Sunder, pt. 2
Sunder
The rain began to fall in soft, rhythmic drizzles, barely more than a whisper as it kissed the vast canopy above Kiras. The droplets slipped through the layers of leaves, falling in streaks that glistened in the dim light cast by the amberfish below. The waterways reflected the glow like molten gold, winding through the stone pyramids and narrow streets of the city. But the air felt wrong tonight - too still, too calm.
From his perch atop a narrow, moss-covered outcrop overlooking the city, Salar, a seasoned Kirassi watchman, narrowed his eyes against the rising fog. He was an old man, long in the tooth, his bronze skin weathered by decades of wind, rain, and the relentless humidity of the Cradle. Yet something in the air tonight unsettled him - something beyond the usual hum of the jungle, beyond the familiar croak of the creatures that called the trees home. His senses, honed by years of guarding the city-state’s borders, prickled with the telltale signs of a disturbance.
Below, the waterways were unusually quiet, the only sound the occasional ripple as an amberfish breached the surface. He scanned the dark city streets below, his sharp eyes following the soft shadows cast by the towering ziggurats and the slender rope bridges that connected the water-bound districts. He knew these shadows like the back of his hand. Every street, every bridge, every quiet corner of Kiras. But something shifted in the corner of his vision - a cloaked figure slipping from the darkness of an alley.
Salar’s grip on his spear tightened.
He stood slowly, his old bones groaning in protest. His instincts were rarely wrong. He could almost taste it now, that electric pulse in the air, a harbinger of something coming. Something dangerous.
The cloaked figure wasn’t alone. He counted another shadow, then two more slipping from the deeper shadows of the waterways. His heart quickened as he realized they weren’t moving with the carelessness and comfort of locals. These were outsiders - men who knew how to walk unseen.
But why here? Why now? he wondered. The amberfish had returned far earlier than expected, but even the priests urged temple-goers not to worry beyond the usual superstitions. But something isn’t right.
The raindrops fell harder now, streaking down his face as he watched the figures move with purpose toward the Keshari Temple, the largest and oldest pyramid in the city. Its towering steps reached high into the night, sacred carvings on its surface barely visible beneath the creeping vines. The temple had stood for centuries, a testament to the might of Kiras. A place of worship, yes, but also a place of power, where the ancient magi of the city once ruled.
Salar frowned, his unease deepening. He had guarded the temple for years in his youth. No one entered it after dark. No one dared. It was more than a law - it was tradition. Yet the cloaked figures moved as if drawn to its gates, their intent clear.
Without hesitation, he descended the narrow path down from his watchpoint, his footsteps sure despite his age. He had to reach the city-watch, had to warn them. But before he reached the bottom, another sound reached him first - soft, almost imperceptible beneath the rain. Footsteps. Behind him.
Salar spun, shortspear raised, but it was too late.
A cold hand clasped over his mouth, and a voice whispered hoarsely in his ear, "We’ve come too far for you to interfere, old man."
Pain exploded across his vision as the cold steel of a dagger slid between his ribs, the strike swift and practiced. Salar gasped, the world spinning as blood poured from the wound, staining his tunic. The blade twisted, and his legs buckled beneath him. Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision. As his body crumpled to the wet stone, his last breath caught in his throat, the taste of copper filling his mouth.
Far below, in the glowing waters of Kiras, the amberfish swirled in unusual patterns, their pale light flickering like dying embers beneath the surface. The calm night had broken, and the ancient city stirred with an unease that rippled through the Cradle itself.