Revolutions

150 - Teqosa

It's strange, the memories that rise up unbidden in moments like these. I can feel the tremors of the ground beneath me, but my mind is far away—back in the flickering light of the small fire in our family home. There, shadows of the surrounding hills leaned in close, listening with the same stillness I shared as a child.

My father's voice was low and solemn. It's the kind of tone he used only for the stories that mattered most, the ones he told us with a hint of warning. That night, he spoke of the Forge of Stars.

"Once," he began, his voice a quiet rumble, like far away thunder, "there was a mountain that reached so high, it stole from the sun. Its peaks scraped the sky and caught the first light of dawn before any other place in the world. And at night, the moon kept its distance, wary of the mountain's reach."

He paused then, letting the silence settle while his gaze drifted, as if he could see it himself—the mountain, burning with light at dawn, and cloaked in darkness by night.

"But the mountain was not just a mountain," he continued. "Inside it, a fire burned that was said to be as old as Pachil itself. It was a flame that could forge anything, could turn dreams to stone and spirits to iron. And in those days, the world was still young, still raw. Things could change as easily as the clouds on a summer day."

I remember Xiqa leaning forward, the firelight casting his face in shadows, and even then, I'd felt the tug of something bigger than the story, something I hadn't had the words for. But I knew it was important—that he was giving us more than a tale; he was giving us a lesson, a warning.

"The mountain's fire was not for the faint-hearted," he said, his eyes fixed on mine. "But for those who dared, the possibilities were endless—power enough to reshape fortunes, to bend the world to their will. That promise alone drew many suitors to its slopes. Only the boldest went seeking it, those whose ambition outgrew their sense." His gaze shifted to my sister, Entilqan, lingering just long enough to underscore the danger of such ambition.

"One such man was Tahin, a great warrior and the finest metalworker of his age. He believed he could forge a blade so strong, it would cut through the sky itself. A blade that could shape the world as he saw fit."

Tahin, the warrior with a spirit too bright and a mind too sharp. I remember feeling both awe and fear at his name, wondering what kind of mortal man could dream of changing the world with his hands.

"Like many who attempted it before him, Tahin climbed the mountain alone. His heart pounded with each step as he neared the fire's heart. When he arrived, he found the forge—a place where the flames didn't burn as ours do. They were strange, the colors of twilight and dawn, and they danced like living beings, as though the spirit of the mountain moved through them."

I close my eyes, picturing it again as I did then—the flames shifting and speaking, the promise of power drawing Tahin closer, the very air around him charged with an otherworldly energy no human could ever explain nor comprehend.

Xiqa's voice became soft then, almost reverent. "Tahin reached into the flames, seeking the power he believed was rightfully his. And as he worked, his hands shaping metal and spirit alike, the fire showed him visions—visions of the world he could build, of the order he could impose. It whispered that it could give him the strength of mountains, the wisdom of rivers, the endurance of the oldest trees. And Tahin believed it."

Xiqa looked at us both with an intense gaze, as if he needed us to understand something deeper than the words he was saying. "But the mountain does not give freely. The mountain tests. And so it was with Tahin."

"What did the mountain do?" I remember squeaking the question, a little afraid of the answer.

"The mountain showed Tahin his own heart," Xiqa replied. "As he forged his blade, it reflected his desires, his fears, every dark corner of himself he'd never dared look at. The mountain tested his courage, yes—but also his humility. After all, the trek to that location was only part of the journey. And there, with the blade half-forged, Tahin faltered. His resolve was strong, but his heart... his heart was not."