1217-11-18
Imari Solan:
The sand.
I love the sand of Sha'tar.
The peace. The subtle breeze. The way it smells. The soft sounds it makes in the morning. The way it feels under my feet.
Whoosh.
The day is bright and sunny. I get out of bed and look at the sun. The dull heat is something I have grown used to.
We live in a humble one-floor house. Enough for us to get by.
I put on some clothes, simple under armor in tan and silver armor above. There are two holes cut in the back for my wings. The wings hide inside a tattoo on my back. Every Nezu's wings are different. I remember the ceremony like it was yesterday.
My wings jolted out as I stretched. It is hard to explain what they feel like. They feel like appendages that were always there, like my body just got used to them.
My wings are white.
A general said wing color depends on the color of ink used and that the Queen decides it.
It feels weird if I try to stretch my fingers the same way as my wings. It is a normal reaction, though I wish my shirts shifted around and had the same holes as my armor. The Queen supplies us with enough clothes to last a lifetime, and yet I always feel bad for tearing them.
Once I put on my armor, I take a small silver spear from my closet. The spear has a golden pommel on the end of it.
I leave my room.
My sister's door is closed, as it usually is. My mother's room is also closed.
My brother is sitting on a small couch. Paintings decorate the walls. Portraits my sister had made of us
We all share the same brown eyes and dark skin, the markings of Sha'tar. My brother has black hair that grew all the way down to his knees.
He sits with a solemn frown on his face before he notices me.
"Are you going out?" my brother says, barely paying me any mind.
"I have to stand watch today."
"On Ramses? I thought everyone got the day off."
"I still think Ramses is… suspicious," I mumble.
"Why's that?" my brother asks, sipping his drink.
"Not only do we have to stay home, but it's a new holiday. Only the last three years."
He chuckles. "If you ever meet the Queen, why don't you ask her yourself? But why are you going out?"
"The general needed someone to guard the steps. Me and a friend volunteered."
"Mom's going to be upset."
"I'm the opening shift. I'll be back before Neria wakes up."
"If you say so," my brother mutters. "Don't do anything rash. And if something happens, don't fight anyone. That's not your responsibility."
"I know, I know," I mumble. "My responsibility is to report it, blah blah blah."
"I'm serious, Imari," he presses. "I've been in your shoes. I don't want to see you get hurt."
"And I'm serious too, Seris. But I need to stretch my wings. This could be an opportunity for me to rank up, to earn favor with the Queen."
A small creak breaks the moment. My mother steps out of her room. She is older now, frail, leaning on her cane. The tiredness is still heavy in her eyes.
Seris jolts up to steady her, the fastest I've seen him move in years.
"Where are you going?" my mother asks slowly.
"I'm going to the steps to defend the post," I say, almost boastfully, though her eyes show her true feelings.
"Shouldn't more experienced soldiers be doing that?"
"Mum… I am experienced. I was chosen to be a Nezu."
Her lips soften into a faint smile.
"Imari, listen to your mother," Seris teases.
"Do what you please," my mom says. "Your brother was just like you at your age."
"I promise I'll be home before she wakes up," I say as I dash to the door.
"Wait," my mom says, her voice cracking. "Be careful. If you fly too close to the sun, your wings will get clipped."
"Have a good day. I love you, Mum."
I arrived near the palace steps. They gleamed with marble and studded with dragon heads carved from gems. Water trickles from their open mouths. Water spilling into small fountains that shimmer in the sun.
Two soldiers stand at the base of the steps. Their golden armor catches the light like fire. I greet them with a smile. I shook their hands in turn.
We trade a few polite words. We talked about how quiet the streets are. They left moments after leaving me alone.
After a while, another figure appears, her armor silver and polished bright.
"Hey Eryx," I called.
"Hi Mari," she says, smiling.
The early shift starts quietly, the palace steps gleaming under the morning sun. Marble and gems catch the light, the carved dragon heads spitting small streams of water into the fountains below.
Eryx and I stand at the base, leaning on our spears as the streets slowly come to life around us. I shake hands with the citizens standing nearby. I exchange small talk about the morning.
When the silence settled, I turned to Eryx and asked, 'What brought you here?'
"I could have stayed home," she says, stretching. "But I came because I wanted to."
By the end of the shift the sun hangs high in the sky. The fountains sparkled in bright light. We stand together. Exhausted but steady, stretching our wings one last time. Our wings brush lightly, white and red meeting. The scales warm against one another.
"You know," I say.
I traced my fingers along the edge of her wing.
"I've never really noticed how beautiful your red wings are up close."
Eryx laughs softly. "Red is fiery. It's my mark. Yours is calm, like the moon. They fit together."
We linger there, watching the palace steps empty and the quarter quiet again. Our hands and wings touch for a moment longer.
As we retraced our wings, the desert wind shifting the sand around our boots, a sudden clacking echoed from the direction of the palace. I froze, the sound sharp and deliberate, followed almost immediately by a banging like heavy metal striking stone. My pulse quickened, and I glanced at Eryx.
"Report it," she said, her voice tight with concern. "We should tell a general immediately."
I shook my head, brushing sand from my armor, ignoring the instinct to follow protocol.
"Screw that," I muttered.
I bolted toward the castle. My wings propelled me forward over the steps. Through the courtyards. Every heartbeat drives me faster. The clattering grew louder. It echoing through the halls as if the castle itself were trembling.
I skidded to a halt at the throne room door. I threw it open.
"Your Majesty!" I called.
I stepped inside.I prepared to apologize for my intrusion, but froze. The Queen was already engaged in combat.
She held a child against her chest. My eyes darted to the figure attacking her. Darkness clung to them. Black as pitch. The only visible feature is a pair of burning red eyes.
The fight unfolded.
Tamara moved with terrifying grace. Her golden wings spread wide. Light spilled from them in blinding rays. Light cut through the shadows and forced the attacker to dodge. Sparks and streaks of energy cracked against the stone. I shielded my eyes. I squinted to track the motion.
She handed her child to me. Though I could barely see.
"Hold him!" she shouted over the roar of their battle.
I gripped the baby carefully, feeling the small warmth against my chest. My heart hammered as Tamara launched herself at the attacker again. The golden wings flared. They cast blinding light. I barely made out the figure's flailing limbs and those piercing red eyes. The clash of power was deafening. A hurricane of force and movement.
The attacker faltered. He stumbled under her relentless assault. Tamara landed gracefully.
"How much longer will you remain delusional?" she spat, voice sharp as a whip. "There is no reality where I die by your hands."
Her body sagged.
The child's cries filled the throne room as I carefully placed her next to Tamara, his small body trembling. My wings snapped open instinctively, wrapping around us like a living shield.
The attacker stirred, black hair falling over pale skin, red eyes blazing as he lunged with a dagger.
His movements are slow.
I moved before he could strike, a blur of motion, and my blade met his. He barely had time to register my movement.
His dagger splintered into a million fragments. Then vanished.
The boy crumpled to the floor. Lifeless. I stood over him. Wings still extended, heart hammering
The room fell silent.