Chapter 4 Stirring of Awe #2
“Mm.” Zarrek smirked, scratching at the sandpaper of his black stubble. “Still better than the daydreams rattling around your head these days.”
Resh paused to check the lashings on another cart, keeping his tone level. “Have you finally decided to get it off your chest?”
“I see the way you look at it.” Zarrek leaned in just enough to needle. “You don’t look at your weapon with that much longing.”
Resh’s fingers tightened on the cord. “Watch your words.”
“Why?” Zarrek drawled. “Struck a nerve?”
Resh’s hand stilled. “She has a name.”
Zarrek chuckled. “Well, if that wasn’t the case, I’d have to question your tastes.
You’ve never lacked for warm bodies, Commander.
But this?” He gestured vaguely, a smirk curling one corner of his mouth, and pressed on.
“That tiny thing? She’s barely a woman. You sure this isn’t desperation dressed up in devotion? ”
Resh didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But the air shifted around him, a gust that had nothing to do with the Moore wind.
“I’ll only say this once.” His voice was measured and lethal. “Speak of her like that again, and I’ll rearrange your spine.”
Zarrek suddenly held up both hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I see it now. You’ve grown soft.”
“No.” Resh’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve grown tired of you pretending not to see what’s right in front of you. She’s real. She’s alive. Powerful, strange, but…”
Zarrek’s smile vanished. For a moment, something old and wounded flickered in his expression, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
He scoffed. “That wisp couldn’t lift a blade if you bound it to her bones. I’ve never seen a woman so slight. Most children in Krystopolis are taller.”
Resh decided not to mention the night she’d subdued the Resh’Agar’s runes with her magic. He looked out toward the edge of camp, where the light was soft and the wind had picked up again, brushing the grass in waves.
“She reminds me of something I thought I’d lost.”
Zarrek exhaled through his nose, but said nothing.
A long pause settled between them—heavy, but not hostile.
“Commander!” A young scout skidded to a halt, breathless. “The tethering—there’s a problem. It’s Astenos. He’s missing.”
The wind died.
Resh’s stomach dropped. “…What?”
The scout nodded rapidly. “Gone. And the whole tethering’s out cold, like they were spelled.”
The wind picked up again as Resh strode across the field, his pace brutal. Zarrek kept up, silent now, one hand hovering near the hilt of his enormous battleaxe.
The tethering ring came into view.
Reskala stood clustered around at least thirty sleeping horses, signing to one another in a panic. A few wanted to douse the animals with cold water, but Resh stopped them. Water was a precious commodity in the Cycle of Fire. They couldn’t afford to waste it.
Another Reskala had resorted to snapping his fingers near a mare’s ear. Several others were shaking the large animals to coax them awake. Nothing worked. The horses lay collapsed in perfect calm, chests rising and falling slowly, eyes closed in repose.
Resh passed the men in silence, each one straightening with a snap as he walked by. He knelt beside the nearest horse; a powerful stallion bred from the Flamehooves. He pressed his palm to its flank.
Steady breath. Low pulse. No signs of injury. No foam at the mouth. No churning in the stomach.
Just…sleep.
“Void-damned spell,” Zarrek muttered. “Has to be.”
“There’s no trace signature.”
Resh looked around using his Manasight. He rose and closed his eyes, allowing all sound and sensation to fade into a blurred background hum.
He reached inward, deep into the architecture of his body where his Runesgram burned.
He found Vor’tha, the rune that tethered him to his war steed, Astenos.
A single line of command and loyalty, formed through pain and ceremony. And now—
He felt it.
A heartbeat. Distant but strong. Calm.
But Astenos had never been serene.
East.
He pivoted sharply. “Secure the camp. No one leaves until we’re back.”
And with that, he strode in the direction his instinct led.
They moved fast, boots pounding over brittle grass. As they crested a low rise, the light shifted over the land, turning brighter and warmer. The ground underfoot changed, too. Softer. Greener.
Resh slowed.
The field ahead bloomed unnaturally. The Cycle of Fire had withered everything else to dull brown, but here the grass grew lush and vibrant, as if caught in mid-Growth. White, yellow, and sapphire wildflowers peppered the earth. The scent—fresh rain and jasmine—tightened his chest.
Then he saw him.
Astenos.
His fearsome mount stood tall in the middle of the glade, his body casting no shadow on the ground.
This was the beast that had once trampled a Shade warlord into mulch for raising a weapon against Resh during negotiations.
Astenos—who had never allowed another soul to ride or touch him—stood in the middle of the glade, docile as a gelding at pasture.
Resh had never seen him so still without something dead at his feet.
And beside him, tiny, barefoot, pale as the waxing moon—
Auryn.
Standing on tiptoe, feeding the enormous creature a crimson slice of fruit, vivid against the silver spill of her hair.
She stroked his muzzle with her small hand, humming softly.
Astenos leaned into her touch like a doting hound, his massive plated shoulders relaxed.
He closed his glowing blue eyes, then bent all six of his legs and laid down beside her with a snort, nuzzling her.
Behind him, Zarrek placed a single firm hand on Resh’s shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, each word scraped out of him.
“If you tell me one more time...” A pause. “That she isn't dangerous, I'll break your jaw.”
"Zarrek…"
"Look at the way the men look at her," Zarrek warned, his grip tightening, his voice dropping low. Resh glanced at the surrounding Reskala. Grown men twice her size—enthralled. "These aren't farmers. They're men of Krystopolis. You know what happens when something is worshipped in the Doctrine."
Resh swallowed. Images of blood rituals, frenzied chanting, and sacrifice flashed through his mind. The Vox Ring, the processions—Companions prostrating themselves at his feet, priests painting his body for the Estar ritual, and drums beating in the deep.
With a curse under his breath, he scratched at the scar on his nape.
"Yeah," Zarrek said, close to his ear. "I see you still remember."
Resh breathed.
Once. Deep. Heavy.
Pushed the images away.
Ahead, Auryn whispered something to Astenos. The steed let out a soft rumble and nudged her shoulder like he understood.
Zarrek let out a low breath of his own. “That beast won’t even let me trim his hooves. What in the name of the Void is she?”
Resh’s throat was tight. Something unnamable pressed against his ribs.
Ahead, Auryn giggled, a sound so light it didn’t belong to this world.
Astenos let out a whuff and nudged her again, more forcefully this time.
She staggered, barefoot heels skidding in the dewy grass.
Astenos’s bulk could crush her with a careless shift.
One wrong move, and there’d be no one left to feed him those Voids-damned apples.
Resh gritted his teeth. His patience snapped. He moved. Each step released a small cloud of wisp seeds and heady scent. A scene from a storybook dream. Astenos lifted his head at the sound, ears twitching.
They shared a timeless look, rider and horse linking minds.
But the beast didn’t rise. Instead, he huffed a gust of warm air through flared nostrils, snorted once, and rested his chin back at Auryn’s feet.
His plated tail flicked lazily. The veins of mana running through his thick skin pulsed from bright blue to white.
Auryn glanced up then, as if she’d only just noticed him. Her smile lit the whole glade. “He likes apples,” she explained. “And songs. Mostly songs.”
Resh couldn’t tear his eyes from her.
“Thank you for the gift.” Auryn nodded. She turned her head. The light caught in her hair, revealing a ribbon of glinting gray. His ribbon. Freshly braided.
His heart kicked.
Not around her wrist, not tied to her satchel, not forgotten by her pillow. She’d chosen it. Chosen to weave it into her hair—into herself.
Something stirred in the chaos beneath his soul. Not rage. Not hunger. Not the madness he’d long since learned to shoulder like a sin. This was different—quieter, sharper. It swept aside war and bloodlust in favor of a single sliver of starlight. Something raw and ruinous.
Astenos stilled and turned.
Their eyes met again.
The beast sensed the shift.
Auryn, too, felt it.
She stroked Astenos’ mane one last time then padded over to Resh. “I haven’t tamed him,” she said. Her eyes dropped to his chest, to the runes beneath his armor. “War isn’t something one can tame.”
Resh didn’t trust his voice enough to reply. But she saw it—the second shift, the one he hadn’t meant to show. Her smile softened as though she knew and understood.