Sunder, pt. 3
Two cloaked figures slip unseen into Kiras, knowing that the coming danger may already be too late to escape.Sunder
Under cover of the approaching storm, two cloaked figures slipped past the weary Kirassi city-watch, silent as the fog that clung to the waterways. The grand expanse of the Keshari Temple loomed before them, its massive painted stone walls bearing the weight of centuries. To the untrained eye, it might appear as any other temple or ceremonial hall, but the two figures knew its secrets well enough.
Their footfalls echoed faintly, swallowed by the yawning silence that filled the cavernous space. Though they made careful measure of their surroundings, their hearts beat in time with the relentless, unspoken dread between them- each breath weighed, each movement deliberate.
The first figure, taller and broader in the shoulders, finally broke the silence with a voice as sharp as broken glass.
"Sir, the-"
"Yes, I know," came the immediate reply, tense and clipped, as if any more words might crack under their own weight.
"But we-"
"I said I KNOW..." The second figure’s tone cut the air like a dagger, soft but unmistakably edged. His gloved hand tightened on the hilt of the blade hidden beneath his cloak, the leather creaking under the pressure. He stood rigid, a coiled tension in his stance, the dim light catching the gleam of his eyes beneath his hood.
"There’s no time to debate this," he continued, barely above a whisper. "They’ve already made their move." His words carried the chill of inevitability, as though the events set in motion could no longer be stopped, only survived.
A brief silence lingered between them, thick and heavy as the night air outside. The distant howl of the wind rattled against the ancient walls, sending a tremor through the building, as though even the stone itself quivered in response.
The first figure hesitated, his breath shallow. He dropped his voice further, so low it was almost swallowed by the dark. "Do you think... do you think they know we're here?"
A soft, humorless chuckle escaped the second man, colder than the night itself. "If they did," he said, voice laced with bitter certainty, "we’d be dead already."
The words hung between them, but neither flinched.
With a final glance at the darkened corridors ahead, the two pressed forward, disappearing deeper into the bowels of the temple, each step drawing them further into the labyrinthine depths. The murals on the walls seemed to watch them, the painted eyes of forgotten heroes and spirits trailing their passage like silent sentinels. Somewhere in the distance, a faint sound - a drip, or perhaps a footfall - echoed, but neither man paused.
They moved with purpose, but the building's ancient corridors, so familiar and yet so treacherous, seemed to twist and turn on them, as though the structure itself sought to slow their progress. Every corner they turned led them further from the pale light of the outside world, further into a place of shadows and secrets.
At last, they reached a doorway, its edges worn and cracked with age, but the symbols etched into the stone remained intact - a reminder of some old power. The second figure’s hand hovered over the door's surface, hesitating just a moment before tracing the lines of the carvings with practiced familiarity. His companion watched in silence, the tension in his frame still unbroken, waiting for the final barrier to fall.
"Do you think it will work?" the first man whispered, though he already knew the answer. His hand hovered near the blade at his side, ready for whatever came next.
The second figure exhaled, a sound of resignation, and then pressed his palm against the door. "It has to."
Sunder, pt. 2
A seasoned watchman senses the calm breaking in Kiras. But will he be too late to stop what's coming?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.
Sunder, pt. 1
In the mist-covered canals of Kiras, the early return of the amberfish stirs unease.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.