The Last Aayu: Book 1 - Ashes

Chapter 1: Firstborn

The jungle of Luey Pass seemed to weep under the rain. Drops hammered against dark, slick leaves and soaked into the soil, each heavy beat echoing through the dense underbrush, nearly drowning out the frantic footfalls of the young boy racing through the labyrinth of green. He was a brief flash of red, a pulse of movement against the forest's endless jade.

Utahis Aayu, eldest son of House Aayu and heir to one of Otana Ma's oldest legacies, vaulted over the gnarled roots that tangled the forest floor, roots that seemed to coil up, trying to catch his ankles. He barely noticed the sharp lash of branches that whipped his skin, marking his bare arms and legs with raw streaks. Behind him, the low, guttural growls of Tsarto hounds spurred him onward, their breath seeming to heat the air just behind his neck.

"They're close," he muttered, his words lost to the storm's roar. "Not far now... not far."

He pushed harder, toes digging deep into the mud, seeking a foothold in the slick, treacherous ground. Fear twisted in his stomach, but something fiercer gleamed in his golden eyes, a fire sparked from an unbroken thread of resolve.

Then—a weight on his leg. Utahis stumbled forward, falling hard, the tang of blood flooding his mouth as he bit down on his tongue. He twisted, struggling to wrestle his leg free from the Tsarto hound that had latched on, its teeth like shards of stone tearing into his calf. With a shout—a raw mix of pain and defiance—he drove his heel down, breaking the creature's grip, his fingers scrambling over the ground until they closed around a sharp rock.

The hounds circled, their sleek bodies tense, eyes bright with a feral gleam. Utahis held his makeshift weapon aloft, ready for their charge. But just as they coiled to spring, a sharp, cutting whistle sliced through the air.

The hounds hesitated, then slunk backward, melting into the emerald shadows of the jungle. Utahis sagged, his heartbeat slowing as he stood there, rain and blood mingling on his skin.

With a slight limp, he moved toward the clearing where the Temple of Aayu loomed in solemn splendor. There, standing with quiet authority in armor that seemed to absorb the rain's fall, waited Lord Sushal Aayu.

Sushal was a figure of granite and iron, unbending and unyielding. His gaze, an intense shade of gold mirrored in his son's eyes, held a depth Utahis both feared and revered. His skin, deep red like the rich earth of their homeland, bore countless scars, silent testaments to battles fought and won. Small, intricate markings adorned his face, each one a piece of House Aayu's story carved into flesh.

Behind him stood the Siqsa Sirjik, the silent guardians of House Aayu's honor and history. Their presence was a quiet force, one that felt as ancient and immovable as the temple walls themselves.

"Father." Utahis lowered his gaze and bowed, his voice a tremor of respect shaded by unease. Rainwater streaked his skin, a cold reminder of the ordeal he'd just escaped.

Sushal's gaze bore down on him, his voice a rumble that seemed to echo through the distant thunder. "Why did you run, Utahis?"

Utahis hesitated, his throat tight. "I... I feared them," he admitted, eyes falling to the muddy ground.

"Running draws pursuit," Sushal said, each word a stone dropped into the silence. "You've been taught this many times." A beat, then, a nod. "But you stood your ground when cornered. That is something."

The shame coloring Utahis's cheeks ebbed, though the weight of his father's expectation remained, a familiar weight pressing on his shoulders. Together, they walked across the temple grounds, where the life of House Aayu unfolded around them. Cousins sparred in disciplined duels, siblings tested their skill in the arts passed down through generations. Among them, Utahis felt the constant, unspoken reminder of his own duty, of the legacy he bore as the firstborn.