Bittersweet Irony

The water was oddly calm, as if as contemplative as the kitsune sat beside it. He stared at his own reflection, blue eyes tracing his features again and again, as if the mere staring would bring the answer he longed for.

One would think that these thoughts lingered on the banishment from his tribe or, more importantly, the empty whiteness that had taken over the soul-gem on his forehead. But these were secondary matters for him. As he sat at the waters edge, his own existence seemed to falter.

His only meaning, that had been taken away. Was this all that left? An empty shell. Or perhaps not that. Perhaps he was alive, but he no longer had place in this world. The New Fire tribe had been his life. All the scars on his body, disfiguring medals of his loyalty to the tribe and every spell the warrior had cast; it was all for the well-being of the tribe. For the first – what was it? Two hundred years of his life, he had done nothing but better his skills, tear through the flesh of his enemies, hunt in the plateau for the sustenance much needed for the tribe’s survival.

And within the time between sunrise and sunset, all this vanished and left nothing at all but the black markings around his eyes. He stared at the reflection a moment longer, tracing the contours of his furry face. It was not vanity that compelled him to stare, but just the need for assurance that he was still there. Living, breathing. If his meaning truly was the tribe, his life should have been taken away as he lost it.

What was a life without meaning, anyway? He sighed and closed his eyes for a second. His own thoughts were twisting around fiercely, confusing him and he felt as if he was losing his sanity. Vicious doubts rattled the chains that held them back in the corners of his mind. No meaning, no meaning, no meaning. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

He opened his eyes and looked back at the reflection of the gem on his forehead. White. Blank.

Was this some sort of symbolic gesture? Now he had fulfilled his purpose – albeit with a little time left – the red glow of the gem had left him?

He felt a stab of fear. In a panic he drew his energy up to the gem, preparing to cast a small spell. Just to test that he could still cast magic. For some reason, this felt vitally important to him. While he wasn’t the strongest kitsune to walk the land, and he only had three tails (far from the nine that was hailed in tradition), he was somewhat renowned in the plateau for his advanced magic using. At a mere 223 years of age, this was impressive. If he hadn’t been banished, he was certain he would have rose in the ranks of the tribe and become leader and teacher of the magic arts.

”Vizmani,” he whispered, instinctively. He stood still for a minute before letting out a barking laugh, one which was bordering on absolutely insane. How stupid of him. Vizmani was the spell that allowed you to contact the leader of your tribe, who was bonded with you until you were either dead or banished.

And he was banished and, in all logic, he should be dead.

”I’m such an idiot,” he said quietly to himself, a wry, ironic smile twisting his features. He stood up, realising that the twilight hour was growing nearer and he needed food. He looked at his body with disdain. He was growing thinner every day and his brown fur, once thick and lustrous was filthy and tattered. His three, fox-like tails were filthy as well and hung limply one beside the other. Usually a kitsune’s tails were ever moving, a sign of vitality. It wasn’t so much he was unable to hunt without the tribe.

Without realising it, it seemed he had been starving himself. The somewhat manic laugh came again, this time rich with satire of himself. He was aware that if another kitsune saw him, he would appear completely insane. Perhaps he was. He wondered vaguely at what point a kitsune’s grip on reality became loose enough so that the term insane may apply to him.

A cold wind blew past, causing him to shiver. His physical body had never been his strong point, but his now nomadic nature had caused him to become even weaker and less capable. If he were to survive the coming winter, he would need the security of a constant home. He was loyal forever to the New Fire, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t just stay with another tribe under false oath for a while.

The previous sardonic smile was replaced with a frown of discontentment and anxiety. There were only two tribes on the plateau – there had been more but all the tribes had been at war for thousands of years now and they had destroyed each other. He couldn’t return to New Fire, for obvious reasons.

His thoughts lingered on Bloodfang tribe for a second but he snarled faintly at himself, his blue eyes flashing in anger at the mere thought of even pretending to be faithful to Bloodfang. Bloodfang and New Fire were sworn enemies; he would rather die than have his name besmirched with the Bloodfang filth.

There was only one option left. He turned away from the gently flowing river, staring intensely into the east horizon, over the seemingly endless sea of grass, past the thicket of trees where New Fire had passed judgement upon him. He could see it from here, perhaps the only place had had to go for safety.

And perhaps answers. Though knowing the questions would be a start, he thought with amusement to himself.

“The forest,” he whispered.

Under the cover of rain and moonlight, he approached the forest. Days had passed since his revelation and the more he travelled, the more his thoughts had evolved. Questions invaded his mind, demanding answers nobody had. Turned out being left alone with your psyche was dangerous. Philosophy itself was a cause of madness, it drove him insane. But it also drove him forward. Ever hunting, never stopping.

The great tree ahead stood in front of the forest like some mammoth sentry. Strange beings gripped the branches of the oak, glowering at the approaching kitsune. Despite the humanoid figures of the creatures, they were far from the human world. They were from the earth itself, they were the children of the forest.

Kivouri shivered, his brown fur bristling and his blue eyes watching the pointy-eared guardians with apprehension. Their long fingers gripped the branches they clung to like talons. They leaned their lithe bodies forward in union, as if they shared one consciousness, as the fox-like creature marched towards their precious home. Kivouri’s three tails were raised with slight hostility and fear, as the amber eyes of the guardians watched him intensely, with no expression on their shadowy faces.

“Stop there, outsider,” the elfin creatures droned in union. Kivouri halted, pointy ears pricked. There was something about these strange beings that frightened him. They looked weak. It was just as if they were one creature, as if they had no will of their own. That’s what scared him.

He couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous of their linear, unified existence as well. It made things so much simpler. A strong wind pushed him towards the forest, as if the great woodland had extended an arm to pull him in. He kept his ground, deciding he must do his best to please the guardians of this place.

“Let me through! I mean no harm. I simply need answers and a home,” he cried. The elves hissed and a howling wind assaulted his eardrums and threw him back slightly. He yelped as he landed on the ground a few feet back and scrambled to his paws, his three, cream-tipped tails raising high in anger. The forest guardians could use magic; he sensed it in the air around him. How skilled they were with it was the question. Was the air spell they cast how powerful they were in total or a brief taste of the extent of their powers?

“Those markings around your eyes. You are no kitsune of this forest,” they growled. Kivouri cringed as if he had been stung at the mention of his markings. His face was scarred with his past. The scorch marks of the New Fire tribe would never fade and they couldn’t be washed away. He didn’t want them to disappear anyway, but they made being accepted into the forest tribe much harder. He shook as a breeze flew threw the autumnal trees. It was as if the forest was whispered, conspiring against him or debating in hushed voices whether he should be allowed to pass or not.

“Perhaps I wish to become one.” His voice was laced with malice and his teeth were bared, showing he was willing to fight them all. He knew that it was most likely a lost cause due to being outnumbered by the hundreds, but he was willing to try anything. He didn’t have anything to lose anyway.

”You are no child of this forest. Return to the filth from which you rose,” they screamed, raising their heads and Kivouri resisted every urge to wince or stumble back in fright. He kept his gaze hard and steady. He felt like every eye in the forest was watching him. Perhaps not every eye in the forest was watching him, but the eyes of the forest were.

“I demand entrance. Who are you to decide who shall enter the forest?” Kivouri cried, his rage and frustration beginning to build. The elves laughed and a tingle went down Kivouri’s spine as if ice had been slid down his neck. The way they laughed, the way they crouched, almost bird-like, on their branches, how every word they said was in perfect harmony with each other, the way the yellow eyes stared unblinking and how they were just defined shadows, but were living in every regard, was enough to plant a seed of fear in any belly. Kivouri was no exception and his tails shook slightly in the cold autumnal night. He pressed his paws harder into the ground, as if the slightest loosening of his grip would make the very earth spin upside down and throw him into oblivion.

”Who are we? We are every leaf in the forest. We are the grass beneath your feet, the soil the worms feed from and the feared mountains of the north. We are the earth, as simple as that. And we serve this forest,” they droned. Suddenly, they jumped from their branches. They landed on all fours, balancing on their long fingers and toes. A faint hiss echoed throughout the group that built in front of him. Some stood back in the higher branches of the trees, all leaning forward and hissing fiercely at the outside. Kivouri felt tied to the spot with fear for a moment; before he decided that if anything he’d die fighting. He had a lot to gain and nothing to lose, so he would fight until he gasped out his last breath or every child of the earth before him fell to his knees, pleading for mercy and forgiveness.

He leapt aside as the elves leapt towards him, shrieking a horrid war cry. Sharp, shadow claws ripped through his fur and he howled in pain, stumbling aside. The fox-like animal growled furiously as the elves danced around him, preparing to attack again. He noticed how they moved as one. They couldn’t do anything on their own. That was their weakness, their unbreakable loyalty.

”Kynnzat ryul!” he yelled as he gathered the magical energy he needed. Walls of flames burst out around him, scorching and singeing the tens of elves that had leapt towards him only to meet the fire. With a shriek that was echoed by the rest of elves, they faded away into the air. Strong but weak, he thought to himself, powerful but destructible. He could see a faint glimmer of a chance, like the slight glimmer of moonlight on a clouded night.

He treaded the earth as the elves who were remaining after his attack leapt in a kamikaze attempt to destroy him into the burning barrier around him. While this fortress of flames was strong and a good defence, Kivouri knew it wouldn’t last. And he was glad, he would be trapped inside his own barricade otherwise. The elves outside the walls circled impatiently, waiting for the fire to die down and for him to be fully open for attack.

“Aopatoc,” he whispered quietly. He hated this spell so much, but it was practically invaluable for this sort of thing. He resisted the urge to cry out at the pain as his body burned and twisted for a seemingly infinite second then sighed in relief as an icy sensation spread through his limbs and tails. He glanced down, seeing nothing but the grass beneath his feet. Perfect. An invisibility spell was unbelievably painful and complex to cast and short-lived to boot, but also highly useful.

The flames died down and he dashed out as fast as possible, avoiding detection by skittering around the elves. They hissed and spat in confusion as where Kivouri had been there was only a singed ring of earth.

“Taken by his own spell? No…he’s still alive,” they said hoarsely and Kivouri speeded up, ever thankful for his aptitude with magic. He felt the flesh beneath his fur prickle as he started to fade back into view. He ducked behind a small tree, panting in exhaustion. Both physically and magically he was tired out. The battle was short, but tiring. The first barrage from the elves was enough. He winced as he noticed the depth of some of the cuts, still weeping blood.

”This is insane,” he said, with some dry amusement. A faint breeze blew his way and his nose twitched as he caught an unfamiliar scent on the wind. He growled and crouched down in the grass, protecting his neck. He could hear the crunch of the autumn leaves as a kitsune’s paws trod through them. He was too tired to either run or fight, so he would rely on talking his way out of this one.

”Outsider!” a deep voice yelled. From the bushes, an older kitsune burst out. The gem on his forehead was the normal glowing red hue and he had five tails. Kivouri twisted away from the black kitsune’s attack as the stranger slammed into the tree behind them. Kivouri placed his front paws on the other’s back, pinning his enemy to the ground.

“Be calm. I am no enemy to you,” Kivouri said, trying to stop himself from snarling and spitting the words. He didn’t want his voice to be contrary to his lies.

“Then release me,” the other kitsune growled in reply. Kivouri stepped back and relinquished his grip on the other fox. The five-tailed kitsune stood up. Kivouri noted that the black kitsune was not much older than himself, and had intricate white and red markings around his brown eyes. Unlike Kivouri, who had simple black markings around his eyes. He could see that the kitsune was ranked rather highly, from the way he held himself. A trained warrior’s stance. He was not somebody to be fooled with.

Within a second, the stranger had topped Kivouri over and held him down with a magical force field. Kivouri wasn’t taken aback by this, he had pretty much anticipated that that was about to happen moments before.

”Now, unless you want your throat ripped out,” the stranger said, baring his teeth and snarling aggressively, “Tell me. Who are you? What are you here for?” Kivouri wriggled uncomfortably, keeping a wary watch on the other kitsune, who began to circle around the trapped Kivouri.

”My name is Kivouri,” he replied honestly. He had to be careful how he worded this and what he said. If he said the wrong thing here, he would have his neck snapped. And Kivouri intended to keep his neck in one piece, for the moment at least. The stranger nodded impatiently, his eyes telling him to get on with it, “A-and…I came here in search of…answers. I need to talk to kitsunes from a tribe wiser than my own.” The stranger was slightly stunned by this, and the magical barrier faltered. Kivouri leapt to his feet and circled around the older, larger kitsune. His anxiety was invisible to the stranger and he made sure he didn’t stumble or glance away for even a second.

“I am Rhenim, outsider. What answers do you seek? Perhaps you are in line with the filth that is the New Fire tribe?” he replied. Kivouri resisted every urge to utterly kill Rhenim for that comment, but bit his lip to restrain himself. This wasn’t the time for foolishness. He realised Rhenim had probably saw him tense up at the mentioning of his past tribe, from the triumphant smirk on the other kitsune’s face, but he dismissed it.

”Notice that the soul-gem on my forehead is white. It was once red, but it has lost the glow,” Kivouri replied, opting to avoid the question completely. Rhenim yelped and jumped back in fright as he noticed the white gemstone on Kivouri’s forehead. His brown eyes became wide and he stared as if Kivouri was a corpse that had just rose from the dead. Kivouri couldn’t help but be delighted with the horrified reaction. Causing terror in another kitsune was somewhat pleasing.

“Th-that’s impossible,” the other kitsune stuttered. Kivouri rolled his eyes. Clearly it wasn’t impossible, since the impossible could not be achieved. And he’d achieved this, somehow. Kivouri thought that he should be dead. In the eyes of his tribe, he was but Kivouri was always faithful to the New Fire, they would never be dead to him. He wouldn’t betray them at the cost of his own life.

”No, it’s far from impossible,” he replied with a weary sigh. He was tired, weak and hungry. He didn’t particularly feeling like debating with this kitsune over the blindingly obvious. Rhenim watched him cautiously and the two began to circle each other. It was clear neither knew what to do. Whether to attack, just run or continue talking. They held each other’s gaze, watching for a second when the other’s guard was dropped. Neither gave up, it was a stalemate.

”You should be dead,” Rhenim said quietly after a few moments, still looking very frightened by the other kitsune. Kivouri grinned sadistically and nodded, which made the other kitsune look all the more on-edge. This was fun, Kivouri mused to himself. At least he had a distraction from his own insanity for a few minutes. If he had to listen to his mind question the unanswerable any longer he was sure he’d kill himself.

“Should be, meant to be, want to be,” he said passively, as if it were but a scrap of idle gossip. He wasn’t even fully certain what he was saying; it was as if his voice had a mind of its own. Suddenly, Rhenim attacked and bowled him over. Kivouri snarled and sunk his jaws into Rhenim’s closest leg. The other kitsune kicked in protest and screeched an incantation. A sphere of crackling dark magic flew out of nowhere and knocked Kivouri aside. Kivouri rolled over in the grass and struggled to his feet, spitting out a small glob of blood.

Rhenim wasted no time. Instantly he jumped at the weakened kitsune and sunk his deadly teeth into the back of his neck. Kivouri fell to the floor and wriggled there, struggling pathetically to get free.

“Cpyoyec owya!” Kivouri chanted. He felt his body heat up and Rhenim released his grip in surprise. Kivouri’s skin and fur burnt as if it were on fire, but it didn’t hurt the brown-furred kitsune. Only his opponent. He leapt away from his foe, panting wearily. His body was shaking now. He would have been fine, if it not for he had been weak upon approaching the forest and he’d gotten into a large fight before entering it.

“Surrender yourself, outsider,” Rhenim snarled with a tone so harsh Kivouri had to wince slightly. He stalked forward wearily, brown eyes burning with hatred of the kitsune. Kivouri stepped back nervously, lowering his head to protect his neck. His three tails swept from side to side, indicating his uneasiness. The black kitsune paused for a moment, as if he himself were unsure of what Kivouri’s fate was to be.

”What will you do if I do?” he asked, no note of hostility in his voice this time. Rhenim stared at him hard, brown eyes flashing in anger at the younger kitsune’s impertinence. In a flash, he whipped forward and seized Kivouri by the scruff of the neck. The two kitsunes tussled viciously, ripping at each others flesh and writhing in the blood-stained grass as they battled.

With a yowl, Kivouri rolled away. He summoned up some of his diminishing magical energy and held a fighting stance as Rhenim rose, panting and spitting out dark globules of blood.

“Epaneuote kokkayo-oapka,” he managed to growl between panting. Blue streams of light fell from the gem on his forehead and trickled through his fur, travelling all over his body. The light felt cool, like the sun on a spring morning. Rhenim stared wildly, as if unsure what to do. Kivouri grinned to himself, at least the kitsune had somewhat limited knowledge of magic.

That was his advantage.

”I surrender,” Kivouri said meekly, bowing low to the ground. He felt his stomach twist and bubble at the indignity he felt in conceding to the black kitsune. He pushed the self-berating thoughts into the back of his mind, where he couldn’t hear their shackles shake as they tried to break free. Rhenim approached and Kivouri jumped back slightly, his eyes still wary. The other kitsune bared his teeth, anticipating a sneak attack but Kivouri simply repeated; “I surrender. But, I wish for you to take me to your tribe leader. I…need.”

“…need what?” Rhenim barked with impatience. Kivouri stayed silent for a moment. To be honest, that was just it. He needed. He didn’t know what he needed. At first it had been clear. But the more he travelled, the more he thought. The more his thoughts seemed to collide, conflicting and contradicting each other intensely. He shook his head, eyes closed as he held up barriers against his confusion and doubts.

“That is not for your ears,” he said in a hushed voice, staring at the blood-stained grass beneath his feet. He could fight Rhenim now. He was healed and only one real large wound remained, while Rhenim’s flesh was dripping blood and his breath was sharp and ragged. It sounded as if the kitsune’s lungs were withered and old beyond his years, struggling to keep up with the situation.

He wouldn’t. It had been sheer stubbornness to win that had driven him forward. Bloodlust, to put it simply. When engaged in a battle, other than the training within tribes, a kitsune’s instinct was to fight and fight until one (or indeed occasionally both) of the combatants lay dead and bleeding on the battlefield.

Kivouri was no exception to instinct.

“Fine then, outsider,” Rhenim replied sharply, leaning forward and baring his sharp canines, “You may come and speak with the tribe leader. And then she will decide to rip your scrawny body to pieces. Ayuaouevei.”

With that incantation, three green chains of fire sprouted from the ground and wrapped around Kivouri like a trio of vicious pythons. Kivouri, knowing the spell from the incantation neither winced nor jumped in fright. He stood in silence as the chains wrapped around his body, accepting the fiery embrace.

“Good. I never liked it much anyway,” he replied politely to Rhenim’s thread. The kitsune glowered and turned away, five tails bristling and fur standing on end. Kivouri smirked, gaining some sadistic pleasure from the other’s discomfort. Clearly the other kitsune was highly disturbed by Kivouri and just wanted him out of his fur. Kivouri had never been a sadist before, a brutal fighter but that was simply duty. This banishment had done more than just make his life more arduous, he thought to himself as the chains pulled him after Rhenim, as if tied to the kitsune’s many tails. The pair seemed to meander aimlessly for an hour and Kivouri began to wonder if the other kitsune was lost. His tongue held back however, fearing for his neck.

“Rhenim?” a voice asked. Two kitsunes emerged from the bushes. One was a magnificent, golden-furred female with eight flowing tails and the other was a smaller, brown male. The male looked suspiciously from Rhenim to Kivouri, his six tails raised together in alarm. The female stalked forward and Kivouri noticed the sheer detail of the magically applied markings around her orange eyes. They were green as summer leaves, mixed with golds and browns and a somewhat royal red. They curved around her eyes and up towards her large ears, a hypnotic, surreal pattern of swirls and flicks and curls. The tribe leader, Kivouri thought, no doubt about it. Her eight tails, only one short of the much-adored nine, the detailed and colourful marks around her eyes and the way Rhenim looked up at her, with barely-concealed awe, gave it all away.

“I-I apologize Lady Tivoboyia. I discovered this outsider wandering around in our forest. I restrained him and decided to take him to you, for judgement. His name is Kivouri and…” Rhenim began but paused, unsure how to continue. With a sigh he stepped aside and gestured towards the pearly soul-gem on Kivouri’s face. Tivoboyia’s face changed quickly from anger, to curiosity, to shock and then to bald-faced horror. Suddenly, her emotions were washed away to reveal a pensive, expressionless face.

“I see,” she replied faintly. She approached Kivouri, who simply waited for a verdict. He felt a faint irritation at Rhenim lying over bringing him to Tivoboyia for judgement initially, and not mentioning the questions he wished to ask the kitsunes. Clearly this tribe was aware of something that those out in the plateau were not and he intended to have this knowledge passed onto him.

“I need to ask for your wisdom. Clearly, your knowledge surpasses mine as you are aware what…has happened. Please, explain this to me,” he said, not feeling the urge to explain what ‘this’ was. Tivoboyia was staring intently at his soul-gem, as if it were about to burst into flame there and then.

“You are not of this tribe, outsider. Your markings…perhaps…from the plateau to the west?” she mumbled to herself. Kivouri felt the fur on the back of his neck rise with nervousness, he wasn’t sure Tivoboyia would take kindly to a stranger demanding answers to questions he had never properly asked. But he had to try.

“No, I’m not,” he said casually, “But I need to know. What has happened? Am I going to lose my magic? Am I going to die? What am I meant to do? Is this normal? Should I be dead?” he began quietly, but gradually his barrage of questions grew sharper and more intense, a waterfall of questions seemed to roll from his tongue. He began to lose sense, simply barking unanswerable question after unanswerable question. The gem on his forehead glowered white from frustration and stress as he spat out incantations between his questions, sending an onslaught of magical force towards the tribe leader. The two males of her tribe leapt to their feet to assist their leader and restrain him, but she simply blocked the probing questions in silence with barriers and defensive magic.

“What…is my meaning?” he panted as he fell to the floor, exhausted and terrified of himself. He didn’t know what he was, he didn’t know who he was, he didn’t even know what he was trying to do. He just knew he was tired. He was tired and he needed to rest. He drew a rattling breath and uttered the words that would gift him with the sweet release he needed, “Kevoc unvoc.”

Darkness clouded his eyes, as he fell through an endless sky, into the sleep he so desired.

It was meant to be dreamless, but for some reason, something managed to get free. It slithered free of the chains that held it back like a python, silently slinking through the darkest corners of his mind.

Flames licked at the charred corpse of a kitsune cub, with nine magnificent tails cut from its body and burning in an emerald fire. Kivouri walked through the fire, his paws destroying the trees beneath him as if they were mere blades of grass. Stars twinkled in a moonless sky above and he reached forward, his jaws dripping with saliva and blood to snap away at the heavens before him.

“There is a future,” a faint voice whispered on the winds. Kivouri didn’t pause and charged through the forest, reaping destruction with his every footfall. Countless lives collapsed at his feet, pleading and begging. He continued, soul-gem burning with a blood-red intensity that almost scorched his skull. Beside him, New Fire stood tall and giant, breathing fire onto the Bloodfang that screamed for mercy.

“Perhaps you cannot see it,” the voice continued, light and melodic. Suddenly a cavern of fire blazed around him and he watched a tiny blue ember, flickering faintly and weakly among the crimson infernos. He stared intently at it as tendrils of red fire wrapped around him, burning through his flesh. He lifted his snout to the sky and howled in pain as the fire burned hotter and deeper. The voice then said serenely, “Perhaps it will be short…but it is there. Seize it.”

He scrambled to his feet, finding himself yowling as a non-existent fire burned through his body. He panted, sweating, as a tingling, fiery sensation spread through his body. His heart sunk as he looked around. Faint light was coming through a narrow doorway, almost completely sealed by the thick branches of a tree. He moved towards it and yelped in surprise as he fell again, held in place by roots that shot out of the ground and gripped his legs like claws. He struggled in vain to release himself but then gave up and collapsed to the ground, a masochistic smile slowly spreading across his face.

“Prophetic-sounding dreams. That’s new,” he rasped, his voice was croaky and his throat felt as thin as a mouse’s whisker. He sat down in the dirt beneath his feet, his three tails flicking with uneasiness. He would call out, but now he was awake he was aware of the scratchy aching of his voice and would prefer not to lose it.

“He’s awake!” a female’s voice called from above. He looked to see a white-furred kitsune peering down at him with frightened orange eyes. She dashed away and returned with Tivoboyia, who stared hard at the trapped kitsune. Kivouri, however, was fascinated by something else. The female pup, she had nine tails. From the colour of her soul-gem, a darkening pink, he could tell the gem had only been fused with her a few moons ago. What use this could be in the future, he wasn’t sure, but he was sure he could use this possibly clueless and probably weak cub to his advantage. A hostage situation seemed appealing but very unreachable from his current position.

“Go back to your mother, Shvayna,” Tivoboyia said in a hushed voice. The nine-tailed cub nodded and uttered a ‘Yes, m’lady’ before running awkwardly off. Tivoboyia closed her eyes and mumbled an incantation and walked through the branches and down to where he lay. Just out of his reach, he decided quickly, that made things much less interesting.

“May I help you?” Kivouri offered sarcastically after a moment of cold silence. Tivoboyia growled and bared her teeth, her voice rich with venomous aggression as she spoke, “Silence, prisoner. I know you are from New Fire. Now, tell me. What is your filth-kin’s plans to attack our tribe!” Kivouri stared and blinked for a minute before he lapsed into high-pitched, hysterical laughter. Tivoboyia didn’t wince and simply stared coldly at the other kitsune, her orange eyes flashing with hatred of the outsider.

“Interesting,” Kivouri mused to himself, “Very interesting.”

“What?” Tivoboyia barked furiously and her eight tails rose. Kivouri smirked and readjusted himself until he was quite comfortably lying on his back. He stretched his paws out as far as the enchanted branches that clutched his legs would allow him and yawned idly.

“Where’d you get that idea? We weren’t entirely sure you existed. I’m merely a fluke, a wanderer. Somebody who took a rumour too far,” the brown-furred kitsune replied, observing his paw with fascination, as if he had never seen it before. Tivoboyia narrowed her eyes in annoyance.

“Don’t make me torture you. I hate using those methods…” she hissed between gritted, sharp teeth. Kivouri cast her an odd look, as if the idea of avoiding torture was completely alien and bizarre.

“Really? But they’re so fun,” he said lamely. Tivoboyia shot him a worried glance before she approached. More branches shot out the ground and restrained him and made no protest, since he wasn’t getting out either way. He felt a numbness spread through his tails, signalling that Tivoboyia has just temporarily blocked his magic abilities. No kitsune could truly have their magical abilities removed without them being killed. The soul-gems fused with them at birth allowed their tails to split and for their magical abilities to be unlocked, but the removal of the soul-gem would result in the death of the kitsune.

“Silence, outsider. We know. Bloodfang are not ignorant and are not stupid enough not to take the chance to ally with us,” Tivoboyia barked harshly. Kivouri’s eyes widened with realisation and anger shot through his body. He felt his entire, skeletal frame shake with fury against the enemy tribe.

“Bloodfang are foul liars, then,” he hissed fiercely. Tivoboyia approached and leaned over him so that their noses were almost touching and they were locked in a vicious staring match.

“Give us the information we need and you shall have the safety and information you desire so much,” she replied, her voice low and angry. Kivouri turned his head to the side, eye shut to amplify his stubbornness. Tivoboyia tried again, this time revealing a snippet of information, “You’ll die, whether at my teeth or not. You’re dying right now. We can tell you how to live…you have a future. More than you think. Your gem is white, you’re dying, outsider. You’re dying.”

“Rather die in a ditch than betray my tribe,” he growled. Every rationality and survival instinct had been thrown right out the window and all that remained was the loyalty to a tribe that had exiled him. It was insane, but New Fire was all he had to hang to. All he had ever clung to, all that had ever existed for him.

Time passed. He didn’t know how long. Every day was the same, every night, every waking moment. Being pressed for answers he didn’t have. He endured the sensation of every bone in his body breaking, he went through feeling like his very heart was on fire, like every drop of blood in his body had dried up, like his very soul was being torn out at the roots and all the while in the few hours of sleep he received he was thrown around in dreams of flames and death, all the while the image of Shavyna’s corpse was presented to him again and again.

More and more he was sure, she was the key. With a sinister grin, he concocted plans. He confirmed to himself over and over it would work; he was throwing more and more doubts into the dungeon he held them in. Every day, he nearly died and every day he was healed again. He never uttered a word. At some times, the torture had even made him laugh with some sick, twisted amusement.

Another day passed. He lay resting quietly, as he felt his organs collapse inside him. Again. For once, he made no attempt to annoy Tivoboyia or make witty banter like usual. He simply lay, ready. His plan was a long-shot. Pretty simple, but also a kamikaze attempt at freedom. Combine as many spells as possible to create a new one to override all the ones here. After he was healed, he’d be fully capable. He winced as his leg twisted and the bone beneath the fur cracked. He wasn’t particularly sure why Tivoboyia was continuing. He’d just sort of pushed the idea of talking to the back of his mind. He lied to himself, telling him it wouldn’t work and that was effective. He was a pretty good liar.

“Epaneuate oyoi kai wuxn,” Tivoboyia panted, sounding more exhausted than he was. She stood over him, looking down at the silent kitsune with a look of pity, “You’re so devoted. It’s almost like you’re already dead…”

Kivouri didn’t reply, he didn’t even move. Tivoboyia sighed and walked out, her eight tails hanging low from fatigue and vexation. As Tivoboyia left, he looked around. He drew in a deep breath, going over the needed words in his mind once more.

“Eyeuepia eloudetepwvei puyankn. Onaute toug upayuoug. Kawte to unouvtpouui,” he began. His entire body was charged with magic energy and he glowed as streams of light flowed from his still body to the walls of the prison, “Ue netalte eyeubepo. Onaute toug upayuoug,” the streams of light connected and formed a glow blue ring around Kivouri. He felt the restraint loosen and beads of sweat formed on his body as he continued, fighting against the numerous, strong spells constricting him. He panted as he burst out the final incantation of his spell, “Eykauya uakpia!”

Everything that followed was a faint blur. Blue turned to red, red turned to black. Black turned to blue and then to white, then to green. Screaming and howling turned to his yelp of joy. The sensation of flying turned to the sensation of falling. Fatigue turned to rest, helplessness turned to liberation.

And then it went black.

A cool autumn zephyr spread over the green plains, ruffling the ragged brown fur of a skeletal kitsune that lay beneath a tree, covered in the golden leaves that had fallen from it through the night. He awoke to the scent of rain on the gentle wind and as he regained conciousness, he was aware of one thing. Hunger. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, fresh from being half-starved and half-dehydrated over the past…what was it? Few days? Weeks? Months? He had no idea.

“Love it when I wake up and not have to be aware that my lungs are going to burst in a few hours,” he commented wryly to himself, standing up weakly. Kivouri shook instensely from hunger and went on a short hunt. He managed to scavenge a dying rabbit and half-eaten vole, it was better than nothing. After restoring some strength, he gathered more and more food. It was hard on his own, and it took the majority of his day. He’d forgotten the sheer thrill of hunting. With no incantations or spells, simply killing and killing with reason. What an odd pleasure.

He sat and ate what prey he had managed to gather as the sun set. It was a stroke of luck they hadn’t found him, he thought to himself. He was fairly certain he had blown up the tree they had trapped him in. If it was that oak…he squirmed with amusement, giggling faintly. Serves them all right, he thought, especially those elves. He hated them.

“Now, for the next part of the plan,” he announced to himself. He sat down, quickly deciding on the next part of the plan. Truth was, he was completely making this up as he went along. He was out of his head; that was for certain. He allowed his thoughts to wander aimlessly until they settled upon something, the pup. Shavyna, the one with nine tails. She was a key part in this, definitely. Now a hostage situation was quite happily in his grasp, he knew what he had to do.

“I’ll see how the tribe are doing,” he said. It didn’t strike him as odd that he was suddenly talking to himself so casually. He trotted at a slow walk and cast an invisibility spell over him, considerably weaker but longer-lasting than the last one. His shadow was visible and occasionally there was a flicker of brown as he moved, but as long as he stayed in the shade of the trees he should be fine.

He crunched through the fallen leaves, absently admiring the colours. Golden brown, orange, faded green, yellow and even the occasional red stained the mixed path he walked on. He sniffed the air and almost wretched in disgust. Smoke. He had never like smoke. Fire was great, but smoke he couldn’t stand. An unseen, malicious smile spread across his face as he saw the carnage that had consumed the once happy Forest Spirit tribe grounds. The tree had had been trapped in – a large weeping willow – had been tipped over and was burning away. The fire danced and jumped from tree to tree and Kivouri resisted the urge to run towards the charred corpses twisted in the grass. The tribe was in a frenzy, running and screaming and howling for help. He managed to see a very stressed-looking Tivoboyia trying to regain control as anarchy ruled. She and a few others were trying to put out the fires with water spells, but they couldn’t keep up and the willow tree seemed resistant to every enchantment, curse, hex and magic charm cast upon it.

“Nicely done, Kivouri,” he complimented himself in an almost silent whisper. He slipped into the chaos in quiet and searched through the wreckage, praying that the kitsune hadn’t been killed already. That’d just be plain unfair after all the good he’d done. He imagined New Fire’s reactions, their pleasure at one kitsune killing so many from an enemy tribe so quickly. They’d be proud; he’d be a warrior again.

By a stroke of luck, he managed to drag Shavyna from the wreckage. She was weary and unable to fight back, only meekly whining in protest. He seized her in his jaws, wishing there was some spell that would allow him to fly away from this. Failing that, he mumbled something that made Shavyna as light as a feather and as stiff as a board. He dashed through the destruction, making his way to freedom. This was all going so well. They couldn’t resist having a nine-tailed kitsune in their tribe. Even if they didn’t pursue, he had a little gift for New Fire.

“Where am I? Release me!” Shavyna shrieked for what seemed the millionth time. Kivouri simply smirked and didn’t move from his watchful position. The brown kitsune had travelled for a few days and finally found somewhere that Forest Spirit tribe could track him easily, but was suitably high so that he could see them coming. Shavyna was bound by her own tails, just for the sake of the irony that Kivouri so loved. She was, surprisingly, not bearing any injuries. Kivouri had decided that he wouldn’t torture her unless she somehow gave away that she knew something. He was saving it for a day when he was really bored. So far, he had been nothing but amused by her shrill protests.

“Strange how you continue to repeat that,” he commented dryly, reclining more casually onto his back paws. Two of his tails were curled either side of him and one was steadily making a trench in the ground before him. He had survived solely on using magic to target very close by prey and birds that flew overhead the hill he stood on. Shavyna continued to scream. He could easily cast a spell to silence her, but the more she bawled and sobbed, the more attention she would attract. Besides, it entertained him.

He glanced up to see grey storm clouds gathering overhead. He shuddered and hoped desperately that there wasn’t going to be a storm soon. He was terrified of thunder and he was highly ashamed of it.

He leaned forward and grinned hugely as he saw a familiar black figure approach and a recognizable scent embrace his nostrils. How nice, they had sent his initial capturer to kill him. Rhenim walked steadily, a steely glare in his dark brown eyes.

“Swear to not attack me, Kivouri!” the black kitsune cried and Kivouri noticed how Rhenim used his name. They feared him. He smiled, good. Let them fear me, he thought.

“I swear on my life,” he replied earnestly. Rhenim looked relieved, but not totally trusting as he neared the enemy.

“Auyyabete to edowog!” Kivouri yelled. Rhenim yelped in fight and attempted to run away as the ground shook beneath him. The earth beneath his feet collapsed and he fell into a small chasm. He tried to scramble back to the surface but Kivouri wasn’t finished yet. His blue eyes flickered with malevolence as he cried out another incantation, “Aopka otijv netpa.” Rhenim howled in agony as his legs and tails turned to stone, tears of pain glimmering in his eyes.

“You’ll tell me everything. The gemstone…the lies of Bloodfang. Everything,” Kivouri said in a demanding tone. Rhenim spat in insolence. A smirk twisted Kivouri’s features, at least it was going to be interesting, “Kokkaya nupkayiac.” Rhenim howled and twisted in pain as invisible fire burned through his bones. Kivouri laughed maniacally. He wasn’t exactly sure why anymore, it just seemed the more Rhenim was in the pain the funnier it became. In the background Shavyna screamed in horror and squeezed her eyes shut. Kivouri recited sinful spell after sinful spell, boiling blood and squeezing lungs. Rhenim’s flesh was torn apart and his skull invaded by maggots. He healed the near-dead kitsune and took a second to rest himself before he glanced back at Shavyna, making sure she was secure in place.

Forest Spirit was foolish, very foolish. To send one kitsune over to handle this, they must either by as warped as he was or there the death toll was absolutely terrible. He snickered; he hoped it was the latter.

“Rhenim, still noble? Still faithful? It ends with a secret, just a little secret,” Kivouri said quietly, almost hissing the words. Rhenim stared up, breathing harshly and his eyes filled with cold disbelief.

“How…can you just…do this?” he spat. Kivouri snarled and Rhenim yowled in pain as his eyes burned. He scrambled around in the dirty blindly, he had lost his sight. He shrieked in disbelief, sorrow and anguish.

“P-please…no more!” he screamed. Kivouri wrinkled his nose, disgusted by how weak the larger kitsune was. He hadn’t given in to just that, he’d endured days. Not a mere hour. His ear flicked, the only sign of his irritation as he crouched by the pit, once or twice glancing to make sure Shavyna was still in place.

“Something…has put the Dragonfire out. Every kitsune from land that stretches from this forest to the mountains, every soul-gem I mean…is connected to their own…fire. A Dragonfire…given to the Forest Spirit…so long ago,” he panted. Kivouri cast a healing spell, giving the tortured kitsune the energy he needed to push on with the story, “The Dragonfires only die when the kitsune dies…they cannot die alone or cause the death…of the kitsune…”

“Rhenim! No! Stop!” Shavyna shrieked, horrified. Kivouri silenced the cub with a spell. Shavyna could only writhe in horror as her teeth locked together, forcing her to be silent as Rhenim divulged the sacred secrets of Forest Spirit, secrets that were never meant for ears not born in the forest.

“They are in a cavern…in the forest. Sealed by…ancient dragons…” he wheezed, his voice full of disgrace for his shameful act, “You need only to go west of the camp. It’s hidden by door, but you can sense it. Everybody can. Just…cast any spell while standing on the door for it to open. If you relight the fire, it’ll be fine. It’s never been done…it shouldn’t be done…”

Kivouri stood still to absorb this information before pressing on with his questions, giving Rhenim a quick heal.

“You’re not telling me it all. Why is this so deadly secret?” Kivouri asked, with an innocent curiosity in his voice that was totally alien to him. Rhenim stared, his eyes wide and bloodshot. He gasped for air before he managed to croak a reply, “Because…it was prophecized that an outsider would enter the tomb…and bring the end of peace…”

“Peace?” Kivouri snorted heartily, “Peace has never existed here. This land is doomed to be torn by war.” Rhenim squeezed his eyes shut and panted weakly.

“N-now…let me free,” he pleaded weakly. Kivouri grinned.

“No, I don’t like traitors.”

“Wha-what?” Rhenim gasped. Kivouri uttered a single, deadly word. With a flash of red, it was all over. Rhenim collapsed into the ditch and turned completely to stone. The statue of the kitsune lay in his grave as the heavens opened, thunder rumbled and rain fell from above.

Kivouri was running through the mud, every rumble of thunder making his fur stand on end and his spine tingle in terror. Shavyna was being dragged behind him, as if on an invisible leash as he searched through the forest for the tomb. He had discovered why Rhenim was the only one who had ventured out, it was against orders. The others had been trying to repair the damage and getting ready to fight against New Fire, who was marching on the horizon. Bloodfang were walked slowly towards the forest, preparing for what might be the final battle of the war.

It was as if the entire world was on the move, the thunder roared and lightning flashed in the sky as if just to intensify the battle. Rain lashed down from the heavens and the winds whipped his eyes. If he were not so terrified by the mere thunder, he would have taken a moment to make a sarcastic comment on the cliché battle weather.

But as he ran, he felt more direction. It was as if some great deity was controlling the fall of his paws as he ran. He felt the ripple of the air around him, the sheer intensity of the power that he realised has encompassed him the second he had set foot into the forest.

Every step was destiny, every turn he took controlled by fate.

Destiny, he thought he’d lost it. That he had no more of it. He felt as if he had been hunting for it.

It’d been there all along. He hadn’t been chasing it; he’d been waiting for it.

There was one single thought in his mind. Run. Run. Run.

Thunder rumbled overhead as he slipped through the trees. His small prisoner squealed and whimpered as she was battered around, only protected by the weak shield Kivouri has cast around her. Lightning flashed in the sky as he leapt over a fallen log.

Run. Run. Run.

The beating of his heart felt like the boom of a drum, the rhythm it was all tuned to. He jumped as thunder rumbled again and his heart sped up. Wind whistled through the trees and the entire forest seemed to be chanting the same thing.

Run. Run. Run.

He heard the echoing battle cries. He smelt the war on the wind. He felt the ripples of power flow through the air and he saw the bushes move and shake as another kitsune pursued. He charged on, fuelled by that one driving thought.

Run. Run. Run.

The entire world seemed to come to standstill as his paws rested on something he couldn’t see, but he felt through his entire body. He shivered in the cold air and ignored the stab of fear that pierced his heart as the thunder rumbled, more vicious and loud than before. He didn’t need to run. He dragged Shavyna closer. She was vital, he didn’t know what it was. He closed his eyes.

“Yoipa,” he said quietly. He didn’t know what the word meant; he didn’t know what the spell did. But it was what he felt in his guts and soul. As he uttered it, the earth seemed to crumble away and he was falling. Shavyna fell beside him, her eyes closed and tinged with tears. If he had the energy, he would cast the spell to make her capable of talking again. But what little energy he had was reserved for healing himself. He uttered the spells he needed, feeling his strength return and his fatigue fade. He didn’t know what was going to happen. He wasn’t taking any chances.

The first thing he was aware of was the strange coolness of the tomb. He lay with his eyes closed, absorbing the welcoming coolness and silence, he was free of the thunder. The next thing he was aware of was the wildfire that burned around him. Shavyna was restrained on the floor, her eyes wide with horror. She knew this was wrong. She knew that around her, countless souls and lives burned and flickered.

He stood up and grinned slightly, his manic tendencies beginning to return to him. He was tempted to see what would happen if he put one of the fires out but there was something that wouldn’t allow him. He was being pulled, as if trapped in some magnetic field, to something. He seemed to glide over the ground, with Shavyna gently in tow behind him.

A strange drowsiness overcame his entire body and he walked as if in a dream. He walked through fires, through lives and souls and loves and hates, as if they were nothing more than the overhanging branches of a willow tree.

“Opuxeio,” he uttered quietly as he looked upon a small blue ember. This time, he knew what this was. Not the fire that flickered by his paws, so fragile and beautiful. That was only part of Opuxeio. It was him. Not a name, a name was just a title used to gain attention and address another. Opuxeio was him. Nothing more, nothing less. He would never tell another living being this word; it would be like giving away the very secret of his life. The very secret of his past, present and future.

“Deciding kill us off at our source?” a voice hissed and Kivouri jumped, too wrapped in staring at the ember. He protectively stood in front of the spluttering, weak flame as another kitsune approached. With a pelt of silvery blue and bright green eyes, he was unmistakable. Nyetng. The leader of Bloodfang. The crimson, blood-like markings around his eyes were unique to him. The rest had the same pattern, but theirs was either black or white depending on their fur colour. The colour of blood was for Nyetng and Nyetng only. Kivouri didn’t look the kitsune in the eyes, his mind was still running at the speed of light from seeing things that had never meant to be saw. The soul and destiny that had meant to be kept secret. The future, the birth, the death, the past, the fates …it all flashed before his eyes in a confusing plethora.

“And I thought New Fire couldn’t sink lower,” Nyetng growled. That awoke something inside Kivouri. It reawakened the warrior inside him, who had been lost in the floods of the rain, the thunder and the fire.

“What are you here for then?” he growled, his voice alive with hostility and bald hatred of the Bloodfang tribe. Nyetng snarled and pushed forward throw a hostile orange flame. Around them, fires were dying and fading in seconds. Above the ground, Kivouri knew that the kitsune were dying. Killing each other. It was how it had always been. Suddenly, he was on familiar ground.

It was a battle.

Just like the last.

The battle that had cost him his tribe.

Nyetng approached and Kivouri shot forward with anger, pushing the Bloodfang leader down to the floor and ripping at his insides. His claws dug deep into the kitsune’s flesh.

“It’s your fault!” he roared fiercely, eyes burning with hatred that run deeper than every other emotion that pulsed through his veins, “Bloodfang did this! Bloodfang turned the forest against the plateau! Bloodfang will turn on everybody! It’s Bloodfang’s fault I was exiled! Not mine!”

He saw, in his mind’s eye, flashes of the trial that had passed in the thicket of trees in the plateau.

“You Kivouri, stand of treason against the tribe. On a mission to rescue captured New Fire pups, you took advantage of the situation…”

The tribe leader’s voice echoed inside his head, fresh and raw. Like a wound just opened. He rolled around in the cavern, through the flames and tried to destroy Nyetng as much as possible. Make him suffer. Let him know pain.

“Your fault!” he screamed as he cast an incantation, burning through the foe’s chest. Nyetng responded quickly, spewing forth a column of fire from his mouth which sent Kivouri flying through the cavern. He landed beside a dying fire and rushed toward Nyetng again, sending a wave of pure magical energy to push the kitsune to the ground.

“A trusted member, Exbpa, long ago told the tribe of your underhanded betrayal, but due to your shared enmity we did not believe her…”

His teeth tore desperately at his foe’s neck, trying to tear our the windpipe. Nyetng clamped his jaws around Kivouri’s neck and squeezed tight, making him gasp urgently for breath. Kivouri twisted and writhed and then managed to bark out an incantation. Nyetng felt his five tails suddenly and painful transforming, becoming stone.

Kivouri jumped back and smirked, then began a healing spell. Nyetng cut him off by summoning a strange shadow being that clamped its hand over Kivouri’s nose and mouth, trying to suffocate him. Kivouri squirmed as Nyetng ridded himself of the curse and leapt towards Kivouri, jaws open and saliva dripping from his razor sharp teeth. All the while, memories of the trial echoed in the corners of his mind, rattling the shackles that restrained them.

“However, allowing a pup spy clearly marked with Bloodfang markings to slip past your notice is no mistake. We have come to the conclusion that you, Kivouri…”

“No!” Kivouri screamed after he dispelling the hand with a burst of magical light, as screaming at the memory would make it all go away, make it so that it never happened. How could he have been so foolish? His eyes turned to Nyetng. No. It wasn’t his fault. It was that…thing’s. He cried out a spell that would kill Nyetng instantly, but Nyetng was no fool and was able to prevent the deadly ray of red light from hitting him with a strong barrier. The killing spell rarely worked unless the enemy was at his mercy…but Kivouri had cast it in a panic. He felt weary now…that magic took a lot. Nyetng bowled him over, digging claws deeper and deeper into his back. Kivouri roared fiercely at the pain that spread through his back as his spine threatened to snap under the enemy’s bulk. The kitsune howled and shook the silvery kitsune aside.

“Tuwwvac,” Nyetng hissed. A fierce wind blew threw the entire cavern, whipping a whirling. Kivouri pressed his weight into the floor with all his might but was scooped up by the screaming winds. He was thrown around, helpless to the forces of the spell, and watched as more and more fires simply disappeared.

“Are guilty of treason against the tribe. For that reason, we find that exile …”

“No! No! No!” Kivouri shrieked, shaking and twisting as if he was having a fit as he was thrown against the wall. He slumped down and lay limply onto the floor. He saw Shavyna being tossed around in the wind and tried weakly to make the connection. The nine tails of the white-furred pup were clear to see and he knew she had something to do with her. She had much magical potential; her own flames must be a firestorm.

“Bueyya geta ano boubapdiogo!” he yelled. Fire whirled around in the air, powered mostly by the winds. A prism of light surrounded Kivouri and Shavyna, who came down to earth with a painful crack. The pup lay bleeding and sobbing silently, her eyes rolling back into her head from the pain. He struggled to his feet, too tired to perform a healing spell. Nyetng was ripping through the fire and wind to get to him, using barriers to prevent being battered around himself. Kivouri’s every energy was going into moving towards Shavyna and keeping the shield around them both up, he knew what he need to do now. It was like a sudden, violent inspiration. He could see his own ember, blue and fragile and almost dead now. He needed to hurry.

“Is the most fitting punishment for a crime this severe. Kivouri, you are hereby banished…”

Tears were forming in his eyes, he couldn’t believe it.

“And are never to return…

They couldn’t, they couldn’t, they couldn’t, they couldn’t.

“To New Fire tribe. If you return…”

No, it wasn’t his fault. He would never betray the tribe, it was his life. Exbpa hated him and lied…

“You will be killed.”

His life ended right there. Or at least he had thought it did.

He approached the silent pup, who stared up at him with terror in her eyes. He breathed in deeply, trying to summon the words he needed. He reached out with his mind, brushing past the fires and placed a paw over the dying blue ember that flickered so faintly.

Truth was, he needed to be banished.

This was odd…these were not memories. He heard the fragile, melodic voice from the dream he had. That seemed so long ago.

Only through losing everything, could he gain everything.

It didn’t make sense, Kivouri decided. He placed his paws on Shavyna’s chest. The pup was terrified and writhed in protest, trying to escape a fate that came too soon. The world seemed to have slowed down. He could hear the beating of his own heart, sluggish and slowing and he heard Shavyna’s. Fast paced, terrified, as if it was trying to fit as many beats as possible into her final moments.

He didn’t have a purpose. He had to give himself meaning.

“Opuxeio. Your blood shall restore Opuxeio,” he said after a few seconds of silence. He felt Shavyna’s heart speed up more and more before it suddenly and seemingly violently ground to a halt.

Even if his purpose was to destroy another.

Everything seemed to stop for a second. All the fires around him stopped flickering. Nyetng stopped, his claws puncturing Kivouri’s shield in that exact moment. The insane winds fell still. It seemed like all colour had drained from the world as well. Kivouri watched; his face expressionless. The only colour was crimson welling up from Shavyna’s chest. It came directly from her heart, trickling down the sides of her body, darkening Kivouri’s still paw.

It was still purpose.

Blue ember to white inferno.

At least it was something.

Time returned, shields down. Turning around and around. Claws, tooth, magic, claws, tooth, magic. Bite, scratch, bite, and scratch, smash, magic. Turning around and around.

After all…

Shavyna’s body laid battered and broken, blood welling from her heart. She began to fade away, the red gemstone on her forehead becoming white and blank as Kivouri’s glowed black. A dark light in a fiery cave.

Without something, there’s only nothing…

Dead. Nyetng was dead. Kivouri stood in silence, framed by his own white flames. His face was not full of sadistic pleasure, nor ironic amusement but rather than that a terrible emptiness.

Any nobody wants their existence to mean nothing.

Kivouri stared up at the light above, knowing how to get up. He allowed the light to embrace him, taking him to the heavens. He appeared above ground again. Battles raged around him and he wordlessly entered the New Fire ranks.

Kivouri knew only after he had done it what he had done. Shavyna was the saviour. She was going to bring peace to the war. A prophecy had foretold it, but it had been overridden by another, newer prophecy. One which was almost entirely carved by the unwanted prophet.

Kivouri smiled. He was alive, he was in New Fire again. But he had doomed the tribes to war that only ended in destruction through doing it, when one of his intentions was to help New Fire destroy them all.

He had always loved irony.