The Shattered Crowns

Akash shot upright from his bed, chest heaving, as his eyes flew open. His hand instinctively pressed to the skin that should have been charred, expecting blistered flesh and searing pain. Instead, there was only the faint sting of phantom heat, clinging to him like a cruel memory. He exhaled shakily, trying to steady his racing heart. Another night. Another dream. Or rather, another nightmare.

A nudge against his side broke his trance. Elys, the ever-watchful feline who had been at his side since the trials of the First King, pressed his large, rough head into Akash's lap. The sleek fur of the beast, a striking shade of storm gray, was coarse against his trembling hand, yet somehow comforting.

"I'm fine, Elys," Akash murmured, more to convince himself than the cat. His voice was hoarse, raw, as though the screams of his dream had followed him into waking. "Just another bad dream, is all. Nothing to worry about."

The feline let out a low rumble in protest, his sharp yellow eyes fixed on Akash as if challenging him to lie again. Akash offered a faint smile, scratching the beast's ear. The cool metal of the Tridact pendant brushed against his chest, its weight a tangible reminder of his oaths—and his burdens.

He swung his legs over the edge of the cot, grabbing the mooneye silk draped nearby. The fabric, impossibly smooth, slipped through his fingers as he slung it over his shoulders, carefully ensuring the Impresa mark on his back was concealed. His hand lingered for a moment on the blade resting at the foot of his bed—its resin-infused steel gleaming faintly even in the low light of the tent.

With practiced motions, he secured the blade at his hip and fastened the veil over his face, shielding his features from the chill night air. Elys padded silently behind him as Akash stepped out into the stillness of the desert.

The sands stretched endlessly beneath the crimson hues of the Lunar Storms, swirling in perpetual motion as if the heavens themselves seethed with anger. Titan's shattered moon hung ominously above, casting broken light across the dunes.

Akash's boots crunched softly as he climbed a nearby ridge, the scent of Woollarks faint in the air. It clung to him, even now—thick, musky, and irritating. He spared a glance back at the camp, its faint glow barely visible in the distance. This was far enough.

Unsheathing his blade, he began his drills. The weapon felt alive in his hands, an extension of his body. It sliced through the air with a satisfying whistle, each movement precise and deliberate. Jassin's voice echoed in his mind: "You must strive for perfection, Akash. It's not enough to be good. You must crush your opponents under the sheer weight of your skill. No hesitation. No mercy."

He pivoted sharply, the blade arcing in a wide, fluid motion before stopping mid-swing. His stance shifted, feet digging into the sand for balance, as he thrust forward in a series of rapid strikes. Sweat began to bead on his brow, but he didn't slow. Each swing felt like a challenge, a defiance of the doubts that gnawed at his soul.

Elys watched from his perch on the ridge, tail flicking lazily. The great cat's yellow eyes followed Akash's movements with quiet intensity, as if judging every strike.

The quiet was broken by a low voice. "If you keep overextending like that, you'll lose an arm, Oathsworn."

Akash's blade froze mid-thrust. Turning sharply, he spotted a figure silhouetted against the storm's crimson glow. Fallen, one of the twenty Ukari assigned to his protection, stepped forward, his scythe resting casually on his shoulder. The curved blade gleamed faintly in the dim light, a silent reminder of the Ukari's reputation for lethality.

"How did you find me?" Akash asked, sliding his blade back into its sheath.

"You're not exactly hard to track," Fallen replied, his tone calm, almost indifferent. "You always train far from the Woollarks. Not that I blame you."

Akash let out a soft chuckle, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "They reek," he admitted. "And Elys would probably try to hunt one if I stayed too close."

The feline let out a low, rumbling growl, as if offended by the accusation. Akash smirked, scratching behind Elys' ears. "Don't give me that look. You'd do it."

Fallen stepped closer, the sand crunching softly beneath his boots. "You should rest," he said, his voice steady. "Tomorrow will be another long march. You'll need your strength."

Akash's gaze shifted to the horizon, where the outline of the Spire loomed faintly against the night sky. "And what happens when I fall in battle because I wasn't prepared?" he asked quietly. "What happens when the Angel of the Red Sands dies because he didn't train enough?" His voice grew heavier with each word. "They'll see me fall—every soldier, every templar, every mercenary. And when I fall, so does morale. The hope they've clung to will crumble."

Fallen remained silent, his grip tightening slightly on the scythe. There was nothing he could say. No words to ease the weight Akash carried.

"Still trying to sound like Jassin, I see," came another voice, breaking the tension.

Vyn strolled up the ridge, his casual swagger at odds with the storm swirling around them. His veil covered his face, but his sharp eyes glinted with amusement. "Never got your name," he said, addressing Fallen. "We'll need something memorable for the battle at the Spire."

"Fallen," the Ukari replied evenly.

"'Fallen,' huh?" Vyn arched an eyebrow. "A bit dramatic, don't you think? I figured you'd go for something grander. Like Augustus."

"The Ukari are given no names," Fallen explained. "We choose our own to honor a truth of our lives."

"So why 'Fallen'?" Vyn pressed, his tone genuinely curious.

Fallen hesitated for a moment before answering. "It is for the four hundred and eighty Ukari who have fallen in service."

Akash's expression softened. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"They have long since passed," Fallen replied, his voice unshaken. "The Ukari honor their memories and continue forward. Grief is for those who do not understand their purpose."

Vyn hummed thoughtfully. "Fair enough," he said. "Still, it's a bit grim. You sure you don't want to switch it up? Something like… Blade? Or, I don't know, Sandstorm?"

Fallen shot him a withering glare. "I am content with my name."

Akash shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. "Enough, Vyn. Let him be."

They walked together toward the camp, Vyn still prattling on about hypothetical battle strategies. Akash listened in silence, his thoughts drifting to the looming Spire and the battles that awaited them. He could feel the weight of his blade against his hip, a constant reminder of the responsibilities he bore.

By the time they reached the mess tent, the air was thick with the scent of spiced meats and freshly baked bread. Woollarks brayed in the distance, their silhouettes barely visible against the crimson sky. Akash dropped a piece of meat to Elys, who devoured it greedily.

Vyn leaned back in his chair, still talking. "You know, hypothetically, if we were to take the Spire, I'd have us flank Mount Pyre first. Hit them where they least expect it. It's classic misdirection."

Akash rolled his eyes. "Dante and Jassin haven't even decided on a plan yet."

"Not yet," Vyn said, a sly grin spreading across his face. "But they will. Better to be ready, right?"

Akash sighed, his gaze drifting to the soldiers gathered around the tent. They laughed, ate, and drank with ease, oblivious to the weight of what lay ahead. He envied them, in a way.

Fallen gripped his scythe tighter, the dark weapon catching the faint glow of the Lunar Storms filtering through the tent. His voice was low and edged with warning, his sharp tone cutting through the space between them. "I would believe you, boy, if that smile of yours ever reached your eyes."

There was no threat in his posture, but the weight of his words was unmistakable.

Vyn, ever unfazed, shrugged casually, his grin as maddeningly unshaken as ever. "The War Dancers listen to the tune of blades. With the Ukari at your side, we'll make the perfect team. Why would I stab him in the back?" His tone was breezy, but it held that usual layer of slyness that Fallen clearly didn't trust.

The Ukari's grip tightened further, his muscles shifting under his armor. "You may 'dance to blades,' War Dancer, but we carve our paths in blood."

Akash stepped in before things could escalate, his voice calm but firm. "What of the Reem Templars? I heard that more than a few contingents are moving with the Dauntless Company." He slid his blade smoothly back into its sheath after completing his final drill, turning to face his companions.

"Yes," Vyn said, leaning back against a wooden post and idly adjusting his veil. "Veneres has been given full command of the Reem Templars, along with a small section of the Wardens. Dante's favoritism has never been subtle." His words were light, almost flippant, but the disdain beneath them was unmistakable.

Akash raised a brow. "You're talking to Jassin's ward, you know."

"Better you than Veneres," Vyn replied without hesitation, his grin widening. He folded his arms as though the thought of the Templar leader was beneath him. "The man's too perfect. Polished armor, flawless technique, and that perpetually righteous scowl—it's exhausting."

"You don't just dislike him. You hate him," Akash observed, tilting his head slightly.

"Hate's a strong word," Vyn said, his grin faltering for only a fraction of a second before snapping back into place. "Let's just say he reminds me of a mirror I'd rather not look into."

Before Akash could press further, Vyn clapped his hands and straightened. "Anyway, I didn't come here to gossip all morning. Breakfast is in a few minutes, and there'll be an announcement you'll want to hear."

Akash sighed, wiping his brow with a towel. "You'll talk my ear off whether I want to hear it or not."

"Glad we understand each other," Vyn said with a wink.

Akash turned to Fallen, his tone softening. "The other Ukari should eat as well."

Fallen shook his head. "The Ukari need little to sustain us. Food and sleep are luxuries, not necessities."

Akash's tone firmed. "Fallen, gather the Ukari and get food. It may be the last meal we have for days."

Fallen hesitated briefly, then inclined his head. "As you command, Oathsworn."

The three began making their way back to the camp. The sand crunched beneath their boots as the faint glow of the shattered moon, Titan, lit their path. They passed the pens where the massive Woollarks shuffled in the dark, their broad forms blocking much of the wind. Horses and strange rock mounts, creatures pulled from Akash's visions of the First King, stood restless among the pens, their breaths misting in the cool air.

Elys padded silently at Akash's side, his lithe form blending into the shadows. His yellow eyes glinted as he kept pace, his presence grounding Akash's nerves.

As they reached the tent, Vyn pushed open the flap, turning back with that same mischievous gleam in his eye. "Now, about the plan of attack…"

"Dante hasn't shared it yet," Akash replied evenly, brushing past him.

Vyn waved him off dismissively. "Hypothetically, then. If we're paired together, it's better to know the people you're working with, don't you think?"

Fallen's voice rumbled from behind them. "The Ukari fight for the Oathsworn alone."

Vyn grinned, glancing over his shoulder. "I've heard the stories. Most in Reem have. But the title you call him by—Oathsworn—that's in none of them."

"The Oathsworn is a truth you wouldn't understand," Fallen replied curtly.

Akash let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's fine, Fallen. I don't need more titles. Best to just call me Akash."

The Ukari didn't respond, though his piercing gaze lingered on Akash a moment longer.

As they entered the bustling mess tent, Akash found his fingers brushing the hilt of his blade again, its resin-infused steel cool and steady in his grasp. The weight was a quiet reminder of the role he'd been thrust into—a role he wasn't sure he was ready for.

They found seats near the center, and Fallen remained standing behind Akash like an immovable shadow. Elys curled at Akash's feet, his tail flicking idly as he watched the room. Akash broke off a piece of meat from his plate and dropped it to his companion, who devoured it in a single bite.

Vyn leaned back in his chair, as relaxed as ever. "The War Dancers will take Mount Pyre," he said matter-of-factly. "The terrain's too rocky for the Sovrans or Vice-Sovrans. Maybe a few archers, but we'll need warriors who can handle blunt assaults."

Akash raised a brow. "So you plan to use us as meat shields?"

"Not at all," Vyn replied with a grin. "Think of it as… utilizing unique assets."

"Is that how you justify sending people to their deaths?" Fallen asked sharply.

Vyn didn't miss a beat. "Not deaths. Strategic opportunities. After all, who better to face the demons of the Spire than the Oathsworn and his Ukari?"

Fallen's grip on his scythe tightened, but before he could respond, a loud argument erupted from a nearby table.

"What do you mean you can drink more than me, Zadeen?" bellowed a burly warrior, his hammer already half-raised in challenge.

The brown-haired girl opposite him smirked. "Because I can."

Vyn chuckled under his breath. "Ah, Drake. Still an oaf after all these years."

The argument escalated quickly, and before Akash could intervene, Drake rose from his seat and began stomping toward their table, hammer in hand.

Akash stood calmly, his hand resting on his blade. "Sit down."

Drake sneered. "Think you're in charge, boy? You haven't even seen battle."

"I will soon enough," Akash replied coolly. "And so will you. There's no point in fighting each other when we should be preparing for the enemy."

Drake's grip tightened on his hammer, but before the tension could snap, Fallen stepped forward. The Ukari's massive form loomed over Drake, his scythe gleaming ominously. At Akash's feet, Elys let out a low growl, his sleek body coiled like a spring.

Drake's bravado faltered, and he grumbled something under his breath as he retreated to his seat.

Vyn chuckled lightly. "You do have a way of commanding attention, my big friend."

Akash turned to him, narrowing his eyes. "You weren't going to intervene."

Vyn's grin widened, his eyes glinting with something almost genuine. "Of course not. I knew you'd step in for me."

"And if I hadn't?"

Vyn shrugged, his grin softening. "But you did. And that's what matters."