#dunrai

Traveling to Ala Gannha was routine for him these days, a well woven spell to teleport him to the aetheryte waiting in the center of the tribe. He waved to the fellow Shadewalkers, kin to him to be awake in the middle of the night while the Daywalkers slept easy. His duties were done in order, as they always had been; check the ration piles, send out scouting parties, send out hunting parties, meet with the Council and the Chieftess in discussion of coming Holi, train the warrior ton that needed his aid and see to the newborn cubs. He had always been enthusiastic with his involvement in the tribe and no was no different. Once his duties had been completed—his golden eyes found the twinkling night sky, moon overhead and nodded. It was time.

The Seeker gave the guard most familiar with his ‘routine’ vanishings from the tribe a tip of his chin and the woman nodded, pretending abruptly like he was never there as he escaped from view and into the night. Traveling across the desert sand was easy and welcome—the familiar sting of chilled air in bone enough to keep his nerves from going awry.

This was worth it. All he had to do was remind himself.

. . .

The final slap of skin on stone and a grunt of effort ended with this bulky man on his knees but successfully having climbed the cliff-face hiding the beauty known as the Arms of Meed; a suspended platform floating in the middle of a lake with a tree having grown in the middle of it. Home to the heart of despondent Fists of Rhalgr and a hiding place for the Coeurl when none were supposed to find them.

Waiting for him in the center of the largest platform was C’sah; his birth mother by blood and the very same woman that had abandoned him and gave over his training to a monster in more than just name. Deep golden eyes shone with equal parts pride and plain disgust as she watched her dau—son, vault over the edge of the cliff and onto the edge of the platform. He was beautiful as she was, agile like she was, smart like she was—but he had the blood of Ankobia in him and that is what made her turn her nose up in disgust.

<“C’aziza.”>

<“I will not stand here and be insulted.”> C’sah draws in a sharp breath, brows furrowing—of all of the ungrateful... <“I have little time or patience for your games. C’tolemy, nothing more, nothing less.”>

The older woman exhales slowly, patting down the flames of her growing temper and nods. <“My apologies, C’tolemy. You called me to discu—”>

<”Why do you want me to be the next Dead Witch?”>

C’sah bristles again, taking a longer moment to truly tamper down that building plume of aggression skittering along the base of her spine. Not only was her daughter ugly as sin, while beautiful at the same time, she had lost all of her manners during her grieving from C’ajnee. That just won’t do, she had invested so much time and energy into training this woman to be the perfect replacement for Dead Witch and she’d be damned if she’d let her own experiment ruin it.

<”You are the only one that can handle the immense power that comes with this burden. It is not an easy burden to bear to see, hear, taste, smell and feel the dead—but you can do it. You walk closer to death—more so than I. You’d be a better Witch than I ever was.”>

<”And if I do not want to be this?”>

<”It will find its way to the next person that can carry the weight. And then the next and the next and the next. The easiest way to control who uses such power is to pass it on with our children—so the ones before can teach them what they need to know to wield this responsibly.”> The older woman gestures to the entirety of the Seeker before her. <”You already taste death intimately. It would not be too far of a reach to taste it all.”>

C’tolemy grimaces, the prospect of holding more power doing nothing to convince him to want this. Power was never the goal, never a desire—he wants peace. He wants understanding. He wants a family and just enough strength to protect what he has. Nothing more, nothing less. C’sah sees the grimace, her small ears pressing back into her hair.

<”Do not tell me you want for little?”>

He merely shrugs, <”I will not be found wanting. I have all I need. That which I want is nothing you offer.”>

Anger bursts like a crag in her heart, aggravation tinging the tone in which she speaks as she glares at the man in front of her. <”Don’t tell me the tribe has filled your head with nonsense about how wanting will do nothing but bring you tragedy!? That is nothing but brainwashing to keep you from wanting goals! A life! What you deserve! What you were BORN to do!”>

Tired golden eyes rest on his mother, giving her a crooked edge of a smile. <”It was the tribe that dug the grave and Kushal that filled it. If you want to blame anyone, blame the man you gave me to.”>

C’sah bit at her bottom lip, curling her claws inward to seat into the meat of her palm. <”C’ajnee was supposed to train you.”>

<”Kushal did exactly as you asked him to. He trained me every single day to toss aside every single want I could have had in my body, mind and soul. I was trained to listen to commands. Trained to be good. Trained to be the best. The perfect hunting hound—a wolf in the night. I don’t care about my well being. I don’t care about my future. I don’t care about anything but obeying orders to their fullest and protecting what is mine.”>

Everything about that statement had done nothing but make her elated beyond normal measures—all of it, until that final bit of his sentence. That made her stare at him in confusion, tilting her head.

<”What is yours?”>

C’tolemy’s crooked smile shifts to a small smile, the look of madness in his eyes taking over as he falls into emotions too strong to hold back. <”That’s right. What is mine. People. Things. Hopes and dreams. Emotions. What belongs to me, what I’ve taken in blood and sweat and tears and clawed onto with a shredded heart and little sense—What is mine.”>

No. This wasn’t how this was supposed to be. C’aziza was supposed to have zero ambition, no survival instincts outside of orders given and complete, utter surrender to those that gave her orders. There was to be no want but the want to please. No wants. No dreams. No hopes. No desire to fight back or rebel. Nothing but a rigid, mindless dog.

C’ajnee had failed her.

Clicking her tongue, she spreads her hands out before him. <”You can continue to protect what is yours. I want none of it.”>

That jostles a laugh from deep inside of his chest, unhinged and shuddering. <”You lie just like Kushal did. He must have gotten it from you. You have nothing I want, Witch. You’ve proved that to me.”>

He turns on his heel and prepares to vault back over the broken bridge to the cliff-face.

<”Wait!”>

A pause.

<”What if… What if I can give you back what you lost?”>

Just one last time.

<”What… What if I can give you C’ajnee?”>

A hand that rests on the handle to twist and pull open; the pathway to home shining in moonlight and sunlight, warped to be something beautiful. Under his feet, thousands of blades are spring loaded traps waiting to be sprung–waiting for the moment he takes but one false step in the dance. There are times when the ache of a full day clings to his skin and hair and pulls him closer to line, where weariness turn his limbs to wet paper and his balance to nothing. Then, he will slip. The trap will spring and hundreds upon hundreds of blades will shred through muscle, tendon, skin and bone. He will stand immobile, paralyzed by elation and anguish, while a blank face of nothingness and joy sits painted on his perfect face.

He will push the door open and smile.

They can’t see his mangled body. They can’t hear the jingle of metal that creaked against the wood of the walls as he wanders the kitchen. They can’t feel the river tide of blood that stains the dark wood of their home, leaving a trail for any who are keen enough to come sniffing for. They don’t flinch when they run him through the middle with their own swords–smile sweetly as his life splashes across their skin. Each ‘I love you’ is another pound of flesh they dig from his body and bring to their mouths, looking him in the eye as they sink their fangs in and delight in the taste of him. He smiles, love-struck, and closes his eyes.