Xafire Legends

I. Sons of Mistion

The world and all of its wonders--both good and bad--had always been mysterious. No one would have thought the difference between light and dark to be so thin or even so obsolete. In this time, it all seemed very apparent. The dark, the light.. It all held its qualities quite blatantly. Demons were demons and did bad things. Angels were the mortal’s saviors. It was the thought of their kind at the least. The mortal fools had no idea who truly worked for their salvation. In this time, all was still not what it seemed. Good was not necessarily good. Bad was not necessarily all so bad. Demons still, however, were filled with greed and lust, yet that same taint spread to their distant feathered cousins. It was said they were once one species of higher beings. Not always could they ascend or descend to the human realm and astonish its inhabitants. Once, they were merely watchers and guardians of a world in which they could not interact with.

Years ago, however, the barriers had been broken and their kind began moving into the mortal realm. The simple humans were amazed by these all-powerful creatures that boasted such abilities as destructive magic and healing abilities. At first, they were held as gods and goddesses come to lead them to the path of righteousness. However, the fault in this was in the path that these supposed gods were to choose for their followers. In this decision, they found conflict with one another. Some became so filled with greed and pride that they wished to become the gluttons and live as gods on the human realm. Others wished to guide the humans to the ways of good and moral behavior. With brothers and sisters of power fought, humans suffered casualties during these great feuds. It was in this that the powerful watchers were reminded of their origin and who they were to serve.

The great one made the instigators suffer his wrath. Many of the powerful watchers suffered the ultimate punishment at the hands of their maker--Death. The fighting had subsided, but they did not all return home to where the great one lived. Some, those who followed the great one, deemed their ‘lesser halves’ traitors. These traitors sought refuge beneath the very ground in a dimension of dark matter quite opposite of their previous home. It was a haven designed by their leader, Hefaizkull. Corrupted by the darkness, they began to change into such strange and terrifying shadows of their former selves. Where beautiful feathered wings were once held proudly, they became webbed or scaled. They bred quite unrestrictedly with one another either through consensual coupling or even raping their own brethren. Greed and lust had won the better of their beings, and it seemed the great one allowed them to change into the monsters they became. The world needed it. Darkness and Light were necessary. And thus, Hefaizkull’s rebellious angels--his demonic race--was allowed to thrive and draw up their plans for further carnage onto the human race.

Hefaizkull’s dream was to imprison the great one’s creations.. The wretched humans hadn’t the right to breath the air on the clean grounds. How could the great one create them merely for guardians of a race that did nothing but damn themselves. How could the great one have so much mercy and understanding for the inferior beings yet so little patience for his children--his guardians? It infuriated Hefaizkull more than anything. If anything had caused the transformation of his followers, it must have been the sheer hatred that radiated from his very person.

The dark one. It was what he came to be known as by the mortals that feared his surfacing. It was what he came to be known as also by the great one’s followers who prepared themselves for the same. War was to come onto the surface. The humans would again be witnesses of great beings, once brothers and sisters, shedding one another’s blood. That time, the great one did not come to intervene. He allowed the war between light and dark. In the end, many of the light had fallen. Many of the dark were lain to rest eternal just the same. Neither side seemed able to overcome the other. Once more they were reminded of their origin, though not from where they came from, but that they were both essentially the same being. Neither was more powerful than the other. Thus, neither could defeat the other.

That time too seemed an eternity ago, at least to the one to which began the legends of the Xafire blood. The Xafire demons were known for their merciless brutality and their insatiable lust for blood, flesh, and sex. If anything had propelled the demon races into blindly breeding amongst each other, it seemed the Xafires held the very ingredient to produce such mass procreation. Like wild beasts, they were known to fall into heat and produce an aphrodisiac fragrance. They were held highly in Hefaizkull’s regard. Many of the family served him within the wars against their feathered cousins. However, through the ruthlessness of the battles, there remained only the youngest and perhaps most dangerous of their sons, Ysiel.

There were stories of his grandeur on the battlefield of the surface during the war. Many spoke of how his blond and green mane would become drenched in blood. His crimson and amber ram-like horns, curling from the top of his head back and to curl around again and hook before imp-like ears, too dripped of the vital crimson substance. Furthermore, despite sustaining horrific injury after horrific injury, his laughter struck fear into all those around him and courage into his comrades that battled alongside him. He was also noted for his scandalous manner of dressing with as little cloth as possible to cover the necessary bits. The last trait that most regarded either out of wonder or sheer bewilderment was how Ysiel proudly sported his webbed wings in battle. Angels were known to sever their opponents wings out of spite. Most demons held their winged appendages closed and secure out of fear of losing their identity--the one sure thing that set them apart from their enemy. Ysiel, however, seemed to not only bare the wings proudly, but also used the claw-like hands upon them as weapons themselves.

While the Xafires were known well by their sexual stimulus, they were firstly known for their rage and skill in destroying whatever they considered to be a threat. Even as Ysiel was by far the most recognized and respected of the surviving soldiers of Hefaizkull’s army, he was also the most feared even by their own people. His rage was not controlled and a demon’s life meant little more than an angel’s had they decided to upset him in any way. Hefaiskull knew Ysiel had to be tethered somehow for the safety of his people. Uncontrolled, he was a loose cannon--a threat to all. It was what left Ysiel, reduced to something quite beneath his previous title as Hefaizkull’s most favored soldier. He became a mere slave and a soul collector.

His master had summoned him to their place of business. As demons, of course they all dwelled in the ‘world’ beneath the mortal’s surface. In this darkness, there held dwellings made of earth and harsh materials. Rocks jutted from overhead of the earthen ceiling within this particular room. It smelled dank and the ground felt soft and moist under his booted feet. He stayed true to his nature in his attire, his master noted with a grin. Black netting adorned his arms and chest, yet strips of yellow and green fabric fell over his chest in seemingly planned strips. Sleeves also spouted out, starting just below his shoulders to expose the bit of tanned flesh there. The same thin fabric that stretched over his front dipped to lay lightly about his thighs in the form of a sort of kilt over a flimsy blue and violet undergarment that left little to the imagination. Still, the delicate, shredded material hung over like a curtain about him, starting short upon his right side at his hip and leading down to his left knee at a jagged, uneven angle. That same netting covered the lithe of his right leg while straps of that delicate cloth slithered and coiled about his left. Even his yellow, blue-detailed boots were worn different at either side. While his right was worn laced fully to just beneath his knee, his left was laced only up to his ankle where the excess leather was folded over

Between the material slipped an appendage at his backside, a whip-like tail of golden color and the shape of a dangerously pointed spade at the very tip. It too appeared to be capable of harm. Those long strands of blond streaked in green fell over his face, though it could not hide away the oddity that rested there--the very thing that held some sort of faint check on his rage and bloodlust. A blue fitted plate mask was secure to the left portion of his face, hiding it completely away. Violet markings seemed engraved and painted here and there, bordering a heavily outlined eye opening that exposed only the white of his eye and the crimson iris much different than its currently closed twin. While his right eye seemed permanently closed as though in sleep, his left rarely blinked with the use of a black lid.

His master was no extraordinary man. He was a soul dealer. The souls they collected from the wretched beings on earth were transformed into glimmering red stones of immense power. It was all a recent trade, even if it was hundreds of years old. In their immortal realm, it was still young and fresh to their culture. It became a booming business that many demonic beings took to for the money it dealt in. The stones, baji, were crafted by skilled jewelers into various amulets of specific wonders. Really, even at this point in the baji’s youth, it held so many uses that Ysiel didn’t even bother to learn all the possible results. It was limitless.

He observed, with that lone capable crimson eye, how his master rested comfortably upon a throne of bone and rock constructed before a heavy stone chiseled desk. It held bags upon bags of the shining red stones as well as dark rocks that seemed to emit a black aura around them. This was the old currency. The baji had become useful for many things--traded in its pure form--it was quite valuable, while some chiseled it into the appearance of small coins which gave it less, but still a hefty value considering. His master was no attractive being. His face was heavily laden with deep, painful scars. It had been a shameful business, he was sure. Each deep gash had been left as though carefully carved into the flesh with some sort of twisted purpose behind it. Only one hand could be so madly cruel. Hefaizkull’s punishments were the worst. They always left the poor victim with reminders..if any at all. And even with that, they were lucky. Those that upset the dark one typically held no reminders other than the end of their life--the mangled corpse that was left of them.

The elder demon’s hair was aged silver and white, though the previous magnificence of red hair could be hinted in the faintest of strands. His eyes were different color, one a steely glazed over white-blue and the other a lively green. The later was obviously blinded by the heavy scar that ran over that side of his face. He had perhaps once been a handsome man, but that was long since clouded over by the changes of great age and suffering at the one they all feared and followed loyally or else..well..obviously end up either a corpse or to be left utterly devastated like the man before him. At last, that scarred map took to motion, moving, contorting with the opening in its face that spoke in a voice that did not fit the horror that sat behind the desk. It was a kind and gentle voice--one that Ysiel had come to respect and enjoy all the same.

“I need twenty souls..by this hour in four days. I’m sure you can manage. It seems the demand for the baji currency has increased.. “ Ysiel only paced about gracefully upon the thick heels of his boots before he paused, cocking one hip casually to the side while his arms folded. His head tilted like some curious wild creature. “The baji is being used for trade between the realms now, is it not?” His master undoubtedly knew this news would bother the ex-soldier. “Some are just as corrupt as our own brethren here below the surface. They trade well for the amulets we make of the mortal souls. They are no fools. We, however, only trade the baji to those that do the crafting. If..” Ysiel laughed absently, interrupting so he could finish the statement with ease, “If Hefaizkull found out of such deals..heads would roll. We should report the jeweler…the rewards would be definitely worth the while.”

But to this, his Master merely looked away and spoke up, “You have my orders. If you do not return..there will be punishment, Ysiel. I will be watching you.” The elder demon tapped his forehead in reminder of what he spoke of. The jewel upon Ysiel’s crown that held his plate half-mask secure flickered and the Xafire demon felt the tingle within his body. It was a warning of far worse things. He knew then that this was a job he had to do no matter how he felt about it. “As you wish, Master.” The elegant ruby and golden horned demon dipped lowly, bowing as his wings draped gracefully about himself in a fanciful show of his physical grandness. Yet, in all this show of extravagance, there was that unnerving grin upon his face. “I will not disappoint you.”

However, this was all he would view of that being’s life this time. These dreams of fantasy, or at least he thought so of them, were fleeting..rare..but remained like his own memories within his mind. This Ysiel guy--he was a scary person. He had dreamt of him many times and each time it all seemed so real. Last time he had dreamed had been when he was so much younger. It was the night his second eldest brother had awoken him from the deep sleep. That dream had been of Ysiel’s ruthless slaughter of many…and of the terrible injuries he sustained. Now the demon seemed so different--so much more calm and not like himself. Still, he could sense the evil within from the wicked grin that he had witnessed as though he were standing within the cavernous room with the Master himself.

Once more his second eldest brother would wake him with a little shake. “Zahur, we need to be on the move. Please, quickly.” The boy peeked open his crimson eyes, brushing aside bangs of blue that faded to a white tuft of strands that hung and curled right at the center of his forehead. The rest of his hair, the majority of it, was violet and faded darker and darker until it turned black at the very ends of his long mane. “Syn?” Zahur watched his brother, not very unlike him in their peculiar traits. Syndolle too had floppy furry ears like some sort of feline as well as a matching full fluffy tail that flicked hastily through the air. Though, his brother’s fur came in shades of red and black whilst his own started black at the back of his ears, then to purple, then to blue and tipped in white at the very end where fur was long and hung over the fleshy cartilage that structured the long ears. His tail was a different affair, being purple and black striped until having a blue tip that faded to white at the thick full end.

“Please Zahur.” The younger boy, he could be no older than ten. It had been five years since he left their home. Five years since he had that last dream that seemed so real about this strange demon named Ysiel Xafire. He never mentioned these dreams to anyone, but Syndolle had once asked him who was Xafire. He said he had spoken it in his sleep. To that question he could remember only shrugging and saying he didn’t know. Zahur was not one for lying, but for some reason he felt he had to keep this secret..even though he still believed the dreams were only fantasies--none of it real. In the end of it all, he still felt some sort of longing for this Ysiel person. It was as though he knew him from some time before. Of course, that was impossible. He was only a child and Ysiel was in a place far different from their own. There were no dark realms or light realms. There was only the place that Ysiel’s world called the surface--the real world and nothing more to Zahur than that.

And yet this was a world just as cruel. He and his brother had been left to fend for themselves long ago. But now was no time to think on such matters. Syndolle was groping about their shelter for their things and stuffed them carelessly into the small sack which they traveled with. A few times, the clumsy hands would pick up a can only for it to rattle empty as he shoved it into the bag. His hand would dive back within, toss away the can into the darkness of the abandoned building they had broke into days before and made their temporary home. They never stayed long. The robed men and women would find them if they lingered. If they found them, they would do bad things. One of his brothers, before leaving, had taunted him, saying that the bad people would tie them down and cut off their tails, fingers, and toes. It was a thought that caused him to wrap his tail about his thigh even now, about the baggy patched shorts he wore over his tiny, gaunt frame.

He rose from the tattered blanket that had been used as his bed. It was sullied with dirt from the old floor--from mud and grass when they chose to sleep in the wilds last. He folded it inexpertly, uneven and wrong, but Syndolle had groped about his hands and found it, stuffing it too into the now bulging sack. There was noise just outside that sounded like hushed whispers and the thud of shoed hooves. Syndolle’s hand now felt along Zahur’s arm and down again, gripping to the smaller hand and quickly he took steps back. Were they already too late in moving? His tail flicked nervously, still circled tightly about his thigh as he held his breath and trembled in fear. The doors latch was fought with from outside and the whispers turned angry. Could his brother not hear what was happening? Why did they not run for the back entrance? But then he could hear the noise from that door as well. Syndolle had locked the doors, probably during his deep sleep while he was lost in his dreamland with the demon named Ysiel.

“Syndolle?” He asked in what he had planned to be a soft evasive whisper, but instead it seemed a loud hiss to his ears that stood alert and erect atop his head. Syndolle suddenly tugged him along, towards the unsteady staircase at their back. Zahur stumbled upon the first two ineptly, trying to pull at Syndolle’s hand to plea him to cease in his rushed steps. He couldn’t keep up with his longer stride that took the steps two and three at a time while his own smaller legs stumbled to work their way up just one by one. Just when he believed he would be able to make it safely to the top of the stairs, he felt his arm jerk within Syndolle’s grip. He couldn’t move. It felt as though something had grabbed his ankle. A sharp pain ran through, not only through his arm but his ankle as well. “They caught me, Syn!!! They’re going to cut off my tail!” He squealed out without any restraint whatsoever.

However, Syndolle was the wiser. Even with feeble eyes, he knew that there were no robbed enemies--or anyone else for that matter--within the building just yet. The doors still held strongly beneath their harsh spells and strong fists and feet. He doubled back, kneeling upon the stairs to feel for his brothers feet. His first touch came up with a squirming foot not caught at all, then the second he felt the foot vanish beneath a hole in the step. “Zahur, be still. You are just caught in a hole.” Zahur finally stopped his panic, looking down at last, not to find a hand holding his ankle, but only the jagged broken hole within the aged, weak wood.

Carefully, Syndolle’s paled hands worked the darkly tanned foot free from the hole within the staircase. It was just then that their ears took to twitching wildly at a sudden explosion at the back entrance. Zahur gave a rather loud, high-pitched yelp at the sight that Syndolle could not behold. Robed figured spilt into the room and their foreign chants of ancient spells began. Syndolle just barely managed to pull his brother along, staggering back in their retreat up the stairs as blasts of white struck just at their heels. “Wretched demon brood of Mistion!!” roared out one of the robed figured, her feminine voice shrieking out unpleasantly into their sensitive ears. “Give yourselves over and we may just spare your corrupt little lives!!”

Syndolle pulled his younger brought up beside him at the top of the stairs just in time to spin around, his brother pushed behind him as he stared vacantly out before him, feet above the heads of their holy pursuers. “We have done nothing,” he pleaded out, his voice seeming strained beyond the fear. They were cornered up here, were they not? There was no where else to go. Zahur clung fearfully at his brother’s back, peeking just over his side towards the hooded figures below. He had never seen them so close before. They had never caught them before. This was the first time that he could put an image to the clerics that chased them for five years now. He had seen clerics before. Even as those with demonic blood in their veins, even demonic blooded families had followed the same religion as the purer magic-wielding races. Why did this woman call them demons as though it were some dirty thing? It confused him. What had they done wrong to make these people hate them? Why did they attack them like this and mention their father’s name as though he were a monster and they the monster’s dangerous pups?

Zahur observed the lot of them, clothed in robes of white or tan and trimmed in brilliant golden rope bindings that seemed to have a life of their own as they slithered about their wastes and arms. Various little stones and gems hung like ornaments from their ropes and even from the heavy hoods their wore. As the woman held out her hands, stretching her arms out as though in a manner to show how utterly harmless she was, he could see the heavy bracelets spill from the thick sleeves of her robes. Even the gem and jewel ornaments seemed to glitter and wink at him with life. “Silly demon child… Your very blood is a wrong doing. Your birth is a wrong doing. You will become a monster just the same as that devil you call brother. Takai, is it?”

Syndolle narrowed his eyes, shaking his head stubbornly back and forth. “You speak lies…! We are good people! We are no different! Takai is..” The woman tossed back her hood, exposing her face for the first time to both brothers. Her flesh seemed pale, as though untouched by the sun. She was a beautiful woman, but the way her features contorted made her appear perhaps ugly despite the physical beauty. She held an angry face full of contempt and murderous thoughts. Her hair was long, blond, flowing gracefully down her back in a fall of thick, natural curls and twists. Even her eyes were a shock to behold, looking much like the few brilliant sapphire jewels that adorned here and there upon their robes. “Where is the devil?! We know you hide him away… If you cooperate..” Zahur suddenly sobbed out and the younger boy’s sudden outburst seemed to make all their gazes shift to him. Syndolle looked down to him, concerned with those useless eyes that merely focused onto location of the sounds his youngest brother produced, “Zahur….?”

“Demon child.. Why do you cry?” Zahur shook his head, fearful as he trembled from his sobs and that utter panic that took hold of him. “We don’t know where Takai is!!! We don’t know!!” He sobbed still, hiding his face away as he pressed it fully to Syndolle’s hip. He felt his brother’s hand drift to his head, finding his fingers lost within his thick hair so that he could caress at his scalp. In response, Zahur nuzzled his face against Syndolle’s hip, his long, delicate furred ears drooped and rested flat against the sides of his head. To this interruption, the woman simply made a rough snort through her nose. “We don’t trust the word of you, child. Your tears are only a farce!! If you will not cooperate, then you will die!” Her hand swung forward to point towards them both with a heavily jeweled finger. With such a swing of motion, all the trinkets and charms she wore jingled about.

“Zahur!” He could hear as his brother yelped out his name before next thing he knew, everything seemed to burst into whiteness. He felt himself pulled, practically smothered away against his brother’s chest. A sickening feeling filled the pit of his stomach while his panicked breathes could only breath in his brother’s scent and the fabric of his dirtied tunic. Were they going to die? He asked this of his brother many times, but he could hardly find his voice now. What had happened? It almost felt like they were falling. It was that feeling that produced the flips and twists in his tummy that made him feel so ill.

Even sound, his own breaths, the world around them, had grown to a quiet ringing in his ears. Maybe they had died and this was the haven where no one could hurt them anymore. Nevertheless, as seconds inched by, he could hear again, and the world wasn’t so bright. He could hear his brother’s sobs and feel how his body shook involuntarily. There was moisture that warmed his shoulder. Quickly, he found he was able to pull himself from the now slacked grip of his brother’s arms. They were not at the top of the stairs any longer, but had been tossed back some several feet and against a wall. Syndolle had absorbed most of the impact, but, as he observed further, he realized more. It was a powerful spell that had been cast upon him, and Syndolle’s arm and side were terribly wounded in what appeared to be a serious burn that bled out heavily. “Syn!” he shrilled out, his breaths heavy now that he could catch his breath again.

Syndolle gasped out, “Zahur, run.” But to this Zahur shook his head stubbornly. He could hear the steps that took the robbed figures up the stairs behind him. His ears twitched wildly, drawing back and flicking over and over again. He couldn’t leave his brother. Suddenly, he threw himself onto his injured brother, hugging about him protectively and growling out of instinct. “Stop hurting him!! Don’t hurt Syndolle!” Syndolle’s hand, bloodied, reached to hold gently at his head. There was a pained look on his face that were for reasons beyond the pain he felt from the magical injury. As the group reached the top of the stairs, he could hear the woman’s cackle. She threw her hair back and grinned down upon them while Zahur stared up at her full of fear and anger. “The infamous Mistion children?!! You cannot even block that? What a pity. And here I thought you would be some sort of challenge.”

“The smell of your blood,” she continued, making a face that showed her disgust, “even reeks…” Zahur trembled, but held his place there, holding at his injured brother. Her hand was raising again, that evil grimace contorting her pretty face further again. “Long live Priestess Karina..,” she hissed out. The glow originated at her tips, he could see it this time. He would be hurt too now! But instead he found a change happening, it was out of the extreme fear. He knew this. It had happened many times in the past when some of his brothers would frighten him as a joke. His body shifted, changing, growing fur all over. The light at the woman’s fingers had ceased and she looked on, along with her still hooded companions, bewildered by this change.

Within seconds, the boy’s clothes were in a pile atop a furred feline of sorts. Still, the large ears jutted out at either side, the tufts at the end seeming longer and more profound spouts of fur at the tips. His fur looked black in the darkness of the building, but as bits of light shimmered upon him, it shone blue and violet shades. Atop his feline head stood a long graceful mane starting at the top of his head and streaking down his neck and between his shoulder blades in blue fur that faded to the white strands that fell into his face and over crimson cat-eyes. To this, the woman threw her head back in laughter, especially as Syndolle pulled the under grown feline towards him protectively with one bloodied arm. “Priceless!” she squawked aloud.

Her companions seemed to follow in suit, chuckling and laughing with her. “And what will you do, kitten?! Bat me to death with your little cat scratches?!” She howled with laughter still. Syndolle whispered gently to his changed little brother then, “Close your eyes, Zahur..” The small feline nodded his furred head as Syndolle’s bloodied digits caressed him. His crimson eyes closed and as Syndolle sat him down, he even made an attempt to cover his ears with the use of his tiny paws. Syndolle stood upon unsteady feet and almost instantly did the woman grin and cease in her laughter. “Did I strike a cord? Good. It is time for some serious opposition.” Her hand raised towards the wounded Mistion demon only for it to soon be raked across by thick claws followed by a second heavy rake across her smirking face.

It only took sound to be made and he launched himself at it. Zahur could still faintly hear the yelps and screams as well as angered growls that must have come from some great beast that came to protect him and his brother. It ended in seconds and Syndolle stood, tired, over the woman that bled freely from a clean slit at her throat. She coughed and gurgled, but stared in confusion at the one that stood there. Did his severe wounds not hamper his movement? Where did such strength come from? And then, in the fading darkness of the world around her, she observed his eyes that looked to her, distant. Blind? A smile happened upon her face. How unlikely. She was bested by a blinded demon..but it would be an honor in her name all the same. She was to be killed by a Mistion demon.

Syndolle waited to be sure that none were able to get up at the least. He didn’t wish to have any of them following him. Soon, he was at his brother’s side again and knelt down to pick up the house-cat size ‘kitten’. “Don’t open them, not yet.” Zahur nodded his head again, keeping his eyes shut, and felt as they were moved. They were going down the stairs now and soon they had slipped outside. He could deduce by the feel of the cool air on his furred body.

It was a while they walked aimlessly before Syndolle had settled him down. It was not the paved walkways of the city, but instead the cool moist grass that was still graced by the dew of morning hours. His eyes peeked open, searching the area about them. They were in a forest, the city just beyond the reach of his strained vision through the tall blades of grass, thick underbrush, and heavy wood of the large trees. No matter the sort of terrifying things that chased after them, there were always such amazing sights and he couldn’t help but stare up in wonder at the trees that seemed to reach the heavens and be as wide as small houses. “If you can, you should change back. I have your clothes here.”

It was Syndolle’s voice that startled him from the scenery. He returned his attention towards his brother just as he began to change. Before that transformation could even complete, he was staggering upon paws and hands alike to reach him. His fingers felt innocently, concerned, about his brother’s wounds. In return, Syndolle grimaced and flinched away from his touch. “It is fine, Zahur. It will heal.” The boy frowned, his little brows furrowed in worry while tiny lips pursed. “If I was like Krist. I could have the magic fingers and make you all better again.” Syndolle smiled wearily. “You still remember all of that? It was so long ago.” But then his smile wavered as Zahur spoke up of something he thought too he might have heard wrong from that maddened woman’s lips. “Why did that lady say ‘long live priestess karina’? Was she talking about Krist’s mommy?” To reply to this, Syndolle began with a shake of his head, “I don’t know..”

It was hard to lie to the boy. His innocence perhaps made it too easy as he watched Zahur nod his head and begin to redress himself without a second thought. In truth, it most likely was young Kristian’s mother that the woman spoke of..by why speak of her in that manner? It could only mean one thing. Lady Karina must have perished somehow..and it was somehow their doing yet again. Had Takai killed their godmother now as well? He was the reason why they were in this mess. Their eldest brother, Takai, had done onto a rampage shortly after their mother’s death--after Zahur’s birth. Clerics were slaughtered by Takai’s hand and he never came home to them again. Five years had passed during which their father too had gone missing. He had left to go on a search for their mad brother, leaving Syndolle the head of the family.

It was hard business to be sure. He was only eleven years old when their mother passed, their brother ran mad, and their father left to seek him out. The twins, Kitin and Wyndolle, were five. Zahur was still only a baby. The twins did not understand it of course. Kitin, in particular, gave Zahur a hard time growing up. To them, it was Zahur’s fault that their mother had to be buried, their eldest brother disappeared, and their father left out after him. Syn seemed the only one to give the child a chance. It was not his fault that the fates were so cruel. He was a small child that could do no harm to even the most helpless of things. He only wished to laugh and play with his brothers. Zahur only wanted to be like any other normal child.

During those five years that he was left to take care of his younger brothers, it was Lady Karina Gambolei that took them all in and raised them as though they were her own. Karina was the wife to Doctor Joric who was a close friend with their father. It was their father’s name which they were called by. The clerics made it out as if their father was some monster, and it was that which Syndolle despised more than anything else of this. Their father, Razakel Mistion, was an extraordinarily kind man. He worked for the protection and salvation of tribal races in the southern regions. Rarily, they were taken with him to visit his estate there--the estate he inherited from his father some eternity ago.

But mostly, they remained living at their estate in the northern regions of the world in Fort Kor’winthel with their kind neighbors, the Gambolei. It was there that they learned of the religion the majority of the north studied and practiced. It was a religion that worshipped gods long since gone from this world--superior creatures, called with large winged appendages. It was a religion that Lady Karina followed with a great fervor. It wasn’t surprising that, if she had passed, that the most devoted followers would have gone as far as to yell her name in a battle cry as they had. But why… Why did they yell it in dealing out their end? Takai.. Syndolle thought to himself. Surely… Takai would not have gone so far as to take that precious woman’s life. She had given them everything and anything they could have hoped for as a guardian when everyone had gone away from them. Even when they had all split ways and Syndolle was left to care for Zahur, she begged him not to run away as well. But if they had stayed there, the woman would have been cursed for protecting them. As far as the rest of the religious realm considered them, they were murderers just the same as their maddened brother. They were all monsters.

“Will we stay here until your boo-boo’s are better, Syn?” Zahur settled down on the grass beside him, still staring in wonder at the burns upon Syndolle’s flesh. Syndolle shook his head. He did wish to stay here within the forest, but day was coming and even in this place, as long as light could touch to them, they were not at all safe to stop moving. He got to his feet again, hiding his pain away behind the gentle smile he offered in Zahur’s relative direction. He reached out and felt the smaller hand take hold of his own. His bag was readjusted upon his shoulder and they were off again, upon bared feet through the thicket. Zahur made the tense situation from before fade away, his voice soft as he began to hum some childish tune out. His blinded eyes slid shut, content as he listened. He knew its origin.

It was a lullaby, though not the one that their mother sang to them. Zahur had never known their kind mother. It was unfortunate, but then again the boy led such a different and more torturous life than they all did. The twins despised him. And Syndolle was always too busy himself to play childish games with his youngest brother. Instead, Zahur attempted countless times to befriend someone closer to his age than the others. A boy who was only a year younger than the twins. Kristian, Karina and Joric’s only child. The song that Zahur no longer hummed, but instead whispered out the words to childishly, was a song Lady Karina would sing to both Zahur and Kristian at bed time. It went through the stages..cleaning up, tucking one in, and so on. It made him remember just how reluctant everyone seemed to befriend little Zahur..and how oblivious the boy was to the reasons they shunned him.

He could recall still, the countless times Zahur would come to him out of desperation, in tears, that he had been playing a game of hide-and-seek with Kristian only for the boy to leave him alone in the woods near their home. It all didn’t make much since at the time until he learned that Kristian had the poor four year old counting to 2,001. Zahur’s strong point had never been in numbers. Needless to say, it gave Kristian more than enough time to rid himself of the ‘pest’ he must have thought of the youngest Mistion boy. It would have upset Syndolle to think these things, but their own brothers, the twins, were no better in their treatment of Zahur. They too were skillful in the ways of ditching the annoying little brother who they believed had caused everything bad in their lives to happen--from their mother’s death, to their brother’s rampage, and even to their father’s disappearance.

Lost in his thoughts of the past, he wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed. He was only half aware of each time Zahur would pause in his singing to whimper out softly, “Syn? My feet hurt.” They had probably trodden more than once upon some broken bit of tree, root, or thorny plant. Any other child might have not been able to survive such things for very long, but Zahur really wasn’t so miserable about it. Even when he would whine that his feet hurt, he would pause a moment, lift a foot and pout at it before running ahead to keep up with his brother’s longer stride before the other’s hand could be too far away and force a tug at his arm. Every little thing caught his eyes. Odd creatures peeked at them from the trees and bushes. Their large curious eyes reflected his own as he would gawk about and occasionally point something out and try and describe it so perhaps Syndolle could educate him in a name to call it.

“That one!” Syndolle offered a light laugh, “What does that one look like?” Zahur studied the creature that hung lazily out of the tree in the distance. “It’s furry. Has big eyes. It has looooong arms but it has a horn on its head….I think” The boy squinted some more. Syndolle nodded his head, thinking to himself a moment--about his studies that turned up many things. Before this insane run from home--from clerics that planned to kill them--he had been much of a book worm. Those things he could not see, he learned through the books his father found for him, what they looked like and how they lived. “A Yocoona. They’re supposed to be good luck if they smile to you in passing. Is he smiling for us, Zahur?” They were soon to be passing by the creature then who hung his head and seemed to swivel it about to keep them in his sights. Zahur laughed at the creature before it returned a large smile that extended cheek-to-cheek and exposed it extremely large and dangerous fangs. “He smiled to us, Syn!”

However, as they continued on, Zahur continued to look back towards the wide-eyed creature. It was following them, swinging to and fro from tree to tree. Suddenly, it dropped to the ground and rushed up to them. Even though the sharp fanged smile did not startle him, this rush to them rather frightened him. “Syn!” He squeaked out, his claws clinging rather painfully onto one of Syndolle’s arms. “What is it Zahur?” Even as he asked, he could hear the dangerous claw-baring pads nearing them cautiously. “He must sense we have food. How is the sun..?” Zahur looked up, trying to gain sight of the sky above. “It’s right above.” Syndolle nodded then. It would be about afternoon then. Possibly, it would be safe now to take a short break.

He pulled free their bag and found a tree to lean against whilst he sat down to sort through the things. Zahur was left to stand there in the path of the approaching Yocoona. The creature stood about four feet at its full height, towering over the short, frail child. Its grin widened if that was even possible. Zahur could see each large fang within its mouth and now it did make him rather uneasy. “Umm..S..Syn?” No sooner had he spoken his brother’s name did a slab of meat slap at his arm. Startled, he yelped out and the Yocoona stumbled back a few feet, its head tilting confused towards the small creature that let out such a noise to hurt its ears. “Hand that to him. It should be more than enough.” Zahur reached down, finding the thick slab of red, uncooked meat. His nose scrunched at the disgusting feel of it as its juices came out to his grip. Unsurely, his hand held out that slab towards the Yocoona. “Here you go, Mr. Yocoona.”

Syndolle listened to the initial squeal his brother gave yet again. The Yocoona must have snatched the meat rather sharply from his little hand. Zahur was always so easily startled. “He must be pretty hungry. So close to the city here..I’m sure there’s enough hunters that take their food supply as it is.” It was best to keep the Yocoona happy less he think they were the better meal. They were calm creatures towards their two-legged neighbors usually, but without any food, those same two-legged beings could mean an alternate food source. Zahur watched the long-armed creature rip violently at the meat and how the raw slab’s juices leaked down its strong furry jaw. It was rather gruesome and caused his nose to scrunch up in disapproval yet again. “Eww,” he cooed out.

“It must be young to come to us like this. Its parents were probably poached. They have fine fur.” Zahur seemed confused over this information. “Poached?” It was a term he had heard before, he knew it, but he never really asked what it meant before. Syndolle nodded his head absently, “Hunters kill them and take away their fur. It’s to make coats..purses…” He shook his head now. “It’s best not to think about it.” Zahur silently observed the Yocoona now. The poor thing. It was no different than him was it? It looked so much like it’d be some sort of scary beast. But it was just alone, an orphan trying to hide and survive like him. A smile was offered towards it and he giggled as the Yocoona looked up, catching view of his smile and offering its own wide grin in return. It was funny, even if a large string of tendon hung from its lips and caused Zahur to make yet another face.