1. Kai’rin
1
KAI’RIN
I lounge against a stone pillar in the training yard, my fingers absently tracing the intricate patterns etched into my blade's hilt. The familiar weight grounds me as I watch Vhex and Mykael circle each other in the combat ring.
Vhex's muscles bunch beneath his training leathers, a savage grin splitting his scarred face. "Getting slow in your old age, tactician?" He lunges forward, steel flashing.
Mykael sidesteps with calculated precision, his dove-gray wings shifting to maintain perfect balance. "Still falling for the same feints?" His green eyes narrow as he counters with a series of swift strikes.
Their blades clash in a deadly dance, neither willing to yield ground. Vhex fights like a beast unleashed, all raw power and brutal force. His steel-gray wings flare wide, casting jagged shadows across the packed dirt. Mykael responds with surgical precision, each movement purposeful and controlled.
The air crackles with unspent energy. Even these two feel it - the restlessness that's been plaguing the compound for days. The Praexa's ceremonies have grown longer, their chants more fervent. Something stirs on the horizon.
Blood sprays as Vhex's blade finds Mykael's shoulder. The tactician doesn't flinch, using the momentum to drive his knee into Vhex's gut. They break apart, breathing hard.
"Your form's shit today," I call out, earning a crude gesture from Vhex.
"Come down here and say that to my face, Kai." Vhex wipes blood from a split lip, amber eyes gleaming with barely contained violence.
I stretch my wings, feeling the old scars pull tight across the ash-gray feathers. "And deprive myself of the entertainment? I think not."
Mykael sheaths his blade, green eyes calculating as ever. "The compound grows restless. I think everyone senses it."
"Let them sense it." My fingers tighten on my hilt. "Changes come and go. We remain."
Vhex rolls his shoulders, that savage grin still splitting his face. "Speaking of changes..." He launches at Mykael again, blade singing through the air. "Heard whispers from the temple. Thirteen beings created a new world. Took all kinds of creatures from here with them."
I push off from the pillar, my wings unfurling as I drop into the ring. The packed dirt shifts beneath my boots. "Protheka," I say, testing the word on my tongue. "Another playground for new gods."
With the level of magic thrown around, the term 'gods' feels irrelevant. They are just bored creatures with too much time and magic.
Mykael deflects Vhex's strike, his movements fluid despite the blood staining his shoulder. "Not gods. Powerful beings, but not divine."
My blade finds his exposed flank. He twists away, but not before I draw blood. "I could make a world if I wanted." The violence sings in my veins, demanding release. "Who needs thirteen when one would suffice?"
"Arrogant bastard." Vhex's attack forces me to pivot, my wings spreading wide for balance. His amber eyes burn with bloodlust as our blades lock. "You'd fill it with broken things, wouldn't you?"
"Breaking is an art." I drive my elbow into his throat, savoring his choked gasp. "My captives always understand that enough."
Mykael circles us, waiting for an opening. "Surely, we'll be getting new ones soon. Perhaps we should practice our... hospitality."
"I prefer to improvise." My violet eyes flare as I channel magic through my blade, sending Vhex stumbling back. "Each spirit breaks differently. Half the fun is finding the weak points."
"Like that merchant's daughter last month?" Vhex recovers, blood trickling from his split lip. "Never heard such pretty screams."
"Crude." I dodge Mykael's thrust, countering with a slash that opens his forearm. "True mastery lies in breaking their hope, not their bodies. Physical pain fades. Mental scars..." My laugh echoes across the yard. "Those last forever."
Our blades dance in lethal harmony, three predators playing at war. Blood darkens the dirt beneath our feet, but none of us slow. This is what we were made for - violence given form, cruelty made beautiful.
But it's soon disrupted. A burst of golden light explodes across the training yard, forcing me to shield my eyes. The Praexa's summons burns through my blood like molten metal, demanding immediate compliance.
"Shit." I lower my blade, violet eyes narrowing at the interruption. "Looks like playtime's over."
Vhex spits blood onto the dirt. "Always when things get interesting."
We make our way through the compound's stone corridors, our wings tucked close in the narrow passages. Three other warriors fall in step - faces I recognize but names I've never bothered to learn. Expendable pieces in whatever game the Praexa plays now.
The temple doors swing open on silent hinges. Incense burns in golden braziers, thick smoke curling around elaborate pillars. Praexa Ananias stands before the altar, her multiple sets of pure white wings spread in an impressive display of status. Light seems to bend around them, as if reality itself acknowledges their authority.
I drop to one knee, not out of respect but necessity. The Praexa's power demands submission, even from xaphan like me.
"Rise." Her voice resonates through the small temple. "We have detected an anomaly."
"What kind of anomaly?" Mykael's tactical mind is already spinning possibilities.
The Praexa's wings shift, casting rippling shadows across the temple floor. "An energy signature unlike anything we've encountered. It bears similarities to the creation of Protheka, but..." She pauses, golden eyes sweeping over our assembled group. "This feels different. Wilder."
"Another world?" I can't keep the dark amusement from my voice. "And you want us to find it."
"You will locate the source of this disturbance." The Praexa's power crackles through the air, making my wings twitch. "Report back what you find. Do not engage unless necessary."
Vhex's scarred face splits in a predatory grin. "And if we find something worth engaging?"
"Then you will show them why the xaphan are feared across all realms." The Praexa's words drip with cruel promise. "You leave immediately. Do not fail us."
I rise, already anticipating the violence to come. "When have I ever failed to break what's put before me?" She only gives me a wry smile and sends the six of us on our way.
The temple's golden light fades as we make our way to the armory. My boots echo against stone steps while my companions practically race ahead like eager fledglings. I hang back, watching their childish competition with dark amusement.
Vhex shoulders past Mykael, sending him stumbling into a weapons rack. "First pick goes to the fastest warrior." His scarred hands grasp a wicked curved blade.
"Brute force over strategy, as always." Mykael rights himself, green eyes scanning the array of steel with calculated precision. He selects a slender sword designed for quick, devastating strikes.
I ignore their posturing and move to the far corner where my personal weapons rest. My fingers trace the ornate runes etched into my ceremonial blade's scabbard. Each marking represents a broken spirit, a shattered will. The leather grip bears the wear of countless victories, molded perfectly to my grasp through years of intimate use.
The blade slides free with a whisper of steel on leather. Violet light dances along its edge, responding to the magic in my blood. I've marked hundreds with this weapon - their screams, their pleas, their final moments of resistance all captured in its hungry metal.
"Still carrying that fancy letter opener?" Vhex tests his new blade's balance with wild swings.
My wings shift, casting shadows across the weapon's surface. "This 'letter opener' has tasted more blood than you've spilled in your entire career." I run my thumb along the edge, letting it bite into my flesh. The blade seems to pulse, drinking in the offering. "It knows what it likes."
The weapon feels different today - eager, almost impatient. Its usual thirst for suffering has deepened into something more primal. As I clean the centuries-old steel with ritualistic precision, I sense its anticipation. Whatever anomaly we're hunting, my blade yearns to taste it.
"Some of us prefer weapons that don't have opinions." Mykael straps additional daggers to his belt.
I sheath the ceremonial blade with practiced grace. "Everything has opinions, tactician. The trick is making them align with yours."
Something I'm particularly skilled at. And eager to prove on a new set of captives.