The Shattered Crowns

Winter Blackwood sighed, her sharp features illuminated by the soft, filtered light of the clearing. She turned her staff slowly in her hands, the resin rings on her fingers glimmering faintly as though alive. Her gaze swept over Akash, Mirak, and Daenys, each of them tense in their own way.

"This is a simple educated guess," Winter said finally, her tone measured but firm. "Do not take my words as absolute truth. What I'm about to say is rooted in theory more than certainty."

There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretches long enough to make even the most patient person uncomfortable. Then, as if to formally introduce herself, she added, "My name is Winter Blackwood. I am the current Voda of Unsteady Flows of Atta for the Tower of Sorcerers."

Akash's expression remained blank. The name meant little to him. However, Mirak inhaled sharply, his eyes widening in recognition, as if Winter had just announced she was a figure from legend.

Winter's attention shifted to Akash, her voice taking on a sharper edge. "The environment you described—the endless trees, the glowing mushrooms, the shifting air—sounds eerily similar to what some call 'layers.'"

"Layers?" Mirak asked, echoing the confusion written on all their faces.

Winter folded her arms, the resin on her rings emitting a faint hum that only she seemed to notice. "A layer is… difficult to explain. Some of my colleagues believe they are realities unto themselves, existing apart from Lorian but touching it in strange and subtle ways. Others think they are alternate versions of Lorian, built on top of or beneath our world, only accessible under rare conditions. Some refuse to believe they exist at all."

She sighed, as though weary of trying to explain concepts to those who lacked the knowledge to truly grasp them. "In any case, it doesn't matter which theory you accept. What does matter is that your friend, Akash, likely slipped into one during the Midnight Summer Festival." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "A particular one known in the elvish tongue as The Hezkadar Wilds."

Daenys frowned. "And what does that mean for him? For us?"

Winter's lip curled slightly. "In your language, no word can truly capture its meaning. Calling it 'The Dream Beneath Reality' is the closest approximation, but even that is an insult to the original phrase."

"The people there," Akash cut in, his voice sharp, "they called themselves the Faye."

Mirak's breath hitched. "The timeless forest? The one from the stories? Where men wander in and return as nothing but withered ash? Or where they get lost for centuries, only to emerge and find that no time has passed here, or vice versa?" He hesitated, his voice trembling slightly. "That's just a story, though… isn't it?"

Winter raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "I see someone has read Madikarian's works. How you got hold of those texts is another matter entirely." Her smirk faded, replaced by something colder. "Most sorcerers dismiss those records as fanciful tales meant to frighten children. Still, that brutish term—'timeless forest'—does fit, in its crude way."

Mirak stammered, his voice pitching higher. "But Akash—he went there. You even said it yourself. It's real!"

Winter nodded curtly. "It's real, yes. But the Hezkadar is not defined merely by time. Time itself is not so easily trifled with. Those who stumble into the Wilds by accident rarely display significant changes in age upon returning. At most, they may appear slightly older—or younger—depending on how long they remained. No, the Hezkadar's true nature is far stranger. It is a place where emotions, senses, and the very essence of reality are heightened and distorted. It is…" She trailed off, searching for words. "It is a dream, overlaid upon the waking world."

Akash, who had been glaring into the distance, drove the black hilt of the sword into the ground to push himself to his feet. His movement was stiff, his scowl deepening as he scanned the now-sparse center of the village. None of the other villagers had approached him or seemed concerned about his well-being. Typical.

"I have to get home," Akash muttered, his voice low and rough. "Elys and I need to eat. And with my arm like this, I can't join the hunts anymore."

Daenys stepped in front of him, her tone sharp. "You're not going anywhere, Akash."

He glared at her, but his exhaustion dulled the fire behind his eyes. "I can't sit around here waiting for answers that won't come. I'll figure it out myself."

The scabbard, black and streaked with crimson, clattered against the ground as Akash rubbed at his temple, shielding his eyes from the brightness of the sunlight filtering through the canopy. Everything felt too sharp, too overwhelming.

Winter's gaze flicked to the sword. "That blade is no simple hunter's tool," she murmured, almost to herself.

Daenys, always one to probe at Akash's defenses, dug a finger into his shoulder. "Where did the tattoos come from?"

"Tattoos?" Akash echoed, blinking in confusion. He raised his arm, finally noticing the thick black ink running from his left shoulder to his right hip. The intricate design resembled flames breaking away from a circular core, each line sharp and jagged as if burned into his skin.

Winter stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she studied the markings. "Would you consider traveling with me, Akash?" she asked abruptly.

Akash's lips twisted into a scowl. "No. I'm not going anywhere with a stranger." He shrugged Daenys' hand off his shoulder, his voice rising. "And stop poking me! I don't know where these marks came from."

"That's not exactly true," Winter interjected smoothly.

Akash froze, his head snapping toward her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Winter gestured toward the tattoos, her resin rings pulsing faintly. "The marks appeared because of the prism. They're not mere ink—they're channels for its energy. You've been claimed by it, boy. Whether you accept that or not is irrelevant. It has chosen you."

Mirak, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up, his voice pleading. "Akash, you can't turn down an offer like this. Do you understand what traveling with a sorceress like her could mean? Think of all you could learn!" He hesitated, his tone softening. "Maybe you need some rest to think it over."

Akash crossed his arms, his stubborn streak flaring to life. His jaw set in that familiar, unyielding way that both Daenys and Mirak had seen countless times before. It was the same look he'd worn when he tried to ride a Shifter, an ill-conceived plan that had left him with broken bones and scars to show for it.

Daenys sighed, stepping into the role of mediator. "Maybe we can go with him," she suggested, glancing between the two boys. "We're not exactly busy here, and it could help us all grow."

Mirak frowned. "But what about your dream, Daenys? Your mother wants you to take her place as leader of the village. If you leave now, what happens to that? What happens to your chance to get to the University in Dekal?"

Daenys placed her hands on her hips, her tone resolute. "What kind of leader would I be if I never left the village? Leaders are followed because of their experience and training, not because they inherit the role. Besides, the University will still be there in a few years. This is something I need to do."

Mirak hesitated but eventually nodded. "As long as Mistress Blackwood allows it, I'd be willing to travel with you."

Winter, who had been quietly watching the exchange, finally spoke. "I will leave in a week, once I've gathered the provisions I need. Decide by then. Say your farewells quickly if you choose to come."

Akash scowled but said nothing, his gaze dropping to the sword in his hands.

The sorceress strode away without another glance at the trio, her black cloak swishing against the dirt path. Her voice drifted back over her shoulder, cold and deliberate. "One week. No more, no less."

Akash gripped the crimson-hilted sword, the jagged tattoos on his arm seeming to pulse faintly in time with his frustration. He wanted to argue, to say something that would pierce through Winter's air of superiority, but his words died in his throat. The weight of the sword—and everything it symbolized—was a far heavier burden than he'd expected.

"I don't like her," Akash muttered, his eyes narrowing as he watched her retreat into the shadows of the village's outer edge.

"You don't like anyone who tells you what to do," Daenys quipped, stepping closer to him. Her tone was light, but there was a warning edge to it. "And for once, Akash, maybe you should listen. She's not some villager you can bully into seeing things your way."

Akash shot her a glare. "I'm not bullying anyone. I just don't trust her."

"Of course you don't." Daenys crossed her arms, her emerald eyes piercing. "But maybe, just maybe, not everyone's out to get you."

Mirak, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up. His voice wavered, a mixture of anger and disappointment. "You're always like this, Akash. You push away anything you don't understand. You don't even realize how lucky you are."

Akash whipped his head around to face him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Mirak said, his voice rising, "that you've been chosen for something incredible, and all you can do is sulk about it! You have a sword infused with resin. You've been marked by a prism, a literal relic from another layer. And you've been invited to travel with one of the most powerful sorceresses in the Tower. And yet all you can say is I don't trust her?"

"Mirak—" Daenys started, but he waved her off, his frustration boiling over.

"No, let him hear it," Mirak said, stepping closer to Akash. "Do you know how many people would give anything for the chance you've been handed? People like me, who've spent years dreaming of leaving this village, of learning something—anything—that's bigger than the life we've been given?"

Akash's grip on the sword tightened, his knuckles white. "You don't know what it's like," he snapped. "I didn't ask for this. Any of it."

"No, but it chose you anyway," Mirak shot back. "And if you're too stubborn to take it seriously, then maybe you don't deserve it."

The words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Daenys stepped between them, her hands raised. "Enough," she said firmly, her voice cutting through the tension. "We're not enemies here. We're friends." She looked at Akash first. "And friends listen, Akash, even when they don't agree." Then to Mirak: "And friends don't throw each other's struggles in their faces."

The two boys broke eye contact, their tempers cooling but still simmering beneath the surface.

Daenys sighed. "Look, we're all tired. Let's sleep on it. Mirak, maybe you can talk to Winter tomorrow, see if she'll reconsider teaching you. And Akash…" She paused, her voice softening. "Just think about what you really want. For yourself, for Elys, for all of us. Okay?"

Akash nodded stiffly, his gaze dropping to the tattoos curling around his arm. He didn't have the words to explain the storm of emotions roiling inside him—the fear, the anger, the confusion. But he nodded anyway, if only to get Daenys off his back.

The three of them parted ways, the silence between them heavy and unresolved.

The jungle air grew cooler as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the forest floor. Akash adjusted the ventilation mask over his face as he and Elys descended into the dense underbrush. The tiger padded ahead, his striped fur blending seamlessly with the dappled light filtering through the canopy.

It didn't take long for their small, secluded home to come into view—a modest hut built into the base of a massive tree, its roots twisting around the structure like protective arms. The stream nearby babbled softly, its water reflecting the faint glow of bioluminescent plants that lined its edges.

Elys let out a low growl, sniffing the air. Akash followed his gaze and spotted a buffalo-like creature drinking from the stream. Its back was covered in moss and wildflowers, its bulk blending with the surrounding foliage.

Elys crouched low, his muscles coiling in preparation for a strike. Akash drew the crimson sword from its scabbard, the blade gleaming faintly even in the dim light.

The buffalo raised its head at the sound of steel scraping against leather, but it was too late. Elys lunged, his powerful jaws sinking into the creature's neck. The buffalo thrashed, its hooves kicking up dirt and leaves, but Elys held firm, dragging it down.

Akash moved in quickly, gripping the hilt of the sword with both hands. He aimed for the neck, driving the blade down in a series of quick, messy strikes. Blood sprayed across the underbrush, and the buffalo's movements slowed until it slumped lifelessly to the ground.

Panting, Akash wiped his brow with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his face. He glanced at the sword, its crimson glow dimming as the fight ended. The blade was razor-sharp, its balance perfect, but it felt unnatural in his hands—a weapon meant for something far greater than hunting dinner.

"Guess this will feed us for a while," he muttered, tying a rope around the buffalo's legs. Elys huffed in agreement, his muzzle still stained red. Together, they hauled the carcass back to the hut.

The hut was quiet, save for the crackling of a small fire in the corner. Akash worked quickly to butcher the buffalo, hanging the meat over a smoking rack to preserve it. Elys lounged nearby, his head resting on his massive paws, his eyes half-closed.

A faint smile tugged at Akash's lips as he tossed the tiger a scrap of meat. Elys caught it midair, his jaws snapping shut with a satisfying crunch.

The interior of the hut was sparse but comforting. A bed of hay lay tucked into one corner, shared between Akash and Elys. A wreath of purple flowers hung above a small wooden table, where a faded mural of a woman rested. Her features were soft and kind, her smile eternal.

Akash sat in front of the table, his head bowed. "Mom," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'll be leaving soon. Sooner than I thought."

He traced the edge of the mural with a calloused finger. "I pray you're watching over me. Over us. Daenys, Mirak, and I—we're finally going to see Lorian. I'll finally start the journey you always wanted me to take." He hesitated, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Maybe… maybe I'll find him, too."

The words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Elys let out a low purr, resting his head against Akash's knee. The boy smiled faintly, scratching the tiger's ears. "We'll be okay, won't we, big guy?"

The night deepened, the jungle coming alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures. Akash salted the meat and extinguished the fire, the faint smell of smoke lingering in the air. He curled up beside Elys on the bed of hay, his mind racing with thoughts of the journey ahead.

Outside, the jungle thrummed with life, but inside the hut, all was still. For now, it was a peaceful moment—a fleeting reprieve before the chaos that was sure to come.