Crises and Revelations

## Prologue

Ash and cinders stung the cavity of Struki’s nostrils as she breathed in the air of the shattered arcology. Looking around Struki could she the once grand, mutli-tier sandstone towers that had made up the city’s skyline reduced to charged and crumbling mounds of burning, melting dust, the very sky above chocked from blue to smog grey from the ever oppressive ash, the water ways that interlaced the city allowing for transport across the arcology were now chocked with burning garbage, refuse, and charred bodies. From the looks of it whatever had hit this colony had simply just piled the bodies of the dead and their belongings into the water ways as a quick, dirty, and convenient method of disposal.

Looking back to the shuttle where Struki and her guards had emerged from onto the ashen surface Struki motioned for the guards to hold their position while she ventured out into the cities ruins. Struki knew that it wasa foolish for her to go alone but there was something she needed to do by herself. Dragging up her scarf over her mouth and nostrils and block out the ash, Struki soldiered forward a look of grim determination setting itself into her eyes reddened from the values of shoot that swirled about the air. As she ventured forward Struki remembered how this had all began:

House Vinnari had just received permission from the Great House Avira of the United Persan Descendants to expand their holds into uncharted territory at the galactic rim. After mouths of surveying the expeditionary teams had finally found a stretch of land suitable for creating a a new arcology and stretches of farmland. Struki’s own sister Auvia had set out help lead the development of the new colony, the very reason Struki was here now, slithering through the ashes.

Not but a month ago a distress signal had been sent out from the new arcology followed by a transmission that had suddenly been cut dead. Fearing the worst Struki had assembled an armored unite and rushed out to face whatever threat that was attacking their new colony. And upon arriving had found nothing but devastation. Whatever had happened the threat had already utterly ravaged the arcology. Strangely enough the attackers had taken nothing from the colony, not resources, not people. Just laid the entire thing to the torch, killing anyone and destroying everything before fading into the darkness as fast as they had come.

Surging through the ash Struki eventually found what see was looking for, the home of her sister, and felt her blood run cold. Struki had seen the home before in holovids that Auvia had sent her to keep Struki up-to-date of the arcology’s construction. Auvia had always had strange tastes and had constructed her home to look like a quaint, country style collage with small garden out in the front yard. Auvia had been practically giddy with joy showing her sister around the cottage in the vids.

Now the quaint little home was nothing more then a charred, crumbling skeleton that still smoldered gently in the cinder filled air. The charming little garden once full of vibrancy and color burnt and stomped flat into the ground. Struki could already feel the tears running down her face but she screwed up her eyes and steadied her breathing as she slithered fourth and began to shift through the ruins, scraping away ash and shoving away collapsed, burnt wooden pillars. She would have time to cry and mourn when she knew for sure.

It was when she shoved away the torched wooden door of her sister’s bed room that her worst fears were concerned. Auvia lay on the ruins of her body her body almost completely carbonized. Her right armed raised off her bed and into the air, clench in a fist. While Struki could one hundred precent confirm that the charred corpse on the bed was her sister, in her heart she knew.

Struki felt the strength go out her body as she collapsed to the ground. Laying there and shivering Struki raised her face to the greyscale sky, tears and snot streaming down in rivers across her lined face, grown old before its time, as her jaws opened and she let loose a shrieking, banshee like wail of pain and agony. She wailed, screaming, and thrashed, her own claws leaving bloody slashes in her arms and she dung them in. Eventually she could wail no more her voice going horse from the searing soreness that over took and her throat, robbing her of her ability to speak or make any noise other then a choking, raspy cough.

Barring her teeth in a frustrated grimace Struki looked up and through tear blurred vision saw that there was something clenched in her sisters hand. Crawling over she saw that it was a white and blue scrap of fabric. Reaching out she grasped the fabric and tried to gently pry it from her sister’s charred grasp. She failed and Struki felt herself chocked full of sobs again as she watched her sister’s fingers crumble into ashes in her hands. Eventually the fabric scrap came free and Struki gently unfurled it. It was heavy singed around the edges but the symbol in the center was still recognizable. A great, blue Gryphon spreading its wings, the symbol of the Great House Avira.

Struki’s eyes swam with confusion, the great house had done this? Why? She and her house had been nothing but loyal subjects, sure not exactly enthusiastic participants in the great house’s institutions but they hand always paid their taxes, kept order, and sent levies in times of war. Besides it was their bureaucracy that had approved this colonial endeavor, why do so only to destroy it?

Struki glanced back over to her sister’s corpse and the confusion in her eyes faded, replaced with perfect clarity and his fist clenched around the scrap of fabric. It didn’t matter their reason, they hand killed her sister and massacred thousands of innocent peoples. It didn’t matter what good the great house had ever done for her people or what their reasons was for this act of genocide, they had invalidated themselves as legitimate rulers of the Persan people and even if she had to wait a thousand years Struki would end them.

It was so strange, standing here, looking at her sister’s desacrated body with this simple scrap of fabric clenched in hand as the single proof of who had perpetrated this crime Struki felt not rage but calm. Calm and a perfect sense of terrible clarity of the nature of her purpose going forward.

Something scampered out from under the bed and hide itself away in a shadowy corner of the room. Suddenly alert Struki’s head whipped around as she looked over to see a indiscernible figure crouched in the shadows, two yellow eyes glaring out at her.

“What are you?” asked Struki more to herself then to the thing in the corner as she slithered forward. She saw the thing in the corner tense before lunging at her. Stuki reacted in an instant, on of the clawed hands on her wings shooting out to grasp the creature by the the throat where it futility thrashed and snapped its jaws at her in defiance. Struki eyes widened in shock as she looked at it. It was a young Vanara seemingly just out the egg.

Young Vanara where born fully capable of taking care of themselves but completely feral. It took the guidance of an adult to guide them into sapience. Looking over the youngster in her clutches Struki saw that is was a young male. A young male with gold and blue scales that look exactly like….

“Impossible,” Struki whispered, stunned. This youngster look almost exactly like her sister. Avuia had never told Struki about meeting anyone or that she was pregnant. Grant female Vanara could reproduce through parthogenesis, which would explain the sex of the child (such children were always born male), but again Struki would have figured that Auvia would have mentioned that in the frequent video diaries. And while Struki knew that a DNA test would be needed to confirm her suspicions she somehow new this young Vanara was her sister’s son.

“How by the gods did you survive?”, Struki mused aloud. The small Vanara had stopped Thrashing and was looking at her almost curiously. Struki relaxed her grip on its throat and set it down gently. The young Vanara didn’t run but look at with steady and weary curiosity. Looking back down at it Struki felt a blossoming of warmth in her chest the small creature.

“A fast learner you are,” she said smiling warmly at it, “good, you’re going to need that for what comes next.”

## Chapter 1

Static crackled and hissed over a screen displaying two bipedal warmahinces battling across the sand covered floor of a great area. Both were in the shape of great theropod beasts, though standing more erect then any true theropod ever had. The first was bright, shinning gaudy gold and far larger then the second one. It had a the narrow head of a giganotosaur and spines running down its back. The second was silver and more allosaurian with prominent ridge horns. Both wore sleek and angular armor that conformed around the biological beast contained within.

“Bet you a Glint this is the one to finally do the bastard in,” spoke a gruff but cheery voice from two massive figures that sat crouched around the portable tely.

“You’re on,” spoke a chipper and more feminine voice from the second figure.

“Hey Sirkar,” the first figure called out to a blue and silver Vanara decked out in strange organic armor and with a curved hardlight blade strapped to his side who was currently not sitting around the portable telly and was instead inspecting a large, sturdly built, golden door covered in mildew and other bits of dried on fluid, “you want to get in on this?”

Sirkar turned over to the figures watching the telly. The one who had spoken was a massive red Vulkai named Torro who was currently decked out in heavy techno-organic armor with a large war club strapped to his side and a shield holstered upon his back. The second was a blue Trahoxi named Surathi who wore lighter armor of the same techno-organic nature and had a bow strapped to her back. They were his oldest friends and the only people who he would have trusted to go with him on this little investigation. Technically speaking none of them should have been here, skulking through ancient catacombs looking for ancient tombs. As the scion of house Kinniran Sirkar should have been sitting in on the annual meetings of the various clans of the house which his mother, Magus Struki, was currently presiding over. Protocol should have dictated that, but Sirkar found the meeting too boring to hold interest and so had flown off in his shuttle to go and work a bit more a digsite that he had discovered around a month ago. Besides House Kinniran was a republican house, it democratically elected its leaders rather then having them inherit the position, so the only way Sirkar could ever inherit the position was if he ran for office after his mother’s retirment, and Sirkar had no intention of ever running for office. Shaking his head Sirkat called back, “naw I’m good, I know how this is going to go.”

“Suit yourself,” Torro shrugged.

“Hah, see Sirkar knows I’m right,” laughed Surthai earning her an elbow from her brother.

“Oh shut up and watch,” Torro grumbled turning back to the telly.

A cheer crackled through the speakers on the portable tv and sirkar turned to see the great, golden mech cut down the silver one with a single swing of its sword. Blood spewed as the sword cut through the machinery and into the biological mass below before a goat of flames ended both mech and pilot as the fusion core was pierced. Sirkar sighed and shook his head, another win for the Ipsissimus, another win for the great house. It was to be expected. It had been a long standing rule in Persa that the any house could challenge the current great house for its position of hegemon over all off Persa if they could defeat the Ipsissimus in one-on-one combat in a synthorg mech. The techno-organic warmachines that had defined Persan combat for longer then anyone could remeber. Of course eversince house Arkan had taken the position of great house none had been able to defeat them, they were unbeatable.

Torro groaned in open disappointment and Sirkar could swear he detected a grunt of disappointment from Surathi as well. Sirkar himself sighed sharing in his friend’s disappointment and shook his head. While he knew in his heart how this latest challenge was going to go down he would be lying to himself he said that he didn’t wish it had gone the other way around. He didn’t preticularily like the great house, something he had inherited from his mother, as house Kinniran was decidedly opposed to the great house politically, what with house kinniran and his mother being leaders among the republican movement of houses seeking deomcracy and the great house leading the monarchist movement seeking to retain the current monarchy. While the old ipsissimus had been willing to meet the republican houses half way and compromise, establishing a parliment to check and balance the ipsissimus’ power, his heir (who had taken the position no long before Sirkar had been born) had been decidedly less cooperative and had pushed against the republican houses at every oppertunity. So aggressive was he that he had splint the monarchist party in two and stalled out parliment to the point that it hadn’t been able to get anything dione in years. If it wern’t for the autonomy of the house to manage their own internal affairs Persa might have fallen into a state of collapse long ago.

No for the first time Sirkar could envision himself piloting a mech and striking down the Ipsissimus and taking the crown for his mother. Surely he could be the one in a million right to actually do the job right? He knew how to use a sword after all and… He shook his head to clear the thoughts, knowing that voice was his inner storyteller and not to be trusted.

“Just the meaningless dreams of a child,” he whispered to himself shaking his head trying to kill the fantasy which merely lurked back to the corners of his mind rather then vanishing. Redirecting his attention Sirkar turned back to inspecting the golden door. There was an inscription upon the it under which lay a large, embedded gem stone. It was an old Aoshantai dialect but close enough to the one Sirkar was most familiar with, it was a second language him, to make rough translation possible. The inscription was a riddle, and a rather strange one at that.

Behind him Torro got up and shuffled on over, the big Vulkai peered over his shoulder, shifting back and fourth impatiently while sirkar regarded the inscription.

“Ya know,” Torro spoke up finally breaking the silence, apparently his impatience had gotten the better of him, “my mother says your mother never asks for help on anything like this either. Bet I could help you get that door open.”

Sirkar turned his to eye Torro skeptically causing the big Vulkai protest, “what? I can, I promise.”

“Look,” he continued point at the door, “that inscription is a way open the door right?”

Sirkar sighed and rolled his eyes, “yes, yes it is. But its a riddle lock Torro, you have to solve the riddle to open the door. I don’t think this is up your ally.”

“Hey I can solve riddles, I’m good for more then just punching things,” the big Vulkai replied sounding slightly offtened.

“Oh please,” a Surathi chortled from behind the,, “he can’t even solve the every-day crossword, never mind a riddle.”

“Gee thanks sis,” Torro grumbled at his sister’s cheeky tone. Sirkar looked back at the two bickering siblings and smiled. Surathi may not have been Torro’s biological sister but that did really matter. For as long as he had known them the siblings had been inseparable and the three of them had known each other for as long as they could remember.

“Fine you want to bet,” Torro challenged, snapping Sirkar back to reality to see that he was arguing with his sister, “I bet I can solve the riddle on that door faster then either of you.”

“Deal,” Surathi chirp before turning towards Sirkar, “go on Sirkar read it I want to have more ammunition to rub my brother’s nose in.

“And I want to see the look on her face when I get it right,” agreed Torro.

Sirkar felt his eyes starting to roll again as he grumbled good-naturedly, “just do it when I’m not around, I don’t need to be in the middle of another of your little “that time I got one up you” argument offs.”
Both Torro and Surathi started immediately protesting that they’d never do such a thing but Sirkar ignored them and started to read, The part of the bird that’s not in the sky but can swim in the ocean and always stay dry.

There was a rather pregnant pause afterwards and Sirkar glanced back to see that both Torro and Surathi seemed to be mulling it over. Sirkar already had a pretty good idea what answer was but he wanted both Torro and Surathi to come up with one before him. He gave a slight, mischievous smile to himself as he thought about how much funner this was when you had someone to explain this stuff to. Especially when by doing so you got to annoy said person after they had been annoying you the whole way down.

Finally Surathi spoke, “I got nothin, bro how about you?”

Torro just strugged, “don’t look at me, makes absolutely no sense. No part of a bird is ever not in the sky and nothing i know of can swim in the ocean and stay dry. Sirkar what about you?”

Both of them looked over and their eyes began to widden in terror as the saw that misceveous grin spreading further across Sirkar’s face.

“Well you better think of the right answer quickly there bro,” said Surathi nervously, “cause he’s gonna ‘well actually’ us if you don’t.”

“Me,” replied torro looking aghast, “what about you.”

The two of them quickly descended back into bickering as Sirkar straighten his posture and began to explain, “you guys are thinking too literally, the answer isn’t a conventional part of a wyvern. It is actually its shadow.”

Both Torro and Surathi stopped arguing, stared at Sirkar, blinked a few time, looked at each other and blink a few more times before turning back to Sirkar and asking simultaneously, “what!?”

“Well if you think about it,” continued Sirkar feeling smug, “a shadow is part of the bird since it always casts and shadow, but it never flies in the sky cause it’s always on the ground, and since it’s immaterial it can get wet by swimming in the ocean.”

“Yeah that’s cool and all dude,” replied Torro doing his best to sound thoroughly unimpressed but how does that help us?”

Sirkar frowned at that, “I’m not really sure myself actually…”

Looking around he noticed a circular hole opposite to the door throug which the mourning sun was shining through. Following the sun beam it cast Sirkar noticed that it rested upon the gemstone inlaid into the door.
“Hmmm… let’s see about that…” he muttered to himself. Crossing his open palms and raising his thumbs up to form the Persan hand sign for a bird Sirkar raised his gesturing hands up so that they crossed between the light and gemstone. The moment the vaguely bird shaped shadow fell upon the gem stone Sirkar heard the whirling and hissing of locks as the door slide open, painful sounding, grinding, screech echoing across the chamber.

“Well I’ll be,” whistled Torro looking impressed.

“Yeah, I uh, wasn’t sure that would work,” Sirkar stamnered out breathlessly.

“I had faith in you the entier time,” chirped Surathi earning her an eyeroll from her brother.
Flicking on his electric torch Sirkar looked into the once sealed tomb and felt his breath go out of him. Within laid mounds and mounds of treasure. Some golden jewerly and other artifacts, others elaborate paintings, and even other finally crafted woodwork. It was a literal treasure trove of priceless archeological knowledge and Sirkar hand been the first to unearth it, well he and his friends. How many more tombs like this were hidden away with these labyrinthine catacombs.

The room was octagonal in nature, supported by ornate golden pillars covered in twisting dragons and with velvet red walls the color of blood. Pilled all around the room were masses of gold and jewels as well as seemingly more personal items such as clothing, games, and even the mummified corpse of what appeared to be some pet. In the center of the tomb sat a great golden alter, as ornate as the pillars that surrounded it. And upon that alter rested the very occupant of this tomb, the mumified figure of an aoshtai cloaked in withered skin that stretched over the skeleton like a cheaply made body suit and brittle feathers that had long since been bleached of all color.

But the mumified aoshantai was of less interest to him them the particular treasue the figure clutched in its clasped claws. It was a golden chain studded with softly glowing stones in a rainbow of colors. Sirkar practically snarled when he saw the treasure there, he knew exactly what those were, Wraithstones, the psionic impressions of the death trapped within psychoactive crystals, the memories of the Persan ancestors preserved so future generations would not forget their lessons. Lessons and memories that had been denied his people by the greed of the conquistador kings. This was why Sirkar did this, searching for a diving into these hidden tombs. He did to recover these lost wraithstones and recover his people’s lost history.

“Hey,” Torro elbowed him, “ya going to your thing.”

Sirkar realized that he had been just standing there starring gapped mouthed at all the splendor around him and nodded numbly, “uh huh.”
Slithering forward with a grim purpose lighting his eyes Sirkar seized the chain of stones and pulled from the grasp of the dead king. He smiled victoriously to himself as he clutched the prize. Having gotten what he came here for Sirkar began to actually stop and look around the tomb with greater interest. It was full of old Persan artifacts and he’d have to inform the local community about the find when he returned to the surface with the Wraithstone chain as proof. Of most note were the wall panels, which had been loving engraved with seens Sirkar was familiar with. It was the story of the Persacron and the Old Things, the ancient Persan creation myth. Long ago the story went the great Persacron Star Dragons had come down and raised the Persan races to sapience. However, one group of Persacron had sought to control those they had created leading to a great civil war. This war would lead to Malkuth being flooded, becoming the island world it was today, and the old things being entombed beneath the sea, their souls banished to the void where they would become warped and twisted in abominations known as the Old Things. Abominations that still though a way back into their old bodies to resume their rule of the earth.
But what was this story doing carved into the tomb of an Aoshantai conquistador?

Torro and Surathi both stood in door way, neither trusting themselves to move through the tripping hazard prone area without breaking something. After a while Torro spoke up and asked Sirkar, “something up buddy?”

“No everything is fine,” replied Sirkar shaking his head. That he supposed was a mystery better suited for someone with more professional experience then him

Both Surathi and Torro looked at each other. Neither of them believed him but they did not press the issue.

“Well anyway,” Torro said, trying to sound casual, changing the subject, “this is a lot of really cool treasure, why don’t you take some with you as a souvenir?”

The big Vulkai realized that he had make a mistake when Sirkar glared back harshly at him.

“I’m not a thief,” Sirkar replied somewhat snipishly.

“I know, I know,” said Torro raising his hands placatingly, “just seems a shame you won’t take an actual artifact to display in that collection of yours.”

“Yeah,” said Surathi, who had been watchging this exchange somewhat concerned, “you do so much work helping to rediscover our lost past already, why can you have just one small trinket as a reward?”

I can’t let myself be entitled like that, too much damage has already been done by that kind of attitude already,” Sirkar said softly before returning his tone to a more normal volume, “and it’s not a collection, I’m trying to create my own museum.”

Torro and Surathi just look at each other and shrugged while Sirkar shook his head slightly. He liked his friends a lot but they wern’t students of history like him, hell even most other students of history wern’t as concerned with allowing local communities to keep their artifacts like he was. Or at least none that he had met. All had there own arguments for sweeping in and gathering up all they could to take back to their museums and collections. Some of those sirkar could understand and even accept as necessary like getting historically valuable artifacts out of warzones and such where they risked destruction. But others just felt like excuses to horde to him.

With that line of discussion left dead in the water Sirkar took out his PDA and began to go about the tomb taking photos of the different artifacts to ad to his little “museum”, which was in reality was mostly just a small dresser with framed pictures baring informative labels. It took him a good ten minutes to finish up with his photo taking. Eventually though he had to admit he probability gotten about as much useful photography out of this sight as he could. Straightening he looked over to his friends.

“Done?,” asked Torro looking curious.”

Sirkar nodded and the three turned to head out of the tomb when suddenly each of them felt their blood turn to ice as they heard a scrapping and creaking behind followed by a hissing and raspy voice croiaking out the strangled words, “now just where do you think you are going with my prize.”

Turning around almost in sync the three saw that the mummy had risen from its dias and was now standing unsteadily before them. They had had seen such beings before, psionic wraiths possessing their old shell. And each had not only faced but also slain such beings. Still they always were a source of deep seat horror and fwar, perhaps it was just the inherent terror that came with seeing a corpse get up and start walking around.

“The memories of our ancestors are no prize for anyone to possess,” Sirkar stammered out, trying and failing to keep his voice level and sound brave. Truth be tooled he felt anything but brave in the moment.

“Yeah agreed,” Surathi squeaked out, “go back to the concourse and get you’re own ancestral memories.”

“Don’t think he can do that anymore sis,” Torro chuckled nervously not able to resist getting one more jab in at his sister.

The possessed corpse gave out a dust coaked laugh its voice hissing in amusement, “all that Rhya’s light touches is her children’s to claim.”

“We are Rhya’s children as well,” Sirkar growled, “and this is not yours's to claim.”

“You are no children of Rhya,” the creature in front of him scoffed, “you children of the abyss.”

Sirkar’s frown deepened at that, he had heard these things claim such before but he had never been able to get them to elaborate on what they meant. The reason for such a lack of elaboration was soon revealed when the creature suddenly lunged for him. It was move that had caught him off guard when he had first encountered such abominations but he and his friends had long since learned how to adapt.

As the corpse leapt towards him Sirkar’s image blurred and distorted as light bended around him and he vanished from view. It was neat trick gravity control, and while Sirkar was not as good at as he would like what he did know did in a pinch.

As sirkar vanished before its eyes the corpse tried to correct in mid air only to be sent tumbling to the ground as one of Surathi’s hardlight arrows buried itself in the being’s chest.

Torro took advantage of the opening and leapt toward the fallen corpse, his warclub out and crackling with electricity as he channeled his own power over electromagnetism into his club. However, the corpse came to its knees and channeling a golden glowing radiance into its hands summoned a glittering energy shield that absorbed Torro’s blow.

As club and shield met though the air shifted behind the corpse as Sirkar appear behind it, swinging his hardlight longsword which glowed a brilliant purple as Sirkar channeled the power of gravity to increase the blade’s mass. The blow struck home nearly bisecting the walking corpse whose’s focused faltered causing its shield to fail.

Sirkar leapt back, out of the way, as the club struck down with the force of a thunder bolt turning the corpse to dust and filling the room with the smell of ozone.

Torro grunted as he wretched his club from the ground, “ever tell you how glad I am these things don’t make much of a mess.”

“Speak for yourself,” who started to violently sneeze as she accidentally inhaled a cloud of burning corpse dust. Torro started patting his sister on the back until Surathi stopped sneezing and started batting her brother’s paws away.

Sirkar did responded as he sheathed his sword looking down disgustedly at the smoldering black mark on the floor.

“And another one bites the dust,” he muttered to himself trying to sound cool but figuring he just sounded lame, “but how many more are there.”

He shook his head driving the rhetorical question back. It wasn’t worth worrying about right now, he and his friends had dispossed of a deadly monsters and that was something be a little proud of he supposed.

“Come on,” Sirkar called to the bickering sibling already silthering out of the tomb, ‘let’s get out of here.”

## Chapter 2

It was a few days after the incident at the tomb and Sirkar was busy. Currently he was in his room withall the pictures he had taken of the old tomb and the treasures within laid out before him, pictures which he was currently busy framing in black stripes of patter and pacing into a scrap book of all of Sirkar's previous discoveries, as well as pictures of him, Torro, and Surathi grinning at the camera, taking a group selfie or two over what they had discovered. Torro and Surath had gone back to their training in the house guard leaving Sirkar to his own devices with nothing better to do then to scrap book. He normally enjoyed this task but right now all Sirkar could feel was dull sense of ennui. His room as a whole was not a clean place and covered in all sorts of arts a crafts supplies scattered around, unfinished and half painted historical minis, sketches that showed steady improvement but were far from professional artistic quality, and fossils of ancient Malkuthian lifeforms and sculptures recreating such beasts absolutely covered any surface they could fit on.

Someone knocked at the door and Sirkar turned his hand reaching for the handle of his hardlight longsword.

“Come in,” he said closely watching the door. The door opened and Sirkar visibly relaxed when he saw his adoptive mother Struki enter the room.

“It’s good of you to practice caution my son,” said Struki, a laugh twinkling in her eyes as she saw his hand reaching for his sword, “but you need not worry so much about you security in the palace.”

“I know I know mother,” replied Sirkar, “it’s just kinda a habit by now.”

“You listen too much too much to Kral,” snorted Struki, “she needs to cut down on the paranoia.”

Krel was the head of house Kinniran's guard and the mother of Torro and Surathi.

“She has reason to be,” answered Sirkar with a shrug.

Struki rolled her eyes slightly and started looking over Sirkar's shoulder at his current scrap booking endevour.

“An impressive discovery my son,” she said the admiration made clear in her voice, “you’ve out done yourself.”

Sirkar shrugged, “it was nothing really, I had help.”

“Don’t undersell yourself,” Struki growled, “Torro and Surathi followed you down there did they not? None of this would have been even lookec for in the first place without you.”

Sirkar bit the inside of his cheek thinking over what his mother had said for a bit. While he knew what she said was true it was difficult to internalize that fact personally. Giving up for the moment she shook his head to clear the thoughts and asked, “hey mom, was there a reason you sought me out?”

“Oh yes, how terrible of me to forget myself,” Struki laughed before turning over to Sirkar.

“Now you’ll like this,” she said with a twinkle in her eye that made Sirkar gulp slightly, “Kirjinn found a way to open the Mausoleum.”

The mausoleum, the word rang through Sirkar’s head as he slithered after his mother, needing to slow down a bit to ensure Struki could keep up with him. He was both excited and nervous at the sametime. The mausoleum was the tomb of an old aoshatai conquistador king that had ruled over the lands that House Kinniran now dominated. From the records Sirkar had managed to get his hands on the old king had been a prolific collector, or some might hoarder, of ancient Persan art and artifacts. However, the entire structure had been sealed off by some esoteric locking mechanism which apparently Kirjinn, Sirkar’s mentor on all matters archeological and paleontological, had just managed to open.

What sorts of secrets that tomb might hold to the many lost secretes of Persa’s past excited Sirkar but there was something else that caused his nerves and caution to override his enthusiasm.

“Hey, you do no that the old conquistador kings tended to fill their tombs with traps and the like,” called back Sirkar thinking back to his recent encounter with the walking mummy of a lesser Aoshantai conquistador king, “we’re not just gonna waltz in there right?”

“Of course were, and slow down,” replied Struki without a shred of concern in her voice, “what else would we do. Besides Kirjinn should have cleared anything dangerous out, or do you doubt his ability?”

“Off-course not,” stammered Sirkar, “I just, well I just..”

Struki cut Sirkar off by patting his head, which Sirkar hissed and swiped at her for causing Struki to chuckle.

“Your caution is commendable, but have more faith in the people around you,” Struki gently chided.

“It’s not the people around me I have a hard time trusting,” muttered Sirkar under his breath so Struki could not hear, “it’s myself.”
The mausoleum in question was a massive, black cylindrical, tower-like structure that looked like it was made of obsidian or some other material. Whatever the material was its was perfectly smooth, without flaw or crack, and was moderately reflective casting distorted, dark reflections along its surface hughed with hazes of oranges, golds, and purples cast by the light of the setting sun silhouette behind the tower.

A long hallway was carved into the side of the tower leaving two massive stone doors that were currently swung wide open with two Vulkai guards standing watch over the entrance. As Struki and Sirkar approached the guards parted to let them pass and saluted by raising the palm of their hand to their chest with their thumb pointing at their chin.

Passing through the doors Sirkar looked over and noticed carvings etched into the stone of the doors, one for each door. The carvings were of serpents carved in a highly simple and two-dimensional style biting their own tail, each serpent framing a passage of carved hieroglyphics that resembled various alien beasts and races.

“What does it say?” Sirkar asked, squinting at the writing he could not read.

Struki glanced over and scanned the hieroglyphic passages quickly before speaking, “it’s Aoshantai, a very old dialect of it at that.”

“In short it says that if we enter we are doomed,” sighed Struki sounding somewhat exasperated at the dramatic warnings of the text, “talks about being cursed and dammed in the sight of Rhya if we do. Typical conquistador melodrama.”

“Again we’re just gonna walk in,” asked Sirkar, eyeing the darkness beyond warily, “I’m beginning to question whether my mother is the intelligent and cautious leader everyone praises her as.”

This earned him a light cuff across the ears from Struki who grumbled good-naturedly, “smartassed brat, like I said Kirjinn would not have invited us to come if he thought there was an actual threat to us here.”

“Alright, alright point made,” muttered Sirkar who was making a show of rubbing his ears.

As the two ventured deeper into the mausoleum Sirkar’s pupils widened to let in more light. Where most beings would have seen nothing but varying shades of darkness ranging from blacks to dark grays to Sirkar and Struki’s eyes everything was cast in shades of blues and grays. Throughout the halls of the mausoleum were great glass tubes with strange distorted shadows floating within. Focusing on his ability to sense through pits lining the side of his snout Sirkar could feel the heat generated from the shadowy forms and realized with growing horror that there were living beings floating in the tubes. A feeling of revulsion bubbled up inside him like black tar and Sirkar doubled over as he felt himself gag and spit up stomach bile seering his throat and mouth with an acidic burning. Struki put her hand upon his back, patting it gently until he stopped heaving and stood there hacking and coughing for a while.

“Star Dragon’s blood,” gasped Sirkar, “they have people in there!”

“Aye,” said Struki solemnly, “this confirms suspicions me and Kirjinn have had about this place for a long time, it’s not a tomb hiding old artifacts its a lab.”

“A lab,” whispered Sirkar feeling a sense of numb horror growing with in him, “dear gods why am I only learning about this now, why even bring me here!?”

“Because you need to understand who the aoshtai conquistadors were and how they saw our people,” Struki replied sternly but not unkindly, “to thus we were a means to an end, something to exploit for the sake of wealth, fame, and… whatever this is. It is is important that you see the consequences of thinking that you and yours are initially superior to others, be it in matters of race, religion, nation, or otherwise.”

“Can we not get them out!” Sirkar asked looking up at Struki pleadingly, tears forming in his eyes.

Struki smiled sadly at him, “I am glad that you asked that question first. It shows that your first concern is for your fellow beings. Sadly we might cause more harm than good if we tried to just yank them out. We will try but nothing is guaranteed.”

Sirkar sighed before willing himself to struggle forward and holding his head high despite the fact that his whole body was currently wracked with tremors making him shake like a tree blown about in a strong wind. After a moment or two of taking deep, calming breaths he spoke, his voice trembling but clear, “alright, lets go.”

“And are you sure you are ready for whatever horrors lie ahead?” asked Struki.

“No, but I have to move forward regardless. Running away won’t do any good.”

“A wise answer,” said Struki, nodding with approval before continuing to lead the way forward. As they moved Sirkar used his heat sense to trace the heat signatures left by the power lines snaking their way throughout the ways like tunnels left by grubs chewing through wood. As he traced them, doing his best to ignore the heat from the bodies floating in the tubes, he began to notice they were all leading to a massive source of heat situated in the center of the mausoleum.

“What’s that,” he asked Struki pointing down towards the massive source of heat.

“The central computer core,” replied Struki looking forward, “we’re getting close.”

As they approached Sirkar had to tune out his heat sense as the glow from the computer core was getting so bright it was beginning to feel like staring directly into the sun. Alrighty he could feel the air drying and his clothes crackling with static as waves of heat washed over him and Struki who were both beginning to heavily pant from the ever increasing warmth. Getting closer Sirkar could see the form of a silvery blue Trahoxi standing with his wings flared open to dissipate heat. Light cast from the cigarette he was holding in his beak gave a dim view of his face, the most defining feature of which was a large, crag-like scar etched across his beak. Sirkar recognized him and raised his hand, waving, before calling out, “hey Kirijinn.”

Kirjinn looked upon hearing the call and waved back to him., “hey there Little King surprised to see the old hag brought you along.”

“Would people stop using that nickname,” Sirkar grumbled under his breath.

“And kep calling me that and I’ll have you thrown on the guillotine,” replied Struki with false imperiousity.”

Kirjinn just laughed at that puffing on his cigarette, “first pillar rights Witch Queen and last I checked name calling don’t technically count as slander.”

“Well then I’ll just have to have my secret police take care of you,” replied Struki, making a show of crossing her arms and turning her nose up.

“Oh please we both know that if you ever had a secret police I’d be the chief of them.”

The two burst out laughing at that one while Sirkar cringed internally. He hated that joke, mostly cause it had freaked him out once when he had first heard it. It had taken a while for Struki to explain that while Kirjinn was a spy and had the authority to investigate possible threats to house security he had no authority to actually arrest or persecute people. Still Sirkar found it to be a terribly bad taste sort of joke.

“It’s good to see you Kirjinn,” Struki said after the two had finished laughing, reaching out to clasp Kirjinn's forearms.

“And you to Struki,” Kirjinn replied, returning the gesture. Struki nodded before turning to the central computer. It was a massive, black obelisk with multiple screens and a console on each of the four sides. Sirkar could see runic letters, numbers, and different diagrams flashing across the screens in rapid succession. The screens themselves cast an eerie acid green glow across the whole of the room. Sirkar felt a chill going up his spine just looking at the whole thing and shivered involuntarily.

“So,” asked Struki, her hands on her hips, “where our suspicions confirmed?”

“Indeed,” replied Kirjinn, “it was a laboratory dedicated to studying the usually high rate of psionic development in our peoples.”

He spat those last two words out as if they were a particularly gristly piece of meat or bone filled chunk of fish that he had just bitten into.

Struki nodded before asking, “and the people in the tubes, can we get them out?”

“I tried that,” Kirjinn muttered grimly, “they’re all thoroughly brain dead. There’s no helping any of them.”

“Damn,” hissed Struki and Sirkar’s head fell as he felt a profound sense of misery welling up inside him.

“Well, most of them anyway,” said Kirjinn casually. Both Sirkar and Struki’s heads swung over with Sirkar beginning to feel a sense of hope rise up within him. If even a single person could be saved from this, well then maybe…

Sirkar frowned at that, well then maybe… what. He wasn’t really sure but the idea that even a single person could have survived whatever horrors had occurred gave him some sense of profound hope. Thinking about it the feeling didn’t really make any sense, after all one person surviving was logically still a small number compared to hundreds more being rendered catatonic vegetables. Still even with that logic it was impossible to quash the feeling.

“And why didn’t you mention this before,” Struki hissed, looking actually angry for once as she bared her teeth in a snarl and the hood on the side of her neck flared up.

“My apologies,” shrugged Kirjinn, not really providing an explanation before shouting over his shoulder, “you can come out now.”

Sirkar stared in surprise as a figure came into view from out behind the obelisk, exactly the last kind of person he expected to see in a place like this. She was a Vanara, around his age, with onyx black scales with blood red wings and underbelly, icy blue eyes, and long, silver fur that cascaded down from her head, neck, and back in an unruly mane. There was something feral and fearsome about her, an edge of wildness that Sirkar found both frightening and utterly fascinating at the same time.

The she-vanara in question approached cautiously, on all fours, staring with narrowed eyes, suspiciously at the two new visitors. She glared over at Kirjinn with just as much suspicion and growled out, “are these the friends you were talking about?”

“Aye these are,” replied Kirjinn casually, “Akistra, meet Struki and Sirkar. Struki and Sirkar, meet Akistra. She’s my new friend.”

Struki looked over at Sirkar in clear confusion at all this while Akistra hissed at Kirjinn more for calling her his friend and Sirkar could only shrug in response. Shaking her head, Struki slithered over, holding out her hand, “it’s good to meet you Akis…”

She didn’t get to finish as Akistra barred her teeth and snapped at Struki, almost taking off a few fingers before snarling, “don’t think you can touch me!”

She then sped away and hid again behind the obelisk again, peeking out to glare at Struki and Sirkar. Struki turned over to Kirjinn with a raised brow, “little feral ain’t she.”

Kirjinn shrugged, “yeah I’d avoid getting your fingers too close, almost lost mine.”

Throwing down his cigarette and stamping it out with his hoof Kirjinn looked over at Struki before speaking, “if you don’t mind I’d like to talk to you alone for a bit.”

Struki nodded and looked over at Sirkar, “see if you can keep our new friend behind the obelisk company meanwhile will you.”

Sirkar looked over at Akistra wearily, “you sure she isn’t going to eat me or something?”

Struki patted his back before walking off with Kirjinn, “I’m sure you’ll be fine, just don’t make any sudden moves or anything and you should come out relatively unchewed.”

“Thanks I feel so comforted,” sighed Sirkar before sinking to the ground. He looked over at Akistra who growled at him before vanishing behind the obelisk again. Sirkar pinched his brow together and shook his head in exasperation before reaching into the pockets of his robe and pulling out a deck of cards. Most of the cards had electric blue boarders and various wing and fast moving creatures and vehicles drawn on them. He shuffled through them all, occasionally throwing some out the deck before looking through, shuffling again, putting the ones he had thrown out back in again, and throwing another few cards out only to go through the same process all over again. Akistra watched him from behind the obelisk, curious to what he was doing. Slowly she began to creep forward. When got close enough she began to circle in one him sniffing at his cards. Sirkar noticed and looked up with a brow raised, “what are you doing?”

Akistra hissed, baring her teeth and pulled back but did not retreat behind the obelisk again.

“None of your business,” she snapped, “I was merely curious what you were doing, it looks dumb.”

Sirkar scowled at the remark before looking down at the cards in his hand before holding them up so that Akistra could get a good look at the cards and the artwork on them.

“What? Psionic Awakening cards. Where have you been living? Everyone knows about these,” he said entirely forgetting that he had just been told that this seemingly wild girl had been locked up in this lab for the gods knew how long. It was apparently the wrong thing to say as Akistra raised her hackles and snarled at him, “are you making fun of me?”

Remembering that she had been an experiment in this lab Sirkar’s eyes widened with the revelation of the mistake he had just made.

“Wait I’m sorry I just forgot,” he said, backing off hands raised up in front of his chest and waving around frantically. It didn’t do him any good as Akistra’s ears went back as she pounced.

Struki heard Sirkar’s pitiful cries for help and looked over to see that Akistra had him wrapped in her coils, pinned to the ground, and was currently gnawing on his ears. Sirkar’s cries for help turned into ones begging for forgiveness and Struki gave a snort before turning back to Kirjinn. Sirkar didn’t seem to be in actual danger and based on his begging she figured that he might have done something to derserve the ear chewing he was getting.

As she turned she saw Kirjinn lighting another cigarette and glared at him putting her hands on her hips.

“What?” Kirjiin asked, looking at her innocently.

“That’s a nasty habit you have there,” she chided moving her arms to cross over her chest and thumbing her tail on the ground.

“We all got to pick our poisons,” Kirjinn replied simply before exhaling a puff of smoke.

“At least get a pipe so you can look more classy,” snorted Struki before giving him a more serious look, “so what was it you wanted to talk to me in private about.”

“I haven't been entirely truthful with you about where I found Akistra,” Kirjin admitted, “it's true I found her in the mausoleum but I didn’t find her in any of those tubes.”

“Where then?” asked Struki looking around confused not seeing anywhere she would have been that could have kept her alive for that long.

“I found her inside the computer core,” replied Kirjinn pointing toward the obelisk. From the angle they were at Struki could now see a good sized blast hole in the structure that had been hidden from her view before.

Struki's eyes widened as the realization struck her, ``you're not saying that…”

Kirjinn did not reply but merely pulled out a flashlight from the pockets of his robes and clicked it on shining the light over the where Akistra and Sirkar sat. She had stopped chewing on his ears and seemed to have backed him into a corner. From the looks of it she was forcing him to explain a deck of cards he had in his hands and was desperately showing to her. Akistra’s shadow stretched out long, thick, and black as oil against the back wall of the mausoleum. But instead of the shadow of a young she-vanara was the shadow of a wyvern-like fanged beast. A long snout with pointed ears at the end of a long, serpentine neck. A taught and muscular body was held aloft by a pair of bat-like wings and another pair digitigrade legs. Rounding out the whole thing was a long serrated, whip-like tail and back covered in long bladed spines, bristling like the hackles on a dog. Akistra looked over at the light and Struki gasped as she saw the young girl’s eyes glowing in the flashlight beam like icey blue coals..

“They bound a girl,” she whispered in horror, "she's a Therionthrope!"

## Chapter 3

A gleaming, smooth silver pod hurdled its way through the dark black cylinder of the magnetically acclerated ferro fluid of Persa’s mass transit Shoot System. The pod’s destination was the main holdings of Clan Kinniran and within the pod sat a tall cloaked figure wearing a bone white mask which resembled an avian skull. From the figure’s robes trailed a long silver chain that bound the hands and wings of a of a black and red scaled she-Vanara with a long mane of wild silver fur and piercing, icy blue eyes, covered from head to tip of tail in scares and ritual tattoos that would have marked her to many as a priestess of a temple dedicated to Jurathrax, the Persan supreme god of destruction and regeneration. She sat across from him, slouch in a posture of unconcern and disinterest while silently muching on a large chocolate bar.

“Master,” the she Vanara asked after finishing her chocolate a licking the residuals from her fingers tips, looking thoroughly bored with her entier situation, “where are we going?”

Though the words she spoke where respectful at first blush there was an undercurrent of venom to the words that sharpe ears would have easily picked up on.

The cloaked figure growled slight and yanked hard upon the chain causing the she-Vanara to lurch forward slightly.

“It is not your place to question Marchosias!” they hissed in anger.

The she-Vanara looked up from the grit and mud she had been forced into by the unexpected yank of the chain and growled, “do not use that name!”

The cloaked figure spat out a curse and withy a flick of their wrist a silver blade was in their hand which they raised threateningly over their head as they turned toward the she-Vanara. In response the she-Vanara raised herself back up to her full height and barred her teeth, snarling like a beast, her blue eyes glowing blood red and giving off spark. The cloaked figured hissed in discomfort and pulled back their sleeve to grab at their arm, revealing a feathered arm being with electric lines of glowing blue.

“You would not dare harm your master’s brother,” the cloaked figure chuckled weezingly, arrogance tinted with unease.

“And you would not dare harm your brother’s favorite pet and asset,” the she Vanara hissed, humor tinted with venom.

The two stood there for a while, both seizing the other up and seeing what either would do. Finally the cloaked figure put away the knife with a huff and returned to their seat.

“They are a corner stone of prophecy, one we believe could be the down fall of all Persan civilization.”

That seemed to perk Akistra’s interest as her ears flicked and see leaned forward, “and pray tell what might the nature of this prophecy be?”

“I do not know the whole thing,” the cloaked figure admitted, “what I do know is that the prophecy mentions the scion of ‘Those Who Fled to the Far-Shore’ bringing a ‘millennia long reign to ruin’.”

Akistra scowled as she played what her master had just said through her head. House Kinniran would fit the description of “Those Who Fled to the Far-Shore” being as that particular Vanara house had fled from the Vanara’s desert homelands to the lands of the Vulkai to escape the conquests of the Aoshantai Conquistadors. But that could also fit many other houses that had formed from the Vanara diaspora across Malkuth that had followed the Aoshantai’s conquest of the desert, including her own former house. Technically speaking she could be the one the prophecy was referring to. She would certainly like to slay the Ipsissimus that was sure, he had to know that.
Thinking about it more the whole interpretation stunk of politics. House Kinniran had been leading the new republican movement and the demands for democratic reform to the whole of the UPD, something that threatened the power of the current Ipsissimus and Great House. Taking into consideration the paranoia and desperation to reclaim some sense of lost glory Akistra had come to see in the Ipsisasimus as years serving as their attack dog she could see why the Ipsissimus might chosen to make such an interpretation. Anything to get rid of rivals, it was an attitude that Akistra was deeply familiar with.

Also the ending Persan civilization bit, while the Great House had reigned for x so the part of “putting an end to millennia long reign” would make sense Akistra thought it was a bit over generous to think that the death of the Great House would end Persan civilization. Certainly it might end Persan government but civilizations by their very nature outlived their rulers and Persan civilization had survived more crisises of far greater consequence then the death of its rulers, hell Persan government had survived it. It was the surest sign of the Ipsissmus’ and the Great House’s own over bloated sense of self importance. They had come to believe that the mechanisms of Persan culture and civilization revolved around them, that the capstone was more fundamental to structure of said civilization then the base rock that held the pyramid up. It was symptomatic of the cycles of history.

Finally Akistra sighed and simply just slouched back in her seat. She really didn’t want to do this but what choice did she have? At the end of the day it didn’t really matter if they succeeded in this assasanation or not. If the prophecy was true then Akistra was sure it would see itself fulfilled one way or another as these things often did. If the scion of House Kinniran was killed by her hands then another suitable candidate would arise to the deed, maybe his death would bring about the Great House’s fall, maybe this attempt on his life would cause him to bring it about. And maybe, if she was very lucky, Akistra would get to do it herself. And that thought brought the smallest hint if a smile to her face.

Sirkar winced as the sun showed in his eyes and he raised his hand to shield them against the blinding golden glare. Blinking rapidly helped his vision to adjust and he lowered his hand to get a better look at the world around him. Wherever he was it was certainly a forest and it was certainly autumn as he was surrounded by tall, twisting trees whose branches were woven together into a tight knit canopy through which the sunlight was scattered into a shifting pattern of light droplets that danced across the forest floor, a dense, wet, rusty reddish loam of earth broken apart by thick, serpentine roots which snaked their way through the ground like veins. Sirkar could feel his tail partially sink into the earthy loam and flexing it caused the ground to undulate slightly. Overhead the leaves of the canopy blazed with red, organes, and golds as if someone had stained the canopy with the colors of a sunset, all glowing with the light of the sun above allowing Sirkar to trace the paths of their veins and stems through delicate surface which rustled like dry parchment as the wind above blew.

A sudden flare of light lanced down from the sky striking the earth before him and Sirkar saw a pyre of flame shoot into the air like a flickery serpent's tongue before curling in on itself. Twisting and curling it morphed into the outline of a great wolf, proud and imperious, with great draconic wings sprouting from its back and a draconic tail tipped with a pointed spade, and horns which point straight back like blades from the skull. The wolf of flames raised its head and howled blowing the leaves directly above it away and turning them into sparking kindling that spread its flames from one tree to another until the entire forest was ablaze with the warm colors of its own dying leaves.

Sirkar stood transfixed with a combination of awe and primordial terror as the great wolf of flames lowered its head and looked directly at him. Approaching slowly it brought its massive nose over to his chest and licked just above where his heart should be. Expecting pain Sirkar was shocked to feel not an agonizing burn or his whole body seared to the bone but rather a comforting warmth beginning to spread through him from his heart to the tips of his very fingers. It felt as though heated, honey-sweet mead had been poured into his veins.

Looking down Sirkar’s awe and amazement turned to horror as he saw that in his chest was a gaping hole and instead of his heart beating within was a burning, golden flame. Clutching frantically at the hole Sirkar gave a cry and fell back looking up at the great wolf which stood over him looking down.

*“I know your name, I know your face, and you are mine!”*

And then the entire world was consumed in flames.

Sirkar awoke with a gasp, clutching at his chest. He had been having a dream and now that he was awake he realized that he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was. It was frustrating because it felt like he had forgotten something important and no matter how hard he tried could not remember it. With a groan he flopped back down onto his bed and glared up at the rays of perpetual twilight that blared through the window. He groaned and covered his eyes trying to go back to sleep. It rabidly became apparent that sleep was not coming and Sirkar sighed before getting and going about his morning cleansing ritual. It was a fairly arduous task that involved that involved every inch of his body, scrubbing away every last dead and loose scale, and combing through in his entire mane of hair until he had removed every last loose hair. By the time he was Sirkar’s stomach was screaming at him to eat something. Not wanting to put the effort into something more complex Sirkar lathered peanut butter on a corn muffin which he wolfed down in seconds. After brushing his teeth to clear out the peanut butter breath Sirkar steep outside for his mourning walk through the royal gardens.

This was Sirkar’s favorite part of every mourning, the royal gardens where a multi-tiered system filled with a menagerie of plants, insects, birds, fish, and other small critters from all across Malkuth, and even some places from beyond. It was filled with so many sights, sounds, and smells that even after a lifetime of exploring these gardens Sirkar could still find something new. It was made even more magical the mist broken rays of the gold and pink morning sun and the sharp fresh scent of mourning dew.

Deciding to go doen a more well worn path Sirkar had found in the course of his exploration Sirkar was rather surprising to find Kirjiin sitting on the fountain of a large sea serpent with eight heads. Beside him was a small Vanara figure dressed in a flowing white robe. Kirjinnshouted out a greeting and waved Sirkar over when he saw the scion of house Kinniran round the corner. Sirkar waved back and approached curious about the other Vanara sitting besides the spy master. When he got a good look at he his eyes grew wide and he withdrew in shock for a bit as he saw that the figure besides Kirjinn was Akistra.

“Hey there little king,” Kirjinn laughed, approaching, “fancy seeing you out and about.”

“Hey there Kirjinn,” replied Sirkar, eyeing Akistra from the corner of his view. She was standing with her arms crossed, pointedly looking anywhere but directly at either of them, keeping her snout turned up towards the mourning sky. Sirkar had to note to his surprise how expensive the dress she was wearing was. From a distance what he had assumed linen was not at all, it was silk. The dress itself was long, flowing and a brilliant ivory with simmiry golden embroidery at the ends of the sleeves and around the hem. She must have noticed him staring out of the corner of his eyes for she turned and gave him a good show of her gleaming, ivory fangs. Sirkar felt a hot sensation prickle across his ears and quickly focused his full attention on Kirjinn.

“So what’s the occasion,” he said quickly scratching the back of his head nervously feeling botn embarrassed and maybe a little afraid of the seemingly feral girl standing not a few feet away from him.

Kirjinn looked back and forth between the two of them and gave a snort, chortling laugh before replying, “I came here to see Struki, I assume she’s up in her office?”

“I assume,” shrugged Sirkar, looking on in puzzlement. If Kirjinn had just wanted to talk to Struki then why did he bring Akistra?

“Ah good,” said Kirjinn clapping his hands together, “in that case I had a favor to ask of you.”

“Ask away,” said Sirkar with false nonchalance, feeling he had a good idea where this was going.

“Could you show Akistra around the town today?” Kirjinn asked, “I would take her myself but I have important business to attend to.”

“Oh sure, no problem,” replied Sirkar, feeling a wave of relief was over him. It was exactly what he thought that Kirjinn was going to ask him, what luck… wait a minute.

“What!?” Sirkar called out but Kirjinn was already walking away waving back over his shoulder at the two.

“Have fun you two!”

Once Kirjinn was gone Sirkar looked at Akistra who seemed to be regarding him flatly. He really wasn’t sure what to say having just had this situation dumped on him. The only people he had ever hung out with was Torro and Surathi. Akistra was new, and a girl. Sursathi was also a girl but with Akistra that fact was strangely more relevant to him. He knew that a lot of people placed some kind importance on this. He had asked Struki about it once and she had scoffed, stating that a boy and girl hanging out together just meant they were friends, nothing more, and that boys and girls could hang out without dating. Surkar elected to take some degree of comfort in that. He didn’t think that friends described them exactly but maybe that’s what Kirjinn wanted them to become…

“So Kirjinn said that you were taking me on a date,” said Akistra bluntly.

Sirkar blanched at that stammering out, “did he explain to you a date even was!?”

“He said it was when a boy and girl hang out,” replied Akistra looking at him curiously, “I’m a girl, you’re a boy, and we’re hanging out. So this is a date.”

Sirkar started stammering something furiously, unable to properly form words causing Akistra to tilt her head at him.

“What?” she asked, “did Kirjinn leave details out?”

“That womanizing old perv,” Sirkar screamed inside his own head, “he left critical details out!”

“Well you see,” Sirkar tried to explain but fell back into stammering, not able to come up with proper words to describe the difference. He knew there was one, something more, but coming up with a way to explain it was eluding him. He could start talking about romance and all that gunk but Sirkar really could think of a way to explain the concept in a way he found satisfactory. If Akistra had no idea what a date was he doubted she knew of the concept of romance.

“Well until you can give me more I’ll refer to this as a date,” said Akistra grabbing his hand and beginning to drag him along, “come on Sirkar time to take me on a date.”

Sirkar felt like he could have melted his way to the core of the planet with the heat coming from his face.

“So where are we going first,” Akistra asked, looking around the end of her tail beginning to twitch in curious excitement as she looked around at all the buildings around her and people slithering or walking, or even floating through the streets.

“Well,” replied Sirkar, scratching the back of his head, “I like to hang out at the arcade.”

“Ar-ca-de,” repeated Akistra, sounding out the word slowly, “what is that?”

“Well it’s a place where people go to play games on big machines,” said Sirkar, feeling his explanation was inadequate but figuring it would be easier to just show Akistra then to explain in depth. Akistra for her part seemed to consider the proposition as she looked up into the sky thoughtfully.

“What kind of games?”

“Oh all kinds,” said Sirkar listing them off on his fingers, “a lot of violent stuff like fighting games and shooting games, but there’s lots of other stuff like racing games. Really if there’s something you like then it’ll be there.”

Akistra’s eyes seemed to light up at that and her twitching tail turned into a full on wag, “oh yes lets go there.”

She grabbed his hand again and started surging forward until stopping and looking back at Sirkar, frowning and biting the inside of her cheek as if trying to hide embarrassment.

“What?” Sirkar asked.

“I… I don’t actually know the way.”

Sirkar bit back a laugh, which earned him a scowl from Akistra.

“Here,” he said, starting to lead her by the hand, “it’s this way.”

Sirkar was beginning to feel more confident in his choices watching Akistra looking around the arcade, her eyes wide with wonder and tail wagging in excitement. This had clearly been the right choice after all.

“Wow, all the lights and sounds,” Akistra gasped in excitement, almost bouncing up and down, “where do we even begin?”

“Well first we need to get tokens,” said Sirkar rummaging around in his pocket and pulling out a couple of coppers. The arcade wasn’t terribly expensive so long as you watched your money and he didn’t plan to spend all day here. A couple of coppers should give them enough tokens to get a good hour or two in playing the machines.

“Tokens?” asked Akistra looking over at him quizzically.

“Yeah tokens,” explained Sirkar, "you use them to play the machines which spit out tickets if you win. Do really well and you can get a bunch which you can turn in for prizes.”

“Prizes?” asked Akistra again, her ears perking up.

“Yeah prizes, they’re over there,” replied Sirkar pointing towards the prize booth. Akistra slithered over and Sirkar could see a greedy sort of gleam come into her eyes as she scanned through all that was there. Finally her eyes locked on the topmost shelf and she pointed up to a massive stuffed Mayar Raptor sitting there.

“I want that!” she shouted, jabbing her finger in the air, literally bouncing up and down this time. Sirkar took one look at the tag under the thing and blanched. A thousand tickets, no way they’d ever win that much in an hour and not on two coppers.

“That’s really expensive,” replied Sirkar diplomatically, “I doubt we could get that many tickets in an hour. Besides there’s plenty more prizes there.”

“I want the giant raptor,” Akistra huffed, crossing her arms, “nothing else will do.”

Sirkar sighed and dug out a silver piece from his pockets instead.

Contrary to Sirkar’s predictions they had left the arcade in about an hour and a half, with Akistra looking rather pleased with herself as she trotted around carrying a the massive stuffed Dvottie in her arms and decked out it enough cheap, plastic jewelry to fill the horde of a Tesar Warlord.

‘An extremely stingy Tesar Warlord with low standards,’ Sirkar thought to himself, ‘but an Tersar Warlord nonetheless.’

He hadn’t thought it possible but Akistra had impressed him. She had displayed an almost ruthless efficiency in gathering enough tickets to the prizes she had wanted. Watching other people play the games first to figure out their challenges and gimmicks, quickly compiling a strategy, and then proceeding to win time and time again. At one point she had taken on a two person shooter game by herself, duel wielding both guns to gundown the foes coming at her on both sides of split screen. Sirkar had helped out when certain games required two players or someone to compete with and had given pointers and assistance on some games of a less violent nature which she seemed to have a harder time intuiting. A good chuck if the time he had been happy to watch her decimate her digital foes, she went at the whole thing with an intensity and ferocity that Sirkar found… strangely alluring. It was not a feeling he had any real experience with and was finding it hard to explain. He couldn’t help but feel that he wanted to be there in the heat of the fight with her, a strange experience since Sirkar usually avoided violence whenever possible.

“So where to next,” Akistra chirped looking back at him, one hand on her waist while the other clutched the stuffed Raptor.

“Well,” replied Sirkar, “there’s a lovely little path along the beach side I’d like to show you but first I think we should get lunch.”

“Oh excellent,” said Akistra, nodding, “I am starving. I assume you will be buying.”

“Yeah, yeah,” replied Sirkar waving her off but chuckling as he pulled out some more coinage.

“How does that work?” asked Akistra coming over to look into his hand.

“Coinage?” asked Sirkar, “you use it to buy things.”

“I know that,” growled Akistra, jabbing a finger at his nose, “in more detail.”

“Oh well,” said Sirkar, sweating, “the coppers are the coins with the lowest value, they’re generally used as pocket money, like purchasing food or snacks or stuff like that. Silvers are the next highest value, they’re worth like four coppers, you’d use them for bigger purchases, groceries or small arms. Golds are the highest value and are used for really big purchases, like you’d use gold to buy a whole ship or a mech or something like that.”

“Huh, interesting,” replied Akistra, looking for the whole world like the subject really wasn’t, “well let us go use those coppers to get some food.”

Sirkar had decided to take her to a local sausage stand that he had been looking for an excuse to visit for awhile. It was hardly a fancy sort of affair but it was filling and most of all cheap. Sirkar liked to be stingy with his money, preferring to save it whenever he could in case of an emergency. As they approached the scent of frying meat hit his nostrils and his mouth began to water. Looking over at Akistra he saw her inhale and begin to actually pant from the excitement, her tail wagging once again.

“Ooh what's that?” she asked excitedly pointing over at the stand, “it smells so good!”

“It’s just sausages,” replied Sirkar with a chuckle.

“Sausages?” asked Akistra curiously, looking at him.”

“Yeah, they're seasoned links of meat. They’re common street food and we often put them in a bun with lots of condiments like onions, pickles, pickled cabbage…”

“Sounds awesome!” shouted Akistra lunging forward, “let’s go!”

And with that she rushed over to the stand, pushing several people out the way as she surged on ahead.

“Hey wait!”, Sirkar called after her before giving an exasperated sigh and moving forward at speed. Shouting apologies to the people who he knocked into or brushed past. More than a few gave disapproving looks and a number shouted for him to watch himself. One even shouted he should watch his girlfriend better as well causing Sirkar to gulp as he felt a sting of embarrassment lance through him at the comment.
Finally he caught up to Akistra, tail wagging, her nose practically shoved into the vats of boiling oil. Her eyes were shining brightly and she seemed to be almost drooling. Coming up to her and panting, Sirkar was caught almost completely off guard when he felt a large, and heavy hand give him a friendly slap on the back. Catching himself before he fully pitched forward and ended up in the dirt, Sirkar looked up to see a burly, dark green Vulkai standing over him grinning.

“Hey there laddie,” the old Vulkai boomed, “you with the lassy over there?”

“Oh yeah I’m with her,” replied Sirkar motioning over to Akistra who still had her nose practically shoved directly into the cooking sausages.

“Tried asking her name myself,” said the Vulkai looking over at Akistra, “she just growled and tried to bite my fingers off.”

Sirkar cringed, “yeah she’s like that. Her name’s Akistra for the record and I’m Sirkar.”

“Good to meet you Sirkar,” replied the Vulkai, “I’m Jarkatt.”

“Well met,” replied Sirkar, taking Jarkatt’s hand and shaking it. He was about to ask Jarket what on the menu might be good when he heard Akistra shout.

“Sirkar, I’ve decided on what I want!”

Sirksar looked up to where she was pointing and gulped audibly as he saw her pointing up at the largest possible sausage on the menu. The bloody thing was damn near five feet long, it was the kind of thing someone ate on a dare not as a meal.

“And I want everything on it!”

“I see you picked up yerself up a wildcat of lass there,” grinned Jarkat elbowing him in the side, “I thought you a small dog, but it turns out you’re quite the wolf!”

Sirkar just rolled his eyes and reached into his pockets before Jarkat stopped with a hand on his shoulder.

“This one’s on me laddie,” the Vulkai said smiling, “gotta do what you must to keep the lass happy. Figure I’ll ease that burden a little for you.”

Sirkar smiled gratefully and placed his and Akistra’s orders.

The beach they took their meals to was a large stripe of tan sand which was tinted with burnt yellow from the sunlight. One one side dark green waves lapped at the shore while the other conifer trees waved gently in the breeze, small, wing reptilians giving out song-like calls.

Sirkar slowly ate his sausage, taking his time not wanting to rush. Akistra meanwhile had wolfed the whole thing down in a few bites and was now busy licking sauce from her fingers.