Sunder, pt. 1
Sunder
As the summer fog settled atop the waters of Kiras, the city’s labyrinth of canals and bridges flickered with the pale orange glow of the amberfish, their shimmering scales casting rippling light onto the stone buildings above. The people of Kiras called this time of year the Sahmtide, a night when the waters seemed to hum with unseen voices, and the amberfish returned in great numbers, lighting the waterways as if the city floated atop a glowing sea.
In the narrow streets and market squares, the sound of life carried through the mist - merchants closing their stalls, the distant din of evening prayers from the Keshari Temple, and the muffled laughter of children playing along the canal banks. Their legs dangled into the body-warm water, toes flicking the surface, sending the amberfish scattering in every direction. Their parents, standing nearby, exchanged knowing looks, the same ones passed down through generations.
"Don’t scare them off!" one mother called gently. "They bring fortune if they linger."
The amberfish, long adored by the locals, had always been more than just simple creatures of the water. Their glowing forms were seen as a sign from the Fates, their arrival marking the start of a season of plenty. In years past, the return of the amberfish had heralded fruitful broadleaf harvests, safe and bountiful hunts, or even noble births. The fishermen of Kiras revered them, offering small devotions to Shaelas, the Veiled Flame, whose influence they believed stirred the creatures from their hidden depths.
But this year was different. They had come too early - weeks before the usual start of Sahmtide. Their presence now felt out of place. Although outwardly grateful for the prosperity the amberfish might bring, the people of Kiras exchanged whispers behind closed doors, casting cautious glances at the waterways that threaded throughout the city.
"This is not their time," one elder muttered to another as they passed by the canals, eyes drawn to the glowing shapes beneath the surface. "The Fates don’t shift without reason."
Nearby, a group of fishermen stood in quiet discussion, their hands resting on the worn handles of their nets. They too had noticed the early return, and the unspoken fear lingered between them - that something had disturbed the natural order. The waters of Kiras had always been a lifeline, feeding both the body and spirit of its people. But the amberfish, once a blessing, now felt like a curse.
Overhead, the sky darkened, and the distant drum of thunder echoed through the mist. The children continued to play by the canals, unaware of the subtle shift in the air, their laughter ringing out against the gathering storm. In the city’s heart, priests of the Drowned Echoes murmured in low voices, their prayers growing more urgent, their eyes glancing to the glowing waters below.
Some whispered that the Fates were sending a sign, while others wondered if the people had somehow angered the spirits that dwelled in the Cradle, the dense and near-impenetrable rainforest that surrounded the small kingdom. In Kiras, where waterways crisscrossed with ancient footpaths and the temples stood tall above the rising mist, the boundary between the natural and the spiritual worlds had always felt fragile.
And now, with the amberfish swimming too soon and the wind picking up with a strange chill, that fragility felt all too real.