#have soft nehans who cares but also is so tired

[mediclzen]

From here || @voidclawing

Tired eye rises a bit at the other's squabbling and twisted tongue - ears flattened as if the skies themselves would fall down at the smallest sound or words coming from anywhere - such is the young man that also champinoed in the martial arts when the mask was on and confidence blazed aflame like a totally different person.

Nehan can only be curious about it, but only being the backup should said Erune push too far his moral body was able to resist – heavens knows how many times he's need to pinch the bridge of his nose and try not to grow anymore white hairs for all the lectures he's given the other by now ever since their... bond had become somewhat less complicated. '' Very well. '' His tone is soft, weighed by chronic exhaustion the older erune carried on his shoulders always but softened thanks to the children of stardust that come and go, stiff fingers with scars barely concealed if not to the gentle embrace of leathered gloves that cushion pale skin; sometimes bring him presents they shouldn't really both we with yet the doctor has found some warmth in his heart to learn to accept just like Mugen's more.... overblown gestures the massive draph often tried his best to prepare despise there being no need.

Even something as small as a flower, perhaps a medicinal one would suffice. Quills, mundane things. But his office had become an array of everything - colorful trinkets and souvenirs from all the skies; and in a tiny corner, especially by a neatly kept writing desk laid most of the things the Eternal- Seox would sometimes bring after the other sometimes perhaps burning brainmatter tried his best to think of presents.

heh.

'' So long you have your wounds tended to, then... I wont pry. '' Tries to reassure - dealing with the others anxiousness was one thing Nehan truly found an enigma, but rather a refresher to what years in the past gave away to the form of a shrouded monster of long claws and fangs. And that much is true but only on fights against the dangers of the skies now; right now Seox was.... something intriguing. But unlike how the other often emoted even against his own will and best attempt to be secretive and yet always failed; Nehan knew how to appear oblivious at best, his own downy small ears barely twitching as his tired gaze dropped back to his own papers. '' I do have something for you as well, but it will have to wait for christmas. Mugen adviced me to wait despise I see no real need to stall such things. You may stay here if you need as well. ''

... '' Just don't tell Mugen because he might want to also see, and lets be honest; like the captain's red dragon, Mugen's mouth tends to slip despise his best intentions. ''

[milleralexanderauthor]

Prologue

So I’m a naturally very shy person, but I thought I’d post the prologue to my book. 

I’m incredibly anxious about it, but any form of constructive comments would be appreciated.

Thanks 

Anthea sat at the window of the Tower of Zian, looking out over an expansive city. Zian was the highest point in Newlin, a marvel of architecture yet to be rivaled. It reminded her of the mountains she only knew in her mind, the feeling of bracing wind in her face. In her heart, she was there, among a people so long before her time eradicated and displaced. Below, the denizens of the city looked like ants, working away at their individual unhappy lives. The colony was diseased. They worked not in the interest of the whole but of the self, never truly looking at the people beside them. This infection had spread to her own life. 

Her son was away, as he typically was. She had been assured that his work was important. He was a representative of the people, working for peace and equality. Perhaps, years ago when he was a young man, she might have believed him. She recalls the fire that once burned in his eyes, a man that demanded change. Now, she knew he merely played the game to get ahead. He was a eunuch of the machine that used him to maintain a status quo. Her once sensitive and critical son was now hardened to light, going so far as to openly deny his bloodline. His Driag blood, something that was once a sense of pride for him, was now a secret embarrassment. 

His wife, a young woman named Karliah, now sat in a rocking chair across the room from Anthea, a newborn in her lap. Karliah looked down at her third-born child, face totally expressionless. In was only a few months ago that Phillip had sent for Anthea. He had told her that his wife had come down with a case of melancholy following the birth of their daughter and that he needed her to assist with the children. He assured her it would only be a few weeks until Karliah ‘got over it’. She had been in Newlin city for four months at this point, baby Alvera still somehow full of colic and Karliah full of a quiet apathy.

Anthea did not mind helping, as she feared that this would be her only opportunity to see her grandchildren. In her philosophy, children were the light in which we all lived after death. They were wiser and older than she, a fountain of possibly spilling over. Yet, they were so unburdened by the world. She wondered how her son saw them, as he rarely saw them at all. 

At her knee, the middle child sat, quietly. Felia was always a subdued child, though only five years old. Her sister Telia was an untamed spirit, never one to be reserved in voicing her opinion, truly of her father’s blood. Felia always watched, observing the world with questioning analytical eyes. Anthea could feel something in her spirit, a displacement slowly coming into alignment. She feared for the hardships she sensed in this child’s future, but for now, she merely reveled in Felia’s presence, as it was one of immense calm. 

“Aba, can you tell me a story?” she peeps, soft as a newborn chick. 

“Anthea,” Karliah warned from her seat, voice never really expressing her emotion fully. She felt for Karliah, having to deal with her opinionated son on top of everything. Philip disliked it when Anthea told the children stories of the old country. The more they knew about their heritage in his eyes, the worse off they were. Anthea also knew that she held the power, as she could simply leave him to deal with his depressed wife and attention-hungry children alone. She wouldn’t, of course, but she could. Honestly, she should. He needed to learn to care for the family he formed in a way that mattered. Still, she stayed, but she did as she pleased and dared him to say anything about it.

“Of course, hneleh,” This was the Driag word for a species of flower, sweet in smell and vibrant in color. Karliah groaned, knowing she had lost. “What story would you like to hear?”

“Tell me about the ocean,” she requests, looking back at her mother. Karliah looks tired, more so than usual. 

“Ah yes. A good choice, darling,” Anthea clears her throat. “Millions of epochs ago, the world was full of nothing but darkness and cold. Within this expanse of nothing was a being, who was as old as the world itself named Mela. They lived for many years alone in the void and grew sad. For all Mela wanted was someone else to be with, a friend to share their time with. They wept great tears of melancholy in their loneliness.”

“That’s sad,” Telia says from beside the fireplace where she had been scribbling on a piece of paper. “I can’t imagine not having anyone at all, even Alvy even though all she does is scream and cry.”

“You mean you don’t want to sell her to the traveling circus in Filar Square anymore, Telia?” Karliah says, chuckling softly. It was a rare thing to see any light in the woman’s eyes.

Telia thinks about this, scrunching up her nose in deep contemplation. “I’m still debating. I’ll get back to you.”

Karliah rolls her eyes, and Felia sits silently, waiting for Anthea to continue. 

“It is sad, Telia. Don’t worry about Mela, though, children. For something amazing was about to happen. Their tears filled up the space in the abyss, creating a great sea of clear blue. The sea became to sway and froth, sending sea spray up into the dark sky, creating the stars. From the depths of the sea below rose four figures in the four corners of the world. They vowed their eternal love to Mela, and asked how they might assist them. Mela asks for them to help fill the void with something beautiful, so they would be lonely no longer. Sympha rose into the sky and created the moon, giving light to their work. They breathed a heavy breath, creating the breeze. Dianah rose mud and sand from the depths of the endless ocean, creating the land and the mountains. Conah carved lines and valleys into the earth, creating the expansive rivers and lakes of the land. 

Mela, in the flurry of creation, gathered up the stars of the sky and scattered them throughout the world, creating the beasts of the land. Within them was the primal flame of creation. Nehan presented the beasts with fire, for them to use and keep warm in the cold winter. He rose into the sky, becoming the life-giving sun. Among the beasts of the land where those who Mela favored above all else, although they loved all of the creations of the new world. To them, they gave their eye, presented to them as an azure stone. In the eye of Mela was a power---”

“That’s enough, mother,” Phillip says, having entered into the living room. 

“Daddy!” Telia shrieked, running to attach herself to Phillip’s leg. He places a hand on her raven curls but says nothing. He has his gaze fixed on Anthea, a steady rage behind his eyes. She meets it head-on, backing down to no one. 

“Son, you’re home early,” she says, evenly. 

“Dismemberment seems a bit harsh before bed, mother. Off to bed, children,” he says, not taking his eyes off of Anthea.

“I want to listen to Grandma’s---” Felia pipes in, timidly.

“Enough,” Philip replies, sternly. “It’s late. Go to bed. Now.”

Grumbling, the sisters dragged their feet off towards the stairs. Felia ran back, grabbing her grandmother into a fierce hug before running off. Karliah followed suit, shooting her husband an apologetic look as she took Alvera away to the Nursery. Philip crosses the room, looking out the same window as Anthea had, but up into the stars and moon that hung overhead. 

“I work hard to provide for my family, mother,” he says, his voice far away. 

“I understand that---” 

“You do not,” he cuts in, sharply. ‘If you did you would not fill my children’s heads with tales of gods that are long dead.”

It stufng Anthea to hear her son speak that way of their religion, of their culture. He was a man of no faith, a man of no morals. 

“The people of this nation look upon our people as if they are vermin. They see our blood as sullied. I don’t want that shame on my children.”

“Most people in the city are our kin, Philip,” she retorts, and it was true. The people of Newlin are almost entire descendants of Driag nomads fleeing their homelands. Philip shakes his head, sadly. 

“We have no kin or kind. Our people died out long ago. It would be in your benefit to accept that and to respect the way I choose to raise my children. We are Newlin, we and Mesari, nothing else.”

Silence hung heavy in the air, and it broke Anthea’s heart. 

“You have no convictions. The god you believe in is one of your own making. Do not expect your family to bow before you forever,” she says, tears welling up in her eyes. 

Philip says nothing as Anthea rises and takes her leave and merely continues to look out over the sea of pin-point light up above him.