Company

The darkness of a tavern room greeted Rakshal as he opened teary eyes. Sitting upright, he sighed with a disparaging, humorless laugh.

Alone.

He wiped his tears, taking a moment to scan his surroundings.

He had never been alone for so long.

Leveling his shoulders, he made a dismissive hum and moved to stand. He hadn't taken anything out of his bag the night before, but he assured himself the small, neat space was empty regardless. Though he didn't need to, he had tidied the pallet he slept on, then left the room while securing his rucksack on his back.

Sliding the door shut behind him, the smell of food permeated his nostrils. He smiled with some anticipation and turned down the second floor hall. Others were exiting their rooms as well, nodding at each other and at him, and he idly but respectfully returned the gestures

They walked down the short staircase in silence, and he felt some eyes glance him over. Ignoring them, his stomach clenched with hunger from the smells in the air, prompting him to nearly skip past the countertop of the downstairs restaurant. The moment he did, he sensed a shift in the atmosphere, causing his eyes to pan to a group of men sitting around a corner table in his view.

Bandits. He recognized them.

They, in turn, recognized him.

Looking away, his ears twitched upon hearing their whispering.

I just want something to eat, he groaned.

For the moment, they didn't seem to be bothering anyone. He gave the restaurant a cursory survey before sitting in a small booth for no more than two people. Curling his tail around his left side, against the wall, he closed his eyes.

Within seconds, a waitstaff approached. "Swao, Akh! What can I get you?"

"Anything."

"A..." He could hear the man blink "Anything?"

He nodded. "Whatever you think I might like, whatever you'd like to get rid of; I'm not picky." He made a shrug for emphasis.

After a moment of stillness, the man walked away, his pores oozing with confusion.

Rakshal sighed, leaning against the wall with an internal groan. The bandits were approaching, smelling of booze and strange intent.

"Yo, Monsar."

He grunted, denying them much of a reaction by keeping his eyes closed. A low growl of irritation brought his focus on one of the four men, a hothead. He audibly sighed.

"Ignoring us?" a different man scoffed.

"As usual."

He leaned back against the booth's cushioning. "Do you really want to do this? There are soldiers near…" He peeked an eye open, lazily sliding his gaze to meet that of the man nearest to him. "Isshichi?"

A bright green gaze narrowed deeply, followed by a snarl that curled the man's upper lip. Yet, there was appreciation and familiarity in the scowl. This was just normal banter for them.

Prior to entering Chicheol, hearing his nickname spoken towards him was a slight. When he was very young, his mother would beat people half to death for it. When he finally asked, after witnessing one too many bloody beatings, why it was such a horrible word to spat at him, Aiyool told him something that never quite left him.

She was drunk and halfawake, but he remembered her words.

"You're…royal, Rakka. Heh, more than that, even. A god. Y'might be little, now…but you…you got a power deep So don't let them treat you…like…them."

He never did completely understand her words, and even now, he felt there was something she tried to tell him but couldn't

Isshichi slid into the booth, sitting directly across the table from him, with a steely expression Raising a brow with interest, Rakshal looked him up and down "You got something to say, Isshichi?"

"Yeah." The older man leaned closer, his face clouding with something Rakshal couldn't discern. "There are eyes about the city, and they're looking for us."

Slanting his eyes, Rakshal gave a slow nod.

"Watch your back, Monsar."

This was nothing new. Antagonistic as most outlaws were to one another, in their weird ways, they looked out for each other from a greater threat—and even greater threats than it. Lips tightening, he watched the man and his companions walk away out of his peripheral.

Ominous.

What little he knew of the man, a bandit with a decent bit of notoriety, told him Isshichi wouldn't approach without good reason.

What happened? I was in Chicheol yesterday!

Sucking his teeth, he observed the men leave the establishment, but not before tossing a small bag of stones at a waitstaff. Ultimately, he would learn the answer to the cryptic statement one way or another.

He smelled the food before it came into view; the waitstaff returned with a large platter balanced on both arms. Observing the many dishes atop it, Rakshal could have drooled with hunger.

Meats, vegetables, rice, noodles, soup…

He really needed to pray. If not for that man trying to rob him, he likely would have gone another week without food—or longer.

He gave the man an appreciative nod of thanks after the platter graced his table. Once the man nodded and then left, a satisfied air about him, Rakshal placed his palms together.

Closing his eyes, he murmured, "Shiayni, Atiti Yiwa, for the food."

He ogled at the dishes before him, biting his lip. The food was quite literally overwhelming him, but he started with a simple bowl of rice. He raised his khopt utensil to scoop out a small helping, brought it to his mouth, and took a bite.

An almost sensual sigh emitted from him as tears prickled in his eyes. He had a mighty high tolerance to starvation, but goddamn.

Food never tasted so good.

Rakshal exhaled, stretching as he exited the tavern with a satisfied smile. The familiar yet heavy weight of his bag on his back felt more tolerable, and his body, invigorated. Taking a moment to bask in rejuvenation, he turned his eyes to the sky.

Another sunny day…

Idly, he observed Garwados in the sky and its approximate trajectory over the plane. If he tapped into his more supernatural abilities, he believed the season would change rapidly this year. With a hum, he left the tavern's threshold to land on the Isay Baanen. Slipping his hands into his pockets while leveling his gaze, he exhaled with annoyance.

People bustled at every turn of his head, and there appeared to be more bodies around now despite Faifethin nature to be seminocturnal, but the procession would happen soon. It made sense to attract more people than even JonjaeBoo.

The shining sun and the amiable atmosphere did not distract him from the fact that he was in enemy territory; Isshichi's unusual warning aided him in keeping this mentality.

"Isay Saapebi, Isay Saapebi,
Where are your shoes?
Isay Saapebi, Isay Saapebi,
Where are your eyes?"

He nearly tripped over his own feet, then spun around to watch several children carrying a white cloth fashioned into a very obvious white snake with a black tongue and deep, menacing red eyes. It flopped around in their hands as they ran past, and while people gave some way, several looks of disdain were tossed at them.

Understandably. No one in their right mind would sing a song about Aashubhanay. Had the children even seen the god, or was a deity that ate mortals a joke to them?

Deciding it ultimately wasn't his business, he turned from them with a huff.

Said huff allowed him to take in the scent of a pirate.

"Swao, Rakshal."

Exhaling patiently, he rolled his eyes and panned his gaze to the left

A pale man with exceptionally long brown hair and piercing, bright grey eyes wore a crooked smirk as he leaned against the threshold of a nearby building. People gave him a wide berth, as he dressed as a pirate, but also due to the even taller, far more intimidating figure of a tattooed man beside him.

"Quan. Jakumar." Rakshal acknowledged them with a small nod, then sighed, "What brings you two here?"

The taller man, Jakumar, smirked. He was snacking on a persimmon, cutting into it with a knife. "Could say the same to you," he drawled before taking a bite.

Rakshal cracked a small smile. "Can't go anywhere without you two showing up."

"I'm hurt," Quan feigned, pushing himself off the doorway to approach. "I thought we were friends."

Working his jaw, Rakshal didn't respond to that, deciding to simply pass the older man a dry look.

The two older criminals were acquaintances he made during his time in Chicheol. He couldn't quite read them, particularly Quan, yet he had the strangest suspicion the men had taken a sincere liking to him.

He allowed them to near and come to his sides. Once close enough, Quan gave a softer, friendly smile. "Been a while. Good to see you still lack scars."

Rakshal never knew what to say to them, so he looked away, leading them into a random direction. "What do you want?"

Jakumar popped a piece of the fruit into his mouth "Nothing." He turned a teal eye on him. "What're you doing here?"

"Personal reasons."

"Likewise."

They passed an establishment mere paces from the tavern, and a sound of interest emitted from the older man. "Ay, Quan, didn't you say you wanted a new knife?"

"No, you wanted a new knife," his friend sighed.

Humming with interest, Jakumar diverted towards the shop. Quan looked after him, as did Rakshal, but they didn't stop.

Unbothered by the sudden diversion, Quan took the lead Rakshal trailed behind, certain the pirate wasn't actually leading him anywhere. They had taken mere steps forward when a troupe of judicial soldiers passed. They instinctively slunk into the shadows, eyes fixed on them.

"Have you heard of the Osharswan rumors?"

Frowning, Rakshal glanced at the older man. He repeated the word in his mind, but it was unfamiliar and an unusual moniker. "No."

The soldiers moved on, and Quan was the first to move out of the darkness. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat while turning to lean against the building to their left, and he appeared to look after the soldiers. "Osharswan's a name that's been floating about from the west of the plane. Supposedly, they've been spotted in parts of Khabeyht, too."

"Should we be worried?"

"With that range of sightings? Very. Got my hands on a sketch." He reached into his coat and tossed a scroll over.

Catching it, Rakshal gave him a look before unfurling the stiff parchment.

It was a large but crude sketch, drawn with a shaking hand, perhaps, and showed the side profile of a head covered in an imperialstyle hood; his eyes narrowed at what was likely a golden point at the peak of the covering. Nothing else stood out—until he noticed the beaklike mask.

There was only one person in the entire realm who he knew would wear something like it.

"While Osharswan hasn't been spotted in this part of Chicheol yet, people are starting to get antsy, doing foolish things. We have to be careful." Quan exhaled, head tilting back to look at the sky. "Not to mention there are stirrings of a possible war between the empire and the Indrahtoon."

Rakshal had heard of those. Lowering the parchment, he absently muttered, "My mother had a mask like this once—"

He clammed up, swearing to himself.

While the pirate said nothing, continuing to look upward, the silence told Rakshal that Quan had heard him.

A sudden realization dawned on him, and he took a side step to lean on his leg, staring hard at his companion. "How much do you know, Quan?"

Smirking, the pirate met his eyes with a keen expression. "How much do you want to know?"

"I want to know whose side you're on."

A shrug. "It's complicated"

Rakshal rolled his eyes. "Why do you care about me?"

Another shrug. "I care because I care."

"You're infuriating." In spite of this, he chuckled, then quieted in thought. He looked towards the ground. "Truthfully, Quan, I feel comfortable around you—perhaps more than I should. But I trust my instincts." His lips pursed. "In fact, that's probably all I have to rely on right now…"

He felt Quan watching him closely and curiously.

He gestured to the sketch. "The Malaki Faifeth'hai...have my mother. I think she's Osharswan; she had a mask similar to this, once. It's only a guess, but…that means she's working with them or was forced to work for them. Knowing her, it's the latter, especially considering how they forcibly took her. I've been in Chicheol since then, but I guess I don't quite know what to do. If I had my way, I'd just storm the palace." He scoffed. "But that's foolish as fuck."

Quan made a hum of agreement.

"I guess you gave me my biggest lead. She's being used by them somehow. Now what, though?"

He felt his shoulders relax, realizing he was relieved to have someone to talk to. Briefly, he shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Do you want a way into the palace?"

He blinked, head snapping to look at his companion and into surprisingly serious grey eyes. "Yes?"

"The best way might be to get into the military."

Hawking, he spat to the side. "Fuck you."

"Truly, Rakshal Take the pros into account: getting the Faifeth'hai's trust, and even having an easy way in"

"At the cost of literally working for them."

Quan nodded. "Yes. All you have to do is put aside your pride for a few cycles...or decades...or centuries" When Rakshal glared at him, he shrugged. "It'd be worth it. Just conform for a while. I know it's not ideal, especially if you want to get your mother before something worse happens to her…"

The glare persisted, but so did Quan.

"But, if you showed more of your skill and gave a realistic excuse for it, you'd be able to skip ranks. Easily."

Groaning, Rakshal threw his hands up. "I can't believe I'm asking this: What would I have to do to make such excuses?"

A sly smirk formed on the pirate's scarred face. "Follow me."

Turning around, Quan slipped past him and sauntered away—back the way they came.

Another, more audible groan emitted from Rakshal, but he followed the older man despite his desire to do otherwise.

Ultimately, they returned to the temple where he had seen the group talking of Aashubhanay the day before. The court and Isay Baanen near the temple was clear of people lingering, with less than a handful of visitors entering and exiting.

As they approached, Rakshal slowed to scan the surroundings with his senses .There was no sign of another deity in the area, so his shoulders eased and he moved to Quan's side as the older man entered the building.

The calming smells of incense reached his nose the moment they walked in. Inhaling deeply, he scanned the pristine white, silver, and blue space. Fish and sea mammal bones hung from the ceiling, on walls and as candleholders fashioned into art common for the Faifethin, and deep blue baubles glistened as if they contained a piece of the ocean inside them.

Further within, to the right of a long hall, stood a large statue of Atiti Yiwa further inside. He heard Quan say something to a nun but didn't pay attention.

The world came to a standstill.

The statue was already imposing, carved from the bones of a whale and meticulously pieced together, as was common for such large statues of Atiti Yiwa in Saheeleth. It was art, truly.

Yet, even before a mere statue of his god, he felt…small.

With every step he took towards it, he felt the mental shields around his emotions flicker and shatter. His thoughts lingered on his mother's capture, of the many painful months of uncertainty and fear alone in Chicheol, and of how his heart had hardened.

Or so he thought.

He stood in front of the statue, in awe. His older brother—who honestly made for a lousy sibling more often than not—once said, if enough believers create an idol of the divine they revere, the being itself could sense and acknowledge the idol, putting a small piece of themselves into it. It would never be any meaningful size, barely a grain of salt, but it would be enough for them to sense when they were worshipped or called upon.

Now that he stood in front of it, a magnificent statue that resembled Atiti Yiwa holding a tuff of cloud in his palm, Rakshal couldn't help but wonder if the Great God could sense him now.

He all but fell to his knees and lowered his head. Swallowing, he felt the desire to scream or cry or shout or something rise in his throat, but he suppressed it. He wouldn't dare.

If he prayed this very moment, it would be the first time he did so in many long years. His mother didn't pray; she had some strong aversion to it for reasons he was never told, thus he rarely did so. But now…

Slowly, he placed his palms together. The gesture felt foreign, almost taboo, before the statue. It felt as though the Great God could see right through him, and he felt grievously pathetic. Taking a deep breath, he dared to whisper a short prayer.

Warm liquid rolled down his cheeks. Biting his lip, he repressed the urge to sob, and slowly opened his eyes.

He didn't move until he was sure he could remain composed, then stood. He bowed deeply at the statue, kept his palms pressed together, and took two steps back. Only then did he lower his hands and turn around while wiping his tears.

Further ahead, he spotted Quan's dark figure speaking to an abbess. He took a moment to observe her, noting she was the same abbess he saw the day before. He hummed, approaching.

Quan noticed him and smiled, motioning to the woman whose head turned to look at him. If they noticed that he had cried, they didn't react.

"Rakshal, this is Zurooei, my older sister," said the pirate. "She'd be able to help you feign some backstory if you decide to join the military."

Eyes the same bright shade of grey smiled keenly at Rakshal. Zurooei bowed her head. "It is an honor to meet another godling in Faifelethiti," she said, her voice quiet and motherly.

Tensing, Rakshal rapidly blinked, then glanced at her brother when he balked. After a second, he sighed. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised a person of faith can sense what I am."

"I KNEW there was something about you!" said Quan, a fist to his mouth and eyes slanted.

"Must be the tail." Rakshal cracked a smile. "I am the younger brother of Wukongshen"

"Ay, this means you don't have any defects." Quan paused, then made a sheepish smile when his sister passed him a disproving look.

Rakshal wasn't bothered. "Yeah. Fangs, tail, claws; just part of being a monkey shishen."

Quan nodded, mouth scrunching with appreciation. He cocked up a brow "Should I bow?"

"Fuck you, man."

Zurooei's smile softened. "You were also raised by Aiyool."

Rakshal opened his mouth, then merely nodded. Quan wouldn't know his mother, so he figured it was fine to acknowledge this. He then realized what this meant. "I imagine you know her, otherwise you wouldn't be alive."

She gently chuckled. "Wasihls never cease to amuse me."

This time, Quan gasped, head snapping to look directly at Rakshal. "WHAT?"

Rakshal grimaced. "Might as well tell everyone"

Though her smile became wider, Zurooei made an apologetic nod. "I trust my brother, as can you." Her head slightly tilted. "As I understand, you are trying to get into the palace to rescue your mother."

"Yes."

"I see. Indeed, I can aid you, but…" She slightly frowned with concern. "Do you truly wish to join the military?"

Pursing his lips, he took a moment to answer. "I have to think about it, truthfully. I'm aware of the gravity behind such a choice."

She nodded, her gentle smile returning. "Very well. I may also aid you with a place to stay—both of you."

"Ah." Quan cracked his signature crooked grin. "I'm good, Jiayni. I've to get back to Jakumar; he's probably caused a brawl or something," he chuckled.

Rakshal watched with interest as the pirate leaned to give his sister a kiss on the cheek. Upon seeing her tender smile, he realized he was watching and looked away.

Keekaa…

A hand landed on his head Reflexively, he swatted it away, but it was just Quan, who gave an undaunted smile. "See you, Rakshal."

"Ah, yeah." Rakshal paused, then faced him. "Thank you, Quan. Sincerely. Thanks to you, I…finally found someone I can trust, someone my mother trusted."

"My pleasure. Sincerely." Quan chuckled when Rakshal shoved him, then waved as he turned to walk away.

Watching after him, Rakshal couldn't help but smile.

Once the pirate disappeared down the stairs, he turned to look at Zurooei. She had taken a few steps away and motioned for him to follow. He approached, walking in step with her in the hall parallel to the praying space.

"You're tired."

He looked at her. She walked with a small smile, but it was somber. "I…am," he acknowledged. "Yeah. I honestly didn't notice just how much." He glanced at the statue before it disappeared around the corner.

His gaze went to the floor in thought. He hadn't truly rested since his mother was taken.

Since he heard her scream.

His unexpected, slight shudder caused his tail to go erect, and it prompted him to take a deep inhale.

I'm alright, now, he assured himself.

The hall led to an intersection with halls to the left and right, and a large room directly ahead. They continued into the room, lightly decorated with bones and light blue drapery over a large window in the back of the space.

A small sitting area with pillows and a low table stood at the center of the room. Zurooei led him to it, motioning for him to sit. Removing his bag, he moved to sit on the floor atop a pillow, resting on his heels. When he looked up, Zurooei had a teapot and cups, and she settled the tray at the middle of the table before joining him.

"Would you be comfortable telling me what happened?" she asked, pouring a cup of what he smelt was green tea.

When she offered him the cup, he took it gratefully. "Yes…" He brought it to his mouth, looking into the dark green liquid to stare at his dualtoned eyes in his reflection.

After taking a sip, he explained what happened from the moment he awoke beneath the tree to present day. Zurooei listened carefully, her expression softening whenever he spoke of the hardships he endured. He felt numb as he spoke with a twinge of aloofness.

However, the initial apathy slowly gave away to weariness, then sadness, and soon, his throat had constricted.

He tried to play it off, shrugging, after he finished explaining, and avoided Zurooei's gaze. "I've made it this far All my wounds healed, I made some acquaintances." He rubbed his nose, shoulders rising and falling.

She didn't respond. Glancing at the table, he saw she had finished her tea. He had barely touched his.

Swallowing, he cleared his throa.t "How do you know Aiyool?" He finally took another sip of his nowcold drink.

"Ahh," she sighed, a wistful look gracing her features. Her eyes briefly closed. "I helped take care of her when she first visited Saheeleth, so very long ago now; a few thousand cycles She would get into so much trouble.”

He met her gaze, a smile forming upon seeing the humor and nostalgia in her eyes. "Yeah, that sounds like her," he softly chuckled.

"Mm. She called me her sister, Zooi."

He blinked. "Wait…you're…Zooiyiba?"

She smiled widely, eyes sparkling. "Indeed."

He nearly jumped at her, eyes wide and mouth flapping, from the strongest desire to hug her. His mother told him countless stories of a woman named "Zooi", someone she treated and spoke of like an older sister. That would make her his aunt.

Zurooei noticed, emitting a soft laugh. "You may, Rakshal."

He moved the table aside as gently as he could manage, then all but threw himself at her. Her arms gently wrapped around his body, and she emitted a soft, fond chuckle. She was warm, smelling of vanilla and jasmine incense. She smelt and felt like a kind person, of a mother, though not his, who smelt of violence and alcohol, yet…

Tears prickled in his eyes, and the constriction in his throat returned with a vengeance. A soft sob escaped him as she slightly swayed side to side, and it soothed him to his bones. He started to cry, squeezing her tight, but she didn't seem bothered.

He emitted incomprehensible sounds as he tried to speak. She softly shushed him, placing a hand on the back of his head, and ran her fingers through his locs.

He hid his face against her as his mother's last scream echoed in his mind.