Loxzua was wrong. The sculptures remained the same. Roads led to the same old buildings. Even the sea and the breeze it carried into the city hadn’t changed. Nothing looked different, and yet, it didn’t feel the same. Everything was familiar, but this wasn’t where her family lived anymore. This wasn’t her home, but a memory of a place she had once been, of the child she was before leaving, and the mother who would never rise from the sea. That divinedamned memory was tainted, poisoned by Saevah, to the point where something once so sweet turned bitter.
And Abbaz. The man that spoke to her with familiarity every day for the first sixteen years of her life had never been true to her. A legendary warrior wearing the face of a pacifist bard. Her anger wanted to scream at him, to beat the truth out of him. Her grief wanted to withdraw from him, to say that not only did she lose the mother she loved, but was never given a chance to love the father she never had. These thoughts raged like a blizzard, leaving her chilled, walking through the warmest place in Ice Tribe lands but feeling colder than if she were naked in Nix Tezyk.
People greeted her as she wandered. Most recognized her, citizens of Loxzua noting the silver streak in her hair that would forever mark her as Zyrthalla’s daughter. Of these folks, many expressed pride in knowing they’d see her return to the city someday. The weaver that made much of her childhood attire rushed out of her loom to give her a hug and promise her a new set of Isihlan silks. Zyryxa turned down the soft garments with as much charm as she could muster in her half-absent state. Several others called her by name—folk she’d shared meals with, played games with, bartered with—none of them daring to mention Zyrthalla. Each interaction left her feeling colder than the last despite their warmth.
Near the docks, soft Leverian or Kavovan sailors whistled at her, promising her a good time—many of them with colorful, filthy language that Pelzyq could only aspire to—in their languages before their captains berated them. She hated that she liked their attention. Soft men from the lands across the sea weren’t worthy consorts, especially those consigned to sailing rather than being mighty warriors among their own. She kept moving, pretending that she didn’t understand their foreign words, but guiltily cycled through both sections of the harbor fishing for their dirty compliments. Anything to further delay the inevitable. Lexyn’s voice kept crashing into the ice like a pick, telling her that she must see Abbaz while she still had the chance. She kept meandering through the streets of Loxzua, never coming too close to Abbaz’s dwelling. The more she walked, the less she felt ready to talk.
She wandered near the Loxzua training grounds where the children of Loxzua learned the ways of warfare. Kids started following her around, begging her to teach them how to fight. She recognized many of them, recalling few of the forgotten names of former acolytes who watched her dominate in the junior arena in years past. To them all, she gave her curt little nod and told them she was in Loxzua on important warrior business. The little wyrmlings had nothing better to do it seemed than to shirk their training and bother her. Their incessant pleading threatened to fracture her icy composure until they said something that she couldn’t ignore.
“Zeen hasn’t left the grounds in moons,” an older girl said. “But when I asked her for extra training she broke my arm and sent me to the clinic. Please, Zyryxa, I don’t want to die out there.”
Zyryxa stalled. “What do you mean Zyrxine hasn’t left the grounds in moons?”
“It’s true,” a boy said. “She’s there before anyone else and after everyone else too. Nobody’s seen her leave since...”
“Since Zyrthalla fell into the sea, Zyrxine’s been smacking the sense out of us,” one particularly dense girl said.
“Not that Xena ever had much sense,” the boy said, cringing as he referred to the tactless girl.
That little bitch, Zyryxa thought, angry that her once-sister should abandon her father and brother like this. The self-centeredness was on brand, but she never expected even Zyrxine to run away from home just to bully the youth of Loxzua.
“One lesson,” Zyryxa said, closing her fists, “but I’m going to give it to Zeen.”
The little sprites expressed gratitude and the truth slowly trickled out. Zyrxine had been trying to wound them in their sparring, sending partners to the clinic almost every day. Zyryxa had sent her fair share to clinic herself, but never intentionally. The little fucking bitch would keep Halette and Lexyq busy tonight.
The training grounds were as she remembered them. So many days spent here, practicing with weapons, brood drills, and the obstacle courses while her mother had to attend to her responsibilities. Children as young as three and as old as fifteen gathered here to learn from drillmasters who served their thirteen years and cultivated no craft other than killing but didn’t have what it took to bond a dragon. Zyryxa never respected them much. She recognized plenty of old nasty faces that had tried, and failed, to humble her. Unsurprisingly, they caught sight of her and pretended ignorance. They didn’t need much imagination to achieve such a simple feat.
The biggest sparring ring was a hole dug into the ground with a sixty-foot diameter rimmed with stone. Zyrxine fought in the ring, wielding a spear, and battling three other youth while old Tyrix yelled out shitty instructions they were too afraid to follow. Teeny Zeeny had their mother’s sky-blue hair, but lacked the silver streak or the icy composure. She screamed like a deranged Fire Tribe beast as she leapt in, landed a few lightning fast blows, and blinked out of reach before her opponents countered. One girl clutched at her eyes as she squirmed on the ground. Zeen snarled and called her weeping opponent soft as diarrhea and just as easy to pass.
Zyryxa fought the urge to hate her. A year later, Zyrxine was still the slender girl with the lopsided face that never stopped yelling and whining. Neither Zyrthalla or Abbaz had ever been able to get through to her and make her ice. Now she spent her days away from home hurting others. Compassion, though Zyryxa’s central tenet, struggled to find a single thing to like about this girl who’d always been an annoyance.
It wasn’t long before the other two opponents were on the ground, moaning with eye injuries of their own. Zeen, for all her flaws, was a menace with that spear. If only she could fix her personality, she could someday be worthy of a dragon bond. They’d fought so many times growing up, and each time Zyrthalla had made Zyryxa vow to try to help Zeen instead of give up on her.
I’ll try again, Mom. She set down her weapons, determined to only use words in Zeen’s lesson.
“Qoryxa’s flaming eyes!” old Tyrix howled from his chair overlooking the sparring ring. “All you three had to do was listen and you’d have been able to flank her! How can you hope to resist a true dragon warrior if you act like cowards around a scrawny fifteen-year-old whelpling! And you,” he said, glaring at Zyrxine, “how many times have I told you not to go for the eyes? How many times, Zyrxine!”
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
Zeen glared at him as a dragon did upon a yak. “Why don’t you get in the ring and say it one more time, you old fucker?”
Thirteen Divines! Zyryxa didn’t miss that nasally voice. She couldn’t imagine that the howls of a qione in Nix Tezyk could compete with this horrid sound.
“What did you say to me?” Tyrix demanded.
Zyrxine waved her spear at him. “Your ears don’t work or is it just your stupid, ugly fucking head? Maybe they’d listen to you if you had the stones to get in the ring with them?”
Tyrix hesitated. Zeen was right about one thing, Tyrix did have a stupid, ugly fucking head. Like Loxzua, that hadn’t changed. Neither would this man be the one to teach Zeen what she needed to learn.
“Zyrxine,” she said, leaping into the ring.
The smaller girl’s sky-blue eyes flared with familiar resentment. She clenched her teeth, gripping her spear and stepping into a Mahagan empagong stance. She may have reigned over this little arena for the past few moons, but she knew Zyryxa was better. Teeny Zeeny was wise to turtle up against a superior foe, though Zyryxa wielded no weapon.
“Ice take you,” Zeen spat.
“Ice made me,” Zyryxa answered, standing without a battle stance. “You make enemies where you should make allies. You scream like a child when you should be composed. It is time to grow up, Zeen.”
Zeen waved her spear, shifting into a Volqori dragon stance. “Challenge me, bitch. I’ll show you how much I’ve grown.”
“I challenge you to think of others but yourself.”
“Be compassionate,” Zeen said, mocking Zyrthalla’s articulation of the word. “Where were the great Zyrthalla’s allies when she died? Where were you?”
Zyryxa tried. Let Qoryxa judge her efforts justly. She sprang toward Zyrxine, intending to hit her so hard that her already asymmetrical face would never pass for pretty again.
Zyrxine shifted into wind stance. She leapt over Zyryxa, landing cleanly behind her.
Zyryxa spun, an ice’s rage propelling her forward. Zeen shifted back into dragon stance. Zyryxa, composed even when enraged, knew Zeen’s move even before she did. She dodged the first thrust, stepped inside of Zeen’s reach, gripped the spear, and slammed her fist into her once-sister’s stomach.
Zyrxine flung backward, crashing into the ring’s wall, her body cracking the stone. Above, a few dozen youth cheered.
“Enough!” Zyryxa bellowed, tossing aside the stolen spear. “Be better.”
Zyrxine’s breath came fast, blue veins popping in her scrawny neck. She had always been fast, but if anything had grown in the past year, her acceleration had. Zyryxa didn’t have time to blink before Zeen’s fist connected with her eye.
In a half-blinded rage, Zyryxa released whatever restraints she had. Zeen may be faster, but in close-quarters, strength could negate a speed advantage. She grappled Zeen, driving her back with overwhelming strength. The little bitch did what any weaker foe did in this position and sent a knee to Zyryxa’s groin. Unfortunately, for Zeen, the location wasn’t a weakness for her like it was for most she’d need to use that maneuver on.
The little bitch tried to make separation, tried to slip away, tried to use claw and fang like a feral wyrm, but Zyryxa kept moving until Zeen slammed against the stone ring. She held her there, binding her arms, pressing her hips in to lock Zeen’s body up. Zyryxa barely moved her head back in time to avoid Zeen’s bite.
“Listen to me,” Zyryxa growled. “I’m not your enemy, no matter how much you’ve always pretended I am. I want to help you.”
“I hate you!” Zeen spat in her unwounded eye.
Zyryxa threw her across the ring. Zeen hit the ground with grace, launching immediately to her feet. She retrieved her spear and shifted into lion stance. If anything, Zyryxa begrudgingly admired her grit. Everything else, she pitied and despised.
“You think you’re so much better than me!” Zeen shrieked, her voice cracking high. “Momma’s perfect little champion!” Zeen roared like a wounded drake. “Even after you left, she talked about you like you were Divine Qoryxa reborn and treated me like a Fire Tribe brat. Don’t try to act like you’ve ever been my sister. You weren’t here when I needed you. You’ve never been here for anything more than to push me down.” Zeen bit back tears. “Guess what, Zyryxa? I don’t need you. I’ll be strong enough to take care of myself. I won’t need anyone!”
Zyryxa wiped the spit off better than she could wash away the sting of Zyrxine’s words. One more time, for the mother who loved them both, she tried. “You can either be angry at me and forever live in my shadow or you can grow up and find your own light.”
Zyrxine scowled. “Such a divinedamned Zyrthalla thing to say. Fuck you, Zyryxa. Fuck you straight to Zamael’s Hells.”
Zyryxa wanted to hammer some sense into the stupid little bitch. Instead, she saw a scared little girl who didn’t have any confidence in herself because she could never live up to her. Zyryxa lifted her furs up and tossed her top aside, remembering a similar maneuver that seemed to help another who lacked confidence. “Gather all your anger and charge it into one thrust. Give it all to me.” She tapped her heart. “I will take it for you. Because I still love you. I still believe that you can be better, Zyrxine.”
Zeen gripped the spear, clenching so tight Zyryxa thought it might snap. Feral rage built on her face, distorting her already imperfect features until she lost any trace of beauty. She dashed forward, screaming as she drove the spear into Zyryxa’s heart.
The gelubor splintered, cracking, shattering into pieces, leaving behind only the faintest scuff on Zyryxa’s breast. “Let it go,” she whispered, reaching in to hug her once-sister, a girl with tremendous potential if only she stopped being insufferable.
“Fuck you!” Zeen roared, discarding the broken remnants of her spear and lunging forward in a futile attempt to tackle Zyryxa.
Beyond frustrated, beyond exasperated, Zyryxa let go. She slammed Zeen to the ground, pinning her arms and legs and keeping far from her teeth. Zeen howled, thrashed, and did everything she could to break free. The only thing she broke was Zyryxa’s heart as she belligerently screamed.
So, in turn, Zyryxa broke hers right back. She slapped Zyrxine so hard that she sobbed, then pinned her down tight. “You wonder why mom didn’t love you as much. No matter how many chances we give you, you always do the wrong thing. You’re hopeless.”
Their audience roared with delight as Zyrxine helplessly flailed. Tears bled from her sky-blue eyes. Zyryxa felt no pity, no remorse. She tried compassion, tried to teach her a lesson. Like always, Zeen learned the wrong thing.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” Zeen shrieked. “I’m gonna fucking kill you!”
“You couldn’t even kill me in your dreams,” Zyryxa said. She released the whiny little baby, got up, and turned her back on her. Try as she might, Zeen couldn’t harm her. Let her see how hopeless it was.
Indeed, Zeen punched her in the back, only to find that her own fingers cracked from the impact with far superior musculature. Zyryxa ignored the blows until Zyrxine cried out in pain, and ran to the edge of the ring. The little bitch sprang up the side and fled the training grounds. She still wouldn’t go home, hopeless as she was.
Zyryxa gathered her furs, inhaled, and reminded herself that she too needed to go home and face Abbaz. She wasn’t some whiny little kid that made the wrong choices. Her allies counted on her, and she didn’t need another sister. Soon enough, she could leave Loxzua behind for good. There was nothing here for her anymore.