Bloodlines of Archaea I. Afira

Malia stood at the shoreline, waving goodbye at us, tears in her eyes, before turning and walking off behind the line of the horizon. “Set sail for the volcano Iuga,” I said, grabbing my oar from Akuma, brushing my hand against his. I looked down, inhaling sharply at the sight of his many scars, still wondering what may have happened to scar his hand this way. I untied the sail from its post as there was much wind that day. The boat moved in the correct direction without much effort to fight it, as if the island pulled us closer, welcoming us into its open jaws.

Akuma looked anxiously at the map. “There is much rock around here,” he said, pointing to the map in an area near the Volcano Iuga. “It’ll be difficult to navigate, as there is no moon to guide us tonight.”

“Good thing we have someone who can generate unlimited light,” I said, pulling out my mother’s journal. I looked up, smiling. “Maybe there’s something in here that can help us. Like maybe there’s a secret entrance or a weakness we can exploit,” I said, flipping through the pages, Akuma looked at it wonderingly.

I scanned the pages, stopping at one titled, “The Power of the Chosen One” a picture of Sombra stood the page before. I read her writing aloud. “Before the darkness consumed her heart, my Aunt Sombra had taken a liking to me. She was kind and intelligent. I could see why the gods chose her to rule the Island of Skyfire. She told me her stories of childhood, for when she was just my age, she became Sombra, queen of the Island of Skyfire. She showed me her power. I marveled at the beauty of her summoning, as she had created a dragon of fire, which protected our island until the time came for a new queen. Of course, the darkness consumed her heart and the dragon along with it. Now it protects the island she rests, plotting her return. My sweet child and the boy Akuma will one day return this dragon to its place above our island. I have no doubt.” I looked up at Akuma.

“No pressure,” he said in a squeaky voice, looking anxiously at the sea. I laughed wholeheartedly. He smiled. There was a bit of silence between us. Then he continued with, “Hey, if this doesn’t work, I want you to know that-”

“Don’t say that, save it for when the world is at peace,” I said, putting a finger over his mouth. I knew what he was going to say, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit it. Instead, I said, “this’ll work. It has to.” I looked into his chestnut eyes. They were plagued with doubt and fear, which riddled his dark eyes. His shaggy umber hair danced in the harsh sea wind. I placed my hand over his, “we have grown so much over the course of this journey. We will not fail.”

He opened and closed his mouth, nodding. He looked away but kept his hand under mine. His fingers were cold as ice. I concentrated on warming his fingers, but not hurting him. Slowly my hands began to warm, heating his frozen fingers along with. He smiled, blushing, but continued to look out at the sea, steering the boat occasionally with his oar, gracefully slicing through the gentle waves of the calm sea in the harsh winds, as if the world above the sea were planning for war, but the world bellow had nothing to do with it.

I thought of the words in my mother’s journal. “Do you think I can make a dragon?” I asked excitedly, finally breaking the nervous silence.

He paused his steering to look up at me, thinking about my question carefully before answering. Eventually, he said, “maybe. I mean, supposedly Sombra could do it. You have the powers she had.”

“Yeah, but it’s a living thing. How could I put enough fire into something to make a living, breathing dragon? I can’t even imagine what hand motions to make for that, or maybe it’s a chant?” I asked, goofily thinking of all the possibilities.

Akuma chuckled at my ideas. “Maybe you have to be in mortal danger, or something?” He whispered, darkly. As if the idea of endangering me had set loose a tiger inside of him.

“Oooooh, yeah. Okay, quick, take your sword out and act like you’re going to kill me or something. I’ll be dragony. Let’s see what happens,” I said, beginning to sing horribly off key and flapping my arms around like a chicken. He laughed, putting his oar up, as if it were a sword which he was going to use to kill me. I giggled, picking up my own oar, which I used to playfully bat with his.

“It’s on!” He yelled, striking me in the arm, without using any of his strength. I yelled unenthusiastically, acting as if I had recently lost an arm. It was like we were children again, transported back on the island, where we would play in this manner for hours using whatever we could find.

I threw my oar to my other hand, jabbing him in the leg. I exploded in laughter as I watched him yell in pretend pain and begin hopping around on one leg, flailing his arms around wildly to keep balance. Our game continued this way, until we had both lost our arms and legs, continuing to fight on our knees with our oars in our mouths. At such a point in time, we were unable to keep from laughing, as the mere sight of the other sent us both into hysterical giggles. Attempting to stand didn’t help, either, as our own laughter had turned our legs into jelly. All of our worries and anxiety seemed to melt away in these precious moments. I watched, giggling as Akuma laughed harshly, falling with a large splash into the deep blue sea. He looked around surprised, swimming quickly and pushing himself onto the edge of the boat, water cascading down his soaking arms. I stared at him for a moment, attempting to stay serious, as he looked quite annoyed. Then, after a while, I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know why I’m laughing. I’ll help dry you off.” I said, he chuckled, forfeiting his seriousness. He took off his breastplate and the cloth underneath, handing it to me to dry off. “I can dry anything that isn’t leather quickly with my hands, but what is leather we have to dry without. Otherwise, we’ll damage the leather.” I said, putting the cloth to the side and taking out a dry blanket and handing it to Akuma, as I steamed the water off.

“Thank,” he said, taking the blanket and carefully wiping the moisture off.

“Always,” I said, looking thoughtfully into his eyes, before returning to my work.