Paramythi I: City of Glass

Elias had been fixed up rather quickly and could no longer feel the sore, burning agony of his bicep from where he had been bitten.

Neoma’s skills at medicine were rather impressive and Elias had no doubt that her expertise would be enough to help Maxa wake up again soon. Or rather, he had been having no doubts towards the Rebels’ medic when Maxa had been brought to the medical bay and Neoma quickly flushed out the infection from Maxa’s gruesome wounds and stitched them up to prevent any further severities.

That had been about two hours ago and Elias was beginning to lose faith in seeing Maxa wake up by the end of the day. He sat close, nonetheless. His eyelids were heavy and his shoulders were beginning to grow sluggish when the sounds of soft footsteps caught his attention and he snapped back into reality, eyes wide and neck turning towards the noise.

“Riyo…” Elias said, acknowledging the Allowa half-breed standing just a few feet away, half-covered by the curtain Neoma had pulled around Maxa’s bed earlier. “Did we wake you?”

“I was already awake before you arrived,” Riyo replied and stepped into the confined space within the curtain, blue eyes flickering towards the unconscious Maxa and then over to Elias’ face. “Prowlers?”

Elias subconsciously lifted a hand to cover his arm. “Yeah. It was like…a raid or something.” He swallowed the nerves forming in his throat and turned his gaze onto his sister’s pale face, grimacing at the ugly wounds which had been etched across her skin in a hideous ‘X’ mark from her forehead and all the way down to her chin and neck. “It was like that night we joined up for the Rebellion.”

“Brutal.” Riyo quirked their brows, arms folding across their chest. They were still wearing one of the infirmary gowns, yet they looked beyond cured and probably had the potential to stride out into the halls if they wished. “So, who’s the woman?”

Elias could feel the rims of his eyes growing damp and he forced his vision to remain focused, competing against the blurred edge to his sight. He bit his lip, forcing his emotions to remain in check, and he extended a hand out towards the bed and laced his fingers with Maxa’s limp hand. “She’s my sister.”

The look of surprise upon Riyo’s face was missed and they pulled back their lips, recreating one of Zyki’s trademark smiled – surely something Allowa had a tendency to portray – and they stepped closer to the bed for a better look. “I didn’t know your sister was a part of the Rebellion.”

“She isn’t!” Elias snapped.

The abrupt sound of Elias’ voice had been uncalled for and Riyo had jumped, eyes turning a paler colour and visible, black veins had fluttered beneath the surface of their cheeks. Almost instantly, Riyo raised their hand to cover the rippling skin of their cheek and their eyes mellowed to their original shade of icy blue.

“Apologies, or whatever…” Riyo grumbled and turned around, sparing Elias no time to call out for them as they pulled back the curtain and stepped away; presumably back to their own bed.

Elias found himself wallowing in guilt and would have found the courage to stand up and approach their comrade if the door to the infirmary had not opened and the chairwoman of the Rebellion herself had not stepped in. Elias had not been given a memorable impression of the woman as of yet, and to think such a thing were to bloom here, under these circumstances? He could never have guessed.

Ciiria always walked with a determined stride and she made no second glance or pause as she stepped past the curtain to Maxa’s bed. Alas, while she held herself with understandable confidence, she was also able to portray a sense of independence, making Elias wonder just how many tasks she accomplished herself without the aid of her fellow Rebels.

She even stepped towards the corner of the room, just left to the head of Maxa’s bed, where a line of stacked chairs was neatly placed. Without a word, she took one down from its pile and planted it across from Elias before sitting, one leg crossing over the other with simplicity and casualness. She was a lot like Kane when it came to remaining composed and unreadable.

“I heard you shout from the hallway. I do hope you were not arguing with your unconscious sister?” Said Ciiria, voice level and eyes sharp.

Thankful that the woman had not allowed a silence to prolong the beginning of their conversation, Elias shook his head and leant back in his chair; albeit keeping hold of Maxa’s cold hand. “No…I accidentally yelled at one of my…my friends.”

“Midas, perhaps?” Ciiria rolled her eyes and cocked a brow, aware that the individual in question was only a couple of beds away. “Their Allowa genes have helped them to recover at an abnormal speed, yet Neoma wishes to keep them in here for one more day as a precaution. I do hope they did not scare you? Allowa have a tendency to do stupid things for their own amusement.”

Elias took a moment to reply, feeling the swell of guilt trigger the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach and he shook his head solemnly. “No, they didn’t scare me. I think…if anything, I scared them.” He shrugged a shoulder, “I mean, it’s not like I meant to yell like that, but their eyes went pale and the veins in their face came up. I know Allowa anatomy pretty well, so I know what their reaction meant…”

Nothing Elias had said was a lie. He had been extraordinarily good at his studies throughout the year of education within the Rebellion base. He had passed with flying colours specifically when it came to the history and genetics of the many different races littered around Galaxis, making him more than aware how an Allowa might react to danger; specifically, when their eyes turn completely white – much like their counterparts’ — and the veins on their face flare up similar to how a dog’s back fluffs up when it feels danger or discomfort nearby. Alas, Elias had hoped Riyo was simply overreacting. Surely he had not sounded that frightening.

“Your sister never approved of your decision to join the Rebellion?” Ciiria said, utterly composed in changing the subject. “Kane enjoys telling me all about the interviews he takes, so don’t feel the need to be offended or have it hit personally. Your captain is simply a gossip.”

Elias could have laughed if his sister was not laying only inches from him, unconscious due to his choices in going against the only thing she had ever requested from him for the last seven years.

“No, she despises the Rebellion,” he said. “She…she thinks it causes more damage and tears families apart, rather than putting things right and reuniting loved ones.”

Ciiria bobbed her head, a slow nod to confirm Elias’ explanation. With a sigh, the woman leant back in her chair. “I suppose Maxa Kara would have every right to make such a statement about us, all considering.”

A frown. “What?” Elias raised his head, brows furrowing further. “All considering…what?”

Ciiria lifted a hand and flexed her forefinger, motioning towards the set of dyed, blue strands sprawled across the pillow under Maxa’s head and covering her forehead. “It is traditional for the Rebellion believers, or its non-fighters such as young Neoma and Quincy, to dye their hair in a bright colour to pray for the Rebels safe return and promote their personal dedication to the Rebellions’ cause. You know of this, surely?”

“I do…” Agreed Elias. His frown only deepened. “But Maxa’s hair is just coincidence! I mean, she’s had it like that for as long as I can remember.”

“Do you remember your mother, Kara?” Ciiria countered, utterly taking Elias’ question and putting it aside as if to lessen the chance of it getting in the way of her conversation’s purpose. “I doubt you do, am I correct?”

Rendered speechless, Elias could only force a gentle motion of his head; shaking it from left to right. His eyes refused to avoid Ciiria’s face now and he felt a horrid sensation of dread run down his spine and down his arms, causing the firm grip on Maxa’s limp hand to lesson.

“To put it simply, your mother, Penelope Kara, was an important member of the Rebellion.”

Quincy had excused himself for most of the day to gather essential information relating to Merine Trezla’s whereabouts and any social ties he might have. In his absence, he understood that he could have potentially lost relevant information from Psykhe, yet he was not compelled to back down from the chance to share the news he had gathered, no matter what the other members of the council had already dug up.

After stepping out of his office, he had seen little to no-one walking around the corridors. He had expected to see some relevant faces in the cafeteria when walking by; yet it seemed the day had truly pushed on and the sun had sunk low across the ocean, thus rendering the base and all of its facilities practically empty.

“Quince?” The smooth, recognisable tone of Theo Dante came flittering down the hallway after Quincy had stepped out of the elevator and the Sylvannix strolled over in a manner that portrayed something of casualness and familiarity. “Haven’t seen you all day. I was beginning to think you finally gave in to your studies for good and locked yourself up for the remainder of your life!”

Quincy chuckled, far too accustomed to Theo’s dramatic choice of words and usual characteristics to begin questioning whether or not he had been serious about such an assumption. “Oh, well, you’re half-right, I suppose.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Quincy’s expression turned hesitant and he forced a smile; something he knew Theo would otherwise question if he left a silence to hang. “I must ask, though…Neriah Kiska, do you consider her a good person?”

The look in Theo’s eye turned distant. “Neriah Kiska is a Prophet.” He said, arms folding across the broadness of his chest. He wore a white dress-shirt today – opposed to his usual black attire — which tugged at the V-line below his collar bone due to his laziness for not having done the buttons up. On anyone else, it may have looked scruffy. “In a sense, I guess she’s a good a person as the Gods decide her to be. She speaks on behalf of them and not herself, after all.”

Quincy pressed his lips together and looked down. “I can understand your meaning by that…” After a long sigh, he added; “only, I received a message today regarding Neriah Kiska. I was going to bring it up at tonight’s council meeting, but since I saw you first, I thought—”

Theo unfolded his arms and extended his fingers, raising his hands high enough as if in a state of surrender. “I’m not a part of the council, you know that! Whatever goes down behind those doors can stay behind those doors. I only take things to heart when it comes to the missions; the real stuff.”

“But this is real stuff!” Quincy argued. He took a step forward. “I need your opinion on how I should present this matter to everyone else. You must help me, Theo!”

“I don’t want to know, Quince!”

“But, Theo—“

“No.”

Quincy, baffled at the strict tone of his friend, could not stop himself from stepping away. He was not afraid of Theo; at least, he had never considered Theo to be frightening. There was a difference in intimidation and frightening; between the two, Theo was certainly the former. But frightening? No. Never.

Which was why Quincy straightened his posture and whirled around on his heel before Theo could make a straight getaway. “Theo Dante!” Yelled the Rebel tactician. When no response came, Quincy took off and ran for the Sylvannix, seconds away from missing the chance to lose him to the sliding doors of the elevator. “The Prophets of Galaxis are being slaughtered!”

Theo paused and thus the elevator was their only source of sound as it hummed softly in its motion to take them down a floor.

“…I got an anonymous message,” Quincy continued, back pressed against the smooth texture of the elevator wall behind him. “I can’t risk not informing Kane and the others, especially because of who is next on this list.”

Theo grit his teeth behind firmly clasped lips and narrowed his eye, chest rising and falling greatly. “It’s Kiska, ain’t it?”

“Yes,” Quincy nodded. “Lady Neriah Kiska is going to die.”