No revolution is so righteous it justifies allying oneself with the Matriarch’s kind. Andosius may have won, but I wonder what she demanded in return. Conquerer of Ceraviehl, they call him now. What a farce. It’s about time I make my way to the Steppes.

- Elusco, Bane of the Sadmora. Dated 54 b.f.

A warm, light orange sheen rippled over the Southern Sea as the ascending sun tentatively climbed towards its zenith. With each step Silas took downhill towards the harbor, the houses around him became smaller and less ornate. Simple, square buildings lined the streets, the stone they were made of seeming crude and unshaped as if carved from an entire block of stone. Some of them resembled large tents instead of houses, upheld by a single pillar of stone around which furs and leathers were strung.

A woman stood near the flap of one of them, hanging up her clothing. Her gaze tracked him until Silas disappeared down the street. Even if it weren’t for Silas’ white skin and Zaya’s sharp features and narrow eyes, their clothes would still make them stand out. Compared to the people around them, their clothes were too pristine, the stark absence of dirt on their robes testament enough to them not belonging here.

A beggar held up her hand as the group passed, pleading for alms. They had barely walked for a single Magelight, yet the city had completely changed from a sprawling metropolis with carved houses, mosaic-adorned windows, and statues lining the entrances to blocks of stone, and make-shift huts seeming to fall apart at the slightest breeze.

“Find out anything new from book?” Zaya asked Nurana, keeping her eyes on the people around them.

“I think I know how I can use my new affinity for something useful now. It could even be used for healing, but that’s a little too complicated for me at the moment.”

“Really, healing? That sounds… weird, considering the type of affinity you have.”

Nurana forced a strained smile on her face. “I know, I’m not fond of it, either. But I need to be able to do something while you guys fight. I hate to just stand there and wait for either of you to get hurt.”

“Well, considering it’s the Art of Death, I’m sure you’ll find out how to use it offensively.”

Nurana chirruped her tongue. “That’s true, I suppose.” She pointed towards a large building ahead of them, towering over the houses around it. “That has to be the grand hall. Let’s see if we find Galmor there, maybe we can curry his favour.”

It was a tall, long building with three bronze domes making up its roof. A steady stream of people walked in and out of it, and both of its large doors stood ajar. There were no guards in the entryway, and Silas had a suspicion he wouldn’t find any inside, either.

The Hall itself was filled with long tables and benches, each one carved from stone and polished to a shine. Constant chatter bounced off the wall and the high ceiling from the peopling sitting side by side.

Coming from the tense atmosphere on the streets outside, the Hall seemed like a different world. A few people gave them odd glances as they walked in, but quickly returned to their meals.

Magecandles illuminated each table. Near the right side of the hall, a young woman played an instrument that reminded Silas of a guitar, were it not for having more strings than he could count.

A small crowd sat before her, a few of them on the ground as they ate and sang. She looked up as Silas watched her, nodding at him with a smile.

Galmor walked between the tables, sometimes speaking to the guests, many of them holding his hand as he spoke. His pristine white robes attracted people like moths to a flame, their hopeful eyes and pleading gestures seeming as if he were the only source of solace in their lives.

Near the back, a small queue of people waited to be given out food from a pot so large Silas might have been able to sit in. A middle-aged woman stood behind it, serving them rations with a large cooking spoon. A few strands of graying hair had escaped from her tight bun.

Nurana strode off towards Galmor. The prophet didn’t see them coming until they were already behind him, his hunched form speaking to a boy perhaps a few years younger than Silas. Patting his head, Galmor turned around. His dull eyes stared at them for a moment before he recognized them and the smile returned to his face.

“Ah, children, I am happy to see you again. Nurana, wasn’t it? Now, worry not. We all come through hard times. Just join the queue, and you will be given a portion of today’s stew, no questions asked.”

Nurana returned his smile. “That is very kind of you, Galmor. But we were taken into the Shelter yesterday. We were sent by Aiza to assist you with anything you might need.”

Galmor regarded her for a moment. “Well, what are your skills? There are a few things I could need some help. With so many people, there’s always something to do.”

“We can fight good,” Zaya chimed in.

Galmor laughed softly. “I have no doubt of that, you look tough, young lady. May I ask what stage you are in?”

“Both of them are Wielders, and I’m a User,” Nurana answered.

“That is quite impressive for your age. We sometimes have trouble with some unsavory people attacking or taking from the food caravan unasked. If you could make sure it goes into the right hands, I’d have one less worry.” Galmor paused, looking at each of them in turn. “This is a very important task. The people depend on us. I need to know that I can trust you with this.”

Silas didn’t flinch under the old man’s gaze. Tom had taught him better than that. “You can trust us,” he lied.

Galmor nodded, stepping a bit closer as he lowered his voice. “A portion of the food given out here is to be delivered to the harbor. Many aren’t able to come here because of age or sickness, so we use a little cart to distribute food to those who are in dire need. Unfortunately, we don’t have enough money to hire professional guards, but we need to make sure the food reaches them. The people down here are very desperate, you see. If you want to help, go to Imira, our cook. Her son will show you what to do. He’s responsible for the distribution for the Lower District.”

“We won’t betray your trust, Galmor. What are we to do if someone attacks the cart?” Nurana asked.

Galmor let his head sag a bit. “Please refrain from seriously hurting anyone, if possible. Violence is never the answer, and there are already enough lies circulating about the Shelter and the Hall. We don’t need to give the guards any more excuses to mistreat us.”

“Of course. Thank you for your trust.”

Galmor shook his head with a small smile. “You have nothing to thank me for, my child. It is each of you who is doing the people a favour.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Imira, the cook, stood just behind the large pot, an apron covered with a variety of smudges tied around her neck and waist. Three light-blue scales covered her forehead.

Seeing them, she grabbed a plate from the large pile to her right and filled it with stew. “Can’t say I’ve seen you here before. I’m Imira. Welcome to the Grand Hall, I hope you like the food.”

Nurana held up her hands as if to stop her. “That’s very kind, but we’re not here for the food.”

Zaya gave her a sidelong glance. “I’m hungry. Stew also looks good.”

Nurana frowned down upon Zaya. “Zaya, we have enough money. I’m sure some people here need it more than we do.”

Imira leaned over the table to push the plate into Zaya’s hands. “I know a hungry face when I see one. Accept just this one portion, please. There’s enough for everyone.”

“Thank you. Be very kind,” Zaya said.

Silas eyed her stew with a sidelong glance. It did look good, with bits of meat and vegetables swimming inside. There was even a sand-colored paste on the side of the plate he couldn’t identify.

“Here,” came Imira’s voice.

Before he knew it, she had prepared another plate, offering it to him with a smile.

Silas accepted the plate with a surprised smile. “Thank you.”

“What be this?” Zaya asked Imira, pointing at the paste with her spoon.

Imira’s thick eyebrows climbed up her forehead. “You don’t know? It’s called Anash, it’s made of roasted sesame seeds and oil.”

“Much tasty,” Zaya complimented her.

Imira put a hand to her chest. “Thank you, young lady.”

Silas hummed his agreement. It was good.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry, child?” Imira asked Nurana.

Nurana was momentarily taken aback before she regained her composure. “Yes, but thank you. It does look delicious. Galmor sent us here to help your son distribute the food to the Lower District.”

“Oh, that is very nice of you. But be warned. Ever since that horrible drought hit last fall, food has been scarce. Down here, at least. Don’t let the cart out of your sight, or it will be gone sooner than you can blink.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Silas waved her off. “Galmor already informed us.”

“If you so say. Ashnur!” she yelled over her shoulder.

A young man wearing a grey robe, perhaps a few years older than Silas, emerged from one of the rooms near the back of the hall. His black facial hair drew itself in a thin line from below his ear to his jaw and back. A long, black ponytail hung down from the back of his head.

Ashnur walked towards them with an easy smile on his lips, slightly astonished as he took them in. It wasn’t every day you saw a Ceraviehlian, an Adjhin’tor, and a Drakhonian together, after all.

“These young fellows volunteered to accompany you to your trip to the Lower District. Galmor sent them.”

The man’s gaze switched between the three of them. “I’m Ashnur, thank you for volunteering. You know how to defend yourselves?”

“We’re all Artists,” Nurana affirmed.

Ashnur’s eyebrows lifted. “Impressive. Then we won’t have anything to worry about.” He turned around, motioning for them to follow him. “Help me bind the Karash to the cart, and we’re good to go.”

The Karash was noticeably smaller than the one they had used to escape from the Crimson Dunes, being only around six feet long. The beast hardly reacted to them tying the cart to its saddle, one semi-transparent eyelid blinking as it lazily glanced at Silas.

“Greetings from Layla, by the way.” Silas paused. “She said she misses you.”

Ashnur stopped dead in his tracks. “She did? What else did she say?”

Silas smiled to himself. While Layla hadn’t directly said that, he knew it by the way she’d fawned when she mentioned Ashnur’s name. “Not much, I think.”

“Oh.” Ashnur finished tying up the Karash, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Silas. “So, how’d you meet Galmor?” he asked as he led the Karash down the street.

Zaya looked at him as if he had said the stupidest thing she had ever heard. “We saw him talk.”

Ashnur’s gray robe shook slightly as he chuckled. “Should have seen that coming, I guess.”

“Please forgive the manners of my friend, she is a bit brusque at times,” Nurana intervened.

Ashnur waved her off. “No problem at all. All that fancy talk is reserved for those up there,” he said with a slight scowl, jagging a thumb towards the upper part of the city. “I prefer when people speak their minds.”

“Good, because I don’t talk different, no matter how often Nurana want tell me to.” Zaya gave Nurana a pointed glance, earning a huff from the latter.

Ashnur laughed. “I like you. What’s your name?”

“Zaya, of tribe Naija.”

Silas frowned, the uncomfortable feeling in his chest accompanied by the surging Taint in his Landscape. What did Ashnur want from Zaya?

“I haven’t met an Adjhin’tor before. What’s it like there, on the other side of the Spine?” Ashnur inquired.

Zaya shrugged. “Naija also live in desert, like here. North of Steppes is much different. Beautiful mountains. But have less trees. Ceraviehl be too green.”

“I’d love to see that, sometime. I’ve never been to the mountains. Not that a lizard like me will ever get the chance,” he said with a rueful smile.

Silas took two steps forward, wedging himself between Zaya and Ashnur. “A lizard like you?”

Zaya elbowed him in the side, but Silas ignored it as he kept his attention on Ashnur.

“It’s a term used for children growing up in the Lower District. But I’m too old to be called that now, anyway.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m 18, you?”

“Almost 16,” Silas answered.

“Aren’t you too young to just wander around like that?”

Silas straightened his spine. “I grew up fast.”

Zaya chuckled. Silas elbowed her, but she dodged it with a turn of her shoulder.

“If you are a Wielder, you must have quite the adventure behind you.” Ashnur hesitated, staring at something in the distance before looking back at Silas, his eyebrows drawn together. “Can I ask you something?”

Silas gave him a wary glance. “Sure.”

“Why did you volunteer to help Galmor? You know we’re not able to pay you anything from this, right?”

Nurana stepped up to his right side, grazing his arm with her hand. “To be honest, we’re in a bit of a dire situation. We wanted no place in the upcoming war, so we decided to go to Nu-Taquim and try our luck here. We have some coin left, but since we don’t know anyone here and our previous experience with the guards was rather…unpleasant, we figured Galmor would be a good chance to become acquainted with the city.”

Ashnur’s expression lifted as he regarded Nurana, a slight smile on his lips. “What did you do? No, wait, no need to tell me. But I’d advise you to be careful. The Empress’ guards don’t look too kindly on foreigners, especially Ceraviehlians.”

“A lot of people are being thrown into prison or interrogated for supposed contact with the Ascended. But that’s just a justification so the Empress can silence those who disagree with her, if you ask me. I may not agree with some of the things they’re preaching, but the Ascended have done more for the people down here than the Empress ever has.”

Ashnur held up his index finger. “But don’t let the guards hear that, or Galmor will need a new man to distribute the food.”

Nurana chuckled. “Don’t worry, Ashnur. Your secret is safe with us,” she said conspiratorially. “Who are the Ascended, exactly? I haven’t heard of them before coming to Nu-Taquim.”

“Well, that depends on who you ask.” Ashnur led the Karash around a corner, greeting a man with a smile who nodded at him. “The Ascended are a group of people who worship the Matriarch and the Originals, our ancestors who supposedly received a boon from the Matriarch three millennia ago.

“The Ascended preach the Matriarch has returned and thus, we Drakhonians should once more embrace our heritage and rally to her cause.” Ashnur shrugged. “Whatever that’s supposed to be.”

Nurana studied his face carefully. “Do you believe she exists? The Matriarch?”

“Could be. If she really is the daughter of the Gods, I don’t think she’ll die of old age. The Originals lived for nearly a thousand years, and according to the stories, they were only granted a sliver of her power.

“Most of them were killed in the Millennium War, so we don’t know how old they could have become. Either way, I don’t know what someone as powerful as the First Dragon could want from some lowly humans such as ourselves,” he said with a shrug.

“Good point,” Nurana conceded.

Ashnur stopped the cart in the middle of a small square, the fountain from the upper part of the city replaced by naught but sand, stomped by the constant passing of boots. He spread his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. “Welcome to the heart of the Lower District.” A stiff breeze came from the sea, kicking up the sand and stinging their eyes. “Most people have bowls, but for those who don’t, there are a couple dozen spare ones beneath the tarp. Let’s split into two groups, one for each side. Zaya, you’re with me.”

Zaya gave him a challenging look. “I am?”

“Well, I mean if you want to, of course, you could also team up with—“

“Be joking.” She waved him off with a chuckle, already heading for the house to their right. “You people never understand humor. Why be that?”

Silas squinted his eyes as he saw Ashnur and Zaya go.

“If you’re trying to stab him with a stare, you’re pretty close, I’d say,” Nurana whispered into his ear.

“It’s just that I don’t trust him.”

Nurana gave him a meaningful look. “I wonder why.”

It took a moment for Silas to register the words as his cheeks reddened. “What, no, it’s not like that,” he huffed, turning away from her.

Nurana patted his shoulder. “Sure, sure, Silas, very convincing.”

“When did she get so snarky?” Silas mumbled to himself as he followed her to knock on the first door.