Two

Kaius

The night is cool, a recent storm leaving the ground damp and the sky covered in thick gray clouds.

These nights have always been my favorite.

The way the grass smelled so fresh, and how my home was always a bit cooler after a hot summer day.

The first sip of crisp water from the basin.

When I was a boy, the hours after a thunderstorm were always serene.

I swirl the thin layer of remaining blood-spiked wine around my silver goblet before bringing it to my lips.

I stare out to the horizon, past the jagged rocks that rise high above the valley, towards the East.

I have done this every morning for centuries.

I stand here in the hours before the sun crests over the valley, hoping that this will be the day the caress of the sun doesn’t burn my skin.

I’ve never had such luck.

My people know not to disturb me in these hours.

It’s not forbidden, but the last person to do so ended up as ashes on the balcony, left to die in the dreaded sunlight.

Recognizing footsteps is a skill I’ve become far too good at.

Though I can see perfectly fine in the dark, I’ve learned to rely on my other senses just as much as my sight.

A keen ear sometimes reveals more than a keen eye.

It’s Dravon approaching.

My long-standing ally.

My right hand. Someone I trust.

“Dangerous game you’re playing this morning,”

I murmur, only half-joking.

“ worms in the prisons are requesting you meet them there. They claim it’s a matter of some urgency,”

Dravon says, and I can hear the disgusted curl of his lip when he mumbles something about not being a messenger boy.

I tilt my chin in acknowledgment but don’t move my gaze from the horizon.

“They had a human with them,”

Dravon adds as he steps to my side. “A tall, thin thing. I did not see her face, but she smelled–”

an exhale of breath “–divine.”

I raise a brow. “They want an audience with me for new livestock?”

“Curiously, they were requesting livestock in reward.”

Finally, I let my eyes drift to the man at my side. I hand Dravon my goblet, and for the first time in nine hundred years, I turn my back to the sunrise.

If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.