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THREE

CHAPTER THREE

'No, not beautiful,'

*Xru'lar*

✽✽✽

Xru'lar loves to read. It makes him happy.

But now, Xru'lar spends early mornings in the Library, choking his mind with words, hoping they nestle into every alcove of his brain, eroding the memory of Ruh'vi's pale body, pool of blood, and pitiful gaze that saw nought.

It's several months since, and Ruri still sends him to healing-sessions with the Xlo'quan and the Tv'orm. The Tv'orm ask about his thoughts and feelings. He hates talking. Books help more, and he wants to be left alone. The aura-calming sessions do help him sleep. Until the nightmares conquer the calm. Now more than ever, he misses the Scr Librarian in Izarn. O'ccn. Xru'lar's labels render him invisible to the world, but Scr-O'ccn saw him and kindled friendship - a rare thing for a Scr to do. She arrived at Izarn years ago as part of Ytéan's program to open its boundaries to other worlds. O'ccn helped him better his Ytéan and taught him several other Ytéan languages, Scr, Utzrn, Soe, Za, and Futya. He's now fluent in more languages than the Tv'orm. It's the only thing he's proud of, and none care. Ruh'vi did.

Xru'lar hunches, careening over brown-stone paved alleys to class, like one of the last withering leaves of fr'syne before the numbing winter-cold cloaks Izarn in white. He keeps his eyes on the lustrous, suns-varnished speckles dancing on the stone, everchanging as the trees sway in the warm breeze. Xroui'lm's narrow alleys are lined with creepers and vines that hug wall-to-wall canopying the streets. Flowers, darker than blood-red, jewel the vines, stark against the white walls. The im'zur; symbol of Um'rei-Kvi'mrn and Xroui'lm.

Xru'lar and Zyr'h don't stand out as lone white threads among the dark like in Izarn. Here, they blend in. It's why it takes him longer to pinpoint Zyr'h ahead with his friends. He's made fast friends with their cousins and their friends. Zyr'h's always been good with people. It's not why Xru'lar's resentful. It's because Zyr'h will begin his training for the Ri'l exams, which every Izarni takes in their lifetime. Everyone but him. He hasn't even received basic training, all because the Tv'orm don't approve. He hasn't received explanations, but he believes they fear with training, he'll become a stronger vessel for Ahst.

Xru'lar hates the way he's despised. He alone believes that training will make him resilient to fight off Ahst instead of giving in. But one mark pivots his fate from the son of a respected defender to shunned destructor.

Reaching Zyr'h, Xru'lar momentarily lifts his eyes, who locks gazes. Xru'lar hurries past.

'Isn't that your brother?' their cousin, Jo'uxen, asks loudly.

Xru'lar doesn't hear Zyr'h answer. He doesn't turn to see if Zyr'h at least nods. It doesn't matter. Only one thing matters. Ahst. Dark. His taker. Xru'lar wants to train and defeat that vile monster. So what if the world doesn't believe in him? He knows himself best. He won't give in to Ahst. Ever.

* * * * *

Post dinner, Xru'lar goes to a shr'dyt at one edge of the city. This shr'dyt is smaller than those that dot Xroui'lm and isolated. The shr'dyt is a wall-enclosed, open-roofed space. The white walls tower over him and the triangular doorway is decorated with an intricately carved frame. The setting suns make the blue and green gems glint; Xru'lar squints, walking through it. The water on the right corner is starting to cool for the night and a few wruz birds dip into the pond to cool off. Vines merrily overtake this unused shr'dyt, covering the seating-stones built into the wall with zest. Xru'lar stands on the steps circumferencing the pond observing the chirping ice-blue wruz. He inhales the im'zur's fragrance bleeding into the twilight air, deeply spicy with a floral note; a scent that's patently Xroui'lm's.