Chapter Text
It’s always the same.
It begins cold.
Cold everywhere, pooling around them and swallowing them whole.
A light.
Warmth.
The cold is pushed back, the dark dissipates.
Soothing words they do not understand.
Gold sinew woven to protect that which lies within.
Safety.
⤤ ✦ ⤦
Turiel shifted awake uncomfortably, shivering a little against the cold. Beside them, curled partially around them to keep them warm, was their mother. The young Parahexilian leaned into Plasinara’s warmth, letting out a sigh and trying to get comfortable again on the dark stone beneath them. Outside of the cave the two were lying in, the frigid wind howled and buffeted, sending flurries of snow dancing in the air, nearly obscuring the sun as it was beginning to set, blanketing everything in a thick sheet of white-silver-grey.
Turiel yawned, setting her head down again and closed her eyes, trying to get some more rest. The youngling would get up when her mother was ready to; Parahexilian didn’t obey the rise and fall of the sun, and merely slept and woke again whenever they felt the need to.
But Turiel didn’t end up falling back asleep, and soon enough Plasinara stirred from her slumber with a low yawn of her own, stretching her wings to their full length and nearly filling up the entire cave. Even with her left front leg reduced to a stump, she was a sight to behold. She blinked down at her daughter, then looked up to regard the outside with a low hum.
“Looks like we might be waiting to fly for a while.” They could handle the snow fine, as it melted as soon as it hit their wings; it was the wind the pair was worried about.
Turiel nodded in agreement. She did not want to fly in a blizzard. She fared in the cold far worse than most Parahexilian; she emanated barely any heat, and even with her mother’s wings shielding her the cold always found a way to sneak between her armor.
“It’s almost time to head back to the Citadel, isn’t it?” the smaller Parahexilian asked, sparing a glance towards the back of their cave. Stored in a small, hidden alcove, kept fresh by the cold and out of view of any creature flying by, was a small but manageable pile of kills. Parahexilian fed exclusively on Aereis; their golden flesh, imbued with the energy of a star, was the only thing that could regenerate a Parahexilian’s own magical energy.
Plasinara was a hunter for the Citadel, sent out on missions designated by the duration of the moon’s cycles to bring back enough to feed the city. It was dangerous work and kills were far from guaranteed, but it had high reward and was one of the few jobs available to Citadel residents if they weren’t forgers.
Turiel was brought along because the Citadel was notorious for its improper care of young, with how rare they were in recent centuries. The small Parahexilian often had their reservations about killing other creatures that could communicate with them, but it was a lot easier when every Aereis they’d ever encountered had tried to kill them and their mother on sight. Then it was simply self-defense. It wasn’t like Turiel was the one eating them, either.
See, there was something else that set Turiel apart from other Parahexilian: she didn’t need to eat. Plasinara had explained it as soon as her daughter was old enough to understand; neither she nor her mother knew why, but Turiel could survive on absolutely nothing. Most Parahexilian had to feed at least once a month, maybe less, but Turiel had once gone without eating for months when her mother had accidentally neglected to feed her (in the beginning, Plasinara had left her daughter at the Iron Citadel during a hunting trip, wrongly assuming she would be cared for in her absence), and yet Turiel was perfectly fine upon her mother’s return. It had been years since Turiel had eaten anything more than small creatures she caught on her travels with her mother, so she knew it was true, as strange as it was.
“You’re just a little closer to ‘perfection’ than the rest of us, my dear,” Plasinara had put it. Turiel wasn’t sure they loved that explanation, but it was about as likely as anything else as to why they were different from the rest of their species. At least it meant that there were less resources wasted by the time they returned to the Iron Citadel. (And, secretly, Turiel was sort of glad that they didn’t need to eat the Aereis they and their mother killed.)
“Yes, it is,” Plasinara replied, following her daughter’s gaze. She quickly looked away again, and after a moment a small smile caused her teeth to glitter in the snow-logged light. “Your father will be overjoyed to see us again.”
Turiel would be happy to see him, too. She loved seeing her parents happy, and they always seemed happiest when they were together. Maybe Turiel didn’t fit in with any other Parahexilian, but she fit in just fine between her parents’ wings. That was more than enough for her.
“I’d say just about as soon as this storm clears up,” Plasinara continued, plodding a little closer to the mouth of the cave and peering out with a sigh. “Never good weather on the return trip.”
Turiel snorted, then sighed a little, looking out at the snow-blanketed landscape beyond the mouth of the cave. You wouldn’t even know it was spring elsewhere in Sonaria, with how heavily the snow was falling outside. “If it keeps the Aereis away, I guess that’s good enough for me.” They had to repress a small shiver at the cold anyway.
After a moment, Plasinara settled back down into a lying position, her massive form taking up as little space as possible. The air warmed slightly, and she gestured for Turiel to come sit beneath her wing.
“You’re going to tell a story to pass the time, aren’t you,” the young Parahexilian deadpanned. They were met with their mother’s glowing smile, which was answer enough, but Turiel begrudgingly accepted the warmth despite knowing what was to come.
“I’ll keep it interesting,” Plasinara promised. “How about something warm to lift our spirits? I’ve got no shortage of tales of the Hellion Warden’s mischief. You know, a Banishii told me this one when I was young.” Plasinara had ventured all over Sonaria on her hunting trips, and encountered a wide variety of interesting creatures during the travels of her youth.
“Oh?” Turiel perked up a little. They were fairly eager to hear about another angelic, desert-dwelling species that didn’t come with the mental baggage Aereis did. With her daughter’s interest piqued, Plasinara took her cue to begin.
It was a short fable about Nukzeh beating a cocky Ibetchi at its own game, simplified likely through being passed down by word of mouth, but the older Parahexilian still flourished in all the right places and wove the youngling’s tale into one Turiel was sure even the most unimaginative, hardened warrior would covertly crane a little closer to hear. Sometimes she thought her mother should’ve been brought into the universe as an Owa’Stryrus; other times she figured Plasinara had simply fallen in with the scholarly species more than a few times on her travels, and just picked up a thing or two from them.
Either way, it really did help pass the time, and as if by the magic of her recitation, the storm began to clear just as Plasinara finished. The Wardens did love stories being told of their feats; maybe the Bringer of Summer had nudged the Boreal Warden, asking them to ease up a little and let these two Parahexilian fly home. Or it was coincidence. Plasinara had always had more faith in the Wardens than her daughter.
“Looks like it’s time to fly,” Plasinara sighed, stretching one last time. “Help me carry them, will you?”
Turiel nodded wordlessly, tugging on the large leather sack that held the dead Aereis’ bodies and pulling it out into the open. With her holding one corner and her mother the other, the two Parahexilian dragged it to the mouth of the cave, took a deep breath of frigid air in unison, and lifted into the air.
Turiel pumped her wings hard against the dying gale, trying to make up time. It was still almost a days’ flight to the Iron Citadel, and they were going to be expected back soon.