“What about this one?” Elia muttered to herself, levitating a spare screen over her prototype. She analyzed the screen with extreme care, practically gluing her eyes to the glass frame as she considered its possible inclusion from all possible angles – overall design, manufacturing cost and quality control – but ultimately shook her head and discarded it, letting it crash into the bucket with the rest of the unwanted frames. This one wasn’t fitting her standards either. It had a smudge.

She pushed off her naum rings onto her work desk, removing her ability to levitate objects about, and ran her fingers through her kinky black hair anxiously. If she was to make a comeback on the international stage, her invention had to be flawless! Not only that, but this prototype had to be completed by tomorrow; Big Sister Soránne was going to be assessing it. It took weeks of planning and constructing to get it to this stage. However, if she brought it the way it currently was, incomplete and sloppy-looking and without field-testing… Her stomach began to ache.

“Elia,” Kyré squawked. “Elia! Elia!” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his bright turquoise wings flap persistently near a pile of glass screens that she hasn’t reviewed yet. “Elia! Elia! Look, look! Elia, look! Elia, look!”

Frustratedly, she slammed a clench fist on her desk and turned towards her pet kirili. “For the love of Nakoi, what is it, Kyré?” she roared furiously like a lion. “Can’t you see mama’s inventing?”

Instead of responding, he just stood there and shook frantically like he was just doused in this morning’s snow water. Kyré wrapped his large, gorgeous wings around himself, shielding his light brown underbelly and his strong legs. “Calm, e-e-Elia,” he stammered. “Your powers. c-c-Cold. r-Really cold.”

Seeing her beloved pet tremble and shake pacified her anger. Her Weapon Wielder powers always leaked out whenever she was too into her emotions, making the air around her freeze and icicles grow. If only she had more time in the day to train and control it. Inventing is all she seems to do now, from sunrise to sunset. Like a drug, it takes ahold of her and lasts for weeks, consuming her and leading her to lash out when things aren’t going as she meticulously planned… But no one, Kyré included, deserved to be at the brunt of her anger; Elia wasn’t like Empress Amphitrite the Great, the sixty-fifth Weapon Wielder of Athesan who, despite conquering the other three realms and giving birth to the prosperous Athesanian Empire four hundred years ago, was simultaneously known for treating the other three Weapon Wielders and the colonies that she ruled over with extreme force and brute laws, such as mandating Athaese to be the sole spoken language used in schools, businesses and institutions of higher learning all across the realm as a method of control. “Sorry,” Elia replied softer and calmer. “Better?”

The kirili glanced upward for a moment, his small black eyes squinting in thought. “Much better,” he replied with a bob of the head. “Warm, good. Cold, bad. Very, very bad.”

“Yes, I know.” With a smile, Elia scratched underneath his long and sharp pointed bill, making her small companion tweet with pleasure. “I’ll be very careful next time, I promise. So, what was it you just had to show mama, huh? Go on, I’m all eyes and ears. Just be quick, okay? Mama’s a little busy right now.”

As though fishing for newly hatched tadpoles in the pond beneath a grand Essence that hovered high in the cloudless sky, Kyré used his strong beak to swiftly move the mound of glass frames from side to side until he just stopped. “Found it,” said the bird, rotating his head like an owl to peer back at his owner. Then, he realigned his body in a snap and climbed up to the Weapon Wielder of Athesan’s shoulder. “Go on.” He playfully tapped at the four-year-old sapphire-studded nakaf piercing that sat beneath Elia’s bottom lip. When she first entered her menstrual cycle, she received the piercing along with her breast scar in a holy Nakoic ceremony; from that day forward, she was now considered an adult of marriageable age and Nakoi’s constant protection was forever etched into her very skin, reminiscent of the way the Great Snake Mother protected her defenseless human children from her jealous draconic kin as told in the sacred stories. Elia took great pride in them. “Go on,” Kyré repeated. “Go look.”

“Alright, alright,” Elia replied with a chuckle. She slid her naum rings back on and tapped the frame; bright green light radiated from the two objects but quickly simmered down, resembling a faint flame. With exaggerated care, she hovered the glass and steadied it. Using the soft afternoon light that filtered into her bedroom, she analyzed the small, translucent substance. No smudges or scratches so far.

A giddy smile appeared on her face as Elia moved with budding excitement. With a sudden flick of her hand, the glass glided over to her prototype’s sturdy, oval structure and, upon evaluation of all the design and monetary viewpoints….

“It’s perfect,” she whispered. All the nervousness and stress that once clouded her mind vanished, allowing true ataraxy to reign freely.

“I know,” cried Kyré with a proud tone. His wings flapped with excitement.

Feeling an overwhelming sense of relief, Elia began to twirl about her bedroom like a vortex of water. Kyré followed his owner, flying and singing brief toons; blurs of her cluttered bookshelf and unmade bed whipped about–

CCCCCCCCCRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Halted in the middle of her tracks, Elia’s heart slumped into disbelief and her eyes grew wide. Laying on the floor in front of her door was the remains of her prototype’s screen, shattered into chunks, large and small.

“No, no, no,” the Weapon Wielder of Athesan murmured in a hurry, rushing over to the mound of broken glass. “Please, rise.” Her dark umber hands moved about, but not all the glass pieces rose. Before her very eyes, all of her hard work was slipping through her fingers, becoming all for not. Tears began to sprout. Biting her lip and batting away the tears as best she could, she pushed off her naum rings and reached for the glass with her own two hands.

“Elia, don’t!” Kyré squawked and began pulling at her hair.

Elia ignored the bird’s plea and pushed him back with her hand, replying, “I’m fine, Kyré. Just stay in the air, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.” One by one, she placed the pieces of shivered glass in her palm, all as sharp as a needle. After a few moments of carefully pushing them about with her finger, some of the glass fitted together more or less. Staring at the broken fragments, she wondered how she’ll make these small pieces become whole again… Glue? No. That’ll take too much time. But… Elia thought. Maybe this will be far quicker.

Inhaling as much air as possible, Elia’s chest rose and sharply fell as hard frigid air flew from her lips, freezing the assembly of shattered glass together. At first she believed a solution had been found, but upon seeing the cracks in the glass shine through the block of ice as clear as the morning light on freshly fallen snow, making her surroundings look large here and then small over there, discovered the idea to be a cheap one.

All of her hard work… One moment she had finally finished it and then it fell into shambles all due to her carelessness of keeping her naum rings still coiled around her fingers when she was jumping and twirling around the room. Sucking up the air, the block of ice came undone in large chunks, leaving the pieces of glass to crumble to the floor. The chunks of frozen water flew back into her mouth, melting into cool water upon contact. Though refreshing, the water that rushed down her throat didn’t impede the tears from falling.

The sound of Kyré’s flapping wings waned and the touch of his talons wrapped gently around her shoulder. “Elia, don’t cry,” he told her, softly nuzzling his beak against her hair. “No tears. Tears, bad. Happy smiles, good. Helps feel better.”

“But how can I smile when it’s all over?” Elia sobbed, moving her hands about with much frustration. “All of my work… those two weeks of nothing but work, day and night, are gone and what do I have to show for it? Nothing! All I have is an incomplete project that’s due tomorrow and it’s all my fault!”

The kirili’s van caressed his owner’s cheek and tickled her enough to have her icy blue eyes turn to the pair of small, bulbous black eyes that peered back at her with pity. “No.” Kyré shook his blue head. “Not incomplete. You have time. Much, much time. But, take break. Break, good. Go eat. Go see Father. Enjoy eighteenth birthday. Relax. You do much better after.” The edge of his beak tapped at her nose with much care and suddenly caressed her cheeks, drinking up the orbs of water that raced down her face. Suddenly Kyré shivered in disgust and clenched his eyes closed. “Tears, no good. Too salty. Karhihimos,” his voice croaked nauseatingly.

As she watched her bird squirm in disgust, Elia began to smile. The Athesanian word Kyré truly fitted the kirili; he always acted histrionic if it’s meant to cheer her up. The Athesanian Weapon Wielder moved him off her shoulder to her wrist and held his head close to her bosom. “Thank you, Kyré.” She petted his back. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” She picked herself up and walked over to her pet’s food bin, using chopsticks to pull out the carcass of a plump rat pup. “Here is a treat for helping. You deserve it.”

Hungrily, Kyré’s small tongue started move side to side until he couldn’t wait any longer and snatched the carcass up. Holding it tightly in his talons, he began to rip out chunks of its flesh, bones and all. By the time Elia cleaned up the glass and walked out of her bedroom, passing the small pilasters of takium stone that lit the hallways, Kyré had finished his snack and was singing a toon to voice his enjoyment, “Good, good, very good. Rat pup. Rat pup. Good, good, very good.”

Elia giggled with mild amusement. “I’m glad you liked it so much, but you didn’t get any blood on my clothes, right? What about splinters of bone?”

Kyré’s head bobbed side to side, taking in the sights of his owner’s long-sleeved, blue collared tunic made of black wool. Her black leggings and boots had a quick once-over as well. “No. Your yurokos is clean.”

"Good,” Elia replied, scratching her pet’s head. “You know how I hate feeling those pesky bones jab at me while I sit.”

Up ahead was a gallery holding Tsunami, her Holy ewer, atop an adorned column. Engraved into its surface were ancient Athesanian carvings that illustrated when an antlered Nakoi finished molding humans from clays of various shades and colors and sat them down in a shallow river, humans were brought to life – variation in the lore such as the type of hard, permanent horns that protruded from Nakoi’s great head or the size of water that the early humans were placed in were key evidence that Athesan’s other ethnic group, the Kéké, played a role in crafting Tsunami all those thousands, memory-scrambling years ago. It was a pity Elia couldn’t remember that far back… Despite that, she looked on at the gorgeous historical weapon that had been passed down from one Athesanian Weapon Wielder to the next via a grand Coronation Ceremony with much pride and recalled the memories of her own coronation that just took place earlier in the week all due to her busy schedule.

The takium stones outside the Essence shined radiantly under the moon’s orange glow and the nebulous, wisp-like trail that followed the lēfyk, eidolons of fallen leaves, as they flew about the night sky. Freshly deceased or not, the little ghosts, covered in their little dried leaf masks and dresses, fazed through all that stood in their way as they continued their eternal quest of scouring for their Mother Trees before the morning sun rose, hoping that tonight might just be the very night that they reunite with her and are finally laid to rest, Athesanian lore had explained. As though to help (or impede) the poor things, crisp breezes blew in from time to time, blowing the lēfyk to and fro. Snow soon began to sprinkle from the night sky, covering the thatched, slanted roof of the Essence with even more layers of snow as High Naga Karigg, hunch-over and grey haired, spoke, “Just as Nakoi had granted the elemental powers to the four humans who showed the greatest of skill in the war against her draconic son, Elyas, and his siblings, all those thousands of years ago, tonight is when the seventy-fifth reincarnation of one of those special people…” A cold gale blew in from the north, carrying the snow along with it and the harsh rustling of trees that sounded the Essence’s pond below. High Naga Karigg’s robes move and sway violently and so did the lēfyk. The wind was so strong that the continuing words the High Naga had spoken were blocked out, though he didn’t seem to notice nor mind.

The chilly wind didn’t bother Elia; her formal yurokos was of black felt, from tunic collar to the cuffs on her pants, and had small fragments of the dulled red evarn stone sewn into its fabric, furthering the warmth her spindly frame received. The edges of her trousers were stuffed into her tightly laced boots while the tunic was furbelowed with threads of blue and black in wavelike needlework resembling Nakoi in all her draconic, ram-horned glory. It didn’t ruin her hairstyle either, one that took hours of intricate micro-braiding and weaving in blue thread to resemble a flowing waterfall.

But as soon as the wind came, it also left. “And so,” High Naga Karigg’s voice finally returned, “it is with great certainty and honor for me to announce that the next Weapon Wielder of Athesan is Elia Amalie Wynchell ev Odéllham. May Nakoi watch over her with great diligence once she begins her journey.” A few snaps of the photo recorders stirred behind her as Elia rose. This is one of the biggest moments of her life.

With a long yurokiri draped over his shoulders, revealing only glimpses of that historical black-and-gold royal regalia that shielded his dark umber skin from the cold as he moved about, King Kheno iv Kavinto of Athesan, nephew to Elia’s predecessor Derik the Young, presented Elia with Tsunami wrapped in special silk. “Congratulations, young one,” he said with a smile. “May you serve your country well.”

Feeling the familiar surge of the ocean’s currents build at her fingertips, but unskilled to show off any amazing hydroizing techniques, Elia cradled the ewer like a babe, rendering her feeling of inadequate – a feeling she hated. She wanted to show off her powers, the powers that mainly laid dormant due to lack of contact with Tsunami, and put on a fantastic display. But she couldn’t; she couldn’t remember any of those movements or forms besides hovering her hands over Tsunami’s spout to summon water, and she dared not attempt to try to show-off lest it made her look foolish. However, once she turned around, surrounded by the now feverish snapping of the photo recorders and the roar of the crowd’s clapping and cheering, that feeling became smaller as she was reminded just how great she was.

She truly was superior.

Big Sister Soránne and her wife Euryale, wearing the highest quality of yorikiri available, ran over; their coats looked like they were made of freshly fallen snow. “You’re so gorgeous, Elia,” Euryale said as she pressed her gold-studded nakaf piercing against sister-in-law’s brow – an old Nakoic act of affection. Soránne wrapped her mechanical arms around the both of them and spun them around in one giant group, leaving Euryale and Elia filled with laughter while lēfyk fazed right through the trio.

When Soránne had enough twirling, she placed her wife and baby sister down. “We’re so proud of you, Ellie,” Soránne said, cupping her younger sister’s face. Her purple eyes shimmered and her lower lip trembled as she became more and more emotional, making her jasper-studded nakaf dance. “You were truly and utterly beautiful. Just seeing you up there…” She wiped away the tears that ran down her taupe face with her kigiried mechanical fingers. Euryale placed her dark sepia hand on her wife’s shoulder and her sea-blue eyes seemed to shine with agreement, looking toward Elia with much pride. “It made me so honored to be your iyra,” Soránne continued.

Hearing those words of praise from Soránne and Euryale and seeing the looks on their faces made Elia happier. Filled with joy, she hugged the two of them as tight as she could. The two women looked at each other with smiles and tears in their eyes and wrapped their arms around the Athesanian Weapon Wielder. No matter what age she turned or at what stage of life she was in, she was still a child in their eyes; Soránne and Euryale are fifteen years older after all.

Wearing a woolen purple overcoat with a white fox tail wrapped snuggly around his neck, tightly bound pants and Hydranian-made furred boots, Father strode over calmly and, with a giant smile on his face, pulled Elia from his eldest daughter’s metallic grasp and squeezed her so tight that she thought her lungs were about to burst. “I’m so proud of you, my snow crystal,” he said, his face wet with tears. The nakam piercings that rested just above his lip, resembling a snake’s fangs, pressed into her forehead. Mother–

Elia shook her head. Mother doesn’t deserve my thoughts, especially after what she did to us, she staunchly reminded herself as she entered the family room.

The walls were painted blue and lined with little golden motifs of Nakoi erupting from the depths of her underwater kingdom, horns and all. Heat from the large mound of crystalized fire that was installed into the center of the room seeped into the floor and walls of the entire house, working hard to keep the cold out since Winter began and cook the stew that sat in the pot beside it. Due to the family fur carpet being situated close to the big, bright stone, Father looked like he was a relaxed cat as he slept atop the thick wool fur carpet.

Photos of Great-Grandpa Eliseo and Great-Grandma Elia hung beside one another in the kitchen, watching over their family with a protective gaze. Back when Great-Grandpa Eliseo was still alive, he’d used to say that Elia greatly resembled the late great-grandmother of whom she was named, especially with her icy-blue eyes and rangy build, and often told stories of her. “Your Great-Grandmother used to love to cook too, y’know,” said Great-Grandpa Eliseo as he ate the juicy flesh of a Navasarian clementine. Elia sat beside him on the fur rug, eager to hear stories of the Great-Grandmother she never knew.

When the juice streaming down his ebony fingers and deep magenta kigiri tattoo got to be too bothersome, he rubbed his sticky fingers against a damp cloth and went back to enjoy the fruit. “She used to come up with these weird food combinations, like noodles doused in sweet syrup, and have us taste ‘em like we’re her Oro birds. I hated them but your father used to adore them.” He chuckled at the memory, causing his amethyst-studded nakam piercings to dance, but when his laughter settled and he took a deep sigh, Elia saw tears begin to sprout. Taking off the first model of sight-giving glasses Elia had produced and placing it on the rug, Great-Grandpa Eliseo wiped those tears away with the back of his pudgy hand, but his hazed-over, once rich zaffre-colored eyes were still moist. “What I wouldn’t give to eat them again one last time, Elia,” he murmured, his voice shaking. “What I wouldn’t give…”

Father’s snoring echoed through the room and so did the simmering rumble of the stewpot, making Elia feel at ease for a moment. But this break couldn’t last long, she told herself. She had to get right back to work.

Elia sat next to her father’s sleeping body on the fur carpet, enjoying his company as she hovered her hands over the hot varne stone stalagmite. The stone’s glorious crimson blaze wrapped itself around Father’s large frame and danced, lighting both the familial crest of a snake carrying a sprig of burdock on his long coat and the large bags underneath his eyes. He must be so tired working in the clinic, Elia thought pitifully as caressed her father’s ebony skin with the back of her hand. Nothing a little food can’t fix, though.

As Kyré stretched his wings in front of the heat, Elia froze her palm and raised the pot’s lid, checking the ríkik, or snow stew, she had prepared earlier that morning. Steam rose from her palm like a furious Weapon Wielder of Navasar as the smell of spices like coriander and curry leaves filled the air. Seethed in the seasoned cashew milk were millions of those little white snow-beans and succulent cuts of carrots and cubed beef and mushrooms, bobbing in and out just beneath the surface.

“Kyré, can you go fetch me a spoon from the utensil rack?” Elia carefully eased the lid down next to her and quickly wiped the water off her palm. “I need to taste the ríkik.”

“Can Kyré taste?” the kirili asked, cocking his head curiously.

“Still hungry? The rat pup wasn’t enough for you, huh? Alright, you can have some too.”

Kyré flew so fast that time and space seemed to have shrunk before Elia’s very eyes; one minute his talons were empty and then they were filled with sturdy Charcoal wood spoons and bowls the next. The kirili set the natural onyx-colored wood cutlery and tableware beside his owner. “Ríkik.” He nudged the bowl forward.

Elia gave her pet a look but couldn’t keep it for long and ended up laughing. “You cheeky bird, you.”

Father’s gruff voice slowly stirred to life, tired and half-asleep. He then suddenly let out a childishly raucous yawn, making his shiny, multicolored opal-studded nakam piercings just above his lips dance wildly, making the young Athesanian Weapon Wielder giggle which caused him to smile. Now that he was more aroused and alive, he rose from where he laid. With one hand, Father fastened the large purple mantle around his strong shoulders while rubbing his eyes with the other. “Kari-Kari, my snow crystal,” he told between a yawn and a dig of his short nails into his hair waves, giving the back of his head a quick scratch. He rubbed his eyes once more and pressed his nakam against Elia’s forehead.

“Kari-Kari, Elé,” Elia smiled and pressed her own nakaf against her father’s brow. “Were Kyré and I being too loud?”

“A touch.” He hovered his hands over the mound of crystalized heat and covered his nose and mouth shut. “But not too loud,” his voice came out all muffled. “I was supposed to be getting up anyway. I just overslept a little, but luckily you two were my alarm-clock.” He uncovered the lower half of his face, revealing a slight smirk. Crossing his legs under him, he placed his hands down on his thighs. “Is the ríkik ready?”

“It smells ready,” Elia replied. She grabbed one of the wooden spoons Kyré had laid out and after stirring the sea of cashew milk a few times, she brought it up to her lips for a taste.

While rich and creamy, the ríkik wasn’t overly thick nor did it have the taste of cashew; the Kmirahii curry leaves’ and coriander melted into the milk, providing quite a kick of flavor with a mild citrus undertone. The snow beans were as soft as butter and as plump as grapes, making them look like mountains against the ocean of cashew milk. Despite taking hours of obsessively ridding the beef of its disgustingly chewy fat, it was well worth it, providing a nice salty, meaty flavor which counterbalanced the sweetness from the carrots and the earthiness of the mushrooms.

Breathing in the spices brought back memories of Mother and Soránne cooking in the kitchen, making piping hot and hearty ríkik during the coldest of winter nights. Besides isolating herself away in her room and relaxingly tinkering with new projects like she always did, eating a bowl full of ríkik was one of the things that Elia looked after spending the whole day at school and walking through hefty snow on her way home, even if her family ended up annoyed when she would bring up the chunks of meat up toward the light and analyzed one by one before she put the spoonful of meat and beans and vegetables in her mouth.

Despite their annoyance and their call for her to just eat normally, they were happy memories, times where she could just relax and talk to her family about her new inventions. However now that she was armed with the knowledge of her mother’s true personality, the times when Mother used to playfully tease Father or proclaim that she loved Elia to the moon and back felt more like a stab to the heart in retrospect. Wherever her mother was right now, Elia wondered if that man was really worth it…

“So?” Father and Kyré asked in unison, one more eager to eat than the other.

“The stew is just like Soránne used to make it, but I think my version is better,” Elia replied haughtily with a smirk. Despite sounding strong and arrogant, tears started welled up in reminder of all that could change in just a year and a half. That day where her mother kicked both her and her father out of their house in Hydra’s northernmost capital-island of Khéll and immediately brought a new man in, one that was seemingly far wealthier and handsomer than Father, was more like a nightmare. A nightmare that continually remained clear as day in her mind.

Mother had their bags and Kyré’s cage ready and packed and wouldn’t even let Elia finish breakfast as she pushed them out the door and into the front yard. In his cage, Kyré looked confused and scared as he watched on.

“You dare kick not only your husband of thirty-four years out of his own house, but your youngest daughter as well?” Father hissed. “Have you lost your mind, Kihei?”

“Elá?” Elia called out to her mother worriedly. Her stomach ached as her hands clutched to her own tunic for comfort, grabbing at it like a child.

Mother glanced at her youngest daughter with irritation, looking at her like was nothing more than a total stranger. With blue-violet eyes and a voice as beautiful as a violin, she turned back to Father. “You think I care whether or not she is my daughter, Emory? If she can’t bring in money like she used to, she is of no use to me either. Her Weapon Wielder Coronation isn’t going to be for another two years so no money from the Legislative branch, and in terms of her little inventions, Elia is nothing more than a one-trick pony. She created those glasses to help blind folks see and that was the only one of her inventions that actually sold like hotcakes. The rest are nothing more than a waste of everyone else’s time and won’t ever achieve the same height as those damn glasses. I’m tired of it. Now I want the both of you out in five minutes.” She clapped her dark brown hands together hurriedly. “Come on. Chop-chop. My boyfriend will be arriving shortly.”

Her words cut Elia like a sword to the chest. At first, she was shocked and absolutely at a loss for words but then tears just flowed unabashedly like a hard-hitting tsunami as it ravished a coastal town. I-is that what she truly thinks of me? Elia thought. Honest and true? But I thought she was supportive… But I thought she was supportive…

Tears were in Father’s eyes as well but when he saw how much his wife’s words hurt their daughter, his broken heart erupted with perfervid rage. “And what makes you think I’ll leave with Elia willingly?” he yelled. “You know the type of man I am, Kihei. This house is not just yours, it’s Elia’s and my house too. I’m not going to let you take something that rightfully belongs to my daughter. Don’t be so damn selfish.”

“Oh, I know, Emory. I know how hard-headed you are.” With a smirk, Mother ran out into the concrete street, her black-embroidered icy blue tunic and fur-trimmed dark blue skirt quickly danced as she moved. Surrounded by neighbors’ houses and the looming buildings of Hydra’s eastern capital-island Specie in the distance, she began screaming, “Someone help! Someone, please! Emory’s hurting me! Stop, Emory! Stop! Elia, stop freezing me. It hurts!”

Now seething with anger, Father took a step but Elia held him back. “Let’s go, Elé,” she blubbered. “I… I want to go. Please, I don’t like it here.”

Father hesitantly agreed and the two hurriedly picked up their things and drove to Soránne and Euryale’s house on the other side of Khéll, where the two eventually stayed for a few weeks until the situation settled down and Father decided to take himself and his youngest daughter to his hometown of Galamide in the eastern province of Kríte of the Athesanian mainland.

When Father explained to Soránne everything that night after supper, his eldest daughter grew so furious that tears began to swell. “How dare she toss you two out like your nothing but bags of dirt,” she yelled. “If I was there, I’d like to see her try and throw you two out.” Equally angry, Euryale nodded and declared that Mother would’ve had to go through her dead body if she wanted to kick the two of them out.

Elia remembered just sitting on a cushioned chair and holding onto Kyré as tight as she ever held him in her life. Laying his head on his owner’s shoulder, the kirili protectively wrapped his giant wings around Elia. The repetition of her thumb barely grazing the kirili’s soft underbelly eased her.

Not wanting to worry Father or bring up things he’d prefer to forget, Elia simply batted away the tears and went on to pretend as though nothing was wrong. “The ríkik is good. Thankfully there aren’t a whole lot of vegetables and none of those strange ones Soránne used to buy too. The meat is delicious, and there is a nice ratio between the meat and vegetables and snow bea-”

“Elia,” Father interrupted with a serious tone. “Remember to look at me when you’re talking to me. You’ve been looking up the entire time.”

The young Athesanian Weapon Wielder blinked and suddenly realized she was indeed doing what her father had informed her of doing; her face was turned toward the wall behind him while her eyes were fixated on the ceiling. “Oh.” Then she consciously focused her eyes to her father’s face, his sapphire eyes stared back at hers. Scary, Elia thought, but she forced herself to put up with it. She didn’t want to make her father angry. “Sorry, Elé.”

Father let out a sigh and he placed his hand over hers. Forever inked into his left hand was the deep magenta kigiri tattoo that once symbolized his marriage to Elia’s mother; while it was intricate, it was only half of a whole. When placed alongside Mother’s kigiri, it beautifully depicted Nakoi blessing the two of them on their wedding day, coiling her draconic tail around both their necks and keeping them bound to one another for however long this life shall last.

Ever since she was small, Elia always wanted to get her own kigiri after witnessing Soránne and Euryale get theirs just weeks before their marriage. Her kigiri would shine against her heavily-embroidered wedding furs, her magenta threaded braids cascading down her shoulders as she walked towards her future husband… Elia’s wedding day was one of the many things she dreamed of, but now she saw the tattoo on her father’s skin as a cruel reminder.

“Don’t apologize, my snow crystal,” Father told. “I know you aren’t doing it on purpose, but just try to remember, okay? If you’re looking up while talking to someone, people are going to think your… off. I don’t want that.”

“I know,” Elia replied. “I’ll try. Anyway, the stew is done. Here, let me get you a nice chunk of beef and a whole lot of beans. You must be hungry.” She reached for a cup but Kyré bit her finger and squawked, “My cup first! I’m hungrier.”