Xinrei, much to his annoyance, had realized that on today, no matter where, avoiding those colors was folly. The red-orange of a sundown. Dusking clouds lingered near the golden crow hanging low; his slow steps away from the falling sun. The firmament overhead acted as though it too, was member to their entourage. As they approached the gate, those crowds whose fervor to snoop information about these strangers fell off, dispersing to wherever they came. He took a raised eyebrow and a wink from the gate guards he passed. That was interesting, he never saw anything more than a salute and greeting, but all it took was one woman walking by his side to switch their tune.

Little did they know, his predicament was laughable. A woman who was fated to marry and she hadn’t bothered to look at him much or, part her lips since their departure. He wasn’t even sure where she wanted him to go; if there even was a place. Secretively, he gave her a point. Many girls who he encountered talked around him, while unbeknownst to him he was seen as a tantalizing buffet. Chattering about nonsense. Bothering him about material things, and for those who did cultivate, they just tried to pump him for information to advance their progress— the coquettish wanted him and supplies beyond their means. With all of that in the cards, she hadn’t bit at any of it.

Xinrei could collapse right now and he was sure, absolutely certain, that she’d keep walking till the walkway forced her to turn. However, this bought him some time to think. Something, anything: to force her to deny this binding. Smiling inwardly, I could just run away. That was an option. But he vehemently denied it as much as he does this farce. Such cowardice would stain his Path. The Patriarch and himself agreed on one thing: the clan’s importance. He had family here. Not as tied to them as his Patriarch would hope, but the feeling was there. Just enough to care.

Still, the shame of disregarding his father, and arguably obstructing the clan wasn’t a light tap. Was he doing the right thing? The needs of himself, over the needs of a people? What did the Patriarch, his father desire an alliance for? The Rosewater Exchange was on the horizon, and surely the Queen will find out.

He stopped, for the Priest’s niece wasn’t at his side.

 Behind him, Suran Yol had a mischievous grin. “Thinking of running away, so soon? Am I that ugly to you?” Widening, she noticed the half-second hesitation, the yanking at the reins within. Reassessing.

 “What ever do you mean?” It looked like Xinrei tried to abandon her, she had already stopped walking for whatever reason that compelled. And here he was, moving off without his companion. “I’ve been lost within myself, forgive me.”

 She tilted her head. “You don’t say?” The strange feathers that decorated her robe’s scruff, the tail, and her sleeves moved with were hypnotizing. The feathers plucked to decorate didn’t bring a creature to mind; must be an exclusive to their continent. Nevertheless, she was the walking incarnation of it, and the imagination could extrapolate from her example.

“You’re always moving in a hurry. Rushing when keeping the pace is just fine.”

 Xinrei bowed. “Apologies. May we get on, then?” Need more time to think.

 “I was leading you,” she said, “not the other way around, remember?” Her arm swept over the area. “We’re here.”

He blinked. Remember? What is she talking about—

The soil cracked when he shifted his weight. Looking down, it wasn’t soil. Twigs. And the grass that dominated the Grittus lands were ripped out leaving the land bare. He recalled this was the Lower District, regardless of that, this certain area wasn’t designated to be a farm so…

…But he noticed, a colossal shadow perched itself on his shoulder long ago during the lack of his awareness. Had the structure been a tad higher, it would threaten to hide the sun. As though it would, if given the chance. He hadn’t bothered to come get a personal look at the project since then; keeping an eye on it from afar. Here, in the shadow of its size… he could feel a slight insignificance. There was many a night where his father would slam doors and crack quills when the topic of clan expenditures came up. Xinrei hadn’t the courage to dare ask about it, however much he knew was picked up on cursing whispers and the Elders who pinched brows. This project had set the clan back quite a few.

The Coliseum, inside of that, a massive bed of an arena; least from what the schematics on the Patriarch’s desk said. On the day of, his rebirth will happen. He’ll be recognized as a true talent on the island of Hannamith, with no equals within his generation. Thereafter, the clan would have barely any strings to pull; how could they? When the Rosewater University is at the very heart of the kingdom? His father’ll have to make a formal request to the dean herself to ask for him back! His attendance there is all but decided. The only road left to the Patriarch are to use himself and his potential, however much he can, until he’s far out of his influence. Starting with this marriage.

It just made him wonder, an alliance against whom?

Suran Vey wasn’t much interested in the structure. Her eyes staring at the clearing, of trees felled and yet to be cleared. If the coliseum was partway done, then whatever’s to be built where they stood will be for the amenities. But being here…

The Grittus heir averted his eyes to wherever it could lay, where it could rest, guiltlessly.

 “You look uncomfortable,” she said from the side of her mouth. “More than you were since seeing me. Reason being?”

 His eyelids almost couldn’t fit a coin between. “It’s nothing.”

 “I don’t like men who hide things from me… and you’re very bad at that.”

 “Since when have I been obliged to answer to you?”

 “Don’t be a brat.”

 “I have been far from it.” Xinrei wished he could slink out of her sight after that. Especially when the lift of her lips thought otherwise. She was as much of a mystery as the intentions of his own father, and still, from what he felt, her depths may be something unexpected. “Not since the day I was made Chosen.”

Her head at a tilt, she said: “’Chosen,’ I have heard this word numerous times since arriving in your land. But what does that mean, exactly?”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Xinrei opened his mouth—Is she stupid? —then abruptly retracted his tongue to replace the words. It would be a grave mistake to insult their guest. What arrogance did he have, to think someone like her would have an iota about an insignificant island and its culture? Well but, didn’t other families have Chosen as well? The concept isn’t unique.

 “To be ‘Chosen,’ is a designation meant for the promising youth burdened with the carrying of our clan’s name in the future: to be its spine, shield, and sword. More to the point, we are the best.”

She had no response to that. In fact, her very expression pricked him! What was that face about?

 “Eh,” she said, eyeing him lazily. “That’s it? I mean, a few of them are okay. I suppose.”

He looped that back one back…Okay? That’s it?

Xinrei’s annoyance bled in as he said: “They are the best. Whether you believe it or not.” Guest privilege again. Who would dare to whimsically insult the Chosen, while she looked not a year older than himself! She was a level higher, and he passed that one off to being forced with top quality pills at her empire’s disposal, absolutely. Insulted the Chosen, and by extension, himself, in another time it could very well lead to—

 “In my country,” she said, raising an arm, “Chosen means something different.”

 “I see,” he said. He’d wanted to kick himself. He was nearly about to cause a scene. “Cultures really do change across the sea.”

She assented noncommittally. Xinrei had to admit, while her arm was up to the sky, eyes closed and looking at peace; she was pretty. Any man would think a hundred lifetimes of fortune had been all but used up today. The sudden silence of his companion drove him to share in her calm. Not like he needed encouragement back to his typical. An easy breeze lifted robes, flew past towards the horizon, and journeyed to lands beyond. Suran Vey was occupied with the heavens; and he, with what he could see.

Not so far from them, a headstone with others of its ilk lay. Inscriptions eroded by time; eroded by rain. But clansmen they were, who served his clan as faithfully as any other, in some era. With his spiritually enhanced eyes, he could see the veins of a leaf two li away. To say less of some headstones half that. Reading a name and the date, he wasn’t affected by whomever was buried in that plot. Rather, an image of a boy flitted in his mind.

He had surpassed him long ago, so there was no reason for the Patriarch to go this far…

 A sweet voice said, “You didn’t answer my question.”

 “You didn’t answer mine, either.”

 “Fair enough,” she chuckled.

“In the Firecrown Empire, ‘Chosen’ means what it says. Chosen. One.”

 Xinrei raised a brow. “Strict. What about the others whose talent compares, or is nearly equal?”

 She laughed again, stretching out her fingers as if she wanted to steal a strip of sky. “You’re the weird ones. How can you say Chosen when the definition is not literal? There should have long been a different term for it, no?”

I’ll be stuck here for a time explaining. So it goes. “Perhaps. However it would be a disservice to one if they are already great, to be dismissed because they are not the brightest star.”

 “Yet you consider them as if they were.” She smiled at Xinrei’s start.

 “My feelings are irrelevant. I do see your people’s point, if it were by your culture, then it would only be me titled.” Just myself?

 “Yes and no. We do not crown our people’s future successor by strength alone. If that were the case…” She let out a breath. “We do not adhere to a strict meritocracy. We’ve no need for it. Inarguable power is a consequence of the title, not a requirement….You do not understand, do you?” She didn’t even open her eyes to see the answer.

A sudden torch ignited with no spark. Her body was the wick. And Xinrei, someone had dipped him into the heart of a volcano and like a blanket of magma had already trapped him inside. Xinrei’s everything told him to disengage. Orange and red bonded into a magnificent crimson. He flooded himself with Juva; holding nothing back, he shielded himself in a shell fueled with buckets of his power. If she intended to fight here while he was unprepared, he’d end up in a sorry state.

But she didn’t look at him as he distanced himself.

 What… what is she? This heat is beyond that of a fire-attributed technique! It’s like she’s the essence of it. Here he was sweating sweat that evaporated after a few breaths, and she stood unaffected by her own power, and the clothes—her robe was unscathed! Was it because of her control, or due to the fabric? Whichever the case, it was phenomenal.

Her hand came down, and a discharge of flame surged from her whole person. Was she insane? With as much tinder lying around uncleared, the blaze could spread unchecked, and raze the village while people slept.

 “Put it out!” Xinrei blurted. “Before…!”

Suran Vey moved before she heard. The blanket of fire upon the land dissipated in a slow evacuation. Rising soot hit their noses, and finally, when the inferno had died, Xinrei’s eyes widened. “Impossible,” slipped past his lips. Their tree choppers would be scheduled to clear the remains at a later date, but she had done their job—easily, for them. He stepped once, and not a twig cracked under his boot. In just a wave of her hand, the felled branches and lonely stumps were essentially… erased. Nothing but soil to remain. They hadn’t burned for more than a few seconds!

Though it was over… Xinrei grasped for a weapon he didn’t have. Their eyes met.

 “…Will you stop looking at me like that? I am sort of shy, you know.”

 He’d wanted to kick her. “What kind of fire could do all this?” Xinrei muttered.

 She looked at him as if he asked where does rain come from.

 “This’s fire of my god,” Suran Vey said, a mote of crimson dancing at her fingertips, “the fire of yours—in time, of course.” His face brought a question, but she moved on. “I am the Chosen of my people, my Firecrown Empire. The Inheritor. The only one truly loved by Her grace. Bestowed with Her knowledge and fire.”

 Her mouth parted. “And, somehow, in this land there’s traces of my God, too. Right here, over this very soil. It should be impossible. None have seen Her since the Ancient Era.”

 What nonsense is she talking about? A God? A divinity? Such absurdity in my ears. With a portion of his face not revealed, he was able to sneer away from her gaze. “Well, that’s nice.”

 “More than. It justifies everything to the Emperor of wasting our time here. Uncle would’ve never seen the light of day otherwise, with how much he’s pestered him for the trip.” She shook her smile off her face. “I answered. And you?”

 He avoided looking at the headstones. “What a funny coincidence that is. This plot of land you’re so interested in used to be owned… by one of the families in the clan.”

 Her eyes contained stars. “Really? So then, they must’ve been blessed by Her.”

 Blessed? The Orlith’s? If she didn’t look at him so intently, he’d mark her as a comedian.

 “They’re not around. The Orlith family is extinct.” His hand twitched. “Which’s why the land has been cleared. Especially since it was needed to host the Rosewater Exchange.”

 “…I see. That’s unfortunate. I would’ve loved to meet whoever was blessed by Her presence. We would’ve welcomed them as Asratah.”

 “What?”

The death of the sun didn’t faze him, as he watched her as though she served as a replacement for it.

 “A deprecated word. Usually only said for ceremonies back home. We hail from the Firecrown Empire, but our second, more correct name would be Asratah Jin. Meaning: People of the Vermillion Bird.” Her eyes were bright embers in the night.

----------------------------------------

Far to the north, beyond the Northern Wilderness, over the tip of a mountain threatening to rip the sky open, and past a hilly stream that descended to splinter into many smaller rivulets—one of them ran parallel to a road a day’s escape from the rain. A figure stumbled on it. Carrying a bulge on his back large enough to look like a boulder was stuffed for transport; he stopped sometimes, caught his breath, then kept moving on the trail no matter the difficulty. Eventually, he came to a fork in the road.

Pulling back his hood, a bush of black hair sprouted. Clear dark eyes that what needn’t to be known scanned the signs. And on his neck, a medallion that reflected like glass.

 “I’m close. Just a couple more days, then.”

He smiled, taking the right and moving on.