Chapter Text
Warbred were not supposed to feel fear.
Zhevrin walked behind the Emperor in silence. His claws clicked on the marble floor, sleek black chitin barely catching the dim light as they passed down the long, dark corridor. He lowered his head as his pale eyes darted left and right, gleaming from his bone-white mask-like face.
“You know why you are being brought down here, right?” The Emperor asked him. His voice was low and pleasant, but held a dangerous edge. He was tall and stately with a sweeping robe, deep blue with silver trimming, complementing his storm gray plating with white edging. His long serpentine tail trailed behind him as his staff clicked every couple of steps.
“Squad Commander Jaedys defected to the Rebellion, your Majesty,” Zhevrin said. His tail tucked against his legs as he pinned his antennae against his large, sweeping horns. His heavy growling voice echoed in the corridors, louder than he intended.
“And you, as her Second, did not report to me when she was showing signs of treason.” Emperor Zarkhan said. “You could have prevented her from taking half of your Squadron and another Squadron of my Elites with her.”
“I… she’s… she was my Commander, Your Majesty. My leader.” Zhevrin barely kept his low, growling voice steady. He towered over the Emperor. His powerful arms rippled with muscle, hands bearing long claws. An impressive bristled mane flowed over his shoulders and down his back.
His medium blue cloak was actually vestigial wings, which flicked with nervous energy.
“And I am your Emperor.” Zarkhan said. “You belong to me. Not your Commander. Not your squad.” His cold, unwavering silver eyes met Zhevrin’s. “You must understand that I can not tolerate such disloyalty among my soldiers.”
Zhevrin shrank back as his antennae lowered, breaking their eye contact with a sharp intake of breath.
The emperor tapped the glowing orb of his staff against the door. It glided open with a shimmer of patterns dancing across its cold, silver surface. Zhevrin hesitated. His mouth felt dry as he clasped his hands together to still their trembling. A single look from the Emperor was all it took to spur him back into motion.
“Kneel.” Zarkhan commanded with a sweeping motion of his hand. Zhevrin swallowed.
“Y-your Majesty, I remained loyal to you. I did not leave with Commander Jaedys.” His voice shook. He couldn’t keep the quiet desperation out of it. He rubbed his neck as he looked at the large guillotine with a sharp, weighted blade. There were black stains on the blade and the frame. The scent of blood, Warbred blood, hung heavy on the air.
He couldn’t tear his gaze away from it. Everything felt so distant, so unreal. All he could hear was his own pulse thrumming in his ears and his slow, heavy breathing. The Emperor’s voice dragged him out of the dissociative state he’d sunk into.
“Kneel.” The Emperor commanded a second time.
Zhevrin swallowed again. He resisted the urge to run. His tail tucked fully between his legs.
He didn’t want to die, but this was of his own doing. He’d failed his commander, his squad, and his emperor. Such were the consequences of disloyalty. It was his duty to do as the Emperor commanded, even if that meant giving up his life.
He finally knelt, feeling the cold marble floor under his hands and knees and the even colder steel of the apparatus against his neck.
His mind raced with questions. Would it hurt, or would he be dead before the pain even had a chance to sink in? Would he see anything when his Shade emerged after death, before it faded away? Would he be aware after his life ended, or would everything fade into blackness, as if simply falling asleep? He couldn’t stop shaking.
The click of the release followed by the smooth metallic sound of the blade falling as the Emperor pulled the lever. Tears escaped as he let out a whimper, a plaintive sound he wasn’t even aware he could make. He closed his eyes tight as he sucked in a breath and held it, preparing for his end.
Seconds passed.
He expected to feel the cold steel slicing through his neck at any moment.
The blade never came. Only silence.
Then… Heat. Heat beat down on his back and radiated from the sand beneath him. A hot, dry desert wind blew through his mane and across his chitin.
Just moments before, he had been on cold marble, kneeling in front of a large guillotine in a dreary room, facing death.
He opened his eyes, then shut them again against the blinding sunlight beaming down from a vast blue sky. He squinted as he opened his eyes again, shielding them with his hand.
All he saw was an endless sea of shifting sand, vast dunes swept by hot, dry wind.
After several minutes of looking around through stinging eyes, Zhevrin finally stood. He walked in a slow circle as he tried to gain his bearings.
He thought he saw something at the top of the tallest dune near him. It looked like markers of some sort. Two of them had sun-bleached fabric tied to them, flowing and fluttering in the wind.
It was the only thing he could see other than endless sand as far as the eye could see, so he trudged his way up the dune. His clawed feet sank in with each step.
Cresting the dune, he scanned the horizon. Something caught his attention.
A single, twin-peaked mountain stood tall like a regal guardian of the desert, a beam of shimmering light shooting up into the sky. Something about it pulled at him. He couldn’t explain it, but something deep within him knew the mountain was important.
He took a step towards it, stumbled, and nearly fell as he slid down the dune. More of those markers caught his attention. They were narrow structures made of dark stone, with a geometric design and a hole at the very top. Wind whistled through the holes like some sort of ancient, mournful song. He stopped to inspect them. The whole place felt like a graveyard, forgotten by time.
Zhevrin frowned as he rubbed his neck. Just moments before, there had been a blade bearing down on him. Then, suddenly, he was here. In a surreal graveyard on an endless sea of sand.
Was he dead? He didn’t know. The heat felt too real. He could feel the sand beneath his feet with each slow, trudging step, hear the whoosh of the wind as the grains struck his chitin, smell the earthy tang of sun-baked ground. The dryness in his mouth and throat was all too real as he coughed.
He climbed up onto a flat platform. It looked like it had been a shrine once. A statue stood before him, cracked and old, the head missing. A glowing symbol floated in front of it. Small pieces of fabric floated through the air, moving like a little school of fish. As he approached the symbol, he felt energy flowing over him. He shivered as his mane bristled and stood on end as his tail raised to flick back and forth.
Something soft settled over him. A hood that hadn’t been there moments before, around his horns and over his shoulders. A short scarf flowed and fluttered from between his shoulders. As the flying pieces of fabric danced around him, he felt a warm tingle of energy between his shoulders and flowing through his useless wings.
He felt the urge to jump, to spread his wings. He wasn’t sure why, but he did. Energy surged from the scarf, lighting the trim of his wings with white light. They snapped open, catching the air and lifting him effortlessly into the air. He stared at his gold-trimmed red wings in awe.
Just as the realization that his wing color had changed sank in, he faltered and crashed back into the sand with a heavy grunt. The energy in his scarf ran out. He stood and shook his head with a huff. The fact that he could now use his wings was a much bigger deal than a simple change in color. He didn’t dwell on it.
He saw more of the fluttering cloth creatures in the distance. He trudged towards them. Each step was painfully slow after the brief exhilaration of being in the air.
As he wandered through the sand, he finally saw the biggest structure yet. A hub of buildings encircled the lowest point in the sand. There was shade down there. Shelter. If he was lucky, maybe he’d find water.
The sand gave out beneath him, sending him sliding down into the ruins. He came to a stop, sprawled on the ground. He stood and shook as much of the sand out of his mane as he could.
He took a moment to regain his bearings and look around. There were several buildings around him, each one seemed like a gate. Where the gates led, he didn’t know. They were all closed.
He noticed a large platform towards the middle of what had once been a hub. Beside it stood a smaller platform with another of those glowing symbols floating on top. He could see little cloth fish swirling around inside it, trapped. Climbing up on top of it, he inspected the symbol. It flooded him with energy before fading, the air shimmering where it had just been. He glanced over his shoulder. His scarf grew longer before his very eyes, glowing as symbols appeared along it. He crouched, spread his wings, and tried jumping again. His wings carried him further this time, but he didn’t quite make it to the large platform. He landed in the sand again with a grunt.
“Where am I?” he asked himself. His voice was jarring against the still emptiness around him. He got no reply other than the ever-present sweep of wind through sand and the soft fluttering movements of the flying cloth creatures. His antennae flicked around as he circled the platform. The glow of another symbol caught his eye.
He climbed up the side, claws gripping stone, and reached for it. Energy zinged up his arm and flowed into his scarf. He felt it grow, as if it was a part of his body. The strange sensation sent a shiver racing through him as his wings flicked.
He spread them, then looked at his scarf, which now nearly reached the ground.
That confirmed everything he was starting to suspect. The symbols grew his scarf, which allowed him to fly.
Flight, he felt, could be the key to figuring out where he was and getting out of this strange, silent desert.He looked around to try to find more of the symbols, but he didn’t notice any more.
He climbed up onto the platform to see if he could see anything else of interest. His claws ticked on the grating as he walked across it. He heard fluttering beneath him. Looking down, he saw more little cloth creatures. He decided to call them ‘fliers’.
He noticed four streamers of faded fabric. It lit up and glowed as he passed close, though the glow faded away once he was no longer near.
He wasn’t sure why, but he felt the urge to call. He took a deep breath as he felt tingling energy rushing through him, building in his chest, then let it out in a heavy rumbling call. A bass “whoomp” he didn’t know he was capable of. Energy rippled out from him. The streamers turned vibrant red, the edges glowing white before they dissolved into sparks of light as the grate opened and the fliers flowed out and swirled around him. He swore they were thanking him for releasing them.
He called to them again, releasing another burst of energy, and they rushed close and spun around him like a whirlwind of light and fabric. Wind and fluttering cloth rushed all around him as he felt them brushing against him. They lifted him into the air, higher than he’d ever been. With a third call, they swarmed him again, carrying him even higher. A sensation of joy and freedom unlike anything he’d ever felt before welled up in his chest. As they held him aloft, he saw a shrine ahead. The statue was whole this time, with several markers near it. It seemed important, so he glided down. His claws clacked against stone as he landed in a crouch, then straightened.
As he inspected the markers, antennae flicking over them, they chimed softly and lit up in response to his presence. Symbols he didn’t recognize lit up. One by one, they activated as he walked past them. As he made his way to inspect the statue, he noticed a circle of light beneath his feet. He stumbled, then sat down. As he did, he felt himself fade into what felt like a dream. He saw a faded vision of a tall masked figure robed in white. It leaned down and studied him before straightening and fading away.
The vision changed to a tapestry depicting light exploding out of the twin-peaked mountain. Symbols of all sorts sprinkled the sky like stars. Turning into creatures, into plants. He could hear the faint song of birds, the wind rustling through leaves. Then, white-robed figures and what looked like red cloth, alive with energy sprang from the energy. The metallic clanking of the large gate opening behind the shrine pulled him out of the vision.
Zhevrin stood and walked towards it. Much to his relief, the shade in the corridor shielded him from the relentless sun.
He saw a silhouette; a robed figure at the end of the corridor.
“Hey!” he called out. He ran towards the figure, his claws clattering on the stone. His wings billowed behind him like a cloak, scarf fluttering. As he got closer, the figure turned and disappeared into the sunlight on the other end of the corridor.
“Wait! Come back!” Zhevrin called. His voice echoed off the stone walls.
As he stepped out into the blinding desert sunlight once again, he looked out over a canyon with the remains of a bridge spanning across it. Whoever he had seen was nowhere to be found.
“Hello?” he called.
No response aside from the whoosh of hot, dry wind rushing through more sand. He jumped with a huff as the gate behind him closed with a metallic clang. He turned and studied the sight before him. More sand, littered with strange machines. They had streamers of cloth fluttering from them, old and faded.
The ruined remains of a broken bridge that had once stretched across the narrow canyon. He looked back where he’d come from, took a deep breath, spread his wings, called on the energy in his scarf, and glided down into the sand below.