Rattle.
Buzzing, the white noise of the room emanated as the air flowed.
The cold room hummed in silence. Each monitor cut to a new display of the island behind them.
"I think I understand what you mean now. Your saying of the ant having fangs, despite no ant ever having them, shows a blur. It was never meant to be," Silo said.
Silo was a young, pale man with light-grey hair and light eyes behind thin glasses. He wore an all-white suit, blending in with the room. He tended the Head-Bearer as a servant, as well as an advisor.
The man in the mask scoffed. "You often think too deeply about these things. But yes, this special kind of ant snuck into the farm when the storm passed, and I believed I was dreaming."
"You mean to say the undocumented Seeker, sir? It was deemed a myth. Although it pertains to a Solythe of a high degree, it is unrealistic to think that such an anomaly would stumble here," Silo added.
"It is a myth that came true, and an anomaly that came from hiding. I suppose if you leave a farm out in the open, the chances of a new specimen entering it aren't impossible, right?" the Head-Bearer asked.
"Given that, I'd say the odds of that aren't zero. But I can tell by its piercing gaze of grey that it wishes to lacerate us."
The masked man leaned forward in his chair. "If that is his wish, then let him. I am willing to see just how far he can unsheathe his fangs."
Silo lightly smirked. "Yes, I am too . . . Head-Bearer, Jibril."
. . .
A celebration for all observation.
Malik saw the large golden balloons hung in the air, with eyes lathered all over them. Collectively, they saw each corner of the island, and most importantly, they saw right through him.
Again, they repeated, "Embrace Ant Farm, citizens of Marah! Behold our joy's might, enter our spear's delight!"
They carried long, pointed spears aimed at the skies, and their cheering seemed like an unorthodox manner of revolt. They revolted against all that the eye judged, and so Malik felt that judgment within his heart.
Though he tried to hide it, he didn't like that feeling of being watched. And it wasn't just the design of the balloons; he could hear the eyes from above, buzzing.
"What are we celebrating?" Zayne asked.
Awan faced the crowd. "I'm glad you asked. You guys came at the right time of year. It's the spearing festival! It happens at a random time of year where only the village chief knows, and when he knows—"
An older hand placed itself on Awan's shoulder. He turned his head and saw him.
"He delivers." An elder man, with a much more affluent design on his robe, blanketed in patches of pure gold. He wore a sharp war bonnet with dark feathers attached to his head.
"Chief? I—I didn't expect you to be so close to the crowd," Awan nervously laughed.
The rest of them held slightly open mouths. The old man that stood before them was the head of the village who held all operations. He was a shade darker than Awan and kept grey hairs reminiscent of the captain.
"Don't refer to me so lowly, boy. Enjoy the festival. I hope that fate chooses you," the chief said, lightly smiling through stubble.
He walked away, blending in with the stampede of celebrators as if he didn't stick out like a sore thumb.
"I wouldn't have expected you to be in such close contact with the chief," Malik said.
Awan smirked. "Well yeah, I'm a popular guy around here, couldn't you tell?"
Simultaneously, a group of girls, mixed in nationalities from their realms, came up to the tribesman. They carried spears, but stared at him as if he were an ant.
Awan turned his head to the crew. "You see, guys, I told you I was quite a catch—"
"Bahahaha!!"
The group of girls who stopped to face Awan cackled in his face.
One of them shook her head. "Say, Zoe, isn't this the guy who asked you out a couple of days ago? I remember him crying after you said you had a boyfriend!"
Another girl spoke. "I mean, who wouldn't say that to him? Even though he's a youngblood, there's a reason he's all alone."
From behind them, a girl laughed. "It's because he's such a weirdo! Haven't you seen him get rejected every time, yet still try again and again?"
The crowd kept moving as they faced each other.
Awan balled his fist. "Well I'm sorry for wanting love, is that too much to ask for? Do you feel accomplished now? Go away for all I care, and learn some human decency!"
The tribesman turned his back and walked away from the commotion.
As the girls mocked him and tried to walk away, Malik stomped his foot on the ground, grabbing their attention.
He kept a cold composure, as he felt an impulse that overtook his words. His grey, piercing eyes locked on each and every one of them.
"Who do you people think you are, thinking it's acceptable to disrespect him?" Malik asserted.
One of the girls scoffed. "And who do you think he is? Surely you don't think he's some saint? He's just the strangest person you'll meet."
Malik laughed. "And you live in a tribe on an undisclosed island, worshipping a god you found that isn't powerful enough, or doesn't care enough to protect you all. Your idea of 'strange' is invalid."
They all clicked their tongues and walked away, meshing with the diverse crowd.
Zayne patted Malik on the shoulder. "You really didn't have to do all that, man. They bugged me too, but you really didn't let that slide."
Malik rubbed his eyes. "I didn't know what came over me. The words came out of my mouth before I could even think."
Kaya added, "Did you want to defend him?"
"No. People should fight their own battles, but for some reason, I felt like I empathized with him," Malik uttered.
As the chants progressed, the three of them stood there, as Awan was nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly—
"Psst. You three. Come in, before it's too late."
An older, kinder voice emerged from behind them in a modernized home.
Before they could notice it—
"Hey! You two!" a loud voice barked.
The voice came closer, and it was him.
Guan Sui stood in front of them with a long spear. His eyes looked as if they were forced shut, and his smile was long and thin.
"You men look in top-notch quality for the celebration this year. The girl with you is quite a looker too, but we don't need any this cycle," he spoke.
"And what if I refuse?" Malik interjected.
Guan Sui laughed. "Hah. Come on, it's tradition. You men really need to open your eyes to these things."
His words held a layer of charm that convinced Malik and Zayne to consider them. His words were a golden symphony similar to Awan's, only more subtle.
As Guan Sui waved for the men to follow him, they did so, leaving Kaya behind.
"Wait, guys! Don't follow him, he's only . . . oh dear. Is this really happening?" she said to herself.
They heard her, but pretended not to. It appeared that Guan Sui's words had more effect than hers.
Then, the voice from behind her spoke again.
"Young lady, if you want a chance at getting your friends back, you need to come in," the old voice spoke.
When Kaya turned around, she saw her.
An older woman, who maintained some of her youthful features, was calling out to her.
"Huh? Why should I come in?" Kaya asked.
The old woman muttered, "You need to understand, your friends are not safe."
Kaya pondered for a moment and decided to accept the woman's offer. Of course, her eyes began to glow a bright amber.
As the old woman slowly made space for her to enter, she scouted outside to view the mob and gently closed her door as Kaya went inside.
. . .
Inside, Kaya saw old furniture. A fireplace connected to a chimney, and an assortment of old photographs planted across the walls.
"Those pictures are of my children, and my grandchildren. Oh, how I miss them," the old woman muttered.
She walked toward a rocking chair, sat in it, and pointed to a regular chair on the other side, telling Kaya to sit.
"Wait, you never told me your name," Kaya said with an amber glow.
"Ah. My apologies. My name is Adirah. I come from the realm of faith, Zavha."
Reluctantly, Kaya slowly sank into the chair she pointed to.
Looking around, she could sense Adirah's quieter lifestyle. Given her tone of voice, it wouldn't be far off to say that she was a widow.
Then the older woman asked, "Where do you come from, dear?"
Kaya locked her gaze onto her and scanned through her every thought.
Nothing. I tried to find one wicked thought in her mind, but she seems to be as pure as a saint. I almost feel bad for thinking of her even having bad intentions.
Kaya's eyes turned dark again. "I come from Ishkana."
Adirah rocked in her chair. "Ahh. Is that so? I heard the chief is from there too."
Kaya shifted the conversation. "Aside from that, why did you want me to come in? And why are my friends in danger?"
The old woman laughed. "I could tell you're a mercenary. Is that right?"
". . . What makes you think so?" Kaya raised an eyebrow.
"You're a sharp girl, but surely you don't think I recognize the Messenger's uniforms when I see it?" Adirah added.
Kaya remained silent, avoiding eye contact with the elderly woman.
She continued, "I took the chance to try to protect you three, but it seems I wasn't heard. That man swooped your friends and left you out."
"But why would he leave me out?" Kaya asked.
Adirah took a deep breath. "Because for this type of ritual, the men are more necessary for it than the women. They take men of high physical quality and push them against the limits of fate."
She added, "Women aren't commonly participating, since they're mostly worshipped for their expertise in harmonization."
Kaya raised an eyebrow. "And what kind of ritual is all that needed for?"
For a moment, they both went silent.
The room fell cold, and the muffled cheers of the tribe outside began to deafen.
Then, Adirah finally spoke.
". . . A death ritual."