EZRIL IARO IS WITHOUT A CHOICE. With a vicious war raging outside the temple's gates, long-held friends calling for help, and a son slowly descending into the influence of an incurable sickness, Ezril has to unlock the secrets of the island, delve i...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
2412 Diori 01, Daleth
Amid the explosions and the fighting at their doorstep, Ezril ducked into her son's room to check how he's doing. While the rest of their comrades were out defending the Temple, a priest and a priestess stayed behind and nursed Vaeri the best they could. Something heavy settled inside Ezril's gut as she regarded the sickly boy sinking into the mattress under the load of blankets. It's as if the bed developed a taste for young banshees and was now devouring him.
She shook her head at that disturbing imagery. It might come true if she's not vigilant.
"You are dismissed," she said to the attendants who had retreated closer to the wall as she approached. A Serzhak and her blax. Perhaps, she'd give them a promotion. Were they needing a Precar somewhere in the other departments?
The two were almost to the door when Ezril remembered she had to speak to get people's attention. "Who are you working under?" she asked, stopping the serzhak in her tracks. Her blax, startled, bumped into her.
The serzhak scrambled back to where Ezril stood and ducked her head. "High Priestess, I apologize," she said even though Ezril had no idea what she's apologizing for. "We work under Precar Nesala. We were assigned to this ward since the siege started. And um..."
Nesala. Were they under Ashryn? Maybe Janos, but that old bug wouldn't bother with assigning his underlings to the ward during this turbulent time. Not that she minded. As long as they took care of her son when she couldn't, she'd be okay. Ashryn seemed to be a better candidate, considering her eye for details and her memory for things even Ezril was prone to forget.
To think she never forgot Vaeri even though she's out there, fighting a war that wasn't hers. Ezril had to remember to reward all of her Rekshais not after, but during this war. What's a small celebration in the middle of hell? They might never get to do it later on, when reality finally settled upon heads.
"What are your names?" Ezril prompted, seeing the sweat beading on the serzhak's hairline and the blax's confused expression. "I ought to remember them."
"T-there is no need, High Priestess," the serzhak answered, stumbling along her words. "Precar Nesala can deliver the punishment in your stead."
Ezril swallowed the urge to slap the girl upside the head. Why does everyone assume they did something wrong just because she wanted to talk to them? Couldn't an overseer talk to their employees? "You did nothing wrong, child," she amended. "I'm merely asking your names because I aim to reward you."
The serzhak bowed until her upper form was parallel to the ground. Her transitioning hair spilled from her shoulders which she swiped with her fist. "I am merely doing my job, High Priestess," she said. "The minimum."
"Let a mother be one, will you?" Ezril said softly, jarring the girl out of her bow. A pensive expression bordering on confusion settled on the serzhak's features. Ezril sighed. "Names?"
