The sunlight started to creep into Anwyn's room, but she didn't wake. She'd never slept in the first place. Her mind was a chest of thoughts she wished she'd spoken. Good luck. I'll miss you. Don't get hurt. I'm sorry.
Because she was. She really was. Because now, with everyone gone, she didn't miss her boyfriend. Sure, her thoughts drifted to him from time to time, but her body didn't ache like it did when she thought of Kosa. She'd been so stupid, neglecting such a great friend for a romance she was more in love with than her actual partner.
At her side, Nokia whimpered, catching onto Anwyn's sadness. Normally they'd cuddle, but right now Nokia's internal organs and tissues were starting to grow back and, as much as Anwyn loved him, she couldn't quite bring herself to do so.
"Sorry, buddy," she mumbled, giving him a head pat.
Returning home had been hard. She couldn't tell them she'd saved the world or anything because she hadn't. The others could say that they hadn't yet, but even though she was going to be responsible for destroying the weapon, she didn't feel like it would be her saving Lypera. It was more Caitlyn and Kosa. She just hoped Kosa was okay.
The worst part was she wasn't happy at home anymore. It was true, she'd always dreamt of leaving to go on an epic quest, but she'd still been happy there. But now she felt lonely and unhappy.
"Anwyn?"
Somehow Olivia had known she was awake. Olivia really did seem to have that maternal instinct. She even tended to know exactly what to say to make Anwyn feel better. So, when she sat on the edge of Anwyn's bed, it gave her some comfort.
"Did you sleep at all?"
"Mhm", Anwyn lied.
"You're a terrible liar, An," Olivia said, "I know you're not okay."
"I'm fine. I'm a chosen one. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because sometimes what we want isn't what we need. Sometimes things just pile on top of each other until they tumble in a big mighty crash. Sometimes people keep things secret because they hurt too much," responded Olivia. With a note of desperation, she asked, "What happened?"
"Everything was fine. Everything was great! I had someone who believed in me, people who believed I was the sole chosen one. That I had the potential to save all of Lypera. But then... I killed him, Nom. I killed him." A lump formed in Anwyn's throat, making it harder to continue. "They stabbed me but he'd-"
"Honey, you don't have to talk about that part if you don't want to. I'm just sure that you didn't intentionally hurt anyone because you're my Anwyn," said Olivia, running a hand through her daughter's tangled pink hair. The roots had gone rather blonde again.
"I don't get it. I got everything I ever wanted. The perfect boy, friends that believed in me, a magical dog... But I stopped being happy. It wasn't magical anymore. It felt wrong."
Olivia nodded tiredly. "You know why books exist? Because people love magic and adventure."
"I know. I love books," said Anwyn. She couldn't quite figure out where Olivia was going.
"Well, here in Lypera, it's easy enough to find your own adventure. But it's not right for everyone. It's not that they're not cut out for it, rather that... When you dream, there are no limits aside from your own creativity. You're in control and you can stay cosy at home. It's the superior form of travel for the imaginative. But when you journey in the real world, the price can be great. So great, that you might as well have just dreamt from the comfort of your own home."
Anwyn frowned, caressing the duvet for comfort. She was in a bad place right now, but Olivia was helping.
"You know I have to go again. To finish what I started."
"You don't have to do anything, but whatever you do, we will support you." Olivia Haaland squeezed her hand.
Anwyn shook her head. It was true, all she'd been through had almost broken her. She was a bundle of scars from a battle unfought. But she still needed to finish what she started. She owed it to everyone else. Not only that, she wanted to.
It was a hard road ahead. But the darkest hour always ended with the sunrise. She could do this. And then, she could come home and mend.
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Yaz's feet had blistered. It was no wonder when she was hiking up a mountain in soft leather shoes. The ground was rocky and fragile, different from what she'd faced for the rest of her journey but there was still that familiar sand. She couldn't turn back.
Her map had said that this wasn't it. Another mountain housed the ancient creature with which she wished to convene. But every fibre of her being had felt a pull towards this mountain. Still she wondered; was it magic or her heritage?
Her thoughts often wandered to the others. She feared for them, anxious that their plan would fail. A rather uncertain factor was Junior. Nobody knew exactly where he was or whether he'd be part of their plan. There was a possibility that he'd still act according to their old plan which had come out of practice after the incident with Oburon. Instead they faced a plan that was very much dependent on one small factor, but if that worked out, they had a higher chance of success. So far she hadn't had word of any failure.
Her mouth was dry. Unfortunately, she was alone so it fell to her alone to decide how to ration her water. If she drank too much, she would pay for it later. If she drank too little, her body would protest. With a sigh, she lifted the leather water pouch to her lips. She was almost there.
Upon finally reaching the mountain's summit, Yaz had to cover her eyes. Before she'd largely been in the shade of the hill, but now she had no protection from the burning celestial body. As her eyes focused though, she was left disappointed. There was no dragon.
Her heart heavy, she walked forward to at least get a worthwhile view. It was then, as she marvelled at the moutainous desert with a tangerine sky, that she noticed the crater. Within it perked a large dragon.
"Hello?" she called out. She'd never been in the presence of a dragon. Shaking slightly, she bowed down before it.
"I've been expecting you, Yazeera." Its voice was low and soft, but with a slight edge to it. It demanded respect, not through violence, but through the wisdom in its words.
"My name is Yaz."
"Yaz is rather... Parvi. Not fit for a Drava."
"A Drava?"
"I see the old legends have been dying out. No wonder many Drava remain unaware of their heritage," spoke the dragon.
"I don't understand. What is a Drava?"
"The dragon population is dwindling due to Parvi and various other species of other descent. Hence we need more ways of preventing the end of our noble breed. A Drava is a Parvi gifted by the dragons."
Yaz's lips were parted as she searched her memories. "That's why I could feel the magic. Why I had those flashes."
"Yes. We gifted you these powers."
Tears appeared in Yaz's eyes, but she gulped them down. She was touched, moved. Her dragons had given her these gifts.
"Thank you. I-I wish I understood what I've done to deserve these powers."
"The Drava powers are limited. Once you know of your heritage, they lock themselves away again. Unless you fulfill the destiny the dragons have laid out for you."
"To save Lypera?"
"No," snarled the dragon, "The fate you are chasing has nothing to do with us. No, we offer Drava a choice. They may return to a Parvi existence or they may become a dragon."
Yaz gaped at it. She? A dragon? She didn't understand. It was all a bit too much. Her legs were turning to jelly, the light breeze had a bit too much power over her.
"Naturally we do not expect a response overnight. You can take as long as you wish. But once you have spoken your answer, the decision is final. There is no going back, no second chance."
Yaz nodded slowly. Gradually, she was beginning to digest this information. She tightened her headscarf and wrapped her right arm around her stomach, digging her fingers into her side. This was insane. Ludicrous. It wasn't possible to make a decision like that, was it?
Eventually, she recalled her purpose. The reason she'd travelled through this rocky landscape.
"O great dragon, I come with a request for help. All Lypera is in danger, as are many of our people. I come to ask you for aid." She was kneeling again, her head lowered out of respect. She could feel the dragon's eyes on her.
"I know what you request, Yazeera, and my answer is simple: No."
Yaz's eyes widened in shock. Naturally she'd known there was a chance of this, but somehow she'd firmly believed she'd manage this. This was her part of the preparation and she hadn't been able to bare thinking of failure. But here she was, facing declination.
"I'm sorry, but I beg you again. My friend will need a body. I think it's only fair with all she's doing for this land."
"My answer won't change, young Drava. Caitlyn Sequor has caused our people great harm in the past. Besides, I cannot partake in a struggle that stems from such... Irregularities." The dragon spat out the word, an odd sound.
"What do you mean? I'm sure-"
"No," he hissed, the air around them heating up as he accidentally spat out some sparks. Wearily, he spoke, "Go home, young Drava. Pray that you don't die."
Yaz's eyes burned like embers when she looked at it the last time. It was true, it was a mighty and godly creature. However, it had refused to listen to any of her arguments and had instead given her knowledge she had neither requested nor wished to possess.
By moonrise, the mountain was far behind her. But the conversation she'd had still echoed in her mind. It seemed she had a lot to think about.
< | ■ | >
The entire journey, people had talked of returning home. Anwyn and Kosa would fondly recount Theste's fairy tales, Yaz would talk of dragons and nomads and Dale had occasionally brought up the order before his death. Now Oburon was facing the Fai-mur, the headquarters of the Gaspa Representation Association and found he missed the journey.
Caitlyn had asked him whether there was a risk of them enslaving him again if he returned. He'd lied and told her that they couldn't. He'd seen the hurt in her eyes because she had known he was lying, but she hadn't argued. The plan needed this.
He strolled into the Fai-mur, calling upon his body's muscle memory to imitate some of the confidence Caitlyn had had when she'd used his body. If only she were still there, then she could have taken over for a while. But the change of plan had made sense.
The Fai-mur was decorated brightly, with cream walls that had reds orange and purple trimmings. There was a sofa with red cushions and some kid stools around a rather geometric table. Oburon gulped as memories flooded back.
This was where he'd been tested. There'd been several other kids, all his age, but aside from that they'd been completely different. He remembered one child in particular, a little redheaded boy from Kraya. Oburon had been impressed by his flawless linguistic understanding of his language, but that had probably been both the boys' abilities speaking.
"My family is confused, why are we here?"
"To find out whether we're Gaspa," Oburon had replied. Back then, that had seemed impossible. In everyone's eyes, a negative result had been guaranteed.
"What's a... Gas- Uh..." The boy's eyebrows had grown together as he struggled to recreate the word.
"A Gaspa is a translator. They can naturally speak all different languages," Oburon had explained. He had been more focused on a doll. They'd left out toys to make the place seem more friendly.
"Why would they want to know that?" asked the boy.
"Gaspa are made to serve our country as interpreters. It is the price for such a blessing and an honour to do so."
More like slavery. Oburon frowned as he paced towards the table. That same doll was still there, though her dress was fraying. Oh Lypera, how had this happened. How had people been tricked into accepting slavery and seeing it as justice.
"May I help you?"
A middle aged woman dressed in a green cardigan and loose gray maxi skirt smiled at him from across the room. A pair of oval spectacles rested low on her nose. She wasn't a Gaspa. Nobody in the GRA was. They couldn't care less about what the Gaspa wanted, the association was purely there to maintain the illusion of justice.
"I need to speak to the head," spoke Oburon.
"Name?" She was already picking up a checklist from the counter. Oburon tensed up. His name would be on there. He will have been reported by his owners.
"Oburon The Quiet."
She grimaced. "You left your family a couple of weeks ago. Why? Where to?"
"I need to talk to the head?" repeated Oburon.
"You know, that is a serious crime. You had a lovely family, housing you, providing for you, and you just leave them with a feeble note about your mother." She tutted. Although she seemed harmless enough, Oburon didn't trust that. Everything else here was a facade. Why not the harmless elderly receptionist too?
"I need to talk to your head."
"Why? An allegation of misconduct? Penance for what you've done? Liberal ideas...?" The word slid off her tongue like she were talking about arson.
"I need to talk to your head."
She sighed, caving at last. She lead him to an office, the smell of rosewater causing his nose to twitch. Those were the sort of scents that only the very rich used, having been conditioned to view the import product as stylish. Others tended to prefer stronger scents that better fit their culture. The smell of roses felt artificially sweet and left Oburon with an itch.
The door opened, revealing a pale green room filled with cabinets. A dark man sat at a lavish desk and he looked surprisingly laid back. His long hair was styled in dreadlocks, he was dressed in a black robe that looked fairly soft. On his desk was an empty coffee mug.
"Oburon the Quiet to see you, sir," the lady introduced him, then left.
"What is your purpose?" he asked, gesturing to Oburon to sit down. Oburon remained standing.
"I have come asking for you to relieve Gaspa from their duties for a day," spoke Oburon.
The man chuckled darkly. "Well, normally I'd consider, but when a Gaspa who ran away comes to request a public holiday, well, how do I know he's not simply lazy?"
"I do not ask for a holiday. I ask so that we can work towards a greater purpose," explained Oburon, "I know this will be hard to believe because I am merely a Gaspa, but when I left it was because I was a chosen one. I followed this dream and it lead to me discovering a plot that could end with the destruction of almost all of Lypera and its peace.
"The first use of the weapon will occur in two weeks time. It will be used to exterminate the citizens of Surtren, but they won't stop there. I need Gaspa to help warn those in Surtren and some to help me usher people out of the Camil, where we will destroy the weapon before it can launch."
Silence hung in the air like a knife. The head of the GRA's response carried the blade into Oburon's heart. "I wasn't born yesterday, you know. If you take those Gaspa, what's the chance they'll come back to their masters? Naturally I trust the Gaspa fully, but their masters would never permit such things. Think of the impact on business. Think of the issues for diplomacy."
"There are lives at stake," Oburon growled, emphasising each word.
"Maybe. But if this danger you speak of is true, well, how can you guarantee that the Gaspa will return? How many lives will be lost? You must understand, I cannot make such a gamble on the word of one runaway Gaspa."
Oburon required all his composure not to start shaking. This person didn't understand. If they did nothing, there would be no country for the Gaspa to serve.
"I'm sorry, Oburon the Quiet, but I cannot do that. Nor can I rely on you going home on your own."
It all happened so quickly. The head of the GRA yanked up the coffee mug and an alarm sounded. Oburon panicked as the door opened, a squad of five men pouring into the room.
"Seize him."
They charged towards him, but never reached him. In that moment, a boy appeared in the room by taking of an invisibility cloak, then said, "Cavishte."
The men collapsed on the floor and the head sunk into his chair, dropping the coffee mug in the process. Oburon swiftly lifted it and slotted it back onto the table. The alarm was silenced.
"I thought you could do with my help," said the mage boy, Jacob.
"I'm glad I brought you along," admitted Oburon, yet his tone was still cold.
"What now?" questioned Jacob.
"We send word that we failed."
The two young men left the building together, Oburon towering over the mage. Today had been a failure. He just hoped the others hadn't run into any problems.
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