#khatien ysilt

[karriezai]

Out of Context

I was tagged by @writingamongther0ses! Thank you! :D

Content warning for language, calling a female character a b**ch, and a character urinating. (In a toilet. Nothing overly weird. Lol.)

The interpreter appears, moving so that the doorway frames him, and then glances between the bitch and Khatien. “Looks like the AC’s broken,” he signs. No clue whether they’re his words or hers. “It must be forty degrees in there. Did you get any sleep?”

Khatien only grimaces. Ancestors, he needs to take a piss—and judging by the rumbling in his stomach, once the pressure in his bladder is relieved he’ll be fucking starving.

On the plus side, there’s enough power flowing through him now, trapped by the blanket, that he’s edging on uncomfortably warm. He sits up and readjusts the blanket over his shoulders, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His breath clouds out, a thicker white now that hot energy floods his veins.

Out of the corner of his eye, the interpreter’s mouth moves. As if an afterthought, the man signs, “Let me.” He moves to take the bitch’s spot at the control display.

Too much effort to catch his attention. Khatien shrugs and crosses to the bathroom, shutting the door and then gradually pushing out his power to raise the ambient temperature. In the smaller space, it’s pretty effective; it takes less than a minute to generate enough heat to comfortably take a piss.

A phantom flash of light and buzzing feeling washes through Khatien—he closes his eyes and fights sudden wooziness. Words rise in his mind, like the memory of reading a message on his comm, except entirely unwelcome. »Are you okay in there?

He ignores them, easing his eyes open as he shakes off and pulls his waistband back into place—and great. Looks like he missed the toilet a little. He grits his teeth.

Fucking bitch and her stupid neuro-comm.

I’ll tag (no pressure whatsoever): @gardenofstories, @starlitpromises-writings, @akindofmagictoo, and @magic-is-something-we-create

[karriezai]

One of my MCs is Deaf. After my first complete draft I realized it's actually pretty rare to be 100% deaf. I'm trying to write him somewhere a little more neutral on the spectrum of hearing loss, but reading this made me realize there's still more to consider. I'm gonna continue doing the best I can. In the end I'll hire a sensitivity reader; hopefully they can help me do the best job I can with this character.

not to psychoanalyse myself on main but although I've written d/Deaf characters, I have never written a POV character who is deaf "like me". and I think that's partly because there's stuff I still need to work through in terms of accepting my identity as a Deaf person, and also because like... how do I even go about writing it?

obviously I know what I hear, and how I hear it. but I'm struggling with how to phrase it in a way that would make sense in prose. I'm so used to writing from EITHER a hearing POV or a completely Deaf POV, because those are what I'm surrounded by. when people write Deaf characters they almost always pick characters with no residual hearing whatsoever – that idea of a "silent world" or whatever – and like... okay, fair. that's important to represent! but there are so many ways to be d/Deaf and I think those shouldn't get swept under the rug as much as they do. d/Deafness isn't a cut-dry thing. please celebrate all variations of it!

[karriezai]

Find the Word Tag Game

I saw I was tagged by @gardenofstories to find Ice, Blade, Hurry, and Feather, and then noticed I’d overlooked @kessler-writes tagging me with charge, fall, hope, and shadow! I’ll just hit all eight now, if possible, and challenge myself to actually keep the excerpt short to balance it :p Disappointingly, I could only find the last three words in my current draft, so the first five are from the previous draft.

Content warning for gore/bodily injury (the blade prompt).

ice

The chill of it cut to Ror’s core. Worry iced at the edges of the hope warming his heart.

blade

Khatien went to his knees beside Ror, hands hovering over the gory hole in his back. It had pierced below his shoulder blade and displaced it upward at least an inch.

hurry

“Exceptional circumstances like what?��� Khatien demanded. “Getting my mom killed? What’s your fucking hurry?” Tears welled in his eyes and he cut off whatever he’d started to sign next.

feather

The startled birds fled in a flurry of feathers, their alluring song dampened by the frenzy of their flight.

charge

Finally, though, he stumbled on the detainee records. They didn’t reveal much; he had no way of knowing how accurate the charges were against each person listed.

fall

Rage flares fresh through Khatien’s veins until he’s shaking, and he lashes out, knuckles slamming against the shower tile. Sharp pain lances up his arm, throbbing insistently when he lets his arm fall to his side, so he cradles it against his chest instead.

hope

“I really hope to gain your cooperation, but I will sedate you if I must.”

shadow

Ror pulls his stare from Yuri’s smirk (and the shadow of stubble on his face that evidences his recent return from the field), turning his attention to Khatien where he’s curled, unconscious, in the seat on the far side of the car.

I’ll tag (absolutely no pressure): @writingamongther0ses, @klywrites, @wordelixir, and @concerningwolves

Bonus points to anyone who wants to share how they usually pick people to tag, because I’m curious!

[karriezai]

Last Line Tag Game

I was tagged by @writingamongthecoloredroses! :D Yay, thank you!

The end of chapter 5:

Khatien holds his palm up close to the display. Channeling his power one direction or another is simple, but it’s a slightly different flex of his mental muscles to completely relax his control at the specific point of his palm.

After a tiny initial burst of fiery sparks, a hot white streak arcs from his skin to one corner of the screen.

It shorts out, flickering black and staying that way this time, but the door doesn’t budge an inch.

Fuck.

It was a long shot, but the failure still settles heavily in the pit of Khatien’s stomach. What’s he supposed to do now?

And the fucking air conditioner’s still pumping away. Without a task to focus him and hot power coursing through his veins, the cold air of the room cuts down to Khatien’s bones.

He digs in the dresser for a sweater, then buries himself under the blanket on the bed. Between the harsh temperature and his racing thoughts, he doesn’t expect sleep to come easy.

He’s not sure he wants it to. If ever there were a night for nightmares, it’s tonight.

I tag: @writeremma, @akindofmagictoo, @magic-is-something-we-create, and @concerningwolves. No pressure, of course! And if you just wanna do this, tag me when you post! Looking forward to reading what you’ve been up to :D

[karriezai]

I commissioned this gorgeous piece from the ultra-talented Hyanide Art! It’s based on a scene late in Wakefire. I’m thrilled with how great it came out!

Hyanide Art Twitter

I’ll share an excerpt from the scene below the cut!

Khatien was teasing that Emry would be glad for any excuse to get out of school when Corvin stiffened. Ror’s attention snapped to him. Nothing had changed in the room and he wasn’t looking at a comm or d-lay, which meant he must have a neuro-comm.

“We have to cut this short,” Corvin said, forced calm lending a hint of tension to his voice.

A muffled shout made it through the door from the hallway.

Corvin pulled a firearm from an ankle holster hidden under his pants and stood. The guard opposite Ror pulled his sidearm, moved around Corvin, and positioned himself against the wall beside the door, weapon slightly raised.

Vapor curled under the door and Corvin grunted, tearing his jacket off and kneeling to press it into the crack.

He didn’t make it that far. He collapsed to the side and the jacket slipped from his fingers.

“Don’t breathe it in!” Ror signed and spoke the warning, then lifted the collar of his shirt over his nose.

The guard went next, sliding down the wall until gravity took full hold of him and he landed with a heavy thud.

Ror grabbed Khatien’s shoulder with his free hand and backed him up against the far wall. It wasn’t enough. His hand slid down Khatien’s chest and he was so far away, and he felt himself falling but couldn’t stop it.

His eyes closed.

And then Ror came to violently, jerking his hands toward the searing sensation in his nose only to discover that his wrists were cuffed. Risky knelt before him, and to the side Yuri leaned over Khatien, who looked as startled and confused as Ror felt.

“Get up,” Risky ordered. “We’re leaving.”

“Why am I cuffed?” And Khatien was cuffed too. Which meant no signing. Shit.

“Because I don’t trust you.” She wasn’t in the green detention clothes anymore; it looked like she’d changed into a Druseval Police uniform. “You have until we meet up with our point pair to convince me you don’t need them. Now. Get. Up.”

Ror stagger-stepped to his feet, whatever gas they’d used hitting his equilibrium hard. Modified sweetsleep? Beside him, Khatien lurched upright and sought his eyes with a wild stare. It took a second to recognize it, but through the limited mobility provided by the cuffs, he was signing an approximation of, “What’s happening?”

“Leave Khatien,” Ror said. The words came almost of their own volition.

Risky yanked his elbow and shoved him toward the door. “You know that’s not happening.”

Ror took a long stride to avoid stepping on Corvin’s unconscious form. What he wouldn’t give to have the neuro-comm back, to be able to address Khatien’s panic even if he couldn’t actually help. On his way out the door, he managed a clumsy semblance of, “Taking us, won’t leave you.”

Seris waited in the hallway with one of the Smoke Two agents, each holding a firearm in ready stance. There was an unconscious cop in the hall who’d been stripped of her coat and sidearm. Seris glanced at Ror’s cuffs with concern clear on her face; Ror wanted to explain all she’d missed, but that wasn’t an option right now.

Khatien stumbled into the hallway behind him. Gods, he was so close to maybe getting out of this mess; Ror could return to Ryesh, face the consequences of defying Risky in the cavern, but Khatien deserved his freedom.

And Corvin’s insinuations during his individual interrogation dug into Ror’s brain: he was an Aug now, and a unique one for having gained this weird healing ability instead of being born with it. Ryesh would dissect him, pull him apart, to try to figure out what had caused that change.

It was what Khatien was afraid they would use him for. He’d said as much to Zekiah. And if Ror had learned nothing else in the last few weeks, it was that the SIA was capable of far worse than he’d ever acknowledged.

Ror walked almost blindly where Risky prodded him. They broke from the familiar hallway between the holding cells and the exam room and turned toward what he assumed had to lead to an exit. “Risky. Leave Khatien,” he tried again, slowing his steps. “He doesn’t know any more than they already do. They’re promising him asylum; let him go.”

But Risky scoffed and shoved his shoulder to propel him forward. “You take their offer of asylum, too? Yeah, I figured. I don’t know what you’ve told them or if they just want you for this new healing thing, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll sort all that out back home.”

She wasn’t wrong. Corvin was manipulative; he could have hinted at the idea that Ryesh would be interested in his new ability to distract from the fact that Esharin wanted him for the same reason. But then, Risky was trying to distract him too.

Ror caught Khatien’s eye and signed as best he could: “Want escape, now is time.”

“Stop that,” Yuri ordered, cracking his forearm against Ror’s to push his hands away. But Ror kept his attention on Khatien, who watched him with a panicked question furrowing his brow.

There wasn’t much Ror could do to help. He exchanged a glance with Seris, trying to communicate without words. She studied his face and ducked her chin slightly, but the hint of confusion in her expression didn’t inspire confidence.

Ahead, the Smoke Team agent turned a corner. Ror signaled to Khatien as discreetly as he could to back up, though he wasn’t sure how much he’d be able to with Yuri at his elbow. But maybe if would be enough if…

Ror rammed his shoulder into Yuri just as he was about to turn the corner, and Khatien pulled back, yanking his arm from Yuri’s slackened grip. Risky cried out and raised her firearm, but Ror transferred his momentum toward her and swung his arms, knocking her hands aside. She didn’t fire, but when Ror straightened there were three weapons trained on him. Four once Risky recovered.

“Let me be clear,” Risky said, her breathing quickened. “We can’t leave you in Esharian control alive, and we’re running out of time to make a clean break. If you fight, I will kill you.”

[karriezai]

wakefire excerpt

“I said stop,” the captain bites out. She pauses for a beat, as if testing whether Ror will push, but he holds his tongue. “Look, I know it’s a shitty situation. But we have to present a united front. You can bring me objections, suggestions, whatever, in private, but I can’t have you pulling shit like this in front of an asset. As soon as we get…”

Behind her, Khatien bolts, and Ror stops listening. He raises a hand, mingled surprise and warning, and the captain’s initial irritation shifts to something closer to panic as she turns to watch Khatien dart around the hovering car. She pulls her weapon from is holster and thrusts the grip toward Ror. “Tranqs,” she says.

The second Ror takes the firearm she’s off, sprinting after Khatien. Ror follows a few paces behind, then veers off at an angle to put a row of dormant cars between them so that if Khatien cuts through, it’ll be right into his path.

It’s really a stupid plan. Khatien’s not even headed toward the exit, though he can’t know that. A wild guess, at least an attempt at escape, must have seemed preferable to standing around waiting for them to decide his fate. Ror’s breath picks up, his feet pounding against the concrete; he tracks Khatien and Captain Mitev through flashes of pillars passing between them, ears trained for the sound of Khatien’s heavy footfalls and labored breathing.

Already she’s gaining on Khatien; Ivory training makes for powerful sprinters.

Khatien’s running takes on an odd gait; he’s half-turned, holding one hand out toward Captain Mitev. The air behind him warps and sparks, and then a broad swath of flame shoots toward her. Part of it forms a wall, blazing from the concrete as hungrily as if it were kerosene-soaked wood.

Such casual, total control of fire. Ror’s awe redoubles as Captain Mitev hardly even slows, sprinting through a faltering point in the wall of flame. Khatien stumbles but doesn’t fall, then cuts sharply left and darts between cars—coming out not a dozen feet ahead of Ror. He seems surprised to see Ror and lurches as if caught between two directions, but manages not to slow too much as he continues left into the next row of cars.

Ror heaves a breath and pushes for as much speed as he can, sprinting between the two nearest cars and ignoring the burn building in his lungs and legs as he raises the captain’s firearm. Once he and Khatien have both cleared the cars, he pulls the trigger.

The dart hits home in Khatien’s upper back. He stumbles from the impact and nearly falls, but staggers forward. Ror keeps after him, but allows his pace to slow enough to catch his breath. It’ll be a couple minutes before it takes full effect, but Khatien won’t be getting anywhere fast. »Got him, he sends to Captain Mitev.

»Keep with him. The neuro-comm isn’t great at delivering exact tones; the anger behind the words could be real or his own projection.

Guilt pumps through Ror’s veins alongside his adrenaline. Would he have done something this brash two months ago? Is this just Mom and Seris getting to him? It’s stupid, whatever it is. Not like Khatien’s in a better position now, stumbling ahead as the tranquilizer slowly works its way through his system.

Finally Khatien leans on a car, breathing slow but heavy. He goes to one knee, then tries to crawl.

He doesn’t get far.

Ror jogs to his side and then kneels, pushing Khatien’s shoulder to roll him into what he imagines is a more comfortable position. If not for the concrete beneath him and the sleek black metal of the car to his side, it might look like he’d simply fallen asleep. His expression is smooth in unconsciousness, bringing a flash of similar moments from surveillance footage. Dissonance jars through Ror. After all that watching, it’s almost like he knows Khatien. Not like a friend, though; it’s closer to rooting for a character in a serial drama.

Or at least it was. It’s all very real and immediate, now.

[karriezai]

wakefire excerpt

This is the opening to chapter 2. I have trouble finding shorter excerpts that I’m satisfied with, but I think this one is pretty good!

Sympathy and guilt twist knots within Ror. Khatien looks fragile, apprehension winding his body language tight, but he could as easily be balancing on the edge of breaking as exploding.

If not for Ror, maybe Captain Mitev could have eased Khatien gently into the news of his mother’s death. Ror darts a peripheral glance her way, but if the captain’s as pissed at him as she probably should be, she doesn’t show it. Her attention’s all for Khatien as she says, “Let’s take this conversation to my office. I’ll answer all of your questions there.” Her voice is soft: gentle, cautious, or both. Ror devotes his focus to interpreting, trying to convey all the nuance of her tone through his gestures and expression.

Khatien shakes his head, his expression hardening. “I’m not going anywhere with you until I see my mother.”

There’s a desperate sort of hope in Khatien’s demand that aches through Ror. It’s a refusal to admit that his mother is dead, despite what he read on Ror’s lips. He has to know that the captain will only confirm the truth of Natanya’s death, but still he’s staring at her like her next words could save his life.

“I’m sorry,” Captain Mitev says. “Your mother died.”

“No.” Again he shakes his head, but now there’s violence in the motion. His face clouds, his hands squeeze into fists, and then he goes stock-still but for the heave of his chest and shoulders. There’s no evidence of his power, but it’s clear he’s working to control his breathing, regulate the burn of energy. Sympathy makes Ror hyper aware of the ache in his wrist, where each movement generates heat in his implant and a fresh pulse of pain in the tender skin stretched over its ridges.

[karriezai]

Here’s a short excerpt from Wakefire! Full text below the cut.

“You broke into one of our detainee’s cells last night,” Risky said. She leaned back in her chair. “Why?”

Khatien shrugged one shoulder. “I wanted to know about the Augs here. I saw two already and I wondered if there were more.”

Ror forced himself to relax before his jaw could clench. Khatien was going to make everything harder, wasn’t he?

Risky leaned forward. “Okay, but what does that matter to you?” Genuine curiosity flavored her voice. “They’re just criminals being processed here before trial and imprisonment. They have nothing to do with you or the mission.” She looked like she believed it. Ror’s throat tightened. He understood Seris’s caution, but it didn’t seem right to leave Risky in the dark about the wrongs going on under her nose.

Anger hardened Khatien’s face, making him look older than he was. “I’m an Aug. I did nothing wrong, yet I’m here. How many of them is that true for, too?”

Risky shook her head, her expression earnest as she responded. “We’re different from Augs. We have active power, a gift—a blessing—from the dragons. And you’re here to bring them back! It’s your birthright! Before we brought you here, did you ever in a million years think that you—not some distant descendant—would be the one bringing dragons back into the world?”

The passion in her voice was volatile. The sinking feeling in Ror’s gut clarified into recognition: Risky didn’t want to be lumped in with Augs, and there was a reason for that. Moreover, Seris was right. This mission was everything to her, bordering on obsession.

“I didn’t imagine that, no,” Khatien signed, his expression carefully neutral. “But I’ve heard about Augs who disappear into the SIA’s belly, and my mother died because of you. And then you basically kidnapped me from school and threatened to fake my death, so I hope you understand why I would want to figure some things out for myself.”

[karriezai]

😨🤯 (fear/anxiety and/or a turning point)

Oh, fun! Thank you for the ask! (Anyone else wanna participate? Find it here!)

I’ve got one that fits both:

Risky’s eyes were only for the dragon statue, and there was a certain reverence to her stance when she stopped before it.

She’d never been here. Ror knew that, logically, but she’d always spoken of the cavern with such familiarity that he hadn’t expected her awe when she finally set foot here. She fairly glowed with anticipation.

By contrast, the wonder on Khatien’s face had been replaced by wariness. He shot a glance at Ror and then, without lifting his hands, gave the barest sign: “Distraction?”

Shit, okay. Risky was already plucking the chain around her neck, drawing the necklace from under her shirt. “Risky,” he started, but he didn’t know how to finish.

She turned to glance at him, frustration clear on her face at the interruption. The necklace dangled loose against her chest. “What’s wrong?”

Maybe Khatien could help. But he didn’t say it. If she was likely to agree, sure, but she wasn’t, and that would only draw her attention to him. And then it clicked. “Should we record this or anything?”

A grin cracked through her frustration. “It’s a good thought, but—”

Khatien lunged for the necklace. He got a hand around it, and Risky’s instincts must have kicked in because she twisted his arm and used the leverage to force him to bend over. At the scuff of sidearms leaving holsters behind him, Ror pulled his own, leveling it somewhere between Risky and Khatien.

»Let it go. Risky sent it as text over the neuro-comm.

Ror’s stomach clenched. Khatien wasn’t getting out of that hold on his own. Maybe if someone else held him, but Ror doubted he could generate enough power in that position to hurt Risky.

It wouldn’t long before Risky forcibly took it from Khatien. After a second’s hesitation, Ror holstered his weapon and stepped forward, placing a gentle hand under Khatien’s fist. The chain shifted across his fingers.

»Let it go, he echoed, sending it as text so that everyone would understand.

Khatien’s fingers twitched, and then gradually relaxed, easing the necklace into Ror’s grasp.

Ror took a breath. There’d be no going back from this. Risky was speaking, some form of thanks, but Ror turned and hurled the necklace at the wall before he could change his mind.

[karriezai]

Counterparts Trilogy

I have a page for this trilogy built into my blog theme, but it occurred to me that I should probably have it as a blog post as well, so here we are! Here’s a little bit about the world and primary cast of my Counterparts Trilogy. The first book, Wakefire, is complete but in alpha reading phase, and I’ve begun writing book two. :)

On the continent of Deos, people could once do magic, just as the people on other continents still can. Some myths say that the gods were disappointed in their people and so took their magic away; others say the gods fought and destroyed each other, taking their magic with them. Regardless, magic remains in nature, so there is still hope.

Both of the countries on Deos have a history of trying to skirt the gods’ judgment and regain their power, but only in the southern country of Ryesh does the government still actively run programs experimenting with ways of imbuing its people with magic. Their most successful project created the Ivory, the top field agents in their Security and Intelligence Agency; by implanting the bones of the extinct dragons under the agents’ skin, they are granted powers of energy manipulation.

But supplies of the bone of a long-extinct magical creature dwindle over time, and the government despaired at the thought of losing their elite Ivory – until the Vaistraka were discovered. A bloodline of people with an inherited magic granted to their ancestors by the dragons themselves, and with a myth passed word-of-mouth through the generations: there remains a clutch of dragon eggs in hibernation, waiting for the Vaistraka to bring them back when it is safe for them to take flight again.

Ror is a young government agent whose promotion to the elite inner circle of the Security and Intelligence Agency coincides with the need for his knowledge of sign language. The government needs Khatien, a young Deaf man directly descended from the very first Vaistraka, to bring the dragons back into the world, and now Ror is Khatien’s handler and interpreter.

Ror and his team leader, Risky, bring Khatien into the SIA and tell him that his mother died trying to bring the dragons back, and now they need Khatien to take her place. The worst day of Khatien’s life so far is also the first step toward Ror realizing what fucked up lengths the SIA will go to in order to achieve their goals.

primary cast

rorik “ror” fierti, 21; playby: buakaw banchamek

Ror is the middle sibling in his family, and at 9 years younger than his brother he has always felt a little stuck in Feodor’s shadow. Their father, after all, is Chief General of the Ryeshi military, and Feodor is on track to follow in his footsteps. Ror decided to forge his own path by rekindling the family tradition of serving in the Ivory, which were once the elite guards of the biumvirate but are now the top field agents in the Security and Intelligence Agency. He achieved this goal, becoming the second youngest field agent to earn his Ivory in the agency’s history (after Nariska Pitral).

Still, he’s considered very green and was only placed on his current, high priority mission because of his knowledge of sign language, which he learned as a child before his younger sister’s hearing was constructed overseas. He feels great pressure to prove himself on this mission, and he’s worried that others think he’s been thrown in beyond his depth.

As he gets to know Khatien, the Deaf young man he’s tasked with translating for during the mission, he can’t help but begin questioning “truths” he’s taken for granted in his role as an Ivory agent.

khatien ysilt vaistraka, 17; playby: ronald epps with jaden smith’s frame

Khatien was born profoundly deaf, like his father, and Vaistraka, like his mother and younger brother. As a Deaf young man of Josulid ancestry, he faced challenging obstacles just growing up, but with a supportive family and good school opportunities, he has never felt that the obstacles were insurmountable. Even keeping his Vaistraka heritage secret has not felt like a terribly heavy burden.

Being Vaistraka means that he has a family magic gifted to his ancestors by the dragons, a species of magical creatures who were hunted to extinction at first because of their ability to amplify magic, and eventually because it was discovered that their remains could be used to grant energy generation powers to humans. As Vaistraka, Khatien has similar powers — weaker than those the dragons displayed themselves, but stronger than those granted to humans through dragon remains.

Additionally, Khatien is a direct descendant of Liam Vaistraka, and so a part of the bloodline entrusted with a vial of dragon blood and the task to one day wake a hidden clutch of dragon eggs. As the eldest sibling, Khatien knew he would one day inherit the vial of blood from his mother, but he expected it to be when he was an adult starting a family of his own… not when his mother was called away unexpectedly for a suspicious “business trip.”

After several days away, his mother stopped messaging. Then strangers picked Khatien up from school claiming to have news about her. At the SIA headquarters, Khatien learns that his mother died on a mission to awaken the dragon eggs, and now the government expects Khatien to take her place.

nariska “risky” pitral, 24; playby: chanel iman

Nariska was the youngest SIA agent to ever receive the bone implants and become Ivory. Though young, she is a trusted agent and tasked with command of the mission to reawaken the lost dragons. She has very personal stake in making sure the dragon eggs are recovered and revived. The fact that she was raised by the director of the SIA from the time she was ten years old plays no small part in her central role in the agency, but Khatien will come to learn that there’s more to it than even that.

[karriezai]

🌵 🌿 🍁 for the planty ask game pls!! / ~livvywrites

Thanks! <3 (If anyone else wants to play, the full list is here) 

🌵 My prickliest/softest characters:

Prickliest is probably Khatien, but that’s largely situational. For much of the book he’s surrounded by people who are using him, who he can’t trust. But as Ror begins to gain his trust, we get to see his softer side.

Softest is probably Ilia, Ror’s sister (although Ror’s on the soft side himself). Ilia joined the military to follow her family path, but in a medical field so she could help people. She cares deeply and wants to believe the best of people, sometimes to the point of foolhardiness.

🌿 Which oc can handle the most spice? Which prefers the blandest foods?

Ror likes spice the most, although Yuri is stubborn enough to out-spice him if there were stakes. Ror’s diet is somewhat modeled off my husband in that he loves spicy stuff, but still somehow manages to be very picky about food. 

Blandest foods I hadn’t considered. Culturally there’s a lot of spicy food where my characters live. Maybe Emry, Khatien’s younger brother? I might have to explore it in the next book...

🍁 Who is the most polite of your ocs? The rudest?

Ror is the most polite (or tries to be), but he’s also a pretty big dumbass and can be rude unintentionally through ignorance. Once he understands, though, he’s quick to course-correct and put in an effort to be polite and respectful.

Yuri is easily the rudest. He’s an asshole. I love him but hate him - he’s fun, but he’s one of the most manipulative characters in the whole story.

[karriezai]

Wakefire Excerpt

This scene is from chapter 6. Khatien is at the Security and Intelligence Agency, where he recently learned that his mother died on the failed first attempt at the same mission the SIA agents are forcing him to do now.

He took a breath and then a hesitant step toward the door to the exam room. It opened at his approach, and closed behind him once he was inside.

Emry was tucked under Pop’s arm, face buried against his chest. Pop’s eyes were red-rimmed and glossy when he met Khatien’s gaze. He lifted his free arm to gesture Khatien close. Rather than take the time to pull another chair around the metal table at the center of the room, Khatien knelt on the floor next to Pop and fit himself under his arm. Pop squeezed him close. The swell and relax of his chest as he breathed was choppy. Emry’s hand clasped just below Khatien’s elbow and squeezed almost too tight.

Pain and loss swelled from the hollow pit in Khatien’s chest. The ache was too much to be contained. It slammed against his ribs and fractured into broken, shaking breaths. Pop and Emry’s embrace held him together when the violence of his fear and grief threatened to rip him apart.

It was long minutes before his breathing calmed.

After some time, Pop rubbed a circle on Khatien’s back, then tugged a bit on his shoulder. Khatien leaned away, then climbed to his feet to ease the discomfort of his knees against the hard floor. On Pop’s other side, Emry straightened in his chair, his eyes puffy and his cheeks glossy-wet.

“They said they already told you,” Pop signed.

Khatien recognized it for what it was: just a place to start. “They took me out of school,” he signed. “They wanted to pretend Ma came home early and stopped to get me, and we both died in some accident.” Each sign stabbed the air.

“What the fuck?” Emry demanded.

Pop’s expression mirrored Emry’s. “They said they need you to continue your mother’s work,” he signed, skepticism written in bold strokes across his face. “What have you learned?”

The events of the last few hours collided in Khatien’s head. The vial around his neck was proof enough that Ma wasn’t cooperating, but Pop and Emry didn’t know he had it, and the agents couldn’t know. The agents who were watching them right now. Risky had told him what he was allowed to say: “They wanted Ma to find the nest and bring back the dragons. They want me to do it now that she’s”—his hands stuttered—“gone.”

Pop shook his head, slowly at first and then with more vehemence. ���You’re not going anywhere. You just lost your mother. You belong with us.”

Khatien’s stomach tightened. “It doesn’t seem like I have a choice,” he signed.

“Of course you have a choice.” Pop glared at their reflections across the room. Panic swelled through Khatien—Pop had to know they were being watched, but he was being openly defiant. Khatien grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.

Pop looked over, met Khatien’s wide-eyed stare, and then much of the anger leaked from his expression. Desperation crept in instead. 

“They can’t make you do anything you don’t want to. We’ll figure it out,” Emry insisted, grabbing onto Pop’s rash claim for all he was worth. 

“Pop,” Khatien signed.

“I know.”

“I do need to continue Ma’s work.” Because she’d been up to something. Why else would she secretly leave her necklace with Khatien? “And I need you both safe at home when I get back. No one can know about this.”

Pop shook his head again. “There are consequences if you refuse to do what they want,” he signed. “Of course there are. But your mother died in their control. Did you ask about what happened? They told me they couldn’t bring her body back. We can’t commit her to the earth.”

The hollow place in Khatien’s chest stretched into a chasm. He hadn’t even thought to ask. “They said—” He hesitated, glancing at the mirror. But the cavern was in Esharin; Pop and Emry both knew that, and they knew Gristraka were a risk up there. Surely he could say this much. “They said Gristraka killed her.”

“I’d rather you alive in custody than dead off on some mission for that lunatic biumvir.”

Khatien’s spine went rigid. Surely Pop knew they understood him. Rorik must have interpreted when he and Risky were in here. “Pop,” he signed, urgent.

Pop met his stare for a moment, then closed his eyes for a beat. “I’m sorry.”

Khatien didn’t need an apology. The agents in the other room might, though.

After a long breath, Pop opened his eyes. He put one arm around Emry’s shoulders and signed with the other. “You shouldn’t have to do this,” he signed. “You’re not eighteen yet, and even if you were, this is too much to ask of anyone.”

Khatien could tell he wasn’t finished. He glanced to Emry and saw that he understood the trajectory of Pop’s words, too. He shook his head slightly, his eyes begging Khatien to stay without words. Emry’s cornrows were getting too loose. Who would do his hair now that Ma was gone?

“You’re almost an adult. Waking the dragons is your legacy, and I know you understand the consequences of whatever choice you decide to make—maybe better than I do. It’s your decision to make.” Pop held his stare for a long moment. “But we need you to come home safe. Whatever you need to do to make that happen, you do it.”

Khatien nodded. That was the plan.

[karriezai]

💋

Wow, I don’t actually have a kiss in this WIP. It’s, uh, super slow burn on the romance front, haha. So I’ll go with the most intimate moment I can think of between my eventual couple. (At least, of those I’ve revised so far.)

Thanks for the ask!

Ror’s wound knit itself shut. His chest shuddered and swelled with a deep inhale, and then his blank face contorted into a grimace and he opened his eyes. That confused, blinking gaze met Khatien’s stare and held for a breath.

Relief washed the panic from Khatien’s bones. 

Ror eased up onto one elbow and glanced around at everyone quickly, and then at the spinner’s corpse with a lingering, disgusted stare. When he glanced around again, he waved an impatient, “Wait, wait a minute,” with one hand. His mouth moved with the words, too; they weren’t for Khatien, but his attention was. He eased up until he was sitting, his eyes studying Khatien’s face.

Khatien blinked moisture from his eyes he hadn’t realized was there before. Ancestors, tearing up in panic? He must look a mess. Heat welled in his chest. He distracted himself by recorking the vial and tucking it into his shirt again. When he looked up, Ror was still watching him.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t her,” Ror signed.

Something broke within Khatien’s heart. He’d forgotten, in his panic, the heady joy of seeing Ma. He reached out for Ror’s wrist and squeezed. The flood of emotions threatened to drown him: fresh grief, sorrow, relief, gratitude, more he couldn’t identify. It was too much to sort through, much less put into words.

But Ror twisted his arm to clasp Khatien’s wrist in turn, and that was enough for now.

[karriezai]

💥

!! Yay! I went with a slightly longer excerpt for context. It’s early in the book, when we first meet Khatien.

💥  a fight or explosion:

A lone magcar waited on the gridloop in front of the building, but Ma didn’t get out. It had to be her, though. No one else was here. As he drew near, someone opened the door for him.

It wasn’t Ma.

A man waited, half in the magcar and half out, in a police uniform Khatien had seen only in serials: gold with fiery red and black Lower Stavic standards embroidered along the collar and around the cuffs and elbows. He gestured for Khatien to join him and his female counterpart in the magcar.

Anxiety bordering on fear bloomed within Khatien, the weight of it holding him in place. He’d stopped an arm’s distance from the magcar, but still the man gestured for him to come closer. There was clearly some mistake. Khatien debated whether a round of charades or pulling out his comm to type out text would be the faster way to tell them when the woman spoke, the man leaning forward to sign an interpretation: “We’re here for you, Khatien. Please get in.”

Khatien’s nerves pulled so tight he could barely breathe. The man had used his name sign. How could he know that? It wasn’t a mistake, then. Fear roiled through his stomach and broke through his shock. “Where’s my mother?”

The cops exchanged a glance, and the woman spoke. The man didn’t look completely comfortable interpreting, but he got the job done. “We have her in custody. We need to take you to her.”

Khatien hesitated for an instant, thoughts flashing to warnings from Ma and Pop about how cops had been falsely arresting Augs for years now. He, Ma, and Emry were so careful to hide their power, though. This probably had to do with Ma’s business trip, or—his heart dropped—maybe something had happened to her since she got back?

Still, he balked at the idea of getting in the magcar.

“I need to message my father,” he said with one hand, pulling his comm from his pocket with the other.

“Other officers picked him up from work already,” the woman said. “Get in and we’ll take you to him.”

Khatien glanced down at his comm. An indicator in the bottom corner showed that he had no d-net connectivity, and the feeling of wrongness shocked his senses into hyperactivity. He stepped away from the magcar. Every lesson Ma and Pop ever drilled into him about interacting with cops crowded through his head, unintelligible images crashing into one another. “No. I want to talk to my parents.”

The woman spoke. The man hesitated, then leapt out of the car toward Khatien.

He tried to back away, to raise his arms to ward the attack off, but he was too slow. The man clamped Khatien’s arms to his sides in a powerful grip, the skin of his cheek cool against Khatien’s neck, and then yanked until they were both falling against the magcar. It tilted sharply under their weight, and then the edge bucked up against Khatien’s thigh as the magnetics fought to bring the car level again. He kicked and twisted, but panic, movement, and adrenaline brought his power racing hot beneath his skin, and he froze.

He could push the power out and burn the cop practically to a crisp, but at the cost of revealing his abilities. Which only mattered if they caught him—but if he got away, what next? They had Ma. They had Pop.

In his indecision, the man twisted and yanked him fully into the magcar. The man’s weight rolling over Khatien sent a sharp pain sparking through his chest, and then he was on his other side, tangled up with his abductor in the darkened interior of the magcar. The grip around his arms and back loosened, and then the man deposited Khatien on his side with a gentle roll, extricated his arm, and climbed into one of the seats against the front side of the vehicle.

Khatien stayed on the floor of the magcar for a moment, struggling to calm his breathing. Struggling to want to calm his breathing. Should he fight? The woman must have shut the door, because he was trapped inside with these assholes now. No witnesses if he decided to deep fry them.

Movement in his peripheral vision sent him scrabbling to his knees, and the energy building within him welled too hot to contain. Heat haze leaked from his skin, warping the air around him.

Fuck it. He’d shown his power—might as well fight now. He raised his hands, channeling the hot energy into his forearms, and looked between the two cops. They had sidearms, the man was pressing himself into his seat with his hand on the grip of the weapon at his waist—Khatien had to act fast—

But the woman whipped one arm through the air and leveled her hand at Khatien, fingers speared mere inches from his chest. Heat haze bent the air around her skin and sparks of flame flickered at her fingertips.

What the fuck?

She was saying something. Khatien was ass at reading lips, but the threat in her posture was clear. Blasting them with fire suddenly seemed like an idiotic plan, so he lowered his hands, loosing his power toward the floor. Though he’d eased back from the blast of power he’d been building toward, the acrid scent of burning fiber assaulted his nose.

“You’re—” But he hesitated on the sign for Vaistraka. It seemed obvious, but Vaistraka and cop didn’t belong in the same thought. Ancestors forbid.

And then it clicked. Khatien reached for her wrist; she started to pull her arm away, but paused, allowing him to push back her sleeve. The ridges under the skin of her wrist sent revulsion sparking through Khatien, and he yanked his hands back, fisting them against his thighs. He dug his knuckles into the muscle, tendons stretched taut, until he felt controlled enough to sign. “You’re Ivory.”

[karriezai]

🧐 and 🤣 for your ask game!!! - magic-is-something-we-create

Yay, thank you! :D I’m gonna put a cut in the middle of the first one so I’m not killing anyone’s dashboard haha

🧐 Discovery (or an attempt at it):

Khatien set the d-lay on the bed beside him and shook his arms out, ignoring the throb of his bruised knuckles and letting his power build beneath his skin. A hint of heat haze bloomed, blurring his arms and hands into vague silhouettes. His cousin Adrea had shown him once how she used her power to short out door controls and sneak into locked places, but Khatien could never imitate it. Heat and fire were natural outlets for his power, but Adrea could translate hers into something closer to electricity. She compared it to the static shocks that were common in winter, but he couldn’t wrap his head around how to generate that sort of energy himself.

Khatien stood and approached the control display. If there was ever a time to figure it out, it was now. He focused on the power buzzing in his limbs, visualizing the staticky feeling of pulling off a wool sweater on a winter day.

Then he pushed a palm toward the display, forcing his power out against the glass.

The screen blinked black, flashed a temperature error, and then flickered on again. A flow of cool air picked up in the room, raising gooseflesh on the back of Khatien’s neck.

The door didn’t open, but the cooling system did work overdrive for the next twenty minutes. Khatien retreated to the bed, shivering under the blanket in an icebox of his own making, half-hysterical over the image of Rorik or Risky finding him frozen in bed the next morning.

Eventually the system normalized and the air cut off. Khatien remained curled and shivering under the blanket until sleep finally crept in.

🤣 Humor (admittedly not my strong suit):

Leaves slid under Ror’s foot and he stutter-stepped to avoid dropping to one knee, which only led him onto slippier footing. Distracted as he was, he reached out for the nearest handhold to keep from tumbling backward, but he found only a rotting log. Bark tore away and the weight of his rucksack pulled him back.

He didn’t fall far. Khatien stopped him with a grunt, then pushed him upright. 

He steadied himself, brushed his hands off on his pants, and signed, “Thanks.”

“Didn’t want you to take me down with you.” A smile teased at the corners of Khatien’s mouth.

“You could’ve just gotten out of the way. Picture me like an overturned turtle.” Ror turned his palm up and wiggled his fingers.

Khatien let out a bark of laughter.

“Stop goofing off back there,” Risky called, her tone light.

Ror pulled his grin from Khatien, returning his attention to the slope rising ahead of them. Risky and Seris were disappearing over the top, Yuri already well out of view. Leaning his weight forward and occasionally grabbing onto a trunk or sturdy branch for support, Ror pushed his way up the hill, ears keen for the sounds of Khatien’s progress behind him.

He stopped to wait at the top of the incline. Khatien forged his way upward on hands and knees as he got closer to the top, where it was steeper. Once he made it to something close to level ground, using a small tree’s trunk to haul himself up, he paused to brush his gloved hands against his pants and then signed, “At least you didn’t fall from up here. You would’ve rolled down like a boulder.”

Ror chuckled. “Doesn’t sound fun.”

“It’s not. I’ve been there—well, not with a pack this big.”

Ror raised an eyebrow. “Let’s catch up,” he signed, gesturing toward Risky through the trees a few yards away, “but you should definitely tell me all of your most embarrassing camping moments.”

With a dry look, Khatien gestured him forward. Ror nearly jogged for a few paces to catch up to the others, Khatien’s footsteps thudding along behind his own. 

Once they were a reasonable distance behind the others and he’d caught his breath, Ror shot Khatien an expectant ping over the neuro-comm.

Khatien shook his head and relayed the story of being startled by a bunch of quail taking flight and tumbling down a similar slope on a camping trip with his family. Interpreting the impressions that came through the neuro-comm was an interesting experience; they amplified his own mental imagery, creating a picture nearly vivid enough to be mistaken for a memory of his own.

The slow exchange of stories, interrupted occasionally by pointing out nearby animal activity or focusing on working their way up harsher terrain, carried them to lunch. They transitioned from the neuro-comm conversation to signing like normal, and then Seris joined in with her own story about Ror accidentally walking in on her after a shower when she’d been dating Feo. Having to interpret that for her was a particular embarrassment that made his cheeks burn, but it was all in good humor.

“You’re exaggerating,” Risky accused Seris. “Did he really run into the door?”

Seris’ laughter was a bubbly, infectious thing, especially when she got carried away and let out a small snort. She couldn’t seem to fight any words out, so she just nodded.

“I was just trying to get the hell out of there,” Ror said, putting more defensiveness in his voice than he really felt. It had been humiliating when it happened, but time helped dull the embarrassment.

[karriezai]

Wakefire Excerpt

“Your vehicle has lost connection to the police network,” a voice intoned through the car’s auditory system. “If this was in error, don’t panic; we’ll resolve the issue shortly. We may have to stop the car. Don’t be alarmed.”

Ror flipped to the administrator side of the control display again and opened the command file. “They’re hacking back into the system,” he said, glancing up at Risky with a flare of panic in his stomach. “Maybe a minute or less until they get in. Do I try to stop them?”

Risky hissed air through her teeth. “Do it. And scrub our creds from the system. We’ll have to switch to backups, but we don’t want the originals flagged if we can avoid it.”

Yuri sprang into motion, his hand going to Seris’s shoulder to guide her out of her seat. As Ror began keying in the commands to block the police from regaining access to the system, Yuri folded Seris’s seat down to access the manual steering controls. In spare seconds between rerouting the cops’ attempts to access core files and obscuring those files in layers of dummy folders, Ror keyed the commands to delete identifying information and photos from their user files on the system.

»What’s happening? The neuro-comm message flashed across Ror’s thoughts like text across a d-lay screen. Khatien.

»I’m trying to keep the police out of our system. Gotta concentrate, sorry, Ror sent back. Splitting his attention cost him precious seconds; he deleted a mistake in his commands, re-keyed it, and just managed to keep ahead of the cops’ hacker.

“What went wrong?” Risky asked. “Did you foul some code taking the car off the network?”

Ror shook his head, still speeding through commands while he tried to formulate an answer in a spare corner of his mind. “I don’t think so. Can’t exactly check right now.”

“Cut us loose from the traffic network, will you?” Yuri asked. Ror spared enough of a glance to see that he’d more or less gotten the manual controls up and running.

That was perfect considering the traffic network connection was what the cops were trying to use to hack their way into the car’s system. Ror shut it off with a simple line of code. “All yours,” he said. 

But that only created a few seconds of relative peace. The local police must have an ace coder on the case, because they quickly redirected, using the car’s connection to the d-net to hack in and start rerouting control pathways. “When you have a second, maybe give Risky control? I could use your help manually disconnecting,” Ror said, his fingers flying over the display. He couldn’t turn off the d-net connection through the system, although he could stall by cutting off d-net nodes one at a time. He also had to prep the system for disconnect; it wouldn’t do if the failsafe engaged and steered them to a halt the moment Yuri cut the connection.

“You got it,” Yuri answered. He shifted aside as he drove, allowing Risky to scoot in beside him.

“What do we do next?” Seris asked. She moved from peering through the right side window to looking out the back. “I don’t see the squad car yet, but they’re bound to get a roadblock up ahead of us.”

Risky swore under her breath and took over the controls from Yuri, shouldering him toward Ror. “Get us disconnected,” she ordered. “Seris, help me look for an out. Somewhere we’ll be able to find cover once we stop.”

Yuri knelt on the ground in front of the console that housed Ror’s control display and popped off the front panel. Ror kept watch on him in his peripheral vision, keeping the bulk of his attention focused on his task. 

“There’s nothing,” Seris said. “They’ve got the off ramps blocked, and we’re too high up to risk driving off the gridway.”

“What if I drove off into one of the shorter trees?” Risky asked. “The branches might catch the car or at least slow us on the way down.”

“Too risky,” Seris repeated. “And what are the chances of a gap lining up with a tree the right height?”

Ror couldn’t spare a glance to see what she meant, but the string of curses Risky issued didn’t inspire confidence. 

Yuri scooted down onto one shoulder, his legs cramped in a near fetal position against the door and the base of Ror’s seat, and reached into the console innards. After a moment there was a pop, the control display threw up an alert that network connectivity had been lost, and Yuri sat up and raised a small piece of plastic and wires with a satisfied look on his face.

“Are we okay?” Khatien signed urgently when Ror took a second to look his way.

“Not sure yet,” Ror admitted. “We disconnected from the d-net, but we still have to find an out.” He turned to join Seris at the window and saw what she’d meant earlier: the other cars on their side of the gridway had all stopped along the edge, many of them lined up nearly nose to tail, and they didn’t leave gaps for the off ramps they passed every mile or so. In a lot of the cars Ror caught flashes of civilians peering out the windows, tracking their car as they passed.

Khatien touched his elbow, drawing his attention. “They’re chasing us?”

Ror nodded. “And they’re probably getting a roadblock together ahead to stop us.”

“Ideas?” Risky called, a thread of desperation wound under her forced calm tone. Ror picked up interpreting for Khatien again with a twinge of guilt for leaving him in the dark before.

Yuri moved from the back window to the side opposite Seris and Ror. “The squad car’s behind us, but not gaining fast.” He tapped his fingers against his thigh, then turned toward Risky with the same look in his eyes he got when they sparred with their powers. “You’re not gonna like this.”

Risky shot a glance his way before returning her attention to the gridway. “Let’s hear it.”

Yuri gestured to the rest of them. “Clip yourselves into the harnesses. This could get rough.” Then, as he worked on flipping the seat folded behind Risky into manual driving configuration, “Let the squad car catch up a little. We’ll need him close enough that it’s hard for him to react quickly.”

She nodded and shifted her weight according to light taps from Yuri as he got her seat set up, guided her into it, and hooked her harness over her chest and hips. Once she was settled, Yuri chose a seat and buckled in as well. “They didn’t stop oncoming traffic, and the ramps on the other side of the gridway aren’t blocked,” he said. “If you time it well…”

Risky glanced over her shoulder at him, wide-eyed, but then her eyes narrowed and she focused on the controls. “Fuck you, you crazy asshole,” she growled with an undertone of appreciation in her voice.

“Try not to kill us all,” Yuri said cheerfully.

Risky breathed a chorus of shit shit shit under her breath, then commanded, “Brace yourselves!” and the car jerked to the side and arced across oncoming traffic, turned until they were going almost completely the opposite direction—

And then they were flying down an off ramp, the car tilted dangerously to one side as they veered over the edge. Ror held his breath and leaned the opposite way, as if that would help, but they were all doing it—tendons standing out in tensed hands and arms pressed against the chair sides.

Risky managed to coax the car fully over the metal of the ramp again and their world leveled out. Ror’s breath left him in a rush and he sucked another in; it took a bit for his breathing to level out too.

Yuri unbuckled and turned to plant one knee in his seat and peer out the back window. “No squad car,” he said after scanning for a couple seconds.

A collective sigh of relief filled the car, but the moment of peace evaporated quickly. “We’ve bought maybe a few seconds,” Risky said. “We need to get out of sight and ditch this car somewhere we stand a chance at getting away on foot.”

(Image from this article)