“Hey, Ena?”
“Hmm?”
“I know I’m asking this out of the blue, but…how do you manage to stay so popular?”
Enariss made a funny expression—something between a grin and a frown. “Why? Do you want to become popular?”
Demund shook his head. “I mean, it would be nice, but no. It’s just, how do I explain this?”
They were walking through a quiet place, away from all of the buzz of Christmas and the shiny lights. This side of the public park hadn’t been decorated, and it was nice enjoying the cold air only with Enariss. Demund thought that he’d gotten used to being with her, but he still felt fuzzy inside. Maybe because it was Christmas.
“Believe it or not, I’ve been having problems in my dream,” Demund confessed, a small cloud emerging where he sighed.
“The one where you can use magic?” Enariss said.
“Yeah.”
“Go on.”
“Well, I’m supposed to be a part of this ancient, revered family,” Demund continued, “and currently, I’m on a journey to learn various things. Right now, I’m in a new place run by army people, and well, it hasn’t been easy befriending them.”
“Why? You’re a likable guy.”
“Thanks. The thing is, they killed my pet.”
“Like a cat.”
“Something like that.”
“So?”
“They were punished.”
“Then you messed up,” Enariss bluntly told him. “Becoming friends is out of the question.”
“That can’t be,” Demund muttered, looking down. “I might have to spend a whole year with them.”
Enariss stared at him for a few seconds, then burst into a giggle. Demund looked at her, and she punched his arm lightly, a little harder than a tap.
“Why? It’s only a dream,” she said, clasping her arms behind her back. “Do what you want. Make them submit to you if they’re making you suffer.”
“Is that what you’d do?” Demund joked.
He didn’t expect Enariss to suddenly make a serious face, looking at him as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have. Just when he was about to say that it was a joke, She grinned and slapped him on the back.
“Do I do that to you?” she smiled, looking up at him.
“No, never,” he said, keeping eye contact. Though he still remembered what Riley and Rhyne had told him when he’d first mentioned Enariss to them. She’d done something in middle school…
“Do you remember this day last year?” Enariss said, looking around. “We were ambushed by thugs.”
“I remember,” Demund recalled. He still had a scar on his head from that.
“If someone wrongs you, you should pay them back a hundredfold.”
“A—hundredfold.”
“That way, they won’t mess with you again. How exactly was your pet killed?”
“It was shot,” Demund remembered, feeling sad again, though it was less intense. “I almost died.”
“They shot you?”
“Yeah.”
“And they were punished. How?”
“Through…running?”
Enariss raised an eyebrow, looking at Demund. “They killed your pet and almost you, and they went for a run.”
“A short one.”
“If I was you, I’d smash them into the ground,” she said frankly. “And break their bones.”
“But they’re part of the family that’s supposed to teach me,” Demund argued.
“What are you, a wimp?”
Demund’s jaw dropped, and Enariss sighed, running her fingers through her hair. “It’s only a dream, Demund. It would be worse in real life. If you don’t give them the punishment they deserve, they’ll only look down on you more.”
He hadn’t explained the full situation to her, how the Nieuts were always on high alert against enemies, but he could tell that she was growing tired of the topic. He wondered why he even had brought it up to her. He didn’t want to spend the rest of Christmas talking about how bad his life was as Shaden.
“You’re right,” Demund agreed. “I’ll try that.”
“So?” Enariss asked, sounding slightly annoyed. “That can’t be why you asked me to walk with you.”
“Of course not.” He touched his bag. “What are you expecting?”
“I don’t know. A confession?”
“Haha, very funny.”
After saying it, Demund frowned to himself. Then what was it that he was doing?
“Alright, we’re here,” Demund said, motioning to the benches. “Would you take a seat while I prepare?”
“So it is a confession!”
“Stop, you’re making me embarrassed. What, do you want it to be one?”
“Not really. It would be bothersome.”
“Ouch. That’s painfully honest.”
Enariss smirked, and Demund couldn’t tell whether or not she was joking. He knew that she was a kind and caring person, but sometimes...there were moments when something different would seep into her character. Like when Rhyne became infuriated after losing a game match, or Riley after seeing the main character’s dog die in a movie. Parts of his friends he wasn’t aware of, parts that he wanted to know but avoid at the same time.
Demund took a deep breath. “Okay. This might be underwhelming, but here we are. Close your eyes, and be prepared to be lost in a world of wonder.”
“A little forced, but I like it,” Enariss said, then closed her eyes. Demund quickly took the moment to retrieve his items from his bag and relaxed his fingers for the performance.
The soft melody of the exotic flute seeped into the sound of the wind, slowly filling the air around them with notes, sweetly echoing into a melody. Months and months of practice condensed into one song, supported by the lungs he’d grown through daily running combined with the fingers he’d trained with circulation, every day without stopping. The music brought life into the park, and Demund moved his fingers on and off of the flute’s holes—the same patterns he’d prepared for this day.
It began gently—a curious melancholy. A child behind a window, expectant of gifts but knowing Father Christmas didn’t come for the poor. It was a famous song but never played publicly because shopping malls preferred happier moods. But Demund knew that the slow, yet increasing tones would be perfect for that Christmas night.
The song rose in volume, its minors shifting into majors, with a few jutting notes sprinkled here and there to add excitement to the gloom. It quickly became bright, and Demund concentrated as he performed each note the way he wanted to, dashing across each measure. The sharps and flats were tricky, but he’d practice countless times on Grak’s back.
Oh, how he’d practiced. As long as the song had been, it had been painful to memorize it perfectly. Music was written differently in the other world, and he’d had to write it all down.
The song slowed, suddenly engulfed in minors. The night was long, and the air colder. A sad and lonely night, without a single friend to be with him.
The original song would have ended there had not the composer had a child himself. The weary, entrancing melody was beautiful to the ears, and Demund felt something well up inside as he whispered the notes. It couldn’t end here. Christmas was a season of joy, and as many goodbyes as there had been, so were the beginnings, impossible to count them all.
Like a flower unfolding into full bloom, the notes transformed into a euphoric victory, rising up and up—a long note that echoed through the park—and Demund held his breath.
He breathed.
The last of the notes came, similar to the first, but it was now the sound of gentle delight. He made sure to squeeze everything into the final note, and he abruptly lifted his head from the instrument, taking in a giant gasp of air. The full song, complete—and he was satisfied.
He turned his head to Enariss, who still had her eyes closed. Noticing that the song had ended, she opened them—their eyes met. Her face looked blank, and Demund shrugged.
“Well?” he asked, approaching her. “Did you like it?”
She shook her head, and Demund felt his heart do a nosedive—yet he’d been too quick to judge.
“How?” she exclaimed, getting up from the bench. “How? Where did you learn to play like that?”
“Was it good?”
“It was—out of this world!” she laughed, bringing her hands together. “You never told me you could play an instrument!”
“I taught myself for today,” Demund said proudly, doing a little pose of victory.
Enariss’s eyes widened a little. “Just for me?”
“Well, you and my parents and Riley and Rhyne,” he added with a smile. Enariss crossed her arms while raising an eyebrow, and it made him giggly inside seeing her like that. With a snort, she crossed one leg over the other.
“To be honest, it wasn’t world-class,” she stated, “but it was nice listening to it. This area lets the sounds echo. But your vibrato! I thought you’d at least practiced for a few years. Don’t tell me—you began to learn when we first met?”
“Nothing like that. I think it was...around a month ago?” Demund told her.
“A—month?”
“With the assistance of my dream power.”
“There is no way you could learn to play like that in a month,” Enariss frowned, getting up. “Fine, you impressed me. Let’s go—it’s getting pretty cold.”
“And, uh, one more thing.”
Demund quickly went to his bag and fetched the small box he’d prepared, hiding it behind his back after he took it out. Clearing his throat, he faced Enariss, who looked more or less amused.
“Another present?” she asked.
“Something more tangible,” Demund told her.
When she held her hands out with an expectant smile, Demund brought his hand forward and placed the box on hers, who inspected it. She felt the weight in her hands, giving it a little shake.
Without hesitating, she pulled the top open, fishing out a piece of laminated paper within. She looked at it, flipped it around, then tilted her head, her eyes giving Demund a questioning look.
“Magic Lessons?” she read. “You will be taught magic when you want. What does that mean?”
“It means,” Demund began, “that I can teach you how to do this.”
Demund raised a finger. A small flame came to life at the tip, and upon his command, grew large until it was the size of a leaf.
“What?” Enariss exclaimed, reaching out a hand towards the flame. “You’re a pyrokinetic?”
“Not really,” Demund said, undoing the flame. With a whimsical expression, he fluttered his fingers in front of himself to evoke a rainbow. “Magic.”
“I have not heard of anyone who uses magic.”
“Superpowers are the same thing, right?”
“You can’t reproduce superpowers,” she sighed, shaking her head. “At least, not in my knowledge. But for you to be able to awaken something new—Demund, this is revolutionary.”
“I know. Keep it a secret?”
“I will. But you better tell me more about this magic.”
“Don’t expect too much. It’s not that easy to reproduce,” Demund said, scratching his cheek. “At most, it’s useful for party tricks. I can’t bring down a firestorm or anything like that.”
“Still!”
“Yeah, okay. Well, do you like it?”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
To his surprise, Enariss shut her mouth and seemingly became lost in thought, putting a hand on her chin while a frown formed on her face. “Hmm,” she muttered, “I wonder.”
Demund raised an eyebrow.
She punched him on the shoulder, letting out a chuckle. “It’s wonderful,” she said. “I like it.”
“You don’t sound that impressed.”
“I’m worried,” she said abruptly, her smile vanishing from her face. “Your project—it has something to do with magic.”
“A little.”
“It’s wonderful. And I’m worried that you might have a chance of overtaking me. And that can’t—absolutely can’t happen.”
Her ember eye bore into his. Again, the weird feeling. This was the Enariss that he wasn’t so sure of—the her that he tried to ignore but had suddenly decided to reveal itself to him.
Then it evanesced, and she returned to being the Enariss he knew again.
“I’m kidding, stupid,” she laughed, softly kicking a pebble aside. “There’s no way your magic will score higher than my project.” Doing a little hop around him, she clasped her hands behind her back and leaned slightly forward. “Since you shared a secret, I’ll share one too. I know a thing or two about the way they score the projects. Family connections—it might seem like cheating, but it really isn’t.”
Demund nodded, and she went on. “They like their submissions to be replicable, and mass-produced. Of course, that isn’t always the case. But they prefer that. The more profitable the discovery, the better.”
“Profitable?”
“The world runs on money, Demund,” Enariss sighed, the air being whitened with her breath. “Your project is wonderful, I’m sure of that. You would have won first place if it was any other year. But this year—”
She spread her arms. “I absolutely cannot afford to lose. You know, I have a whole company at my side.”
“But that’s—”
“Cheating?” She shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong. I did all of it myself, but valuable information isn’t widely available through search engines. You need good sources, and that’s what I had.”
“Do you want to win that badly?”
“I do.” Enariss relaxed visibly. “It has to do with my mom.”
The family portrait that had been at her house flashed through his mind. She was someone who didn’t exist anymore, someone Demund had been too cautious to ask about. And now, Enariss had revealed to him something that could only be seen as personal. Had he grown closer to her? A part of him was happy that she’d shared, but another part—the greedy part of him—began to sink into a pit of worry that he might lose to Enariss and not be able to see Jothan again. Besides, if she had connections, could she not go to the Preliminary Islands through them?
His old friendship against Enariss’s memory of her mother. The thought zipped by, and he felt terrible for wanting to triumph over her—to show her that he too could be as talented as her.
“Ah,” was all Demund could say. They stood there for a couple of seconds, unsure of what to do next. “Let’s go,” Demund finally suggested, “it’s getting cold.”
She nodded. They walked wordlessly along the park towards the car. Snow had begun to fall again as it had done in the morning, and Demund was glad that there was something to fill the space between him and Enariss. He wasn’t sure of what to feel. He’d been striving towards victory with all of his will that when it had been revealed to him that his reason for winning was much less significant than hers, his motivation plummeted, and he wondered what the point of presenting was if he was going to lose anyway. There was also the scholarship thing—could that be considered more important than Enariss’s reason to win?
“I want to hear more about you,” Demund managed to say. “Your past, your problems—maybe I could do something to help?”
Her eyes faintly widened, and she gave him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen—something he knew he wouldn't be able to forget. And the words that came after, he knew they’d be burned into his memory of her for the rest of his life.
“You can’t,” she promised.
And that was the end of it.
⤙ ◯ ⤚
Shaden didn’t know how to react. He’d just been trying to greet the Commander—that was all. Maybe complain a little. But he hadn’t expected things to turn out like this.
Nicar stood still while holding her cheek, her face reddening each second. Where her neck had turned, the muscles refused to move. She faced the other way, unable to meet her father’s eyes, and while her face remained relatively neutral, Shaden could see where her jaw muscles were stiffened. The sound of people talking and carriages rolling had ceased completely; even the animals seemed to hold their breaths.
Shaden hadn’t wanted things to turn out like this. But being alone for so long with no one to talk to, he’d let his mouth ramble a little bit after seeing a familiar face. It had begun with the Commander asking, “Had you any difficulties?” which Shaden had replied with, “Well, my wyvern was killed.” He’d simply done nothing more than answer with true statements.
And this was where it had brought him. He had never received an apology—but not like this. The Commander was shaming his daughter in front of the whole community.
“Many times I have told you to be wary and wise, to not let your emotions rule over you,” the Commander softly rebuked, though his eyes were as cold as steel. “Just when I have my eyes off of you, you make another mistake. Do you realize what you have done?”
Nicar turned her head, but her eyes were on her father’s chest, unable to look up.
“No, Commander,” Nicar began to speak, a faint bitterness showing through her voice. “I do not.”
“That is the extent of your abilities,” the Commander muttered. Their voices were low, but Shaden heard it all. Without giving his daughter a second glance, the Commander passed her and beckoned towards Shaden.
“Shaden, come with me. Have they not given you the texts yet?” he asked, his voice warm as Mayarrack’s. “I have kept the heir waiting.”
“Not yet,” Shaden answered, glancing at Nicar, who still stood in place, her feet embedded into the ground. All that the other soldiers would have observed was the slap. Their voices had been too small to spread. But he knew how heavy the air had become. Yet the Commander walked on as if it didn’t faze him a little—and his son, Benavon, was the same.
“Commander.”
“Not yet, General,” the Commander spoke, and his son closed his mouth. “Have you withheld the texts from the heir because of me?”
“Yes, Commander,” Benavon replied.
“When it comes to the heir, do everything he requests,” the older man said.
While Shaden felt uneasy in the stomach, the frustration he’d had was melting away by the Commander’s words. It was as if his existence was finally being validated after days of being treated like a ghost. But he kept his face straight. Lytha and Eilae had always emphasized that—though it had loosened on him during his time in the desert. At least when circulating, it wasn’t a big deal.
“How have my eldest and my third treated you?” the Commander continued, and this time Shaden knew to watch his words.
“Well enough,” he said. “Compared to everyone else, I had it easy.”
“I suppose you mean the soldiers.”
There was something different about the Commander. Shaden hadn’t noticed it at the beginning, but the mana around them was not purely that of the north now; there was something mixed in like fine dust that had been blown and spread around. Specks of influence, flying around like air molecules and light, somehow returning to the Commander. He’d only realized it because of the thicker, infrequent threads of mana that reattached themselves to existing structures, connected to the Commander. The man was creating a web around himself with every step. It was similar to Shaden’s mana-sensing but much finer and, Shaden guessed, unnoticeable. And he was confident at sensing mana.
“They are hard workers,” the Commander said. “Some are here for honor, others for money, still others for training. And you are here for training.”
“For the gift of focus.”
“And more.”
The man said it like a fact. Shaden had already made up his mind, but hearing the Commander say it so bluntly didn’t make it any better.
“Yes, I hope so,” he replied. “It’s been a while since I’ve done anything difficult.”
“Is that true? The lady—Lytha, I remember. Did she train you well?”
“It was doable.”
“I remember she hated this place. It was nearly thirty years ago, and she was around the age of my eldest son.”
Shaden glanced at Benavon. There was no way Lytha was that old. She’d looked like she was in her late twenties and early thirties, while the man looked well into his late thirties.
“The soldiers also hated her, because they detested being outdone by a child,” the Commander went on, smiling. “But all of them are gone now. Only I am left of that generation. I have only waited this long to see you arrive.”
“Oh.”
“I expect great things from you. Your grandfather has told me much. It was a shame I did not have any grandchildren worth bragging about.”
“Where are they?”
“At the city. This place is hardly suited for women and children.”
And yet, Shaden was still there, probably to stay for a while.
They continued their small talk until they entered the Commander’s Abode, and this time, Shaden followed the man through an office where a trapdoor was revealed under a carpet.
“Bring the texts,” the Commander ordered, and a man that had followed them (one of the sons) took the key and descended through the trapdoor into the darkness underneath. Within a few moments, he emerged with a box in his hand, and Shaden felt the invisible tug dissipate the moment he laid his eyes on it. The Commander removed the lid and lifted a book from within—something Shaden was very familiar with.
A thick, black book fell into his hands, and he felt his shadow wiggle. Strange; it seemed to grow more energetic as time passed. Or was it because he was absorbing the different gifts?
“Thank you,” Shaden said, holding the book to his chest. “How long do I have to take?”
“Until the end of the year. You have decided to join our ranks, I suppose?”
Shaden swallowed. “Yes.”
He didn’t want to be left behind by his friends. He didn’t have much in the waking world besides his academics. He wanted something more—he wanted to become reliable. Hard training sounded like a good way to do it. How bad could it be?
“When your birthday has passed, you will be admitted into a squad under one of my children,” the Commander said. “Until then, do what you must. Share a word with the soldiers and my children—they are like me and have a keen eye for talented individuals.
Nicar would detest him by now, he thought.
“And I ask of you to forgive my daughter,” the Commander said, lowering his head. “For I know that no man can elude a Limen’s blade.”
His sons exchanged glances when it happened, and Shaden realized that the man was referring to how he could murder everyone if he wanted to.
“You don’t have to worry,” Shaden assured. “I would never kill someone.”
“So it is as I have heard,” the man nodded, and Shaden wondered what he meant. But he never had the chance to ask.
“I have my duties now,” the Commander concluded, sitting on his seat. “Is Pillen back from his mission?”
“Not yet, Father,” Benavon replied.
“Too long. Have Nicar show him around the fortress as she would to a High Magistrate,” he ordered.
Shaden was surprised when he met Nicar outside of the building, waiting as if she’d been expecting them. Perren (whom Shaden vaguely remembered as the second son) told Nicar her duties, and with a nod, she turned to Shaden, placing her right arm over her stomach with the back of her fist facing him. It was a salute—one that Shaden had seen around the fortress.
“Captain Nicar, at your service,” she said without a hint of discomfort. “Allow me to lead you around.”
Awkwardly, Shaden nodded and followed her.
Despite his worries, she treated him with sincerity, explaining to him the various locations of the fortress and how each served to benefit the residents. The barracks were neater than he’d expected them to be, all of the blankets and clothes neatly arranged on the beds and wooden lockers. There were some sleeping, and Nicar quietly closed the door.
“This is where the footsoldiers live,” she told him. “Most of them are commoners.”
The living quarters for the officers were around the same size, though instead of being large rooms with many bunk beds, the rooms were small and individually used. Next was the Canteen, where all of the food was served. The food storage was also next to it, and since they were busy unloading everything they’d brought from the city, they didn’t bother entering it.
“You’re the one who shot me, right?” Shaden asked, suddenly feeling slightly resentful. But his curiosity won over. “What exactly did you shoot me with? A bow?”
“We don’t use bows here aside from hunting,” she replied. “We use rods.”
“Rods?”
“We will get to them later.”
The main storage building was the largest structure in the fort, though not the tallest. It stood at the far end of the wall, farthest away from the entrance, and by far it looked the busiest. Like the food storage, people were going in and out unloading carts, carrying various items like unlit torches and sacks.
“It’s forbidden to teach using rods to foreigners,” Nicar said, “but your family keeps their secrets well.”
“So what,” Shaden said, “are they like guns?”
“Guns?”
“Rods that shoot using gunpowder.”
“Gunpower? You are correct on the shooting part, but there is no gunpowder.”
“Then magic?”
“Yes. And to use the rods well, you will have to learn each spell chantlessly. We do not have any engraved rods here.”
Shaden couldn’t tell whether or not she was taunting him.
“Will I learn how to shoot one?”
“I’m sure you will.”
There was no smile on her face.
Additionally, they went to each of the watchtowers where soldiers gave short reports on demand. There also was the small garden next to the Commander’s Abode, but he’d seen that plenty of times. He’d strolled around a little in his boredom..
There were others—like the stables—that they visited, but what Shaden was most interested in was the weapons storage building, guarded by two soldiers. They let them through, and Shaden’s eyes feasted upon the rows and rows of swords, shields, bows, arrows, spears, and larger weaponry that could arm over a thousand men. But most numerous of them all were the metal rods that widened at one end, vaguely resembling a rifle. It was strange because the weapon only had one hole where the bullet was meant to exit.
“You shot me with this?” Shaden questioned, and she nodded.
“How?”
“You will learn. Don’t be impatient. But you must first learn that” she told him, motioning towards the book he was carrying.
“I will. Within a week,” he snorted.
“A week?” She frowned and rolled her eyes, turning away from him.
Something bubbled inside of Shaden.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” he said. “You know, I just remembered that you never said sorry for killing my wyvern.”
“What of it?” she answered.
“I don’t know—maybe say sorry?”
“I don’t believe I did anything wrong,” she said, standing her ground. The way she said it so reasonably made Shaden want to wipe the calm off of her face by throwing her across the fort, but he knew better. As he circulated, the clarity returned to his mind, and he took a deep breath.
“Want to make a bet?” he asked, putting out a hand. “I will learn how to focus, whatever it is, in a week. If I win, you will sincerely apologize for everything. And you will treat me better.”
She looked at him as if she was looking at a fool. “And if I win?”
“Do anything you want,” Shaden muttered.
“I do not care about you,” she said, looking down at him. “If anything, I find my father’s infatuation with you to be absurd. Old traditions, old promises. As if they are more important than the present. Conflicts were brewing, and they went to celebrate your birthday.”
“So?”
“If you fail, you fail,” she said. “I couldn’t care less.”
“What if I win? Will you apologize?”
“If you so desperately want an apology, you can have it,” Nicar told him. “I’m sorry for killing your wyvern. I did not know how much you cared about it.”
Again, her words sounded forged. Like she’d said earlier, she felt no guilt.
And he understood why. He hadn’t felt sorry for killing Salahin’s wyvern. But being the victim in the situation, he couldn’t keep his thoughts reasonable without circulating.
“I don’t care either,” he said, and the moment they left his mouth, he couldn’t help but feel so childish compared to the woman. And she’d been the one who’d been slapped by her father in front of everyone for being emotional. Looking away, he began to head out of the storage.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“A week. You’ll see,” he promised, looking at her. “I’m not the brat you think I am. I might seem like a child, but—oh, whatever.”
Turning around, he gripped the book in his hands and hid himself right as he passed through the doors. At least now he’d found something productive to do. And just like before, he was sure he could do it within a week.
He thought back on Enariss’s words. Without punishment, he’d only be looked down on more.
Would impressing them be an alternative? It had worked in the desert. Through healing and not violence, he’d earned the respect of the residents of the Wall, and even the Royal Family. The initial pain was suffocating, but it would work out in the end.
He clenched his jaw. Sometimes he wished his mind wouldn’t be so reasonable when he circulated. Sometimes he wanted to be like the main characters who would lose control and only return after the help of their loved ones, striking fear into their enemies. Yet, he knew that if he crossed that line, something would change inside of him. Because he was in full control, the consequences of his actions would haunt him his whole life.
“You’re too kind,” Eilae had told him over and over. He’d thought of it as a compliment.
He looked at his hand and gripped it. He still remembered almost being robbed. And one of the robbers still remained at the Fort.
“I wish Grak was here,” he muttered.
Shaden undid his circulation and walked along the wall, letting his emotions trample over him. A stranger in a strange land, a boy without friends. There were no children his age here—only adults with frozen expressions and numbed hearts. Would he become like them?
Maybe it was good to become numb. Because then, he’d feel less guilty about doing something horrible. A dream world...maybe Enariss was right. Who could stop him? No one in the waking world would know about anything he did here.
Yet...he had a family. His father, his mother, brother, sister; his grandfather, aunt, Eshel, Keyga, and Eilae. What would they think if he committed murder?
Not much, probably, especially his grandfather. But his mother would be heartbroken, and Eshel and Keyga would be terrified of him.
And he cared about those people.
He stared into the sky, letting the sun burn his eyes. The past week had felt longer than months with his family or the Jakhar Ksihaks.
He wished he could see his family again.