ARCHIL, AGE 11
“Reiszer killed my family.”
Those were the words of a young therianthrope boy. When Archil, now a grown man, had heard Reiszer kidnapped his younger brother, he felt like falling back into the depths of a dark pit.
A Slough of Despond where the carcasses of his parents and sister lay before him.
They came from the south, migrating from the tribes to avoid a turf war. Travelling by boat, they heard how rogue Reiszer criminals had hijacked a ship to escape from Navarre over the Romantik Ocean.
“Crossing these waters without the permission of the Holiness from the Romantik Sea is bold,” explained Letha, Archil’s sister. They watched the fish riding the small and calm waves. It was a boring afternoon. “The merfolk hate trespassers. That’s why the West is constantly at war with them while we honour their wishes. Their boat will soon sink to the bottom of the ocean.”
Letha jumped up on the railing, balancing herself with her arms as she walked along the narrow timber.
“You’ll fall over,” warned Archil, watching his sister being the usual nuisance. He then bared a wicked smile. “And then the monsters will eat you.”
“Not if I use you as bait,” chuckled Letha and stepped back, falling to the waters but grabbing Archil’s arms first so he had to hold on to the railing for her.
“You frizzy idiot! Stop fooling around, or we’ll both fall. Let go of me! AHHH!” Letha pulled on Archil’s arm further and they both fell off the ship, right into the lukewarm waters of the Spring sea. “I HATE YOU!”
“Ha ha, you’re soaking wet,” laughed Letha at her angry brother, who got water in his ears. Something no fox therianthrope liked. “Come on, brighten up!”
His sister splashed him in his face. It barely impressed Archil. Even less so when she used her magic to drown him in a cascade. He surfaced more sullen than he was before.
“Now you’ve done it!” Archil disappeared via his wind magic into the water below. Letha was panicking about what her brother was planning. For a solid minute, nothing happened. Her brother was nowhere in sight. She swam carefully around and perked her ears for any signs of her. Before she knew it, Letha was ejected into the sky, screamed and smacked flat into the hard water.
Archil resurfaced and laughed derisively.
“I thought I was gonna die!” Letha complained.
Archil smirked in response. “I would call it even, little sis.”
Letha grew red from anger. Her wet blond hair frizzed up. “Why, you little!”
They continued their squabbling, fighting and playing in the waters until a panicking crew finally picked them up. Their parents weren’t mad at their escapade. They thought of it as a welcoming distraction before reaching Navarre.
“Are you excited for Navarre?” asked their father, drying his son’s hair.
“I heard they have one of the oldest and sturdiest architectures humans can build—even the dwarves are envious,” their mother laughed. “It’s one of the most peaceful countries out there. Except for the skirmishes with the magical beasts in the desert and the Malkuth to the north,” their mother finished drying up Letha’s hair, which exploded into an afro from the mother’s wild drying technique.
“Not really,” admitted Archil grimacing, holding on to his knees as his father wrung Archil’s hair. “I feel bad for leaving grandma behind.”
Both parents shared an uncertain expression before Letha groused loudly. “Did you forget granny is a clan champion? She’s stronger than our pa! We would have been unnecessary baggage, anyway.”
“Who are you calling weak here? Come here, you brat.” Their father snatched Letha in his grasp. Letha protested, knowing what was coming for her. He combed through her wild and tangled hair with his sharp fingers. She quickly became docile, knowing resistance was futile.
Archil missed his home, although he soon forgot what it was like. But he never forgot about his family. The day the Reiszer boarded the ship and killed his parents and sister was the worst day of his life.
They all fought like the beasts they were. Hunters in heart and blood. Half of the passengers were civilians with children and the elderly between them. There was little to no one who could protect them.
Their parents died fighting. Archil and Letha were the only ones left, standing side by side, panting and drenched in blood, sweat and saltwater. Their claws broke and their teeth ached from ripping apart throats. Archil’s first kill was a Reiszer. He didn’t know he had set a precedent for himself.
The waves crashed violently against the bow. The boat was rocking hard against the storm of the merfolk who got wind of the situation. No one could help them at that point. They were fighting against one particular Reiszer, who lacerated half the crew and the mast in one swing.
He had long black hair tied in a low knot. His face and skin were wrapped in gauze, and his single-edged sword dripped with the blood of their parents. He was a black-hearted killer no beast or hunter could win against. His sword ripped a hole through Letha when she pushed her brother out of the way.
Archil watched the life drain from her face right before the storm shipwrecked them.
Left alone and barely alive, Archil woke up on the shores of the river delta to the border between Navarre and Idaris. He screamed out his terror at the loss of his family, knowing he couldn’t even bury their bodies.
“Scribe Artor, please stand back. This child is dangerous.” The soldiers warded off Archil’s claws when they entered his territory. For months he had lived all alone on the shipwreck, surviving on anything he could find.
The inhabitants around tried to help him the first day the shipwreck appeared, but he wouldn’t let anyone near. He didn’t care what others saw in him; he only wanted to be a beast strong enough to kill anyone.
He needed to get stronger to kill the murderers of his family, the Reiszer.
With a twirl of her hand, Esha let the earth rise and fall in rapid succession, not giving Archil time to think as she forced him to dodge each wave. One time, he was lucky enough to almost claw her face. Loose strands of hair fluttered in the wind.
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“Ms Artor, step back-” the Idarien and Navarrien soldiers hesitated when Esha lifted the earth before their feet. She wanted to deal with it herself.
Archil used that moment to leap at her. He was caught off guard when she didn’t block or dodge his attack. Instead, she caught Archil in her arms. “I know what loss is like. It will be alright. Everything will be alright.” Esha pulled Archil tighter against her. A tear rolled down her cheek. “You’re not alone… you’re not alone.”
Resisting her embrace, Archil clawed her back and bit her shoulder. Yet, no matter how much he hurt her, she wouldn’t let go. His struggles were futile. He didn’t want to admit his loss. He didn’t want to admit he had lost his family forever, stranded in an unknown land all alone.
But here he was, holding on to Esha as he cried and mourned his loss. Esha took him in, raising him like her own son, but he could never forget what he had lost.
—☼—
Archil Artor, Age 13
“Archil, meet your new brother.” One day, Esha came home from her annual trip to Kutha and brought back something, Kiur. The same one Archil would later care about in the future as if he was his brother by blood.
“Pah,” but not when they first met, “I have no brother.”
Never did he want to lose a family member again. He didn’t need anyone in his life but his mother. A frail child wrapped in bandages would die eventually. Archil couldn’t comprehend why his mother brought him home.
“Never again. Never again. Never. Again.”
It was like his inner mantra, keeping his brain sharp like an animal’s. “Don’t lose, stay sharp, and never again repeat the same mistakes. Never again. Never again.”
“Someone’s in a bad mood.” His classmates stepped away, afraid to agitate Archil, though some were stupid enough to try anyway. Rarely did they see a wind mage in practice. After meeting Archil, they would never want to again.
His pent-up anger led him, carried him like a wild gust. Archil wasn’t gentle or friendly, nor understanding. He only cared to keep his one family member, his mother.
Esha was the only one left in his life. It was his selfish desire to keep his family the way it was now. He couldn’t tolerate any changes.
“Archil, what happened today?” Back home, his mother ran up to him in concern, seeing her son bruised and battered from head to paw.
“Nothing,” he said and avoided meeting her eyes.
“Let me bandage it.” Esha was a wonderful mother. She didn’t pry at Archil’s anger, knowing he had yet to come to terms with his new life. She gave him space. “Seems like I used the last ones on Kiur’s arm this morning. I’ll be right back. Kiur’s in his room. Please watch him for a while.”
“What- no way I will-” His mother left without further ado, leaving Archil to be frustrated over his reservation to watch out for a strange child. “Why should I care? I don’t care!”
There he was, standing before the threshold of Kiur’s room, watching as the four-year-old was playing. Esha dressed him in a baggy robe, which was far too big for him, but hid his entire body and face. Archil didn’t care to ask what was his deal, nor did he care enough to do so. He wanted the child gone.
“Why did Mother come back with you?” asked Archil, his arms crossed and a frown fixed on Kiur.
Looking up at Archil, Kiur hesitated as he always did around him. He was afraid of the animalistic pressure from the tall teen. “Mother, she-”
“Don’t call her that!” yelled Archil, startling Kiur. “She’s not your mother. She’s my mother!”
“I’m sorry,” Kiur apologised. He resumed playing his game and tried to ignore Archil’s oppressing presence. Archil remained at the threshold, trying to be as menacing as he could, but failed as Kiur became fixed on his board and coloured stones.
Unnerved by it, Archil turned on his heels to leave but stopped, taking a deep breath to calm his frustration.
The child was so young and without care. It simply infuriated Archil. Sitting down on the other side of the board, Archil silently observed how Kiur placed the stones, skipping the obelisk-coloured ones over the red. Taking away stone after stone until there was only one colour left before he did it all over again.
He was playing checkers all by himself the entire time. “He must be bored,” concluded Archil.
“Let us play a game,” offered Archil, gaining the attention of young Kiur. “First one to win five rounds can ask the other for a favour.”
“I like that,” smiled Kiur, rearranging the stones. Archil returned the gesture with his own cunning one, showing off his canine teeth. He knew what he would ask of this little child. “I’ll take the black ones,” he said. “So you can look me in the eye when playing.”
Sometime later, Esha returned. “Boys, I’m home,” she announced with glee. Silence. “Archil, I brought the bandages and some ointment for Kiur.” Silence. “And some fresh Marouk bread for you and grapes. Kiur loves grapes, I found out.” Still no answer.
There was no sound from either of her children. Esha worried. So much so that she almost tripped on the stairs with her short legs on her way to Kiur’s room. Pulling away the curtain from his room, she let out a surprised breath. She saw Archil knitting his brows as if he was deep in thought.
“Come on! You’ve delayed for way too long!” Kiur clapped against the floor angrily, pouting.
“I know, I know! Give me another minute.” Archil nervously chewed on his long nails. His mind raced with the extra adrenaline to think of a way out and not lose the last game.
He stood no chance. It was ultimately his loss. Archil had to give in. Their mother wore a smile on her face as she saw them play. Embarrassment was all Archil felt, but when he looked at Kiur laughing, he couldn’t help but smile as well—his joy was infectious.
“Shall we go for a walk?” Offered Esha brightly from seeing her sons getting along. “The sun is setting, so it’s safe for Kiur to go out and enjoy the view.”
Strange, Archil felt strange. Not an hour ago, he disliked the little child being in their home, monopolising on the love and care their mother had given Archil when he had lost his family. Now Archil had to realise how unfair he was towards him.
He didn’t ask to lose his parents, nor did anyone in the world. Archil had to be more receptive and accepting. When he held Kiur’s warm hand, he felt content and saw his dead sister in him.
The view of the sunset with Kiur on his shoulders and their mother at their side was one of the happiest he cherished. He swore to protect his brother from any harm, pain, or distress.
“I failed you twice,” cried Archil. His tears soaked the sand. His heart ached more than his wounds. “I couldn’t protect you when you needed me the most and left you when you were still vulnerable,” Archil sobbed, burying his head in the sand. He drenched the sand red from his blood. “I’m still weak. I swore to never lose my family again. Letha, what should I do? Please, answer me.”
Then Archil’s eyes spotted his Akinakai sticking out of the sand. The sword his mother gave him on his 18th birthday, and Kiur embroidered the hilt. No sword stayed by his side. All his nails broke, but this sword was shining among the dunes of the desert.
He crawled, spit up blood and gathered every remaining strength in his body to take hold of his weapon. He needed to fight one more time. “Mother, parents, Letha… Give me strength.”
Archil spread out his arms and shouted at the sky. “Enlil! God of Storms, I implore you to carry me higher than any mortal should!” Archil’s agonising body groaned. The wind picked up and became the motor to go further and fly. His feelings fuelled him as he soared, clawing at the winds until his body would break apart.
The Reiszer woman with the mask of a fox—a Kitsune—stared back at him. She was the one Archil would have to get past. She told him her name when she defeated him. “Yamamoto Tomoe.” Archil fledged his teeth and swore to get his revenge on her and all the other Reiszer in the world.
He saw his brother right there before Tomoe.
Failure was not acceptable. Archil needed to win, no matter the cost. “Stay away from my brother, you cur!” roared Archil, picking up the pace to break through the air. “I’ll save you, Kiur!”
The winds howled loudly to the will of Archil and obeyed him with everything they could offer. His sword butted right in between Kiur and Tomoe’s sword. Never would Archil want to relieve the pain of loss. He would guarantee it even if he would need to become a beast to protect them.
He would willingly stomp through the gates of hell.