Kiran, Prince of Ashkara's Story

"Do you reckon there'll be faeries?" Kiran asked, dark eyes narrowed as the young prince stared down at the torrent of seawater thundering below, the crash of the icy Northern waves against the hull ringing clear despite the incessant clamour of loud Ashkarazi music playing in the background. The scene below deck was lively as usual: the wine, endless; candles painting the walls a vibrant hue as concubines frolicked about, slim hips gyrating to the beat of the drums and the harps, their melodious voices filling the spacious cabin with song and bird-like laughter. In the middle of it all, lounging amid a bed of silken pillows, lay his brothers—Skandar, with his lean body all but shielded by the throng of Djinni women lending heat to his cold-weakened form; and Akhil, the Crown Prince's eyes set alight as he laughed and clapped along with the dancers. Those same eyes were turned towards him now, a single dark eyebrow arched as his brother met his query with a scoff.

"Faeries? Don't be quite so foolish, brother." Akhil responded airily, "The fae are far too busy stealing children and talking to trees and such to venture out of their flowerbuds for something as inconsequential as a trade summit." He snickered, the elder prince's mouth turned up in an impish grin. "They remind me of Skandar, actually—"

Skandar's head immediately snapped up at the mention of his name, the beginnings of a scowl deepening the valley between his eyebrows as Akhil carried on, unfazed.

"—Xenophobic. The only difference is our brother here talks to snakes, not trees." Akhil quipped, sending the aforementioned brother a lazy smirk. "But wait, that's not all. He not only steals children, he kills them, too. Don't you, brother?"

"Akhil, I don't think—" He began, but Kiran could only watch, helpless, as Skandar launched himself at their eldest brother, dislodging the women coiled around him in the process. Their shrieks filled the cabin as both Crown Prince and Serpent Prince fell together, trading blows on the cabin floor, and sending fruit, wine, and pillows alike flying in their wake.

Kiran sighed, shaking his head. If only Akhil knew how to hold his tongue and Skandar rein his temper, then maybe all three could get through a trip with skin and egos intact. But as it happened, Akhil was the type of person who would still find a way to rile someone up even with that silver glib of a tongue cut out and strung up in front of him. And no one could get Skandar's blood boiling faster than Akhil.

However, the little smirk plastered across his lips contradicted the youngest prince's sentiments. While he disapproved of his elder brothers' staggering lack of self-control, he still couldn't help but be amused by it all considering that he, a man of nearly one-and-thirty, held more control in his littlest finger than any of his brothers ever could—at least when pitched against each other. He thanked his lucky stars—profusely—that none quite so detested him as much as they did the other. He was quite happy landing the position of Royal Mediator, but even he wasn't strong enough to physically separate the two when they really started going at it. He was, after all, mostly human. He was nothing pitted against Djinn and Nāga.

The two were separated eventually—not so much due to Kiran, but instead thanks to the admittedly very timely arrival of General Zharkhun and his men. Timely, because they arrived at precisely the same moment Akhil captured the cold-weakened Skandar in a chokehold and threatened to break his neck. The elder prince was forcibly dragged back out to cool in the upper deck, while the younger was left to lick his wounds in the ruins of the cabin below.

Kiran eyed Skandar warily, his brother sat up against a corner with at least a sackful of vipers coiled around their master—perhaps a gesture of comfort? Kiran wasn't sure, but Skandar was still quite definitely vibrating with unrepressed anger.

"Calm down." Kiran said, maintaining a careful distance away from the serpents as he spoke, "No need to waste body heat on needless dander." Skandar's head snapped towards him, his features twisted in a scowl. "I will not be made a fool of by an even greater one." The Serpent Prince spat, the snakes wrapped around him hissing in unison with the bite of their master's words.

"Yet you're making an even greater fool of yourself by giving him the satisfaction of a reaction." Kiran answered simply.

Skandar leveled a glare at the younger man, one that was all irritation and no heat. Loathe as he was to admit it, Kiran's words held truth. Even after all these years, Skandar still had to marvel at the little bites of wisdom that sometimes came barreling, like magic, out of his usually impetuous, vagrant youngest brother's mouth—a personal sense of awe that he never would've vocalized while he was still at that stage in his life where he loathed anything with a Y-chromosome that sprouted from his father's seed.

Fortunately, he was already well past that stage.

"If you would only use that head of yours in court instead of acting like a roving vagabond, then maybe our people wouldn't think so less of you." Skandar sighed, giving his brother a pointed look. The younger prince merely scoffed, "You know how much I dislike politics." He said, shaking his head. "Politicians remind me of predators on the prowl. The slightest whiff of weakness and they descend upon you like a pack of wolves. I'll leave the politicking to the both of you, thanks."

A small huff of laughter escaped Skandar's lips at his brother's sentiments. While Kiran's words rang true, he still held fast on his view that a stint in court might boost Kiran's standing in the eyes of the Ashkarazi elite. To them, Kiran and his untamed, adventurous ways were seen as unbecoming for an Ashkarazi prince, and his continuing absence in court failed to earn him much favour either. However, Kiran was the type of man who couldn't give less of a damn about what others thought. Certainly not their father—who's tried, to no avail, to dissuade his youngest son from his vagrant pursuits—and especially not the "vultures", as he sometimes called them, of court.

He was cut out of his reverie by the sound of his brother's voice, almost muffled by the howl of the Northern breeze, "Skandar, do you think there'll be faeries?" His brother asked, his dark, dark hair billowing in the breeze as he peered out over an open window. "What's with all this sudden interest in the fae?" Skandar questioned, eyebrow raised as he regarded his youngest brother with curiosity. While it wasn't uncommon for Kiran to suddenly find interest in random things, never before had he had a particular concern towards faeries.

Kiran shrugged, "Nothing. It's just that I heard some stories from this Northern merchant. Something about faeries and how some of them could control spiders the way you do snakes." He murmured.

"But you're terrified of spiders." Skandar said pointedly.

Kiran rolled his eyes, shooting his brother a dirty look from over his shoulder, "Yes, I know that. No need to bring it up. I just found it fascinating is all." He huffed, ignoring the amused chuckle that followed from behind him. "So let me guess, you then spent weeks holed up in the great library trying to squeeze out every bit of information about faes as you could get." Skandar snickered, a tiny smirk decorating his usually stoic features.

"Not weeks. Just a few days, maybe." Kiran conceded, albeit a tad grudgingly.

"All right, if you're so keen, then I'll make you a wager." Skandar said. At this, Kiran's eyebrow shot up, a sly grin greeting him as he turned to face his brother. "What kind of wager?" He questioned warily. One could enter a wager with Skandar and expect vastly different outcomes. Caution, he believed, was vital when dealing with Ashkara's Serpent Prince.

"A hundred gold pieces says the faeries won't come." Skandar declared. A hundred gold pieces could easily buy one a decently-crafted blade. Not a very large sum for a prince, but large enough for a small wager between two of them. "A hundred gold pieces says they will." Kiran challenged. Skandar's grin only grew wider, "As you wish."

With the wager in place, the two spent the rest of the voyage in relative silence—one that was only broken by a shout coming from above deck. They were approximately only an hour away from Khalidor, and the princes took it as a sign to ready themselves for disembarkation. That meant shedding their more comfortable robes for something much more befitting of a royal prince. After all, they had to look their best if they hoped to make a lasting impression on the Northern powers—even if their presence in the summit was only meant to be an exercise in Northern politics, and not something to be taken too seriously.

The Merciful Ishtar cut an imposing figure as it sliced slowly through the icy waters surrounding Khalidor's Northern harbour. A bireme dromon boasting one hundred and twenty oars, the flagship of Jahangir II's personal navy easily dwarfed every other vessel within its vicinity. Three smaller galleys trailed close behind: two lightly manned trader ships filled with various wares and gifts for the Khalidorian king, and an armed warship intended to cover the rear and protect its more valuable companions from the dangers at sea.

At the Ishtar's deck stood Akhil, his dark eyes narrowed against the biting Northern wind as he swept his haze over the galley-lined port. "It seems as if Ashkara's the only one who's answered Khalidor's call." Akhil commented wryly, inclining his head towards the man beside him, "I don't see any other ships besides theirs." The man, General Zharkhun, shook his head, "You forget, my prince. This is only Khalidor's Northern harbour. Any others might be anchored in the South, where we'll be docking as well." He answered, casting a fond look at the younger man.

Akhil gave a slight nod, eyebrows knotting a fraction as he shifted his gaze back towards the sea. They were now entering the largest of Khalidor's waterways, it's wide mouth flanked on each side by miles of desolate, snow-capped tundra. It would take them directly to Jodan faster than, say, docking at the Northern harbour and completing the rest of the journey on horseback.

"Sources tell me Cinnabar will present. No word yet on Jarrah, but I imagine they too, will attend." The General added, noting the impatience crossing the Crown Prince's face.

"I hope you're right about that." Akhil huffed, "It'd be quite a waste having to travel all this way for a one-on-one with Ursuul." The summit would mark his fourth meeting with the young Khalidorian King, having briefly met him once as a senator, and twice after he was crowned. While Ashkara and Khalidor were allies to a degree, Akhil much preferred the elder Ursuul—Hakvus—to his younger brother. Though Arkaelus certainly had brighter plans for his nation, Hakvus, Akhil thought, was far more agreeable. It was a shame he passed on so early.

"Word has also spread that the Dragon King's left his roost." The General revealed, "If such rumours are to be believed, then you shan't be alone with Arkaelus for long."

"The Dragon King? Of Drake?" Akhil stared wide-eyed at the General, who nodded in response. "Well," Akhil began, the corners of his mouth lifting with the beginnings of a smirk, "If what you say is true, then this summit has just gotten a lot more interesting."


The Ashkarazi immediately began unloading their wares as soon as the Ishtar and its companions docked. By then, Skandar had already changed out of his robes and into a set of much grander apparel. A heavy tunic over layers of underclothes served to shield him from the freezing Northern climate, while the lighter, fur-lined tunic he wore above it also gave added warmth. He had commissioned a set of amulets from a known sorcerer to help combat the cold, the rubies of the wesekh glowing bright and warm against his chest and around the leather bracers strapped to his arms. But still, he shivered. The amulets could only do so much against the Khalidorian climate. He could scarcely wait to be sat in front of a proper flame.

Owing to his predominantly Naga bloodline, Skandar was far more susceptible to temperature changes compared to his brothers—the cold being his greatest enemy of them all. He preferred the dry heat of the Kashmir more than anything. But, unfortunately for him, Khalidor happened to be one of the coldest regions in the North, and it was there that he was going to be spending the next few days.

"Look alive, brother! We've finally arrived." He heard Akhil shout as he stepped out unto the deck. Akhil wore a smirk on his face, obviously taking a smug sort of amusement at his weakened state. Skandar managed a glower, though the effect was rather dampened by his increasingly heavy lids, "Don't sss-tart with me. I'm in no mood for your mockery." The younger prince grunted, forked tongue unconsciously flicking outwards as he spoke. Predictably, the action earned him another bout of derisive laughter from his elder brother. Thankfully, General Zharkhun cut in before Akhil could air out any more remarks.

"We still have a rather lengthy walk ahead of us before we reach the city proper." The General stated, "Therefore I do wish my princes to remain civil, at least until we arrive, lest one of them should find himself bound and thrown along with the livestock should he act otherwise." Though his tone held even, the threat underlying his words rang clear, and both princes stiffened considerably in response, casting sidelong glances at the other before grudgingly complying.

While he was generally complacent with their occasional spats, the three-quarters Djinni General was vastly superior to any of them both in wisdom and in skill. It would be a mistake—and a foolish one—for any of them to go against him.

As the General left, Skandar turned to scan the rest of the Ishtar's uppermost deck, noting with mild concern the absence of his youngest brother. "Where's Kiran?" He queried, brows drawn as his eyes searched for the wayward prince. "Changing, I suppose." Akhil shrugged, "Why?"

Skandar snapped towards him, his eyes widened slightly in alarm. Akhil's face mirrored his own in a flash, distress evident in his eyes as realization dawned on him like a cartful of bricks.

They were in a foreign city, in a foreign country, in a place Kiran's never set eyes on before, let alone explored. Usually he'd be up on deck in a heartbeat. He would never meander down below knowing that there were brand new sights to see.

Kiran's absence could only mean one thing.

Akhil and Skandar immediately leapt into action, calling guards to make a thorough search of the lower decks while dispatching the rest onto the port to search for the missing prince.


Meanwhile, Kiran ambled along the stalls packed tight around the harbour, blissfully unaware of the chaos caused by his sudden absence as he eagerly took in the sights. He had a brown roughspun cloak pulled over his head, the cloth hanging low enough to obscure his ornate clothing as he navigated through the docks.

Harbours, it seemed, were a lot similar no matter which kingdom you were in. That is, they were loud, chaotic, and smelled like days-old fish left to rot in the sun—Kiran wrinkled his nose at this particular observation, whilst simultaneously sidestepping an actual pile of fish rotting on the pathway. Barring the appearance of its patrons—and the distinctively coarser language being spoken (or rather, shouted) by said patrons—the market surrounding Khalidor's harbour could easily pass for the ones in Fereydoun.

Still, it did nothing to dampen the wonder in the prince's gaze as he eagerly drank in everything he could lay his eyes on. There were fish of all sizes, most of which he couldn't even name, laid out on piles of ice heaped high; vendors thrusting their wares unto passersby, as sounds of people bargaining and full carts creaking up and down the cobblestone filled the stale, pungent air. He could even make out fruits from his native Ashkara lining some of the stands. He was about to approach one when he caught sight of the woman manning the stall and promptly turned away instead, pulling the hood of his cloak farther down his face as he left. The woman was Ashkarazi, and if she'd been to her homeland in the past thirty-odd years, then surely she'd recognize her prince.

Kiran let out a quiet huff as he hurried away. Even in a foreign country, he still wasn't safe from recognition. He often wondered what the life of a commoner felt like—how fantastic it'd be to be able to do whatever he wanted or 'choose his own path', so to speak. He wanted to explore the world, see life in all its forms, immerse himself in different cultures! But he was born with a golden leash wrapped around his neck like a choke-chain. He could dream as hard as he could but it would never make a difference.

So he contents himself with his little 'trips'. He even makes a game out of it sometimes—slipping past guards, escaping the palace, disguising himself—but then he'd get caught, and just like that, the fantasy would be over.

He turned a corner then, checking to see that no one vaguely Ashkarazi-looking were lurking about, pulled the hood off his head. "That's better." Kiran muttered, running a gloved hand through his hair. He was about to head towards a fruit stand nearby when he felt the oddest sensation somewhere along his calf. Almost...almost as if something was crawling up his leg.

Something small.

With several legs.

Kiran's eyes immediate shot down, roughly shoving part of his cloak aside to reveal—

"Gods, it's massive!"

—the largest, hairiest spider he'd ever seen in his entire thirty years of existence clinging to the fabric of his trousers.

He immediately froze, a million thoughts running through his mind as his hands flew towards the blade hanging by his hip. It was a creature of biblical proportions, surely as big as his fist, if not bigger. He didn't know if he should shake it off or hack at it or try to fight it, but he was one hundred percent certain he wanted it off him and far away from him as soon as humanly possible.

Then, the thing began to move, crawling ever higher up the length of his trousers. And just as he was about to draw his sword, he heard a voice—soft and female, delicate as the flutter of a butterfly wing.

'I'm sorry.'

He looked up just in time to see a young woman ducking low in front of him. He could make out dark hair, a flash of ivory that shone bright like the sun, and for a moment, it left him completely stunned. "I, um..." He stammered, not quite knowing what to do, but in a flash, the woman straightened out, and cradled in her hands was the behemoth that not a few minutes ago had been latched at his leg.

"That-that thing's yours?" He blurted out, a single eyebrow shot up to his hairline as he flicked his gaze from the tiny, delicate young woman standing in front of him and the monster she was holding who, apparently, was named Nanji. "And it has a name, too." He stumbled back, eyes widened in obvious alarm as the woman thrust the beast towards him. Apparently, it was harmless—or so she claimed—but he was not inclined to believe her.

"Look, I'm really not fond of—wait, what did you say you were?" Fae? Did the strange woman really say she was fae? Kiran's gaze snapped back towards her once more and stayed there, his eyes narrowed a fraction as he regarded her with curiosity.

He was about to open his mouth once more when a muffled scream rang clear across the marketplace, followed by the sound of gunshots and the sharp clang of steel against steel. And then, pandemonium.

Kiran had his sword drawn in a flash. He didn't quite know what was happening, but all of a sudden, people were abandoning their stalls, screaming and trampling over one another as they flooded the streets in a frenzy. He quickly stepped back, narrowly avoiding a large woman rushing past with a goat tucked under her arm, and whipped his head towards the woman with the spider knowing that if he didn't get her out of there soon, she—and her hairy pet—would be crushed.

"Get out of there!" He called out, shouldering his way through a bunch of people so he could get a good grip on her arm. He pulled her towards him, all thoughts of the spider she held swept from his mind, and steered them both towards an empty stall just in time to avoid getting trampled by a cart.

The screaming only grew louder as he ducked behind the counter, tugging the woman down with him as he did so. "I haven't the slightest as to what just happened out there, but we should be safe for now, I hope." He told her. He slumped back against the wood, the panic from earlier slowly draining out of his features as he let out a few calming breaths.

"Are you all right?" He questioned and, remembering her little companion, edged away from her a bit before adding, "And-and Nanji?"

"Well met, General." Akhil greeted as he made his way down the ramp. He wrinkled his nose at the mention of a revolt, "I was just about to ask you about that," He paused, flicking his eyes down to the bullet-riddled corpse lying a few feet from where he stood and eyeing it with mild disgust before continuing, "But it seems you and your men have the situation well under control." He commented with approval.

He heard the creaking of the ramp at his back, but he didn't have to look over his shoulder to know that it was Skandar.

Skandar inclined his head towards the General by way of greeting, regarding the man not quite with distrust, but with a guarded sort of wariness. He had heard of the younger Ursuul, yes, and if all those tales were true, then the man before him was indeed a capable warrior—one of the North's finest, as most people would say. He certainly looked the part, Skandar thought. All muscle and hands that seemed capable of crushing a grown man's skull. He just didn't expect him to be so young. He looked to be only a little past his twentieth year, and for him to possess such skill at such a young age...well. Skandar could only imagine how much more dangerous the General could be as he aged.

Khalidor would indeed make a fine ally with a man like Dorian Ursuul leading their ranks. It would be a great shame to have to put an end to such budding talent in the battlefield should Khalidor decide to turn against them.


At the mention of Kiran's name, Akhil gave a scoff, but Skandar answered before he could speak. "I'm afraid my brother has gone astray, he—"

Akhil swiftly cut him off, "Astray? He's missing, if that's what you mean. Escaped! Run off to god knows where like the gypsy that he is." The elder prince wore a scowl, but the look on Skandar's face proved even darker as he shot Akhil a scathing glare, daring him to speak. At that moment, a viper slithered slowly out of Skandar's left sleeve, its tongue flicking in and out as it coiled itself lazily around the prince's forearm.

Akhil sneered as he tracked the serpent's movement, opening his mouth before deciding against it and instead giving a grudging nod, allowing Skandar to continue without further interruption.

"What my brother means is that Prince Kiran has a tendency to slip away at times." Skandar explained, "We sent a search party after him some time ago, but none have succeeded in finding him, so my brother and I would be ever grateful if you and your men could aid us in our search." He told the General. Akhil nodded in affirmation, promising a rather hefty reward to the tune of five hundred gold pieces for whoever could spot their wayward brother and bring him back.

Unfortunately for them all, Kiran had a knack for hiding as much as he did escaping. Normally, it wouldn't be much of a problem, but seeing as they were in a foreign kingdom, it meant that Kiran was far more at risk than he'd be back in Ashkara. Skandar just wished his fool of a brother hadn't chosen to run off during a bloody revolt, of all things. He fervently hoped his brother came back to them safe and without incident. If not, then there would definitely be some serious repercussions—both towards him and Akhil (Kiran was their father's favourite, and they'd be damned if His Grace found out they lost his beloved son in a foreign land), and to the Khalidorians as well.


Kiran stared in silent wonder at his thumb, then back at the empty space where Jingshen sat not a few moments prior. He was caught in a daze, too stunned to even speak let alone comprehend whatever it was that transpired. One moment she was talking, and then an elf, an actual elf, appeared before them and whisked her away. But not before giving him a kiss. Just on the pad of his thumb. The press of her lips so feather-light he scarcely felt it.

He didn't quite understand what she told him afterwards, something about her sensing him. He wanted to ask her about it, but he could only nod dumbly as she bade him farewell, running off into the day with the little elfling trailing close behind her.

"Did that just happen?" He murmured quietly to himself, eyes blown wide as he turned the hand that she held over and over in awe. He decided right then to keep what happened to himself. Skandar would never believe him anyway, and knowing Akhil, his eldest brother would only laugh at his face—maybe even call him a fool or whatever creative jab he might manage to conjure up specifically to insult him.

Speaking of his brothers, Kiran decided it was high time to head back to the ship. He could barely hear any more noises, and Jingshen and her little elf friend left without incident, so he thought it might finally be safe to leave. He stood up, dusting off his breeches before giving a mighty stretch. Hopefully they wouldn't be too angry. It wasn't that uncommon for him to go exploring anyhow, and he was still quite safe.

That is, until he turned around and came face to face with the barrel of an arquebus.

Kiran supposed he should count himself lucky. For a split second, he was half-sure that that was it. He was going to die with his head blown off raining bits of skull and brainmatter in a filthy market halfway across the world. No matter how skilled he might've thought he was, swords were just no match for rifles at such close range. He'd be dead before he could even touch the hilt, let alone pull it free from its scabbard.

But to his immediate surprise (and relief), the arquebus shoved at his nose was instantly drawn back, and he was instead greeted with the stricken face of a young, ruddy-cheeked soldier. It was when the soldier began apologising that he figured the young man had probably been part of a search party of some sort—no doubt sent by his brothers—because even though the man was clearly from Khalidor, he called Kiran by name and hurriedly urged him to follow him back to the docks, muttering something about decimations and the like as he did so (he hadn't really bothered to pay much attention to the man's blubberings, as he too still hadn't quite recovered from the shock of having a bloody rifle aimed between his eyes).

Several similarly-dressed men joined them as they approached the harbour, and soon, some of Ashkara's own soldiers had weaved their way between the Kiran and the Khalidorians as well. Honestly, he thought it was a bit much. Sure, a bit of chaos went down by the marketplace, but surely it wasn't bad enough to send nearly a quarter of the Ashkarazi Royal Guard and a good chunk of Khalidorian soldiers to come looking for him.

At least, that was what he thought before he saw the bodies.

He could barely make them out from between the wall of guards gathered around him, but the air itself was thick with the sharp tang of blood, and through the gaps he could see Khalidorian soldiers tossing them into piles by the side of the road. Men, women, and children alike, bathed in red, their bodies riddled with holes the size of pebbles.

He was no stranger to death nor violence, but the mere thought that he and Jingshen might've ended up exactly like those bodies was enough to make his head spin and his stomach lurch. Whatever it was that went on there, he was only thankful that he and his new Fae friend had emerged from it with their skin unbroken and their limbs intact, even if it meant having to suffer the indignity of being frogmarched back to the Ishtar like a prisoner.


As predicted, Akhil was none too pleased with his little disappearing act, and Kiran now bore the mark of his eldest brother's displeasure: a fresh burn, shaped just like a hand closing around the length of his left forearm. Granted, it was only a light one, as Skandar had stepped in before Akhil could do any real damage. Nothing a few days couldn't fix. Still, it pained him nonetheless. Enough to have to bite back a wince every time his sleeve brushed against the raw skin.

General Ursuul, cousin to the King, had agreed to accompany them towards the palace at Jodan, though most of the journey was spent in silence—tensions between the three brothers still singing hot as they journeyed towards the capital.

Akhil had ridden far ahead of the train with the General, the prince appearing rather magnificent in his scarlet robes and pitch black charger as he laughed along with something the General must've said—looking almost as if he hadn't attempted to burn his own brother alive not half an hour prior. Skandar and Kiran were left a ways behind. A group of guards surrounded them, both to protect the princes and to serve as watchdogs over the Kiran to ensure there wouldn't be a repeat performance of that morning's incident.

None of his brothers had said a word to him throughout the duration of the ride, which was just as well because while Skandar had yet to utter a single sentence, Akhil had lashed out in a fury as soon as he set eyes on him, letting loose sharp, cutting words that halted whatever explanation Kiran had prepared.


That silence persisted until they reached the palace, when, just before entering, Akhil paused and turned to face his younger brothers, "Not a word about the incident at the harbour, are we clear?" He told them, "Should anyone ask, you are to tell them that we departed from Akhzarun behind schedule." He instructed further, "I'll not have the Northmen know that the cause of our delay is due to the sheer stupidity of our dear little brother here." Akhil practically spat, directing a mocking sneer at Kiran's direction before turning heel and continuing on through the entrance.

Skandar followed wordlessly after his eldest brother, not even bothering to spare Kiran a glance as he walked past.

Kiran balled his fists at his sides, uncaring of the fact that it only deepened the throbbing in his arm. He could feel his patience wearing thin, but he knew that acting upon his anger would only cause him more grief. After all, what could he do? He was only human. Akhil was practically Djinn, and the blood shared between brothers meant next to nothing in Ashkara. If he displeased him further, Akhil could just as easily kill him the way Skandar did with the rest of the princes that came before Kiran.

Kiran took cold comfort in the fact that the only reason he hadn't been killed along with them was due to his father's love for his mother. If his mother hadn't been so beloved by the Sultan, Kiran highly doubted if he would've even made it past infancy.


As they entered, the princes were immediately lead towards where the rest of the delegations were gathered. However, when the doors were flung open, they were instantly greeted with the jarring noise of gunfire. Some of the guards moved to cover them, but quickly returned to formation because as quickly as the banging began, it stopped, and they were instead treated to the sight of several balls of ammunition hung suspended in mid-air. But while it made an uncommon and altogether fascinating sight, nothing caught the princes' eyes quite like the creature standing in the middle of the room.

"What in Ishtar's name is that?" Akhil uttered lowly, not even bothering to hide the disgust colouring his tone as he stared incredulously at the various strange and foreign implements jutting out of the not-quite-woman's body. "It's hideous." Skandar's eyes narrowed a fraction as it raked over the creature's form, the subtle furrowing of his brows the only indication that he found it's presence odd as well. "It's not an 'it'. It's a she." Kiran muttered, also transfixed by the unknown being.

None of them had ever seen anything quite so strange. Monstrous, even. And while Kiran looked at it with a tinge of fascination, all three could silently agree that whatever it was, it had to be some sort of abomination.