Within a reality where fire came before time, a part of a galaxy older than the Milky Way, inside a solar system with a sun aged into a white dwarf, and on a planet where humanity had never been born, a figure of scales and skin could be found drawing in class.
This was Herah War Hej.
Her people were called the Cendreux, but her Maker called her: the artist.
Seated in a chair chiseled from one large gem of sunstone and behind a desk made of smoothed, cloudy garnet, Herah’s tall, fit, and limber form fidgeted. Sharp and seething, eyes as green as emeralds with slit, black pupils glared down at the artist’s sketchpad. Said green glare complimented the ruby-like scales covering her forehead down to her nose. The cause of this glare was an incomplete sketch of some vague, six-armed figure that had been plaguing her dreams for nearly a week.
What the fuck are you? And why, by La Flamme’s grace, are you haunting me?
Herah’s mouth twisted into a slight grimace, the scarlet skin on the bottom half of her face stretching as her mind drew only blanks. Her fangs, sharp and pearly-white, bared for only a moment before pursed lips covered them. Her inability to figure out what or who the subject of her drawing was served both as a source of anger and stress for these last few days.
Feeling a buildup in her throat, the artist huffed out some smoke in an attempt to destress. Floating up, around her head, and past the goat-like, black horns that framed it, the smoke dispersed with a wave of Herah’s pencil holding hand. Annoyingly, in making the motion, concentrated starlight from a rear window bounced off the scales that covered the artist’s arm and right into her left eye.
“Merde.”
SNAP!
Herah hoped her curse whispered as her eye shut and her fingers squeezed, snapping her pencil in two. Using her now pencil-free hand, the artist rubbed her closed eye and mumbled out a few more curses. Careless gestures and the gem-like scales all Cendreux’s had wouldn’t often lead to annoyances like this, so it made them all the more irritating when they did happen.
Frustrations rising, Herah felt the ever present, comforting warmth in her chest grow hotter and leak up towards her throat. This growing warmth shot through her gullet and straight up to the artist’s nose, causing her nostrils to flare and jets of yellowish, almost green flames to shoot from them. Laying both her arms atop her desk, Herah closed her open eye and took a deep breath.
Calm. Calm. No making a scene Herah, we keep our Deal.
The artist opened her eyes and let out her breath. The action cooled her anger, her inner warmth receding back to her chest and cooling down in turn.
There we go.
Back in order, Herah noticed that a few stray strands of vibrantly red hair had fallen into her eyes. Popping a black talon with a snikt, the artist used it to skillfully return every strand to the long braid that fell down her bare, scaly back.
Hair back in order, Herah decided to clean the rest of her look up and smoothed out a few wrinkles in her sleeveless green shirt and her beige cargo shorts. As a devotee of La Flamme, the artist had to look her best to show the best of her goddess.
And I’m always representing.
Herah looked at the pencil fragments atop her sketchbook then glanced around the rest of her class to see if anyone had noticed her little accident.
Seated in the back-right corner of the spacious room, far away from anyone else, the artist’s sights ran over the vivid and colorful collage of desks and chairs in front of her. A wide selection of gemstones composed all of them. Of the twenty or so paired bits of furniture, only nine were filled by an equally colorful collection of Cendreux; none of which paid Herah mind. All but one of the vacant seats weren’t normally filled because their owners didn’t having history in the morning on Allumée (the second day of the week).
The only one that isn’t supposed to be empty is because of me. Though, it’s not like there’s much here to learn but heresy.
The artist shook her head before cupping her face in her hands and breathing a small burst of orange fire onto her desk. The pencil fragments turned to ash and vapor in an instant. Herah inhaled the vapor and swept the ash into her hand before tossing it into her mouth. The artist didn’t taste the black sediments but did feel the powdery substance grow soggy on her tongue.
From ash we came, to ash everything returns.
A swallow and small prayer to La Flamme accompanied the thought, traditional in the disposal of any broken tool.
Done with clean up, Herah reached into her desk and pulled out a new pencil. Reequipped, the artist looked back down at her incomplete sketch and frowned.
Seven fucking days, and I still can’t get any more detail out of my head, nor can I figure what by ash this thing is! Merde. What to do? What to do?
A moment of nothing passed before Herah huffed again. This time only smoke left the artist’s mouth.
Guess, I can draw something else.
Herah once again looked around the room, this time slowly taking the class in for anything of interest.
Tapping her foot lightly against the white, padded floor, the artist found her attention first drawn to the walls. Blue as cobalt and made of that very metal, a variety of paintings depicting great Cendreux battles and the colorful, mounted head busts of several renowned warriors from their history decorated the room.
I’ve created better than all of these at home.
Tracing her gaze around the foot of the walls, Herah perused the different colored mats used for sensory deprivation during more turbulent seasons. Most held no designs of interest, and the only one that did the artist owned, said mat depicting a supernova.
With only windows behind her, that left Herah with the front of the class for inspiration.
Here, only three things of note were found.
Thing of note one, a neatly organized desk of iron, double the width of the artist’s own, sat a few feet away from the student desk closes to the front. Atop its left corner, a stack of recently written essays lay. On the right, a small portrait of two adult Cendreux, one pink and the other grey, stood framed.
Haven’t drawn you yet. Herah let her focus settle onto the grey Cendreux for a moment. Looking at the silex (the Cendreux word for males) always made her frown. Something about the figure just seemed uncomfortably familiar. I’d like a better reference for whoever you are if I were to.
Thing of note two, a large, flat board of magnetite hung on the front wall covered in red and blue iron shavings. The red shavings were shaped into the sharp, geometric symbols of Ahcendreux and arranged vertically, as the communal written version of the Cendreux’s language should be. The blue shavings were shaped into the flowing, organic letters of Cendreuxah and arranged horizontally as the artistic written version of the Cendreux’s language should be. The artist cared to read neither at the moment.
Nothing I don’t know already.
That left Herah with thing of note three.
The teacher.
Feu Rose. the artist thought her teacher’s title and name, watching the acier (the Cendreux word for female) stand before the class at the respectful height of eight-three. Rose possessed a similar fit and limber body to Herah’s, with skin as pink as raw fat and scales like spinel gems covering her arms, legs and the top half of her face. Even her horns matched the artist’s, a bit of an oddity due to the shape’s rarity amongst these latest generations. Unlike Herah’s, Rose’s magenta hair bundled up into a bun, allowing her horns to stand out proudly. Her maroon dress-shirt and mint slacks added to her air of authority and professionalism.
New outfit today, maybe I could do another drawing of you?
The artist’s sight drifted up from Rose’s pants and back towards the teacher’s face.
The pair’s eyes locked for a moment; Rose in the process of surveying the class with a smile. Her eyes were shaped like Herah’s; a purple-pink, like kunzite, instead of emerald in color. Sharp and intelligent, they held an odd edge that reminded the artist of her father’s gaze, just not as playful.
Neither Herah nor Rose reacted to the other, both breaking eye contact as quickly as they made it.
Got no need to cause trouble as long as the Deal stands.
The artist focused back on Rose as the teacher pointed at her board with the two-ertèmasstick in her left hand. Longer than a polearm, Rose held the black metal ruler at its mid-point while tracing alongside the bottom of the Cendreuxah letters and speaking to the class.
Not a single word reached the artist, the nerves in her ears intentionally disconnected before class had even started. In fact, every sense but sight and touch had been cut-off by Herah in hopes of helping her finally draw the figure from her dreams.
Not that it did much to help. Might as well tune back in.
The artist closed her eyes and focused on an ever-muted buzz at the back of her head, ignorable when undesired and noticeable when needed. And as Herah focused on it, the buzz grew louder.
And louder.
And louder.
Until suddenly, the artist could hear the faint scratches of pencil on paper, claws cutting gemstone, and, of course, Rose’s lecture.
“So, it was with that experience that Neutron Violette began ruminating on the direction of our people.” the teacher’s voice was full and mature, a soft warmth to her every word. “As quoted here, ‘Yes, La Flamme had cared for us during our first few billion cycles, but our species has grown for tens of billions more with no help required. It was us who decided to conquer the stars. It was us who made an empire that spans a galaxy.’”
Rose paused and lifted her two-ertèmasstick from the board before turning back to the class.
“It should be noted that at the time, we had not yet added either the Viothyste or Oranpaze galaxies to our empire. Now,” the teacher turned back to her board and began reading again, “‘It was us who proved ourselves to be the greatest force of this universe. So why should we still give La Flamme praise? Why should we still fight and conquer in her name? Why should we still create monuments to her? Why should we still honor someone who only spoke and never acted?’”
Rose turned back towards the class and swept her eyes over them.
“And it is thanks to these questions that Neutron Violette had a revelation. There was no reason at all to continue our reverence, and this is what led the Neutron to become the first of the Ravivé.”
Herah nearly tuned right back out, her skin burning and teeth clenching at the teacher’s words.
Like ash there was no good reason! Our Mistress made us. For what greater reason would we need to revere our Mother?
The artist closed her eyes again and sighed. This wasn’t the first time these thoughts had occurred, and it wouldn’t be the last. And every time, Herah came back to the same response.
Stolen novel; please report.
Doesn’t matter. I just have to show them what you showed m—
thump!
The artist jolted out of her mind at the feel and sound of something solid bouncing off her forehead.
Herah’s nostrils flared, smoke shooting from them as her eyes slowly opened and looked down to her desk.
The artist found atop her sketchbook a blue eraser.
Looking up, Herah noticed Rose’s back to the class and two of her classmates looking back towards herself.
One appeared stocky and large, so large in fact, his chair cut from lapis lazuli and desk of emerald were double the size of everyone else's. The student sat relaxed and turned in his seat, the skin of his face an electric blue while the scales on it and the rest of his body looked like sapphires. Grinning, one of his claws lazily played with a button on his striped, orange and white polo. A long, arrow tipped tail the same blue as his skin waved lazily through the air hanging over his shoulder, a small bit of paper crumpled up in its grip.
Bleucend Hunt Bua, scheduling another ass-kicking. How long has it been since your last one?
Directly to Bleucend’s right, the other classmate sat comparatively much slimmer, though still muscled, like the average silex his age should be. Turned in his seat of pyrite and behind a desk of peridot, the student jittered nervously. His skin was grass green while his scales appeared jade-like. His forked tail, wrapped tightly around his wine shirt, squeezed his body nervously. One of his hands scratched at the base of his green mohawk as a weak smile twitched on and off his face.
Vertcend Build Cua, do you want worse than what your sister got today?
The artist glared at the pair as the three shared a look. Vertcend glanced between Bleucend and Herah seemingly unsure of what to do next.
Bleucend lacked this indecisiveness.
His tail snapped towards the artist, launching its balled paper like a bullet. Herah tilted her head to the left, and a small gust flew past as the paper flattened against the window behind.
Bleucend looked at Vertcend and nodded towards the artist. Herah looked at Vertcend and raised a brow.
Flimsy Vertcend, you picking a fight? That’s new.
The artist noticed his non-scratching hand hidden from view by his seat and the rest of his body. A second later, it appeared with an eraser clutched tightly between his index and middle finger.
Vertcend looked at Bleucend again who just nodded his head, then back to Herah who did nothing but stare.
What shall you do? the artist thought to herself as a pregnant pause settled over the three.
Then, Vertcend threw the eraser.
Herah dodged again.
Vertcend, I don’t know what got into you, but I’m going to enjoy licking your blood from my fist.
Before they could toss anything else, both silex students snapped forward just as Rose turned back to the class, still lecturing. Once again, the teacher’s eyes ran over the room. When they met the artist’s, neither reacted still.
No need for a commotion. Nothing these imbéciles could do would be enough to make me break the Deal.
Rose turned back to the board.
Bleucend and Vertcend turned back to Herah.
The artist sighed.
For the next few minutes, the two students continuously pelted an ever-evasive Herah with school supplies. Always when Rose looked and drew on her board, never when the teacher didn’t. Vertcend seemed just a little bit uncomfortable throughout it all while Bleucend frowned deeper and deeper, neither getting any real response from their target.
All throughout, the artist found no need to care about either the throwing or Bleucend’s steadily growing frown. Herah, in fact, enjoyed the small exercise. After the first minute or so, the artist reacted automatically, allowing her to just sink into the monotony and let her mind go blank. It filled time that would otherwise be spent drawing, but another portrait of Rose could always wait. Plus, now Herah had some fighting to look forward to after class—
The artist’s ears twitched, and her eyes narrowed in on Bleucend as the student scrawled something down onto a scrap of paper. Still dodging Vertcend’s throws, Herah watched curiously while Bleucend balled his paper up and flung the ball her way.
The artist plucked it out of the air.
Rose turning back to the class and Vertcend’s and Bleucend’s subsequent turns towards the teacher, allowed Herah some precious seconds to uncrumple Bleucend’s message and read it.
‘Look at you, quiet and cold like your goddess.’
It took the artist a second to properly react to the words; the sheer audacity of Bleucend’s insult towards La Flamme stunning.
And when Herah properly processed the message, the artist saw red.
The comforting warmth in her chest spread wildfire in her veins. Her skin and scales grew so hot, wisp of steam rose from both. Her lips curled into a snarl while a low growl rumbled in the back of her throat. Her eye’s sharpened into a glare as a green glow appeared behind them.
In just a second, rage consumed Herah.
And once that second passed, the artist parted her lips and green flames burst fort—
CRACK!
Both Herah’s flames and rage dissipated as her fist slammed into her own chin, snapping her head up.
We keep our word. the artist thought while staring up at the blue ceiling covered in patches of white, meant to illuminate the room with soft light in heavy darkness. Ignoring the faint tingling of her chin, Herah held her gaze on the ceiling for only two breaths before looking down and towards what had actually caused the cracking sound.
Rose’s two-ertèmasstick embedded through Bleucend’s desk.
Blinking in confusion, the artist looked towards Rose. The teacher’s lips had retracted into a snarl, her glare flitting between the frozen pair of Bleucend and Vertcend.
In fact, the entire class sat frozen, everyone’s attention firmly on Rose.
“Why do you think I threw my two-ertèmasstick through your desk, Bleucend?” Rose’s question came out lacking the warmth that normally marked her words, now replaced by a cold venom.
“I-I don’t know.”
Rose stalked over to Bleucend, every student between her and him skirting their desk and chair out of her way.
“I didn’t ask what you know, idiot. I asked what you think, now answer me.”
“Because I wasn’t paying attention?”
Rose paused before Bleucend, now towering over the student shrunk in his seat.
“I can see you think I’m just as dumb as you.”
“What? No, I th—”
“I mean you must think I’m real stupid, if you thought I wouldn’t hear you throwing shit at one of your classmates. You must think I’m a real dumbass, if you thought I wouldn’t notice the mounting smell of your own frustration, Vertcend’s fear, and Herah’s anger. You must think, I’m a real fucking idiot, if you thought I wouldn’t notice you very clearly attempting to make Herah upset. For what other reason, would you so blatantly lie to my face?”
Herah cracked a wide smile as shivers of delight ran up her spine at the sight of Bleucend sinking further into his seat while Rose bore down on him. Not that the artist needed her teacher’s intervention. Watching a coward like Bleucend be forced to show himself spineless was a treat.
It felt honest.
“It’s not what you think,” Bleucend said while putting his hands up.
“Then what is it, Bleucend?” Rose asked, small wisps of blue flames leaking from her mouth and nose.
“Herah beat up my sister.” A low, whiny voice interjected.
Herah looked to Vertcend with a scowl, of whom the voice originated.
The bitch earned it!
“Oh really?” Rose turned her sights on Vertcend and moved to lean over the quivering student, “When?”
“E-earlier today, an hour before class.”
Rose reached behind her, grabbed her two-ertèmasstick, and yanked it out from Bleucend’s desk, causing everyone but the artist to flinch at the sound of fragmenting gemstone. The teacher rested the metal ruler on her shoulder and lifted a glaring brow.
“So why does that matter in here? If you got a problem with Herah, you handle it like étincelleas should. Why didn’t you issue a duel?”
Vertcend didn’t respond immediately, causing Rose to growl.
“Why did you wrap up Bleucend in your own feud? Can’t fight your own battles?”
Vertcend’s lips parted but no sound came out causing Rose to tch and snap her head towards—
“Herah!”
The artist reflexively straightened up. While Rose didn’t scare Herah, that was no excuse to not show respect. Looking back to her teacher, the artist forced her smile into a more neutral expression.
“Yes, Feu Rose?” Herah made sure to keep her voice curt and clear, any less, traditions state, could be considered an insult towards a Cendreux in an older Age than her own.
Not that too many of you care to practice even something that small.
Rose gave a half-hearted gesture towards the empty seat next to Vertcend, where his sister normally sat.
“Where and why?”
“Behind the gym, and because I caught Pourprecend defacing my mural.”
“Where is the étincelle now?”
The artist shrugged.
“I left Pourprecend in a regen room.”
“Why?”
Herah let out a small snort, grinning back at Rose.
“I’m an emmerdeur, not a monster.”
Rose gave the artist a pointed stare.
“No need for crassness.”
“You just swore twice.”
“Point still stands.”
Rose turned back to Vertcend.
“Why was your sister defacing Herah’s mural?”
“I—” Vertcend’s eyes shifted away guiltily, “—I don’t know.”
Boarshit! I bet you put the idiot up to it, it’s always you two doing shit to piss me off! You’re just the only one who won’t say it! Herah thought as green flames explod—
CRACK!
We keep our word.
Again, the artist slammed her fist into her face, grounding herself before her rising anger could go out of control. Though, once again, the sound didn’t come from her fist but from Rose embedding her two-ertèmasstick cleanly through Vertcend’s desk. The teacher leaned down further until eye level with her green student.
“Your smell betrays you. Don’t lie to my face, Vertcend.”
Vertcend looked towards Herah, causing her to let out a low growl.
For a split instant, the artist thought something flashed across Vertcend’s face, but the student turned back towards Rose before Herah could be sure.
“Co-could I say it in private, Feu Rose?”
“The time to keep this all private is long past, child,” Rose’s nostrils flared as blue flames spewed from them, “State it now or I can have you carry a request for a duel to your parents. I’m sure they’d love to be made a fool of ‘cause of you.”
Vertcend glanced at the artist again, who glared in return, before swallowing and turning back to Rose. Once again, Herah noticed something flash across the student’s face, but still wasn’t sure what.
“Because we wanted payback.”
“For what?” the teacher asked, an edge to her question. Clearly there was a wrong answer here.
There’s a lot to want payback for. That time I shove his head up Bleucend’s ass for one.
“Herah said it herself—”
Vertcend balled his fist and looked towards the artist again, and only this time could Herah make sense of his expression.
Rage. Seething rage.
Interesting. the artist thought, grinning back. Do you finally have a spine?
“—she’s a pain in the ass and deserves to be knocked down.”
…
…
…
“Pfft-Ahahaha!”
Herah let out a snort before bending over her desk wracked with a fit of laughter.
Everyone else sat deathly quiet.
Which made sense, it wasn’t everyday someone performed the second highest insult you could towards another Cendreux.
Not that I care. the artist thought, wiping a tear from her eye and leaning back up. Well not enough to be offended.
Looking at Rose, Herah saw her teacher felt much the opposite.
Lips curled in disgust, Rose took Vertcend by the chin and jerked him out of his seat onto his feet.
“Did you just call your classmate, she?” Rose’s voice dropped lower than a whisper and cooled enough to freeze even fire.
Impressive, the artist thought, watching Vertcend not fault to Rose, even if his legs shook while in her grasp.
“She is nothing more than a crazed Brûlé.” Vertcend said with a quivering voice, now covered in a cold sweat, “Worshiping a worthless goddess and stupid traditions.”
Once again, a hush fell over the class. This time not even Herah made a sound.
It wasn’t every day that you heard someone perform the highest insult you could towards another Cendreux.
Belittling their belief’s in front of them.
Worthless goddess! Worthless goddess! You’d dare to insult our lord and creator as some worthless deity like those once praised by our conquered species! The one who bestowed upon us our gifts and only reasons we’re able to rule as we do!
The artist felt hot, her rage tainting every thought. Herah wanted to scream, to pounce upon Vertcend, to paint the classroom with every drop of his blood. But before any of that and more could happen, the artist caught sight of Rose watching from the corner of her eye.
The Deal. It stands regardless of the insults I suffer or how I feel.
Herah inhaled deeply, stuck out her tongue, and bit down.
SPLURT!
A stabbing pain kept the artist seated as hot blood sprayed against her face, desktop, and still open sketchbook. Half of her tongue falling and bleeding further onto her sketchbook kept her silent.
We keep our word.
Herah kept her lips shut as the pain faded, blood amassed in her mouth, and her fire burnt painlessly away at her wound. A second later, the artist swallowed the blood swelling her cheeks before sticking out and licking the air with a newly formed tongue. Herah grabbed the one still on her desk and tossed it into her mouth, chewing her old tongue a few times then swallowing.
For a moment, everyone’s attention landed on the artist, the class shocked not by her brutality but by her control.
At least, that’s what Herah assumed.
The artist looked to Rose, the teacher giving her a small smile before turning to Vertcend with a sigh.
“If that’s what you’ve taken from my class, then I’ve failed you as a teacher.”
Rose dropped Vertcend and tore her two-ertèmasstick from his desk, her eyes bouncing between her two offending students.
“Such disrespect to your peer will not be tolerated in my presence. After school, you two and Pourprecend shall stay for punishment.”
Bleucend started and huffed orange fire.
“Why me!?”
“What is on that piece of paper Herah currently holds?”
Herah giggled as Bleucend’s mouth shut tight.
“That’s what I thought,” Rose said with a huff before turning to her green student, “And Vertcend, due to your honestly despicable lack of respect towards your peer, you will let your parents know I’m issuing a duel.”
The artist hmphed with a grin as Vertcend looked at Rose wide-eyed.
“But why!? It’s only her pride I insulted!”
The teacher shook her head.
“That you feel so confident to insult Herah in my presence shows a lack of respect for my authority and position. Disrespect of that nature, I believe, comes from your parents. After all,” Rose tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. “Would you so vagrantly speak that way in front of me if I was a thousand cycles older?”
Herah felt no small sense of satisfaction at Vertcend’s stunned silence. The artist would feel much more satisfied after classes though, when her opportunity to let loose personally came.
Looking to Rose, Herah noticed her teacher accepting Vertcend’s silence with a shake of her head. Finished, Rose walked back to the front while looking between the other students.
“Now for the rest of you, it is time to resume class. Last I left off, I was speaking of how Neutron Violette met her most passionate and staunch supporter, Neutron Jaune Destroy Lej. It was a decade before the age of Gardiens de Feu was to end and a second set of Éteindre Guerres, or Extinguish Wars for those that don’t remember, was prevented…”
The artist zoned out once again and leaned back to stare up at the ceiling. Thinking about all of what had happened, Herah couldn’t help but feel accomplished.
I kept my word La Flamme and Blanccend. Guess I’ll be here for a while longer.
The artist looked down and at Rose, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Hate to say it, but I do owe you a thanks Feu Rose. I’ll let you have this next portrait I draw.
Speaking of which, Herah looked down to her bloodstained sketchbook and frowned.
Ugh, gonna need Jeffery to clean this up. Big bastard is going to be such an ass about it.
The artist shook her head, tore out the few bloodstained pages, stored them in her desk alongside Bleucend’s note, and flipped to a new page in her pad.