CHAPTER FIVE

A pulse of power in his being

*Xru'lar*

✽✽✽

Ytai believe in the Holy-Entities.

But Ytai aren't pious to their Gods; they rarely pray, if ever. If they follow a religion, it's power, the blade, their hierogram. Many believe in foreordained lives; some prioritise creation. Very few believe in reincarnation. Fewer still in ghosts.

Xru'lar cares not much for them but agrees with one - ghosts. Because Xru'lar is the ghost haunting Ytéan. He's the sort of ghost that wants to be seen; acknowledged. But people fear those ghosts the most. They tried purifying him, exorcising Ahst's claim, and on failing, abandoned him to his fate. They shoved him into the shadows for the world to forget, and the gloom claimed him with glee. But an unseen ghost is still felt. And they try everything in their power to constrain him.

At present, Xru'lar feels seen; it coats his heart unserene.

The world still overlooks him. It's Dhai'va.

After a lifetime of invisibility, Dhai'va's scrutiny gathers in lofty waves, pulling him underneath. She watches him in her free time - which is limited - waiting to catch him default to Ahst. With the Xzia'on war dragging on, in the two years Dhai'va lives in Xroui'lm, Xru'lar has few interactions with her, all initiated by her and curbed by the Tv'orm. Dhai'va is intense, chaotic; a killer. A trained killer who hasn't killed anyone. Yet. At least that he's aware of. She's Ance's Defender, protecting Ytéan from him. He's Ahst's vessel, bound to destroy Ytéan - the one who's supposed to have a lust for blood. Yet, she roams the halls looking for the one misstep from him that allows her to acquaint her blade with his heart. She doesn't daunt him, though. He's accepted her challenge as he has the world's dare. He'll prove her wrong. Also, she feels too familiar to fear, even when she's scowling at him, sword raised, waiting, waiting for his stumble.

Xru'lar is almost disappointed that nothing happens in two years of their proximity. Both Eo'ar children under one roof must have wrought some mayhem, if not supreme pandemonium. For each time he's close to her, the air simmers with power; he feels his body too little, too tiny to contain him. If she comes any closer, he'll erupt, explode, escape his bones, and bleed into the Universe.

Little has changed in two years. The war progresses, Iro'va calls every few months, other kids train, he sneaks out at night to his shr'dyt, and the Tv'orm train Dhai'va to end him. Rya has cleared the Council-exams and prepares for the Royals.

'None will be surprised when he makes it into the Jia'rur-Guard,' Xru'lar notes, closing a copy of Literary works from ancient Ytéan.

Syv'h agrees with a tail-swish and jumps from the table. Enyr are divine creatures. One can't capture enyr, tame, and own them. Enyr choose to be someone's, and legend deems them blessed. As if Dhai'va needs any more blessings. At this rate, the world will run out of them. Syv'h's resolution to follow Xru'lar doesn't rephrase him as less blasphemous, but people notice. It keeps them from purposefully antagonising him, and he basks in the lonely freedom.

Dawn glazes the white-city golden. Sparkles from doorway gems twinkle on the ground. White sand huddles in corners swept by night-wind; miniature mountains of glitter. Xru'lar hugs books he's borrowed, zipping past early-risers to the Jia'rur. Eyes linger longer on the enyr than the boy carrying a Vou'ran-sized spire of books. He hurries, wanting to deposit them in his room before breakfast. He spends an entire minute scanning his room, mentally marking every used space. Books overflow on the narrow study-desk, to his cot fashioned out of ervy vines, the windowsills, and even the chair. Syv'h tilts her head like she's judging his decision-making skills. Yes, Xru'lar must stop bringing in new books until he reads the ones he has. It's a surprise the Librarian continues to entertain him. Keep this trend, and Xru'lar will reconstruct the Library in his room. He places his current stack on the floor, apologises to the books for not finding them a better spot, and rushes out.

The corridors are deserted, with all students out for the day. It's only Xru'lar in the residences at this time. He isn't allowed into weapons-training. So, when a jarring argument spills into the corridor from a room, he flinches. He pauses, recognising the voices before their owners step into the brightness of the hallway ahead.

'Al'ler!' Ruru yells. Stop!

Zyr'h snaps around. 'Ja?' Why?

Their interactions are entertaining. Ruri speaks Lim, Zyr'h, Izarni. Zyr'h's comfortable arguing in Izarni, having difficulty getting fluent in the tongue-twisting Lim. Not Xru'ar. With his exceptional hold on languages, he never needed to adjust to Lim; he already knew it. Thanks to Ruh'vi and O'ccn. But none speak with Xru'lar. Or care.

'Why, ht'zru? I'm leaving,'

'Zyr'h,' Ruri's tone is authoritative.

But rage clouds Zyr'h. 'If the Um'rei-Ru wards can stay here, I can in Xzia'on.'

'They're here to avoid war,'

Ruri and Zyr'h startle at Xru'lar's voice. He approaches them; Syv'h follows. Zyr'h's face is red with anger. His bright-orange aura is blurred by murky-red at the edges.

'Every Ri'l trainee is allowed to volunteer into O'ru's army,'

'Except you,' Ruri states. She's in simple casuals; silver shirt and slacks, and violet eom - overcoat. Her long, silver hair is untied, grazing her hips. Three violet-bands circumference her neck, indicating her Royalty. Xru'lar knows nought of the time when Ruh'vi and Ruri were younger, uncommitted, and had only one violet-band.

'Damn it,' Zyr'h barks.

Ruri frowns, not appreciating his tone. 'You're Iro'va's heir.'

The words jolt Xru'lar; he's firstborn. Zyr'h, too, is an heir if Xru'lar abdicates. But Xru'lar is forever an afterthought.

Zyr'h's eyes flit to Xru'lar.

'You're both heirs,' Ruri corrects herself. 'You're both barred from war.'

Zyr'h's anger lowers a notch. He sounds more upset, the truth of his actions spilling out, 'I miss O'ru.'

Ruri takes a deep breath. 'He'll return.'

Xru'lar observes Zyr'h. They can easily be mistaken for twins. Their two-year age gap is nothing in Ytai-years, and they share Iro'va's sharp features and Ruh'vi's colouring. Still, their lives are worlds apart. Zyr'h's closer to Iro'va. He's never stayed away before. Zyr'h refused to leave Izarn to accompany Ruh'vi and Xru'lar to Xroui'lm. Xru'lar understands the last two years are tough on him; losing Ruh'vi, Iro'va leaving, living in Xroui'lm, learning Lim, and studying for the Ri'l.

'You shouldn't fight wars yet,' Xru'lar attempts to console.

'Only when one is like you.'

Xru'lar blinks rapidly. Zyr'h's tone wrings a queasiness in his stomach.

'Zyr'h,' Ruri admonishes.

He doesn't appear remorseful. 'I don't want to be like you,' he adds. 'I'm not a coward hiding behind books. I'll,'

Ruri slaps Zyr'h. The quiet that follows is threatening. It pierces Xru'lar's skin in cold prickles.

'Apologise,' Ruri commands.

Zyr'h, hand on his cheek, looks down. Ruri's slap will sting for days; it carried no mercy. Xru'lar unwillingly finds himself feeling sorry for Zyr'h. It's a curse to understand people's deepest feelings and intentions and be unable to judge them merely for their actions.

The slap enrages more than subdues. Zyr'h points a finger at Ruri, 'If you don't let me, I'll find my own way. I'll walk if I must, but I'm getting to Xzia'on.' He launches towards the exit, determined.

'Don't you dare point a finger at me again, boy!' Ruri scolds. She turns to Xru'lar and notices Syv'h.

Syv'h stands taller than the day she arrived, towering over them both. She leaves like she's had her fair share of entertainment.

'I'll make him apologise, Xru'lar.'

'I don't care,'

Xru'lar heads to his shr'dyt instead of classes.

Xru'lar and Zyr'h's relationship is complicated. Zyr'h hasn't done anything inherently wrong. But Zyr'h's a constant reminder to him that he's perfect in a way Xru'lar can never aspire to be - Zyr'h is normal. Xru'lar wonders if his inefficiencies are Zyr'h's inconveniences - does Zyr'h feel the need to counterweigh Xru'lar's curse of being Ahst's vessel? Xru'lar doesn't hate him; Zyr'h doesn't seem to either but finds him tiring, having to make up for his cursedness. Perhaps, there's a deep need in him to be anything but like Xru'lar. Not out of hate, but need. A thin tension trembles between them from the world's expectations of them. After all, Iro'va and Ruh'vi were forced to have Zyr'h to make up for Xru'lar; his replacement. Even Zyr'h's name is blessed to neutralise Xru'lar's ignominy. If people tiptoe around Xru'lar, it's because they're afraid of what he symbolises. If they tiptoe around Zyr'h, it's because they sympathise with his position. Xru'lar finds the pity shown to Zyr'h better; at least, people wished him well.

* * * * *

Xru'lar is alone at dinner.

Dinner is dyr with vegetables, bread, sweetened vyl flowers, and hot and spicy och made by boiling the im'zur's vines in water to make a concentrate. He's famished after forgoing breakfast and lunch. He starts with vyl, using the two-pronged curved metal stick - févé. People sit in groups or twos, chatting and laughing. The loneliness is heavy on Xru'lar's shoulders, familiar. But just because something is familiar doesn't mean one gets habituated; it's still discomfiting. He spots his brother with his friends two tables ahead. He tries to catch his attention. He told Ruri he doesn't care, but he seeks an apology. No matter how upset, Zyr'h has no excuse to insult Xru'lar on matters he can't control. Zyr'h's gaze lands on him but prances away. He's unusually quiet tonight with his friends. Something is off.

Halfway through dinner, the alarms go off. Every person pauses for a second in synchrony and suddenly spouts into movement as if puppeteered by a single entity. A sandstorm warning, category-5, is announced over the speakers.

Xru'lar stuffs the remaining vyl, downing it with och. The Royal-Shelters are at the centre of the Jia'rur. He must walk to the residences, collect his books, and cross the training-fields, classrooms, and Council-Housing. Xru'lar keeps his strides long, a blade ripping the fabric, charging into the residences while students rush out. He enters the shelters in time for last-call, settling onto the seating-nook carved into the stone-wall. He's claimed it during every sandstorm this past two years. Even if he reaches late, it sits empty. None want anything to do with things touched by Ahst's vessel. He places his stack of books, catching sight of his cousins from Roé Kvi'mrn's side eating stolen sweets. The adults are engaged in conversation. Dhai'va occupies the seat opposite his, watching him. She wasn't at dinner, no doubt arriving early, gobbling food as she does, and speeding off. Dhai'va harbours an impatience that can make even the Holy-Entities quiver. She smiles; Xru'lar ignores her.

Ruri's son and daughter take account of all in the shelter. Xru'lar notices something odd. Zyr'h conducts the task with them. He's not there. Xru'lar surveys the room. Zyr'h's absent.

Ruri marches in. Xru'lar knows she'll close the door; she's the last to arrive. He panics. He informs Ruri that Zyr'h's missing. She assumes he's still in the residences and returns to get him. Last-call is announced. They're not here. No, Zyr'h isn't in his room.

Xru'lar exits, climbing back to the residences through narrow stairways. He knows exactly what Zyr'h is up to. He hurries out; the storm's haunting howl hangs in the air. He grabs a face-shield from the armoury and plucks a thick eom to prepare for the storm. Xru'lar has half-a-heart to let Zyr'h suffer the consequences of his actions. It's only a Category-5 storm, not the worst. But the other half wins.

Zyr'h can't operate a fly-pod yet, and the desert-beasts, Svi, are locked in for the storm, requiring authorised access. There's only one path to Xzia'on on foot - through the white sands that are a raging demon tonight. Xru'lar crosses the Jia'rur-Complex into the city, then to open lands. He runs over the wooden-pier leading out from the entrance arch. Inky night clothes the sands. Still perturbed by darkness, Xru'lar steels himself, strangling his blade's hilt. It was Ruh'vi's birth-blade. He picked it that night and refused to hand it to Iro'va. His fingers tingle over the hilt by the time he runs off the wooden-pier onto sand. He scrambles over sand, forgetting to change his boots. His feet sink, slowing him. Cursing himself, he carries on. Zyr'h can better look after himself. The best Xru'lar can do is convince him to return. But something drives Xru'lar forward. Zyr'h is um'ru, family. Xru'lar couldn't protect Ruh'vi. If the best he does is talk Zyr'h into returning, he'll have achieved enough.

Xru'lar stills. The wind wails; sand grazes him. Visibility is poor. He has a fair idea of Zyr'h's location. It's not why he stopped. Irked, he flips around, shouting over the wind, 'Go back!'

Dhai'va grins on Syv'h. Dressed in black-gear, and hair tied, she's well prepared. 'I'm not missing the fun.'

'Fun?' Xru'lar snarls, glimpsing behind her.

'No one's here,' she assures. 'We must leave before they arrive.'

'Go. Back.' Xru'lar commands, resuming into the storm.

'If something goes awry, you need someone who can actually fight.'

Xru'lar scowls. Dhai'va smirks. She directs Syv'h forward. Syv'h strides effortlessly, wings half-open against the wind, paws wide on the sand.

'You don't have a face-shield. Time to head back,' he tries.

The air around them fizzes as she creates a shield around herself and Syv'h. It's translucent and shimmery. Xru'lar stares, jealous. And ashamed. He's tried adamantly to call out his powers. For seventy-six Ytéan-years he's failed. It's unfair; he's Eo'ar's prophesied too. She possesses all known powers. He, none.

Dhai'va announces, 'I'm safe.'

Xru'lar scrunches his nose, trudging forward.

'Why are you out?'

'Zyr'h,'

Dhai'va raises a brow.

'My brother,'

'I know,' she says, tone airy. 'Why are you out?'

'This isn't the time for details. He's headed to Xzia'on on foot.'

Dhai'va gives him a strange look and focuses on the sands.

The storm maddens with time; glittering sands, frenzied.

Even with his shielding, Zyr'h can't have gone far; shields protect from sand, not grant visibility. Xru'lar's Comm. shows four dots - him, Dhai'va, Syv'h, and Zyr'h further ahead, finally showing up on Screen.

'Isn't the sand grazing you?'

'Yes,' Xru'lar forges ahead. The face-shield helps less and less over time. His scalp itches with sand.

'Shield yourself,'

'Don't mock me.'

'I'm not.'

'You watch me,' Xru'lar evades her piercing gaze. 'You know I have no powers.'

'I can help.'

'If you must, go back.'

Dhai'va grunts, expanding her shield to envelop him. The cocoon of power safeguards against the brutish, swirling sand. Moreover, her presence is comforting, though he'll never admit it.

He examines the Comm. Map. Zyrh's dot is frozen. Good, it's easier to reach quicker. But the relief wears off as he questions why Zyr'h stopped. Hoping he isn't hurt, Xru'lar breaks into a coltish run.

Even his worst fears don't predict this. He and Dhai'va halt. Caliginous shadows, darker than the stormy-night, gather ahead. Syv'h growls at Ahst.

D'vo, d'vo, Xru'lar panics. Ruh'vi's murder flashes before him. He can't breathe. He's late. He's late. His strength gives way. He's kneeling on the sands. He's kneeling over Ruh'vi. Blood pools, seeping into his clothes. Ruh'vi stares at nothing; her bones gaze upon the Universe.

'Is that Ahst?' Dhai'va's voice slices his hallucination.

Xru'lar gasps, returning to reality. Dhai'va regards Ahst wide-eyed. Until then, Xru'lar hasn't envisaged Dhai'va hasn't seen Ahst before. She squanders only a second. There's no fear, no hesitation when she draws her sword, charging forward on Syv'h. Her shield goes with her, and the sands engulf Xru'lar; the wind drains his balance. He hears Dhai'va yell. He crawls ahead. She becomes discernable through the haze, slashing through the dark mass. Ahst, laughs; a sound that rumbles over the deafening storm. Ahst disperses, shadows collecting elsewhere. Dhai'va chases him on foot. Syv'h darts towards the silhouette lying on the sands. Zyr'h. Xru'lar goes to him.

'Zyr'h,'

'Xru'lar?'

'We're here,' Xru'lar runs his hands over him to ensure he's unhurt.

'He's too strong,'

'She's here. Up,'

'I can't,' Zyr'h moans. 'He broke my leg.'

Xru'lar winces. Still, he whispers prayers to the Universe for keeping Zyr'h alive. A broken leg can be fixed. Xru'lar squints into the storm; he can't leave Dhai'va. She fights Ahst. Her lightning and fire keep him away but do no more.

'I'll get you on Syv'h,' Xru'lar supports Zyr'h up onto the enyr. 'The Xlo'quan will help.'

Xru'lar turns to Dhai'va and Ahst. She swings her sword at him; he deflects. He's taunting her. She's flummoxed, unprepared for the realness of Ahst.

'Leave her!' Xru'lar yells.

Ahst stills; the dark mass turns to Xru'lar. It has a pair of glowing eyes. A chill sweeps Xru'lar's spine. He raises his blade. Ahst laughs. Dhai'va strikes; her sword slashes wind. Ahst moves quickly, forming a dense cloud, and slams into her, knocking her far. The sandstorm swallows her.

'D'vo!' Xru'lar shouts.

Ahst flows to him untouched by the laws of the sandstorm. 'My dear, you call me.'

'You want me. Let them go.'

'What fun is that?' Ahst's voice booms like thunder.

'Stop hurting my people!'

'Then, be mine.'

Xru'lar gulps.

'No answer?' Ahst derides. His shadows surround Xru'lar, Zyr'h, and Syv'h.

Syv'h growls, wings open, teeth bared. Xru'lar searches for Dhai'va but sees only shadows.

'Imagine the power you'll own when you're mine, darling boy,'Ahst hums, shadows swirling, blocking the sand and wind. It's growing eerily quiet inside Ahst's circle. His glowing eyes focus on Xru'lar.

'I don't want it!'

'Oh, but you do. You wish it with your soul; you're jealous of her.'

True. But not at the cost of becoming Ahst's.

'Be mine; have it all.'

Xru'lar shakes his head. He tells Zyr'h, 'Go. I'll hold him off. Get her and leave.'

Zyr'h doesn't move. Nor does Syv'h.

'Zyr'h,'

'I'm not leaving you,'

Xru'lar grumbles, wishing Zyr'h hated him enough to leave. Why is it so complicated between them?

'No one's leaving,' Ahst closes in on them.

Syv'h's growls augment.

'Need I remind you what I can do?' Ahst asks.

Without warning, hallucinations overtake Xru'lar. In graphic detail, Ruh'vi's death flashes in his mind.

Xru'lar screams, feeling every sharp rip in his skin and body. He doesn't beg for mercy; he fights back. Shadows infiltrate his bones, his mind. He slashes his chest open, hands not his anymore. His bones crack; the pain is blinding, ruling his body and mind. Blood. Everywhere. His last word is 'Xru'lar.'

'Xru'lar!'

He knows not who he's anymore.

'Xru'lar!'

Xrular snaps out of the delirium. It's so quiet; it pierces his ears and presses against his body. Pressure builds in his chest. Then, he hears his breaths rasping over the silence. Slowly, he stands.

'Xru'lar!' Dhai'va's voice is air underwater.

Dhai'va, he wants to shout. But his voice is dead, like he screamed it all out into the world.

Ahst laughs. Xru'lar inspects his hands; no blood. He points his blade at the shadows.

'Xru'lar,' Zyr'h says. 'What happened?'

'Be mine,' Ahst engulfs them.

'Never,' Xru'lar manages a whisper.

'Be mine!' Ahst screams. It echoes in menacing roars. He closes in on him and Zyr'h and swallows them.

Black. Dense darkness. Xru'lar sees nothing.

'Stop hurting my family!'

'Give into me!'

'Never!'

Ahst giggles, maddened by rage. 'You'll be mine one day, darling boy. My mark lives on you. We'll bring ruin to your Light and rule the Universe again. The two of us, together. You're mine. Mine!'

Ahst suffocates Xru'lar. The breath in his lungs is fleeting bursts of air. He mustn't give in. He must protect. He feels something in his blood and bones. Heavy. Powerful. It's always been there. Waiting. Waiting. Xru'lar concentrates, ignoring Ahst. And there it is. A pulse of power in his being. He breathes deeply; calming, anchoring. He hones the spark tingling in his blood, drawing it over his hands. Light, a brilliant purple-spark over his fingertips.

A sphere of golden-light grazes his vision from beyond Ahst's shadows. 'Let it out, Xru.'

'Be mine,' Ahst demands.

'I'm never yours!' Xru'lar lets the spark burst from him. Lightning; luminant lightning. Purple radiance blasts from him into the world.

Ahst's agony fills the space in shrill screams. The shadows disperse. The sandstorm returns, a yowling beast. The world reappears. A barrier of translucent light encircles him. A shield. Dhai'va stands outside the barrier, sword up, staring at him, agape. Her shield covers her. It takes Xru'lar several seconds to understand he shields himself. Him.

As if the knowledge loathes his discovery, his shield disintegrates.

He shivers violently. The wind pushes him; he has no strength to fight it. He staggers back, stunned.

'Xru'lar?' Dhai'va braves the wind towards him.

'Must. Go.' Xru'lar pants.

She agrees and gets Syv'h. She saw it, didn't she? Xru'lar's powers. Xru'lar's. He tries bringing his shield back. It doesn't appear. Fearing it a fluke, he stares at his trembling hands, forcing some speck of power out. Nothing.

'Xru,' Zyr'h says. 'Let's go.'

'No!' Ahst's rumbling voice echoes. He resurfaces from underground and knocks Dhai'va out.

'No!' Xru'lar reaches for her and pulls back at the last second. He can't touch her.

Dhai'va falls hard on the sands. Xru'lar hates himself for letting her get hurt.

Zyr'h gasps as the golden-light returns. 'They're but children,'

Ahst growls, vanishing. The golden-light leaves. But Ahst reemerges, crashes into Zyr'h, and disappears. Zyr'h tumbles to the ground, off Syv'h. It happens so fast, Xru'lar is left blinking. He shifts, weapon raised, waiting for Ahst. He doesn't return. Syv'h whines, nudging Dhai'va; she doesn't wake. Wary, senses pricking, Xru'lar puts a hand over her nose. She's breathing. So is Zyr'h.

Xru'lar weighs his options. He can carry Zyr'h. He can't help Dhai'va. There's no going back alone for help. Ahst can reappear and kill them.

The storm is feral. Without Dhai'va's shield, the sand hurts his exposed skin. Zyr'h and Dhai'va don't have face-shields. The more they breathe in the sand and dust, the more harm. Syv'h's wings spread over them, but it helps little.

Xru'lar calms himself. He must shield them. Let it out, the Light said. It takes him several minutes before he feels the familiar spark. He coaxes it out as a shield, expanding it over them. The wind rams the shield; he pushes back.

He smiles despite the night. He has powers. At last, he's worth something.

Xru'lar shields them all night.

The storm rages on.

✽✽✽