Line of Majia

KIAN

The orange flames lick the outside of my palm with a bright fervor. It illuminates the space around me, making the white sheets on my bed a light shade of yellow. I bring it closer to my book, hoping it won't incinerate the pages in the process. Instead, the fire puffs out, and my frustration reaches its peak.

"Still trying to light a fire? Just give it a rest," Jasper moans from the other side of the room. I open my mouth in rebuttal, only to find that I'm not in the particular position to talk. My finger flickers with defeat. But Jasper's constant whining has gone far too long without sanction.

"Sing a lullaby while you count sheep." With the number of times the room had gone up in a bright flash only to die down seconds later, counting sheep would prove to be rather tiring. I fist my hands and push the scroll closed. The yellow moon peers in through the window, casting a swath of floor in wintery light. Another loud breath out from me is enough to make Jasper sit up.

"Do not make me come over there. I've been trying to get some sleep, and your angry huffing and puffing isn't helping in the slightest." He kisses the back of his teeth.

"There are other ways to go about handling your powers. Other ways that don't involve making the room a sauna every night." I only roll onto my side to my roommate's prying suggestions. Long after the disgruntled sighs evolve into snores, I remain awake, gazing at the ceiling deep in thought. The question that continues to haunt me through the night and into the early mornings returns to me once again.

It must be regret. You must hate yourself after coming here and not finding what you expected. Each theory is struck out with a logical answer, only to be drawn out again the next night. When I would finally catch onto the drift of sleep, I dream of my doubts clouding my actions and thoughts, creating a walking mess of confusion.

To be frank, I still haven't gotten used to being upfront with myself as I've seen so many others do in life. I still haven't gotten used to many things that have come along with what a normal life contains.

The last few years I spent in Revir had been with my sister. At her back, I had never felt inadequate. Yosé was always enough for the village, more than what I had to offer at fourteen. My father wasn't one to listen to others' pleas though; finding Yosé gone one morning wasn't unexpected for me. But it had left me shaken, so much so that every night when the candles blew out my thoughts wander back to that village. The village that I had loved for some time, the oblivious bliss I took for granted.

The village I had watched tear down my shining sister bit by bit, and by the time I opened the door to reality; her luster was diminished and Yosé was gone. Is it selfish of me to seek refuge when she had never gotten one? The following morning of her departure my father came to see me.

"So you've finally accepted that disgrace of a woman is no longer considered family." The chief filled his cup with the rich smelling brandy known to Olos. The dark liquid created a burgundy torpedo as it pools into a thick finish. The smell of it stung my nostrils with unwanted memories then. Shelling Kaara beans with my mother's beaming smile as motivation to continue the tasking work. My small hands dyed with the red paste and Yosé's joyful laughs while grinding the beans to a pulp. Now the only purpose the scent served was to remind him of his loss.

"I've heard. I wanted to see you confirm what's been passed about the common folk." I knew it was true. My father always made due on his promises. The people of this city will see you on the throne Kian. I will see you take the crown. The words my father--Kayefi-- had said to me after hearing the hopeful murmurs about the changing of right to the throne. Kayefi did all that he could to squander the ungodly thoughts of changing times. He had tried his best to see his archaic and bigoted ideals live on through me. The most painful thing to face; it had taken a small shelter in the back of my head. Not anymore.

"Yes, she's no longer a concern. The world is yours for the taking." The bastard I had called Sa all these years smiled drunkenly at the thought of his daughter being extinguished. As if she was a troublesome beggar who kept coming around for more. I had held back a bitter laugh. Not long ago, I had thought the same thing about her.

After all this time, did I have the right to get angry on her behalf? My father slammed his glass down on his work desk. "Don't tell me you're going soft on me, boy." In a second, my dad's hand is on my back, pinching me ever so slightly. The stench of artificial teeth and fermented beans filled the air by my ear. Gone were the days that I would hug my father out of consolation and smell the rich cologne he would wear.

"Father, I fear that I must take a leave of absence. The people are saying that I'm far too young and inexperienced to tend to their needs. They say I have yet to see all the changes in the world. They dared to say that Revir is becoming traditionalistic." It was hard to keep my voice passive after repeating so many pressing concerns from the villagers. All were true but fell on deaf ears in the presence of my father. That night, my father had gone berserk with the wine, so I had approached him when it felt best; when he was in a drunken stupor. A signature– no matter how sloppy– was all I needed. A ticket anywhere, a chance to breathe.

Breathe.

I inhale and exhale, my still position on my bed contrasting with the tumbling of my thoughts. Finally, the black of sleep begins to creep around the corner of my eyes. Rest. A temporary solace, but one I'll gladly accept.