4.2.25 - The 9 Eyed King and His Blind Fate pt 2

Parable 2 – The Nest and the Thorn

A loud noise woke the slumbering aydham. Pel stirred in a borrowed roving tent, blinking against the dry heat and trying to piece together where he was. The tent was larger than his own, but carried the familiar scent of home—leathered air, grit, and the tang of used kitchenware made from gruhana bone and shell.

The dox-fur bed beneath him was soft, too soft. The heat organ crackled in the corner, pumping blue-flamed breath from oak-fed bellows. Father always said that fire came from an adult gruhana’s last breath. The thought comforted him. Familiar.

Pel stretched, rolled his strong foot, and looked around for his shell. It rested by his knapsack near the support beam that tethered the tent to the trees. A pearl blinked in its eye.

He pressed the membrane. The message streamed across his vision:

Hey, you passed out again. Do you know why?

Because you don’t listen to your body. Stop looking for shortcuts and learn.

ALSO — your tent’s not set up since you decided to go "train" — so get out of my tent once you're awake.

Once you’re set up, you need to prep for your ascension. Read de parables. Learn de stuff everyone knows. No one’s gonna fail you for not having an innate hymn.

I’ll be wid Rocco if you need help.

Pel closed the shell and exhaled slowly.

I don’t even want to do the ascension, he thought, slouching into the furs. There’s nothing wrong with being a herder. I’m already doing the work.

He rose, wandering to the translucent crystal window. The gem refracted the outside into soft light—sun-shimmer against sapphire leaves, slow flurries from above. Under the window sat a box. Something about it hummed.

Curious, Pel opened it. Inside sat a small white egg. At its center, a triangle spun, shimmering in hues of emerald, sapphire, topaz, and ruby.

Ascension gift, he guessed. Looks like a rounded oak heart.

He pulled on a nearby cloak, tightened the clasp, slid on his single shoe, and stepped outside.

Camp life roared. Aydhams and humans bustled over hardened leaf-plains, preparing feeders and rune-woven fences. Gorathas lowed in the background. Snow slid off the domed tents in soft drifts.

They’re already grazing? How long was I out?

He spotted his unbuilt tent nearby—recognizable by the emerald shimmer he had added using greenroot extract. Crates of beams and fasteners waited beside it. He tapped the top of his shell, prompting a pearl to project a route map over his right eye.

Their migration had stopped early. They hadn’t reached the normal grazing fields yet.

Strange.

Pel scanned for his father. No sign. No Rocco. No Absol.

He wandered toward his father’s tent but was intercepted by Theondra, a goratha handler.

“Pel, you’re up! Blessed be to Zsabraxas. I was about to check on you,” she smiled. “Your father left the camp. Found a gruhana nest we need to clear. It’s an unscheduled stop, but we’ve got enough sunlight to make it work. He told me to tell you—set your tent up. And… that you’re not going.”

Pel blinked.

A nest. A real one. And he wasn’t allowed to go.

“Ah, of course,” Pel said in his most composed tone. “I’ll get started. Was just on my way, actually. Probably eat something too. I’m… pretty wiped.”

Theondra smiled kindly. “Glad you’re alright. I’ve got fences to finish, but if you need help later, I’ll be by the east entrance.”

She hugged him briefly, then jogged off toward the builders.

Pel watched her go. She’s kind.

But his mind wasn’t on kindness.

A nest means a heart. A heart means shalts.

He turned back toward her. “Did they leave already? Do you know where they are?”

“They’re prepping Rocco now,” Theondra called back. “Should be at the base of the high field entrance, couple sics south. Look for Absol.”

Pel nodded, then ducked back into his father’s tent. He grabbed his knapsack from the table beam and, on instinct, took the egg from the box. Too valuable to leave behind.

Heading south, the camp thinned. Fewer tents. Fewer eyes.

Eventually, Pel found himself crouched in a patch of wild bapples. Ahead stood Absol—his father’s second. The unmistakable glint of his Nadiian arm caught the sun as he gestured with his shield. Around him, healers channeled hymns into sapphire-oak weapons, binding power to gem and wood.

They look busy. Maybe I can sneak past... but they’ll see me jump.

Pel chewed on a bapple, considering. Then—a stroke of luck. A goratha pulled a wagon from the direction he had come. Pel crouched, waited for the wagon to pass, and leapt into the back.

He landed atop a lumpy pile of guanco armor—and to his surprise, someone was already there beneath it.