The world around me changes from a moonless night to a blinding light in a blink of an eye. As my eyes adapt to the sudden glare, I find myself in a vast courtyard, or perhaps more accurately, a battlefield held at bay. Surrounded by towering, crenelated walls, the expansive courtyard serves a clear purpose: to train and prepare a powerful army. The gray walls, interspersed with strategically placed guard towers, create an imposing sense of security. Right before me, a massive keep made of the same light gray stone stands tall.
<mark>Jahanwatch</mark>!
Heavens be good; this must be the inner bailey of <mark>Jahanwatch</mark> itself. A thrill, sharp and exhilarating, courses through me. Have I, by some twist of fate, stumbled upon the hidden door? But the thrill quickly turns to unease.
The bailey is eerily silent, devoid of any form of life. <mark>Jahanwatch</mark> should teem with life—<mark>Martyshyars</mark>, <mark>Martyshmen</mark>, smiths, grooms, and servants. But this vast expanse is as empty as a forgotten tomb. This can only mean one thing.
“Is this an illusion?” I call out, my voice reflecting in the emptiness.
I will not answer questions,
The same deep voice rumbles. My heart hammers against my ribs as I spin around and freeze!
In front of me, there is a massive, terrifying, wolf-like creature. It’s a monstrous fusion of predator and scavenger, covered in brown fur with rippling muscles beneath its skin. What truly sends shivers down my spine is its head. Instead of a wolf’s head, it has an eagle’s head with piercing yellow eyes gleaming with intelligence. Its front paws have been replaced with razor-sharp talons, and two enormous wings are neatly folded on its back, hinting at the creature’s dual nature as a hunter of both sky and earth. It’s a double threat from the realms of both beast and bird. I instantly recognize it as a <mark>Seemorg</mark>, a legendary creature of the <mark>Albir</mark> Mountains and the revered symbol of <mark>Martysh</mark>.
I should be terrified, but a strange sense of familiarity engulfs me as if I’ve encountered this magnificent creature before, perhaps in the depths of an old dream. And for reasons I can’t quite grasp, I instinctively know the booming voice belongs to this winged wonder.
“Am I inside <mark>Jahanwatch</mark>?” I manage to stammer, my heart dancing in my chest.
I shall not answer questions.
The <mark>Seemorg</mark> remains motionless, but its voice resonates within my skull loud and clear.
No questions, huh? Fine. I’ll try a different tactic.
“I want to enter,” I declare, mustering a semblance of confidence.
State your purpose.
“I already told you,” I growl and instantly wish to swallow back my words. This isn’t some petty argument with Pippin; this is a creature capable of turning me into a feather duster with a single swipe of its talons. I must tread carefully, or I might end up as a stain on the courtyard floor.
“I’m not here for glory, recognition, or some grand adventure. I long for a place where I truly belong and can use my skills to make a difference. I want to serve <mark>Martysh</mark>. I want to be a part of something bigger than myself.”
I finish with a high voice, hoping I sound like a valiant hero. But the <mark>Seemorg</mark> just stares at me with those piercing eyes, as if it can see right through me, straight into the gaping void where my self-esteem should be.
You talk of yearning to belong. What makes you think you will belong in <mark>Jahanwatch</mark> when you failed to find it elsewhere?
The creature’s voice remains calm, yet its question pierces me like lightning. Now, that is a question worth a bard’s song. And truth be told, I do not have the faintest clue. If I claim that other lands suddenly developed an aversion to overly enthusiastic, slightly neurotic sorceresses, would the <mark>Seemorg</mark> believe me? I think not. The truth is, being an outsider might be simply my fate, even if I were to become a <mark>Martyshyar</mark>. But honesty has gotten me this far, so why not be truthful once more?
“I was born in Myra and raised in <mark>Firelands</mark>. However, I have never truly felt at home in either.”
A moment of silence follows, heavy and uncomfortable. The creature’s gaze remains fixed on me, and I know I haven’t fully answered its question. With a sigh, I continue, “I can’t say for certain I will belong here either. But perhaps, <mark>amidst</mark> the challenges and company, I’ll find a sense of purpose and belonging that has eluded me thus far. And who knows, maybe a small excitement wouldn’t hurt either!”
I force a nervous laugh, trying to mask my growing anxiety with a weak attempt at humor.
Keep it together, <mark>Arien</mark>!
I silently scold myself, realizing the gravity of the moment.
The <mark>Seemorg</mark> cocks its head, and its voice echoes in my skull. Hardly a good reason to join the legends of <mark>Martysh</mark>.
A flimsy reason. That much is certain. A wave of anxiety floods in my gut. Nine <mark>hells</mark>, I’m blowing this opportunity. This isn’t a test of strength and courage; this magnificent creature wants to know my true worth. And the truth is, I am not even sure of it myself. How can I convince this being of my value when I doubt it myself? I have stumbled upon this opportunity before anyone else, yet here I am, stuck at this damned barrier, wherever it is, with no way forward.
Just as despair threatens to consume me, I glance up at the majestic creature, half-eagle, half-wolf. Its imposing form shimmers for a fleeting moment, and a cherished memory emerges. It’s <mark>Nejir</mark>, my beloved wolf companion. Her brown fur mirrored the creature’s own. I found her as a pup, a tiny ball of fur and fear, abandoned by her pack. I took her in and raised her in the secrecy of my small room until she was big enough to survive by herself when I returned her to the wild. Over the years, I would venture into the woods to meet her, and we shared an unbreakable bond until her passing. She was a source of warmth and companionship in my solitary life.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Maybe it’s the desperation of the moment or remembering <mark>Nejir</mark>, the constant loyalty she’d shown me, But I am suddenly filled with a newfound openness. And the words pour out, a torrent of truth I’ve never dared speak aloud.
“I am a bastard, the hidden shame of High Lord <mark>Hankin</mark> <mark>Hemwort</mark> of Myra, though I grew up unaware of my lineage. Hidden away with the gamekeeper and his wife on the outskirts of <mark>Myrielfort</mark>, I knew only that the people I lived with weren’t my own. They made that abundantly clear.”
I pause, uncertain whether I should continue. Why am I sharing my deepest secrets with this creature, this figment of my imagination? But a defiant voice in me urges me to continue. Even if this is all an illusion, I want my truth to be heard once, if only for this fleeting moment. I soldier on.
“Whispers of the truth first reached me when I was eight. I overheard the castle gardeners gossiping, calling me the High Lord’s bastard. After that, I often sneak onto the castle grounds, observing the seemingly perfect family from afar. The High Lord himself taught his eldest son swordplay, and his daughter, close to my age, would giggle as he taught her to ride ponies. They shared nightly meals in the grand hall. I used to hear their laughter coming through the windows as I watched from outside. He appeared to be a loving father, not a ruthless ruler or a man who would abandon his own flesh and blood.”
“A child’s mind is a tangled web, and mine spun a cruel tale to explain it all. I can’t recall when I first noticed my strange abilities—moving objects with a thought, cooling the cupboard I slept in during sweltering summer days. Lacking any knowledge of sorcerers or sorcery, I believed I was abandoned because of this curse inside me. I thought I was a freak, and prayer became my only refuge. I would beg the Nine Sisters to heal me, to take away the strangeness that kept me alone. And so, I practiced concealing my sorcery, hoping it would eventually disappear if I didn’t use it.”
“For a brief period, the strange events seemed to decrease. Hoping to prove my normality to my father and everyone else, I went to <mark>Myrielfort</mark> and concealed myself in the shadows of a castle hallway, waiting for the High Lord. He arrived late at night with a companion. When I emerged from the shadow, I saw recognition in his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by a chilling coldness. The fear in my heart silenced the rehearsed words I had prepared for moons. The emptiness in his gaze drowned all I wanted to say. After years of witnessing his love for his <mark>trueborn</mark> children, I was met with nothing but disdain. Before I could even plead, he uttered a single, dismissive word: ‘Take her away.’”
“The woman who was with him accompanied me back to the outskirts. At first, I was too numb to understand what had happened. But as we journeyed, the weight of reality crashed down on me. It initiated my very first panic outbreak. After that, these outbreaks became a recurring struggle throughout my life. Fear constricted my lungs, and I lost control of myself, wetting myself in the process. With a wave of her hand, she cast a healing spell, easing my breathing and cleansing my soiled clothes. In my confusion, I asked if she, too, was cursed. She explained she was a sorceress and asked if I had similar abilities. When I confessed the truth, she revealed that others like me existed and mentioned a place called <mark>Firelands</mark>. She assured me they would send for me when spring arrived, and I turned nine, old enough to attend the Academy at Fire Temple.”
“I asked her if she lived in <mark>Firelands</mark>. She said she used to, but now she was a <mark>Martyshwoman</mark>. After that, she visited me daily, teaching me to read and write. During our lessons, I could always see worry and affection in her eyes—worry that I later came to understand. She foresaw the life I would have in <mark>Firelands</mark>, which deeply troubled her. When the <mark>Firelands</mark> envoys arrived to take me away, the <mark>Martyshwoman</mark> hugged me goodbye. It was the first and only hug I’d ever received. It was brief, but it meant the world to me. She left me with this.”
I reach under my tunic and pull out a worn leather cord, revealing a single gold coin fashioned into a necklace.
“This <mark>Martysh</mark> coin is my only real treasure. It has been a constant source of comfort throughout the years. Its giver was kind, and that memory of light and care always stayed with me. There was no ulterior motive, no expectation of reward, just pure kindness. I’ve always wondered if <mark>Jahanwatch</mark>, this place, fostered such compassion. In Myra and <mark>Firelands</mark>, I could never find it. If I could receive just kindness here or learn to offer even a fraction of it, to be a glimmer of hope for someone in need, then perhaps this is where I truly belong.”
I fall silent, my gaze locked with the winged wolf’s. I feel vulnerable, naked, realizing that this is the first time I’ve spoken of my story out loud. And now that I have heard it myself, I realize how small and insignificant my reasons for joining <mark>Martysh</mark> are.
In <mark>Firelands</mark>, I was simply known as an orphan. But here, in this surreal encounter, I’ve laid bare my deepest secrets, my hidden shame. If I’m to be cast back into the valley, back to the life I’ve always known, I want someone, even if it’s just this magnificent creature, to understand the depths of my longing and the reasons behind my desperate pursuit of <mark>Martysh</mark>, even if it’s not a good enough reason.
The <mark>Seemorg’s</mark> gaze holds me captive. Its eyes reflect a wisdom that transcends words. It blinks slowly, thoughtfully, as if weighing the weight of my confession. The silence stretches on, and a palpable tension hangs in the air as I await its judgment.
And then, the strangest thing happens. With a graceful, fluid motion, the <mark>Seemorg</mark> bends its powerful back knees. I instinctively know what it means. It’s inviting me to mount its formidable form!
My heart pounds with a blend of shock and fear, but a surge of audacious determination quickly takes over. Reminding myself that this is all in my head, an illusion, I approach the creature and place my right foot on <mark>Seemorg’s</mark> knee to hoist myself onto its back. When I’m finally settled and gripping its fur tightly, the creature unfurls its massive wings and launches into the sky.
My grip tightens, and my knuckles turn white as I hold onto the creature’s fur. I gasp as terror crawls up my throat when we rise into the sky. The wind rushes through my hair, and a blend of exhilaration and fear consumes me. But, the <mark>Seemorg’s</mark> back is wide and sturdy, making my seat feel surprisingly secure. As we soar higher, my anxieties start to fade, and a sense of awe and wonder fills my inside.
The world below diminishes, along with the weight of my worries. The setting sun bathes the mountains in a warm glow. A gasp escapes my lips, a sound of pure joy and freedom. In this moment, I feel weightless, liberated, as if all my troubles have been swept away by the wind, leaving only the thrill of flight and the stunning beauty of the landscape beneath me.
But just as quickly as it began, the moment of tranquility shatters. With a sudden, heart-wrenching lurch, the <mark>Seemorg</mark> performs a terrifying mid-air maneuver as its mighty wings beat against the air. Before I can even grasp the situation, the creature flips in the air, sending me plummeting through the sky like a stone. The world becomes a dizzying blur of blue, yellow, and green, a terrifying painting of my impending doom—a silent scream tears through me as I brace for impact. My heart hammers in my ears when I close my eyes in surrender.
And the world goes dark again!