Lost and Found

Part 1: Survive

(First chapter is a little confusing but I promise it makes more sense later. Enjoy 😉!)

Running and hiding. That was the only language and life that I'd know in the past two weeks.

Not sure either constitutes as actual living but at the very least, I was surviving. I found food where I could, stole it late in the night when I couldn't. There were water wells dotted all along the countryside but they were heavily guarded. Bands of survivors monopolized the water for their own gain. The wells were goldmines in this famine, and very few Sulzarions were willing to share.

I didn't have any money to barter and I had yet to resort to flesh trading. I either snuck into their encampments in the night or resorted to the occasional natural spring. Both were risky but hey, I was still alive right?

I was currently hiding in a mountainous ridge on the edge of a dried up Zarian Forrest. The large orange stones and boulders provided excellent refuge from not only the hot red sun but also the Borgs that scoured the region. The Borgs were in charge of killing those the first class deemed unworthy. And considering my malnourished, penniless, and overall pathetic visage, I doubted I would make their cut....

Zaria. Sulzarions. Borgs.

Ever since Proclamation 14 was announced to the Day of Red Sun and then finally the assassination of King Minister Fayas, Zaria had fallen apart. The upper class used the Proclamation 14 to justify the unfair trial of almost all second class Sulzarions and eventually the mass scale genocide via starvation and persecution of all second class Sulzarions that weren't perfect citizens.

Misdemeanors, speeding tickets, soliciting, and even littering were all offensive enough to be locked up or killed. After tbe rebels stormed the First class gates, food and supply lines and been cut off. The war was short and bloody but the second class never stood a chance against the Royal Military of Zaria.

Guess which side I ended up on?

Well to be honest, I never really chose a side. I was just born twenty-six years ago in the western second class region of Zaria to a pair of farmers that also operated a small merchant business.

Of course, none of that matters any more. My days of running through the maize fields and towering ambrosia orchards were long over. My family and friends werr lost some time ago in the scattering and war and violence.

At this point, I was reduced to once instinct, survive.

In the past few days, food was becoming even harder to come by. My last "meal" had been the day before when I had my last two slices of stale bread for breakfast. But that seemed centuries ago as my stomach growled for subsistence that I wouldn't be able to find easily.

I was currently trailing a group of nomadic survivors that was composed of about a dozen Sulzarion males. They'd been ousted from their well a couple days ago by a larger gang. I kept close to this group's camp sites and scoured their sleeping areas after they left for forgotten supplies or scraps. Sometimes, in the night, I would venture closer and see what I could score off of their mules or bags. The group was currently on the move but their tracks were easy to follow through the dusty and dead brush of the forest. They were likely headed towards the well just four clicks away.

I found myself hiding in the shadows of the dry mountain side where I could stay hidden from any unwanted rebel parties or patrol Borgs. The rough red color of the Zarian hinterland hillside blended into my hair color and kept very tattered clothes from being seen.

I came to a stop so that I could rest my tired legs. I ended up sitting in a crevice trying to ignore my stomach that growled profusely. My bony hips made it difficult to sit comfortably and the stone was also rough and porous against my freckled skin.

My dark red hair hung limply around my face and I quickly tied it back with my last hair tie. My hair had settled into a sort of permanently dusty and dry state per the low humidity of my planet and also lack of water. I couldn't even imagine how dirty I was. The grime, dust, and grit that was layered upon me was probably mountainous.

The thought of being dirty pulled me into a memory.

My mother had called out to me to come in for dinner when I was in primary school, only for me to appear covered in mud and leaves after pretending to be one of the guard cats that protected our crops. I don't think I've ever missed her Thursday casserole and breakfast waffles more than I do right now.

A small tear appeared at the corner of my eye and my heart clenched in my chest at the thought but I quickly swept it away. Sulzarions were a proud and hardy race. My parents wouldn't have wanted to see me crying, they would've wanted to see me keep going and pushing myself.

So that's what I would do.

I was going to rest for another five minutes and then get moving again so that I wouldn't lose the nomads.

I thumbed the sheathed knife at my waist as I took the last sip from my water skin. I sighed at the ever present absence of water as I gazed briefly at the dark blue sky. Not a single cloud touched the sky.

I sighed again before my hand found itself lingering on my necklace made of Liztarium. I had actually found this specific stone over a decade ago in the small spring that used to flow past my old home. That spring had dried up long ago, but the stone remained.

I rested for a few more minutes, sitting silently in the crevice that gave me full coverage from any unwanted parties. I was about to stand back and dust off my pants when I suddenly heard a voice.

Then two voices.

The voices were both a good and bad omen.

Borgs couldn't speak so at the very least, it had to be Sulzarians. And that was also a potential issue. More people for me to stay away from.

Perhaps I could scavenge some supplies from them though?.

I silently pushed myself up from my hiding place. Careful to not dislodge any of the nearby rocks or pebbles since one little mistake could reveal my position. I very carefully slunk down from my hiding place, gliding over the red and orange stones I knew well.

The voices were growing louder and were distinguishably male. They were walking in my direction.

I kept my long body pressed tightly to the stones, trying to pin the distance of the oncoming males with my ears. Slowly, very slowly, I edged up the boulder I was hiding behind to just barely peer over it

Just thirty or forty yards away stood three strange looking men.

Men that were certainly not Sulzarion.

I meant to only take a quick glimpse at the oncoming party but I found myself unable to turn away from the bizarre sight.

There were three of them.

They each wore clean shirts that were a solid primary color. Their sleek uniforms stood in stark contrast to the barren landscape of the hinterlands. And what stood out even more was the male in blue with jet black hair and pointed ears.

Black hair was almost unheard of on Zaria. Almost everyone had red, blonde, or auburn hair. Although some of the high borns boasted white hair.

Two other men walked beside the black haired male who I could only assume to be a Vulcan or some kind if elf. Strange for one of their kind to be on my planet.

I took a quick glance at his companions.

The other two men wore yellow shirts and were blonde. They could've almost passed for Sulzarion's if it weren't for the extra pinky appendage and their relatively short stature.

Male Sulzarions had an average height of 6'1. Females were not far behind at 5'9. Neither of the blondes looked taller than 6 feet and had pinkies where Sulzarians had none.

My brows my heart rate suddenly picked up at the sight of these strange newcomers.

What in the world were non Sulzarion humanoids doing on Zaria? Were they illegal smugglers? Flesh traders? Or something worse....