03
In THUNDER CLAW, courage rings,
Indomitable spirit, noble wings.
LUNARIES' quest for wisdom's art,
Adventure's call, nature's heart.
SILVER WING soars with boundless glee,
Optimism is light, wild and free.
BRAMBLE WIND weaves tales divine,
Creativity's dance, wonders align.
STORM FLAMES ambition, fires ignite,
Resilience roars, relentless might.
Choose your path, let passions flare,
In these houses, find your lair.
---
"Fire Maxima Tarkkan," Deputy Vaegon calls me over, his voice tinged with authority and a hint of mischief.
"Are you from the land of Drakthul?" he inquires, his eyes fixed on mine with an inquisitive gaze. The same familiar expression crosses his face that I have seen countless times before when people learn that I am a Tarkkan from Drakthul. It is a mixture of surprise, doubt, and curiosity.
"Here we go again," I think, bracing myself for the inevitable questioning about my origins.
Even the Zirkhans I confronted during the Ascension Rites seem to harbor doubts. I can feel the weight of skepticism in the air as they scrutinize me. It is not the first time I face such disbelief, and I know it will not be the last. Being a Tarkkan from Drakthul seems to be a constant source of intrigue and doubt for others.
It is as if they cannot fathom the idea of a Tarkkan excelling in the Ascension Rites.
As the questioning continues, I muster a smile and reply, "Yes, I am Drakthulian, and I am proud of it."
I cannot fathom why he finds it amusing to hear that I am from Drakthul. It is quite an insulting notion, so I straighten my posture, mustering the strength to meet his gaze.
"How intriguing. A Zirkhan saved a Drakthulian," he comments, glancing at Captain Incendio. I scoff inwardly.
A slight dizziness washes over me, as if icy water has been poured down my spine upon hearing those words.
No way. He is a Zirkhan?! I was rescued by a Zirkhan, and not just any ordinary one but a Mythic. And not just a Mythic, but a captain! Looks like I will not make it to tomorrow in Sanctum.
But why does he not resemble the typical Zirkhans? Are not their skin pale, and their eyes red? His eyes are different, somehow. Why should I even care? I think to myself, considering that I, too, as someone from Drakthul, do not quite fit the mold of a typical Drakthulian.
It is possible that we both have unique lineages or perhaps he has a similar story as mine when my mother accidentally consumed some kind of potion while carrying me. But at this point, I realize that knowing the reason no longer matters to me. After all, what difference would it make?
Captain Incendio approaches me even closer, and I am not sure if I should lower my head, apologize, or show fear in his presence. Is that what he expects me to do? If I am going to die anyway, I might as well stand my ground, should not I?
I look up and meet his gaze head-on. It is filled with fury. I can feel the scorching intensity of his stare.
Perhaps if his gaze were lethal, my blood would have boiled long ago.
"You owed me," he declares, his voice resonating in the air, his tone laced with an undercurrent of entitlement. The words hang between us, thick with an unspoken demand. A debt to be repaid, a reminder of my indebtedness.
"Yes, you saved me," I reply, "But does it mean I owe you my life? Is that what you are saying?" I mask the trembling in my muscles, refusing to show weakness in his presence. There is a power play at hand, and I am not about to let him dominate the narrative.
YOU ARE READING
Sanctum of Valor Academy
Fantasy"Survive or be consumed." In the mystical Kingdom of Elavthara, a battle for survival unfolds as Fire Maxima Tarrkan steps into the merciless arena where blades clash and fearsome beasts await. It's a battle of kill or be killed, and only the strong...
