"Yes, yes... Forgive me. Indeed, it's a great achievement."

:''"You're worried about father, right?"'' said Niï, while sitting down again suddenly.

:''"Niï…. You know your father. Especially, do not take into account what he will say this evening,"'' she said in a compassionate tone.

And at that same time, the homin in question, as if obeying an invocation, passed the drapes of the hut. Resting on a muscular neck and trapezius, the impressive mask entirely tattooed with black swept the room with his gaze. Seeing that his elder had already arrived, Sang stopped short. He stared at him coldly for a few seconds, then shifted eyes to his wife.

:''"We were right, Looï. I spent my day tracking down the Karavan agents, and I can confirm that they have set up camp in the west, on the border of the Purple Marshes. They are conducting experiments on the evil that is rampant there, I am convinced!"

At the mention of the Purple Marshes, Looi's body tensed. This diseased area of the Jungle was plagued by some mysterious form of pollution or sickness, able to contaminate living things and seemingly consuming Atys as it progressed.

Sang continued, his tone as raging as ever.

:''"These demons from the heavens are truly the embodiment of evil! I curse the Theocracy for getting friendly with them. Besides, maybe they are in cahoots, and allow them to conduct their dark experiments?"

Looï put the pieces Niï had just finished cutting into a bowl containing dried fruit and stood up.

:''"I don't think so, Sang. The Theocracy is greedy and corrupt, but not so greedy as to encourage the Karavan to conduct experiments in the Purple Marshes. The Kamis would never forgive Min-Cho. Tomorrow, a diplomatic meeting between the various Jungle tribes and the Theocracy will be held in Zoran. I will try to find out more."

Sang muttered a few words at the mention of Min-Cho, the so-called Great Sage, and grabbed a goatskin of water. Looï continued, ignoring her husband's annoyance.

:''"By the way, I received this afternoon important news, by [[izam]], from the [[Fyros]] Empire. News with a strong international impact…. Sang, are you listening to me?"

In fact the Black Mask was not listening to his wife, but was staring at his son with insistence. Once his thirst quenched, he walked towards him.

:''"We need to talk, Niï. I have heard that Pü has defeated you."

:''"Father, I…"

:''"Niï, you are twelve years his senior! You are destined to become my successor, the future Black Mask! It is unthinkable that…"

Looï suddenly pops into her husband's field of vision, ladle in hand.

:''"Sang, not here. Not at mealtime. By the way, Niï, please go get your brother. He's in my workshop."

With his mask down and his fists clenched, the young adult headed for the exit of the hut. As he passed the drapes, his mother was still staring intently at his father, now holding to him the cooking utensil. The atmosphere seemed extremely tense. Outside, the fireflies that populated the stump of the sky-tree had awakened, bathing the surroundings of the hut in pockets of moving lights. Full of anger, Niï grabbed the short sword he had put in the rack when he arrived, and threw it away. The weapon went to plant itself in a thick arched root which was used as portal for the homins, and perch for the izams, these red and white winged messengers which flew away from now on in the direction of the ceiling of bark, while pushing their mocking and shrill cries.
{{Couillard}}
Bending over a basin of water, Pü was admiring his reflection. True, his face did not yet have the bony mask characteristic of those of his people, but with his face thus covered with paint, he found himself particularly beautiful. Indeed, the young Zorai had painted his entire face white and reproduced the black esoteric symbols tattooed on the masks of his elders. Would he look like this when he became an adult after growing his mask? He wondered. Around his neck, several necklaces much too big for him were tangled. It went the same for the bracelets that he was forced to catch hold of his hands, for they were too large for his wrists. Just as he was, finally, about to crown his frizzy blue hair with a magnificent diadem, a sound crack was heard in his back. Instinctively, Pü rolled to the side and put himself in a defensive posture: although still a child, he was a born warrior, partly already conditioned, moreover, by several years of intensive training. Scanning the small room, he frowned. Except for the many tools and jewelry that were stored there, it was empty of any presence. Thinking he had been dreaming, he turned back to the water basin, and like a surprised animal, jumped back: a Kami was now standing in front of the container and also seemed to be contemplating his reflection.

This was the first time Pü had met a protector spirit of Atys. True to the description he had been given of the Kamis populating the Jungle, this one had taken on the appearance of a black ball of hair barely a meter tall. Slightly paunchy and endowed with two short clawed legs, it held the edges of the container with its too long arms. Curious, the young Zorai moved forward a step. Then the creature's small head turned toward him, and Pü could watch its two large, entirely white eyes.His empty gaze was mesmerizing. At once distressing and comforting. At once foreign and familiar. Pü swallowed, unable to fathom his own emotions. As if intrigued by the little homin, the Kami cocked his head to the side. He pointed a claw in his direction. Pü swallowed a second time.

:''"He… Hello Kami. My name is Pü Fu-Tao. D... Do you have a name?"

The Kami pointed his claw in his direction once again.

:''"Uh… Can you speak? I've been told that Kamis can speak."

The Kami put its claw on his furry head, before pointing it again in Pü's direction. The child's face lit up.

:''"Ah, you want Mom's tiara?"'' he said, walking towards him with the amber crown in his hand. ''"She made it, like all the jewelry you can see here! This is her workshop, and mom is a master jeweler. She makes incredible fineries that protect the tribe's warriors with magic!"

The Kami, whose claw was still pointed in Pü's direction, laid his gaze on the diadem.

:''"Do you want it? I can give it to you. I think Mom would be very happy to give a gift to a Kami!"

Pü handed the ornament to the Kami, who catched it with his long arms. The creature stared at the marvel for a few seconds, then pressed it abruptly against his chest. At the same time, someone went into the workshop. Pü turned to the drapes, and as he made out his brother's mask, something rolled across the floor: the Kami had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared a few dozen seconds earlier, leaving his gift behind.

Seeing his brother's get-up, Niï sighed.

"Pü, wash your face and put away Mom's jewelry, please. It's time for dinner."

Obediently, Pü took a deep breath and dipped his face into the basin. Emerging from the water, he placed the jewelry he was wearing on his mother's workbench. Finally, he bent down to pick up the diadem.

:''"Niï, a Kami was there in the workshop. I think he wanted Mom's diadem. He held it tightly to him."

:''"What?"'' her brother replied doubtfully.

:''"I promise you, there was a Kami right there! All hairy, all black. With two big white eyes. It appeared at a blow and disappeared when you arrived."

Niï knelt down in front of his little brother.

:''"If that's true, then you're probably very special, Pü. I myself have already seen a Kami once on a mission, but only from a distance."

Niï's voice changed, taking on a much bleaker tone.

:''"Well no, not probably, that's a sure thing, you are very special, little brother."

Dropping the diadem on the workbench, Pü walked towards the workshop exit, his still naked face lit up with a smile.

:''"We are both very special, Niï! You will be the Black Mask, and I will become your Shadow!"

Niï sighed and agreed. He got up and followed his younger brother.

:''"Pü, can you not talk at the table about the training this afternoon?"'' asked Niï, as they walked towards the main hut.

:''"Uh…. Yes, if you want. Why?"

:''"Father is angry. Not at you, but at me…."

:''"But why?"

:''"It's complicated…. I'll explain it to you, some other day."

Pü grumbled.

:''"He's angry all the time…."

And indeed, Sang Fu-Tao seemed angry. As promised, Pü did not mention the handbell. In fact, no one uttered a word, and the family enjoyed their soup in silence. The atmosphere was much heavier than usual. Tense, and not knowing why his father was angry, Pü tried to lighten the mood with what he imagined was good news. He spoke in a hesitant voice.

:''"Ah, by the way, earlier when... when I was in the workshop, before Niï came to get me, a Kami appeared. He wanted your diadem, Mom!"

At these words, his father nearly suffocated.

:''"What did you say, Pü? A Kami appeared to you in your mother's workshop?"

The young Zorai smiled happily at his father and nodded, too young to understand that he had just sealed the fate of the dinner. Sang replied without delay.

:''"Pü, this is no time for fun. Stop telling nonsense and focus on your bowl."

A veil of sorrow instantly covered the child's face.

:''"But…. I…. I'm not telling nonsense….

:''"Pü, please eat. And in silence."

The youngest threw a sad look at his mother, convinced that she would take his defense without delay, but, to his surprise, it was his older brother who did it in a start. Usually, Niï did not oppose his father, with whom he was rarely in disagreement. But this time, exasperated by the unjust reprimand of the Black Mask, he did not succeed in containing his anger. The elder slammed his fist on the table and stood up abruptly.

::''"Don't call Pü a liar!"

Sang nearly suffocated a second time. Rising to his feet, he gave his elder a frosty look.

:''"I beg your pardon, Niï?"

:''"You…. You heard me right! If Pü said he saw a Kami, then he saw one! Pü is not a liar."

:''"You let Pü catch your handbell and now you cover his lies? But what are you playing at?"'' replied the Black Mask with a deceptively calm air.

Niï exploded with anger.

:''"I didn't let him take the bell, he just did extremely well! It's time you accepted that sometimes things don't go your way! You're just a Black Mask, you don't have Grandma Bä-Bä's gifts of prescience!"

Sang swung his stool and walked toward his son. Then the High Priestess stood up, and the hut charged with energy flood. Around her, the air began to vibrate, and the light abruptly distorted: Looï was giving off an overwhelming aura.

:''""That's enough!"'' she shouted in an amplified voice.

Instinctively, Sang and Niï let themselves fall to the ground.

:''"Sang, Pü does not lie! I felt the presence of a Kami nearby earlier, so he confirms my intuition. Do not forget, you are not only the Black Mask, you are also the father of these children! Niï, respect your father, and do not blaspheme! The Black Mask and Granny Bä-Bä each play their own role. Your comparison is dishonorable! Now, let's finish dinner, and in silence, please."

The two Zorais sat back down without saying a word. Pü was staring at his mother, his eyes shining with admiration. She smiled at him. In accordance with her orders, and despite the palpable tension, the rest of the meal went on calmly. When all four had finished their bowl of fruit and the table was cleared, Sang got up and headed for the exit of the hut.

:''"Niï, get your equipment and meet me at the dojo,"'' said his father calmly.

Niï stood up and glanced at her brother and mother. Both of them sent him an encouraging smile.

:''"Yes father, I'll follow you."

Sang and his elder came out of the hut and the atmosphere was instantly appesed. Pü ran for refuge into the arms of his mother, still sitting at the wooden table.

:''"You're too strong, Mom! Tell me, are you stronger than father?"

Looï hugged her son and let out a laugh.

:''"It all depends, Pü. Your father is a much better warrior than I am. I'm no match for him in hand-to-hand combat. But like Grandmother Bä-Bä, I have been blessed by the Kami. My mastery of magic is far superior to that of any of you."

:''"I want to be blessed by the Kamis too!"'' replied Pü, returning her embrace.

Looï guffawed again.

:''"It is not something we choose, Pü. It is the Kamis that choose us. By the way, can you tell me more about the Kami you met?"

:''"He was all hairy, all black, and had big white eyes. He pointed at me with his claw several times in a row, whithout I understood why. Then I realized that he wanted your diadem, so I gave it to him! But he disappeared by dropping it at the time Niï arrived…."

Pensive, Looï passed a hand behind her son's neck and tenderly stroked his skull.

:''"I see, that's interesting. Hold on to that memory Pü, it's not every day that a Kami comes to meet a homin, so young moreover."

Looï stood up, forcing his youngest son down from his knees.

:''"Pü, can you wait for me outside for your evening classes? As you will see, the program of the day has changed."

Pü agreed and got out the hut.
{{Couillard}}
Sitting on the edge of the large root on which the family hut was built, Pü watched the other dwellings of the village, located on either side of the stump heights, and lit by the tireless dance of the fireflies. Several stories below his feet, he could see the thatched roof of the dojo, where his father was probably in the middle of training his brother. He hoped that both of them had calmed down. Pü had a very close relationship with his older brother, who constantly showed him love, but who could also show authority when necessary. He was his best friend as well as confidant.

As agreed, his mother didn't delay to joined him for his evening classes. She sat down next to him.

:''"So, as I was saying earlier, I've decided to change today's schedule. Originally, I was going to give you an in-depth botany class, but some fresh and important news came to me from the Fyros Empire earlier this afternoon. They concern imperial policy. So I thought it would be more relevant to take the time to discuss them. Is that okay with you?"

Pü nodded and snuggled up to his mother. He loved these moments with her, in all intimacy, without anyone to disturb them. He loved listening to her voice, and making her proud, reciting her lessons to perfection. As the future Shadow of the Black Mask, Pü needed to know more than anyone else about the history of Atys, for im to properly appreciate the relationships between its nations, and thus advise his brother as best he could when leading the Sacred War. So today, the botany class had turned into a discussion session on current events in the Fyros Empire, whose territory located in the far boreal deserts had always fascinated Pü. Accustomed to lush jungles, the young Zorai had always wondered how it was possible to live in such lands. But the hostile climate they suffered was a good match for his idea of the Fyros, that people of proud and courageous warriors whose ardent temperament drove them to incessantly advance. In fact, even the physical appearance of the Fyros exuded harshness: stocky bodies, bulging muscles, swarthy skin. Born warriors. While the hawkish attitude of the Pü tribe made it almost unique among the various tribes of the Jungle, it was its common denominator with those of the Desert.

:''"Well.I would not teach you anything by reminding you that the current Emperor of the Fyros is Thesop, the youngest son of Abylus the Learned. For if Pyto, his eldest son, succeeded him at his death, as the imperial tradition wants, the reign of the latter was very short. As you know, two years after his accession to the throne he was assassinated by his younger brother Thesop."

As Looï had expected, Pü's face suddenly darkened. He tightened his embrace and buried his face in his mother's chest. A muffled voice came out there.

:''"Mom, I still don't understand why Thesop killed his big brother. It makes me sad."

Looï stroked her son's bare back affectionately.

:''"I told you before, Pü: it's the call of power. Some people will do anything to get more power. Even kill loved ones."

:''"I do not understand mom, and that frightens me, lamented Pü, the face always buried between the breasts of his mother. One day Niï will be the Sacred Warrior, the most powerful homin of Atys. Do you think that I too will want to take his place? I love Niï very much, I don't want that to happen…."

The Zoraï grabbed her son by the shoulders and helped him to straighten up. Pü was surprised by his look. It was strangely mystical, as if she was trying to probe his soul. Her voice had changed, too.

:''"Pü, do you desire power?"

At these words, the expression on the little homin's face changed dramatically. It was rare to see such determination in a child's eyes.

:''"No! I am not interested in power! All I want is to grow up fast to protect you and Niï!"

Looï rested his bony forehead against his son's, breaking so eye contact.

:''"So don't worry Pü, don't worry. Everything will be fine. Everything will happen as Grandmother Bä-Bä predicted…."

Pü nodded his head up and down.

:''"Well. As you know, the beginning of Thesop's reign was marked by fierce repression and a true demon hunt. The imperial generals, very loyal to Emperor Pyto, have never forgiven his brother. This is probably why the assassination of Thesop the Fratricide a week ago was not followed by any funeral ceremony. It is even said that the Fyros people have been celebrating for several nights now the coronation of his successor, who is none other than the son of the lamented Pyto, the now Emperor Krospas…. These are the news that reached me from the Desert this afternoon, and that I wanted to tell you about."

Pü's face illuminated.

:''"Wow! Pyto has been avenged! Any idea who the assassin is?"

:''"Not that I know of, no. Although he was murdered in public, on the Agora of Fyre…."

:''"Do you think this will change a lot?"

:''"For the Fyros populating the cities of the Empire, yes, a lot. Very few Fyros were supporting Thesop. For the Kingdom of Matia, the Trykoth Federation, and the Zoraï Theocracy, I can't say yet. All will depend on the international policy of Emperor Krospas. For us, however, this does not change anything: the Fyros are indeed on good terms with the Kamis and on the outs with the Karavan, but they remain for the most part miscreants who do not know about the existence of Ma-Duk, the Supreme Kami. Sooner or later we will have to convert them to the True Faith."

Pü was agreeing weakly, when suddenly a voice was heard. It belonged to Ke'val, his father's brother. The brother of the Black Mask, then. His brother and his Shadow, whom Pü should one day succeed.

:''"Looï, Pü, I hope I'm not disturbing you."

:''"No Ke'val, I was discussing with Pü the assassination of Emperor Thesop, we were just finishing up,"'' said Looï as she stood up.

Pü stood up in turn. His uncle looked a lot like his father, right down to the horns of his mask. Only the untattooed parts of this one made it easy to tell the two homins apart. Pü was very fond of his uncle, who was his referent master instructor. He trained with him almost every day. Like his father, Ke'val was very strict. But in contrst to the last, he knew how to express compliments. Thinking back on the conversation he had just had with his mother, Pü couldn't help but wonder if Ke'val had ever wished to take the Black Mask's place. The thought terrified him. Very fortunately, his uncle did not give him the opportunity to wander any longer in his thoughts.

:''"Pü, I wanted to congratulate you. Shengi told me of your prowess at dojo."

Shengi, Ke'val's son, had thus told him about the handbell. Pü got along very well with his cousin, with whom he loved to spend time. The child blushed again and bowed his head.

:''"Thanks Uncle Ke'val."

The Black Mask Shadow ruffled his nephew's hair abruptly.

:''"You are truly exceptional. I am impatient to see you grow up. I am impatient to see Grandmother Bä-Bä's predictions come true. You too, Looï, aren't you?"

Looï took a step back. Pü raised his head, looking at his uncle and then his mother, not understanding the latter's reaction. Grandmother Bä-Bä's predictions. Yes, one day he and Niï would succeed his father and uncle to lead the Sacred War. In order to make the Happy Days happen. This was what everyone within the tribe was waiting for. So why, at this very moment, did the child detect concern behind his mother's mask?

Again, an unanswered question. Definitely, Pü was eager to grow up.
}}
{{NavChap|[[Chapter I - A Fate Paved with Glory]]|[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter III - Dying to Be Reborn]]}}
 
{{Portal|The Great Library|Zoraï}}
[[Category:The Sacred War]]

Chapter I·I - A Fate Paved with Glory

2022-06-16T18:53:01Z

Lanstiril:

{{NavChap|[[The Sacred War]] |[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter II - Brotherhood]]}}
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<center><big><big><big><big>'''I - A Fate Paved with Glory'''</big></big></big></big></center> 
<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2464'''</big></big></center>

{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator'' • ''Cheng Lai'SuKi, illustrator''|
The toddler opened his eyes and began to gurgle. Waving his chubby little arms, he searched with his clumsy fingertips for the rag doll that was sharing his nights since he was born. Not finding it, he gesticulated in order to extract himself from his cocoon of sheets, and grabbed the protective bars of his little bed to stand up. Like many mornings, he found it lying on the floor, looking at him with a disappointed look, unhappy to have been inadvertently rejected outside the warm and cozy nest. He was about to join her, thanks to some acrobatics, when the drape of the room he was in opened. The morning apparition might well be recurrent, he never got tired of his mother's incredible beauty. Totally forgetful of his doll, he flapped his arms laughing, eager to find the one who was torn from him every night by his father. Behind her tattooed mask, the [[Zorai]] gave him back her smile and let escape some words. If he didn't understand her words, her voice was the most beautiful melody he knew.

:''"Good morning, my darling. Another restless night so far as I can see."

She approached the crib, picked up the doll then held out her arms to him. The child, who was already stamping with impatience, mimicked her gesture and laughed even more when his mother grabbed him by the waist and made him take off. She made it waltz a few seconds in the air, put her bony forehead against that still virgin of her son, then tightened it on her heart.

:''"Today is a great day for you Pü. Mom believes in you. Like your brother, the destiny awaiting you is paved with glory."

The toddler immediately calmed down at the touch of his mother's mask and blue skin. She tasted so good. She smelled so good. She was so soft. Opening his mouth, he ran his tongue over the warm flesh to catch the sweet scent of his mother's sweat. While heading towards the main room of the house, the Zorai took out of her vegetal tunic one of her imposing breasts, which she handed to her son. This one did not need persuading and grabbed the voluptuous curve with handful, while his mouth swooped on the erect extremity which nourished him every day.

The dwelling of Pü and his family consisted of a large circular hut, which contained the main room, and two smaller huts flanking the large one, which housed the parent's room in which Pü slept and his older brother's room. The foundation of the settlement was mainly made of soft wood, vines and various large leaves selected for their waterproofing. After Grandmother Bä-Bä's, this dwelling was the most imposing in the tribe. In the center of the main room was the family table, on which a vast amount of varied food rested. Around the table, Pü's father and brother were eating in silence. Pü stared at the two [[homins]] in succession, not stopping to suck on his mother's breast.
[[file:His big black.png|right|400px|alt=His big black mask was scaring him...|His big black mask was scaring him...]]
He guessed a smile under the mouth slit of his brother's [[The Zorai Mask|mask]]. He wasn't yet used to seeing him like this. Until recently, his face was still naked, and regularly displayed peculiar grimaces that had no other purpose than to make him laugh. But when he was twelve years old, a horned mask had grown. Pü loved his brother very much. He tickled him, played with him, and showed him incredible acrobatic choreographies which plunged the little Zoraï in a state of overexcitement, and which had a knack for annoying their mother.

His father did not look at him and kept eating in silence. Pü didn't know what to think of him. '''His big black mask was scaring him''', and he didn't remember ever having guessed a smile behind that one. Moreover, he had already seen him behaving harshly with his brother, hitting him violently with sharp objects that Niï nevertheless managed to dodge. He had also on several occasions caught him abusing his mother in the parental bed, firmly seizing her hair, tightening her wrists, crushing her with his powerful musculature, and even giving her at times slaps on the lower part of the body, while she muffled her screams in the cushions.

Yet neither his brother nor his mother seemed to resent him. His brother seemed to keep regarding his father up as a role model, and his mother always ended their nightly brawls with tender strokes that Pü was jealous of from his crib. He definitely did not understand. And wary, he preferred his father to continue to ignore him, while his mother and brother were busy bringing him love and laughter.

The lunch continued in silence until her father spoke up.

:''"Niï, quickly finish lunch and go prepare our formal wear, please. Meanwhile, your mother will dress Pü for the ceremony. Also, make sure our weapons are properly whetted."

The young Zorai grabbed a last handful of dried fruit in a hurry, stood up, and bowed to his father.

:''"I sharpened our weapons last night before the bedtime, Father. And I'll get our outfits ready straightaway."

This one answered him by a light nod of head and recentered on the contents of his plate. At the same time, the mother got up and took Pü off her breast. The little one, already full, did not flinch, but continued to knead the globe of flesh to maintain contact. She changed him, exchanging his night soiled swaddling clothes for a pretty braided panty. A few ten minutes passed, and the family was ready to leave.
{{Couillard}}
Pü squinted as his mother came out of the hut. His tribe might well be settled in a gigantic stump of a felled sky-tree, the bark ceiling, badly damaged, let in a few astral rays at certain times of the day, one of which had just found the eye of the little Zorai, who took refuge between his mother's breasts. In the absence of celestial light, the community was lightening itself with the help of lamps containing fireflies. Although some might have described the atmosphere as gloomy, Pü loved it when his mother took him for a walk in the sloping and winding streets, or on the suspension bridges that connected the different levels of the small city. The village, much higher than it was wide, was built vertically. The dwellings were located in the heights, while the lower levels were reserved for communal areas, such as stores, places of worship, the dojo, and the dining hall. Pü loved the dining hall. The other Zorais were very kind to him and the food was plentiful. Yet this time, the toddler sensed that the walk was nothing like ordinary. The other members of the tribe were present in numbers, forming a path from the family hut to the village heights. All wore their black ceremonial dress, consisting of a loincloth of vegetal fibers, a wide belt of braided straw, but especially recognizable by the imposing white amber lens that adorned each of the plexuses. As the family moved forward, led by Pü's mother, the people bowed deferentially and joined the group. The toddler, full and lulled by his mother's walk, dozed off into a light sleep. As this scene suggested, his family was no ordinary family.

Looï Fu-Tao, Pü's mother, worked outside the village as a diplomat, in charge of maintaining relations with the Zorai Theocracy, the political regime that had governed the country for almost three centuries, and whose headquarters were located in [[Zoran]], its capital. For some forty years, the Great Sage [[Min-Cho]] had been the highest human authority in the Theocracy, who, assisted by the Council of Sages, ruled the [[Jungle]], the native country of the Zorai people. While the Sages hoped that the members of the "Cursed Strain Tribe" – as they liked to name it – would eventually accept the authority of the Theocracy, nothing helped. It had been several generations since the tribe had seceded, and things didn't look like they were about to change. But Looï was not only a diplomat. In the village, she was first and foremost the High Priestess of the Black Cult of [[Ma-Duk]], the depository of religious authority.
[[file:Sang Fu-Tao was.png|left|400px|alt=Sang Fu-Tao was the Black Mask|Sang Fu-Tao was the Black Mask]]
Her husband '''Sang Fu-Tao was the Black Mask''', the First Warrior, military chief of the tribe. A few months after his birth, Niï, their eldest son, had been promised a great destiny by Grandmother Bä-Bä, the witch and seer of the village. According to the prophecy, Niï Fu-Tao would someday succeed his father as the Black Mask, and above all, would become the Sacred Warrior. Elected by Ma-Duk the Great Genitor, Niï Fu-Tao would be brought to tour the world, converting the lost to the True Faith, subduing the atheists and exterminating the heretics. For the Zorai Theocracy, this prophecy was precisely coming under heresy.

For the conflict that opposed the tribe to the rest of the country was first of all religious. Indeed, all Zorais worshipped the [[Kami|Kamis]], mysterious spiritual entities that protected the [[ecosystems]]. Able to change their appearance at will and to travel without physical constraint, these divine guardians permanently ensured that no one compromised the fragile balance of [[Atys]], the plant world where all were coexisting. Although discreet, they shared close relations with the homins, as long as those showed respect for nature. Among the different homin peoples, the Zorais were by far the most receptive to the magic of the Kamis. Already provided with a large size and a blue skin, which distinguished them from the rest of the hominity, a bony and horned mask grew moreover on their face, from their forehead, in their adolescence. This mask represented the true soul of its wearer and testified to the unique link he had with the Kamis. However, if every Zorai worshipped the Kamis, not everyone agreed on the identity of the Supreme Kami. For the majority of Zorais, the Kamis served [[Jena]], the Goddess of the Day Star and the Mother of Hominity. For the dissident tribe, Jena was a usurping goddess from the sky, alien to Atys and wanting it evil. According to them, the one and only Supreme Kami was Ma-Duk, meaning "Great Mask" in the Zorai language. He was the Great Genitor, asleep in the depths of Atys. A god that no one recognized but them.

But the discordance did not end there. The Zorai Theocracy, which had become particularly isolationist in the last century, had built the Great Wall, a gigantic edifice protecting the borders of the Jungle from all foreign contact. However, this Great Wall had never prevented the Theocracy from maintaining relations with the [[Karavan]], a strange group of hominoids dressed from head to toe in amazing black armor and using prodigious instruments. These singular entities, whose true nature no one knew, lived in the skies of Atys. Equipped with a technology unknown to all, and traveling with curious vehicles capable of overcoming gravity, they crisscrossed the sky to spread the word and serve the interests of the goddess Jena. In exchange for their loyalty, the Karavan had given the Zorais the secrets of magnetism and electrostatic properties, and had also taught them to write. The Kamis abhorred the Karavan, and did not hesitate to make this known to the homins, but this never prevented the Council of Elders from accepting their gifts, and use, today still, Karavan knowledge to levitate the buildings of Zoran. For the dissident tribe, as an apostle of Jena abhorred by the Kamis, the Karavan had to be seen as a serious threat and fought accordingly.

There laid the divergences. These divergences that heated the minds of the Great Sage Min-Cho and his advisors, who were unable to accept any ideological criticism, and made the dissident tribe want to wage holy war. Rather than attacking the tribe head-on, fearing the prowess of its soldiers and the mysterious powers of Grandmother Bä-Bä, the Zorai Theocracy made the tribe pass for a common pagan sect in the eyes of peoples of the Jungle. This had worked quite well up to that point.

For Pü Fu-Tao, the youngest child, who had just been awakened by the distant echo of a bird call, none of this made sense yet. However, with his big black eyes, he looked at the villagers with astonished look, aware that today something seemed to be different. Perhaps he knew, deep down, that something important was about to come. When, recognizing the alleys between the huts, he understood that they were going to Grandmother Bä-Bä's house, his heart began to race. He did not like the old woman. Her gaunt mask frightened him, her smell stung his nose, and her presence was associated with illness. Grandmother Bä-Bä was in fact also the village healer, whom people went to see to find solutions to their problems. Although the Fu-Tao couple represented the authority within the tribe, everyone knew that Grandmother Bä-Bä was actually the central pillar of the community. It was said that she was older than the oldest Zorai in the country, and that she had helped deliver every member of the tribe.

When the cortege arrived at Grandmother Bä-Bä's huge hut at the highest point of the village, Pü, feeling the tears welling up, clutched his mother's robe tightly. Looï put her forehead against his, which had the effect of reassuring him, and advanced towards the big hut, her son in her arms. Pü had just enough time to glance behind him to see his brother waving to him, before large curtains obstructed his vision and the characteristic smell of the dwelling reached his nose. In the back of the main room, Grandmother Bä-Bä was working over an amber stockpot. Despite her far advanced age, she was particularly lively and agile, quickly pulling out various plants and roots from the multitude of pockets that made up her apron. Nothing suggested such vitality, however, as her livid, bony, dry body was crossed with deep wrinkles. Grandmother Bä-Bä was constanly postponing death, and everyone knew that she owed that to her kamic powers.

:''"Come closer my daughter, she said in a cavernous voice, without looking at her guests. Set your son on the altar, I am soon ready."

Obediently, Looï walked over to a beautiful carved stump. When she gently placed her son on the firm surface, breaking the mother's touch, this one began to cry.

:''"Don't comfort him my daughter. Tears feed the predictions."

The young Zorai did not understand. He might well emit alert signals, his mother did not react, looking at him with a strange look on her face bent over him. As Pü reached out, trying to grab his mother's long tresses, the old woman's hideous mask cut off eye contact. His tears redoubled.

:''"Hold him tight, and don't panic like you did with your first son. Everything will go well."

Grandmother Bä-Bä pulled a dagger with a finely engraved black blade from her apron and gently grabbed the young Zorai's hand. At the touch of the cracked skin, Pü shivered and began to struggle. Unfortunately for him, his mother would not let him, and held him tight. What had he done wrong? Why did he have to go through all this? As he felt hitting rock bottom, the worst happened. The old lady put the edge of the weapon on her palm and closed her little fingers one by one on the blade. Then she pressed down with a sharp blow. Electrified by the pain, Pü started to scream, while his mother looked at him with a deadened air, all the while forcing him to keep unmoving. He who loved her so much had thought his love was reciprocal. But without him knowing why, she left him at the mercy of the witch, and took part in his calvary.

:''"Will be completed soon, I just have to collect the precious liquid. Don't try to calm him down, pain gives strength to blood."

The old woman placed the dagger on the altar and retrieved a small leather purse from her apron. One by one, she took out seven strange orange dice, which she passed over the bloody blade. Once the last relic was blessed with blood, she incanted a formula. Then the strange symbols engraved on the amber faces of the dice absorbed the light and came to life. Pü had completely stopped crying, hypnotized by the terrifying spectacle unfolding before his eyes. The witch was throwing the dice at full speed and without interruption on the altar, which ones were projecting reddish animated frescoes on the walls.

Pü was contemplating a circle of homins and Kamis. A round dancing on the circular walls of the hut. He could almost hear them singing. He could almost hear them singing. Stopping abruptly, the Kamis turned into gigantic maws and devoured a large part of the homins, who were trying in vain to fight back. The scene then focused on the survivors of the macabre dance, who, led by a Zorai, climbed a mountain of corpses. Although the slope became steeper with each step, new homins joined the group and helped their climb. Finally, once reached the top, the warrior brandished his sword towards the sky and shattered the star that was center staging there. At the same time, the dice went out and gave the light back to the hut.

Grandmother Bä-Bä looked lengthfully at Looï in silence. The Zorai bent over her son and gently catched hold of him. Pü, who seemed to be completely elsewhere, regained contact with reality the moment his mother held him to her chest. His calvary was over, she still loved him. He fell asleep on the spot.
[[file:Carefully avoided meeting.png|right|400px|alt=carefully avoided meeting the gaze of her husband|carefully avoided meeting the gaze of her husband]]
:''"You know what you have to tell them, my daughter,"'' the old woman finally said without taking her eyes off Looï.

Taking a few steps forward, she placed a finger on the child's mutilated hand. The wound closed immediately.

:''"From now on, your son's future, and perhaps the future of all hominkind, depends on your lie. It is a necessary evil. Never forget."

:''"I know, Grandmother… Thank you for everything,"'' she whispered, her voice trembling.

Feverishly, Looï kissed him on the cheek, and walked towards the exit of the hut, clutching her son to her heart. In his sleep, Pü could feel it beating very strongly. Pushing aside the curtains as she stepped forward, she faced all her people. Each member of the tribe stared at her with heavy gaze, waiting for the verdict. She '''carefully avoided meeting the gaze of her husband''', and above all, that of her first son. Clearing her throat a little, she then spoke up.

:''"Grandmother Bä-Bä has rolled the dice! Today I have the signal honor of announcing the predictions she made on the occasion of the first birthday of my second son, Pü Fu-Tao. While Niï, the future Black Mask, will become the Sacred Warrior, going all the way to heaven to destroy the Karavan and Jena, Pü will assist him throughout his journey! He will be his Shadow, who will advise him at every moment and will not hesitate to sacrifice his life to protect him! Praised be my sons! Praise be to Ma-Duk! Tonight we will feast to the glory of the Sacred War and the coming of the Happy Days!"

An unrivaled cheer ran through the assembly. Waking up with a start, Pü swept the crowd with his gaze. Which stopped sharply on his father's black mask. The little Zorai opened his eyes wide in amazement: for the first time, he guessed a smile.
}}
{{NavChap|[[The Sacred War]] |[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter II - Brotherhood]]}}
 
{{Portal|The Great Library|Zoraï}}
[[Category:The Sacred War]]

Chapter I·I - A Fate Paved with Glory

2022-06-16T18:52:02Z

Lanstiril: Created page with "{{NavChap|Chronicles of the First Crusade |Table of contents|Chapter II - Brotherhood}} <noinclude>{{Trad |DE=<!--Kapitel I - Ein..."

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<center><big><big><big><big>'''I - A Fate Paved with Glory'''</big></big></big></big></center> 
<center><big><big>'''Jena Year 2464'''</big></big></center>

{{Quotation|''Belenor Nebius, narrator'' • ''Cheng Lai'SuKi, illustrator''|
The toddler opened his eyes and began to gurgle. Waving his chubby little arms, he searched with his clumsy fingertips for the rag doll that was sharing his nights since he was born. Not finding it, he gesticulated in order to extract himself from his cocoon of sheets, and grabbed the protective bars of his little bed to stand up. Like many mornings, he found it lying on the floor, looking at him with a disappointed look, unhappy to have been inadvertently rejected outside the warm and cozy nest. He was about to join her, thanks to some acrobatics, when the drape of the room he was in opened. The morning apparition might well be recurrent, he never got tired of his mother's incredible beauty. Totally forgetful of his doll, he flapped his arms laughing, eager to find the one who was torn from him every night by his father. Behind her tattooed mask, the [[Zorai]] gave him back her smile and let escape some words. If he didn't understand her words, her voice was the most beautiful melody he knew.

:''"Good morning, my darling. Another restless night so far as I can see."

She approached the crib, picked up the doll then held out her arms to him. The child, who was already stamping with impatience, mimicked her gesture and laughed even more when his mother grabbed him by the waist and made him take off. She made it waltz a few seconds in the air, put her bony forehead against that still virgin of her son, then tightened it on her heart.

:''"Today is a great day for you Pü. Mom believes in you. Like your brother, the destiny awaiting you is paved with glory."

The toddler immediately calmed down at the touch of his mother's mask and blue skin. She tasted so good. She smelled so good. She was so soft. Opening his mouth, he ran his tongue over the warm flesh to catch the sweet scent of his mother's sweat. While heading towards the main room of the house, the Zorai took out of her vegetal tunic one of her imposing breasts, which she handed to her son. This one did not need persuading and grabbed the voluptuous curve with handful, while his mouth swooped on the erect extremity which nourished him every day.

The dwelling of Pü and his family consisted of a large circular hut, which contained the main room, and two smaller huts flanking the large one, which housed the parent's room in which Pü slept and his older brother's room. The foundation of the settlement was mainly made of soft wood, vines and various large leaves selected for their waterproofing. After Grandmother Bä-Bä's, this dwelling was the most imposing in the tribe. In the center of the main room was the family table, on which a vast amount of varied food rested. Around the table, Pü's father and brother were eating in silence. Pü stared at the two [[homins]] in succession, not stopping to suck on his mother's breast.
[[file:His big black.png|right|400px|alt=His big black mask was scaring him...|His big black mask was scaring him...]]
He guessed a smile under the mouth slit of his brother's [[The Zorai Mask|mask]]. He wasn't yet used to seeing him like this. Until recently, his face was still naked, and regularly displayed peculiar grimaces that had no other purpose than to make him laugh. But when he was twelve years old, a horned mask had grown. Pü loved his brother very much. He tickled him, played with him, and showed him incredible acrobatic choreographies which plunged the little Zoraï in a state of overexcitement, and which had a knack for annoying their mother.

His father did not look at him and kept eating in silence. Pü didn't know what to think of him. '''His big black mask was scaring him''', and he didn't remember ever having guessed a smile behind that one. Moreover, he had already seen him behaving harshly with his brother, hitting him violently with sharp objects that Niï nevertheless managed to dodge. He had also on several occasions caught him abusing his mother in the parental bed, firmly seizing her hair, tightening her wrists, crushing her with his powerful musculature, and even giving her at times slaps on the lower part of the body, while she muffled her screams in the cushions.

Yet neither his brother nor his mother seemed to resent him. His brother seemed to keep regarding his father up as a role model, and his mother always ended their nightly brawls with tender strokes that Pü was jealous of from his crib. He definitely did not understand. And wary, he preferred his father to continue to ignore him, while his mother and brother were busy bringing him love and laughter.

The lunch continued in silence until her father spoke up.

:''"Niï, quickly finish lunch and go prepare our formal wear, please. Meanwhile, your mother will dress Pü for the ceremony. Also, make sure our weapons are properly whetted."

The young Zorai grabbed a last handful of dried fruit in a hurry, stood up, and bowed to his father.

:''"I sharpened our weapons last night before the bedtime, Father. And I'll get our outfits ready straightaway."

This one answered him by a light nod of head and recentered on the contents of his plate. At the same time, the mother got up and took Pü off her breast. The little one, already full, did not flinch, but continued to knead the globe of flesh to maintain contact. She changed him, exchanging his night soiled swaddling clothes for a pretty braided panty. A few ten minutes passed, and the family was ready to leave.
{{Couillard}}
Pü squinted as his mother came out of the hut. His tribe might well be settled in a gigantic stump of a felled sky-tree, the bark ceiling, badly damaged, let in a few astral rays at certain times of the day, one of which had just found the eye of the little Zorai, who took refuge between his mother's breasts. In the absence of celestial light, the community was lightening itself with the help of lamps containing fireflies. Although some might have described the atmosphere as gloomy, Pü loved it when his mother took him for a walk in the sloping and winding streets, or on the suspension bridges that connected the different levels of the small city. The village, much higher than it was wide, was built vertically. The dwellings were located in the heights, while the lower levels were reserved for communal areas, such as stores, places of worship, the dojo, and the dining hall. Pü loved the dining hall. The other Zorais were very kind to him and the food was plentiful. Yet this time, the toddler sensed that the walk was nothing like ordinary. The other members of the tribe were present in numbers, forming a path from the family hut to the village heights. All wore their black ceremonial dress, consisting of a loincloth of vegetal fibers, a wide belt of braided straw, but especially recognizable by the imposing white amber lens that adorned each of the plexuses. As the family moved forward, led by Pü's mother, the people bowed deferentially and joined the group. The toddler, full and lulled by his mother's walk, dozed off into a light sleep. As this scene suggested, his family was no ordinary family.

Looï Fu-Tao, Pü's mother, worked outside the village as a diplomat, in charge of maintaining relations with the Zorai Theocracy, the political regime that had governed the country for almost three centuries, and whose headquarters were located in [[Zoran]], its capital. For some forty years, the Great Sage [[Min-Cho]] had been the highest human authority in the Theocracy, who, assisted by the Council of Sages, ruled the [[Jungle]], the native country of the Zorai people. While the Sages hoped that the members of the "Cursed Strain Tribe" – as they liked to name it – would eventually accept the authority of the Theocracy, nothing helped. It had been several generations since the tribe had seceded, and things didn't look like they were about to change. But Looï was not only a diplomat. In the village, she was first and foremost the High Priestess of the Black Cult of [[Ma-Duk]], the depository of religious authority.
[[file:Sang Fu-Tao was.png|left|400px|alt=Sang Fu-Tao was the Black Mask|Sang Fu-Tao was the Black Mask]]
Her husband '''Sang Fu-Tao was the Black Mask''', the First Warrior, military chief of the tribe. A few months after his birth, Niï, their eldest son, had been promised a great destiny by Grandmother Bä-Bä, the witch and seer of the village. According to the prophecy, Niï Fu-Tao would someday succeed his father as the Black Mask, and above all, would become the Sacred Warrior. Elected by Ma-Duk the Great Genitor, Niï Fu-Tao would be brought to tour the world, converting the lost to the True Faith, subduing the atheists and exterminating the heretics. For the Zorai Theocracy, this prophecy was precisely coming under heresy.

For the conflict that opposed the tribe to the rest of the country was first of all religious. Indeed, all Zorais worshipped the [[Kami|Kamis]], mysterious spiritual entities that protected the [[ecosystems]]. Able to change their appearance at will and to travel without physical constraint, these divine guardians permanently ensured that no one compromised the fragile balance of [[Atys]], the plant world where all were coexisting. Although discreet, they shared close relations with the homins, as long as those showed respect for nature. Among the different homin peoples, the Zorais were by far the most receptive to the magic of the Kamis. Already provided with a large size and a blue skin, which distinguished them from the rest of the hominity, a bony and horned mask grew moreover on their face, from their forehead, in their adolescence. This mask represented the true soul of its wearer and testified to the unique link he had with the Kamis. However, if every Zorai worshipped the Kamis, not everyone agreed on the identity of the Supreme Kami. For the majority of Zorais, the Kamis served [[Jena]], the Goddess of the Day Star and the Mother of Hominity. For the dissident tribe, Jena was a usurping goddess from the sky, alien to Atys and wanting it evil. According to them, the one and only Supreme Kami was Ma-Duk, meaning "Great Mask" in the Zorai language. He was the Great Genitor, asleep in the depths of Atys. A god that no one recognized but them.

But the discordance did not end there. The Zorai Theocracy, which had become particularly isolationist in the last century, had built the Great Wall, a gigantic edifice protecting the borders of the Jungle from all foreign contact. However, this Great Wall had never prevented the Theocracy from maintaining relations with the [[Karavan]], a strange group of hominoids dressed from head to toe in amazing black armor and using prodigious instruments. These singular entities, whose true nature no one knew, lived in the skies of Atys. Equipped with a technology unknown to all, and traveling with curious vehicles capable of overcoming gravity, they crisscrossed the sky to spread the word and serve the interests of the goddess Jena. In exchange for their loyalty, the Karavan had given the Zorais the secrets of magnetism and electrostatic properties, and had also taught them to write. The Kamis abhorred the Karavan, and did not hesitate to make this known to the homins, but this never prevented the Council of Elders from accepting their gifts, and use, today still, Karavan knowledge to levitate the buildings of Zoran. For the dissident tribe, as an apostle of Jena abhorred by the Kamis, the Karavan had to be seen as a serious threat and fought accordingly.

There laid the divergences. These divergences that heated the minds of the Great Sage Min-Cho and his advisors, who were unable to accept any ideological criticism, and made the dissident tribe want to wage holy war. Rather than attacking the tribe head-on, fearing the prowess of its soldiers and the mysterious powers of Grandmother Bä-Bä, the Zorai Theocracy made the tribe pass for a common pagan sect in the eyes of peoples of the Jungle. This had worked quite well up to that point.

For Pü Fu-Tao, the youngest child, who had just been awakened by the distant echo of a bird call, none of this made sense yet. However, with his big black eyes, he looked at the villagers with astonished look, aware that today something seemed to be different. Perhaps he knew, deep down, that something important was about to come. When, recognizing the alleys between the huts, he understood that they were going to Grandmother Bä-Bä's house, his heart began to race. He did not like the old woman. Her gaunt mask frightened him, her smell stung his nose, and her presence was associated with illness. Grandmother Bä-Bä was in fact also the village healer, whom people went to see to find solutions to their problems. Although the Fu-Tao couple represented the authority within the tribe, everyone knew that Grandmother Bä-Bä was actually the central pillar of the community. It was said that she was older than the oldest Zorai in the country, and that she had helped deliver every member of the tribe.

When the cortege arrived at Grandmother Bä-Bä's huge hut at the highest point of the village, Pü, feeling the tears welling up, clutched his mother's robe tightly. Looï put her forehead against his, which had the effect of reassuring him, and advanced towards the big hut, her son in her arms. Pü had just enough time to glance behind him to see his brother waving to him, before large curtains obstructed his vision and the characteristic smell of the dwelling reached his nose. In the back of the main room, Grandmother Bä-Bä was working over an amber stockpot. Despite her far advanced age, she was particularly lively and agile, quickly pulling out various plants and roots from the multitude of pockets that made up her apron. Nothing suggested such vitality, however, as her livid, bony, dry body was crossed with deep wrinkles. Grandmother Bä-Bä was constanly postponing death, and everyone knew that she owed that to her kamic powers.

:''"Come closer my daughter, she said in a cavernous voice, without looking at her guests. Set your son on the altar, I am soon ready."

Obediently, Looï walked over to a beautiful carved stump. When she gently placed her son on the firm surface, breaking the mother's touch, this one began to cry.

:''"Don't comfort him my daughter. Tears feed the predictions."

The young Zorai did not understand. He might well emit alert signals, his mother did not react, looking at him with a strange look on her face bent over him. As Pü reached out, trying to grab his mother's long tresses, the old woman's hideous mask cut off eye contact. His tears redoubled.

:''"Hold him tight, and don't panic like you did with your first son. Everything will go well."

Grandmother Bä-Bä pulled a dagger with a finely engraved black blade from her apron and gently grabbed the young Zorai's hand. At the touch of the cracked skin, Pü shivered and began to struggle. Unfortunately for him, his mother would not let him, and held him tight. What had he done wrong? Why did he have to go through all this? As he felt hitting rock bottom, the worst happened. The old lady put the edge of the weapon on her palm and closed her little fingers one by one on the blade. Then she pressed down with a sharp blow. Electrified by the pain, Pü started to scream, while his mother looked at him with a deadened air, all the while forcing him to keep unmoving. He who loved her so much had thought his love was reciprocal. But without him knowing why, she left him at the mercy of the witch, and took part in his calvary.

:''"Will be completed soon, I just have to collect the precious liquid. Don't try to calm him down, pain gives strength to blood."

The old woman placed the dagger on the altar and retrieved a small leather purse from her apron. One by one, she took out seven strange orange dice, which she passed over the bloody blade. Once the last relic was blessed with blood, she incanted a formula. Then the strange symbols engraved on the amber faces of the dice absorbed the light and came to life. Pü had completely stopped crying, hypnotized by the terrifying spectacle unfolding before his eyes. The witch was throwing the dice at full speed and without interruption on the altar, which ones were projecting reddish animated frescoes on the walls.

Pü was contemplating a circle of homins and Kamis. A round dancing on the circular walls of the hut. He could almost hear them singing. He could almost hear them singing. Stopping abruptly, the Kamis turned into gigantic maws and devoured a large part of the homins, who were trying in vain to fight back. The scene then focused on the survivors of the macabre dance, who, led by a Zorai, climbed a mountain of corpses. Although the slope became steeper with each step, new homins joined the group and helped their climb. Finally, once reached the top, the warrior brandished his sword towards the sky and shattered the star that was center staging there. At the same time, the dice went out and gave the light back to the hut.

Grandmother Bä-Bä looked lengthfully at Looï in silence. The Zorai bent over her son and gently catched hold of him. Pü, who seemed to be completely elsewhere, regained contact with reality the moment his mother held him to her chest. His calvary was over, she still loved him. He fell asleep on the spot.
[[file:Carefully avoided meeting.png|right|400px|alt=carefully avoided meeting the gaze of her husband|carefully avoided meeting the gaze of her husband]]
:''"You know what you have to tell them, my daughter,"'' the old woman finally said without taking her eyes off Looï.

Taking a few steps forward, she placed a finger on the child's mutilated hand. The wound closed immediately.

:''"From now on, your son's future, and perhaps the future of all hominkind, depends on your lie. It is a necessary evil. Never forget."

:''"I know, Grandmother… Thank you for everything,"'' she whispered, her voice trembling.

Feverishly, Looï kissed him on the cheek, and walked towards the exit of the hut, clutching her son to her heart. In his sleep, Pü could feel it beating very strongly. Pushing aside the curtains as she stepped forward, she faced all her people. Each member of the tribe stared at her with heavy gaze, waiting for the verdict. She '''carefully avoided meeting the gaze of her husband''', and above all, that of her first son. Clearing her throat a little, she then spoke up.

:''"Grandmother Bä-Bä has rolled the dice! Today I have the signal honor of announcing the predictions she made on the occasion of the first birthday of my second son, Pü Fu-Tao. While Niï, the future Black Mask, will become the Sacred Warrior, going all the way to heaven to destroy the Karavan and Jena, Pü will assist him throughout his journey! He will be his Shadow, who will advise him at every moment and will not hesitate to sacrifice his life to protect him! Praised be my sons! Praise be to Ma-Duk! Tonight we will feast to the glory of the Sacred War and the coming of the Happy Days!"

An unrivaled cheer ran through the assembly. Waking up with a start, Pü swept the crowd with his gaze. Which stopped sharply on his father's black mask. The little Zorai opened his eyes wide in amazement: for the first time, he guessed a smile.
}}
{{NavChap|[[The Sacred War]] |[[The Sacred War#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter II - Brotherhood]]}}
 
{{Portal|The Great Library|Zoraï}}
[[Category:The Sacred War]]

The Sacred War

2022-06-16T18:46:48Z

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=='''Preface'''==
{{Quotation|''Cheng Lai’Suki''|
I introduce myself, Cheng Lai'Suki, translator and restorer of this book. A few years ago, when my friend Vao and I were crossing the [[Witherings]] on our way to [[Aeden Aqueous]], a lucky fall led us to discover a hideout tucked away in an air pocket between two thick roots. The place was very roughly furnished with shelves, a desk and a small bed. Several objects were also strewn about the floor, including many books. Among these, one particularly intrigued me: ''The Sacred War'', by Belenor Nebius. It was an old and battered collection, written in the ancient [[Zorai]] dialect<ref>The texts narrating this discovery are available on the [https://app.ryzom.com/app_forum/index.php?page=topic/view/28654/ ROLEPLAY forum]</ref>. We also found a dagger with a finely chiseled black blade, and a set of seven orange dice, with between four and twenty sides that were not numbered, but engraved with fine intersecting lines.

For the next few months, I studied the book. It told a story from another time. It was a story set in the [[Old Lands]] more than a hundred years ago, after the kitins' [[Great Swarming]] had ravaged them and forced the people who lived there to flee to the lands we now occupy. This story was the story of the Black Mask, who in the wake of the devastation and his encounter with the Great Genitor, gathered survivors and began the Sacred War against the [[Karavan]] and its minions.

Although I have never been able to authenticate the historical content of this story, the author of the story has been answering questions that obsessed us, me and so many others since our childhood. Unfortunately, as you know, today's civilizations have little knowledge of the Old Lands, most of the information about them having been lost during the Great Swarm. Every document from that time is therefore a valuable source of knowledge. However, this epic tale, because of its setting, could just as well be a fictionalized account. After all, how can one take seriously the story of a black-masked Zorai, who traveled for a time in the company of the terrible [[Marauders]], and who, invested with [[Kami|kamic]] powers, exterminated the faithful and the agents of the Karavan still present on these lands ravaged by the kitins?

No matter, such is the answer. Themes such as family, relation to faith, free will, and the search for our origins have moved me deeply in the story of the Sacred War. I am glad to have found this book, and I hope that by sealing its contents in an amber cube and depositing it in the Temple of Knowledge, many people will will be caught up by Belenor Nebius' tale, as I was. If it is possible that some decide to make this heretical text disappear, know that I remain in possession of the original manuscript.

I dedicate this work of restoration to the Sages, who will forever delude themselves, and to the disbanded guild of the ''Rôdeurs d'[[Atys]]'', which I know to have been linked to this story in some way.}}

=='''Table of contents'''==
:<big><big>'''Volume I - Crossed Destinies'''</big></big>

::<big>'''''The child soldier'''''</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter I - A Fate Paved with Glory]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter II - Brotherhood]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter III - Dying to Be Reborn]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter IV - Sylvan Exile]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter V - The Seed of Doubt]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter VI - The Awakening]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter VII - Slaying and Polishing]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter VIII - Lies]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter IX - Solitude]]</big>

::<big>'''''The children of the Empire'''''</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter X - Heroes]] (to come)</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XI - The Generation of Miracles]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XII - Family]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XIV - Savagery]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XV - Powers]]</big>
:::<big>[[Chapter XVI - Civilizations]]</big>

:<big><big>'''Volume II'''</big></big>
:<big><big>(to come)</big></big>

=='''Acknowledgements''' (non diegetic)<ref>See also post at the [https://app.ryzom.com/app_forum/index.php?page=post/view/206374 OFFICIAL NEWS forum].</ref>==

{{Quotation|''The author''|
Thanks to Lai, who like Looï gave birth to Pü, is the one who allowed my ideas to bloom. Thanks to [[User:Namcha|Namcha]], Atys, God, the Law, the one who governs what is possible or not, the one who allowed me to anchor this story in the reality of Ryzom. Thanks to [[:fr:User:Nilstilar|Nilstilar]], who by sublimating the Form, helped me to transcend the Substance, and who like Sirgio di Rolo and Pü, sees in spite of himself his soul to link with the author's one. Thanks of course to all those who, in one way or another, have brought me advice and knowledge.}}
 
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{{Portal|The Great Library}}
[[Category:Literature]][[Category:History]][[Category:The Sacred Ware]]

Category:Atysmas 2020

2022-05-31T09:27:16Z

Lanstiril: Created page with "Category:Atysmas"

[[Category:Atysmas]]

Category:Atysmas 2021

2022-05-31T09:26:37Z

Lanstiril: Created page with "Category:Atysmas"

[[Category:Atysmas]]

What the light says

2022-05-31T09:24:51Z

Lanstiril:

<noinclude>{{Trad
|DE =Was das Licht sagt
|EN =What the light says
|FR =Ce que dit la lumière
|H = 1
|palette=tryker
}}</noinclude>
{{Clear}}
[[File:Atysmas 2020 Lylanea.png|300px|right]]

<poem>
“Thank you, homins. I am very happy I can spend this evening with you.”

''Lylanea holds a amber bowl in her hands''.
“First of all, I would like to ask you to help me a bit. I gave each of you a small amber bowl at the beginning of the evening. In each bowl is a small candle not yet lit. I ask you now, homins, to light these candles in order. I will start with mine, and then each of you will light the candle of the homin sitting to your left, so that the light travels among us, from one homin to another.”
''Lylanea first lights her own light, then leans forward to turn on Chenli's light. The bowl shines from the soft golden light that burns inside.''
''Lylanea then stands in front of the audience and begins to speak in a soft voice:''

::'''W'''hile cold seizes the woods,
::'''W'''hile frost sets the fields to sparkling,
::'''W'''hile the snow covers the whole country,
::'''H'''old this light in your hands.

::'''T'''his light, it shall remind you of the journey out of darkness,
::'''O'''f coming home to new lands, of the moment when the great exile came to an end,
::'''W'''hen four peoples fromerly locked in eternal war, united found victory.
::'''I'''n the depths, each working for the good of the other.

::'''T'''ime was long and dark underneath,
::'''A'''nd almost lost, all hope of freedom.
::'''B'''ut there is one thing that homins never lost:
::'''T'''he memory of sunlight's warmth.

::'''T'''his light, it shall remind you of the journey out of darkness,
::'''O'''f the return into sunlight,
::'''I'''n new lands,
::'''W'''here fear of the enemy has found its end.

::'''T'''oday we are united against the common foe,
::'''I'''n our native country,
::'''U'''nited against the Kitins.
</poem>
{{Couillard}}
<div align=center>'''They cannot chase us away again, as long as we carry this light in front of us.'''

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''This performance was given by [[:en:User:Lylanea Vicciona|Lylanea]], during the [[Tales of Atysmas 2611 vigil|Tales of Atysmas 2611 (OOC : Christmas 2020) Vigil]].''
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<noinclude>{{Portal|Literature|Animation}}
[[Category:Tales and Legends of Atysmas]][[Category:Atysmas 2020]]</noinclude>

The Truth About fyrak

2022-05-31T09:24:19Z

Lanstiril:

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|EN =The Truth About fyrak
|FR =Le vrai fyrak
|H = 1
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[[File:Atysmas 2020 Wixarika.png|300px|right]]

<big>'''Fyros tale for little children'''</big>

''When Atysmas arrives, the Fyros mothers, to dispel their children's fears, tell around a solemn blaze the story of the terrible Great Dragon named fyrak. Under the twinkling stars of the desert, the little homins listen, fascinated, their eyes sparkling and full of joy. Later, when they grow up, some of these mothers, especially the most fervent and warlike ones, will tell them about the "Book of the Great Dragon" which is in the great Imperial Library. But that will be another story, so let's go on...''

''Thus, with that soft and comforting voice that characterizes a mother's love, they are recounting to their tiny children:''

<big><big>'''“'''</big></big>Once upon a time in the dark lands of the Prime Roots, lived a great dragon, the most terrible that ever existed, known as fyrak!

His magical powers allowed the beast to breathe fire, move quickly like the wind and be as light as a feather!

And because he was a very, very nasty dragon, he was the only one able to throw not only flames of fire, but also powerful thunderbolts from his giant throat. The terrible fyrak attacked tribes and cities just for pleasure, just to hear the screams of despair of the homins during his terrible appearances.
But its real enjoyment was to see the Fyros send their bravest and most fearless warriors in attempts to finish him off, as he cheered himself up by throwing incessant rains of flames on their armor or tiny flashes of lightning that burned and made all the hair of the valiant warriors stand up.

Fallen into the sawdust of the Burning Desert, in pain, tired and burned, the warriors left to their fate had to take the long way home with that despairing feeling of defeat that touched their great sense of honor.

Only young Kriros, famous since childhood for his constant nonsense, had a strange sympathy for the dragon. Something inside him told him that no being on this planet could be so cruel, and that the dragon could learn to behave properly. So, when he set out to search for fyrak, he took neither his shield nor his armor and left completely unarmed, determined to find out what drove the dragon to act this way. As soon as he saw the young Kriros appear, the dragon attacked using his whole repertoire of tricks and torments. Kriros, finding the tricks with flames truly unique, even amusing, dared to enjoy these moments with the dragon.
When the young Fyros finally crashed into the sawdust of a dune, he got up immediately, very sore but smiling, and cried out:
“''More! More!''”

Fyrak was surprised, but it seems like he had been waiting such praise for cycles. He began to rehearse his tricks of flames and sparks, without hurting the young Fyros, who enjoyed every dragon show.

Fyrak felt so proud to be admired, that he began to show special attention and delicacy to his fellow player.

Finally, Kriros got to know the Great Dragon, only to realize that although he was several thousand cycles old, he was just a young dragon, a huge child with a desire to do stupid things and have fun.
With the help of the children of the desert, they both managed to make fyrak's life so happy that the dragon never had to hurt anyone again to have fun.
And to pay for his entertainment, he offered his rain of fire, shadow and lightning to all who needed it.<big><big>'''„'''</big></big>
{{Couillard}}
<div align=center>'''But beware my dear friends, this is just a simple tale for children!'''
'''''atalùch i dèchùch fyrak'', such is the duty of the Fyros ! because fyrak will wake up one day!!'''

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''This tale has been told by [[:fr:User:Wixarika|Wixarika]], during the [[Tales of Atysmas 2611 vigil|Tales of Atysmas 2611 (OOC : Christmas 2020) Vigil]].''
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<noinclude>{{Portal|Literature|Animation}}
[[Category:Tales and Legends of Atysmas]][[Category:Atysmas 2020]]</noinclude>

The Tough Osco

2022-05-31T09:23:38Z

Lanstiril:

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|ES =Osco el Duro
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Once upon a time in the jungle of Zoran, there was a very very old gibbai. Basically, gibbais are not very beautiful but this one had become very shabby. His hair had lost all its blackness and he had lost so much of it that he looked very skinny and disheveled. His whiskers, which had been long, were twisted and looked like a corkscrew. His claws were all broken and unable to tear anything. He spent his days crouching, dreaming about the great warrior he had been, accompanying Gibbakya himself.
{{Couillard}}
One day the chief of the tribe came to him:
:''"Osco, you are a useless mouth, you do not bring us anything more. I'm kicking you out of the tribe!"
:''"What?" roared Osco, trying to straighten up with all his height. Are you chasing me away? Your father wasn't even a chief when I was already the most accomplished warrior in the tribe. I am the one who taught him everything. And you, you little runt, you want to chase me away?"
:''"You are old and no one fears you anymore!"
:''"I have the right to be put to the test to prove that I am a useful member! So give me a test that is worthy of me!"
The chief pondered for a moment and nodded.
:''"Here is your test. You must bring back the head of a small homin, thus proving that you are still a great hunter."
:''"It's as good as done!"'' *stands up and beats his chest with fists*

Osco knew the jungle like none. He made his way without any trouble to a tryker camp.
However, no question of attacking these armed guards. But he knew that, around the camps, he could find lonesome individuals. And indeed one of these small creatures, wearing blond fur on head, was walking around unarmed. To approach through spurt from behind a tree was a tactic Osco had often used when he was young. The li'l ones would then be seized with fear and he would just have to knock them out with his long arms to see them fall, and bring them back to camp.
Osco got into position waiting for the blond boy to get closer and at the right moment, he jumped out from behind the tree showing his claws.
But nothing happened as expected. The blond boy, after a time of surprise, started laughing and dodged without problem the strengthless arms of Osco.
:''"Ahahaha! But you are ridiculous! What are those four gray hairs on your head? And those whiskers…."
Osco was humiliated deep inside. He threw his claws forward again, but with no more effect than to redouble the tryker's hilarity.
And when the tryker started to pull out quite sharp a pike, Osco lowered his head and moved away quickly, easily losing his pursuer thanks to his knowledge of the jungle.
{{Couillard}}
The chief was waiting for his return:
:''"So, what about this head?"
:''"You only tried to humiliate me by giving me a test too easy for me. Go get your head by yourself and give me a test worthy of a great warrior instead."
The chief's eyes turned even redder as he held back from yelling at the old warrior.
:''"Very well, I will give you another chance. Your trial this time will lead you to face the magic that hurts. Bring us a magician's head to prove your worth as a fighter and a magician."
:''"It's as good as done!"'' *stands up and beats his chest with fists*

Osco remembered a place near a homin city where mask wearers came to meditate at the foot of a waterfall. While the mask was meditating, it would be easy to get close enough to freeze him with a cold spell.
Through paths that only he knew, he arrived near the waterfall. A large blue homina was sitting there, alone, defenseless. The opportunity seemed almost too good.
Rising to his full height, he let the cold spell go. But the spell seemed to ricochet off the tall blue girl, who did not move. Osco tried again and again, but with no more success than the first time. Osco couldn't take it anymore and moved towards the homina, determined to have her head despite everything. But a small crack of vegetation made her turn her head towards him.
:''"Is it you, little gibbai, who is making all this noise that disturbs my meditation? Come and sit with me and don't make any more noise!"
And without worrying about him any more, she resumed her relaxed posture.
Osco, stunned, came to sit at the foot of the waterfall without really understanding why he was obeying this so persuasive voice.
The spell was lifted only when cries of alarm rang out calling for help. Masks were arriving in numbers and Osco only knew to run away as the Sage stood up, holding the weapons.
{{Couillard}}
The camp leader did not hide his anger:
:''"You are really a failure, Osco! But since you have been a pillar of our community, I'm giving you your last chance! Bring me Zoran's head and you will be one of us forever."
''"It's as good as done!"'' *stands up and beats his chest with fists*

But how do you find the head of an entity that doesn't exist? Osco began by wandering aimlessly for a while in the jungle he loved. The solution to the riddle still refused him. The test was difficult, he could not ask for another one. If he couldn't do it, he would have to leave his tribe. Sighs and then sobs rose in him as the daylight grew darker and orange. He knew nothing of homin customs and was therefore very surprised when he saw an Atysmas fairy appear before him.
:''"I am the fairy of Atysmas. Everyone have to be happy during this festive time. I can't let you sob like that. What can I do to make you happy?"
:''"You can't do anything for me! I need Zoran's head, but Zoran doesn't exist so I can't get his head."
And Osco started to moan again. *whimpers*

:''"Zoran's head? But Zoran is everywhere! Since he doesn't have a head, all you have to do is create it yourself! You see that I could do something for you!"
And the fairy vanished.
Making the head? Osco liked the idea at once. He knew enough places to find bark, vines, flowers, fruits, everything needed to create Zoran in full.
All along that remained of the night, he walked through the jungle. And in the morning, he held Zoran's head in his hands. Oh, it looked a little shaggy and had big whiskers, but looking at it, you could feel all the vitality of Zoran on a spring morning when the sap is about to burst.
{{Couillard}}
When Osco presented Zoran's head to the chief, this one bowed and accepted Osco into the tribe forever.
And it is some of this Zoran's sap that you can find on the Gibbakya jewelry.

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''This tale has been told by [[User:Kyriann Ba'Zephy|Kyriann Ba'Zephy]], during the [[Tales of Atysmas 2616 vigil|Tales vigil]] of [[Atysmas]] 2616. (OOC: Christmas 2021)''
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<noinclude>{{Portal|Literature|Animation}}
[[Category:Tales and Legends of Atysmas]][[Category:Atysmas 2021]]</noinclude>

The King's melting

2022-05-31T09:21:12Z

Lanstiril:

<noinclude>{{Trad
|DE =Die Schmelze des Königs
|EN =The King's melting
|FR =La fonte du Roi
|H =1
|palette=matis
}}
<poem>
''We were warming ourselves around a campfire when Gyaz'Alt the seer came to sit beside us.
''As usual, he had abused the psykopla roots, and after some time spent listening to our stories, he began to tell one of his visions.
''A story that may or may not be true…. It all depends on how much you trust his prophecies.
''Here is what he told us that night.

"At that time, a king with a heart of ice reigns over the Matis.
He is so cold that the atmosphere at court is polar.
And his subjects show a chill to the idea of laughing and living.
The queen despairs of this wintry husband.
She brings in jugglers, storytellers and entertainers to warm up the atmosphere.
But nothing works, there is never the slightest smile on the icy lips of her royal husband.
Worse, he took the habit of having the heads of those who tried to cheer him up cut off.
And soon, only a lonesome wind blows in the deserted palace.
Nothing serious, because at that time as now, the Karavan brings the beheaded back.
But who enjoys being thanked in this way?
Then arrives from the desert an ardent fyros storyteller.
His gait is flamboyant, his eyes burning with a laughing flame.
Nothing can temper his enthusiasm for storytelling at the royal table!
He begins a first story, in a high color style.
And miracle….
The king does not cut his head off.
The queen and the courtiers beckon him to continue!
So he tales, again and again, until the day breaks.
Night after night, in front of the king who is slowly thawing, he tales.
He ignites, sets ablaze, and with all his bubbling passion.
One can see the Karan gradually light up.
In the Kingdom everyone lives again.
They sing, they dance, they shout: he has smiled!
The King's heart is no longer frozen, the Fyros storyteller has warmed it up."

''At this point in the story, Gyaz'Alt fell silent, as if everything had been said.
''I pointed out to him that his visions of the future lacked a punchline to claim to be a tale or chronicle.
''You don't need to see the future to find a Zoraï parable…
''He shook his mask, as if sorry, and answered me:

"What is the point of telling the story of the Queen's burning anger when she understood the affair?
What is the point of telling the story of the Karan and his storyteller's escape far from the sad throne of a dying kingdom and a loveless couple?
All that matters, as in any good story, is everything that is left untold.
And for your Atysmas, that's enough: all ends well, and spring returns!"
</poem>

----
''This Gyaz'Alt tale has been reported by Wieny during the [[Tales of Atysmas 2616 vigil|Tales vigil]] of [[Atysmas]] 2616. (OOC: Christmas 2021)''
----

<noinclude>{{Portal|Literature|Animation}}
[[Category:Tales and Legends of Atysmas]][[Category:Atysmas 2021]]</noinclude>

Tales of Atysmas 2616 vigil

2022-05-31T09:20:27Z

Lanstiril:

<noinclude>{{Trad
|DE =Märchenabend zum Segensfest 2616
|ES =Vigilia de cuentos de Atysmas 2616
|EN =Tales of Atysmas 2616 vigil
|FR =Veillée des contes d'Atysoël 2616
|H =1
|palette=atys
}}</noinclude>

[[File:Atysmas 2021 Storytelling.png|400px|right]]

The '''Tales of Atysmas Vigil'''<ref>Advertised on [https://app.ryzom.com/app_forum/index.php?page=post/view/205589 official forum] a few days before.</ref> was held on Frutor the 5th of the third cycle of Jena Year 2616 (OOC: December 26, 2021 at 20h00 UTC) in Atysmas Village.
{{Couillard}}

The audience was able to enjoy five remarkable performances that evening, namely :
* '''[[Atysmas Poem]]''', composed and said by [[User:Elke|Elke]] Miko ;
* '''[[The Tough Osco]]''', a tale said by Nair [[User:Kyriann Ba'Zephy|Kyriann Ba'Zephy]] ;
* '''[[Nennorae White]]''', a tale of jealousy said by… the [[Guild:Animation|great Lutrykin]].
* '''[[For Atys with gratitude]]''', an ex-voto issued by Serae [[User:Lylanea Vicciona|Lylanea Vicciona]], Barde des Quatre Nations ;
* '''[[The King's melting]]''', or how love came to open an icy heart, a Gyaz'Alt tale reported by Nair Wieny ;
{{Clear}}
----
<references/>
----

<noinclude>{{Portal|Literature|Animation}}
[[Category:Tales and Legends of Atysmas]][[Category:Atysmas 2021]]</noinclude>

Tales of Atysmas 2611 vigil

2022-05-31T09:19:43Z

Lanstiril:

<noinclude>{{Trad
|DE =Vigil der Märchen von Atysoel 2611
|EN =Tales of Atysmas 2611 vigil
|FR =Veillée des contes d'Atysoël 2611
|H =
|palette=atys
}}</noinclude>
<div style="overflow:auto; max-width:100%;">[[File:Atysmas 2020 Audience.png|800px|center]]</div>
{{Couillard}}
The '''Tales of Atysmas Vigil'''<ref>Advertised on [https://app.ryzom.com/app_forum/index.php?page=topic/view/31264 official] and [https://app.ryzom.com/app_forum/index.php?page=topic/view/31304 events] a few days before.</ref> was held on Thermis the 21stof the third cycle of Jena Year 2611 (OOC: December 27, 2020 at 20h00 UTC) in Atysmas Village of the Pond of Dreams (Land Under the Wind), around a campfire, that attracted, like a street lantern in Pyr of insects, lutrykins in large numbers but silent... except one (see below).

The audience, consisting of about forty hominas and homins from all factions and nations, was able to enjoy six remarkable performances that evening, namely :
* '''[[The Princess and the Slaveni]]''', or how a high lady is never high enough to do without friends, a tale told by Nair [[User:Kyriann Ba'Zephy|Kyriann Ba'Zephy]];
*'''[[The Truth About fyrak]]''', or how the Great Dragon proves not to be the one many think he is, a comforting story for Fyros children, told by Lady [[:fr:User:Wixarika|Wixarika]]
* '''[[What the light says]]''', or how hominity keeps hope at the worst times, a poem whispered and enacted by Serae [[User:Lylanea Vicciona|Lylanea Vicciona]], Bard of the Four Nations ;
* '''[[Chiang's Atysmas Walk]]''', or how an homin touches wisdom while roaming Atys, an autobiographical account delivered to the assembly by Haokan Kito.
* '''[[Jingle Bocks]]''', or how Trykers celebrate their national drink, a brief drinking song intoned and danced by An-Nair<ref>This petulant homina stubbornly refuses the "title" of Nair!</ref> [[User:Krill|Krill]], alias Krevette ;
* '''[[Lighting the Stars]]''', or how the light comes out one night in a workshop in Pyr, a tale with suspense told by... the [[Guild:Animation|big Lutrykin]].
{{Couillard}}
Below are some lucios shot during the Vigil.
<gallery>
File:Atysmas 2020 Audience W.png|The audience (west)
File:Atysmas 2020 Audience C.png|The audience (center)
File:Atysmas 2020 Audience E (FR).png|The audience (east)
File:Atysmas 2020 Kyriann.png|Nair Kyriann
File:Atysmas 2020 Wixarika.png|Lady Wixarika
File:Atysmas 2020 Lylanea.png|Serae Lylanea
File:Atysmas 2020 Haokan.png|Haokan-kito
File:Atysmas 2020 Krill.png|An-Nair Krill
File:Atysmas 2020 Lutrykin.png|Lutrykin storyteller
</gallery>
{{Couillard}}
<div align=center>'''See you in Frutor of the third cycle of Jena Year 2613 for the next Vigil!'''</div>

----
<references/>
----

<noinclude>{{Portal|Literature|Animation}}
[[Category:Tales and Legends of Atysmas]][[Category:Atysmas 2020]]</noinclude>

Nennorae White

2022-05-31T09:16:16Z

Lanstiril:

<noinclude>{{Trad
|DE =Nennorae die Weiße
|EN =Nennorae White
|FR =Nennorae la Blanche
|H =1
|palette=matis
}}
{{clear}}
Once upon a time, long before the Karavan founded the Church of Jena and allowed homins to revive, there was a young Matis girl.
Her skin was of a white as immaculate snow which highlighted her fine, flawless features. Her black hair and red lips were the finishing touch to this masterpiece of nature. Her white skin made her nickname Alekin-Nennorae. The Karin was close to its blooming period and all eyes were on Alekin-Nennorae.

But she also had enemies.

Of the other suitors, Lady Chiabre was the most vile and did not back down from anything to become Karae. Lady Chiabre possessed a magic mirror that infallibly pointed to the right person when questioned. Dame Chiabre's greatest pleasure was to look at herself in the mirror every day and ask:

:"'''''Mirror, my beautiful mirror, who is the most beautiful?'''''"

For a long time, the mirror had reflected only her face. But now she was seeing there the white and luminous skin of Alekin-Nennorae. Days passed and the mirror always showed the young Matis. Lady Chiabre then secretly summoned the guard she trusted the most. She promised to make her the mistress of the royal spies as soon as she came to power in exchange for Alekin-Nennorae's disappearance.
And soon after, the guard kidnapped Alekin-Nennorae and took her away to where the forest was darkest. The young Matis knew that her last hour had come, but her Matis pride allowed her to look the guard in the face. Under this gaze that stared at her and this beauty so disarming, the guard could not go all the way.
Pointing to the heart of the forest, she told her:

:"'''''Run away! In that direction. There are rumors of other homins to be found there. Go and never come back.'''''"

Alekin-Nennorae began to walk, going deeper and deeper into the dark forest. After a few days of walking, she found a small hut where everything was much smaller than what she knew. On a small table, there were seven small plates with seven small glasses and seven small pieces of cutlery. Alekin-Nennorae was very hungry. She took a bite from each plate and drank a sip from each glass. Then she lay down in one of the seven small hammocks and fell asleep.
In the evening, the inhabitants of the house returned: seven funny small people who spent their days drilling amber and other materials. What was their surprise when they saw that someone had eaten their food and drunk their byrh. Squabbles began to break out, but the smallest one raised his voice, reminding them of one of the principles that guided their lives: sharing. And everyone was content with their share.

Then it was time to go to bed… The astonishment they felt when they saw Alekin-Nennorae is hard to describe. They had never seen a homina with such white a skin, such black a hair and such red lips. They stood there, none of them daring to approach her for fear of waking her up with a start. So when Alekin-Nennorae opened her eyes shortly thereafter to see these small homins, she wondered whether she was dreaming. Their questions made her nervous for a while, but the cheerfulness and good humor of her hosts soon charmed the fugitive. Each one in turn told his story and she learned that these small homins were Trykers and that they lived in a lake region which they liked to explore in search of new materials to drill allowing them to build new objects.

Alekin-Nennorae had found a new home.

Her Matis pride didn't hold her back from learning how to run their home, and in the evenings, when the Trykers came home, they all sat around the fire, telling stories while drinking a little beer. Life was good. But, far from home, when Lady Chiabre asked the mirror again who was the most beautiful, the mirror replied:

:"'''''Lady Chiabre, you are the most beautiful here, but Alekin-Nennorae who lives beyond the forest, among the Trykers, is a thousand times more beautiful than you.'''''"

The lady's face contorted in anger and she devised a new plan to kill Alekin-Nennorae. Since she couldn't trust anyone, she decided to do it herself. As a true Matis, she knew about poisons, how to prepare them and how to use them. So, on salins so red that no one could resist them, she applied the most virulent poison she knew. Then, disguised as a hawker, she set out for Trykoth through the deep forest.

Alekin-Nennorae saw the hawker coming towards her without suspicion and offered her hospitality without recognizing her rival under the disguise. And she gratefully took the salins that reminded her of her happy childhood. But when she bit into them, her seed of life went out and she fell dead. Lady Chiabre savored her triumph, and when she looked into her mirror again in the evening, it was her own reflection that she could again admire at length. The Trykers' sadness at finding the beautiful homina lifeless was immense, but despite all their ingenuity, they could not determine the cause of her death. Since Alekin-Nennorae's beauty was enduring even in death, they placed her in an amber coffin and laid it on a hill in the light of the stars, watched over by one of them.

It seemed as if she was only sleeping.

In the meantime, the Karin saw a wedding with Lady Chiabre coming closer and closer, and this pushed him to extend his mektoub walks more and more, in the hope of finding the one who had stolen his heart. One evening, when he had gone deep into the forest, he saw a glimmer trembling in the starlight on a hill in the distance.
Alekin-Nennorae was there, lying in her amber coffin, more beautiful than ever. A small homin seemed to be watching over her, ready to defend her against everything and everyone. The Karin raised his hand as a sign of peace:

:"'''''I come in peace. I have searched for Alekin-Nennorae for so long. Can you tell me what happened?'''''"

The tryker recounted the joy of being with her and the pain of losing her.

:"'''''My love for her will be stronger than death. Jena will know how to bring us together.'''''"

His love was pure and his pain immense. Then someone came along and put his hand on her shoulder.

:"'''''Your sorrow is great, as is the beauty of this hominid. Do you swear to cherish her?'''''"
:"'''''Yes! Oh yes, I will. I swear to protect her and never let her lack anything.'''''"
:"'''''So… So be it!'''''"

A hand rose above the amber coffin for a few seconds, then lowered and disappeared.
Alekin-Nennorae opened her eyes and smiled at the Karin.
And when Lady Chiabre that night asked the mirror who was the most beautiful, it replied:

:"'''''Alekin-Nennorae is a thousand times more beautiful than you and forever.'''''"

A presence seemed to be overlaid on the image of Alekin-Nennorae before the mirror exploded into a thousand pieces.
The karin married Alekin-Nennorae under the fireworks of the Trykers and they were happy until Jena called them back to Her.

----
''This tale has been told by [[Guild:Animation|Lutrykin]], during the [[Tales of Atysmas 2616 vigil|Tales vigil]] of [[Atysmas]] 2616. (OOC: Christmas 2021)''
----

<noinclude>{{Portal|Literature|Animation}}
[[Category:Tales and Legends of Atysmas]][[Category:Atysmas 2021]]</noinclude>

Lighting the Stars

2022-05-31T09:15:45Z

Lanstiril:

<noinclude>{{Trad
|DE =
|DEs =5
|ES =
|ESs = 5
|EN =Lighting the Stars
|ENs = 4
|FR =Allumer les étoiles
|FRs =0
|RU =
|RUs = 5
|H = 1
|palette=tryker
}}
{{Clear}}
[[File:Atysmas 2020 Lutrykin.png|300px|center]]
{{Clear}}

<poem>
“It's a story that bears some sad passages, but hold your tears. I promise you it ends well.”
''Lutrykin looks at the assembly, lingering on each face as he begins.''

:Once upon a time there was an old fyros toolmaker. All his life Odrafyrkos had been making practical tools, but all he had ever dreamed of was creating beautiful things. And now he was old and bitter. He was even starting to have trouble making his tools. So he looked for an apprentice, but nobody wanted to work with him. One day, a poor homin came to him and offered to take his youngest son as an apprentice with no other compensation than to provide him with food and lodging.
:And that's how Piros entered Odrafyrkos' life.
:The toolmaker showed his apprentice around the workshop, presenting and explaining everything the boy would have to do. In the end, he stopped in front of a closed door.
:“You must never open that door. What's there behind doesn't concern you. Do you understand?” he said.
:Although dying of curiosity, Piros nodded his head and began his life as an apprentice.
:At first Odrafyrkos was behind him all the time, but Piros was quick and learning fast. Soon his boss gave him more and more tasks. :He even began to left the workshop for a few minutes and then for longer and longer moments.
:At first, Piros didn't understand where he could pass those moments, but then he realized that Odrafyrkos locked himself in the forbidden room. Piros would sometimes stop at the door and try to spy but he couldn't hear anything and his curiosity only grew.
:One day Odrypakos said to his young apprentice: “''The master toolmaker needs me. I have to go away for several hours. Go on with your work, I'll check everything when I get back!''
:— ''All will be done, Odrafyrkos!''”
:Piros was curious despite everything. And his master was gone.

''Lutrykin looks at the assembly:'' Guess what he did?
''Krill:'' He went to drink a shooki at the bar… / ''Lylanea:'' Well, I guess he… / ''Muetze:''…opened the forbidden door. / ''Krinseus laughs.'' / ''Kyriann:'' Go for it Piros!! / ''Wixarika is in fits of laughter.'' / Chipset: Oooh! nooo is he…?
''Lutrykin smiles:'' Oh yes. He resisted temptation as best he could.

:Piros continued his work but he thought that offered the perfect opportunity, he would never find a better chance to see what was in that closed room. After a few minutes of restraint, he couldn't wait any longer and moved noiselessly towards the door. He was at last about to know!
:“''I just take a look and I'll get back to work soon.''” he said to himself.
:He took a deep breath and in the same momentum, opened the door, sneaked into the room, closed the door, and leaned against it.

''Lutrykin pauses with a smile.''

:And there! Oh stupor! The room glittered with lights! Everywhere, on every wall, on the ceiling, the slightest inch was adorned with stars that shone with a supernatural light. Subjugated, he moved to the center of the room to better enjoy the show. He sat down and lost the notion of time in contemplating so much beauty.
:He only regained his mind when the door opened violently.
:VHAM!
:Odrafyrkos was furious. “''What are you doing here? I told you not to open that door! All this is only for me!''
:—''But, Odrafyrkos, all this is too beautiful! It has to be shared with others!''
:— ''Get out of there!''”
:Piros left the room dragging his feet.
:Odrafyrkos closed the door behind them.
:“''But who created all these beauties? asked Piros.
:— ''Do you think I wouldn't be able? I am the one who did, of course!''
:— ''Oh, Odrafyrkos, so please teach me!''”

''Lutrykin lowers his voice'': Yes, it's a bit sad. But it will be okay!

:Piros held back his tears only with great difficulty.
:“''How can I trust you? You betrayed me! Now that you've seen them, you'll want them for yourself. No! You must go!''”
:Piros implored: “''Please! Think about it! I can help you to create even more!''”
:Frowned eyebrows, Odrafyrkos looked at the apprentice. Since the kid was here, indeed, things had changed. All you had to do was to see his current stars becoming more and more beautiful.
:“''Tonight you will sleep with your family and tomorrow, first thing, you will come back to see me. I will give you my answer. Now go!''”
:All night long, Odrafyrkos searched for the right solution.
:He felt like the fervent patriot he once had been, seeking Truth and Honor. And the Truth was that the stars were as much his own as those of that scoundrel. But Piros had disobeyed and flouted both Honor and Discipline. He had to be tested.
:But the apprentice would not give up. By morning, he was at dawn in front of the door.
:“''I'm giving you one last chance to make up for it. You'll have to be very attentive and disciplined. If you pass the trials, you will learn how to create stars. Do you feel up to it?'' said the toolmaker.
:— ''Yes, Master Odrafyrkos. I will obey you in everything!''
:— ''So to start, you're going to have to tidy up the whole workshop. Everything has to be gleaming. You can't create beauty in a mess.''”
:And Odrafyrkos added: “''Meanwhile, I must go back to the master toolmaker. Atysmas is approaching and it seems that he can no longer do without me.''”
:Piros enthusiastically began to tidy up, but when reaching a corner of the workshop, he found a nest of dune worms in a pile of sawdust that seemed to have taken up residence there. Indecisive, he stood there for a while with the broom in suspense but finally decided to hide the nest behind a crate, hoping Odrafyrkos would not find it.
:But Odrafyrkos was observant. When he returned, the workshop was gleaming. He was already congratulating Piros when his eyes were drawn to the crate in the corner.
:He asked: “''Um… but why didn't you put that crate away?''”
:The boy wiggled on the spot, blushing under the gaze of his master.
:“''Talen, Piros, the Truth!''
:— ''It's to hide a nest of dune worms. They do nothing wrong. Can't we give them a small place in the workshop? Please!''”
:Piros shivered and waited for Odrafyrkos' answer.

''Lutrykin asks the audience:'' How do you think the toolmaker should react?
''Eeri:'' He takes the dune worms, and fries them, it must be crispy! / ''Kyriann laughs.'' / ''Wixarika bursts out laughing.'' / ''Lylanea:'' Compassion for the weak is a virtue. / ''Krill would like to hear the end of the story, not tell it.'' / "Haokan:" Propose one more test to him? / ''Krinseus wonders if the worms are thirsty.''
''Lutrykin laughs:'' No, that's not what he did! Here is his answer:

:“''I said: clean up the workshop! Go put this crate in its proper place! And you'll have to be careful not to step on the worms passing between your legs!''”
:Piros smiled and rushed off to put the crate right in place.
:“"Now we can start your apprenticeship. Go quickly get the tools and materials that are in the forbidden room. But be careful! Don't look at the stars, concentrate and do what I tell you. You must keep your goal in mind and come back immediately.''”
:The departure was dazzling and Piros pushed the door, full of determination. As he entered the room, he concentrated on his feet and managed to advance into the room until he picked up the tools and materials. He was returning to the door when an even brighter glow caught his attention. Instead of looking at his feet, his gaze wandered to the stars…
:And CRASH!
:Everything he had in his hands ended up on the floor! The noise, however deafening, could not bring him out of the trance and Odrafyrkos had to shake him to make him come to his senses.
:“''Orak, Piros, the Discipline! Pick up the tools and don't look at the stars!''” the toolmaker insisted.
:All the rest of the day, they cut, sanded, and forged stars together. They were able to make many stars. But something was missing.

Lutrykin asks the listeners: "Can you guess what was missing?
''Chancy:'' The light. / ''Kyriann:'' The light! / ''Krill:'' Beer! / ''Lyne the Great's Gold:'' A tree? / ''Eeri:'' The shooki!!! / ''Kyriann is laughing.'' / ''Chipset:'' Worms! / ''Lylanea smiles...''
''Lutrykin says:'' Exactly! The light!

:These stars were beautiful, but they didn't shine.
:Then Odrafyrkos gave his last lesson to the apprentice: “''Shaping is not enough. For each of the stars, you will have to give a part of yourself for the magic to ignite them.''”
:Odrafyrkos took a star in his hand, seemed to sink in his own self for a moment and suddenly the star began to twinkle.
:He said: “''Let the sap flow from you, and see how the living wood absorbs it! Now it's your turn!''”
:Piros was much bothered. He didn't understand what he had to do. He took in turn a star in his hands, but it was no use.
:''I can't do it, Odrafyrkos! What is to be done?''
:— “''That I can't explain to you. The Will has to come from you. Your Honor will guide you. Look, the night has come. I am going to leave you.''” replied his master.
:Left alone, Piros struggled to find a way to push his sap into the stars, but to no avail. In rage, he swept the workbench sending the stars to the ground and ran to pick them up at once, crying in rage and despair. Recovering a star, he sat down near the nest of dune worms and told them, distraught, of his misfortunes. Talking did him good, and it was more determined than ever that he stood up and went back to the workshop.
:And that moment, something unexpected happened that would help him: by chance or deliberate will, one of the worms rushed into his legs and cause him to fall.
:“''OUCH!!''” Piros said as he got up. The star he was clutching in his hand had planted in his palm. Through his fingers, he could see the glow that filled it. That's when he understood. He opened his hand, dazzled and stunned but so proud.
:The star was shining brightly! He had succeeded!
:In the morning, when Odrafyrkos arrived, he found the workshop filled with bright stars while Piros was sleeping in a ball near the nest of dune worms. He smiled, happy and proud of his apprentice and, for the first time, he took the stars and set off across the city to hang them on all the walls and trees around.
</poem>

{{Couillard}}
<div align=center>'''And since that time, a star has glittered atop Atysmas trees, reminding us that beauty comes from the heart.'''

----
''Tale distilled by the Lutrykin Storyteller, during the [[Tales of Atysmas 2611 vigil|Tales of Atysmas 2611 (OOC : Christmas 2020) Vigil]].''
----

<noinclude>{{Portal|Literature|Animation}}
[[Category:Tales and Legends of Atysmas]][[Category:Atysmas 20210]</noinclude>

Jingle Bocks

2022-05-31T09:15:04Z

Lanstiril:

<noinclude>{{Trad
|EN =Jingle Bocks
|FR =Vive la bière
|H = 1
|palette=atys
}}
{{Clear}}
[[File:Atysmas 2020 Krill.png|600px|center]]
{{Clear}}

<poem>
::<big>'''J'''ingle bocks,</big>
::<big>'''J'''ingle bocks,</big>
::<big>'''J'''ingle bocks of byhr</big>
::<big>'''T'''hat's gurgling down in our wide-open gobs!</big>

::<big>'''J'''ingle bocks,</big>
::<big>'''J'''ingle bocks,</big>
::<big>'''J'''ingle bocks of byhr!</big>
::<big>'''Y'''eahhh!</big>

</poem>

{{Couillard}}
<div align=center>'''Atysmas beer will be Tryker or will not be!'''

----
''Song sung and danced (on the tune of '''''Jingle Bells''''') by [[User:Krill|Krill]], during the [[Tales of Atysmas 2611 vigil|Tales of Atysmas 2611 (OOC : Christmas 2020) Vigil]].''
----

<noinclude>{{Portal|Literature|Animation}}
[[Category:Tales and Legends of Atysmas]][[Category:Atysmas 2020]]</noinclude>

For Atys with gratitude

2022-05-31T09:12:53Z

Lanstiril:

<noinclude>{{Trad
|DE =Für Atys mit Dankbarkeit
|EN =For Atys with gratitude
|FR =Pour Atys avec reconnaissance
|H =1
|palette=atys
}}
{{clear}}
<poem>
:''Lylanea bows briefly to the guests gathered for the Tales of Atysmas Vigil before speaking.
"As we do every year, we have gathered here to celebrate the Feast of Blessings. But what does that mean? What does the Feast of Blessings mean to us homins?"

:''Lylanea smiles.
"Tradition says it is a time to remember the dark years our parents and grandparents spent in exile… that many homins still spend in exile.
Some spent this time in safe caves deep in the Bark. Others, like all those who are joining us nowadays, have spent their time fleeing far and wide on the face of the Great Plant. Surviving only on their own strength, courage and intelligence, until they met those who showed them the way to get here. Many of us have found a place here in the Four Lands. Some are still searching for that place. But everyone will eventually find their place.
For me personally, the Feast of Blessings is a time of reflection, where I measure how grateful I can be to have found all this. These countries, these homins. Those who once welcomed me and with whom I spent many happy years. Until I left it. Those who are no longer with us and those who still walk the paths of the Bark."

:''Lylanea looks a little sad but soon smiles again and resumes:
"Those homins who supported me during my voluntary exile and showed me new ways. But, also, those who welcomed me back here. Who took the time to know me and let me know them. Those who accept me with all my faults, those who grant me their friendship and those whom I have learned to love. Some less, some more (wink to Wixarika). I am grateful to all of them."

:''After a short pause, Lylanea resumes:
"Before we continue our vigil, I would like to ask you: what are you thankful for today?
– For me, it is to be with you to enjoy these stories! answers Kyriann.
– Of the homins and homines who helped me, says Ogmios.
– To be able to fill up with stories, one more evening! exclaims Wieny.
– From the kindness that flows from this planet and especially from what I have learned from some homins, adds Wixarika.
– Oh yes! Listening and sharing stories, sometimes funny, sometimes full of teaching, Lutrykin adds.
– The joy of having been allowed to roam this wonderful rootball for many years, Ryzyinshi says with a broad smile.
– I am grateful for the flame that burns in the fireplace!" concludes Ledania.
– Well, that should be enough…. Thank you for those words."

:''Lylanea finally gives her own feeling:
"I myself am grateful for what I have been able to learn from you and what I will learn from you again.
I am grateful for the friendship and affection I receive from you every time we meet.
I am grateful for all those I have had the opportunity to fight alongside against our common enemy.
I am grateful for every spell, every bandage, every flower and every potion that helped me get back on my feet.
I am thankful for every spell and every sword stroke that took down an enemy and so saved me from pain and death.
I am grateful to the homins of the Four Lands for defending them, keeping them alive and allowing us to exist here."

:''A time….
"Without you, the Four Lands would not exist. A thousand times and with all my heart: thank you."

:''Lylanea bows respectfully.
</poem>

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''This ex-voto has been issued by [[User:Lylanea Vicciona|Lylanea Vicciona]], during the [[Tales of Atysmas 2616 vigil|Tales vigil]] of [[Atysmas]] 2616. (OOC: Christmas 2021)''
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<noinclude>{{Portal|Literature|Animation}}
[[Category:Tales and Legends of Atysmas]][[Category:Atysmas 2021]]</noinclude>

Chiang's Atysmas Walk

2022-05-31T09:12:14Z

Lanstiril:

<noinclude>{{Trad
|EN =Chiang's Atysmas Walk
|FR =La balade d'Atysoël de Chiang
|H = 1
|palette=atys
}}
{{Clear}}
[[File:Atysmas 2020 Haokan.png|300px|right]]
<big>'''A tale while walking Atys'''</big>

''Some time ago, someone I hold in high esteem asked me for a tale of Atysoel for this vigil. At first I was quite embarrassed: I don't know how to make up stories. So I searched my memory if I could remember something that you might like. But the stories that came back to me you probably already know them... So I decided to go back to the source of these tales. After my Mask ceremony, I spent a lot of time on Silan, and that's where I heard the best stories.''

So I went back to Chiang the Strong to ask his advice. We talked for a while. Then he had an idea, which he didn't want to confide in me at the time:''

''“Come back in a few days, he said, and you'll have a story that hasn't been told for a long time!”''

I went back to see him a few days later, eager to hear this tale.

''“Patience, Chiang told me. Before you have your story, you need to gather certain elements.”''

And he gave me a list of people to go see. You know Chiang; he didn't give me the list all at once! I would go to the mainland to find the person he had designated for me, I would come back, then he would give me another name, and I would go again. Maybe I would have seen the catch coming if he had told me the whole list at once. But I'll spare you the details of these round trips...

The first was a priest of the Temple of Zora. I introduced myself to him, and we discussed the Kami faith and the greatness of Ma-duk, until finally I could discuss the subject of my visit. He then spoke of his own visit to Silan years before and the pleasure he had had in traveling through this island blessed by the Kamis. Finally, he handed me a small package, with the instruction not to open it without Chiang's agreement.

And he concluded the exchange with these words:“'''''The course of Light can take many paths.'''''”

The second was a Fyros. I found him at Lydix' bar. He was an old warrior, worn out by a thousand battles for the glory of the sharük, who grumbled about the failure of young men to serve the Empire with loyalty. When I was finally able to come about the why of my visit, he handed me a small package, with the same instructions, and confided to me:

“'''''There is more than one way to be loyal and to serve.'''''”

The third was a Zoraï homina, a herbalist whose tent contained many strange plants. What she made me drink for sure was not a simple tea.

“'''''It is the dose that makes the poison… or the remedy.'''''” She explained to me before giving me a spicy smelling package.

The fourth was an homina, too, a former Marauder who had grown up in a clan of the Old Lands. She now lived as a hermit in the heart of the Prime Roots, and received me almost kindly. She gave me the package after having made me face a tyrancha with bare hands. The tyrancha won, but the homina lifted me up and honored my courage by handing me the object of my quest. She accompanied its giving with these words:

“'''''What matters is to fight valiantly and for a just cause.'''''”

The fifth was a Tryker, a crafty trader who had already relieved me of a lot of dappers these last months. He insisted on playing cards for the package. Of course I lost, again and again, until he took pity on me… He let me go home pockets empty… but with the package and a mockery :

“'''''It doesn't matter the bottle, as long as we get drunk in good company!'''''”

The sixth was a Matis homina. She was a great lady, a former courtier to the Karan, who was spending her old age teaching elegance to the aristocratic youth of Yrkanis. She made a little fuss at receiving me. Yet I had donned my best clothes! Finally, she agreed to entrust me with a small package for Chiang. Before I leave, she said to me:

“'''''Even if some people don't know anything about good manners, that doesn't prevent them from doing good... and that's already enough.'''''” I hope she wasn't talking about me?

The seventh was a female officer of the Karavan. I was a bit worried about approaching her, given my allegiance, but the Kuilde let me pass this time, and I got the package without being too shoved. She said to me:
“'''''Jena considers all homins as her children, even those who get lost for a while. And some will always have her support, even if they are not the most pious.'''''”

I preferred not to linger and return quickly to Silan. I wondered if Chiang would make me run for a long time more... but the officer had been the last one!

“''Perfect, said the Ranger, Atysmas can start now!''”

He handed me the packages, all wrapped in various colored papers, and let me open them. They were the various elements of an ornament and two daggers, and on each piece was engraved a message, an echo of what everyone had told me.

“''What about the tale, Chiang?' I asked. 
—''What did you learn from those walks?''”

I ponder, and I understood. Thanks to him, I had met people from all factions and all nations. All of them had been on Silan at some point in their lives and had kept some memories of it. Everyone had also committed themselves in one way or another for the Bark. Finally, everyone had participated together in the Chiang project, in their own way. Beyond what could set these homins against each other on a daily basis, they were capable to unite their efforts in certain circumstances.
{{Couillard}}
<div align=center>'''All you need to do is find the right arguments and the right motivation'''
''' for all the homins to unite on Atys, without even denying their values…'''

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''This story has been told by Haokan, during the [[Tales of Atysmas 2611 vigil|Tales of Atysmas 2611 (OOC : Christmas 2020) Vigil]].''
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<noinclude>{{Portal|Literature|Animation}}
[[Category:Tales and Legends of Atysmas]][[Category:Atysmas 2020]]</noinclude>

Atysmas Poem

2022-05-31T09:11:11Z

Lanstiril:

<noinclude>{{Trad
|DE =Gedicht zu Segenfest
|EN =Atysmas Poem
|FR =Poème d'Atysoël
|H = 1
|palette=atys
}}
{{Clear}}

'''<big><big>ATYSMAS</big></big>'''

<poem>
Market and roads are left deserted,
silently illuminated every house,
pondering I walk the alleys,
everythings looks so festive.

The windows are decorated piously
with colourful toys by homins.
Thousands little homin stand and look,
are so wonderfully excited
and I walk out of the walls
into the open fields,
noble twinkle, holy shiver!

So wide and silent is this world!
Stars twine up high in circles,
from the solitude of the snow
rises like wonderful singing -
oh you gracious Atysmas-time!
</poem>

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''This poem was said by [[User:Elke|Elke]], during the [[Tales of Atysmas 2616 vigil|Tales vigil]] of [[Atysmas]] 2616. (OOC: Christmas 2021)''
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<noinclude>{{Portal|Literature|Animation}}
[[Category:Tales and Legends of Atysmas]][[Category:Atysmas 2021]]</noinclude>

What the light says

2022-05-31T08:59:19Z

Lanstiril:

The Wicked Wind

2022-05-31T08:57:13Z

Lanstiril:

<noinclude>{{Trad
|DE =Der tückische Wind
|EN =The Wicked Wind
|FR =Le Vent Mauvais
|H =
|palette=tryker
}}</noinclude>
[[File:Krill telling.jpg|800px|center]]
{{Clear}}
'''''The Wind is closing in.'''''
:But Mac'Eoppy doesn't care. He prepares his caravan.
:Mac'Eoppy believes in Jena, and in the Karavan. Not in those ridiculous superstitions of drunken Trykers.
:He says seelagan to his wife, and joyfully leaves his village to increase his fortune.

'''''The Wind whispers.'''''
:The caravan is progressing well, and Mac'Eoppy is happy.
:He has already avoided a customs control, and his profit is increasing accordingly.
:The caravan progresses well, and Mac'Eoppy ignores the Wind. He counts the dappers in his head.

'''''The Wind bulks up.'''''
:And lifts the sawdust. He slaps and whips those who stand in its way.
:The mektoubs huddle together, and the homins take shelter near them.
:But Mac'Eoppy sees only an unexpected storm, and continues to move forward.

'''''The Wind is dropping.'''''
:A little. And in the debris of the storm, two mektoubs are missing.
:Broken bones, torn skins, putrefied flesh, the two poor beasts are quickly found.
:But Mac'Eoppy blames the wild beasts, and he only regrets the lost loads

'''''The Wind soughs.'''''
:Words of hatred and violence. And the caravan moves slowly.
:Mac'Eoppy is looking for the one who lost the two pack animals.
:And mistrust, and suspicion, spread in Mac'Eoppy's heart.

'''''The Wind sings.'''''
:One of the mektoubers has vanished, and Mac'Eoppy is contented.
:He's the culprit, of course. A rotten fruit that won't spoil the others.
:Mac'Eoppy carries on his way, not looking for him anymore.

'''''The Wind blackens.'''''
:The bandits were looking for the village. They found the caravan.
:They torture the homins, and plunder the mektoubs.
:Mac'Eoppy cries and does not hear the Wind in the midst of the suffering screams.

'''''The Wind has fallen.'''''
:For an hour, maybe a day. Finally a little respite.
:Mac'Eoppy and a few others managed to flee, abandoning injured ones.
:But the bandits know where to find the village, and intend to take revenge.

'''''The Wind whistles.'''''
:The fugitives move forward as they can, hands on their ears.
:Mac'Eoppy didn't see the two who fell, struck down by predators.
:He only thinks about his wife and his village. To get there before the bandits do..

'''''The Wind spits.'''''
:And the sawdust it lifts and throws, tears the skin off the homins.
:Mac'Eoppy has sheltered behind his aides until they fell one after the other.
:Now he moves forward alone, exhausted, mad with pain.

'''''The Wind howls.'''''
:And its voice fills Mac'Eoppy's head.
:He only has one thought left. To find his wife. To protect her.
:Arrive before the bandits. Go forward. Go forward. Go forward.

'''''The Wind falls silent.'''''
:And Mac'Eoppy finally sees his village. His house.
:Everything is quiet. Too quiet. Would the bandits have already taken everything.
:Slowly, he slips into the night, reaches the door of his house.

'''''The Wind listens.'''''
:Mac'Eoppy saw a shape moving.
:Screaming, he bounded. To protect his wife. To forget he betrayed his friends.
:He hits, he beats, he strikes, with all his limbs, with all his strength.

'''''The Wind sneers.'''''
:Neighbors come running up, asking what's going on. Who killed Mac'Eoppy's wife?
:The murderer ran away as discovering his victim.
:Shade in the night. Meeting the bandits who arrive.

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''This tale♦ has been told by [[User:Krill|Krill]] on [[Anlor Winn/Storytelling JA2610|2610 Anlor Winn Convention]].'' (OOC : Halloween 2020)'' 
'''<big>♦</big>''' « ''Anlor Winn'' » is the [[Portal:Tryker/Language|Tyll]] for english « Wicked Wind »
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<noinclude>{{Portal|Literature|Animation}}
[[Category:Tales and Legends of Anlor Winn]][[Category:Halloween 2020]]</noinclude>

The Truth About fyrak

2022-05-31T08:53:02Z

Lanstiril:

The Tough Osco

2022-05-31T08:51:40Z

Lanstiril: