First he Saw what was coming, and we denied it. It came true. Then he Saw they would lie, he Saw they would stay, and he Saw they would enslave us, and we denied it. It came true.
~ Elder Sharoni to Freyza, ninety-seven years ago
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Pain.
That was the only word needed to sum up Klyze’s entire existence.
Every single day it grew worse, and every single day he felt his resolve falter, yet still he pushed on. He wasn’t sure why he still did it. Maybe it was the myths and legends the elders told that kept him clinging on to life, kept him fighting for a chance at a better life, a life where he was no longer plagued with pain, a life where his family would be safe. Or maybe it was the look of defeat in his little sister's glassy eyes, the same look his mother had obtained in her final days, that pushed him onward.
She — his sister, not his mother — was only one hundred and forty-three years old, much too young to have experienced the things she had, things that made him tremble in rage just thinking about. His mother had been just a day away from reaching her seven hundredth name day when she had passed. She could have had hundreds of more years of life, but no, it was snatched away too quickly, too soon, all because of the cursed Glyden.
They were the reason he suffered. They were the reason he had been snatched away from his home. They were the reason he was enslaved, as was all his kind.
He cut off his line of thought before he could progress deeper into rage, instead slamming yet another rock into the pile he had amassed throughout the morning to help dispel some of it before he entirely lost his cool.
He must have slammed the rock harder than he anticipated, though, because a few other workers glanced at him warily and a guard started to step forward before being stopped by his partner.
“Careful there, K-137E. You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself with so much of your shift left, would you?”
The guard's words carried a veiled threat of punishment should he slip up again. Rather than protest — the day when he would have instantly thought of such a thing had long since passed — he nodded mutely, an expressionless mask retaking his face as he did so.
“Good boy,” the guard crooned, his tone making Klyze want to shudder repulsively, though he squashed the urge and lowered his eyes.
Returning to his task, he quickly descended the dusty slope into a shallow ravine filled with hundreds of sweaty, grimy bodies, all with the same goal as himself: collect stones, and collect them fast.
Whoever collected the most stones was given more food, and Svaxlier knew his sister needed more food. The two slimy brown broths they were given once a day weren’t enough for Klyze, let alone a hard-working girl who was going through the most important growth spurt of her life.
Or at least, she should have been going through a growth spurt, but he feared the lack of proper nutrition she had been receiving for the past hundred years had dealt permanent damage. Her muscles were small and undefined, and he didn’t think she would be able to lift a single rock while he had to lift hundreds in a single day. Her antlers were twisted and brittle, her hair lacking the luxurious new color and softness it should have acquired. And her wings, her poor wings. Thin and ragged, they were much too small to support her in the air, even if she were allowed to fly.
Looking at her, at what she had become, only ever added to his pain. She was the future of their kind, an omen of what would happen if they continued to live under oppression. The sadness that engulfed him when he gazed upon her, the dread that threatened to weigh down his wings, that was why he pushed on, and why he could never stop. One day he would get them somewhere safe and he would use the knowledge he’d gleaned from the elders to fix her and-
Crack!
The sharp sound of a whip broke Klyze out of his reprieve. Though the sound had long since lost its ability to make him flinch, it still awoke an almost primal fear that was fueled by his own experiences at the mercy of its wielder.
He glanced up from the stone he had been about to lift, gazing in the direction of the noise. All the other workers stopped to watch as well, though not necessarily by choice, as they were forced to watch each and every whipping that was carried out.
It was just another way their captors kept the slaves under their control, maybe even the most effective way. The one being whipped would likely never do anything to result in another punishment, and the ones watching would leave the scene petrified, vowing to work harder than ever so as not to incur the wrath of the whip.
But for Klyze, every time he was dismissed all he felt was anger. Even now it was mounting with each crack of the whip and each bloodcurdling scream he heard from its target.
He followed the crowd that formed behind the torturer, all of them dully trudging toward the center of the camp where the whipping post was. It was an ugly thing, a tall, rusted post with similarly rusty chains along its sides that prevented the victim from escaping.
Many a Svlinrar had died there, and many more had died after due to infection. Klyze hoped he wouldn’t have to witness a death today, and hoped even more so that it wasn’t someone he knew.
The crowd in front of him was thick and blocked his view of the victim, though if he was being honest, he didn’t want to know who it was. He’d rather never find out, just going on with life pretending it had never happened. It was how he coped best and it had never failed him before, so he saw no reason to stop now.
Not until a guard jabbed him in the back with the butt of a spear, at least.
“Get on up there, K-137E. Unless you’d like to be the next on the post.”
This guard was much more direct with the threat than the last one, so Klyze nodded quickly and made a show of a few feeble attempts to break through the tightly packed crowd, thankful that there was no way he could get through.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get you a front-row spot. Not every day you get one of those, isn’t it Strun?”
Klyze watched in horror as the guard's partner — Strun — nodded and helped clear a path through the crowd. Once they made it to the front, Strun asked, “Well? Whatcha think?”
Klyze remained silent, not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t think he could speak if he tried.
The world around him had ceased to exist, leaving himself and the tortured the only ones around. He shook his head, forcing himself back into the present and croaking a faint, “It’s good,” to the guards.
The guards chuckled, slapping him on the back in a less-than-friendly manner before returning to their posts. The crowd filled in the gap they had created and Klyze was stuck in his position, forced to watch someone he knew suffer.
It wasn’t just someone he knew either, it was the girl that he shared blood with, the girl he had promised to never let something like this happen. It was his sister.
He was forced to watch in agonizing silence for what felt like hours but could only have been minutes as the whip flayed her skin, leaving her clothes in tatters and blood coating the ground. He nearly screamed for them to stop, but at the same instant, his sister caught his eye, shaking her head slightly. It’s not worth it, she seemed to say.
When it was finally over one of the guards hefted her up like a sack of oats and heartlessly threw her in the dirt just like one, even going so far as to laugh when she bounced along the ground before halting.
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Klyze sprinted over to where she had landed, pushing and shoving his way through the thinning crowd without care. They were all going back to work, and while he knew he’d have to join them he wanted to get his sister to the healers first. If he was quick enough he could make it back to his post without anyone realizing.
He skidded to her side on his knees, the sharp sting hurting for only a moment before worry overpowered it. Before the dust from his maneuver could reach the siblings he was already gone, carrying her featherlight body in front of him as he ran.
Her head lolled to the side with every jolting movement and he winced, silently begging that she’d be alright.
Reaching the tent of the healers he burst through without slowing, his breath coming in ragged gasps. A young-looking medic began hurrying toward them, but before she could reach the siblings a voice spoke.
“Klyze? What are you doing here?”
Klyze turned, recognizing the voice. It was one of the elders, someone with wisdom and knowledge spanning generations, the only one he trusted full-heartedly to do everything she could to save his sister.
“Elder Sharoni, my sister needs help. She…th-they whipped her. I don’t know why,” he said, his voice quivering.
Elder Sharoni’s gasp when she saw the damage told him everything he needed to know. It was bad. *Really* bad.
“Oh Freyza…,” she murmured. Meeting Klyde’s gaze, she said, “I’ll do everything I can, but you need to go to work. You know what happens if you’re not there.”
At his hesitance, she added, “She’s in good hands now, you did the right thing in bringing her here, now go!”
Nodding halfheartedly he turned, racing back in the direction he had just come from in hopes of returning before anyone noticed.
—
His shift ended just before night fell, thankfully without any repercussions, even though he had returned late. The manager for his zone had let him off with a warning once he told him it had been his sister being whipped, perhaps feeling a small semblance of pity.
Klyze didn’t care why the manager let him go unpunished, he was just grateful that he had. His family would only suffer more if all three of them couldn’t work and he had no desire to be the cause of his family’s suffering.
Returning home, Klyze gently pushed open the flap of their tent. He would have gone to check on Freyza first, but his shift had ended late and curfew would start any second now. Anyone out past curfew was killed on sight, no questions asked.
“Father,” he called out into the darkness, using the tips of his wings and fingers to navigate through the small space. He used to be able to see perfectly in darkness like this, but ever since the Glyden and their kin had forced them to work in the desert sunlight that ability had gradually diminished until he could see no better than a puny human at night.
“Father?” He called out again questioningly.
His frantic fumbling finally found where the candle — their only source of lighting — was. Quickly he ducked his head outside, dipping the candle’s wick into one of the standing torches outside and setting it aflame.
He moved slowly back inside, doing his best to prevent the candle from being blown out by a stray gust of air. Once again inside, he held the candle out in front of him, the faint flame lighting a tiny portion of the space.
It was enough for Klyze to see his father, slumped over on the floor. For a moment he thought his father was simply resting on the ground, something he did quite frequently after his wife had passed, until he edged closer with the candle.
The tiny flame danced on the wick, revealing a steady stream of blood leaving behind his father and pooling beneath him on the sandy floor.
In shock, Klyze froze, his mind blank, as he watched the man who’d raised him slowly bleed out with each frantic beat of his heart. A small groan from his father finally jolted him into action. Kneeling at his side, Klyze rolled him onto his back and put pressure on the wound, a violent slash across his midriff.
“Help!” He shouted as loud as he could, his voice cracking as tears threatened to fall from his eyes.
“Father, who did this to you? Who did this?” Klyze asked frantically, shaking him slightly when he got no reply.
Klyze leaned down, trying to discern his father’s incoherent mumbles. When he found he couldn’t, he asked again,
his voice hoarse, “Who?”
“Gro…Groz…,” his father murmured feebly.
No one’s named Groz. I know every Svlinrar’s name. Unless…
“Father,” he began, his heart heavy, “do you mean Elder Grozar?”
It was silent for a few moments, his father’s breath warming his cheek the only reason he knew he was still alive. Finally, Javra spoke, his last word and breath leaving at the same time.
“Yessss…”
It felt like a void had opened in Klyze, a void that nothing and no one could fill except his father, but now he was gone and there was nothing he could do to change that.
He rose slowly, hearing hurried footsteps and frantic voices approaching. Before he could even think to react he was shoved out of the way by guards. They picked up his father’s body and left the scene as quickly as they had entered, leaving Klyze stunned. It was as if nothing had ever happened, but it had. The pool of blood on the floor was proof of that.
Clenching his hand into a fist, he turned and walked into the night, consequences be damned.
—
Creeping silently forward, Klyze neared the elder's camp. There were ten elders in total, and all of them lived in separate tents situated in a circle with a campfire at its center. He supposed their enslavers likely thought them too old to pose much harm and too well-liked by the community to harm them without risking an uprising which is why they got many privileges other Svlinrar’s don’t.
Even so, they were watched by ten guards positioned in a ring with one guard behind each tent, all of whom were under strict orders not to let anyone in or out. Klyze would have to wait for a perfect opportunity to slip in. For now, though, he scrunched his body behind a bolder, shut his eyes, and listened.
While he couldn’t make out anything the elders were saying, he could listen in on the guards, so when three of them left to go wake their replacements, he was ready.
Before he could think it through and let hesitation cloud his mind he was up, moving swiftly in a crouch for the campfire. Surprisingly he reached it without incident, and, hoping his luck would hold out and the guards wouldn’t notice an eleventh figure, he hung back in the shadows cast by a tent.
The elders were too busy murmuring amongst themselves and casting furtive glances toward the guards to notice his presence, just as he had hoped. And now that he was within earshot he could eavesdrop and collect enough information to make his next decision.
Rage simmered just beneath the surface of his calm and collected demeanor, fighting to be let free now that his father's murderer was so close. However, he knew any decisions influenced by emotion would leave him wingless, maybe even headless, by the end of the night, and so refrained from giving in to its urges.
“Elder Grozar, what of your task? Is it done?”
Interest piqued, Klyze strained his ears to their fullest ability, trying to capture every word that fell from the traitor's mouth.
“Yes, Elder Trase, it is done. The family is dead, all that remains is the boy.”
The other elders began angrily murmuring at his confession, though only one of their voices carried through the throng to Klyze’s ears, “You said you would kill all of them, Elder Grozar, not just three. And he’s the most important one! If he’s alive then all our hopes are dashed, may as well just be done with it and end it here.”
Elder Grozar spoke up again, his voice racing from one word to the next. “I promise it will be done by tomorrow. There was just a slight problem that I failed to account for the first time, but I swear it won’t happen again. I swear it!”
A deeper, older voice sounded from the opposite side of the fire, the first time Klyze had heard the man speak, even though he was a legend amongst the Svlinrar.
“Make sure you pull through this time, Grozar. Otherwise, I’m beginning to think I can’t trust you anymore. After all, it’s well known just how easily the promise of power can shift one from loyalty and truth to deception and greed.”
Promise of power? What is Elder Ryzo talking about?
“I’m not my father, Elder Ryzo, I will always remain loyal and true to our cause, unlike that disgusting traitor,” Elder Grozar claimed vehemently.
“Good, good,” Elder Ryzo said before moving on. “Now with immortality closer in our grasp than ever, everyone must be on high alert. Do not trust anyone, do not tell anyone. When we escape, we escape, even if it means leaving everyone else behind. And if one of our own number falls behind, they will be left as well. The ritual is difficult with less than ten of us, but not impossible. Do I make myself clear?”
Klyze’s head was whirling. The group of elders had seemed like a cult of sorts when talking about killing a family, and now they were talking about completing a ritual to gain immortality? They’ve gone insane. Immortality is a myth, there’s nothing more to it.
Lost in his thoughts, Klyze didn’t notice the sudden silence. When he eventually did, however, he raised his head, meeting ten different pairs of eyes as he did so. For a moment, it was as if the world had frozen. Everyone remained perfectly still, the only thing moving being the flame and shadows cast by the campfire. Suddenly the elders began shouting and running at him and the guards joined in the fray to control them before things got out of hand. Elder Grozar managed to slip out of one of the guard's outstretched arms, surprisingly nimble for his age, and lunged for Klyze, his hands closing around his wing in a vice-like grip.
Klyze winced as he felt the elder's hands yank at his still-sensitive wing from when his primary feathers had recently been plucked out. Taking the attack as his cue to leave, he flung his wings open and rammed into the elder with his body, dislodging him for just long enough for Klyze to slip away into the night.
Klyze didn’t look back, instead focusing on pumping his arms and legs as quickly as he could, pushing his already fatigued body to new limits with each stride.
I’m the one they want dead, but Elder Grozar said he killed three Svlinrar which isn’t possible, he only killed my father. Unless…unless he’s behind the reason my mother died. But if that’s true then that means he killed Freyza too.
His steps faltered for a moment as a torrent of guilt threatened to consume him.
I left her alone. I should have stayed and made sure she was okay, then she would have been safe.
He couldn’t even check the medic tent to see if she was alright, because that’s exactly where they’d be expecting him.
He ran on through the sand with no destination in mind, just away, leaving small clouds of dust behind him and praying to every God he knew with each step, Please let my sister be safe. She’s all I have left. Please!