KYMALIN IARO cannot give up. With her brother running out of time and their mother powerless, Kymalin embarks on a journey to find a cure. So when a powerful organization becomes her only hope, she has to prove she belongs to it, even if it means ge...
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2406 Xavem 2, Velpa
The ring glinted in the faint sunlight sifting though the thick, canvas roof of the caravan. Kymalin clicked her tongue. What has this spirit done in their past life to end up as an unadorned metal band? The High Priestess sure could hold a grudge. Or was it even her who turned this soul into a priestal artifact? Maybe not. How many years has it been since the ring was made?
"Hey, have you served your sentence?" Kymalin muttered under her breath, turning the ring over in the light. Even the inside part of the ring was bland. Not even a hidden inscription in it. Boring. "It sucks to be stuck, right?"
"Who're you talking to, girl?" a voice in the front part of the caravan caught Kymalin's attention away from the ring. "Is there a customer on the back?"
Kymalin pushed herself up slightly, leaning on her arms parallel to the ground. Her soul port bounced against her chest, reminding her of the deal she had to cut just to get to lay in the back of the caravan like this. "Myself!" she yelled back. "I'm talking to myself. Focus on getting there the soonest!"
A tongue clicked in annoyance. "Kids these days turning more insolent!" he cursed. "I don't control these roads, girl! Get that in your head!"
She rolled her eyes. "Do it or you wouldn't get the port!"
The merchant muttered under his breath. It was low enough for Kymalin to understand but judging from the sharp inflections and hissing sounds, he wasn't happy and dandy. She shrugged, plopping back down on the sack of flour she had used as a pillow since she hitched a ride on this bumpy and creaky caravan.
A few days ago, when she appeared in the soul door leading to the backdoor of the Temple just before everything closes down, she just had one goal in mind. She had to look for the quickest way out of Drodham and Carleon altogether before they thought of tracking her soul port. This cursed thing slung around her neck was coded to her soul. A protective measure from ports being stolen, or whatever that practice was. Kymalin hated it. Made running away not an option.
But she did it anyway.
She walked on foot from the Temple of Souls all the way to the nearest town, Gilro Aris. There, it was easy to choose a merchant caravan at random and sneak out of the territory. For a price, of course.
That's where the deal came in. Kymalin snagged a stout merchant who was just a few notches taller than her and presented him with a pregnant offer: help her get out of Carleon the soonest as possible and she would give him her soul port in exchange. He could sell it in the black market or to a desperate collector—throw in an inventor looking to unlock its secrets into the fray—and he would never think about versallis in all his life.
In truth, Kymalin didn't know if it was true but the merchant gobbled it up like a graspel on a vegetarian diet being offered meat. Leave it to the gods to figure out if she lied or not.
