Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was over. Summoning was over. Demons of six different Houses stood on the edges of the shattered Ahlēvīsh, staring into the center -- where the hh’ainun world had been visible for several long minutes but was now missing. 

The Vh’alyir who’d performed the vīsh was gone, too. They’d all seen it when he’d turned to crimson light and darted for the portal as it’d closed, vanishing through the other side. And with him gone, they couldn’t ask what had happened and how he’d done this. 

The only one they could ask was Nazhivēr, and his wounds were...a problem. 

An older Dh’irath stepped forward from the group, offering to heal his elder’s wounds so Nazhivēr would live to answer their questions. He agreed. 

He explained what he knew: the hh’ainun world and the summoner Xever; how summoning and contracts worked; Xever’s successful plan to summon a payashē and her subsequent entrapment and death; and Zylas et Vh’alyir and Robin Page, the two who’d undone this terrible magic and freed all Demonkind from future subjugation. 

It was decided, then, that a Naventis should be called despite it being the wrong season -- and that all demons who could attend, should. A firm, additional rule was added at Nazhivēr’s command: that no killing be allowed, not even of Vh’alyir demons. They knew nothing, he now understood, and after witnessing how Zylas had fought and risked his life so selflessly to do this for Ahlēavah… 

It would be dishonourable to his memory to kill his own House, especially so soon after he’d sacrificed everything for their world. In addition, Nazhivēr told the others to spread the word: the Vh’alyir Dīnen was invited to attend, and he would be safe while there. 

He needed to know what had happened, too. He needed to know how his predecessor had saved them all. 

Days passed as the invitations were passed from one demon to another, all hostilities halted in the wake of this news. More and more demons gathered at the Ahlēvīsh that had been destroyed to power the portal, but though many demons hissed and snarled at one another, the elders and Dīnen refused to allow any fighting. 

This Naventis was too important. 

A week passed, then two, and finally the first Vh’alyir cautiously approached. His gaze darting, every step a struggle, he skirted around the edges of the gathering, alert for threats. One by one, the others noticed him and glared -- but did not act. Their Dīnen’s orders rang loud in their minds, and so they held in silence. 

Nazhivēr approached the male, sizing him up. Simple leather pants and a tattered band that had once been a shirt around his chest -- probably stolen from another Vh’alyir -- were all that he possessed, his mass of long hair messy and unkempt, tangled around his face and shoulders. His horns were so small they were barely visible and he didn’t even have any armor. And for the first time, Nazhivēr felt a pang of what might be sympathy for the Twelfth House. 

Zylas had been the only Dīnen et Vh’alyir in a thousand years to have had armor. They’d all driven his house so close to the edges of extinction that this was all that remained of them: tattered, dirty and weak stragglers. 

Nazhivēr said gruffly, “Are you the Dīnen et Vh’alyir?” 

The male shook his head. “I am...Ilkav. The Dīnen et Vh’alyir ordered me to come in his stead.” 

Grunting in annoyance, Nazhivēr returned, “His name?” 

“Mayēih.” 

Nazhivēr paused in thought, then nodded to himself. “Take me to him,” he decided. 

Ilkav paled, easing back a step. “He-he would not--” 

Stepping closer, Nazhivēr ordered again, “Take him to him. I will explain.” 

Skittering backwards, Ilkav nodded, his scent souring in his fear. He led Nazhivēr back the way he’d come, his gaze constantly darting back behind him in paranoia and terror. 

Once, that reaction would’ve amused Nazhivēr to no end. Now, however...all he felt was sorrow. 

These Vh’alyir who knew nothing...Dh’irath and Lūsh'vēr had led a campaign of hate, prejudice and genocide against them, and this was the result of it. Over three thousand years of this had dwindled the Twelfth House’s numbers -- and their confidence and ability. Now they were little more than terrified prey, constantly on the lookout for death. 

Zylas had been an anomaly amongst the House, his skill and pride greater than any Vh’alyir had shown in the entirety of Nazhivēr’s own lifetime. He couldn’t help but wonder in what way Zylas had been raised to have produced such a Vh’alyir, who his parents were, if they lived -- no, he concluded. At the very least, Zylas’s father was dead. 

Zylas would not have been summoned otherwise. 

Their walk took hours, even accounting for when Ilkav broke into a dash once he was out of sight of the others. And, to be honest, Nazhivēr had a difficult time keeping up on foot; if the Vh’alyir had nothing else, they had speed. It was probably the only reason why they yet lived. Once they started running, it was difficult for any demon to keep up, even accounting for the first rank’s wings. 

Eventually, the scents of the world shifted as they passed from sand to rock to a thicket of deep red trees. Water scented the air nearby, a swamp close -- close enough to summon a fear of the īnkav who nested there. Was this why Mayēih, the Dīnen et Vh’alyir, had chosen this place? He was smart enough to hide near a place of īnkav, letting the fear of the beast keep all other demons at bay? 

The tiniest thread of respect reached Nazhivēr. This Vh’alyir was smart, too. 

Ilkav was visibly terrified to be in this place, eyes darting towards the water, towards Nazhivēr, towards the sky. When he finally stopped, breathless from his long run, his voice rasped, “Mayēih? This...Ivaknen wants to speak with you.” 

Nazhivēr scented the air, catching a multitude of scents he didn’t recognize. Any of them could be Mayēih’s. 

Another voice answered in a disapproving hiss from above, “And you brought him to me?!” 

Ilkav winced, groveling low. “I apologize...I did not--” 

“Useless,” the voice shot back. “Go back!” 

Ilkav faltered. “Back…?” he prompted, hesitant. 

“To the Naventis!” A series of curses rang out, but even in the anger permeating each word, Nazhivēr yet heard the fear behind them. 

Ilkav scrambled to obey, wheeling around; he stuttered to a stop, eying Nazhivēr with a new wave of terror, then skirted around the larger demon and back to the gathering. 

Nazhivēr scanned the area again, feeling for vīsh. Identifying the strongest point, he approached a large tree, his gaze lifting to its higher boughs. 

There, high up in them, was a dark cloud. Though the shroud hid the being within from normal sight, Nazhivēr’s heat-sight saw the being crouched within it. 

Mayēih. 

“Come down,” he commanded. “We need to talk, Dīnen et Vh’alyir.” 

The being shifted but didn’t drop. “We can talk thus,” he argued, unable to completely hide the hoarse timbre to his voice. 

Annoyed, Nazhivēr snapped, “Have you not heard, Dīnen? Vh’alyir is safe from all -- for now,” he hinted. “You may not get another chance like this.” 

“Chances are death,” Mayēih growled back. “I will stay here. Say what you came to say.” 

Irritated but beyond the ability to argue this, Nazhivēr returned, “Summoning has been ended -- by the former Dīnen et Vh’alyir, Zylas. Did you know him?” 

Mayēih hesitated. Then, angry, he bit out, “He was...a problem. He drew us more hatred. He should have never fought the other Dīnen.” 

“He was summoned,” Nazhivēr informed the other male; Mayēih jolted, riveted. Continuing, the Dh’irath explained, “He was summoned and entered into a contract with a hh’ainun female. Together, they learned how the hh’ainun summon us, and how to break it. They faced more summoners, more Dīnen, even a payashē -- and survived. They broke the magic that summons us.” 

Then, with more force, he bit out, “You would do well to show him more respect, Dīnen et Vh’alyir. He brought your House honor for the first time in years uncountable.”

Mayēih stared, holding utterly still, as the Dh’irath spoke. Then, tail flicking and unwinding from the trunk of the tree, his shadows vanished and he dropped to the ground. 

This one actually had armor, Nazhivēr noted. His clothing -- long pants and a shirt with one sleeve down to his wrist, the other missing -- were torn and dirty, smeared with mud and blood, but his armor gleamed in the faded sunlight. A leather chestpiece covered his torso with metal shoulderplates, an armguard over his uncovered forearm, and a single plate hanging over his left hip, held in place by a trio of skinny leather straps. 

The male’s horns were smaller than Zylas’s, but only just. And his hair was shorter, cropped close to his skull. A horizontal scar ran the length of his right cheek to his ear -- something that was only possible if a wound was repeatedly reopened. Someone had tortured this male, Nazhivēr concluded. 

Chances are death, he’d said. 

Nazhivēr wondered what chance had given him that scar. 

Mayēih was glowering. “Where is Zylas now?” he demanded. “I would speak to him.” 

Shaking his head, Nazhivēr answered, “In the hh’ainun world.” 

Mayēih’s gaze narrowed. “He did not return?” 

“He did. And then he left again.” 

“How? Was he summoned?” 

That wasn’t easy to answer. Nazhivēr had witnessed the familiar glow of kish lēvh, but he didn’t know if Robin had summoned Zylas or if Zylas had returned willingly. He could only guess, and from what he understood -- taking into account the bizarre habits of humans -- he thought...Zylas might have gone back of his own volition. It seemed like Zylas and Robin had a relationship that went deeper than a contractor and contracted. 

It was beyond comprehension, especially considering Zylas might have very well trapped himself in the human world permanently for her. But if the male had wanted it, if he’d chosen it...then he’d chosen it. 

Vaguely, a memory flitted to the surface: Robin’s voice, saying to the payashē, “Vh’alyir. He’s my-my amavrah.” 

She would not know this word and its meaning if Zylas had not told her. 

At length, Nazhivēr answered, “I cannot say for certain. He returned through the portal just before it closed forever.” 

Mayēih stared, struggling to comprehend what those words meant. 

“Come with me to Naventis,” Nazhivēr invited, “and I will explain fully -- to you and all others.” 

The Dīnen et Vh’alyir hesitated, but the promise of answers was clearly seductive to him. While he hedged, debating, Nazhivēr added, “You may have the chance to speak on behalf of your House, Dīnen. How noble are you? Enough for this?” he taunted. 

Mayēih scowled, his lips twisting in a disgusted, offended way. He bit out, “Ruling this House is as pointless as herding the rain, Ivaknen. If I come to this Naventis and I am killed, what will my House have gained? Nothing.” 

“You will not be killed,” Nazhivēr told him firmly. 

A scoff was Mayēih’s reply. “And who will enforce this promise, Ivaknen? You?” he challenged. 

“Yes.” 

He stared, going silent. 

Huffing, aggravated at this role he’d chosen for himself, Nazhivēr explained, “I cannot promise beyond Naventis, but for this, I can swear: you will be safe, Dīnen et Vh’alyir. You and all of your House, if any others attend.” 

Mayēih’s disbelief was almost palpable. Shaking his head as if doubting his ears, he demanded, “You swear this? A Dh’irath -- to a Vh’alyir?” 

“Yes,” Nazhivēr confirmed, impatience welling. He hated that he’d taken this ridiculous role, but what was happening in Ahlēavah was too important. If he had to protect a tiny, weak Vh’alyir during a Naventis, then he would. 

All must know what had happened. 

Mayēih’s chin lifted, regarding the larger demon with suspicion -- and, deep under the surface, hope. Chances are death, he’d said, but right then, Nazhivēr could see hope was battling against his beliefs. 

At length, Mayēih gave a small, hesitant nod. 

-- 

More days passed, and with it, many more demons arrived -- many more Vh’alyir. Most were young, so young they were not fully grown. Boys barely having come into their vīsh appeared, some alone, some with their sires. They grouped up tightly, though they rarely spoke and never more than a few words. The entire House, such as it could be called, were tense and terrified, and rightly so. 

Thousands of demons were here, now, and the Twelfth House had mere dozens on their side of the gathering. 

And then a group of payashē arrived, led by a white-haired payapis. There were more of them than there were Vh’alyir, even counting their young, and the payashē, too, had a few young with them. As they approached from far to the south, tension among the demons skyrocketed. 

Though Nazhivēr was terrified of the females’ arrival, he stepped forward to greet them. He was the designated spokesperson for this gathering, after all; no matter how much the idea of dealing with hundreds of payashē daunted him, he would do this duty. 

“Sahvē,” he said as he knelt before the women, shoulders tense, his wings low and tail held perfectly still in submission. 

The payapis stopped before him, gesturing the rest of the females to hold where they were. Her hair was long and elaborate, wrapped in leather cords, trinkets and bones and horns of creatures, hanging down to her knees behind her back. Coal-black horns nearly two feet long arched up and back through her hair. Her clothing was also more elaborate, her sleeveless top wrapped around her torso and held in place with a metal belt, the excess of her top hanging down to her thighs. Soft cloth hugged her legs, wrapping around her feet, and small sleeves climbed from her wrists to her elbows. 

Accessories and decorations adorned her everywhere, from thin bands around her upper arms to loops in her ears to armor stretching from her wrists to the backs of her fingers and numerous rings around her upper tail. She all but glittered in the daylight as the sun caught on each of her bangles, each of her movements audible from the clinking. 

“Sahvē,” she returned smoothly in her old, gravelly voice. “What is your name, Ivaknen?” 

He didn’t bother asking how she knew he was Ivaknen, answering, “Nazhivēr, payapis.” 

“Nazhivēr,” she echoed, thoughtful. “I remember your name. It has been many years, Dh’irath.” 

It has, he thought, the loneliness and yearning he’d once felt for his homeland yet to dissipate despite having returned. But, he supposed, this situation was wholly unique, even among the Ivaknen. There was much to celebrate -- and much to mourn, all at the same time. It kept his state of mind in an uproar, never sure how to feel, what to think. 

He didn’t reply to the payapis, awaiting her response, keeping his gaze low. 

She paused before saying, “My name is Kassyrih.” She eyed the gathering before her, then raised her voice for the benefit of all, “I have heard many things over the last days. One of our own was summoned -- and, I am led to believe, died in the hh’ainun world. I am also led to believe that a Vh’alyir ended this hh’ainun magic, and this Naventis was called to explain. Begin now,” she ordered coldly. 

Nazhivēr hesitated, venturing carefully, “Wise Kassyrih, do we have your promise that your payashē will not attack us during this Naventis?” 

Her eyes narrowed on him. “Do not attempt to approach us or offer food, and we will have no reason to attack,” she answered coolly. 

Nazhivēr nodded despite that lack of a direct promise, backing away from her on hands and knees before rising to return to his place with the Dīnen. Only nine stood there, the Ninth, Tenth and Eleventh Houses still so disordered no one knew who their Dīnen were nor how to find them, but many Ivaknen had come to stand with them. Dozens of males, most of them Second Rank, stood with their backs to a small cliff-face as Nazhivēr flew to the top of it. 

And then he began, relaying the tale -- such as he knew it. He didn’t include any speculations or guesses, knowing it was likely to backfire and cause more problems, but the rest he gave without preamble. 

Humans, millennia prior, had created a portal to Ahlēavah. This allowed them to summon demon Dīnen as prisoners and contracted slaves. Over time, much of the humans forgot how and when it had been done, but one grimoire had included the truth in its entirety. Nazhivēr, under Xever’s orders, had retrieved pages of the grimoire related to the original portal, and they’d made another. 

When the time came, he’d betrayed Xever with a clever set of loopholes to try and thwart the human, with Zylas and his human contractor aiding him. Though they’d failed to stop Xever from summoning and enslaving a payashē, they’d killed the human for this transgression, and then Zylas and Robin used the already-open portal to end the human’s ability to summon entirely. 

Zylas et Vh’alyir had returned to the human world -- for whatever reason -- and now...now they had to work out what to do from this moment onwards. 

No demon nor payapis still lived who remembered the before time. Only stories remained, but Nazhivēr suggested that they stop murdering one another -- for a time, at least. All of the Houses were damaged and needed time to recover. Given he was Ivaknen now, his words were taken thoughtfully, the crowd exchanging glances and soft queries. 

Soft -- because no one wanted to draw the attention of the payashē still grouped together, watching and listening. 

Kassyrih observed him closely as he spoke, then summoned her own wings. With a kick, she launched over the crowd, landing beside him; he reflexively dropped to a knee in deference. 

“Zylas et Vh’alyir?” she questioned, her voice strangely thoughtful. 

“Yes,” Nazhivēr answered, hoping that whatever she was thinking, it wouldn’t come back on him. 

Her gaze swept over the crowd (every demon shrank back or flinched under her burning sight), then returned to him. But before she could speak, another demon did. 

“A summoned Vh’alyir...killed my contractor,” the Ash'amadē said, confused. “This was Zylas?” 

Murmurs began in the crowd. 

“A Vh’alyir killed my contractor, too,” a Gh'ēlēis added. 

“And mine,” a third said. 

“Mine, too,” a fourth said. 

The words continued, more and more confirmations that Zylas had slain human contractors -- but no demons. None, Nazhivēr knew, except Tahēsh -- the Lūsh'vēr Dīnen. And as more than two dozen new Ivaknen agreed that they’d all seen the same Vh’alyir killing their contractors, thus returning them to Ahlēavah via their banishment clauses, the group of Vh’alyir demons stood just a little taller. 

Finally, the payapis spoke, shouting over the crowd, “Silence!” 

All speaking ceased, many males even shrinking back or crouching. 

Once the only sound was that of the gentle wind, she began, “This Vh’alyir gave us an immeasurable boon. He brought honor to his House greater than any other Dīnen has ever accomplished. He changed Ahlēavah…” she added, then trailed off. 

After a moment, she turned her gaze to her payashē. “He avenged Reskillā.” 

The payashē shifted, speaking to one another, glancing at the males, lingering on the Vh’alyir. Though the males shrank under the females’ burning eyes, the females made no moves -- neither in aggression nor invitation. If anything, they were judging. Then, almost in unison, their gazes turned to Mayēih, the Dīnen et Vh’alyir. 

He tensed, his jaw flexing, but he stood up straighter instead of folding in on himself the way the other Vh’alyir were doing. 

Kassyrih spoke up again, calling, “Time. Ahlēavah needs time. Dīnen,” she called to the males situated under her feet; they stepped back to look up at her, “order your males: no killing. Not until this world has begun to heal. And send word to the other Houses. Find the missing Dīnen and give them the same order. Payashē,” she added towards the females, “the same to you. Reject any males you wish, but do not kill them -- not yet. It is time to live again, free of the hh’ainun threat,” she declared. 

Burning red gazes flit left and right, demons glancing at one another, murmuring to each other. Not all agreed with her directive, especially among the payashē, but none spoke up against her. As voices blended together, discussing, Kassyrih summoned her wings again and leapt over the crowd, settling among her females. Males scattered apart to move out of her way, but she afforded them no attention. 

Nazhivēr watched with a sense of relief and gratitude. He’d been terrified that the payapis would declare his failure to protect the payashē -- Reskillā -- from death as an infraction worthy of death. A part of him had expected her to take his head in payment. 

A part of him had wanted it. 

-- 

Mayēih crouched at the edge of the shattered Ahlēvīsh, his jaw flexing as he considered the events of the day and all that he’d learned. Most of the demons had dispersed to do as the payapis had ordered, but some remained here, talking and questioning. Nazhivēr had stayed as well, answering what questions he could and speaking with other Ivaknen freed by Zylas et Vh’alyir. 

Here, Mayēih mused, in this exact spot many days prior, the hh’ainun world had been within reach. Here, it had been visible as though through a reflection. Here, his predecessor had entered Ahlēavah from the other side and cast an unknowable, complicated vīsh. Here, a Vh’alyir had ended summoning for all of them. 

Here, Zylas et Vh’alyir had brought immeasurable honor to the hunted and hated Twelfth House. 

Mayēih didn’t know how many times the dīn had passed through his House before reaching him, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Zylas had made a legacy for himself that he might not ever know, and at the same time, Mayēih hated him for that. 

Others would expect him to live up to this legacy, but there was no way. He didn’t know what kind of life Zylas had led, but it went without say that it must have been unique for a Vh’alyir. 

Mayēih had never met him. Once, when he’d been younger, he’d glimpsed the former Dīnen. They’d noticed each other, gazed at one another. Mayēih hadn’t even begun growing his horns yet, he’d been so young. His sire had been slaughtered by a Kahh'rūa right before his eyes, and the Kahh’rūa had laughed at him as his father breathed his last. 

He’d been spared because of his youth and nothing more. And, with nothing to his name and no knowledge of where to go and how to survive, he’d started off on his own. A game had begun afterwards, whenever he failed to hide in time or escape pursuers: his face was clawed, always in the same place. Before it could heal, another would find him and rip open the same wound. 

Over and over, for days beyond his ability to count, the punishment continued, until his healing failed to smooth the skin. The torture didn’t stop until he made a desperate, final gamble: entering the domain of an īnkav. 

It hadn’t been entirely intentional. He’d just been running, and numerous others had been herding him that way. They’d wanted the īnkav to kill him, he thought, but when the creature had reared up from its watery rest, it hadn’t gone for him. It’d gone for the others, and they’d scattered as the īnkav had hunted them. Their scents were stronger, their vīsh easier to follow, their meat greater. 

Mayēih had hid there, smearing himself in mud to hide his heat and his scent, and the īnkav had returned after eating its fill. From a great distance, he’d watched, and over the following months, he’d learned. 

He’d learned how far the īnkav was willing to travel for a meal, how close a demon had to be in order to draw it out. He’d learned its preferred hunting methods. He’d learned how much it ate before returning to the water to rest. He’d learned how to live alongside it, using its threatening presence to ensure his own safety. 

Somewhere in that time was when he’d seen Zylas. He’d recognized the Dīnen as such immediately, but though he’d been desperate to have a grown male help him learn to survive, Zylas had merely glowered at him and moved on. 

They’d spoken not a word, and in that rejection, Mayēih had finally understood the fate of all Vh’alyir: isolation and survival, above all else. They didn’t group together, didn’t stand at one another’s backs, didn’t support or protect one another. In time, he’d learned that they couldn’t -- not if they wanted to live. Their vīsh was weak and difficult to follow, and it was the only thing they had in their favor. 

They could avoid being found, but only if they remained isolated from one another. 

As much as Mayēih disdained the other Vh’alyir, he admitted that he wouldn’t have survived this long without that rejection. He’d have clung to the next male he’d seen, desperate for protection and safety, and it would have gotten him killed. Before now, he’d even felt some semblance of gratitude to Zylas for that silent lesson. 

Now he felt hatred -- because now Mayēih would forever be compared to Zylas, and he knew nothing he ever did would bring him or his progeny even a fraction of that honor. Zylas et Vh’alyir had “ended summoning forever”, and nothing no demon had ever done was greater than this. 

Mayēih would live the rest of his life hearing comparisons between himself and the other male, and he already hated it. 

Well beyond nightfall, when in the past all demons would have begun either hunting or hiding, males still lingered. The Ivaknen, especially, remained and discussed the future of their world and their Houses. And, eventually, the groups thinned further. 

When all that remained were a dozen Vh’alyir at the edge of the trees, standing close and speaking quietly, Nazhivēr approached the Ahlēvīsh once more, coming to crouch down near Mayēih. 

The Vh’alyir slid his gaze over to the larger male, silent and piqued and -- deeper under the surface -- still very much afraid. 

Nazhivēr grumbled, “You wonder what to do, now?” 

Mayēih puffed out a sigh. 

With a dry chuckle, the Dh’irath replied, “So do I.” 

“Even you do not know what to do?” Mayēih asked, doubtful. 

“I have been fighting to return for too long,” Nazhivēr answered gruffly. “I stopped wondering what I would do when I returned long ago. I have been living only to come home. Now that I am here...my mind wonders.” 

Mayēih thought he understood that. Gazing out over the crystal platform again, he said, “I have wondered the same my entire life.” 

At that, the Nazhivēr slung a sideways glance at him. With a grunt of acknowledgement, he retorted, “So Ivaknen are the same as Vh’alyir? I do not like this,” he informed the smaller demon. 

“And no Vh’alyir likes being Vh’alyir,” Mayēih shot back. “It is pain and struggle and death, always.” 

“No longer,” the Dh’irath pointed out. “The payapis gave us all new rules.” 

“The new rules will not last,” Mayēih hissed, baring his teeth at the ground. “Days and days and days may pass, but the old hate will return, and my House will be hunted again.” 

With another grunt, Nazhivēr said, “Maybe it will be longer than you think. Maybe by then you will have sons.” 

“I will never have sons,” the Vh’alyir told him. “I would not curse my young to live the same life I have lived. Better them to never live than to live and die this way.” Then, angry, he spat, “If only my own sire had been as selfless.” 

Curious, Nazhivēr checked, “You wish to die, Dīnen et Vh’alyir?” 

“I wish to have never lived,” Mayēih corrected. “I will live as long as I can, but I would rather have never been.” 

Nazhivēr was quiet for a moment; then, harsh, he humphed, “Weak.” 

The smaller demon growled, irritated. 

“You are weak,” Nazhivēr informed him. 

“All Vh’alyir are weak,” Mayēih shot back. 

“Zylas was not.” 

“Zylas!” Mayēih spat, spearing the larger demon with a glare. “He did this world a great thing, but he has done me a great disservice. I cannot live up to him, and others will always be quick to remind me of this. My future may be secure, for a time, but it will be worse than ever.” 

A growl of displeasure had begun in Nazhivēr’s throat, and as Mayēih finished speaking, he reached over and soundly backhanded the smaller male. Mayēih was sent sprawling a dozen feet away, and he rolled to his feet with a snarl on his face as the other males nearby halted their conversations to watch. 

Nazhivēr rose to his feet, looming tall over the smaller male, and he advanced as he bit out, “Zylas saved all of us. None of our sons will be summoned. We can return to the before time, without worry of who will go missing next or which of our young may suddenly be deprived of his sire. We can rest without fearing if this will be our last in our home.” 

Mayēih was backing away and to the side, circling, keeping distanced from the Dh’irath. He strode no closer to the other Ivaknen, either, teeth bared in fear and warning, his fingers clawed, waiting. 

Following, Nazhivēr continued, “He fought against me and with me, both. He nearly killed me once. I would not doubt that even the oldest and most ancient Vh’alyir would never have managed such a feat. You say you will be compared to him, forever?” Scoffing, he sneered, “We will all be compared to him, forever.” 

Though Mayēih didn’t stop retreating, his fear steadily faded to a thoughtfulness. And, at length, he replied, “You sound as if you admire him, Dh’irath.” 

“He managed in months what I failed to do for twenty years,” Nazhivēr snapped. “No -- he managed more. My only goal had been to return here. He learned what no demon had ever learned and in such a short time, he had it undone. No, Dīnen et Vh’alyir, you will never compare to him -- and anyone who says otherwise is a fool. None of us will ever earn as much honor as he did.” 

That had the Vh’alyir pausing, and he mused, “The fool is not the one who fails to compare, but the one who suggests anyone can?” 

Nodding, Nazhivēr stopped before the smaller male. “Rule your House, Mayēih -- the way no Vh’alyir has been allowed to do for years beyond counting. Do not attempt to be greater than any other. Be the Dīnen you are, not the one you believe others expect of you. Just rebuild your House...if you can.” 

The final challenge had Mayēih narrowing his eyes -- and straightening from his crouch to stand upright. But, with shame, he admitted, “I know very little. My sire died before he could teach me many vīsh. Rebuilding my House will not be...an easy thing.” 

A mocking grin twisted Nazhivēr’s features, and he replied, “You require a teacher? Fitting -- I have no purpose and endless time to be,” he hinted. 

Mayēih blinked, surprised. Shaking his head, he demanded, “You will advise my House, teach my Vh’alyir? A Dh’irath?” he checked, suspicious. 

Shrugging his massive shoulders, Nazhivēr commented, “I owe Zylas a debt I cannot repay, and I have nothing else to live for.” He offered his left arm, saying, “I cannot swear as Dīnen, but I can swear as Ivaknen.” 

The Vh’alyir Dīnen stared at him as if he’d grown a third set of horns. Then, shaking himself, he sent a glance to the others of his House, watching from nearby. A dozen pairs of eyes gazed back through the darkness, and they were torn; a few heads shook “no”, a few nodded, a few shrugged. 

He had to make a choice. Trust a Dh’irath -- a Dh’irath -- and learn how to protect and rule his House, or reject the offer? Both options presented risks. Chances are death, he reminded himself, and this was a bigger chance than any he’d ever made. But the reward, too, was greater than any other. Maybe he would be slain, maybe those of his House who foolishly chose to go along with him would be slain, too… 

But this would happen anyway, would it not? Vh’alyir was dying a slow death, losing their numbers by the day. If he agreed to this and it succeeded, that would end -- but if it didn’t...if he was betrayed, if his House was betrayed...better a quick death than a slow one. 

Nazhivēr’s words had been honest, he knew. At the very least, the offer was genuine, no matter what the male intended from deep within his mind. 

The desire to protect his House was new to Mayēih. He’d never intended to do so before, had never believed he ever could. But with this freedom came a new sense of responsibility, and one he knew would stay for as long as he lived. As foolish as the idea was, he had a chance to make things better for his entire House, and it felt like the dīn was demanding him to do so. 

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he checked, “This does not make Dh’irath and Vh’alyir allies?” 

“I cannot speak for the Dīnen,” Nazhivēr returned. 

Then everything was as Mayēih expected it to be. Huffing a breath that was either aggravated or hopeful -- even he could not guess -- he offered his own arm. As the other male clasped it, he said, “I accept.” 

Nazhivēr smiled, but it wasn’t one of happiness. He replied, “I accept. I hope you are prepared. I will not be gentle with you, Dīnen et Vh’alyir.” 

A chill raced through Mayēih, but in another second it faded. Of course -- he hadn’t even begun to hope it would be easy. But for once, he had some kind of a plan, some form of a future slowly constructing itself for him -- a future that was more than hiding at the fringes of an īnkav’s hunting grounds and waiting for the next demon to find him. 

Nothing about this was comforting and he refused to allow hope to take root in him, yet he found himself accepting the way things had turned. Even if this ended badly and his House was fully exterminated, his spirit, at least, would go on with the knowledge that he’d tried. As Dīnen, he’d tried to follow the example of his predecessor, had tried to take advantage of the gift offered to him by Zylas et Vh’alyir’s sacrifice. 

If he failed, then at least he had still tried. 

Chapter Text

The Vh’alyir House was growing -- or, more accurately, they were coming together. 

It had begun with Mayēih and the dozen others who’d stayed throughout the Naventis. With him leading and Nazhivēr et Dh’irath traveling with them, they wandered, seeking other Vh’alyir stragglers with the end goal of claiming some territory for themselves. Most of Ahlēavah was sectioned thus, but Vh’alyir had lost their land well over a thousand years prior, and the other Houses had surged up to claim what had remained of it. 

If Mayēih were to rebuild his House, he first needed land -- land they could protect and settle and return to for safety when they needed it. 

Weeks had passed since the Naventis. Nearly thirty Vh’alyir -- most of them too young to have grown their horns yet -- had joined the procession. Twice they’d skirted entirely too close to a pashir and a few payashē had warned them away. They traveled during the day, when the sun kept them virile and strong, and rested and watched at night. And all the while, Nazhivēr taught Mayēih. 

The subjects ranged broadly. At first they’d spoken in length, learning what each other knew, getting a feel for where they needed to start. And Nazhivēr was...dismayed...to discover just how little Mayēih knew. He was practically a juvenile, himself -- a kanyin. 

The rest of the Vh’alyir were little better. Even the few who had sons of their own with them knew barely more than a Dh’irath of child-age. Many of them were juveniles with no sires to protect or teach them. And so, Nazhivēr resigned himself to the role of a father, deciding to teach them as if they were still children. 

They were drastically different than Zylas. He had known so many spells it left Nazhivēr unsure which of the two of them knew more; at the very least, he couldn’t hazard a guess as to how many Zylas had known. Whoever his teacher had been, Nazhivēr mused, they had taught him well.  

Day and night, Nazhivēr taught the Vh’alyir House. He built their knowledge from the ground up, many of them so ignorant they didn’t even know how to read. A few barely knew how to speak, their words always spoken laboriously. It was aggravating but, he reminded himself more and more frequently, this was partly his own House’s fault. Between that and the fact that he owed Zylas a debt he could never repay, he forced patience and kept to his word. 

It was not easy. Twenty years in the human world had taught him a great deal about foreign concepts like numbers and age, and he was now aware that every inch of horn length for a demon equalled somewhere between eight and ten years. Nazhivēr, thus, had been an adult for over a century. 

Most of the Vh’alyir -- the ones with horns, that is -- had less than thirty years. Mayēih, the eldest, had horns just under three inches long. By comparison, Zylas’s had been maybe a centimeter longer -- the elder by two or three years. 

Nazhivēr had his work cut out for him. All of these Vh’alyir were so young, so ignorant, so untested and untrained. But he soothed himself with the knowledge that although he’d promised to teach them, he’d never given a time limit nor had he clarified what he would teach them nor how much. He could leave anytime he wished and never have broken his promise. 

Days and nights passed like this, with him teaching the males during the night and traveling with them during the day as they sought some place to call home. 

Then the most bizarre thing happened: a payashē came to them. 

This had happened before, when the group had ambled too close to a pashir, but never so directly. Before, the females had warned them away with vish; this female flew through the sky, bathed golden from the setting sun’s brilliance, aiming straight for them. Nazhivēr had felt her coming before she’d even been visible to him. He’d warned the others, but they were still surprised when she angled her wings towards them, dropping from the sky. 

Her scarlet wings flapped once just before reaching the ground, righting herself to land on her feet. She stood an impressive five-foot-three, her hair cut short, the front hanging over her face to partly shield her eyes in a way that reminded Nazhivēr entirely too much of Zylas. Her horns were minuscule, barely more than an inch long; she had only been an adult for a decade. Both her hands and feet were tipped in curved, black claws, the latter an uncommon oddity for any demon. 

Black leather pants wrapped her legs, the waistline low to account for her tail, tight laces climbing the outside of her thighs. More dark leather circled her waist in a belt that was hooked into her pants, though it was low enough still to leave some of her hips visible. A similar leather top was slung around her neck and over her breasts, a thick band of it holding it in place underneath her bust and tied shut at the front. That same leather formed a band around her left upper arm and both forearms, accentuating the cut musculature of her toned arms. Dark cloth wrapped both of her feet, her toes and heels uncovered. 

Silver metals gleamed here and there on her: simple studs punched into her armguards, along the lining of her top, and following the outer curve of her pants. Two more metal hoops circled her left ear, barely large enough to encompass her flesh: one in the lobe, one nearly at the pointed tip. 

She smiled as the procession halted and uniformly knelt before her. Her jaw was wide and square, her scarlet eyes large, her lips thick, both the top and bottom indented. And when she spoke, her tone was almost masculine, nearly as deep as any male’s, but so smooth it managed to be lulling, as well. 

“Sahvē,” she greeted them. Her eyes scanned the group, then landed on Mayēih. Gazing at him, she queried, “You are the Dīnen?” 

He was the only one still standing. Even Nazhivēr had had the wisdom to kneel; she was very young, this payashē, but underestimating her -- or disrespecting her -- was still foolish at best. 

Mayēih nodded to her, his expression muted. “Sahvē. I am Mayēih,” he told her. “What is your name, payashē?” 

“Dirahn,” she answered.

“Dirahn,” he echoed with a respectful nod. 

She ran her claw over her cheek, asking, “What is this you have, Dīnen?” 

“A scar,” he answered. 

“What is a scar?” 

“The mark of a wound healed,” he said. 

“I do not understand.” 

Nazhivēr spoke up, explaining, “Scars only occur if a wound is reopened again and again before healing is complete.” 

She humphed as if the concept were ridiculous. 

Ignoring that, Mayēih prompted, “Why have you come here, if I may ask?” 

“Many reasons,” she answered offhandedly, starting to stride in a wide circle around the group. “All the reasons,” she added as she eyed them. “To see the Vh’alyir for myself...to answer the questions in my mind...and to...seek one,” she finished in a thoughtful murmur. 

Her gaze landed on Nazhivēr, narrowed in contemplation. “You are the new Dh’irath Ivaknen?” she checked. “The one who led the Naventis, na?” 

He nodded. “I am Nazhivēr,” he introduced himself, remaining in his crouch. Then, hesitant, he ventured, “I am the one you seek?” He didn’t know why she’d want to find him, but he assumed it wasn’t for anything good. Young though she was, he didn’t know if he would be able to survive if she decided to execute him. 

“No,” she answered, flippant, her gaze wandering away again. “I seek another...a Vh’alyir,” she was saying, and hushed murmurs broke out through the males. As she started to walk again, she said clearly, “I seek Ilkav.” 

Ilkav? The representative Mayēih had sent to the Naventis in his place? 

Over the last weeks, Nazhivēr had learned that Mayēih had been indirectly teaching Ilkav. The males had similar histories, their fathers dying before their horns had grown in and leaving them both woefully inept, almost incapable of survival. Mayēih had allowed Ilkav to join with him near the īnkav’s hunting grounds, and they’d become a fairly powerful team -- though Ilkav was admittedly entirely too frightened of everything to be of much help. 

The few times they’d been hunted, Ilkav had been little more than bait -- but he’d been good bait, quick and resourceful and exceptionally good at skirting the very edge of the īnkav’s territory. 

But why would this payashē be looking for him? 

The entire group of Vh’alyir stiffened as one, and though their communal fear skyrocketed, none of them moved a muscle. No one identified him, no one revealed him, no one so much as breathed in his direction. That loyalty and protectiveness, though odd to Nazhivēr, was yet impressive. 

And then Dirahn called, “Come, brother, do you not wish to see me?” 

Gasps and noises of confusion and surprise cut through the males. Nazhivēr was little better, his gaze snapping up to the female. Envisioning Ilkav, he compared the male with the female before him, and stun descended. 

They had the same square jaw, the same thick lips, the same small horns. 

They were twins.  

“Brother?” Mayēih blurted, his mind a step behind Nazhivēr's. 

Smirking, Dirahn glanced at the Vh’alyir, holding up two fingers. Then, crossing them, she replied, “Carried and born of the same womb.” Pride flowed from her. 

This was...extremely rare, Nazhivēr thought, staring at the female in wonder. Saying that multiple births were uncommon for demons was putting it mildly; from what he’d seen of the human world, the humans produced twins at well over ten times the rate that demons did. Triplets and more were completely unheard of. Before being summoned, the idea of three offspring sharing a womb had been beyond his comprehension, and higher numbers were an impossibility. The concept would never have crossed his mind. 

And now he knew humans could manage up to eight with relatively high success. It was beyond belief. 

But this... this was beyond belief, too. In all his years, he’d never heard of a pair of twins being opposite genders -- a male of any House and a payashē? Before now, he’d have declared it impossible. All of the pairs of twins he’d ever so much as heard of had been the same gender: two females or two males. He could count on one hand how many pairs of twins he'd met and he only needed his other to account for all the ones for whom he'd heard stories. 

No wonder Dirahn seemed so pleased, he thought. If he’d had a twin sister, he’d have been proud, too. 

But Ilkav didn’t identify himself. 

Slowly, the female’s amusement waned. Disappointment started to flicker across her features and, when silence remained her only reply, she pivoted to walk through the males. They scurried aside and away, opening the way for wherever she wished to go, as she strode among them. She eyed every face as she went, her nostrils flaring every so often as she sniffed the air. 

Nazhivēr spotted Ilkav as she went, noting the shaggy-haired male’s submissive huddle; he was hiding his face completely behind his hair, his head so low his hair pooled around him. The tangled mass of it even hid his horns, leaving his age incapable of being determined. 

Nazhivēr couldn’t decide if he should reveal the male or not, and when he sent a glance to Mayēih, he saw the Dīnen was in the same position. If they called attention to Ilkav, would Dirahn attack him? Would she kill him? The payapis had ordered them not to, but that didn’t mean this young female would obey. But on the other hand, if they didn’t reveal Ilkav, would she grow frustrated and kill them all? 

Young though she was, Nazhivēr yet entertained no notions that he could kill her, nor even stop her if she decided to attack. If she chose to kill them, his only recourse would be to flee as far and as fast as he could to save his own life. 

He’d promised to teach the Vh’alyir House, not to protect or die for them. Though it would shame him to flee, he was ready to do so. Debt or no debt, he hadn’t struggled and fought and bled for so long to come home only to then die at the hands of a juvenile payashē. 

Dirahn’s feet stopped. Her gaze had landed on Ilkav’s deep kneel, and after a moment, she canted her head at him and crouched in front of him. A hand reached out, delving through his tangled hair to grasp his chin and lift his face; he glanced up at her then looked away just as quickly. 

She sniffed him, then smiled. “Sahvē, brother,” she cooed. 

He hunched lower. 

She made a noise of displeasure. “No words for your sister, Ilkav?” When he remained silent, paralyzed before her, she demanded softly, “Are you not happy to see me?” 

His chin dipped, his face turning towards the ground again. 

Eyes narrowing, she said with more force, “Have you not missed me?” 

Silence. 

Nazhivēr’s tension rose. If he wasn’t so scared of her attention shifting to him, he would’ve readied his wings to take flight by now. 

Dirahn eased back on the balls of her feet, sighing, her tail swishing behind her. “I came all this way to see you, brother, and you give me nothing?” 

Hesitant, Ilkav ventured in a tiny voice, “Sahvē, sister.” 

She grunted. Then, seeming to accept that, she prompted, “Come play with me.” 

He sucked in a breath, freezing. 

“Do you remember?” she asked, leaning sideways to see him through his hair. “Do you remember the games we used to play?” 

“I remember,” he rasped. 

Pleased, she smiled again, rising to her feet. “Good. Then we can play,” she decided. 

Ilkav didn’t move. 

With a sound of disappointment, she demanded, “Do you not wish to play, either?” 

Tension had his muscles bunching in his shoulders and arms, and his tail twitched in fear. 

Her own tail snapped side to side, annoyed. “Your silence hurts, brother,” she warned. 

He flinched. 

She huffed. “I am beginning to think you want me to leave,” she noted. When he still didn’t reply she heaved a sigh. “You want me to go, brother? You fear me this much?” 

Evading her question, he choked, “I have...never won our games…” 

“Because mother told you to lose,” she countered; his gaze snapped up, surprised. Smirking, she said, “You think I did not know this? She told you to let me win. But she is not here now, brother, and I want to play,” she hinted sharply. 

He hesitated, eying her. 

“Do you think you can win?” she asked him, tilting her head again. “I want to know. Do you want to know?” 

Cautious, he said, “It is...irrelevant.” 

She huffed, crossing her arms, her tail lashing with irritation; numerous males winced and skittered back. Ignoring them, she demanded, “Have you always despised me this much?” 

Flinching again, he bit out, “I do not despise you, Dirahn.” 

“No?” she challenged. “But you do not want me here. You are not happy to see me.” 

He looked away. 

Sighing, she relaxed her arms, disappointment radiating off her. “I never wanted you to go,” she told him, seeming oblivious to their audience. 

Brows drawing in close, Ilkav checked, “You did not?” 

“No,” she confirmed. “Mother wanted you to go. She was happy when our father came to get you. I was…” she started, then paused. After a long moment, she finished quietly, “...not.” When he hesitated again, she confessed, “I wanted to keep you. But Mother refused.” Crouching again to look at him more closely, she murmured, “Did you want to go, too, brother?” 

He met her gaze for all of a second, then ducked his head, his hair pooling in the dirt again. 

She sighed, leaning back in her crouch. Her tail lashed with aggravation, once, twice -- then stilled. And she offered, “Play with me. If you win...I will leave.” 

His head snapped up, staring at her in disbelief. “And...if you win?” he prompted. 

She grinned, her canines gleaming in the setting sun. “Then I will stay and we will play more. Again and again -- until you win.” 

For a moment he was quiet, eying her. Then he checked, “You promise this?” 

She offered her left arm. “Do you agree?” she returned, evading the question. 

Ilkav slowly, hesitantly, unfolded from his low, submissive crouch, mimicking her relaxed squat. With deliberately slow, cautious movements, he reached out, and the twins grasped forearms. 

“No vīsh?” he demanded. 

“No vīsh,” she confirmed. “Just you and I, playing, as we used to.” 

“I agree,” he finally said. 

Dirahn looked delighted, calling, “And I agree!” She hopped up to her feet, her smile wide. “Well?” she prompted him, sweeping an arm beyond him. “Choose!” 

Ilkav rose, too, though he remained hunched enough to keep them close to the same height. He asked, “What size?” 

She shrugged, waltzing past him to an open spot on the ground. “You decide,” she invited, picking a place and crouching by it. Extending her hand, magic spiraled around her wrist and down her fingers, coming to create a two-foot-wide glowing circle on the ground. Runes etched into it, glowing brightly. Her tail flicked happily as she worked. 

Nazhivēr watched, confused. What was this game, and why did it require a spell circle? A few of the Vh’alyir inched closer to watch, a few curious glances coming his way, but he had no answers. He wasn’t familiar with this magic, and reading the runes answered nothing. He recognized the words for swirl, circle, cross, mirror, etch -- and a few more to tie them together. 

It was some kind of...goal, he thought? 

As Dirahn did this, Ilkav prowled on hands and feet, scanning the ground. He dug up and checked numerous rocks, eventually selecting one small enough to hold in his palm, oval and flat. He offered it to Dirahn. 

She glanced at him, then gestured him over, crouching at the edge of the circle she’d made. This time he held it out over the center, and she ran her hand over it, magic blazing across the back of her hand; when she eased back, a simple swirl was etched into the back of the rock. 

Then, taking it, she rose and turned, seeking. Her gaze landed on Nazhivēr. 

He watched her with suspicion as she strode towards him, and she stopped before him, holding out the stone. “Throw this for us,” she directed. 

He took it. “Where?” he asked. 

“Anywhere,” she answered simply, then returned to the circle. She knelt and extended her right hand into the circle and Ilkav did the same; in unison, power coursed over their wrists and the backs of their hands. When it settled, a glowing, white mark adorned them both, blazing on the backs of their hands. 

Dirahn’s mark was a cross. Ilkav’s was a ring. 

Then, resting their hands at the edge of the circle, Dirahn sent Nazhivēr a look, silently demanding. When he arched his arm back to throw it, both she and Ilkav suddenly closed their eyes, bowing their heads. Nazhivēr hesitated one more second, comprehending this game of theirs, then launched the stone as hard as he could, the stone flinging far into the sky. 

Both of the siblings canted their heads, listening to its motion, then began pivoting their heads, following it as best they could. As the rock arched over the nearly-endless expanse of dry, cracked earth, only the barest trees and shrubs visible in all directions, every demon collectively held their breath. 

The smallest, barest thunk echoed across the desert as the rock landed; the twins suddenly sprang to life, both of them launching from their crouches to sprint for the sound. 

At first they were matched, arms pumping as they gradually increased in speed, slowly leaning forward to escalate their runs -- but Dirahn had a notable disadvantage: her legs were shorter than Ilkav’s, her body less designed for high speeds like this. He began pulling forward. 

Noticing, she smiled wide, pushing herself harder; she started to overtake him. Noticing her in turn, he leaned more forward, his legs taking longer steps, pushing off the ground harder with each. He drew ahead. 

He had a good lead by the time he skidded to a stop, rapidly scanning the ground for the rock they sought; he spun and pivoted, eyes catching on every spot of white in the area; she reached him while he was still looking, crouching to join him on the hunt, nostrils flaring as she scented for it. 

Ilkav found it first, leaping forward to snag the rock; attention snapping to him, she leapt for him; he lunged up, evading her fling. The ground tore as he launched into another sprint, but she managed another desperate leap and caught him around the waist. As he pitched forward, his momentum broken, she scrambled for his hand, seeking the stone. 

He rolled; she twisted, following; he flipped to his feet; she jumped for his hand, seizing it. Bracing their feet, they wrenched at one another’s hands, jerking around in circles, their movements almost equally fast. But she failed to peel his fingers back, and with a heave, he threw her off him; she rolled and twisted back to her feet as he sprinted back towards the group. 

He had a good lead on her and everyone watching knew it. She had no hope of catching him, now -- but she still ran for him, refusing to concede, her face alight with enjoyment. She snagged another rock, bigger than her fist, and flung it at him, catching him in the knee and buckling it; he went tumbling face-first into the dirt. 

Then she was on him, her fingers managed to snatch the stone, and now she was sprinting ahead of him.  

Ilkav shot back to his feet and rushed after her, his run steadily catching her; with less than half the distance remaining to their goal, he made a desperate leap for her; she jumped, anticipating his move, spinning in the air, her tail whipping around to maintain her balance. When she landed, he already had a second leap prepared, and the two began an aerial wrestling match. 

They twisted, darted, spun and flipped around one another, hands constantly moving in rapid flurries and jerks. The exertion had them panting and gasping for breath, but their motions never slowed -- not until Ilkav managed to snag Dirahn by the ankle, halting her launch forward; she coiled as she fell, whipping into a roll so strong it hefted him clear off his feet; as he arced over her, his hand caught hers and wrenched it back, and with a yowl of pain, her hand opened. The rock lifted from her grip. 

Snagging the stone again, his momentum carried him forward, but she didn’t give him the chance to run again. She leapt onto his back, her legs cinching around his waist as she surged for the rock. He pivoted and twisted, his tail lashing for balance, and caught her arm in a powerful grip; with another heave, he threw her off him; she twisted, using the force of his throw to go forward instead of sideways as he’d intended. 

She twisted face-down as she flew then landed in a crouch in front of him, halfway between him and the goal. Her tail snapped as she waited, pinpoint focused on him; his tail swept wide, then stilled, equally focused on her. They held, staring, waiting, the marked stone clutched tightly in his grip. 

Then they launched at each other, colliding together in another twisting, darting mass of precise movements, slowly edging closer to the goal. Then their hands smacked into each other with so much force they both recoiled in pain -- and the stone went skittering forward, closer to the goal; they both took one heartbeat to stare at it in shock, then each other, and then they both rushed after it. 

The stone caught on a crack and went spinning into the air and they both leapt off their feet to reach it; Dirahn was closer by a breadth, but Ilkav’s reach was greater; their audience stared, wide-eyed, breath held; Ilkav’s fingers closed over it. Dirahn’s claws raked at his hand but his grip held, even as blood dripped. 

He landed in a skid, twisting to slide backwards, his momentum bringing him straight across the spell circle, his hand and the stone he held centered over it; Dirahn was a hair behind him, twisting to skid back the same way he had, her hand lashing out to clutch at his; she slammed into him and his hand came up to steady her, bracing at her back; red light flared as the circle burst with radiance and the glowing ring on the back of his hand briefly turned golden yellow, then vanished. 

Gasping for breath, her tail lashing across the dirt at her side, Dirahn murmured in stun, “You beat me.” 

Ilkav was heaving for air, too, and when she eased her hand back from his, he turned his palm over. The magic faded out to nothing and his bloodied fingers opened, revealing the rock now smeared with dark red blood. The etched swirl stared up from its face, and then he twisted it over to reveal its other side...now etched with a ring. 

Dirahn looked down at the back of her hand, the former cross gone. 

“Ilkav,” she murmured in a deep huff, lifting her head to gaze at him; he froze, breath catching. Meeting his eyes, she said firmly, “You beat me.” 

He said nothing, barely even breathing despite the way his chest heaved with need. 

Then she gave a soft chuckle. “I always knew you could,” she commented, reaching out to take the stone from his hand. Then, rising to her feet, she examined it thoughtfully. Her breathing eased little by little as she gazed at the tiny marked stone as if it were a priceless treasure. 

Ilkav eased back on his hands and feet, keeping submissively low, his hair even more tangled than usual after their game. 

She sent him a sideways glance, smiled, then turned to head back the way she’d come. She walked through the Vh’alyir males as they skittered away from her, then paused halfway between them and open ground. Looking over her shoulder, she asked, “Was it fun?” 

Her brother hesitated, then answered in a rasp, “Yes.” 

She smiled again, but this time it was tinged in sorrow. With a jerk of her arm, she tossed the stone back to him; keeping his eyes on her, he caught it, his fingers slowly curving around it protectively. Then she continued on, finally breaching the circle of males. She stopped there, her magic flaring, and her crimson wings arched out from her back. 

When she crouched to launch into the sky, Ilkav suddenly shot to his feet, calling, “Dirahn!” 

She stopped, pivoting to look at him in question. 

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. Struggling with himself, he finally forced out, “Yes.” 

Her brows drew together. 

“You asked...if I was happy to see you,” he explained, his words halting every other syllable. “You asked if...I missed you. If I enjoyed our games. Yes...the answer is...yes,” he choked out. 

Her wings vanished and her smile returned. Then, coming towards him with measured steps, she demanded, “And do you want me to go, brother?” 

He leaned back as she approached, but he answered, “No…” 

Stopping in front of him, head tilted back to see him, she asked, “Then why you did not say so?” 

He whispered, “Mother would not want you here--” 

She scoffed; he flinched. “Mother does not order me,” she informed him brusquely. 

Confused, he asked, “Is she not teaching you?” 

She waved her hand in dismissal of the concept. “Only vīsh. All day, every day, it is study, learn, memorize -- it is not what I want. I hate it.” 

Speaking up for the first time, Nazhivēr said, “Payashē belong with the pashir.” 

She scowled at him. “The pashir is boring,” she shot back. “All they do, all the time, is boring.” 

“It is safe,” he returned carefully, trying not to irritate her. 

“Safe is boring,” she told him. “I could endure it no longer.” 

“Is that why you came here?” Mayēih checked, striding to the siblings. “For fun?” 

“All the reasons,” she answered. “All the other payashē do is study and lounge and pay themselves compliments they do not deserve. I want more,” she informed him. Then, straightening her back, she added, “The world beckons me. I wish to see it all.” 

“It is dangerous,” Nazhivēr warned her. 

She smirked at him. “For males,” she crooned. 

“And females,” he countered, voice hardening; her amusement chilled to a harsh warning. Ignoring that, he told her, “You are young and know little. The pashir is safe -- from everything. The land, the creatures, the foods you know nothing of--” 

“I know more than you think I do,” she cut in sharply. 

“I know more than you can comprehend,” he shot back. Though fear snaked through him at this direct defiance of a female, he continued on, “Have you ever seen a kanthav, payashē? Or an īnkav? Do you know the renhūs tree and its fruits? Or the ūdrash traps? Would you recognize these dangers?” 

When she said nothing, he stated bluntly, “You would blunder into danger before knowing what it was. And your vīsh cannot help you if you are dead. All it takes is one mistake and even you can die,” he told her. “There are things out here that can eat you in one bite or poison you so you cannot speak or think or breathe. You know none of these things.” 

She listened, her tail twitching in agitation, and then she settled on another smile. “Then it is a good thing,” she said smoothly, “that I had planned to not be alone.” 

Mayēih did a double-take. “You planned to stay with my Vh’alyir?” he checked. 

Smirking, she looked up at Ilkav. “With my brother,” she corrected. 

Ilkav’s breath caught, but he didn’t argue. 

“If he stays with you, then I will, too,” she declared. 

Nazhivēr couldn’t help but ask, “Why are you so driven to do this, payashē?” 

“It is not obvious?” she wondered, never breaking her stare. She lifted one of Ilkav’s hands, aligning their palms and fingers; his dwarfed hers. More to her brother than the others, she answered, “We are unique. A payashē and a Vh’alyir -- we had shared a womb. How many others can make this claim?” She paused a moment, then asked, “Do you know what I think, brother?” 

He shook his head. 

“I think we were meant to stay together,” she told him. “I think Mother was wrong to separate us.” 

His fingers curled around hers, brows drawn in concern. “What if Mother comes for you?” he wondered quietly. 

“She might,” she allowed, “but I am old enough to decide for myself what I want to do. I am exactly where I want to be.” 

“You seek adventure,” he concluded. 

She smirked. 

With a tiny smile of his own, he murmured, “You always had.”

“You remember,” she purred, pleased. Then, thoughtful, she said, “You are much taller than me, now. Last I saw you, we were the same.” 

He gave her a fragile smile. 

Mayēih sighed softly. “Promise you will not attack or endanger my Vh’alyir,” he prompted, “and the both of you may stay.” 

Dirahn’s gaze slid to him, disapproval in her expression. “You would order me, Dīnen?” she hissed. 

“To protect my House? Yes,” he answered. 

She canted her head, thoughtful. “You do not fear me?” 

He shrugged. “Fear is difficult to feel when you expect death,” he answered. 

A chuckle pulled from her, eying him as if he were a curiosity. “Very well. I accept your terms,” she told him. 

Nazhivēr looked between the three of them with mounting disbelief: Mayēih, the Dīnen who was waiting to die; Ilkav, the terrified Vh’alyir who could barely stand on his own; and Dirahn, the bizarre payashē who had chosen her male twin over the safety of the pashir. 

Including him, the Dh’irath Ivaknen who’d promised to teach and protect this dying House, they were the oddest group to have ever existed. And the more he thought about it, the less he felt like this was a good idea. Granted, a payashē’s presence would afford them greater safety, but it would also call much more attention to them, and if a payapis -- or even an elder payashē -- decided that her presence with them was wrong, there was nothing anyone could do to stop a slaughter. 

Her presence promised both safety and death in equal amounts, and which one they received was a gamble determined by Ahlēa. 

Nazhivēr had always hated gambles. 

--

Given it was already dusk, they decided to stay where they were for the night. A few of the braver Vh’alyir -- mostly the juveniles -- approached Dirahn from time to time, asking her questions. Though Mayēih worried about the limits of her patience, she seemed simply amused by them. If she didn’t wish to answer a question, she would only flick her tail at them, the spiked barb at the end snapping close enough to warn them away. 

She stayed with Ilkav, all but glued to his side. And, little by little, he was relaxing. She would sometimes touch him, checking his clothing, comparing the length of their horns, measuring their limbs and tails against one another. She seemed fascinated by his height, the length of his fingers, the width of their hips. 

Mayēih watched them for a time -- until Nazhivēr drew his attention with another lesson. And as several Vh’alyir settled into a half-circle as the lesson began, Dirahn wandered over, observing. Though most of them grew tense at her approach, she merely watched, Ilkav slowly following to join the males. 

Eventually the tension eased, Nazhivēr’s voice continuing through the night. Dirahn spent most of that time standing perfectly still, watching, only her tail occasionally twitching to betray that she was still awake and aware. An hour slipped past, then two, as he explained runes and vīsh, halfway teaching the illiterate males to read along the way. Whether she was learning, too, or simply entertaining herself by observing, she gave no indication. 

Then her head turned, her gaze drawn over to the horizon, and even the twitch of her tail stilled. Most of the males failed to notice, but Mayēih and Nazhivēr did, and the lesson halted as the Dh’irath ceased speaking. 

He looked the same way she was, silently observing and listening, before asking gruffly, “What is it?” 

Her eyes never moved from their point of focus, but she replied softly, “Ahlēa makes the sun fly and rain fall…” 

Rising to his feet, he strode past the males, coming to stand at her side. “What are you thinking, payashē?” he murmured. 

“I am thinking Ahlēa wanted me here,” she hummed. Her eyes darted past him to Mayēih, and she said, “Your Vh’alyir are being hunted.” 

Mayēih stiffened. “Which House?” he demanded. 

“Many,” she purred, starting to smile. “They are too far for you to sense, na? Even you,” she said to Nazhivēr. “But not too far for a payashē.” With a chuckle, she added, “I think they cannot feel me, lost in this many vīsh. They do not know what they have stalked.” 

Nazhivēr growled low in his throat. “They should have felt me,” he grunted, offended. 

“And still they hunted,” Mayēih noted aloud. “Maybe they think you are some other Dh’irath. Maybe they do not know you are Nazhivēr.” 

Or maybe they know and they want you dead, too. The unspoken words flowed between them. 

With a deep sound of frustration, Nazhivēr replied, “The payapis ordered no killing. We cannot slay them.” 

“No?” Dirahn challenged. “They were going to kill all of you. I see nothing wrong with killing them first.” 

“The payapis may not agree,” he warned her. 

“The payapis told us different things,” she argued. “She told the payashē not to kill any males who come to mate. She said nothing of killing males who came to kill. Your claws are bound -- not mine.” 

Nazhivēr’s chin lifted, a thoughtful kind of respect flashing across his features. 

Eying him in return, she canted her head, asking, “You want to hunt, na?” 

His lips peeled back in a cruel grin. 

“Have you ever hunted with a payashē before?” 

He shook his head. “I would never have dared,” he answered. 

She grinned back. “Would you like to? I would like to see how such an experienced male hunts.” 

“I would not be able to kill,” he warned her. 

“The payapis said nothing of dismembering them,” she hinted. 

Malevolent chuckles rolled from him. “I like the way your mind works, payilas,” he crooned. 

“Payilas?” she echoed, but rather than be offended, she laughed. “Only the foolish mock a payashē,” she told him. “I am no child, Dh’irath.” 

“Prove me wrong,” he invited. 

Her eyes glowed brighter. “I accept,” she purred. Then, gaze snapping past him to Ilkav, she said sharply, “Brother -- come with me.” 

He hesitated. “I-I do not--” he started. 

“You know little of fighting, I am aware,” she interrupted, “but this is a good time to learn.” 

“They could kill me,” he bit out, his tone urgent and scared. 

“They will not.” 

“Dirahn--” 

“I know the healing vīsh,” she informed him. “Mother was adamant I learn it, so I did. There is no way they can hurt you that I cannot fix.” When he still hesitated, she murmured, “Do you wish to be afraid for all your life?” 

Nazhivēr gave the male a look, then said, “They will not know what to make of us at first. We have the advantage.” 

“And they will try everything to placate me,” she added, casting them a wolfish grin. “Will be fun.” 

Mayēih said, “I will come.” Though he disdained the very idea of facing against numerous males from numerous Houses, the dīn seemed to be pushing him in this. He couldn’t help wanting to protect his males, despite knowing that it would be foolish to try. 

“No,” both Dirahn and Nazhivēr denied in unison; they shared a surprised look. 

Shaking off her stun, Dirahn told him, “Stay with your males.”

“You are too important to risk for this,” Nazhivēr clarified. 

Mayēih growled softly, eyes darting between the two of them. He knew better than to fight this -- not with both an elder Dh’irath and a payashē allied against him. Chances are death, he reminded himself; fighting those two was a massive chance. He could not win. 

Then Dirahn reached for Ilkav, her hand open in silent demand. The male’s breath hitched, but he half-crawled to her, hesitantly taking her hand. She smiled; he stared, his eyes blazing in fear. 

She wasted no more time, turning to face the hunters and starting to stride towards them. Ilkav rose to keep up, gripping her hand tighter, and Nazhivēr strode behind them, his larger size and folded wings flanking them from behind like a backdrop from a nightmare. 

The hunters were wholly unprepared for what was coming for them. 

Chapter Text

If there’s one thing Ilkav understood above all else, it was his own skittish nature. He couldn’t be blamed for that, he thought; thanks to how he’d been raised combined with the systematic extermination of his House, he had little confidence in himself and a possibly unhealthy fear of living. 

When they were little, he and Dirahn had done most everything together, from learning to sleeping to hunting. Their mother wasn’t terribly present through most of it, opting to take a distant role in their upbringing, but when she did intervene, it was always in Dirahn’s favor. 

They would play games together and she always made Ilkav swear to lose. For the most part, he hadn’t minded that; playing together was worth losing every game. Then, when they grew a bit older and started to develop their vīsh, their mother had turned around and forced separation between them. When Dirahn had protested, complaining that she wanted Ilkav with her always, their mother had informed her brusquely that no male was worth keeping around. 

She’d hidden Dirahn away at the pashir when their father had come for Ilkav, never revealing that they’d had twins together. She’d just pushed Ilkav away and walked back with the same relieved distaste as someone who’d just washed something grotesque off their skin. 

A few years later, their father had been slain by a pack of kanthav. He’d already been weak thanks to surviving a hunting spearheaded by a couple other 3rd-rank demons and protecting Ilkav along the way, and the last thing he’d done as he’d died was to cast a cloak spell on Ilkav so he could run away without drawing attention. 

In moments, Ilkav had lost everything. 

He hadn’t even reached adulthood yet and had few skills in how to survive. At that moment, he’d only been able to think of Dirahn, yearning to have his sister back if only for the comfort of her presence. But in the end she hadn’t appeared despite his impassioned pleas to the nighttime sky, and he’d resigned himself to the new life stretching out before him. 

His youth had spared him from a few different attacks -- but only until his horns would become visible, he knew. He’d taken that as an advantage and grown out his hair to hide them, learning to keep himself hunched to make himself seem smaller, and all the while he’d learned how to survive. The main trick was in avoiding a fight, he’d discovered; fighting equaled death to a Vh’alyir, especially one as ignorant as he was, so it was best to simply not fight. 

Years later and here he was, now, with Dirahn clutching his hand as she led them directly into a group of males from multiple Houses who wanted him and the rest of the Vh’alyir dead. The fact that he felt so grateful to have her back in his life was muted both by the fact that she was a fully grown payashē at this point and the fact that she was leading them to a fight. 

But what could he do? She was adamant about this. Her every step was steady and confident. She knew she would not be hurt. She wasn’t afraid of the others; if anything, she was brimming with excitement, bloodthirsty and hoping for a scrap. She lusted for the violence and bloodshed awaiting them. 

And behind them strode Nazhivēr, the elder Dh’irath Ivaknen. Even if Ilkav believed for a second that he could get free of Dirahn and run back to the safety of the Vh’alyir procession, he’d never make it past Nazhivēr to get there. 

He was scared of everything, he wasn’t ashamed to admit, and this situation had him nearly petrified. Afraid of the pack of males they approached, afraid of his sister, afraid of the Ivaknen… 

His only choice was to trust -- trust that this wasn’t a trick, that his sister was capable enough to handle the demons ahead of them, that he would survive as he always had. 

It wasn’t easy. 

Soon the demons were in sight, the shapes of their heat blazing in the night. They stood and faced the trio coming their way, readying -- and then, when they recognized a payashē among them, they started flinching back, startled. 

“Sahvē,” Dirahn called as they neared. The males clearly wanted to run, but none wanted to draw her direct attention. She didn’t stop her stride until the males were close enough to be seen clearly in the moonlight. 

She was dwarfed by them, head tilted back to gaze up at the group. Her steady smirk never wavered. 

This close, Ilkav recognized that the group was more varied than most. Five different Houses comprised the dozen individuals, from Ash'amadē to Rh’lāedē -- third to tenth.

Dirahn’s gaze swept over them, picking out one of the two Ash'amadē. “Do you speak for all?” she asked him. 

Quivering in fear, he shook his head. 

Her eyes turned to the other; he stiffened. “You?” she demanded. 

Hesitant, he nodded. 

“Your name?” she prompted. 

“O-Orlēin,” he offered in a frightened rasp. 

“Orlēin,” she echoed. “Why did you come here?” As she spoke, a Kahh'rūa male started to edge away into the darkness; her gaze snapped to him and he flinched, groveling on the ground. 

Mollified, she turned her attention back to Orlēin. 

“We…” the male offered on a terrified breath. “W-we came to...s-see what...the vīsh,” he stuttered brokenly. 

“You came to see what this concentration of vīsh was?” she checked. 

“V-var.” 

She narrowed her gaze. “You did not come to hunt and kill the Vh’alyir?” 

He hesitated, but the fact that he didn’t deny it was all the evidence Dirahn needed. 

“I see. You wished to wipe out the last great group of Vh’alyir, dooming them to extinction,” she worked out. 

He flinched, backing up further. 

She followed, her voice gone icy as she said, “The payapis outlawed murdering, Orlēin. Males may not kill males. Did you not hear?” 

Again, he didn’t answer, moving further back, and the rest of his group started breaking apart, their scent souring in their communal fear. 

For the first time, Ilkav felt the barest whisper of confidence drift into him. Borrowed confidence, sure, but as he kept up with Dirahn, never releasing her hand, he marveled at what he was seeing. 

A dozen males, terrified, skittering back -- from him. 

Nazhivēr gave a low, amused chuckle. “You are lucky,” he told the group. “Had it been only me protecting the House, I would not have been able to kill you. I would have had to break you, instead.” 

Lips parting on a cruel grin, fangs flashing, Dirahn agreed harshly, “But I can kill you.” 

As if that had been a signal, the group splintered, the males sprinting apart in different directions. 

Dirahn’s scarlet wings appeared at her back and she turned her grin on Ilkav. “Choose one,” she invited. “It is time you learned how to hunt.” 

A thrill smacked him right in the chest. He was going to hunt? He was? Ilkav et Vh’alyir? He’d never hunted before -- he’d only ever ran from a hunt, at most leading those chasing him into the waiting jaws of an īnkav. 

But he couldn’t deny a rush of excitement and burning desire at the very concept. For once, he wanted to be the hunter. 

He glanced at the males currently scattering, running in different directions, and his eyes snagged on an El'tūrak -- the House known for being the fastest. Nothing could catch an El'tūrak once he started running, but Vh’alyir was very fast, too. He wanted to hunt that one. 

He broke into a run after the male, reminding himself over and over that Dirahn was undoubtedly watching him and wouldn’t let him be hurt. The mixed excitement and dread he felt for this, his first hunt, left him shaky, but the last thing he wanted was to disappoint his sister, so he pushed on. He would do this. He would.  

Fear crowded his throat, making it difficult to breathe. The El'tūrak was pulling ahead, steadily vanishing into the dark night, but he couldn’t mask his vīsh or his heat. And, Ilkav realized all at once, he could. He knew how to hide from sight, how to vanish. The El'tūrak didn’t. 

He followed until the male he hunted finally slowed, then ducked behind a low hill, flattening himself against the earth. He mussed his hair so it covered his face, hiding the telltale glow of his eyes, and peeked between the strands over the slight incline in front of him. He could still feel the El'tūrak, but the other male’s heat was dim -- distant. 

The male kept moving, his long tail snapping in fear, clearly still focused almost entirely on the payashē he feared. It gave Ilkav freedom -- to move, to approach, to withdraw, to plan. More and more, as the other male kept distancing himself from the others, Ilkav came to realize that the El'tūrak wasn’t used to being hunted -- he was used to hunting. 

With a sense of shock, it dawned on Ilkav that he could easily herd the other male and hide where he wouldn’t think to look. So Ilkav did just that. 

It wasn’t a good place for hunting, this expanse of desert. It was mostly flat with few plants and fewer creatures. He couldn’t hide amongst any trees, couldn’t mask his presence within that of an animal, couldn’t easily hide himself in the terrain. But he knew how to avoid being seen far more than this El'tūrak knew how to look for danger. And although the male was fast, faster than Ilkav, the Vh’alyir was more silent. 

Ilkav kept just out of the other’s sight, staying behind him and creeping closer as the El'tūrak slowly relaxed, recognizing that the payashē wasn’t coming for him. But his long run and constant tension had tired him more than Ilkav’s hunt was, and though the male was still very fast, Ilkav only kept drawing in closer by the minute. 

The male -- with long hair, a skinny body, and the longest tail of any demon -- was wearing only light armor. Leather wrapped and protected his chest and belly, bands around his forearms and lower legs, with simple shorts underneath. His House emblem was burned into each piece, proudly declaring his El'tūrak heritage in both the style and cut of his attire.

It was a long hunt. Sounds of battle and washes of scarlet light blazed in the distance, an occasional cry of pain or rage managing to reach them over the empty desert. And, soon enough, the El'tūrak approached a tree and leaned against it, catching his breath. 

Ilkav struck. 

He was still far enough that the El'tūrak wasn’t sensing him, but that was quickly revealed despite the other male’s strained focus. As Ilkav darted forward on silent feet, avoiding the cracks in the earth, the rocks and the dry branches, the El'tūrak suddenly realized that he was being hunted. His head lifted and he abruptly spun around, eyes scanning the desert; Ilkav faltered for a split second, fear piercing him, and then he committed himself. 

He couldn’t kill, he reminded himself as the other male noticed him and braced his feet, his long tail whipping; the payapis had outlawed it, and not even this hunt would be forgiven if he slayed anyone. But Dirahn could, and besides, this was only supposed to be a hunt. He could learn to kill later. 

Their claws flashed as they swung at one another, and Ilkav was overwhelmed almost immediately. Their speeds were close, but the other male at least knew how to fight; Ilkav didn’t even have that. Scarlet light blazed as the male summoned vīsh, slowly but surely crafting spells around his arms and feet; Ilkav leapt aside and darted behind the tree, then pivoted back around and slashed as the El'tūrak turned, anticipating the wrong move. 

His claws met warm flesh, blood sprayed, and the male hollered in pain, whipping back around. Ilkav was stunned for one heartbeat at the impossibility of the moment, of him actually having drawn blood, and then the male’s tail -- lined with barbs -- caught him around the chest, pinning his arms. The barbs dug in deep, and he yowled as they punctured him, squeezing tight. He’d drawn blood, and now his blood was being drawn by tenfold. 

Face pinching in rage, the El'tūrak aimed his hand at Ilkav’s chest, three rings circling around his arm. Dread pierced through Ilkav and, with little else he could do, he spun behind the tree again, forcing the other male to stumble and follow. 

“Kasht!” the male cursed, catching himself on the trunk. His tail coiled even tighter and pain slashed through Ilkav all over again, fresh blood flowing.

Ilkav lunged against the hold, gritting his teeth against the pain, determined to at least stall the male’s spell. Barbs rent down his flesh, blood poured, and his knees buckled under the agony of it. His breath sawed through his teeth and his muscles flexed and bunched, trying vainly to break through the tail wrapped around him. The remnants of his tattered shirt tore even worse, caught on the barbs.

Red light flickered in the sky a distance away, then a sharp whistle darted their way. Ilkav barely noticed it before it struck the ground -- and then a shockwave burst from the point, the ground tearing apart under the force of it. Everything was thrown away from it, even the tree, and the two demons were knocked off their feet. They both wheeled through the air, the tail around Ilkav loosening as they both fought to get their bearings. 

With a twist and a kick, he managed to get untangled from the tail, but the pain of it was so severe he couldn’t even catch himself. He landed on his side and rolled in the dirt, spasming from the freezing slashes of pain in his arms and torso. Blood sprayed from his lips when he exhaled harshly, and with effort he forced himself to roll onto his hands and knees. Belatedly, he recognized his shirt was missing, torn clear from his body.

The El'tūrak was scrambling up already, Ilkav all but forgotten as he gazed wild-eyed at the sky, seeking what had thrown that vīsh at him. And when he stilled, Ilkav knew he’d found it. 

Another bright red glare flashed in the sky, this time a massive vertical circle. Ilkav glanced up at it, watching as it spun clockwise, then a second, smaller circle appeared in its apex, spinning the opposite way. Lines crisscrossed both circles but never overlapped, and white vīsh began gathering in the center. 

Ilkav had never seen a payashē’s vīsh before now, but he knew instantly that this was it. No male’s power was ever strong enough to become a white glow. It had to be Dirahn, though at this distance he couldn’t even see her heat in the dark sky. 

And she must be furious. 

Awed, he watched as the white gathered brighter and brighter, and the El'tūrak spun and ran in the opposite direction. It did him no good; a handful of seconds passed, power gathering stronger and stronger, the light becoming so bright it rivaled the sun, and then it narrowed into a spear and launched forward. 

It was faster than anything Ilkav had ever seen before; in one instant, it was in front of her, and in the next it wasn’t. The light was just in another place, and before he could even turn his head to look, it was already bursting into a sphere. Though the vīsh was concentrated where it’d struck, the simple force of it sent a shockwave through the air, ripping through everything around. He could see it warping the air, growing steadily less intense as it traveled over the land currently illuminated by the explosion of vīsh at its center. 

It was as bright as daylight for several seconds, and when it finally faded a crater remained where it’d impacted. 

Ilkav shakily got to his feet, dumbfounded. He heard the sound of the air being disturbed, knew it was Dirahn somewhere from outside of himself, but he couldn’t look away from the remains of her magic. He strode forward, the pain he felt making his steps shaky, until he could see inside the crater. 

Kasht! He could’ve fit a tree in that crater, laid on its side! And yet, somehow, the El'tūrak had survived; he was laid in the very center, body quivering and bleeding and very, very broken. His limbs were all twisted, some bones visible through his skin, but he was breathing. His former clothing and armor were shredded, barely clinging to his form.

And his tail was missing.  

Fingers brushed against Ilkav’s wrist, lifting his arm, and when he looked, Dirahn was inspecting his wounds. Her wings remained at her back, the magic tucked in tight against her and bathing the immediate area in scarlet light. 

“You did not kill him,” Ilkav murmured, surprised. He canted his head at her, curious. “Why?” 

Her eyes lifted to his, then she looked down at the disabled male in the crater. “Someone must live to tell of this night,” she commented softly. “The others are already dead.” 

The El'tūrak spasmed, blood spurting from a few of his wounds from the motion. 

Looking at the male, Ilkav pointed out, “Left as he is, he will not survive. He will draw animals -- thūris, kinsīhan, kanthav, maybe a jh’hagur. They will eat him.” 

Dirahn gave a chuff. “Very well,” she muttered. Then, looking up at him, she commanded, “Lie back for me. I will heal you.” 

Nodding, Ilkav obeyed, reclining on the damaged earth. And, he noticed as a spell began glowing around him, he was starting to see the light of dawn approaching. The hunt had taken much longer than he’d thought. 

Dirahn shifted as she worked, watching the runes as they appeared around him. When she was satisfied, she knelt over him, her knees on either side of his waist. There, she pressed her hands to his ribs, and an incantation flowed from her lips. 

Pain was already flowing in his wounds, cold and sharp, but when she finished speaking it flared all the worse. He couldn’t help arching from the sudden and massive increase in agony, his claws rending the earth under his hands and his teeth gritting. But though Dirahn pushed at his torso, she couldn’t match his strength to push him back down. 

It took effort and focus for him to recognize her pushing, and more so for him to obligingly lay back down fully. Luckily the pain, while intense, didn’t last very long; soon enough he exhaled with relief as it faded, his heart hammering in his chest. It was the most bizarre thing, but he felt as though more than just his wounds had been healed. He felt...full, as if all of his blood painting the ground had simply never occurred. 

This vīsh could do that? he wondered, as Dirahn looked him over once more. She wiped at his skin, inspecting each of his former wounds as she brushed his blood away. 

He caught her hands, rasping, “The pain is gone. You...healed it all.” 

She stared at him for a long moment, her jaw tense, her eyes cold and cruel. And then she stood up and turned her attention to the El'tūrak still crippled in the crater she’d made. Her tail flicked, her face clearly displaying how much she wanted to eviscerate the male. Instead, her knees bent and, with a kick, her wings carried her into the center. 

Ilkav sat up to watch, her wings the only source of illumination in the dark now that her attacking vīsh had finally fully gone out. Though the El'tūrak spasmed and choked on his blood, clearly frightened, she didn’t add to his agony. 

She knelt beside him, murmured a placation, then began righting his broken limbs. He still couldn’t move, even after she’d aligned all of his broken bones, but he’d managed full-on screams of pain as she’d worked. She even went so far as to find his lost tail and placed it beside his prone form. 

Then she began to heal him. It was a slow process, punctuated with constant yelps and convulsions from the male, but though he began pleading for mercy, she gave him none. At one point she chuffed at him and commented, “I must heal one limb at a time or you may not survive. Sit still if you want to live.” 

The male was barely conscious by the time she completed her healing, almost catatonic, but she had yet to fix his severed tail. For this she flipped him onto his stomach and Ilkav got to see what had happened to it for the first time. 

He winced. It’d been torn a foot from the base, some of the bones dangling past the edge of his rent flesh. And he winced again when Dirahn carefully slid the tail into place, then gripped both sides with one hand. She squeezed and the vīsh appeared once more beneath the male, runes dotting the edges. 

He felt weird, watching this. She was touching a male’s tail. Just casually holding it in one hand. Sure, she was healing it, reattaching it, but it was so...so intimate. So weird. The spell clearly worked, because the male spasmed as she cast it and then she was withdrawing from him, his tail displaying no injury. 

Her wings flashed and she leapt up the crater to where Ilkav stood. Blood was smeared across her hands and pants, some even dripping down her arms and chest where the male’s wounds had splattered her as she’d healed him. And, as she noticed this, she suddenly began chanting once more. 

He didn’t want to interrupt her so he just watched until she was done. Runes circled around her wrists and then she was casually wiping her hands over each of the bloodstains. One by one, they all cleaned, the blood pouring off her like water off an īnkav’s hide. It pooled under her feet. 

Then, after inspecting herself, she glanced at Ilkav. Without invitation or hesitation, she started running her hands over him, next, and the same thing happened. He watched, fascinated, as blood and even dirt simply fell from his body and shorts. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, surprised and impressed. He’d never known a vīsh like this existed. 

She smiled. Then, taking his hand, she said, “It is almost dawn. We should get back to the others.” 

He nodded, but he cast a glance back as they began walking back to the Vh’alyir. 

The El'tūrak was still shuddering with every exhale, but he was finally starting to move. As Ilkav watched, the other male shakily pushed up onto his hands and knees, his tail swishing across the dirt behind him. He raised his head, his red eyes dim, gazing at the Vh’alyir and payashē as they walked away, hand-in-hand.  

-- 

Nazhivēr felt good, for once. It’d been such a long time since he’d felt this way, so very long -- almost beyond memory at this point. He’d succeeded in his hunts, crippling males left and right and leaving them to Dirahn to finish off. And she’d done so without hesitation, which had been something of a surprise. 

He’d almost expected her to be a pacifist, based on her former behavior. But no, he’d learned; she would kill, she simply needed a reason other than “because she can”. That was good to know. She was significantly less apathetic and bloodthirsty than most females, and this he knew because he’d coupled with many. He’d also been Dīnen for many years before he’d been summoned and, in that time, had met a few different payapis. 

With caution and the utmost respect, he’d spoken with them. Some had refused to have conversations with him, but the rest had seemed to almost enjoy speaking. Kassyrih had been one of the latter, the female bursting with so much wisdom and power that she simply had no reason to use her claws. She’d admitted to having killed so many males and even females that it’d lost its appeal. 

Knowledge had become her only passion at that point. It was one reason she attended so many Naventis: she liked to learn new things, and she liked as much to spread that knowledge. 

He wondered if Kassyrih had been an influence of Dirahn’s, then, as the payashē clearly didn’t think the same way as most. She’d outright said it: other females spent all their time lounging and complimenting themselves, and she wanted more than this. She hadn’t even attacked him or Mayēih despite the fact that the both of them had disrespected her. 

Nazhivēr had called her a payilas, after all. But she’d merely laughed. 

And yet, when she realized her brother and his House were in danger, she’d killed without hesitation. She’d used her wings and her vīsh in tandem, scaring the males a few times along the way for fun, making short work of each of them. Many were in pieces now. She’d spared only one: the one Ilkav had gone after. 

Nazhivēr hadn’t gotten involved in that. Once his part was done, he’d returned to the Vh’alyir procession. The males had been visibly concerned and agitated but none dared speak with Nazhivēr without invitation. Only Mayēih, the fearless Dīnen, had approached to ask what had happened. 

With a shrug, Nazhivēr answered simply, “The payashē killed them.” 

Just then a flash blazed in the sky, drawing all of their attention. Though the distance was great, the light burned brighter and bigger for several seconds. Even though it was so far away that it was difficult to distinguish from the stars above, they could all feel the vīsh gathering. It was above and beyond anything a male could ever summon, though Nazhivēr could determine one thing: it wasn’t as powerful as the spell the summoned payashē had conjured to break out of the summoning circle. 

But it was still almost crushingly powerful, even at this distance. He could only stare in awe and fear; every time he was confronted with the raw strength of female magic, he was reminded again that it was simply beyond comparison. A hundred males couldn’t match a single female. 

There was a story he knew from a time before the hh’ainun about a rogue female going on a murder spree, and it ran through his mind again as he watched that facsimile of a star suddenly dart to the ground and vanish. In the story, no other female wanted to bother with the rogue, since she was only killing males anyway. 

She’d slain Dīnen after Dīnen, cutting down an entire generation or more from nearly each House. In the end, all of the Houses had lain down their individual strifes to focus on the payashē slaying them, drawing together into numerous groups of a dozen or more. They’d had to plan for decades while avoiding her before they’d struck back at last. 

After days of struggle and battle, the males had finally succeeded in killing the female, but they’d lost most of the fighting males in the process. Of the thousands who’d faced against her, mere dozens remained alive to tell the tale. No one remembered the names of any of the males nor which House had struck the final blow on the payashē. 

And now, as remnants of a shockwave rolled through the group from the attack Dirahn had thrown, he understood all the better why it’d taken so many males so long to succeed in killing the payashē in the story. They were relentless, vicious, godlike in their power, and he shuddered to think of what would happen if any of them actually trained in the ways of battle. As it was, he was infinitely glad that they were simply too lazy to put in that kind of effort. 

But now Dirahn was threatening to become exactly that: a trained female warrior. She didn’t just know vīsh -- she knew some things about fighting. He’d seen her trade blows with males just this night, and he expected she would learn more with time. It seemed like something she would do, marrying her spells with physical prowess. And if she did, there was no telling what her ultimate lethality would be. 

But if she continued down her current path, he knew one thing with absolute certainty: she would use that power to keep the entire Vh’alyir House safe. And anyone who dared to hunt them...they would never be prepared enough for the retribution which would come to them. 

All vīsh faded from the air in the seconds following whatever spell Dirahn had used, silence pouring over the darkness. Time ticked by in stillness for a long moment, no one saying anything nor moving. Then, he noted, the first light of dawn began to creep up over the horizon. They’d been heading towards it for weeks, now, and with dawn so close he knew it wouldn’t be long before they made way again. 

Nazhivēr was the first to move, turning towards the break of dawn and taking up his position at the head of the procession with Mayēih once again. He flexed and stretched his wings, feeling a pull in his back from the lack of flying he’d been doing lately. His muscles were growing stiff. 

Since they were waiting on Dirahn and Ilkav anyway, he decided now was as good a time as any to get in some exercise. He kicked off and took to the sky, angling high above the desert. From here he could see much more, including the barest stretch of clouds at the horizon. A night storm, he determined; it would follow behind the sun and reach them after dark, the first rain he would experience since returning to Ahlēavah. 

He wove through the air, canting left and right, enjoying the feel of the cold winds on his skin. It’d been so very long, he mused. So long since he could simply breathe in the air of his home and the unique tang of vīsh in the wind. It was the heart and soul of the land, and he lamented that he’d never truly taken the time to honor it before he’d been summoned. 

He had time now, though. He was Ivaknen. He had the rest of his life to properly honor the world in which he was born, to right the wrongs of his House, to make things better than they’d been before. After all, if Zylas -- a Vh’alyir -- could change the world, then so could he. 

He enjoyed the winds for a long while, until he felt the undeniable presence of a payashē at the edges of his awareness. The Vh’alyir group was far enough away at this point that he could barely see them, far away and below him, and he canted his wings back towards them. He could see Dirahn and Ilkav, he thought, the pair almost having made it back by now. The sun was beginning to crest at last, the first rays of dawn stretching out over the world below. 

From above Nazhivēr could see the transition between day and night splitting the earth. It was a sight that never failed to bring him a sense of pleasure, in an odd way. 

Landing, he stretched again, dismissing the aches in his muscles as he focused on each one. By the time he was done Dirahn and Ilkav had finally made it back to them -- and, when Nazhivēr glanced at them, he couldn’t withhold a laugh. 

Apparently Dirahn had grown tired of walking and made her brother carry her, as she was draped over his back, her eyes closed as she rested her head on his shoulder. She looked like she was napping. He supposed he couldn’t blame her; powerful or not, she was young, physically weaker than any male -- even a juvenile -- and she’d been very active over the last hours, hunting males and casting vīsh. 

Females generally abhorred being so active at all. It was no wonder Dirahn had chosen to stop expending any energy. 

Yet, he noted when she roused and raised her head, her eyes were still as bright and blazing as any payashē at full strength. All that vīsh she’d used, summoning her wings, flying, masking her presence, even causing explosions -- and her vīsh wasn’t even dented. 

Nazhivēr would’ve been running on fumes in her place. Shaking his head, he marveled all over again at the incredible power wielded by the females. 

She stretched her arms over her head, groaning, and Ilkav glanced over his shoulder at her. With a grin, she mussed his hair, then braced her hands on his shoulders to drop out of his grip. Then she bent over backwards, her spine cracking with the motion, until she’d flipped over her hands and right back onto her feet. 

Nearly all of the Vh’alyir were watching her but she didn’t seem to notice, sidestepping her brother to make a beeline for Mayēih. The males between them skittered apart and Ilkav trailed behind her, a tiny smile to his lips. 

Nazhivēr grunted, thoughtful, dimly glad to find that Ilkav hadn’t died during his hunt, and listened as Dirahn informed Mayēih what had happened. Then, impatient, she prompted him to do something. 

Mayēih canted his head at her. “Do…?” he questioned. 

She made a shooing gesture at him. “Whatever you were doing before I came. You were traveling, na? Let us do that.” 

His lips twitched. “Is that to say,” he mused, “that you wish to travel, Dirahn?” 

She gave him an annoyed look. “I saved your House,” she reminded him coolly. “Do as I say.” 

His gaze narrowed on her and he took a step closer, towering over the female. “Yes,” he agreed, “you did. And I thank you for their lives. But you need not order us, payashē. We will travel as soon as the sun touches us.” 

She gazed up at him, as fearless of him as he was of her, and commented, “You wait for vayanin?” 

He nodded. “Every day,” he explained. 

She huffed softly, then relented. “Very well. Vayanin, then,” she said in what was clearly a dismissal, turning from him. There was a tree nearby, the branches gnarled and dry and long dead, and she took Ilkav by the hand and went to it. 

She sat down, tugging her brother down beside her, and promptly curled up against him, her head on his shoulder. 

She never withdrew her hand from his. 

Chapter Text

It was the fourth day since Dirahn had joined the Twelfth House’s group. Several more males had come to them, bringing their number up to forty-six. Half of them were juveniles, most without sires to protect them, and they’d been drawn to the concentration of vīsh the procession was blazing. And though all of them were skittish of Dirahn at first, they all calmed when they realized she had no interest in them. 

Mayēih accepted them all with an increasingly heavy heart. Every kanyin they found without a sire was another him, and the worst one was an actual child who’d stumbled his way to them. A few winged carrion eaters had been following him, waiting for him to die, a boy only halfway to maturing his vīsh. He barely reached halfway up Mayēih’s thigh. Why was he not with his mother…? 

His feet were bloody from all his walking, he was covered in dirt and excrement and blood, and he didn’t even have clothing, his hair shaggy and tangled, his body skinny. He was starving, Mayēih realized. They would need to feed him. 

There were several sires among their group, and two of them quickly came together and discussed a hunt. It was harder in the desert, requiring more time to plan, which was why most of the food they had now were dried meats from former hunts. And while they were discussing this, the boy spotted Dirahn. 

Mayēih expected the boy to skitter away from her like all the others; instead, he edged closer. She was standing with Ilkav, distracted as she spoke with him, when the kanyin reached her. And he slowly, hesitantly, reached up and slid his hand into hers. 

She yanked her hand away, gaze snapping around -- then down. But the feral scowl on her face cleared when she saw the child gazing up at her, dirty and skinny and nude, and she leaned down. Catching him by the chin, she sniffed at him, and he stared right up at her, his eyes dark with weakness. 

“I smell no vīsh on you,” she murmured, brows drawing in tight. “Why are you not with your mother?” 

He grimaced, his face pinching in sorrow and fear. Lips trembling, he rasped, “She did not want me…” 

With a huff, Dirahn righted herself, crossing her arms. Given she didn’t seem to have a good opinion of other females, Mayēih expected she was angry with the boy’s mother. 

After a long pause, the boy forced past his dry throat, “I’m...I’m hungry…” 

She gazed down at him, one brow arched in bewilderment. “And?” she prompted. 

He looked down, shoulders drooping. 

Ilkav frowned at the boy, then leaned in to Dirahn. He murmured in her ear, “He has no mother, sister...he needs someone to care for him.” 

She gawked at him, aghast. “Do I look like his mother?” she demanded. 

Ilkav gave her a pleading look. “Please, Dirahn,” he rumbled low. “He came to you.”  

She gave a heavy sigh, then looked at the boy again; he hadn’t moved, though he was wobbly from weakness, constantly wavering on his feet. She growled sharply, then, and finally shook her head. “Very well,” she bit out, aggravated. She crouched down, tapping the boy on the forehead to make him glance up. 

“Until your sire comes for you,” she told him firmly, “I will care for you. Now, come,” she directed, standing upright and offering him a hand. 

Eyes wide with disbelief and hope, he took it, clinging with his feeble strength. She hauled him up and off his feet, swinging him onto her back as if he were a sack instead of a child. He clung to her, his small, skinny frame locked around her tight. Then her vīsh blazed up her torso, circling around to her back, concentrating on her shoulders. Her scarlet wings formed, spreading wide. 

With a kick, she took to the air, her wings flapping almost lazily. She arced up and up, going so high she eventually faded from sight despite the clear sky. 

Mayēih considered their options, then. Going on without Dirahn seemed ill-advised, both because he didn’t want to court her ire and because she provided much greater protection for them, but they needed to keep moving. If she was going to feed the child, too, then they didn’t even need to wait for a hunt either. And besides, he expected she would have no trouble finding them again. 

She’d found them on her own once before. Now she at least knew where they’d been. She could find them without difficulty if they continued moving, he concluded. 

To his House, he called, “We will continue for now. She will return after she has fed the kanyin.” 

Affirmatives went through his Vh’alyir and they all continued their trek. As usual, Mayēih led with Nazhivēr at the head, the pair of them near-constantly discussing the way ahead, safety, and all the things Mayēih did not know. Nazhivēr, especially, kept watch for threats as well as recognizable terrains, navigating by memory. 

Less than an hour passed before Mayēih felt a payashē’s approach, and he paused to check if it was Dirahn. But -- hnn. She wasn’t flying, which he thought would be odd for Dirahn, given she’d flown away. He’d have expected her to return by flight, but this female he felt coming was on foot. She approached from a place far in the distance, a small smattering of twisted, dead trees -- ahead, but Dirahn had gone to their right. He canted his head, sniffing at the wind, unsure if this was Dirahn. Would she walk back? 

Yes, he confirmed as he recognized her scent, she apparently would. But that wasn’t all. The scent of meat and fresh blood came with her, and -- after some minutes of walking -- he finally understood why: she was dragging a carcass with her. Not with strength, but with vīsh, the creature hovering above the ground as she tugged it along with a rope made of scarlet light. Even despite the vīsh aiding her, each step was a chore, her body leaned forward as she hauled it along. 

The carcass was massive, covered in tough, black scales, and Mayēih found himself staring in confusion and wonder as he began to recognize it. A kanthav -- she’s slain a kanthav. They were so dangerous to demons and almost impossible to find in the day, as they burrowed underground until nightfall -- and they formed large packs. You never fought only one kanthav, you fought a dozen -- yet somehow she’d found and slain one. 

They were taller at the shoulder than most demons, broad and powerful with strong forelegs and claws as long as his forearms. Their heads were wide and square, their maws designed to catch as much of a creature as possible in one bite and crush it to death, giving them a constant, horrifying grin lined with three rows of wide, flat, razor-sharp teeth. They were well-known to hunt and catch demons, tearing them apart, though they preferred to hunt īnkav: larger prey. 

They were the only creatures capable of taking one down, and even they needed a pack to do it. 

All of the males stopped to stare at Dirahn as she approached, the kanyin held in one arm over her hip. One of his skinny arms circled her neck, the other holding up a haunch of meat that he was happily devouring. Blood stained his hands and face, even dripping down his chest. His tail flicked as he ate, almost long enough to reach the ground. And, when she was close, she stopped and set the boy on the ground. 

He watched her as he worked on his meal -- and, to be fair, so did everyone else. Ilkav even approached, surprised and awed. And, was Mayēih seeing things, or was the boy clean, now? He didn't look as dirty and disheveled, and the scent of refuse was gone from him.

Dirahn sent Ilkav a brief grin, then got to work on her kill. She centered it on the ground, then began using the dead trees to create a firepit. Mayēih watched with increasing interest, wondering how self-sufficient the female was. The vīsh rope she’d held dissipated in a series of sparks as she released it. 

She had a hole dug and filled with wood in short order, a simple vīsh used to create the hole, and though some males ventured closer to offer aid, she rejected them with sharp growls and snarls. Then, holding her hand above the wood, crouched on the ground with her tail swishing behind her, she heated up the wood with vīsh. It was a slow process before the warmth exceeded what the wood could handle, and then a spark ignited in the wood, fire wicking around the pile. 

Satisfied, she turned to the carcass and finally dropped the hovering spell; the body fell to the ground with a dull thud. She unfurled her claws, then started cutting into its thick, scaly hide, starting at a wound already on its side. That was likely both how she’d killed it and where she’d gotten the meat to feed the boy, Mayēih thought. 

Wetting her lips, she systematically skinned it, crawling all over it to accomplish the task. She removed the pelt -- except for the head and paws -- in one large swath, proving that she had some experience with this. Then, with a tug, she yanked it out from under the skinned predator and spread it out on the ground. 

Looking over her shoulder (the males jolted back at her sudden attention), she directed, “Cook it. That leg--” she pointed to a foreleg “--is mine, but I care nothing for the rest.” 

Surprised, the males sent each other questioning glances before obeying. They cut the corpse into manageable pieces, keeping one leg intact for the payashē, and began cooking the meat. Blood poured and sprayed from it as they worked, slowly seeping into the ground, filling multiple cracks in the process. Some of the males obviously didn’t know what they were doing, having never cooked before, but the others directed them. It was a systematic butchering, and soon every male held a hunk of meat. 

A few at a time, they took turns cooking it, holding the pieces above the flames with their hands or sticks. A few males worked as a team, holding up larger pieces from opposite sides of the flames and slowly turning the piece over and over. A few of them held up half the creature’s ribcage, another pair suspended a leg between them, and many severed the organs apart, discarding the ones which couldn’t be eaten. 

A small number of the males fought over the heart (the organ similar in size to a grown male’s entire torso), physically coming to blows. Mayēih put a stop to that; they were too few to fight amongst themselves. And, though he’d glanced Dirahn’s way, wondering if she would intervene, she never looked up from her task. He directed them to split the heart equally for all four that wanted it. 

Nazhivēr merely watched them, thoughtful, but after a debate Mayēih decided to help. He watched Dirahn as he held a piece over the flames, slowly turning it; she was using vīsh to tan the hide she’d taken. It was so large any of them could’ve lain across it without going over it, even the large Dh’irath among them. 

She ran her hands over the hide in slow, steady swaths, vīsh circling each of her wrists, and the pelt darkened and shrank at her motions. In time it was all dark brown and had shrunk a notable degree. And then she flipped it over to the scaled side and stood up, holding out one hand. She recited an incantation, her tail twitching as she worked, a series of rings circling up her arm. 

Then, without even touching it, the pelt audibly began crinkling and groaning. After some seconds of this, all of the scales simply began popping out, some of them launching in all directions and exploding from the leather. That done, she gave a satisfied smirk and lifted it, shaking it off; all of the scales fell off, raining down. 

Every demon was staring at her again, but she hardly noticed. Once the leather was clean of scales, she flipped it back over and spread it out. Then, gesturing the boy, she ordered, “Come here. Lay down,” she directed as he did so, guiding him to lay across one of the pelt’s legs. 

She measured with her hand, then directed him back up. She cut off a large section with a claw, examined it, then began cutting strips into the edges. That done, she wrapped the result around the boy, cutting it into two pieces: one was over his shoulders, protecting his back and chest; the other circled his hips, reaching halfway down his thighs. And she cast vīsh one more time then, and the leather hide simply stitched together on its own, sealing around his waist and torso in a loose wrap and shirt with massive arm holes. He stared at her in silence as she inspected her creation, canting her head as she criticized her own work without words. 

Then, throat convulsing, a tear slid down his cheek. Surging forward, he cinched his arms around her neck and rasped, “Thank you…” 

She jolted at the embrace, her face twisting in fury and her fangs baring in warning -- then, with effort, she calmed herself, exhaling harshly. At length she slid her arms around him, patting his back awkwardly. She looked like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to hug him back or throw him as far as she could. 

She clearly decided on the former, standing up and taking him with her. To the males, she pointed at the leather, stating, “That is mine.” 

They gave sharp nods and murmured agreements. Then she settled against a nearby tree, letting the boy remain where he was. At first Mayēih thought she was going to nap with him, but instead she dug a claw into her own neck, wincing at the pain. Blood eased from the wound. 

Her voice rough with irritation, she directed, “Drink.” 

The kanyin gave her an almost horrified look, shaking his head. 

“You need water. Drink,” she ordered as her own blood flowed. “The rain will come tonight. You can drink more then.” 

With a snuffle, the boy nodded and leaned in, attaching to the wound and sucking at it. He gave emotional grunts and whines as he did, probably moved beyond words that a payashē was offering him her own blood to drink. 

They all felt the same, Mayēih thought as he took stock of his males. Even Nazhivēr was outright gaping, thunderstruck. And though Mayēih only had his own experiences to draw upon, the reactions of all the males told him something very clearly: payashē did not feed their sons with their own bodies. It wasn’t his experience, alone. 

Dirahn was doing something none of them had ever seen before, not even the Dh’irath. 

It didn’t last long before the boy eased back, running his tongue over his teeth. The bloodflow had stopped, the wound visibly sealing. And she chose then to set the boy on his feet again, urging him to go to the other juveniles. 

He was hesitant to leave her -- understandably, Mayēih thought -- but he obeyed, joining with the others. Uncomfortable, the older boys allowed him to join them, grouped together and talking amongst themselves. Occasionally they sent glances Dirahn’s way, their expressions wavering between disbelief, jealousy, longing, and anger. 

Mayēih felt a pang of the same. None of them had been remotely as blessed as this new child who, despite having been rejected by his mother, had found a surrogate -- a female who’d immediately fed him and let him drink of her own veins. If he’d only been so lucky with his own mother… 

Shaking himself, he finished with the bit of meat he was cooking, then handed it over to one of the juveniles. He wouldn’t eat while he had growing boys among his Vh’alyir, not so long as he had sunlight above. 

Dirahn absently cleaned the excess blood off her, then leapt up into the tree, reclining in it. Her mood was clear in the way she sequestered herself away, not even pulling Ilkav with her the way she usually did: she didn’t want to be disturbed. Anytime attention so much as shifted her way, her tail -- dangling below the branch -- began flicking in irritation. The males all wisely kept away from her.

Mayēih watched the children for a bit longer, then looked for Nazhivēr. The Dh’irath was laid back on the ground a small distance away, completely opposite the payashē, his wings spread across the cracked earth. His hands were behind his head, cushioning him, and he was simply gazing upwards at the sky. 

Approaching, Mayēih sat down near the male, commenting, “There are forty-six of us now, including you and Dirahn.” 

Nazhivēr gave a noncommittal grunt. 

Canting his head, Mayēih asked, “Has this ever happened before? A group like this?” 

With another grunt, Nazhivēr answered, “Not that I know. It is unlikely. Many males have crept close,” he informed the Dīnen, “drawn by our vīsh.” 

Nervous, Mayēih checked, “Any more hunters?” 

“Nul. Some groups were as large, but none were threatening. Curious, fascinated...maybe they heard,” the Dh’irath mused. “Maybe they heard of our group and the payashē among us. They wanted to see us for themselves.” 

Mayēih nodded, thoughtful. “And where are we now? This is Min'kathāris territory, yes?” 

“Yes,” Nazhivēr agreed. “We are almost beyond it. The ocean is close. I can almost scent it.” 

Brows drawing, Mayēih’s jaw flexed, considering the next few days. “And what will we do when we reach it? Stop there?” 

“We will find the Dīnen et Min'kathāris and work with him,” Nazhivēr explained. “I doubt he will give up any territory to us, but he could help us find a place for your Vh’alyir.” 

“And,” Mayēih agreed, “because he is Eleventh House and we are Twelfth, maybe he will ally with us. Unless,” he added, “the Dīnen has not yet been found.” 

“It has been over a month,” Nazhivēr reminded him. “The moons’ cycles have gone around. If he has not been found yet, the dīn has abandoned his House.” 

Canting his head, Mayēih asked, “Can this happen? The dīn abandoning a House?” 

Lips thinning, Nazhivēr replied, “There were once eighteen Houses, Dīnen. Six have been lost.” 

Something cold wound through him. Eighteen? Surely that couldn’t be true -- but the Ivaknen hadn’t lied, he knew. “Which ones were they…?” he prompted. 

Turning his attention back to the sky, the Dh’irath answered, “Their names have been forgotten. Five were the last of the Houses -- Fourteen through Eighteen -- but one was the former Ninth House.” 

“How were they lost?” Mayēih wondered, his voice tight. 

“The last five were killed by the other Houses for being too weak. Hunted, the way Vh’alyir were before the hh’ainun started summoning us. The Ninth was too aggressive for their own good, and a group of payashē decided they should die. So they killed them.” 

Brows drawing in, concerned and disturbed, Mayēih asked, “Payashē killed the former Ninth House?” 

“Long ago, before the hh’ainun threat,” Nazhivēr agreed. 

“Why would they do this? What was so bad about this House?” 

Jaw flexing, his eyes blazing with cold anger, Nazhivēr answered, “They created little packs to protect themselves, and then they began terrorizing other Houses. It only became a problem when they started...forcing payashē to mate with an entire group.” 

Mayēih shook his head, those words making no sense. “That is impossible,” he declared. 

With a huff, Nazhivēr tossed a glance at Dirahn, then refocused on Mayēih. “Not if a payashē was lured to mate, then overpowered. If she cannot cast vīsh, she cannot stop...anything,” he bit out with difficulty. Then, with a lighter tone, he continued, “And so the payashē hunted down the House and killed them all. The groups splintered apart and the remaining males were wiped out. Payashē refused to mate with any of them and the other Houses killed them wherever they showed their faces.” 

Everything about that concept sat wrong with Mayēih. It was horrifying and disgusting and unbelievable. And he found himself asking, “How do you know this? I have never heard of such a thing -- eighteen Houses? How could this thing be?” 

Nazhivēr shook his head, answering, “Dh’irath keep much knowledge. Lūsh'vēr, too, but mostly it is Dh’irath. I studied it when I became Dīnen, as did all the ones before me -- and all the ones after, likely. We remember what most have forgotten.” 

Thoughtful, Mayēih checked, “Even the payapis?” 

Nazhivēr snorted. “I would never make that claim. It is a good way to die,” he advised. 

Mayēih’s lip quirked in what might’ve been amusement. 

-- 

“Dirahn,” Ilkav rasped. 

The payashē glanced at him, her aura still thick with irritation. She hadn’t moved from her tree yet, and she’d pointedly ignored all the activity going on around her the entire time the males had butchered and cooked the meat she’d given them. The sun had moved a considerable amount across the sky; only a few hours of daylight remained. 

She hadn’t even moved when animals had been drawn to the scent of the kill, unwilling to get too close to the group but still lingering at the edges of their sight, waiting to get to it. Her only action in the hours since getting in the tree was in directing Ilkav to cook the meat she’d selected for her, which he’d done, but she hadn’t done anything with it since. 

At her harsh look, Ilkav winced slightly, then said, “We are...done. With the kill. We are ready to leave.” 

Dirahn puffed out a breath, then twisted off the branch, catching it with one hand on the way down to soften her fall. Her claws ripped through the bark and debris rained down behind her as she swung forward and landed on her feet. She flicked her fingers, clearing the remains from her claws, as she strode to her brother. 

She said nothing and her tail continued its irritated flicking, but she stood close as she glanced around the area, seeking. At length, she gave a sharp whistle, calling, “Kanyin! Get over here.” 

The boy glanced up from where he was crouched with a few other juveniles, then jogged over to her. Reaching her, he said, “Zarak.” 

She gave him a confused look. 

Hunching in on himself, he muttered, “My name...Zarak.” 

Aggravated, she retorted, “I did not ask.” 

He looked down, his wild, knotted hair falling around his face. 

Ilkav canted his head at her, a pinch to his brows, silently pleading. 

She huffed. Vīsh blazed around her wrists, but she didn’t conjure anything; after a moment and a visible struggle on her part, she smothered it. Then, looking down at the boy, she directed, “Stay close to me...Zarak.” 

He nodded, giving a snuffle, but didn’t look up. His hand rubbed against his nose. 

Rolling her eyes, she looked for Mayēih and Nazhivēr, finding both at the head of the procession again. They were talking and glancing about, both forward and backward, checking that the path ahead was safe and the males were ready to move. 

Then she diverted to the leather she’d left on the ground. Snagging the kanthav leg she’d claimed, she laid it in the leather and promptly began rolling it up tight. A small, simple spell coiled around the bolt at her command, holding it in place, and she hauled it up and tossed it to her brother. The wordless directive was obvious: carry this.  

Though she’d rolled it up longways, it was still as wide as he was tall. He held it awkwardly for a moment, then draped it over a shoulder. 

The group began moving again then, and she fell into step with Ilkav. She took his free hand in hers as she always had before, and he smiled, as he always had before. 

Then the boy, Zarak, leapt up and onto her back. 

She flinched as though expecting an attack, then turned a smoldering glare over her shoulder. Ilkav clenched her hand in fear for the boy -- who was wincing under her harsh look -- and several males paused and held their breath, expecting a slaughter. Her hand flexed in Ilkav’s grip, squeezing hard. 

A low, vicious growl escaped her throat. But when the boy stayed where he was, clinging to her and giving her a pleading look, she swung her attention forward with a feral hiss. She was tense, but she wasn’t throwing him off her, at least. 

Ilkav exhaled heavily in relief. And, after a tense moment, she continued onwards, Zarak slowly relaxing to link his arms around her neck. 

Her tail lashed with anger and low growls kept easing from her throat, but she allowed it. 

With time they all relaxed, even Dirahn. Animals swarmed the remains of the kanthav as they drew away, by then just a skeleton with bloody scraps hanging from it on blood-soaked earth, fighting over and devouring everything left. No one looked back; no one needed to. They were strong together, and with every passing day, they realized it more and more. 

As they walked, they shifted, as they always had before. Mayēih and Nazhivēr led, Dirahn was slowly centered in the middle, the young circled her, and strong males walked at the edges. Ilkav was the only one who didn’t obey this wordless orientation, held close to his sister like he was. 

Nothing dared approach them the entire time they traveled, bare feet trudging along the packed earth and leaving so many tracks it pulverized the ground, forming a deep groove where they tread. And, near nightfall, they angled their trek to the same line of trees Dirahn had exited before. 

The storms were coming and they’d need shelter -- or, at least, more targets for the lightning. 

This area actually had vegetation, Ilkav learned. Red grass grew between the trees, leaves coiled up tight as the plants waited for nightfall. Winged creatures filled the trees and brayed loudly at the disturbance of the Vh’alyir reaching them, fluttering from one to another. 

Nazhivēr eyed the trees, calculating the overlap of the branches as he worked out which ones would protect best against the lightning. Mayēih aided him, and between the two they chose a smattering of the largest trees huddled close together, each trunk over three feet wide at its base, waving the males in close. They would have to remain in a tight concentration until morning, he warned them, regardless of how uncomfortable they might be. 

Then, nudging Zarak off her, Dirahn began striding around the chosen place. Vīsh circled her arms, a dozen rings spread between them, and patted a tree trunk; one of the rings transferred from her to the tree, growing in size until it was two feet across, bent around the shape of the trunk. Then she walked to the next and did the same, and the next and the next. She covered all seven trees flanking this clearing, and when she was done, she put another in the center. This one hovered up above them, and she started chanting. 

They all watched as she commanded her vīsh to take the form she wished, and each circle glowed brighter as she empowered them. At length, they webbed together, creating a mass of spiked lines above their heads. A lopsided seven-point star connected each circle together, and then a thin layer of translucent red vīsh layered overtop it. It faded as it fell beyond the trees, slowly arching towards the ground. 

The dull glow bathed them all in red light, and the males glanced between her and one another, at a loss. Even Nazhivēr didn’t know what this was. 

She explained, “It will protect against the lightning, but allows the rain through.” Lips twitching in amusement, she added, “Maintain your footing.” 

Then she simply picked a tree, snagged Ilkav, and sat on the ground. She used the coiled leather as a seat, then leaned against him, wrapping her arms around his and resting her head against his shoulder. Her tail swished around the ground until it circled them, and in another moment his did the same, never touching as it laid outside hers. 

Nazhivēr gazed up at the barrier for a long moment, visibly memorizing it for the future, while Mayēih began directing his House. 

The young were protected by the adults physically, sires hunching over their sons as they crowded in towards the center of the barrier. Though Dirahn and Ilkav were at the edges, she didn’t seem concerned, suggesting the strength of her protection spell. 

At length, Zarak pushed past the males to go back to her. He crawled closer to her on all fours, then ducked under her arm. 

She snapped back to attention, her arm lifting in a sharp gesture and a snarl already on her face as she swung a look down on him. Her tail twitched angrily. 

He froze for a long moment, swallowed, then cautiously edged closer, draping himself over her lap. Tension raced through her, her claws unsheathed, and a savage hiss escaped her. 

Concerned, Ilkav murmured, “Please…” 

She gave him a sharp look. Then, frustrated, she retracted her claws, slowly lowering her arm down again. Awkward and hesitant, she draped it over the boy, though it took her a few tries before she let it settle on him. 

Zarak curled up tighter, sniffled, then grabbed her hand with his. He wrapped his arms around the appendage, his tail coiling around him and over her leg. 

The growl she gave said she didn’t like that, but she didn’t move him. 

Another pair of boys watched with open jaws -- juveniles without sires -- then glanced at one another. They’d both barely grown old enough to be a not-child, and in unison, they made a desperate gamble. 

They edged closer to the payashē, shivering with fear as they went. Dirahn noticed them and glared more and more harshly as they approached, baring her teeth, but they forged onwards. One sat at her side, then curled up against her; he flinched when she snarled at him but didn’t move away, resting his cheek against her shoulder. 

With mounting disbelief, the males watched as the second juvenile sat by her knees, then cautiously laid down across her legs, partly curled around Zarak. She hissed, her claws unfurling -- then, all at once, she seemed to give up. 

With a harsh chuff, she relaxed, leaning into Ilkav again. 

The males gaped. Ilkav could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Was this really happening? A payashē -- a young payashē, no less, her horns only an inch in length -- was letting three kanyin rest with her, none of which were hers. 

Any other female would’ve slashed them with her claws for daring, especially such a young one. But Dirahn was simply allowing it. 

His heart pulsed oddly in his chest and his fingers laced through hers in a tight hold. He understood what this meant, even if none of the others did: this was how much she wished to be with him. She would suffer so much irritation and unwanted attention...for him.  

And all at once he realized he could offer her nothing less. No -- he wanted to offer her nothing less. She’d left her home for him, agreed to care for a child not her own for him, and was now suffering multiple males coming to her for safety and protection -- for him. 

It made him feel weird on the inside, the sensation both emotional and physical at the same time, but he didn’t know the word for it. It was powerful, though; this he knew. If the last few days taught him anything, it was that she would never abandon him -- and he wanted to give her the same. 

He leaned his cheek against her head, murmuring softly, “I will stay by your side as long as you wish it, sister.” 

With a smile, she replied as quietly, “Then it will be always, brother.” 

His fingers tightened around hers, and she squeezed his in return. 

-- 

The storm reached them just after the sun began dipping below the horizon. They’d all heard it coming from a great distance, and they’d been bracing themselves for the onslaught. The wind hit them first, and the adults crowded the young together in the center of the clearing. There, they linked their arms together in a tight ring, protecting their sons with their own bodies. 

Nazhivēr braced himself against a tree instead, and he eyed Dirahn and the pile of males around her, wondering what she would do. As the winds picked up speed, buffeting them, causing the males to stumble and compensate for one another, she roused from her light rest. 

The young clung to her as the winds started catching on them, and Ilkav turned to her, one hand digging into the tree and the other securing around her. To Nazhivēr’s surprise, she did the same, having the males crowd in tight to the tree, then -- crouching against Ilkav -- the twins grabbed one another with one arm and the tree with the other. 

The boys held each other, braced between the two adults, Zarak leaning forward to link his arms around her waist. With the strong winds ripping through this area, Nazhivēr couldn’t hear properly, but she spoke to the boy and he eased back with the others. 

And then the first bolt of lightning struck a tree nearby, singeing it, the sound making each of the demons flinch. The rain followed immediately after, as if it’d been waiting for that invitation, great, hot pelts of water falling like darts. In moments the sound of the rain eclipsed even that of the wind, drowning everything in the heavy, relentless noise. 

Everyone was soaked in moments, water pouring over them almost as if from a wave, and they all began tilting their heads back and opening their mouths, catching it. It took seconds to catch a mouthful, the rain was so great, soothing parched throats and helping the starved ones recover. 

Thunder rolled and rumbled from above, powerful enough to send shockwaves through his inner organs. And a second lightning strike shot down from above, hitting the spell circle at the center of the dome as if magnetized. The Vh’alyir all flinched again, both from fear and from the ear-splitting crack as it sawed through the air. 

The vīsh held, much to his relief. Then, as the winds continued to push harder against them, he turned to his own tree and latched on. He folded his wings in as tight as he could, lest they catch the wind and take him away. 

It was annoying, in its way. Always before he’d simply flown above the clouds, keeping away from the rain and the lightning, but things were different now. He couldn’t leave the Vh’alyir in case they needed him -- which, he admitted, was unlikely with a payashē here. But she might need him, too, given he was the only one even remotely knowledgeable. So he stayed, hugging his tree, waiting for the storm to pass. 

He glanced at her again and found she hadn’t moved yet, her head down against the wind. Concern pricked at him; payashē were so small, so light. If the wind caught her, would her wings be strong enough to save her? He didn’t know; he didn’t think they were solid or reacted at all to the wind, and he knew that she could keep them summoned for days, if not weeks, but he didn’t know if they were strong enough to fight the wind. 

He supposed he would learn that sooner or later. 

The storm continued to batter them, growing stronger and more violent by the minute. Soon the males were struggling to maintain their protective circle, heads down, feet braced, arms linked around one another’s shoulders. Two dozen males, clinging to each other, fighting to keep their young safe. 

Their tails whipped and smacked into each other, drawing blood. But their yelps of pain were swallowed by the wind, washed out by the rain, and dwarfed by the deafening claps of lightning. 

Soon the water carved rivers into the earth, pouring around their ankles. It’d been weeks, Nazhivēr mused, but the desert rains had finally arrived. And now they were going to be buffeted by these same storms every night for months -- as long as they remained in this region. They would have to stop taking breaks during the day from now on. 

As the storm continued ramping higher in power, the lightning strikes growing stronger and more frequent, starting small fires which the rain quickly doused, he sidled around his tree to shield himself from the storm as much as possible and dug in his claws. 

This was going to be a long night. 

Chapter Text

It was wearing on them, this storm. Mayēih could see it as much as he could feel it, himself. The water at their ankles steadily rose higher, the winds pushing them harder, the thunder making their ears ring. More and more they had to shift, lifting their feet out of the thickening mud. Wisps of blood kept scenting the air only to get stripped away the next second. But if anyone was speaking, yelling, or calling for aid, Mayēih simply couldn’t hear it. 

He tried to keep an eye on his House, but even that was proving futile. The water clouded his sight, blurred the spaces between them, and even had steam rising as the hot rain met with the colder river at their feet. At least no one would run out of vīsh anytime soon, he thought dryly. The heat of the rain made sure they remained strong. 

He’d lost sight of Nazhivēr some time ago, and the twins shortly after. From his place he couldn’t even see Helsir or Nīkjahar, the two males directly across from him in the circle. The boys in the middle kept slipping, clinging to their fathers and cousins as well as one another. But their circle was strong, the vīsh above impenetrable, their feet braced; keeping the kanyin protected within -- if imbalanced and muddy -- would be easy if they kept this up.  

Hours passed, the night turning steadily darker until the only illumination was the domed vīsh around them and the occasional flash of lightning. Even his heat-sight couldn’t help at this point, the sheer volume of rain distorting everything until he couldn’t tell what he was looking at anymore. 

He could barely make out his own legs. 

Then he started to hear a noise, rhythmic, deep and husky, like a chant swallowed by the wind. Focusing, he listened, the sound growing louder from all around him -- and soon he realized what it was. 

His Vh’alyir, counting loudly. They were counting in repeats of ten, in rhythm, and the sound of it sparked something powerful in him. These were his House, leaning on each other, supporting one another in a way he didn’t think had ever happened before. Someone had begun counting, maybe to distract himself, maybe to help weather the storm, and all the others had joined in. 

In that moment, something was made inescapably clear to him: they were not dead yet. 

Almost involuntarily, his voice joined theirs, rising above the sound of the rain, and his hands reaffirmed their grip on the males at his sides. 

They weren’t dead yet.  

Harder and harder the rain fell, the lightning coming so frequently and so powerfully it was starting to split the trees, every clap of it pulsing through his organs like a second heartbeat. Time drifted on, punctuated by the endless chanting of his males, until -- finally -- the eye of the storm hit. 

The winds halted altogether, but the water continued rushing past their feet, causing the whole circle to slowly sink deeper and deeper as it washed away the earth. The rain lessened and even the lightning grew distant, though it remained flashing all around them, great cracks beyond the canopy of leaves bordering above them. 

Then a flash of bright red lit up the night, streaking over their heads, and Mayēih snapped his gaze to it -- just in time to see it strike a figure from the darkness, briefly illuminating the huge, hulking form of a kanthav, the black hide almost invisible in the shadows. The beast was flung backwards mid-leap, its throat tearing open, and it writhed and twisted violently as it vanished back into the darkness. 

No, he denied, fear sluicing down his spine in a freezing wave. 

The kanthav. Dirahn had hunted one, and he cursed himself; he should’ve recalled that they were here. He shouldn’t have led his males here. They were helpless like this, unable to move for fear of them all being lost to the storm. 

His gaze shot back over to the source of the vīsh, spying the twins through the lessened rainfall, Ilkav’s arm around his sister, and one of her arms outstretched, numerous rings around it. Had she sensed the beast…? He hadn’t, but maybe payashē could pick up on subtler presences? No, he agreed with himself, she must; she’d said it once before. 

They are too far for you to sense...but not too far for a payashē. 

Then, as Mayēih watched, unable to help as long as he remained in the circle, she whipped her head left and right, clearly tracking something -- multiple somethings. Her mouth opened and closed as she yelled at Ilkav, the words swallowed by the noise carried to them from the storm bordering this moment of calm, and then she was pushing the kanyin towards the circle. She and Ilkav braced them together, then shoved them between legs and into the middle of the ring. 

The eye of the storm was passing, now, and she was forced to lean heavily into the wind for balance as she forced Ilkav to link with the males, the circle shifting to account for him. Her wings appeared on her back, clearly readying to fight the rest of the creatures. Mayēih felt a spark of worry, but her wings didn’t catch the wind; they held in spite of it. 

Then she whipped around, towards him, and another ring blazed brighter around her arm -- then two -- three. Her palm aimed. He didn’t have to look to know what was happening; he just held his breath and hoped that she was quick enough. 

He felt an opposing rush of hot wind against his back, and then a light darted from her palm, vanishing over his shoulder faster than a breath. There was a yowl, animalistic and pained; hot breath fanning down his neck and back, letting him know just how close he’d come to death, and then the presence behind him was gone. 

Movement to his left caught his eye, and he spied Nazhivēr moving, smacking into a tree feet-first as the wind pushed him. He, too, was surrounded by rings of scarlet, runes webbing across each one, and he thrust out his fist as a third lumbering form leapt from the darkness at him. His vīsh blared brightly, then burst outward as the kanthav’s massive jaws began closing around his extended arm. 

Its head exploded outward and its body hit the ground, unmoving and far too massive to be taken by the wind or the water. 

Dirahn leapt, her wings flashing, her body pushed sideways as she arced over the males. A scarlet ribbon flung from her hand, whipped behind her, then snapped forward at a thrust of her arm; a kanthav leapt at her from the dark and her whip split it lengthwise from jaw to hip, the creature falling apart to lay motionless in the mud. 

For a split second Mayēih felt a flare of concern for his males, Dirahn’s whip arcing downwards towards them, but it vanished before reaching them. The female twisted in her jump to plant her feet against a tree, a circle appearing under her feet, blazing brightly. The wind held her there for a moment, and then she kicked off, launching forward and over the males once again. 

Two massive kanthav surged from the dark, and scarlet light blazed as both Dirahn and Nazhivēr met them. Mayēih could only watch, tense and worried, as his sight steadily became clouded once again, the storm dampening his ability to see. Soon he could neither see nor hear what the others were doing, but he began scenting blood in the air and could feel ripples in the circle of Vh’alyir. 

He hoped they were merely being staggered, but he feared he was losing them -- and could do nothing to halt it. 

Fear filled him. At what point should he order them to run? The wind, rising once more, was a concern; if they ran, would they even be able to remain on the ground? He’d seen Dirahn being pushed by the winds and Vh’alyir weren’t very much heavier. Their circle was the only thing keeping them on the ground during the stronger gusts of wind. 

The adults may have no trouble surviving being flung into the sky -- provided they didn’t get struck by the lightning -- but the kanyin? Nul. They will not survive, he concluded. Their only hope of living through this with their sons was to hold steady -- and trust. 

Trust in Nazhivēr. Trust in Dirahn. Trust that these two, so knowledgeable and powerful, would deal with the kanthav. 

It was not easy. Every time he felt a sudden wash of heat he couldn’t see, every sound he heard that was entirely too close to his Vh’alyir, every flare of crimson light that managed to reach him through the harsh rain sent another slash of fear through him. 

Both Dirahn and Nazhivēr kept briefly appearing, here and there. Mayēih caught them sailing over the group, flickering at the edges of his sight. A tail, a wing, a limb, there and gone in the same heartbeat. The sounds of battle, so hard to discern over the sheets of rain pelting all around him, kept steady, and his heart beat harder and harder as it failed to cease. 

The circle held firm. It was the only thing left to assure him that his males were surviving this. He could scent blood and vīsh in the fractions between washes of rain, and each one made his tension worse. His Vh’alyir were alive, he was certain, but he didn’t doubt that some of them had been hurt. 

Then Dirahn appeared again, this time diving down into the center of the circle. Her scarlet wings barely pierced through the veil muddying his sight, but her shape was undeniable even with this low visibility. A ring of vīsh appeared on the ground, deep under the surface of the water, the glow of it managing to illuminate the entire circle, and then it expanded in a rapid spiral, vanishing outside the ring of males. 

A dome of scarlet arced over them, he caught Dirahn in the storm as she struggled against the wind, and then multiple heavy thuds echoed around him. The sounds were swallowed by the wind, but the illumination of the vīsh showed him what had happened: several kanthav appeared from the darkness, forelegs outstretched as they converged on the Vh’alyir from all sides. 

In one instant, their snarling maws were descending, the light of Dirahn’s spell accenting their dark scales; in the next, they vanished back into the darkness. The circle dipped and wavered as males recoiled from the sight, yelps of terror sounding from around Mayēih. He barely bit back on his own. 

This was the most terrifying thing he’d ever lived through -- and he’d run close enough to entice an īnkav as a juvenile! He was shaking from the fear of it all, but he reminded himself over and over that the only way to survive this was to hold steady. 

The glow of the vīsh under the water vanished. The flash of Dirahn’s wings caught his eye as she lifted from the ground again, darting his way; his head craned as he followed her leap as best he could. 

A swath of black materialized from the dark, scales gleaming against the light of her wings, and Mayēih’s eyes widened with horror as she pivoted to avoid the creature. Her cry of pain and rage pierced the night, and he jolted at the sound. 

He’d never heard a female scream before. 

Without thinking, he pulled from the circle, yanking the two males he’d been linked with together to close the gap he left behind. The mud sucked at his feet as he twisted, eyes latched onto the flickers of Dirahn’s vīsh. A whip of scarlet lashed through the air, the reflective scales of the kanthav parting into two distinct sections; Mayēih was already leaping, reaching for the payashē. 

He saw her a split second before he collided with her, his arms banding around her as the wind pushed them sideways and up. Her expression flashed with surprise, her hands seizing him, and then her gaze snapped away, seeking. Her arm thrust out, her whip appearing again only to vanish into the storm. It struck something, then pulled taut, halting them both. 

Her wings were missing, he noted; had she lost concentration on it? His gaze scanned her, and his heart stuttered as he spotted her wound: a duo of deep gouges on her chest, clawing outwards and across her shoulder. It’d cut through her top, the upper wrap of leather dangling free, her breasts bare, the top only held up by the band around her ribs. Blood poured from the wounds. 

Another strong blast of wind jarred them, and Dirahn cried out in pain, her grip on her vīsh going slack. Their combined weight kept them from being lifted, but they were flung sideways from the powerful force. Mayēih barely saw the approaching tree trunk in time to twist them, his claws flashing out as he reached for it. 

The hard bark cut into his skin as he seized it, hissing in pain, and fought against the pull of the wind to slam them into the back of the trunk where the wind couldn’t dislodge them. There, his feet blindly sought a support, his hands digging in deep to the tree to hold them steady. It was a relief when his feet found a thick branch, settling his weight there and readjusting his position to hold both himself and Dirahn. 

Her arms were around his neck somehow; he hadn’t noticed in the flurry and the panic. She was panting and hissing with pain, and when she realized they were steady, her grip eased. Braced between him and the tree, she gazed up at him, puzzlement pinching her eyes and pain baring her teeth. 

By now he had no idea what his own expression was displaying. His heart was still thudding away in his chest, so quick and strong from the rush of it all that he could feel it in his throat. Disbelief flooded him as he realized what he’d just done. 

He’d flung himself into the heart of a storm, against an unknown number of invisible kanthav, to aid a payashē who was very likely to kill him for the insolence of such an action. 

Everything about what he’d done was a massive risk, radiating with danger. 

Then Dirahn looked down at herself, her hand coming up to lightly trace her wounds. Vīsh glowed around her, at her back, and he thought she was chanting something but couldn’t hear over the unrelenting pour of the rain. Her vīsh grew brighter, a beacon in the dark, tension racing through him at what she might draw to them. 

Then, disbelieving, he watched as her wounds started to knit together. The blood washed away in the rain, and in moments her skin was pristine and unmarred again. She smudged at the skin as if making sure it was entirely healed, and then her eyes lifted again. 

So much vīsh, he mused, and her eyes were still as bright as always. Did she never tire? 

She gazed at him in silence (he assumed; he didn’t think he would be able to hear her right now anyway) for a long moment, then her eyes flicked over his shoulder. He tensed in reflex, bracing himself for an attack; he felt her arms lift around him, felt the heat of vīsh scorching against him, heard a sharp, low-pitched howl of pain, and then nothing but the rain and the wind remained. 

He exhaled harshly. Dirahn seemed to sag back against the tree. Her hands withdrew, trailing along his skin as she brought them back. 

His jaw flexed. He tried not to look, but she was right there, her black hair sopping wet and draped over her eyes, clinging to her cheeks. Her pupils were wide in the low light, and they darted between his eyes as if looking for something. An intent, he supposed. 

He turned his head, instinctively lowering his chin in submission. It brought their faces closer, and from here he could even smell her through the storm, the worst of it blocked by the tree shielding them. He’d never been this close to a payashē, not since leaving the pashir where he’d been born and raised. This close, he could scent both her unique, spicy scent and that of her vīsh, saturated in power even when she wasn’t using it. Somehow the addition of the water seemed to enhance both. 

An unfamiliar and disconcerting sensation raced through him, swooping in his middle. When her hands lifted, brushing his uncovered stomach, the sensation worsened. It wasn’t fear, he concluded, but he didn’t know what else it could be. She could disembowel him right now, after all. He probably deserved it for putting his hands on her when she likely hadn’t even needed it. 

But when he braved a glance at her again, jaw tense, she wasn’t even looking at him. Her hands caught the edges of her torn top, tugging the longer strip around her neck again. Vīsh snaked around her wrists again, and he watched with fascination as she covered herself with the leather, held the torn pieces together, and then slowly pinched her fingers across the tear. 

He blinked, awed, as her actions mended the top as if it’d never been damaged. He’d seen her do something similar with Zarak’s clothing, but that had been for making clothing. This was mending it, and he hadn’t expected it to work. 

A sudden flash of light preceded an ear-splitting crack as lightning struck near them, so close he could feel the electricity in the air. They both flinched, Mayēih reaffirmed his grip on the tree, and Dirahn’s hands seized him by the waist, tugging him solidly against her. Following her directive, he pressed in tight, sandwiching her firmly between him and the tree. 

And then they waited. 

Ilkav felt frantic as time slipped on. During the attack he’d kept getting glimpses of his sister, brief flickers of her scent and her shape in the dark, but that had...stopped. The attack had stopped as well, thankfully, following something Nazhivēr had done in the middle of their ring. The male remained crouched there even now, vīsh glowing both from above and below as his magic and Dirahn’s shielded them from all sides. 

But Ilkav couldn’t see or feel his sister -- understandably, given how powerful and overwhelming this storm was -- and it was worrying him. No one can kill a payashē, he told himself. 

He couldn’t make himself believe it. 

He kept telling himself that no one could possibly kill her. That she would never abandon him. That not even a storm like this could take her from him. 

He still worried. 

The storm didn’t end until shortly before dawn. As vayanin peeked over the horizon, the first rays touching them through the trees, the wind and the rain finally eased. One last flash of lightning hit the water near them, electricity briefly making the circle of males falter, and then the last of the clouds were moving on. 

By now Ilkav was sunken into the mud, reaching just above his ankles. The river of water had occasionally reached as high as his knees, but now it was only lightly coating the ground. It took effort to wrench his feet free, and the circle wavered and tipped as the other males did the same. 

He could finally see, now. And he saw relief, pain and concern as the other Vh’alyir all recovered. Blood still scented the air from wounds the males had received, and the fathers checked on their sons. Kanthav bodies, many in pieces, littered the ground. No one seemed to have been lost, Ilkav thought, no one was missing...except… 

His stomach dropped as he realized Mayēih wasn’t in the ring anymore. Had a kanthav…? No, he told himself. If Mayēih had died, the dīn would have moved on and one of the males would have declared it by now. Probably. 

He grabbed the male at his side. L’yolen, Ilkav identified him. “Where is Dirahn, and Mayēih?” he demanded. 

L’yolen glanced around, seeking. He shook his head. “I do not see them,” he murmured, then paused, focusing. Ilkav did the same, trying to feel for his sister’s vīsh. 

In unison, the both of them looked the same way: towards where Mayēih had previously been in the circle. Ilkav gave the other male a pat in thanks, trudging through the sticky, thick mud the way he felt his sister to be. And, just as he cleared the circle, he caught movement deep in the thick of the trees. 

He paused, watching warily -- until he recognized the form of Mayēih stepping around a tree. He was struggling with the mud, too, bracing himself with one hand as the other -- the other…

...Dirahn held, the two of them helping each other make their way back. 

Ilkav blinked, something hot and angry burning in him at the sight. It was clear from the way the pair wavered, tails lashing for balance, pulling on each other, that they were just using each other for stability. It didn’t stop a deep snarl from building in his chest. 

“Dirahn!” Ilkav called, fighting through the mud to reach her. 

She glanced up, irritation written across her features. Then, spotting him, she smiled. Her hand abandoned Mayēih’s, and with a kick she managed to leap several lengths forward. Ilkav did the same, and when he reached her he caught her arms, holding her still and looking her over. 

“Are you hurt?” he asked, concerned. 

She shook her head. “A kanthav landed a blow,” she explained, running a claw across her chest to her shoulder, “but I healed it. We are both fine now,” she added, glancing Mayēih’s way. 

Scowling, Ilkav didn’t look to his Dīnen. He linked an arm around Dirahn’s waist, tugging her back to the rest of the Vh’alyir. “A few of us were injured,” he informed her, “but none were lost.” Then, as he realized it, he murmured aloud, “You protected us very well.” 

She smirked at him, accepting his aid in clearing the mud. “It was fun,” she retorted, pride dripping from her. 

He chuckled. “Hunting in the dark, in a storm, against dozens of kanthav...is fun?” he checked. 

“Var. This is much better than the pashir,” she told him, grinning. “Only a few days here with you and I have many more stories than most payashē. This is what I always wanted,” she added, starting to pull away, homed in on one of the injured males. 

The male was sitting, a kanyin and another adult visibly checking his back. Deep furrows raked across the flesh, a crisscrossing pattern that suggested he’d been clawed more than once. Blood still eased from some, identifying the deepest cuts, but the rest had clearly clotted already. 

“Aside,” Dirahn directed with a sweep of her arm. The males scurried away, the injured one glancing up in surprise and fear, and at the same time Zarak darted to her. 

His little, light body allowed him to pad quickly over the mud instead of sinking in the way the rest of them were, and he collided with her middle, arms banding around her. He was audibly sobbing, blubbering words easing out in between gasps for air and wails. 

Dirahn groaned, her head falling back. Ilkav could see her neck and jaw flexing with irritation, but after a few moments she patted the boy on the head and forced him back from her. And his crying seemed to kick off others’, because suddenly many of the younger kanyin were fighting off sobs, too. The ones with sires clung to their fathers; the rest huddled together, seeking comfort with one another. 

Dirahn gave Zarak a sharp look, as if to say, Now look what you did.  

Zarak merely went from hugging her middle to clinging to her leg. 

Taking pity on the boy -- and acting before she could maim him -- Ilkav trudged through the wet earth and grabbed Zarak, pulling him from her. He wailed at being removed, but Ilkav silenced him with a hand over his mouth and held him with one arm. He nodded to Dirahn. 

The expression on her face was a mixture of relief and gratitude. Then she moved on, finally reaching the first of the injured males. She ran her claws over his wounds, vīsh glowing around her fingers, then eyed the ground with a disdainful look. At length, she directed the male to stand and lean back against a tree. 

From there, a circle of vīsh appeared bent around the trunk, and she pressed a hand to his uncovered chest. The male flinched and convulsed, visibly fighting it, teeth gritting. When it passed, he exhaled heavily, reaching back to feel his back for himself. He looked stunned as he realized he’d been healed, but though his jaw opened, Dirahn was already moving on. 

She repeated the vīsh for the other two males with deep wounds, but she passed over the ones who were only hurt a little bit. Then she went for the leather and kanthav meat she’d claimed the day before, and Ilkav admitted surprise that it was still there. 

He grunted thoughtfully as he saw why: she had cast a vīsh he had not seen. The bound leather was coiled to the tree trunk with scarlet cords. And though it’d been submerged in water almost the entire night, when she unrolled it to check on the meat, it looked fine. 

Curious, Ilkav sniffed at it, crouched beside her. “How did it not rot?” he asked. 

She smirked at him. “I would be a poor hunter,” she purred low, “if I did not know how to preserve my kill.” 

He wondered on that. Had she done something to the kanthav before bringing it back to them and skinning it? As he thought about this, she snapped her fingers and called the kanyin over -- not only Zarak, but all of them. With vīsh, she dried the meat and leather, then bade the boys to eat. 

She wandered away as they gaped in surprise (all except Zarak, who didn’t hesitate to begin tearing into the massive leg). Ilkav trailed after her, and she climbed up onto a low branch of a tree, so he did the same, taking one on level with hers. 

“You are a strange payashē,” he commented. 

She cocked a brow at him. “Only the brave and the foolish mock a payashē,” she retorted. 

He spread his hands in an empty gesture, arguing, “It is still true.” 

She shrugged. “Many more payashē would be like me,” she said, “if they knew anything more than the pashir.” 

He chewed his lip. “And how do you know more than the pashir, sister?” 

“Na, me?” she returned, smirking his way. “I know more because I left. Often.” 

Something cold filled him. That was so...dangerous! “Why would you do this?” he bit out, fearful on her behalf. 

She twisted from her relaxed pose, turning to face him. “I was looking for you, brother,” she told him, none of her mocking laughter or overpowering pride on display. 

No, right then she was looking at him as if he were the only thing she’d ever wanted. She was still, serious, even determined. All of her humor was gone, replaced with a steady warmth that had nothing to do with the sunlight bathing them from afar. 

Ilkav’s eyes...stung. Heat gathered there. It’d been so long, he’d almost forgotten this sensation and what it meant. 

“I was looking for you, too,” he whispered, his throat feeling too crowded to raise his voice any higher. 

She smiled. Then, pushing herself up, she hopped from her branch to his, sitting beside him. Her tail wound around the branch, and her fingers laced through his. 

Gazing up at him, she lifted their joined hands, declaring, “We will never be apart again.” 

Returning her smile, he agreed, “Never.”