The towering stone gates of Kharisa opened with a surprising smoothness, defying the usual creaks and groans one might expect. Andro guided his formidable avian companion to land gracefully atop the ancient stone arch. The arrival had a sense of predestined drama to it, as if the gates had been waiting for this exact moment.
On the other side of the threshold, Djorn stood with a demeanour as tense as the drawn string of an archer's bow. His features were etched with a mixture of anger and vexation, his gaze drilling into us as we emerged. Andro, though appearing somewhat more measured, carried an air of disappointment mingled with understanding.
"I grasp the intentions behind your actions, but it would have been wiser to confer with us before charging in," Andro's voice sought to soothe, yet the tension still lingered in the air like static electricity.
"And let the dragon perish?!" I signed, a frustrated surrender taking over me. The complexities of the situation were difficult to convey through gestures alone.
Djorn's retort was sharp, directed at Wren, "What did she say, knife ears?"
"She seemed concerned about the dragon and its fate. Apparently, she had a desire to witness its condition firsthand," Wren answered, her indifference toward Djorn only adding more fuel to the fire of his anger.
"Fine then! Andro, you escort the blue one and the knife ear to the Duke. I'll accompany the black one to Erisa. She can enlighten her," Djorn's words held a command that brooked no argument, laden with his palpable frustration.
Andro's eyes shifted between the three of us, his expression a mixture of helplessness and exasperation. An audible sigh escaped him, a reluctant acceptance as he gestured for Wren and Zershoon to follow him. Their questioning glances were met with my shrugged response; we were mere pawns in this game.
The crimson-skinned figure stormed through the city, the crowd parting like water before him. Kharisa was a tapestry of diversity, populated by tieflings of myriad hues. Their eyes bore into me with an intensity that was unsettling, their hands extending in gestures of reverence or supplication. I instinctively recoiled from their touch, the overwhelming adoration unnerving me further.
The hum of conversation rippled through the air like a clandestine breeze as we moved through the bustling streets of Kharisa. Whispers accompanied our passage, carrying the weight of curiosity and surprise.
"Is that truly the priestess?" A not-so-subtle voice carried to my ears.
"She looks quite different than what I had imagined," responded another voice, a mixture of scepticism and intrigue woven into its tones.
"Her demeanour is far too fiery," the first voice critiqued, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of agreement. Anger seemed to be my constant companion in this unfurling journey.
Perhaps, under different circumstances, I would have embraced this role willingly. But the imposition, the removal of choice, had left me simmering with resentment. With a discontented huff, I averted my gaze from the prying eyes and focused on the rhythmic click of my heels against the uneven stone road. A dissonant symphony of fractures beneath my feet contrasted with the grandeur of Kharisa's architecture. The fact that a city of such magnificence bore its own imperfections brought a touch of authenticity to the tapestry.
"Pick up your pace," Djorn's sharp command punctuated the silence, causing my eyes to roll involuntarily. However, obedience reigned, and my steps quickened, the tension between us hanging like a palpable shroud.
The city continued to reveal its secrets as we traversed its labyrinthine paths. My gaze absorbed the cityscape, where buildings seemed to kiss the sky, stretching towards unreachable heights. Perched atop these architectural wonders were gryphons, majestic and powerful, symbols of this city's might. The realisation dawned upon me that Kharisa's mastery over these magnificent creatures had enabled the construction of such remarkable edifices. The city's epithet as the greatest in the land began to make more sense in light of this insight.
Yet, among the soaring heights, there were also structures made from the native red sands of Kharisa, grounded in their authenticity. I couldn't help but wonder about the emotions of returning to such homes each evening, a thought that tugged at my heartstrings.
Eventually, Djorn led me to a distinctive structure in the midst of the architectural marvels. Its ebony façade seemed to exude an aura of importance and significance, standing out like a sable gem amidst a sea of opulence. My hand grazed the smooth surface of the building, a tactile connection that I anticipated would burn, but instead, it pulsed in response. The sensation, though alien, resonated with something deep within me, echoing the inexplicable connection I felt with the dragon.
“When we enter, you must be polite to Erisa. Her family has been maintaining this temple since the last black tiefling.” As we approached the entrance, Djorn's words hung heavy in the air—a reminder to be civil, a demand to honour this moment of entry. With a controlled rap of his knuckles, the doors swung open, unveiling a sight that stunned me into silence. The temple's interior unfolded before my eyes like a breathtaking revelation, the play of coloured light dancing through ornate windows casting a mesmerising kaleidoscope of hues across the sacred space. The walls themselves seemed to pulse with life, adorned with intricate designs that defied my understanding.
As Djorn's boots struck against the stone floor, he navigated the hallowed chambers with a determined pace, leading us through this tapestry of beauty. Our journey culminated before a wooden door, which he flung open to reveal a scene that contrasted sharply with his usual demeanour.
Before us stood a pink tiefling, radiating an aura of nurturing warmth that enveloped her like a protective cocoon. As if prompted by an unseen script, she rose from her kneeling position, her movements graceful and fluid, an embodiment of maternal care. A sense of familiarity seemed to bridge the gap between her and Djorn as they embraced, a fleeting glimpse of a relationship beneath the armour of his anger.
Her dress, swaying softly with her steps, was a marvel of desert-adapted design, both modest and comfortable. The delicate fabric seemed tailored to both the climate and her essence. With a tail reminiscent of a lion's, she exuded an air of regality and grace that spoke of a life steeped in devotion.
For the first time, Djorn's countenance lacked its usual veneer of fury. Their conversation, the cadence of their voices, revealed a tenderness that felt out of place amidst my preconceptions. The crimson storm had momentarily abated, unveiling a hidden landscape beneath.
Amid this interaction, her gaze shifted toward me, an awareness that cut through the surroundings and fixed upon me with unerring precision. It was as if the very fabric of her acknowledged my presence, transcending spoken words.
"You must be the new one," her voice, tinged with a soft lilting melody, addressed me.
In response, my hands moved fluidly to communicate my query: "Explain."
Her words unravelled the enigma that had been tucked beneath the surface, casting light upon a peculiarity I had sensed but never fully grasped. A quirk of fate, a solitary ebony figure within a city painted with myriad hues—a fact that had eluded my conscious awareness until this very moment.
"Why is that?" I signed, impatience threading my gestures.
A truth was revealed, resonating like a distant echo, knitting together fragmented threads of my understanding. "There can only be one at a time. You are the promised one," Erisa intoned, her words laden with a gravity that reverberated within the walls.
Her steps guided her toward the altar, a place of sanctity and symbolism. With a gesture both reverent and inviting, she motioned for us to join her near this sacred focal point.
"I knew your parents, your biological ones. They left the temple when they found out they were pregnant with you," Erisa revealed, her voice echoing with an untold narrative, a story that my existence was now woven into.
Beads of sweat formed on my brow, their trails mapping an erratic path down my face, tracing the contours of my unease. I didn't want to hear the words that were about to spill forth, an unearthing of a past I had long avoided. The weight of her words hung in the air, pregnant with a history that I could no longer ignore.
"Your mother and father moved to the mountains, where they had…"
I couldn't bear to let the sentence reach its conclusion. In my desperation, I fled from the temple, my footsteps echoing in tandem with my racing heart. The world around me blurred, buildings melting into a vibrant, surreal tapestry as I careened through the city streets. The stained glass windows seemed to bleed together, casting an unsettling kaleidoscope upon my vision. Nausea churned within me, threatening to escape as the past I had hoped to evade now caught up with me.
In the refuge of an alleyway, I stumbled to a halt, doubled over as the contents of my stomach spilled out onto the ground. The pain gripping my chest matched the turmoil within, a visceral reflection of the emotional tempest raging within me.
The unexpected intrusion of a voice sliced through the disarray of my thoughts, a calm counterpoint to the chaos. "Well, that doesn't sound good," the voice observed, its timbre both smooth and masculine.
With a trembling hand, I wiped my chin, my vision clearing enough to identify the speaker—a presence that was both disconcerting and strangely soothing.
"I'm fine," I signed, the words a dismissive sweep of my hand, uncaring whether he comprehended my language or not. The proximity of another individual felt like an unwelcome intrusion, a reminder of the tangled web of connections I wished to avoid.
"Well, I'm glad you're fine," he responded, his voice gentle and casual, as though we were discussing trivial matters. "What happened to you that you were throwing up?"
A jolt of surprise coursed through me—another individual who understood my silent language. The revelation left me feeling simultaneously relieved and agitated. "Reasons," I signed curtly, the gesture embodying my frustration at having escaped one unwelcome encounter only to be ensnared in another.
I continued walking, each step a determined stride toward an uncertain destination. Yet, the echoing cadence of heels persisted behind me, a relentless accompaniment that refused to wane. Casting a sidelong glance, I caught sight of the individual trailing me—an antlered man whose presence seemed to mirror that of the voice from the alleyway.
"Oh, I'm not stalking you if you're worried about that," he remarked, his words laced with amusement. "I'm just trying to get to this party I'm supposed to attend."
A groan escaped my lips, a mixture of exasperation and resignation. As I pressed forward, an unspoken truth became evident: whether by chance or fate, my journey was no longer mine alone.
The antlered man walked beside me, his presence a fusion of mystery and allure. His hair cascaded in silver-white waves, intertwined with subtle silver threads that caught the firelight of nearby torches, casting an otherworldly glimmer. Delicate light blue scales adorned his features, a beguiling complement to his striking appearance. They seemed to shimmer as he moved, reflecting the flickering flames and adding to the air of enchantment that surrounded him. His attire, a loose-fitted black shirt tied at the collar, along with form-fitting pants, spoke of a combination of style and practicality that suited the city's aura.
Bright green eyes, vibrant and intense, met mine with an intent gaze that I quickly averted, suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny.
"What's wrong?" His voice broke the silence, concern lacing his words.
"Nothing." The word was a heavy lie, a facade masking the complex maelstrom of emotions swirling within me. I sighed, my steps measured as I stared down at the cobblestone pathway.
"Well, that's a lie." His hand settled on my shoulder, a touch that ignited an unexpected warmth that spread through me. His pale skin blushed faintly, a reaction as surprising as it was inexplicable.
"Why do you want to know?" I signed, brushing his hand off my shoulder. The turmoil within me warred with a longing to confide in someone, yet the weight of my experiences held me back. I couldn't burden someone else with the chaos that consumed me; I had always prided myself on self-sufficiency, even when the burden seemed unbearable
A soothing sensation coursed through me, defying my reservations. As I walked alongside this enigmatic stranger, a sense of familiarity blossomed. He seemed the sort who dressed well for a commoner, although his invitation to a party seemed at odds with the image. A tug of curiosity drew me to consider his offer.
"Come to a party with me, then. It will take your mind off of things," he proposed, a beguiling smile curving his lips as he extended his hand toward me.
I hesitated, caught in a moment of vulnerability and uncertainty. What had prompted me to let go of my reservations, to reach out and grasp his hand? The sensation of our palms connecting was a swift rush of solace, a simple yet profound connection that defied explanation.
He guided me through the bustling streets with a gentleness that contrasted with his alluring presence. There was an odd familiarity about him, a feeling akin to a distant memory brushing against my consciousness. I couldn't help but recall a time from the past, a tender moment spent beside my ailing mother. I had held her hand throughout the night, sacrificing sleep for her comfort. In the morning, as her health improved, her smile illuminated my world.
As these thoughts flickered through my mind, a smile surfaced on my lips—a smile tinged with both fondness and longing, a reminder of the warmth and love that once graced my life.
"That’s a beautiful smile you have. It fits you perfectly," he complimented, drawing my attention back to his presence. The unexpected praise had an immediate impact on my expression, briefly pulling a genuine smile from me.
"I was being serious. Your smile is as beautiful as you. No matter what facial expression you take on, you’re beautiful," he persisted, his words carrying a persistent charm that I found both disarming and bewildering. It was a stark contrast to the strained interactions I had grown accustomed to.
His unapologetic flirtatiousness prompted a wince from me, a reaction borne from my lack of experience with such social interactions. His confidence stood out in a city where power and control were commonplace. Yet, his words somehow held a kernel of sincerity that I couldn't dismiss outright. The elusive grin that formed on my lips was a testament to his ability to evoke unexpected emotions within me.
I lifted my gaze to the night sky, marvelling at the stars that gleamed above. They were a constant presence, a reminder that some things remained unwavering even in a world marked by change. As I observed the heavens, a desert aurora danced across the night, its hues shifting like the ever-changing patterns of stained glass. In that moment, Kharisa transformed into a realm of sheer magnificence, a masterpiece etched in the tapestry of the night.
Torches cast their embers into the air, their fiery ascent intertwining with the ethereal canvas of darkness, intensifying the mystical atmosphere. A distant melody floated through the alleyway, the soothing notes of a flute weaving through the air. The man's steps aligned with the rhythm, and the alley came alive with a mesmerising symphony. Soon, a violin joined the serenade, lending its mournful yet soul-stirring notes to the enchanting ensemble. A growing crowd gathered around the elvish musicians, united in appreciation for the harmonious spectacle.
"What do you think of the music thus far?" he inquired, his voice resonating with an inquisitive spirit that mirrored the curious atmosphere of the night.
The allure of the music was undeniable. Its notes, a harmonious blend of flute and violin, resonated in the air with an enchanting melody that spoke to a deep longing within me. Memories of my mother, a talented flautist herself, flooded my thoughts. Her music had been imbued with an energy that no other musician could quite capture. The warmth of her presence echoed in those melodies, but they also reminded me of the void that had replaced her.
As if sensing my hesitation, the antlered man tapped my shoulder, extending his hand in an inviting gesture. I hesitated for a moment, torn between my inner turmoil and the possibility of briefly escaping it. Ultimately, the allure of the music and the chance to momentarily forget my troubles won me over. With a reluctant nod, I accepted his hand, my fingers intertwining with his.
He led me to the dance floor, the surrounding crowd parting to make way for us. My heart raced as the attention of the onlookers turned to us. It was an unfamiliar feeling, both exhilarating and uncomfortable. The antlered man's confident demeanour never wavered, as if he were born for this moment.
As the music began, he took the lead, his movements fluid and graceful. I followed his steps, struggling to match his elegance. With his hand on my hip and my other hand resting on his shoulder, we moved in tandem. Every step was a delicate negotiation, a conversation between two bodies entranced by the rhythm of the music.
He spun to the right, and I followed, my movements mirroring his with an effort to keep up. His steps synchronised seamlessly with the violinist's and flautist's melodies, creating a dance that felt like an extension of the music itself. The night air carried the hauntingly beautiful tune, intertwining it with the dance we were sharing. In that fleeting moment, my worries faded, and the connection between us and the music grew stronger, transcending words and doubts.
“Just move with the flow, love,” he encouraged. His voice, smooth and reassuring, cut through the music, urging me to surrender to the rhythm and simply flow with it. Gradually, I began to attune myself to the cadence of the music, finding a newfound harmony in my movements. My boots, once awkwardly out of sync, now clicked with a purpose, adding an unexpected percussion to the melody.
A genuine smile stretched across my lips as the dance partner's encouraging words and infectious grin uplifted my spirits. Our synchronised steps wove an unspoken connection between us, a shared language that transcended the need for words. In that moment, the world faded away, leaving only the two of us, the night sky, and the enchanting music that enveloped us.
He twirled me gracefully in the air, and I felt a fleeting sense of weightlessness as the desert wind brushed against my skin. The movements felt effortless, as if we were carried by the music itself. As our hands met once more and the final notes of the song reverberated through the air, reality gradually seeped back into my consciousness. The gaping mouths of the spectators turned into applause, their enthusiasm echoing in the night.
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With the music's spell broken, we separated for a brief moment. Our hands found each other again, and the applause grew louder. The rush of emotions – the elation of the dance, the admiration of the crowd – left me almost overwhelmed. Amidst the clapping, his voice cut through once more, and I realised we had never exchanged names.
Using sign language, I introduced myself as Asara, my fingers moving with practised fluidity. His response came with a name as enchanting as his demeanour – Silrae. His compliment caused a warm flush to spread across my cheeks, a stark contrast to the pink that painted his own face.
Silrae's embarrassment only added to his charm, creating a sense of authenticity that made him all the more endearing. In this city of vibrant colours and enchanting mysteries, the connection forged between us felt like a serendipitous encounter, a moment of respite from the challenges that life had thrown at me.
Silrae's sudden motion drew my attention, and my heart skipped a beat as he went down on one knee, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. “I do not know how to explain it, but I feel as if we are meant to be together. I saw you, and you changed my entire world. Will you marry me?” The words that left his lips were unexpected, carrying an earnestness that both surprised and overwhelmed me. The crowd's gasp mirrored my own shock as the weight of his proposal settled in the air between us.
For a moment, I was speechless. The idea of marriage, especially with someone I had just met, felt like an absurd notion. My response, swift and decisive, was conveyed through sign language – a gentle shake of my head accompanied by the sign for "no." His laughter rippled through the air, a sound that was oddly comforting amidst the unexpected turn of events.
Silrae stood, his smile unwavering. His invitation to accompany him carried with it the promise of safety and comfort, but my instincts were cautious. He spoke of a guard posted outside my door, and the very notion made me consider the possibility. The allure of a warm bed and the reassurance of security tugged at me. I glanced down at my daggers, a reminder of the world I came from, the world that had taught me to be wary of every offer.
My fingers traced the leather sheaths, finding solace in their presence. As I made up my mind, I knelt once more, checking my weapons, ensuring their readiness. Silrae seemed to read my actions, his amusement evident as I voiced my conditions, a blend of sternness and underlying vulnerability.
He accepted my terms gracefully, addressing me with a formality that seemed almost exaggerated. The crowd's reactions played like a background symphony, gossip and opinions weaving together into a tapestry of murmurs. The comments from the women behind me caught my attention – their judgmental tones contrasting with the whirlwind of emotions I was experiencing.
"She captured the attention of the Duke!" one voice rang out, a mix of annoyance and resentment lacing her words. Another voice chimed in, expressing disdain for my appearance. The juxtaposition of these whispers with Silrae's genuine proposal painted a vivid picture of the contrasts that defined this city. Amidst the noise, I found myself wondering whether accepting his invitation was a step towards finding the solace and belonging I longed for.
“Hey, do not listen to them. You’re gorgeous just the way you are.” As Silrae's words broke through the hum of the crowd, his hand wrapping around mine felt strangely comforting. His actions were swift and spontaneous as he guided me through the maze of people. Each step carried a mix of amusement and fascination, my laughter flowing naturally like a melody in the desert breeze. The attention he paid me was surreal, his compliments unexpected yet oddly sincere. I wondered if this was his norm – an effortless charmer who tossed compliments like petals on the wind, with no intention other than making others smile.
But his words about my laugh held a certain weight, as if he saw something genuine and unique within me. I found myself drawn to the present moment, allowing the enchanting surroundings to captivate my senses. Stone alleyways unfolded before us, illuminated by the ethereal dance of the desert aurora. It was as though the world had taken on a new depth, revealing intricate details that had previously gone unnoticed.
Silrae's voice pulled me back, his words guiding my attention towards him. I met his gaze, and his crooked smile seemed to speak of authenticity, of imperfection in a world that often sought perfection. It was a relief to see the genuineness in that crookedness, and his overall countenance exuded a gentleness that I found myself drawn to.
His declaration of our nearing destination drew my focus, and as we halted, I gazed upon the impressive sight before us. The stone castle rose against the night sky, a beacon of solidity and strength. The juxtaposition of this structure against the desert backdrop was mesmerising. Silrae's home felt like a sanctuary, a place of refuge in the heart of the city's grandeur. The air around us was still, yet charged with a palpable energy, as if this place held stories and secrets waiting to be unveiled.
As he released my hand and we stood before the castle, a wave of uncertainty washed over me. My life had taken an unexpected turn, spiralling into this encounter with a stranger who seemed to see something in me that I had rarely glimpsed myself. I took a deep breath, embracing the mixture of emotions that danced within me – curiosity, wariness, and an inexplicable yearning for something more.
I stood before the towering stone gates, my eyes wide with astonishment at the grandeur that lay before me. The spires on the sides of the structure reached toward the sky, their heights outmatching even the tallest buildings in Kharisa. I signed, "Is this your home? You must be someone of great importance."
"I am the thirteenth Duke of Kharisa," Silrae signed back, his hands sweeping gracefully to indicate the gates. With a swift motion, a gust of wind swirled around us, causing the gates to open as if they were light as feathers.
Magic? The very concept seemed to shimmer in the air, evoking memories of a time long past. My fingers tingled as I recalled the heat of fireballs being hurled at me years ago. A cold sweat formed on my brow as I contemplated the prevalence of magic here. The flames appeared to engulf me once more, a phantom pain searing through my skin, leaving only ashes in its wake. My mother's anguished cries echoed in my mind, transporting me back to the forest, my heart racing with fear. I looked down at my hands, clutching the remnants of a childhood outfit, a stark reminder of happier days before everything changed. The memory of a hand closing around my neck sent a shiver down my spine, my legs threatening to give way beneath me.
"Asara!" Silrae's urgent signing snapped me back to the present, grounding me in reality. I blinked and glanced around, disoriented by the rush of memories. "What happened?" he inquired, his hands reaching out to help me regain my footing.
"Nothing," I signed, reluctance evident in the movement of my hands, a silent plea not to delve further into the memories that haunted me.
"Very well. Let me teleport us to your room. It might be a more peaceful place," Silrae signed. The gates closed with a decisive thud. He gestured for my hand, and as he pulled me into an embrace, I felt a mixture of unfamiliarity and comfort. Suddenly, the world shifted around us, and we found ourselves under a bedroom ceiling, far removed from the night sky. Silrae released me and walked toward the door. In the soft light, his figure seemed to carry an air of enigma. "I may not know your past, but you're here now," he signed from the doorway. "Good night, Lady Asara." With that, he closed the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I retrieved my daggers from their sheaths and placed them carefully at the head of the bed, their familiar presence offering a measure of reassurance. Though my quarterstaff and backpack were out of reach for the moment, I held onto the hope that I would eventually regain them. The bed's embrace was soft and inviting, its comforting touch a welcome respite. As I settled in, sleep beckoned, and I yielded to its gentle pull.
Slowly, my eyes fluttered open, and a contented smile graced my lips as I revelled in the luxurious comfort of the bed. The softness of the blanket wrapped around me like a cocoon, providing a soothing coolness that contrasted with the warmth of the desert. The magical properties of the blanket were a curious novelty, a testament to the pervasive use of magic in this city. From Desert Gryphons as transport to sky-reaching skyscrapers, magic was woven into the very fabric of daily life.
A knock resounded at the door, pulling me from my observations of the city's magical essence. With a swift motion, I slipped out of bed and wrapped the blanket around myself, aware that whoever was on the other side likely didn't need an unexpected glimpse of me in my nighttime attire. As I cracked the door open, a familiar voice greeted me.
"Hello, Lady Asara," the masculine voice spoke.
I widened the door to allow a clearer view of my hands as they formed the response. "Hello, Lord Silrae," I signed.
"Oh, no need for formalities," he responded with a warm smile. "While we may have only met last night, I hope we can be friends. Not because of your status, but because you're a good person." The sincerity in his expression was as foreign to me as the city's magic.
"A friend would be nice," my hands conveyed, a sense of relaxation coursing through me. It had been so long since I felt the warmth of genuine companionship. However, as a memory of his proposal flashed through my mind, my smile faltered. He wished for friendship now; it seemed unlikely that anything more would transpire.
"I think I'll allow you some time to get ready for the day. Breakfast will be served soon, and I'll be waiting outside your door to guide you to the dining hall," Silrae's voice broke the silence, offering a sense of direction to the morning ahead.
I nodded in response, closing the door behind me. The bed emitted a soft creak as I settled onto it, my gaze drawn to the black dress placed on the nightstand. The dress's design felt audacious compared to my usual attire, exposing more of my legs than I was accustomed to. Its skirt ended mid-thigh, and its gold cuffs encircled my upper arms, giving way to elongated sleeves that fluttered delicately at my hands. The sleeves were adorned with intricate golden flower patterns, contrasting elegantly against the black satin fabric. A gold belt cinched the dress around my waist, and a striking emerald brooch fastened the collar. As I slid my head through the collar, I marvelled at how my full horn didn't catch on the fabric, anticipating a snag that never came. The back of the dress left my skin open to the warmth of the desert sun, a testament to its impractical yet comfortable design.
Returning to the door, I found it easily opened. Silrae leaned casually against a wall, one foot resting against it. The strings he'd tied the night before had been undone, giving him a more relaxed appearance. However, his cheeks took on a reddish hue as soon as I emerged. His gaze seemed to deliberately avoid meeting mine, creating an air of unusual embarrassment.
How curious. Well, it's not worth inquiring about. He hasn't done anything to be embarrassed about. I offered him a brief nod, acknowledging his presence. The antlered prince's smile remained, and he gestured for me to follow him. The morning awaited, a new day in a city of wonders.
Walking through the halls during the daytime was a novel experience. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, transforming the sandstone into a pristine white hue. It was a stark contrast to the orange tint it had taken on under the moonlight. Silrae led me through a labyrinth of twists and turns, navigating the corridors with an ease that defied their seemingly intricate layout. Each hallway boasted the same pattern – five windows on each side – providing a glimpse into Silrae's world. In contrast to the bustling villages I'd traversed, this space exuded a sense of serenity. Servants moved about, conversing amiably, free from the overwhelming frenzy that usually accompanied their tasks.
We came to a stop in front of a pair of acacia doors, upon which Silrae knocked twice at the centre of the wood. The doors swung inward, revealing a spacious room adorned with a ruby red tablecloth. Two butlers emerged, placing covered dishes at the far end of the table. Silrae's voice broke the silence, his question hanging in the air like an invitation.
"Ready to indulge in some of the finest breakfast offerings?" he asked, his smile captivating.
I responded with a nod, feeling a mixture of anticipation and unease. Silrae moved ahead of me, seating himself at the head of the table and gesturing to the chair beside him. I complied, though the situation felt unfamiliar and slightly uncomfortable. Not being able to observe the preparation of the food made me uneasy. Silrae exchanged a warm smile with the butlers as they attended to the dishes, then took a sip from a silver chalice before fixing his gaze on me.
"Thank you for the breakfast," I signed to the Duke, finally breaking the silence. I took a sip of the water placed before me.
"You're welcome," he responded with a genuine smile. "I'm curious though, why do you communicate through sign language?"
His question took me aback. "I lost my parents when I spoke, so I thought it better to never speak again," I shared with Silrae. It was surprising how quickly I found myself opening up to him, but there was something about this place that made me feel safe. Here, I didn't have to worry about being judged or making mistakes. It was as if I could truly be myself without fear.
"I'm sorry to hear about your parents. I bet they were wonderful parents, considering who their child is," he said, pausing before adding, "Their child is beautiful and intelligent." He took a casual bite of his eggs, as though his compliment was just a passing remark.
"Yes, they were wonderful. They were the only humans I think I'll ever truly like," I replied, using my fork to move the eggs around on my plate. I was intentionally avoiding dwelling on his compliment. Tentatively, I took a bite of the eggs, and my taste buds were met with a burst of flavour. They were cooked to perfection, far superior to the dried venison I was accustomed to eating. I noticed Silrae's gaze on me a few times as I savoured the meal.
"How's the food?" he asked, his voice breaking the silence between us. It seemed that he wasn't a fan of extended quiet moments, a trait that contrasted with the overall tranquillity of his home.
"It's delicious. I particularly enjoy the eggs," I gestured in response.
"I'm glad to hear that. These are Gryphon eggs. Gryphons sometimes offer their eggs to those they favour. These eggs are usually ones that won't hatch. I have them checked for signs of life before eating, to make sure I don't accidentally harm a Gryphon," he explained with a smile.
"Where are my friends, Zershoon and Wren?" I asked, my curiosity piqued despite my mixed feelings towards them. Wren could stay here as long as she pleased, but I was concerned about Zershoon's well-being.
My question seemed to catch him off guard as he was taking a sip from his wine glass. "Ah, I'm sorry. I didn't think of that. They are likely in the temple," he replied, pausing for a moment before adding, "I'll take you there after you finish your breakfast."
I nodded, eager to see my companions again. As comfortable as I was in Silrae's presence, the uncertainty about Zershoon and Wren nagged at me. It had been a whole day since I last saw them, and while I was growing fond of the idea of staying here, the thought of their safety took precedence.
After quickly finishing my meal, he also stood up, looking ready to guide me to the temple. "Ready to go to the temple?" he asked.
"Yes," I signed, hoping my expression didn't reveal the mix of emotions swirling within me. Silrae examined me for a moment before nodding in understanding.
"If you say so. We can ride Xar there," he said with excitement, as if mentioning the name brought him immense joy.
"Who is Xar?" I inquired, my focus returning to my concerns for my friends. Despite my reservations, I missed them, particularly Zershoon. There were so many things to discuss with him, and the idea of playing music with the duo from last night intrigued me.
"My Desert Gryphon," he explained, crossing his arms and standing tall. His expressive body language was a stark contrast to my reserved demeanour, but oddly enough, it brought me a sense of comfort.
"I have never ridden one before," I admitted, my apprehension apparent even though it was likely quite obvious. The idea of riding a Desert Gryphon was both thrilling and terrifying, and I had no prior experience to draw upon.
Silrae seemed to consider this for a moment before he motioned me towards a new doorway. "No time like the present!"
Yes, no time like the present to ride what I'd humorously termed a "murder bird" in my mind. My stomach churned with nervous anticipation as the doors swung open. Once again, magic was at play, woven into every corner of this place. Silrae's confident footsteps echoed through the hallway as he led the way. With a deep breath, I followed suit, half-expecting some form of magical retaliation for intruding. However, the passage was uneventful, and my anxiety gradually abated.
The path led us to a grand staircase, stretching upwards with an air of elegance. It was interesting to note that despite the grandeur of his abode, Silrae's castle lacked the extravagance one would expect from a noble's residence. A lack of opulent decoration and the absence of carpeted floors stood in contrast to my expectations. It made me realise that Silrae was different from the other nobles I'd encountered, especially the one whose memory I was trying to suppress. No, I couldn't afford to think about that right now.
So, I focused on Silrae's graceful movements as he ascended the stairs, my own steps less assured. My lack of coordination was evident every few steps, but Silrae's fluidity was a stark reminder that he wasn't merely a noble flaunting his title. The definition in his muscles was apparent in the light, suggesting that he engaged in physical labour rather than relying solely on his status. It was a comforting realisation amidst the uncertainty of this new environment.
The panoramic view of the city from within the spire was breathtaking. From this vantage point, everything appeared small compared to the towering castle that sat atop the dune. The city's bustling life spread out below us like a miniature diorama. Pop-up market stands, people engaged in their prayers to various deities, and Desert Gryphons soaring through the sky with food for their young – it was a mesmerising tableau that painted a vivid picture of life in this desert city.
The rhythmic clicking of Silrae's shoes came to a halt, causing me to turn my attention to him. His warning about the increased wind at this height was heeded as I instinctively adjusted my stance. The door that stood before us was of solid stone, a clear sign of the elevated altitude and harsh conditions up here. Silrae effortlessly pushed it open, revealing a vast stone platform that extended beyond.
Suddenly, a piercing shriek cut through the air, and I instinctively flinched. A massive, feathered creature descended onto the platform in front of us. Its arrival was accompanied by an ear-ringing rush of air as its wings beat against the wind. The creature's immense head nudged Silrae with an affectionate force that threatened to unbalance him. His laughter mingled with the wind, a harmonious melody of man and beast.
Xar, as I'd learned, was truly a magnificent sight. It towered over Andro's Gryphon, its strides resonating through the stone beneath its massive talons. Its wings were a work of art, the feathers glistening under the morning sun. The purity of its white feathers contrasted sharply with the desert's sandy palette, the colours unmarred by even a speck of dirt.
The gryphon's golden eyes bore into me, a gaze that spoke of its power and primal intelligence. It was fully aware of its own might and the awe it inspired in others. Silrae walked towards Xar, and the gryphon leaned into him with a gentle nudge that threatened to knock him off balance. The bond between them was palpable, a testament to the deep and beautiful friendship they shared.
"Come here. Xar won't harm you," Silrae's voice reached me, though it was carried away by the wind that whipped around us.
With a nod, I began to cautiously approach the imposing creature. The gryphon's gaze fixed upon me, its intensity unsettling as it seemed to study me with an almost knowing look. As I got closer, a sudden gust of wind caught me off guard, and before I knew it, my balance was lost. The world spun as I teetered on the edge of the platform, the cold fear of falling gripping my heart.
In the midst of the chaos, a voice echoed in my mind, its words both haunting and reassuring. "You won't die yet, girl. You have much to do." It was as if a presence was speaking to me from within, trying to convince me that my fate was not sealed.
But my thoughts were consumed by a sense of resignation. "I will die. I did what I can for this world," I responded to the voice, my words carrying the weight of my past and my pain.
"Trust me, child, you will live. This is nothing compared to what you will face in the future," the voice persisted, sending shivers down my spine with its cryptic message.
Amidst this internal struggle, Silrae's voice broke through, urgent and desperate. "Hold out your hand!" His words were a lifeline, and I extended my trembling hand towards him. His strong grip enveloped mine just as the gryphon began to ascend, lifting us into the sky. Tears blurred my vision as I clung to his hand, my emotions swirling in a maelstrom of confusion.
Finally, he managed to pull me onto the back of the gryphon. Silrae's arms wrapped around me in a comforting embrace, but the floodgates of my emotions burst open. A torrent of tears streamed down my face as I grappled with feelings I couldn't comprehend. I felt the weight of my existence, the burden of my past, and the uncertainty of my future.
And then, without warning, a surge of anger erupted within me. His embrace that was meant to reassure me felt suffocating, as if he had prevented me from a choice I had believed to be mine alone. Pushing him away, I confronted him with the question that burned in my heart. "Why didn't you let me die?" I signed, the fury in my gestures mirroring the turmoil within me.
"Because you have so much to live for!" Silrae's voice resonated with a blend of frustration and earnestness, carrying his determination to reach me. "You are important to me. Important to your friends. Important to people you have not even met yet. You deserve to live, regardless of what may have happened," his words filled the air, cutting through the chaos of emotions that raged within me.
His outburst wasn't one of anger, but of concern and conviction. I observed the way his shoulders slumped, as if bearing a weight that extended beyond our immediate situation. His vulnerability resonated with me, reminding me of my own pain and struggles.
"I am sorry. I will not think such a thing again, I promise," I assured him, my voice a mere whisper in the midst of the wind that surrounded us. The gryphon's powerful wingbeats provided a rhythm to our conversation, a backdrop to our shared moment of understanding.
He didn't accept my promise without caution. "No promises. They will only make you feel worse when you cannot honour them," he replied, his words brimming with a mixture of wisdom and empathy. With gentle insistence, he lifted my chin, urging me to meet his gaze. His touch wiped away my tears, leaving a sense of tenderness in its wake. "I am here to listen, if you ever decide to talk about why you want to die."
In that moment, I felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude and a longing to be understood. Without hesitation, my arms wrapped around him in a heartfelt embrace, a gesture that spoke louder than words. His horns brushed against my hair, an intimate closeness that defied the darkness that had haunted me for so long.
As the gryphon soared through the sky, the world below us spread out like an intricate tapestry. The bustling city, the expanse of the desert, and the endless horizon seemed to symbolise the vast possibilities that lay ahead. It was as if Kharisa herself was offering me a chance to break free from the chains that bound me.
Kharisa, the Free City. The realisation dawned on me with a newfound clarity. I was no longer trapped by my past or confined by the shadows that had haunted me. In this city, among these people, I could find a new beginning—a chance to discover who I truly was, and the strength to embrace the life that awaited me.