Karg, despite his injured wing, was still a beast. His spear danced in the air with unleashed fury, each strike seeking death. But Orkus… Orkus was a different beast after his last fight.
He moved as if the air itself helped him. He dodged attacks with a grace he had not shown before. His axes seemed like extensions of his will. And when Karg, desperate, opened his mouth to launch his black sphere, Orkus did the same.
The two spheres met in the air, like the other time. But this time, Orkus's was denser and more powerful. It devoured Karg's and continued onward, striking the leader squarely in the chest.
Karg fell to his knees, gasping.
—Me… mercy… —he whispered.
Orkus approached, raising an axe to finish him off.
But he hesitated at the last moment. He looked at the warriors who supported him, at those who still doubted, at the women and children watching from the doorways of their huts.
He lowered the axe.
—No —he said—. I will not kill you, Karg. Because the moon gods do not want death among our people. They want unity.
He turned to the crowd.
—Karg has been a great leader! He has protected our clan for years! But times change. The gods have chosen me to guide you toward something greater. But I will not do it alone. I need Karg. I need Gromm. I need ALL of you. Together we will conquer! Together we will be masters of these lands!
An absolute silence followed his words.
Then, someone began to stomp the ground with their foot. Then another. Then several. A dull rhythm that spread like a heartbeat.
—OR-KUS! OR-KUS! OR-KUS!
Karg, still on his knees, looked at him with hatred and with something else: grudging respect. Gromm, from behind, gritted his teeth.
But the clan had spoken.
Orkus spread his black wings and raised his arms to the sky.
—PREPARE YOURSELVES! —he bellowed—. SOON WE WILL MARCH! THE GOLDEN FEATHER WILL PAY BEFORE US! AND I, ORKUS, CHOSEN OF THE MOON, WILL GUIDE YOU TO VICTORY!
The roar of the crowd rose toward the stars.
---
Days later, in Spring City, Enoc arrived at the archives and found Avelia waiting for him with a scroll in her hands.
—I've found something that might interest you —she said, with a spark of excitement in her eyes—. It's a record from the city's early years. Look.
Enoc approached, and she showed him the inscription. Their fingers almost touched as she handed him the tablet.
—Thank you —Enoc said, and his voice sounded rougher than usual.
—You're welcome —she replied, looking away.
They sat together to read, closer than was strictly necessary. Their shoulders sometimes touched when leaning over the same tablet, and neither moved away.
When the sun began to set and the light from the windows grew dim, Enoc realized he had been there for hours. Hours that had passed like minutes.
—I should go —he said, not moving.
—Yes —Avelia nodded, also not moving away.
—I'll come back tomorrow —Enoc said, getting up with effort.
—I know.
She looked at him from the floor, her dark eyes shining in the twilight. And Enoc felt that something had settled in his chest, something warm and calm, like a newly lit fire.
He left the archives with a smile he could not hide.
---
Avelia sneezed. Three times in a row.
—Bless you —Enoc said as he walked through the door.
—Thanks —she replied, rubbing her nose—. They should clean this place more often.
—Do you want us to ask for help?
—No, it's not necessary. —She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye—. Besides, this way you have an excuse to keep coming.
Enoc stood frozen for an instant. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face.
—Do you think I need excuses?
Avelia shrugged, but could not hide her own smile.
—You never know.
He took a step toward her. Just one. But enough for them to be closer than before.
—I don't need excuses —he said softly—. I come because I want to.
She looked up at him, and in her eyes there was something that had not been there before. A small hope.
—And why do you want to?
Enoc opened his mouth to answer, but the words did not come out. He did not know how to explain it. He did not know how to tell her that since he met her, the days had a different color.
—Because here —he said finally, sincerely—, with you, I am not the governor's son. I am just Enoc.
Avelia looked at him for a long time. Then, with a gentle movement, she reached out and brushed her hand against his.
—Then welcome, Enoc —she whispered—. Make yourself at home.
Their fingers intertwined for an instant, and Enoc hesitated for a moment before pulling her close and giving her a light kiss on the mouth that caught her off guard. Then she shyly pulled away and returned to her work, trying to look serious, as if nothing had happened.
But Enoc knew, at that moment, that something had changed forever.
At night, lying in his bed, staring at the stone ceiling, he smiled in the darkness.
He did not know exactly what he felt. He had no words to name it. But when he closed his eyes, he saw Avelia's face. When he took a deep breath, he imagined her scent. When he thought of the next day, the first thing that came to his mind was the promise of seeing her again.
---
In the city's town hall, the leaders of the Golden Feather clan gathered to discuss some logistical matters. The hall, lit by oil torches, was a large space with stone seats arranged in a semicircle around a central table where the harvest and accounting records rested.
Jiron occupied the main seat. To his right and left, the most respected elders of the clan discussed in grave voices the distribution of grain and the harvest problems of that year.
—Reserves are low —said one, a gray-haired man—. If the next few months are dry, we will have to ration.
—You always say the same thing —another intervened—. And we always find a way.
The discussion proceeded with its usual monotony until the elder seated almost facing Jiron spoke.
He was a middle-aged man, broad-shouldered, with wings of an intense gold, brighter than most. His name was Dacian, and he was the second strongest in the city after Jiron himself. His status was second only to the governor's, and he always found a way to oppose things in meetings. But tonight, his attitude was more extreme.
—Ration? —Dacian said with a mocking smile—. Why? If the Dark Feather attack, all that grain will end up burning anyway.
Jiron frowned.
—This is no time for jokes, Dacian. The city's safety is everyone's responsibility.
—Jokes? —The other leaned back in his seat, his eyes gleaming with a strange glint—. I'm not joking, Jiron. I'm just saying that sometimes we worry about small things when what's important is elsewhere.
—And what is important, according to you?
Dacian shrugged, evasive.
—Time will tell.
The meeting continued, but Jiron could not shake a feeling of unease. Something about Dacian's attitude disturbed him. It was not his usual opposition, but something deeper. As if he knew something the others did not.
When the assembly ended and each retired to their chambers, Jiron remained for a moment in the empty hall, watching the flames of the torches.
—What are you plotting, Dacian? —he murmured to himself.
Then, with a sigh, he headed to his room.