Reial stared absentmindedly at the sky, listening to the distant cheers of a crowd gathered to spectate a game of Nolmeraian Hrystai. A popular sport whose roots can be traced before the Nether Dwellers’ Invasion. The aim of the game was to shoot a conical shaped object through an open hoop on either end of the field. Players couldn’t throw or kick the object through the hoop, they had to keep it afloat with bumps of their elbows and open-handed slaps.

He didn’t care much about the sport itself. They were entertaining enough with how fast-paced the matches were, and he appreciated the fact that it was used as a way to honor the Striders of old, but he just couldn’t shake a dream from his mind. That face, that dwelling face that always eluded him. Every time he was close to grasping their identity, it would slip from his clutches like some greased up sausage.

Green eyes, blonde hair, he was Khaantanese, that was evident enough, but how could he be so tall? They were generally short, weren’t they? No, you couldn’t generalize everyone. There were always exceptions.

Reial tapped a finger against the pommel of his blade. He knew that voice. So uncannily familiar, like the bright colorful programs he had watched on the Sygnal as a child, yet different. Yes, he had heard it from there before, but where? Was his mind fabricating characters and events from what he had listened to so long ago?

“Rail,”

Charette was the only one who called him that. A nickname she had given him around the time he turned ten. He didn’t know why, but the name stuck with him. It was pleasant and simple, though unrefined. However, it did carry with it a certain nostalgic factor that he couldn’t quite explain.

He sighed, bringing his head to his raised knees. What was taking her so long? Charette had gone to bring them a snack, but that had been more than twenty minutes ago. That girl.

At least the building he was propped up against offered him shade from the sun. Away from all of the people who were enjoying their lives.

Histories that relate to Vaes document him claiming that he fought for the people, that what he wanted out of life was for everyone to live their best life without tyrants subjecting them to cruel regimes. Tyrants who, at the time, had been other Striders too.

Well, he had fought for that world, and much of it had changed again after his time. If Reial were to live his best life, he wanted to know what he would live for. Where was his passion? Where was his unbreakable will that the tales surrounding Veil Striders spoke so highly of? Were they only romantic lies?

Reial tossed around the possibility. Stories were meant to exaggerate, to add a certain flair to an otherwise mundane situation. Making it appear grander than it should be. Eston, however, believed otherwise. He claimed that they inspired courage, bravery, and love when all seemed hopeless. That no matter how dire the situation is, you could overcome it. To cling to hope as if it were your dying breath.

Eston was always optimistic like that. He was the kind of person to never take “no” as an answer when it came to bettering yourself. Can’t answer an equation? He’d teach you the steps to solve it. Couldn’t wrap your mind around a historical footnote? He would come up with a clever rhyme to remember it by. How could a person be like that? What kind of life of luxury did one have to live to be so happy and carefree? It boggled his mind sometimes.

“Sorry for the wait,” Charette announced as she shied towards him. What had she done this time?

“What took you so long?” He asked, watching as Scorch followed her, staring at whatever she was holding behind her back.

“Well,” She started. “When I went to go get a snack, I saw a couple of tents set outback.”

“And?”

“Apparently one of them belonged to an artist who was taking live commissions.”

Reial arched a brow. “How much money did you spend?”

“That doesn’t matter! Just look!”

She whipped out a large piece of paper with a charcoal drawing of him, Charette, and Scorch on it. It may have been nothing more than a sketch, but it had heart. The piece depicted a moment from their youth, specifically the day they had adopted Scorch. Their father had stumbled across a traveling salesman on his way back from work. He never explained why he had stopped at all, or what his reasons were for talking to the salesman, but it resulted in the traveler gifting him the pup.

Reial smiled. He remembered that cool autumn night all too fondly. The game of chase they had played with Jadica around the manor, the warm meal with an extra serving by the tableside. Their father had a bad habit of arriving late for dinner, so they usually had everything prepared before he burst through the front doors.

Upon his return, Reial and Charette were surprised to find him carrying a shivering little drog with him. He was shy at first but took a quick liking to them after they had offered him a bowl.

Reial took the sketch from Charette’s offering hand. From the bits and pieces of Uvan’s stew to the striped shirts they were wearing. How he and his sister held out the bowl with one hand on each side as the drog cocked his head at them. The moment was captured perfectly in this piece.

Reial could hear his younger self and Charette cry out in amusement as Scorch scarfed down the meal. That time was long behind them, and yet he felt his throat tighten with emotion. What an incredible day that’d been. When they had added another member to the family. Their small family. It had never been the same after he left. He? Reial thought curiously. The thought had come to him so suddenly that it disturbed him

He recalled an air of pensive melancholy that pervaded those days. Yes, that was right, someone had left without saying goodbye. Someone Reial and Charette loved, but who? Every time he thought up a name, the answer further eluded him.

Reial stared hard at the drawing. Something was missing. It was a perfect recreation of the scene, he admitted that much, but there was something absent from it. What was that?

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The more he thought about it, the further frustrated he became with his apparent lack of answers. Dwelling memories. Handing the drawing back to Charette for safekeeping, he nodded.

“Well worth every dollar.”

Reial got back onto his feet, though it felt more like a thousand hands were doing the work for him. “Do you like it too?” He asked the drog.

Scorch jumped and gave a yip of confirmation.

Charette giggled. “Good.”

She grabbed her bag from the spot next to him, digging around until she procured a folder. Judging by the various utensils in her bag, it appeared as if she was more prepared to study than to explore. Charette then slipped the drawing into one of its pouches and slid the folder back in neatly to avoid wrinkles. It was a rather nice drawing, though how much did she spend on it exactly? Reial shook his head. He’d have time to worry about that later.

“Should we get going?” She asked him.

“Let’s.”

Fortunately for them, the field was by the edge of town. There were a handful of coaches parked in a dusty, makeshift parking lot, but most had come here on foot. I suppose that’s one of the advantages of living in such a small place. He thought.

They passed clusters of men and women, some watching the game, others just casually chatting. He listened to their conversations, catching snippets of current events like the preparation of Firven Stadium for the Solis Games. No matter where one went, they would eventually hear about the Solis Games. Why wouldn’t they? The very name of the event derived from the title they had given to the strange god-like being, Solvaylius. The title itself predated even Rei’s time. Supposedly, it translated to “star-bringer.”

Five months remained before the games started in earnest. It was nearing the end of Envaeser after all. His birth month. Two more months then it was Charette’s own birth month of Yusalana. How heartless of him to leave her before then. No, he was doing this for her sake. That enough helped ease the pain.

“Hyvas, that Khaantanese jogh knows how to play.” Said a sweaty Hrystai player.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t even let me get past the halfway line.” Said a second Hrystai player, this one a female.

It was one of the few sports that allowed mixed-sex participation, though did they account for the Khaantanese? They weren’t exactly “like” them. Save for the adults.

“From the way he plays, I’d bet he’s a Strider. Just our luck.” Said the first player.

Curious, Reial scanned the field for signs of that Khaantanese player. They weren’t exactly all that rare in Yusanik, if anything, they were much more common than the Thírians, and they lived a continent over.

There was a gathering of players near a hanging goal post, the conical object trapped in the net. At the center of the gathering, he spotted a mop of messy blonde hair. Not the golden blonde that people often described the Khaantanese with, but a dirty yellow.

“Hey, you know what’d be fun?” Charette asked him.

Reial tore his gaze away from the crowd and looked at her. “Not being constantly surrounded by farmland?”

“Well, that, and going to see the Solis Games. Want to go watch them in person after we’re through with Thírion?”

“Charette, you do know how far away Carcetta is, right?”

She nodded.

“And that if we go to Thírion, we’ll be even further away from it.”

Charette cocked her head at him. “I fail to see how that’s a problem.”

Reial groaned inwardly. Of course, she didn’t see anything wrong with it, she wasn’t the Strider here! These powers were meant to protect others from harm, not to help ferry people around. He wasn’t some dunemarcher.

He sighed. “You’re asking a lot from me.”

“But you’re a Veil Strider, a lot is what you already do.”

He sighed again. “We’ll talk about that later.”

“Or we can talk about it right now, we’re together regardless.”

“Could you at least give me some time to think about it?”

She frowned but nodded anyway. He was glad she didn’t push the subject, giving her too many things to look forward too would only crush him. Was he kind because of that, or a coward?

The buzz of conversation disappeared as they left the field behind. Pleasant state, if rather rural. No matter how “civilized” the towns appeared, they were often overgrown with wildflowers. It was oddly charming. Nature had reclaimed the land around their houses and buildings, but those structures still shone with the glimmer of polished steel and cleanly wiped glass.

Appearances mattered to the Recundian’s, that much was evident. Though their clothing was dull, their shirts were never stained nor ripped. And their shoes only marred by faint green marks of grass that came from living in the plains all their lives.

What was life like for them behind closed doors? Did they enjoy what they had? Thank the Almagest for all they had given them? Love their family and friends and speak openly about their feelings?

Being Aunesfernish practically demanded the opposite of that. He had to strive for greatness, all while listening to the unfiltered criticisms of his teachers and servants. Nothing was ever good enough, all because of Rei. People wanted to be as great as him, but Reial knew that just wasn’t possible. All they were doing was setting themselves up for disappointment.

But he sat there and took it. Absorbing each word like a dry towel. They said it was to better himself, to be more stoic and rational, but all it did was make him detest how his people acted. A people he didn’t belong to.

Greatness, that was all they ever demanded of him, but did they even know what it meant to be ‘great’? Slaving away at a desk for hours, listening to endless lectures, filling pages with notes until your hand cramped. Others had driven him to be great, except for himself. He had never cared, but he was always afraid of telling his parents that. If there was one thing the Aunesfernish hated more than a lack of results, it was wasted effort. Why couldn’t they just relax every once in a while like a Uvandran?

Reial breathed in the fresh Recundian air to clear his thoughts. He was his own person now, not what others made him out to be. So what if he didn’t act properly Aunesfernish, so what if the blood that flowed through his veins was richer than the most? It didn’t matter to him. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

“Do you think it’s normal to miss someone you’ve never met?” Charette asked, almost whispering the question to him.

Reial’s lips thinned to a line. “I’m not quite sure I understand your question.”

Charette’s eyes became distant as she stared down the road, almost as if she was remembering something. “Sometimes, I get the feeling that I’ve lost something precious to me, but I can’t remember what it was exactly.”

“Then how do you know it was a person?”

“I just do.”

Reial went quiet. Perhaps it wasn’t a wise idea to tell her about his sleepy imaginings. They were, after all, fabricated dreams of his past. He could’ve added a detail or two to make it seem as if another person was there when in reality, there never was.

“Perhaps you can help me solve this mystery,” Charette offered.

Reial blinked. “Me?”

“Yes. Remember how you always used to help me with my schoolwork?”

“Schoolwork’s a little different than solving a mystery, Charette.”

She shrugged. “Everything’s a mystery until you have an explanation for it.”

“Charette.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! Please, Rail!”

Reial hesitated. It would be a good way to distract himself on those darker days, as well as pass the time until they got to Endona. “Fine, I’ll help.”

“No, don’t say it like that.”

“Say it like what?”

“When you say you’ll help, you do it with a smile, not a frown.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because it shows that you care.” She emphasized.

Showed that he cared? Wasn’t him agreeing to that already proof enough that he cared, or maybe he was just telling himself that so he would believe it? Whatever point it served, it wouldn’t hurt to try. Putting on his best smile, he nodded.

“I’ll put every detective and Courser to shame by helping you solve this mystery! I promise.”

Where could he find power in words? Was it in his own passions, or was there something greater he was missing? Something he had neglected to consider.