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THE RIS
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SAVARA STUMBLED OUT of the tent and into the blinding sun. Its orange glow kissed her skin, while the fresh air brought life back into her paled eyes. She felt the steady pulse of her own heart in the soles of her feet and the tickle of the dewy grass between her toes. She scrunched and released them, enjoying their movement. A chill filled her lungs with each breath, and with each softened exhale, life swirled inside her.
The forest expanded around their clearing, distilling the sunlight from high above. Rows of low-lying tents extended out on either side, curving back into a giant circle. Wisps of smoke and ash from a crackling fire rose above the tops of the tents to her left. Everything was quiet, save for the low chirpings of sparrows in the distance.
“Better?” Brass asked.
“A little,” she replied as she stared at him under this new light. His silver eyes glinted under the sun’s rays, and his skin was a shade of deep oak brown that blended in with the forest. A sleeveless grey tunic with shimmering gold buttons at its front exposed three pristine white tattoos along his left arm: a sun, a moon, and a star.
“Shall we go find the captain?” he said with his hands clasped casually behind his back.
Savara nodded, following two steps behind to take in the world around her. The colours were more vivid than any she had ever seen. The constant sensation of grasping onto and losing memories tormented her. As though the world was trying to speak to her, remind her of the part of it she once knew, but each time she tried to remember, her mind went blank. She likened the feeling to the remembering of a song’s melody but not the accompanying lyrics—and it ground at her nerves.
Each crunch of gravel and grass beneath her feet hummed, as though something flowed from within the ground itself, gently pushing against her soles. Savara contemplated the ease in Brass’ steps, wondering if he too felt this strange energy when realised his feet never once touched the ground. Little pockets of air formed under them, supporting each step before flowing onto the next. No wonder his stride was utterly silent.
Noticing the pause in her footsteps, he turned. “Is something wrong?”
“Your feet...” she replied as a blush crept into her cheeks.
Brass let out a rich, warm laugh into the chill of the morning air. “A habit of mine I can’t seem to kick from a previous life.”
“Is it... magic?” she asked, regretting her childish choice of word.
“Nothing so fantastical, but I suppose to someone who has been in the human world for so long, you have no other explanation for it.”
“I must sound foolish.”
“Foolish would be not to ask. What you are is ignorant, though I imagine not for much longer. Still, it would be best if, for the time being, you kept as low a profile as possible. You are somewhat of a rare commodity around these parts, and that kind of ignorance might attract unwanted attention.” He paused, noticing her apprehension. With the kind of smile you reserve for precarious reassurances, he added, “You are safe with us.”
Savara inclined her head, but something in the quiver of his smile told her that he wasn’t entirely sure of his words. This world played by other rules, ones she couldn’t remember and probably never would. Safe means little in the face of ignorance, which left her wondering, Safe from what?
Somehow, she knew that even if she could voice the words, she wouldn’t get an answer. They walked a little further in silence before another question breached her lips.
“You mentioned before that this was a refugee camp. Refugees of what?”
Brass’ swift, airy steps faltered, and his sole hit the ground with a soft crunch. This time, he did not disguise his frown.
“Things here are not as they used to be,” he began. “People have suffered much, especially in the Argia territories. Within the last decade, this region has witnessed the rise of militants in the form of organized crime syndicates. Not too long ago, there was an attack on the royal house of the Argia which left no survivors and effectively ended the monarchy. When the dust settled, the mafia claimed the kingdom for themselves, using whatever control they had gained from within the underbelly of society to manipulate the masses. They forced lower leaders of the townships to relinquish control to them, removing anyone who disagreed.”
The entire dreadful scene played out in her mind—a queen losing her crown, pools of blood staining sandstone streets, a city plunging into darkness. “How awful,” she whispered, unaware and unsure as to how the images had gotten there to begin with.
“Those who could afford to move lands did so, while those who could not, ended up here.” Before she could speak, he placed a finger to his lips and lowered his voice. “This world is on edge, Savara. Squabbles are becoming wars. Hatred is taking up root where compassion once grew. People are past the point of reconciliation, preferring now to cast blame, and sadly, to shed blood.” Noticing the fear she’d let creep into her eyes, he sighed and added, “I apologise if this has upset you. I am not sure if I should have told you all of this, but you have the right to know what you might encounter.”
At the end of his tale, Savara noticed a different energy rippling from him, a longing for peace that seemed years in the making. Brass dipped his head before walking again, taking with each light-footed stride that feeling of longing further from her. Neither spoke for the remainder of the walk.
They stopped at a relatively small tent just beyond the campfire where all energies seemed to be replaced by one low thrum of power. Brass glanced around to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard.
“Before you go, there are a few things that you should know that the others might be hesitant to tell you,” he whispered, forcing her to move closer to hear properly. “Dark forces are playing with things they have no business playing with. Stay alert and be careful who you trust. Not all is as beautiful as it may seem.”
Savara frowned. “I understand.”
“You don’t, but you will in time.” He tried to reassure her with a friendly smile, but what resulted was something of a more sombre and melancholy nature. Before she could reply, he gestured to the half-open fold of the tent. “May this bring you comfort.”
“You’re not coming?” she asked, disheartened. Savara was beginning to enjoy his company. His manner put her mind at ease, despite all the non-answers; a quality she would later find out was characteristic of the Zerua people, those in this world who danced with clouds. Moreover, for all her grand talk of wanting answers, she couldn’t admit the little tent had a quality about it that ate at her nerves.
“I must see to your friend. Besides...” He paused, considering his next few words. “This is something you must take in on your own.”
“Hmm...” She sighed and took another tentative step towards the door.
“Oh, and Savara,” Brass added with a smile. “Welcome home.”
A cold shiver ran down her spine. His words burrowed themselves deep into her mind. Welcome home, he’d said, but she knew they weren’t welcoming at all. They were a warning. She turned back to say something in reply, but he had vanished into thin air.
