A clarion blared unremittingly. Its shrill cry rang through the ears of the village and had the horses whinnying.
Bazil and Salīa had just saddled their own when they saw some of the yellow-scorpion soldiers from the day before quailing about.
Calvo, the young blonde, trembled as he latched his red-scorpion sigil onto his armor and firmly ordered the others to get in formation.
The youngest soldier was about to walk off when Auro appeared, pulling him back and towards Calvo.
"Don't forget, young friend, we always travel in pairs at the very least. Now be good and go."
Salīa stepped towards Auro curiously, yet this affable man's face was now sharpened and drained of all expression. She decided to still reach out, but by then it was too late.
He cut through the air with his horse, and his soldiers raced with him, leaving this place just as quickly as they arrived.
It was only then that the horrid sound ceased.
"I wish I could've asked him what happened."
"He wouldn't have told you," Bazil said plainly. "No matter how civil he may seem, he's still a soldier."
"I know. I just wonder what mission made them rush off so seriously."
"Who knows? Palosan soldiers are everywhere, in many lands, all the time. For reasons we may never know."
That's all he was willing to say, but Salīa understood his intent. With that, he nodded for them to leave.
She looked back and had just noticed that at the top of the inn was a huge brass carving of a spotted civet.
And given the shy, solitary nature of these villagers, she could only assume that many of them shared that as their ancestral animal.
There was no palace in which this crest was erected, nor soldiers who carried it as their sigil. But they still took pride in hanging up this symbol in the tallest structure of their land.
"Farewell," Salīa greeted this village of no name.
They traveled the next few days in the mountains and forests, living off whatever provisions they gathered.
This was perfect for Salīa, who had been eager to train again ever since seeing those soldiers set off.
As brave and strong as these men appeared, there was a hint of dread in their eyes for whatever they were about to face.
Since she sensed innately that there was no chance she'd beat even the weakest of them, it only made sense to her that she'd work to be better than even the strongest of them.
She found herself jumping upwards from tree to tree, then doing the same downwards. She kicked and punched against the meshy part of the softer trees.
Her body would shake out in dance as she sang. Then she'd battle with Bazil. They'd paused after many rounds, then raced through the waters.
She'd do this each day.
One thing she had learnt from staring at the zazi in the shadows is that each moment was an invitation to become more of yourself and better than before.
Yet no matter how long she kept with Bazil, or more accurately, how many times he let her, he'd always win.
She'd come close to winning many times, yet he'd always end it, no matter how gently. That spurned her even more to persist.
"Where did this sudden fervor for life arrive from?" Bazil asked, unable to hide his grin.
Salīa continued to crunch up and down with her legs tightly hooked into a tree branch.
"I'm tired of being self-pitying. It's exhausting. Every time I lift myself up," she lifted. "I'm no real length away from knocking myself down again. It's a silly game of which I can't ever tell if I'm hiding from or seeking myself."
"I see," he said, and slumped against a tree, lining his back for meditation.
She dropped down and plopped herself beside him to do the same.
Admittedly, she hadn't meditated since her time in the Faraway Forests. And even then, it was mostly Magi Rai who was able to keep her in line to do so.
Since Salazā was a spiritual land, meditation and prayer were common practices. And zazi, being the land's mighty backbone, used this practice daily.
Keeping that in mind, Salīa became suddenly determined to do the same.
Yet she was easily distracted by the whistling of birds in the distance, some creatures scurrying in the trees, and the itch that formed on her nose.
In resignation, she sighed and laid back.
"Quitting already? That doesn't sound like something the all-mighty formidable Protector would do."
"Pipe down, unless you want to see just how formidable I can be."
"Ah, I surrender, strongest guardian in the world. While your strength is like the roar of a wildcat, mine is nothing but a purr of a homebound kitten compared. Please, spare me."
She rolled her eyes and nudged him playfully.
"Fine, I will, but only this time," she joked, puffing out her chest.
He chuckled, nudging her right back.
"You know, Līa, all the incarnations of the Protector meditated often. I'm not as astute with the ways of cultivation, and even less so with mastering many spiritual powers, but I'm sure it'll only do you good to adopt the same path."
"I know," Salīa admitted. "I've been feeling the calling to, more often. Truthfully, I've been avoiding being left to my own thoughts. It's easier to laugh that way. Thinking about all that's happened is…"
"It may be heavy, but you are just as strong. And remember, it's not a burden you have to bear alone. We're all your people, and all your people are strong too."
Salīa felt the warmth of his spirit. Her hand traveled to the links on her neck, while the other hand tapped on Salazā's book.
The pages flew open to the middle, right where it was empty.
Suddenly, writing scribbled on it. Both their jaws went slack as page by page turned. Just as she was about to read it, the ink sank in and disappeared.
She had just managed to capture a few words that read, "I'm Princess Saoa," before the book closed.
She pried the book open and saw that only the Salazā's half of it showed words, while the other had the etchings of ink, but none they could see.
Did touching mother's link and this book somehow share her journal? Does this mean mother also went to the Salazā Spirits to borrow magic to transfer memories of her past?
But if so, why can't I read it?
"You haven't read anything from Salazā yet, have you?" Bazil asked, having gathered her thoughts. "You know just how petty ancestors can be. And since it's your past self, you can bet she's proud and stubborn."
Salīa pouted.
"Oh, Līa. I'm just saying, it's possible Salazā just wants you to be more accepting of her offerings before letting you access the rest."
"I guess. But…"
"But?"
"But nothing. You're right. I just…it's complicated."
She trailed off again.
Bazil was now the one to curl behind her, letting her sink back into his chest.
"Remember how you said being honest about how you feel can make those feelings not feel as complicated?"
"Right," she started. "Even though some part of me felt it all along, I could get by. Because while talk of this figure echoed throughout the realm, it was simple to deny its existence.
Since three hundred years have passed, any figure from before can easily be seen as myth, their stories as legend. But now…it's all real."
"That scares you?"
"It terrifies me, Bazil. I know I might not have seemed ordinary because I was born a royal, but as silly as it sounds, I thought I was ordinary in the sphere of royals. Because there have been hundreds of royals from all over the place. But The Protector.
This notorious guardian of the realm that slays demons, ends wars, saves lives, conquers threats, and whose unimaginable powers compare to the highest celestials.
There's only one of those, as everyone keeps reminding me. And now I'm being told that's me?"
She shivered at the thought.
"Even if I accused everyone who said so of drinking too much wine or smoking too much hoodjah, Salazā told me herself! I admit, when we were back in the temple, I thought the earth fruit we ate was maybe so ripe that it had me hallucinating, but…"
"You know the truth deep down?"
She nodded.
"Yes, but despite the legend of how fearless this Protector is, I'm not.
But I know whether I'm ready or not, I'm already on this journey.
And I have no choice but to accept that I must find and fulfill some cryptic prophecy that will supposedly piece everything together."
She scoffed.
"This plot sounds worse than that erotic book Auro, and I was talking about."
Bazil furrowed his brows at that. But Salīa turned around, grinning, and patted his cheek to pacify him.
"I know it's a lot that this realm is asking of you," he said. "Yet I've known you long enough to say that I truly believe this realm made no mistake by choosing you as its protector."
"You seem very certain."
"I am," he hugged her closer. Then he sprang up and offered her a hand. "But I'm also certain that one can only answer a calling by listening to what it has to say."
He circled her, a signal for her that he's ready to fight. She happily did the same.
"If it's to take in the wisdom you've passed to yourself, don't ignore it," he stepped closer. "If it's to close your eyes and clear your mind, don't evade it."
She gulped as he locked into position.
"And if it's to be a protector, then do your best to protect!"
He blitzed into the air above her and slammed down.
She shot to the side and bolted her arms up, barely blocking the impact of his kick. Usually, he'd let her catch a breath, but instead he threw a piercing jab, one she just barely countered.
I did ask him not to go lightly.
She grinned and charged at him.
They flew so fast in each lunge and counter that their feet made trenches in the ground and cleaved off so many branches as they recoiled against the trees.
In no time at all, both glistened in sweat, drenched enough to blur their eyes, but they swiped what they could and kept at it.
While Salīa was given a moment to breathe, Bazil ripped off his tunic.
His muscles stretched taut, rippling through his shoulders and arms, then tapered down his back. He turned, his core gleaming like embossed bronze, its elegantly carved slabs bridging with the branches of veins that trickled down to his thighs.
Her pupils grew at the sight before her.
Despite having known him long after he became a zazi, it was the first time she'd seen him undress to such an extent that she could see all the markings that ran around the trunk of his body.
As there weren't many vicious battles that this generation of zazi had to face, his scars were few but visibly etched into him.
His military markings were like him, pointed and precise. But weaving them together were more fluid and flowing patterns, which curled and swirled through the sharpest inscriptions.
Salīa knew him well enough to know these were the deeper parts of him, the ones he didn't show as much anymore, that exposed just how tender his heart was under that rigid composure.
It was said this particular ink was sacred to Salazā, and zazi could only get honored with markings from it during their annual Pasang.
Legend has it that these markings have spirit magic and glow when used.
Of course, since magic has been banned, Salīa has never been witness to such things before. But even without seeing it glow, its ink shone quite brightly on his skin.
In a jolt, she suddenly felt all the wind suck out of her stomach.
Her back slammed into a tree, and her face slapped against a branch, leaving her slumped over, gasping for breath.
"Līa!" Bazil ran over. "Are you alright?! I'm sorry. I thought you were feigning and…"
Salīa dizzily recalled what just happened.
I was ogling Bazil, dazing away in blissful reverie, when he unknowingly decided to pounce at me with an unforgiving kick to the core, all because he thought I was…pretending to be distracted.
"I guess I deserve that for being so perverse," she muttered to herself.
"What?"
"Never you mind," she smiled meekly, pressing a hand to her aching ribs, and limping away. "It's just this all-mighty formidable Protector is suddenly feeling inspired to answer her ancestor's call for her to go meditate by the river."
With that, she trudged along, her nose braying like a donkey every time she breathed.
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