CHAPTER THREE

'No, not beautiful,'

*Xru'lar*

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Xru'lar loves to read. It makes him happy.

But now, Xru'lar spends early mornings in the Library, choking his mind with words, hoping they nestle into every alcove of his brain, eroding the memory of Ruh'vi's pale body, pool of blood, and pitiful gaze that saw nought.

It's several months since, and Ruri still sends him to healing-sessions with the Xlo'quan and the Tv'orm. The Tv'orm ask about his thoughts and feelings. He hates talking. Books help more, and he wants to be left alone. The aura-calming sessions do help him sleep. Until the nightmares conquer the calm. Now more than ever, he misses the Scr Librarian in Izarn. O'ccn. Xru'lar's labels render him invisible to the world, but Scr-O'ccn saw him and kindled friendship - a rare thing for a Scr to do. She arrived at Izarn years ago as part of Ytéan's program to open its boundaries to other worlds. O'ccn helped him better his Ytéan and taught him several other Ytéan languages, Scr, Utzrn, Soe, Za, and Futya. He's now fluent in more languages than the Tv'orm. It's the only thing he's proud of, and none care. Ruh'vi did.

Xru'lar hunches, careening over brown-stone paved alleys to class, like one of the last withering leaves of fr'syne before the numbing winter-cold cloaks Izarn in white. He keeps his eyes on the lustrous, suns-varnished speckles dancing on the stone, everchanging as the trees sway in the warm breeze. Xroui'lm's narrow alleys are lined with creepers and vines that hug wall-to-wall canopying the streets. Flowers, darker than blood-red, jewel the vines, stark against the white walls. The im'zur; symbol of Um'rei-Kvi'mrn and Xroui'lm.

Xru'lar and Zyr'h don't stand out as lone white threads among the dark like in Izarn. Here, they blend in. It's why it takes him longer to pinpoint Zyr'h ahead with his friends. He's made fast friends with their cousins and their friends. Zyr'h's always been good with people. It's not why Xru'lar's resentful. It's because Zyr'h will begin his training for the Ri'l exams, which every Izarni takes in their lifetime. Everyone but him. He hasn't even received basic training, all because the Tv'orm don't approve. He hasn't received explanations, but he believes they fear with training, he'll become a stronger vessel for Ahst.

Xru'lar hates the way he's despised. He alone believes that training will make him resilient to fight off Ahst instead of giving in. But one mark pivots his fate from the son of a respected defender to shunned destructor.

Reaching Zyr'h, Xru'lar momentarily lifts his eyes, who locks gazes. Xru'lar hurries past.

'Isn't that your brother?' their cousin, Jo'uxen, asks loudly.

Xru'lar doesn't hear Zyr'h answer. He doesn't turn to see if Zyr'h at least nods. It doesn't matter. Only one thing matters. Ahst. Dark. His taker. Xru'lar wants to train and defeat that vile monster. So what if the world doesn't believe in him? He knows himself best. He won't give in to Ahst. Ever.

* * * * *

Post dinner, Xru'lar goes to a shr'dyt at one edge of the city. This shr'dyt is smaller than those that dot Xroui'lm and isolated. The shr'dyt is a wall-enclosed, open-roofed space. The white walls tower over him and the triangular doorway is decorated with an intricately carved frame. The setting suns make the blue and green gems glint; Xru'lar squints, walking through it. The water on the right corner is starting to cool for the night and a few wruz birds dip into the pond to cool off. Vines merrily overtake this unused shr'dyt, covering the seating-stones built into the wall with zest. Xru'lar stands on the steps circumferencing the pond observing the chirping ice-blue wruz. He inhales the im'zur's fragrance bleeding into the twilight air, deeply spicy with a floral note; a scent that's patently Xroui'lm's.

He removes the blade he's carefully hidden under his evening-layers of warm clothing. It was Ruh'vi's birth-blade. He begins flicking it at the vines as Ruh'vi taught him.

'They're afraid of touching me. They think I'll break.' He once told her. He didn't know then kids were asked to keep far because he's Ahst's vessel.

'Then make them afraid of touching you because you'll never break,' Ruh'vi replied.

Ruh'vi's lessons focussed on bringing out his non-existent powers and shielding. Only later did she hand him a blade. Despite the Tv'orm's refusal to let him train, she did it secretly because he was desperate. And, more because, unlike others, she believed his strength would help him defeat Ahst. She drilled into him, at every opportunity, that he could fight Ahst's hold on him.

Xru'lar tires of flicking the weapon; he's good. He wants more; a sword. He clenches his jaw, scrubbing his palm across his face. He throws the blade. It lodges in the doorway, inciting a soft twang. Putting his hands out in front, he strains to reach into any semblance of power in him. Nothing surfaces. He feels the tingle in his bones, but no power seeps out. He pulls back his sleeve, revealing Ahst's mark - a tenebrous splotch on his right wrist. Xru'lar sneers at it; it blocks his powers.

With a curse on his tongue for his fate and the Holy-Entities' willingness to see him suffer, Xru'lar heads back to the Palace-Complex - the Jia'rur - before someone notices him missing. He sneaks into the garden, delicately cultivated by flora-workers, avoiding the safe-drones and comes upon Rya. Caught, Xru'lar halts. Rya is in training-robes, sword in hand, clearly practising his lessons. His long, silver hair is bound in a top-knot, and Sei's light brings out the silver tattoos, peeping out from under full-sleeves, to lucent life on his pale hands.

Rya isn't Royalty, but the single violet-band tattooed around his neck indicates High-Society. He is the only person kind enough to accompany Xru'lar at meals whenever he's in the Jia'rur. It's hard to believe he's just older than Xru'lar. An unpretentious sophistication about him sets him far above his peers. Secretly, Xru'lar tries to emulate his effortless confidence and fails.

Rya chooses not to address Xru'lar's sneaking in and says, 'Sorry, I couldn't be at meals.'

'It's alright,' Xru'lar puts his head down.

'I won't tell anyone,' Rya promises. 'I know you go out every night.'

Xru'lar's head snaps up. If Rya knows, others can.

'I don't think anyone else does.'

The observation doesn't pacify Xru'lar. He glimpses Rya's tattoos, then his hands bereft of them. Suddenly, he wants them.

Rya bows, 'I must go.'

Xru'lar returns the gesture.

Rya turns and pauses. Facing Xru'lar, he adds, 'The Um'rei-Ru heirs are arriving to keep from the war.'

Xru'lar beholds Rya, who's anticipating his reaction. He doesn't know what to say. It makes no difference to him; they'll ignore him too.

'It also means that she's coming.'

Xru'lar's lips part at Rya's words.

* * * * *

She's coming to Xroui'lm.

Xru'lar has heard of her all his life. It's hard not to know of her; she's the other Eo'ar's prophesied. But, unlike him, she's blessed. By Ance. Light.

Ytéan's Defender. Light's Radiance. Dark's Destroyer. The world has anointed her, God's chosen, with sacred names. The world celebrated her birth whilst on the very same night they mourned his.

Iro'va and Ruh'vi guaranteed him they'd never meet in their lifetime. The Tv'orm warns to keep them apart, as does the Utzrn in Xzia'on, who first foresaw their births. They fear Xru'lar, Ahst's vessel, will taint her and allow Ahst to obliterate Ytéan. Somehow, they make it Xru'lar's fault. He's forever the misfortune.

Is it a twist in fate that the two will be in close proximity?

Or is it meant to be?

Xru'lar beholds his reflection in the antique mirror lazing in the corner of his room. He's in green and gold, Um'rei-Hi'er colours. His gw'xun, the Izarni robe and slacks, is the forest's dark-green during an Izarni summer's twilight. Gold thread and gems vine the gw'xron, the robe. Three gold chains sit lapel-to-lapel, holding the overcoat in place. A gold-band, jewelled with white stones, cinches the coat around his waist. Gold cuffs hug his wrists, and fancies decorate his hair. Xru'lar has attempted Rya's top-knot. But it sits half-messy with white-gold strands brazenly escaping their captive bun, framing his face. He huffs, not wishing to make a fifth endeavour at correcting it. It's what it is, unreliable as him. Ruri will laud his efforts if not the results.

'Silver hair deserves silver robes,' Ruh'vi once groused.

But Xru'lar is Um'rei-Hi'er, more influential than Um'rei-Kvi'mrn. Not that Zyr'h isn't taken by them too. Um'rei-Hi'er is one of the most powerful Clans. Also, they didn't deem Xru'lar an auspicious heir to Iro'va. Obviously.

Xru'lar's Comm. beeps with a message from Ruri. Where are you?

Arriving, he types back.

Xru'lar drifts through white-walled, wruz-blue floored corridors, hands wringing the gw'xron's long sleeves. He's apprehensive about seeing her for the first time. Ht'zru Ruri and Roé Kvi'mrn have counselled him to stay away from her. The Tv'orm escorting her will watch him. If he gets close or attempts to hurt her, that'll be the end of him. He doesn't know if it's exile or death. He doesn't wish to find out. It's a wonder, though, that they haven't killed him already.

Xru'lar emerges onto the Grand-Entrance. Wruz-blue walls perimeter circular grounds. Kvi'mrn Royal Guards protect the triangular-doorway. Xroui'lm is known for its exquisite, embellished triangular-doorways just as much as its glittering white sands.

A stout knot waits in the centre for the guests. They must be close because Roé Kvi'mrn is with Ruri. Ruri's light-green aura swirls with brownish-orange anticipation and bright-yellow excitement. Brown-red frustration overtakes Roé Kvi'mrn's yellow aura. He'd rather have this show over and get back to his office. Xru'lar sees people's auras as most Ytai do. Everyone has basic-auras constantly around them, and other colours flit in and out depending on mood, emotions, and thoughts. Generally, if people are powerful enough and well attuned to their aura, they 'feel' when someone sees it. Everyone needs an incantation to see auras. Not Xru'lar. Also, even the most powerful people never 'feel' his scrutiny, including Iro'va and the Tv'orm, adept at aura-reading and aura-shielding. They also can't shield their auras from him. Another reason for people to fear him.

Ruri scans the thicket of people, and when her eyes fall on him, she mouths, 'Stay far.' He agrees with a nod as if it's not ingrained into his soul and proceeds to where Rya and his friends are near the entrance. Rya acknowledges Xru'lar with a dip of his chin, examining his Um'rei-Hi'er ensemble, eyes narrow. Xru'lar has noticed Rya checking out the Um'rei-Kvi'mrn single violet-band tattooed around his neck, the lack of silver-tattoos, the missing winged-star bracelet every Kvi'mrn wears around their wrist, and the Um'rei-Hi'er single gold-band that kisses his nose going from cheek-to-cheek. Rya can't determine if Xru'lar is more Kvi'mrn or Hi'er. But when one is Ahst's vessel, little else matters.

A distant whirring takes root on the desert-air, infusing eagerness into the crowd. It's one thing to hear about her. Seeing makes her real. A hive of fly-pods descends, waking sand from slumber into frenzied pirouettes. The welcoming-party is prepared with face-shields. Xru'lar, fingers rapping against his thighs, views the fuss that commences with the Tv'orm appearing first in their dark-green gear. The Tv'orm don't intimidate him. He's from Izarn where warriors train to become Tv'orm, Defenders. Izarn teems with their compelling presence. The Tv'orm move to the fly-pods in the middle, and the crowd coagulates around them. Xru'lar is tall; still, he can't see over the swarm of silver hair to the dismounting Royals. Rya's friends grumble, propelling themselves onto their toes. The crowd gasps in awe, and whispers erupt. He hears Roé Kvi'mrn welcoming them. The knot unravels, unveiling the guests.

At last, Xru'lar catches a glimpse of her.

And she sees him.

Her eyes land on him like she knows he stands there. And only he exists. Xru'lar feels a warm tingle of power kissing cold-knots onto his skin. Her eyes never waver from his as she follows Roé Kvi'mrn. An enyr, tall as her, trails her like the Ru Royals.

'She's beautiful as they claim,' Rya's friend says.

'She's more than her beauty,' Rya admonishes.

Xru'lar watches her, overpowered, not by fear, awe, or praise of her beauty. He doesn't know its name yet.

But it's real.

* * * * *

Later that night, Xru'lar relaxes on the steps bordering the shr'dyt pond, dipping his fingers into the cold water. The wruz are long gone for the night. Only Ytéan's whispered-secrets soughing over wind brushes his ears, ancient and holy. Like her. He can't get over the smile she gave him before turning. Nor the strange feeling dusting his senses since her arrival.

Soft, padded footsteps reach his ears. Xru'lar springs up. He spots the enyr under the doorway; wings tucked back, the creature, dark as night, wanders in. Its eyes glow violet, watching him. He stiffens as the enyr sits by him. Behind it, the other Eo'ar's prophesied walks in. With her presence, it builds - the inexplicable feeling caressing him. It's intoxicating. She coasts closer, and the feeling lulls him in its power. It's domineering. It's tempting Xru'lar to willingly drown himself in it, relinquish control, and embrace chaos. She stands on the first step leading to the waters. There are four more steps between them; a wedge, so vast, a gap, too tiny.

They study each other. She's assessing him like she wants to locate the best angle to drive her blade through him. It's hard not to notice her beauty which has captured many and garnered accolades. Her skin is warm light-brown, smooth, and glossy as a polished sword. Silky, black locks tumble over her shoulders to her hips and are intertwined with golden hair-strands shining like they've devoured Lh'ean and Iro'h's fires. Her eyes, the darkest shade of brown, appear black as the darkest corners of space. Red lines her eyes, and three dots perch on the outer-corners. She's Um'rei-Yri, though only her skin and red eyeliner declare so, for she's dressed in Um'rei-Ru colours - black and red.

'Dhai'va,'

Xru'lar inhales sharply. And it hits him - the name of what he feels since he laid eyes on her. Familiarity.

She descends a step, leaving three separating them. Xru'lar takes a deep breath to calm his drumming heart. His lungs, more rigid than the im'zur's vines, hinder his breath. He seeks her aura. It's a fiery red; a red so pure, Xru'lar hasn't seen it before.

'I'm Tài-Xzia'on Bo'un Yri Dhai'va,'

Tài. She mustn't use it. Um'rei-Ru captured Xzia'on, and the entire land is Firi-Xzia'on. It's trea....,

'You're to know my name for one day I'll kill you.'

Xru'lar roves his eyes over her; her intense conviction fails to invoke the terror she intends in him. Her aura divulges no emotion. She's like him.

The enyr peers up at him. Xru'lar says nought, wanting to leave before he's caught conversing with her. It won't matter that she approached him. It's inevitably his fault even when it isn't.

'Do you not speak?' Dhai'va frowns. 'Stop staring; I'm beautiful. Everyone says it. I know you think it too. Speak.'

Her words embolden Xru'lar. He climbs one step closer. She gulps at the depleting distance as he takes another step up. No more steps isolate them, only their will. He half-expects the enyr to attack, but it's unmoving, watching them.

'No, not beautiful,' Xru'lar corrects her.

Dhai'va frowns, more confused than angry. She is beautiful. One must be blind not to know. But,

'Powerful,' Xru'lar whispers, holding her dark gaze.

Dhai'va's lips part.

Xru'lar moves away to the door. He turns and says, 'If you're to kill me, you're to know my name.'

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