RHYS TORLIN IS ON THE MOVE. With only his wits and ideals, he infiltrates Synketros in hopes of unlocking the secret to its soldiers' loyalty. When a plan goes awry and found friends putting themselves into trouble to save him, Rhys must choose betw...
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2412, Iclis 10, Velpa
Rhys chewed on the end of an orange frond. Seated under the shade of a hut made from patched dry leaves, it's the only thing he could do while he waited for the heat to subside. He could reason that he's well-traveled and, therefore, was used to almost all kinds of weather and climates, but Desara's heat was just...no. It wasn't scratchy-dry like the deserts in Calca—gods of Calaris, it was not a time he wanted to go to—rather, the air had a certain moisture in it. Combine that with the white-hot sunlight streaming from the unfiltered sky, it made Rhys' head pound if he dared take a few steps forward.
Sometimes, his upbringing in the crisp air of Arcole crept up in the most inconvenient times.
He figured he should wait for the humidity to die down to an acceptable level before attempting to get anywhere. Just flying and landing anywhere in Zoriago was a nightmare both to his eyes and his skin. Exhaustion nipped at his limbs and his wings after having to spare his sister time when she called through the whisperer.
It seemed urgent, and after hearing her adventures in Cardina, he's bummed out he wasn't there to witness it. Glowing shard fairies disguised as humans? Cool. A rebellion against an oppressive regime? Bring it on! An unknown girl showing up out of nowhere and revealed to be the prophesied Virtakios? Awesome!
The frond between his teeth snapped. He clicked his tongue and plucked it out from his mouth. He stared at the gnawed end and blew a breath. Heat swirled against his chin. It wouldn't get better for the next few hours—he only knew because he asked the kind water sprite who served him a cup of something.
He tilted the cup towards him, studying the almost transparent liquid sloshing inside. Salvia water, they called it, and he almost agreed with them. If not for the occasional thick white wisps floating in it, he would have guessed it was simply saltwater from the sea served to him in a fancy cup.
The heat didn't give him a chance to be picky, so he downed the entire thing. To his surprise, it wasn't anywhere near salty. It's lightly sweet to the point of blandness. Oh, and it smoothed down his throat like fine satin against skin. It also cured most of the dryness in his throat scratched dry by the heat and the sand. That's...wow.
He should refill his skin with nothing but this. It's wonderful.
The sound of waves lapping the shore was distant, like a far-gone memory from childhood—only coming out in hints and traces and not when one needed them. Rhys preferred it that way, though. If the desert scared him about burning his wings, the sea tormented him with thoughts of drowning. Like living the rest of his life without the option to fly, being choked blue wasn't the best way to go.
When he felt he could travel again without passing out in the middle of the shore, he flipped a few versal beside his cup and strode out of the shack. He's going to miss the shade and the brief comfort he enjoyed against the unrelenting sun. His boots dug trenches into the baked sand, toasting even his feet under his soles. Thank the gods he's able to go back to his usual attire. Synketros' characterless uniform was a fashion nightmare.
