ROLEPLAY

Uzykos was about to turn 9. He was a rather tall child for his age, well-built, with red hair like his parents, blue eyes and a square face. A boarder at the Imperial Academy, he returned to Thesos only once every two weeks. His teachers described him as a rather asymmetrical student. While his results in physical activities were excellent, those in the more intellectual disciplines left something to be desired. Not that he was stupid, but his indiscipline and lack of work meant that he lagged behind his classmates. Fortunately, none of the children dared to make fun of him. Beyond the fact that he was a good buddy and loyal to his friends, no one dared to challenge him since he had reamed Bacchus, the terror of the upper class. This memorable brawl earned him the nickname Uzykos the Fearless and three days' exclusion from the Academy.

When he returned home to Thesos, it was his father who picked him up. But unlike his more affluent comrades who lived in Pyr or rode off on mektoubs, he left on foot, with his father running far ahead. Orders were given not to let him out of his sight. He knew the way, that was not the problem. But if he fell too far behind, he knew his stay at home would be horrible. He'd be on latrine duty at the legionnaires' barracks until he got back to school. Yet, despite the hard life his father made for him, he loved him above all else. He knew he was lucky to be able to study at the Imperial Academy. His father had had to fight to be what he is today, and he had great hopes for him.

When he wasn't at the Academy or with his father, he spent most of his time with his friends from Thesos. Wretched scoundrels who, for the most part, had never been to school. But they made him feel very cultured. Besides, he was the leader of the gang. He was the one with the good ideas, like when they'd managed to infiltrate Pecus's house to steal a barrel of shooki. The bender they'd had that evening had left the young scoundrels with no memory, apart from a few scattered snatches that were best forgotten.

Sometimes, Lyren or Wixarika came to visit him. They were like surrogate mothers with whom he could have fun, and who sometimes brought him gifts. Sweets for Wixarika, and more "fun" toys for Lyren, which she would discreetly give him out of sight of his father, like a dagger or fireworks. As for his biological mother, the few times he came across her was when she'd come for a drink at Pecus with his father. He hated those times. Eeri scared him. From the conversations he managed to pick up, she spent most of her time boozing at the Fairheaven bar. Yet her father seemed to like it when she was around. You could tell by the way he acted around her. Uzykos couldn't understand how his father could have fallen in love with such a homine. In any case, his mother's visits were fortunately rare enough.



Today, at the start of the school vacations, his father was waiting for him at the foot of the Place des Académies school steps. The stern look on his face did not bode well. As Uzykos slowly made his way down the steps, trying to remember what stupid thing he'd done to make his father look like that, his father called out to him, startling the surrounding homins, children, parents and onlookers alike.

"Get your ass down faster than that detal!"

Detal? Him? Granted, his results weren't great, and his latest math assignment was more than mediocre, but he wasn't a dunce either.

When he reached his father, he said in a sheepish voice.

"oren pyr dad, you...
- there's no oren pyr today! I spoke to your teachers this afternoon. They all tell me you've got skills, but you're wasting them because you don't give a damn!
- I... I work, I ju... "

Azazor returned one of his own, pinning him to the ground with his cheek on fire.

"Don't swear! Talen!"

Tears welled up in Uzykos' eyes, but he forced himself to hold them back. There was no point crying in front of his father, it would only fuel his fury. Instead, he got to his feet, rubbed his sore cheek and said nothing.

Azazor resumed in a thunderous voice:

"Believe me, my boy, I'm going to remedy that! During this vacation, you're going to have my back all day long. Forget any idea of games, friends and outings. All vacation in front of the books, and you'd better get to work! I didn't crawl through sawdust all my life to make my son a moron!"

In Uzykos' mind, all his dreams of lazing on the shores of Lake Thesos vanished, replaced by boring books and the problems of crossing caravans of mektoubs.

"No time to daydream, we're going home. And on the double!" roared Azazor. As he did so, he kicked his son in the backside and, grumbling for form's sake, he ran at full speed towards the main street of Pyr.

Yes, the carefree days were over...

A summer morning

Another binge with Eeri at Pecus. It's the same every time she comes to the desert. For her, it's no big deal. She says it's soft here compared to what she gets up to at Ba'Naer. But for him, it's a nice bender. He's got the bottle, sure, but in front of Eeri, it's like comparing the pale Lykos to the great Dexton. Honorable mention for him. A barfly for her. And to think that today he has to leave for the lakes...

He planned to take Uzykos with him, but didn't even think to mention it to Eeri last night. She's still asleep under a table in the Thesos bar. He's recovering better than she is, a good point for him. He hesitates to wake her up to tell her he's leaving. Uzykos must have been waiting for her for at least an hour outside the apartment. But if he wakes her up, she'll probably want to see her son one last time, which will irritate him. Not that he's jealous. On the contrary, every time Eeri tries to make contact with Uzykos, he rejects her. It's as if she disgusts him. An argument ensues between him and his son, saying that he shouldn't disown his mother like that, that one day she'll be gone. But the young fyros doesn't care. His mother is a wreck and he's ashamed of it. So he won't wake her up. Taking a piece of paper, he writes:


He wedges the note under the glass Eeri still holds in his hand, then discreetly slips away towards the fortress, massaging his temples.

All the way to Fairheaven, Uzykos had blown his nose, slowed his pace, stumbled at times. Azazor chalked it up to his son's weakness. After all, this was his first visit to the primeval roots, and that could be impressive when you're not even ten. Even his father had waited until he was twenty to take his first stroll in the bounties. Except he'd done it alone. Here, at least, Uzykos was accompanied. But nothing had worked. He'd had a hard, hard time keeping up with Azazor. Finally arriving in Fairheaven, the two fyros could only note that the ceremony had been over for several hours. Even the last drunks had left the beach. The gruff old fyros let out an expletive before glancing disapprovingly at his son. Uzykos knew he'd screwed up. And yet, even if his father's thinly veiled reproach hurt him a little, he was rather pleased that he didn't have to go through with this marriage, which he couldn't care less about. Then he wouldn't have to put up with his alcoholic mother or his father's bawdy songs.

As it would have been a pity to have come all this way in vain, Azazor took the opportunity to visit part of the lakes. It was an opportunity to do some swimming and discover the local flora and fauna. Uzykos wasn't sure whether it was the fact of having left the desert, but his father had gradually mellowed during the few days they'd spent here. Sometimes teaching him to distinguish the differences between desert and lake cloppers, sometimes showing him how to swim faster, or how to kill a horncher with a pike. And sometimes even splashing or throwing himself off a waterfall. Yes, after missing the wedding, father and son had spent many happy days here, gradually growing closer. Azazor wished Eeri could have been there to share the moment. But they had avoided Ba'Naer's bar for a few days. Perhaps running into his mother would have changed Uzykos's attitude, and Azazor preferred to take advantage of these joyous moments to rekindle the ties with his son, which had been severely damaged since he had taken over his upbringing with a firm, authoritarian hand.

Then everything changed one morning. As they finished eating cloppers cooked over an open fire, Azazor pulled a pearl from his bag. He then looked at his son with such intensity that a shiver ran through his body.

"It's a kami teleport pearl. I'm going to use it to get home. I've got a meeting at Almati Wood in a few hours, followed by an expedition to Desertstock.
- Well, what am I supposed to do while I'm waiting for you?
- You'll have to find your own way home. You have school in three days. I'm trusting you. You know the way.
- What? But I'm not going to survive alone on the Shadow Road! You're crazy!
- Yes, you will. You are the son of Azazor and Eeri, in you flows the Fyros blood. You'll make it."

Then Azazor tightly embraced his son.

"Daddy, please!
- Son, when you're on the Shadow Road, remember your courage at every step. See you in three days."

Before Uzykos could add anything, Azazor had cracked his pearl and teleported away, leaving him alone on the beach, not far from a group of cloppers.

Uzykos had just turned twelve and would soon complete his compulsory schooling for all Fyros patriots. As his father kept reminding him, it was a blessing to be born a patriot by blood and to benefit from Imperial Academy schooling. He'd had to work one odd job after another to pay for the rite of Fyros citizenship at the age of 18, and had saved enough to afford his studies.

Alongside the school, Uzykos had to undergo, so to speak, the trials provided by Azazor to toughen him up. Why was he doing this to him? While he understood that his father had gone through a lot to achieve his social position, it was nothing like that for him. They had dappers, citizenship, an apartment in Thesos and many connections. So why did he have to toughen up? He had no intention of becoming an imperial soldier or a hothead. Besides, he still didn't know what he was going to do next. He suspected his father would want him to continue his studies, but strangely enough, they'd never discussed it. So he continued to submit himself to the horrific tests devised by his father's psychopathic brain. Returning alone from the Shadow Road two years ago had only been a foretaste. He no longer counted the dangerous expeditions into the Root Primes, the Burnt Corridor or Loria, sometimes unarmored, sometimes unarmed, sometimes even blindfolded and with his hands behind his back, to "guide himself by instinct". But the most sadistic part was that his father didn't take part in his expeditions. No, he hired a marauder for that purpose. A fyros just as crazy as him by the name of Krapoutos, with whom his father sometimes spent hours boozing on the way home from the Academy where he was finishing his higher education. It surprised her that he hadn't asked a legionnaire instead of a scoundrel to take charge of his training. He must have had his reasons. He would have preferred his half-sister Lyren to take charge. She was a legionnaire, but at least with her, he could breathe a sigh of relief and enjoy himself. It was with her that he'd taken his first and last sip of essence of oxyx. And it was she who had led him into the slums of Pyr to meet people, each more bizarre and zany than the last.

Today, his father had summoned him to Silan. He hadn't told him anything more, and Uzykos feared a new ordeal even worse than the others. He had rarely been to Silan, and each time it was to see this or that person with whom his father had business dealings. Perhaps this would be another one of his simple, inconsequential visits. After all, Krapoutos wasn't there. But at the sight of the barding his father wore, he felt a shiver run through his body.

They approached the edge of the cliff to the south, not far from a small ranger camp. Placing his heavy load on the ground, Azazor looked intently at his son.

"- Uzy, today you're going to have a special experience.

He then pointed to a road leading down to the bare land.

"Here begins the road to Oflovak. The one that leads to the Old Lands and the desert of our ancestors.

- I know, you explained it to me last time. And then we saw the story of the first great swarm and the explorer Oflovak Rydon at school.

- It's no longer a question of explanations today. For a few days, you will experience what lies beyond this barrier.

Uzykos opened his eyes wide.

"In about a day's walk, you'll reach the beginning of the green continent. You're going to go there and bring me back some salina leaves. There's quite a lot if you dare to go deeper into the forest. You can't get lost, just head straight in that direction, and there are markers still in good condition as long as you don't go too far down the road".

As he did so, he pointed to the horizon. It was misty. All that could be seen on the horizon was an opaque sheet of mist, and a light, icy wind swept up the cliff, making the young fyros tremble. He stood there in transit, not daring to utter a word. An anguished mooing roused him from his dazed state. Azazor placed a limp, blistered hand on Uzykos' shoulder.

"- Son, what you're hearing is an armadai. A kind of big arma. They're not dangerous. But I'll admit, their mooing gives you the willies.

- Dad! But if I die on the road to Oflovak, I might not be able to be resurrected!"

Pretending not to have heard him, Azazor continued, his gaze turned towards the mists:

"- The real danger as far as the verdant continent is the possible presence of large yetins. But their presence is very rare on this stretch of road and they're not interested in homins. If you keep your distance from the armadais, you won't come across any.

- Daddy!

- There are also jugulas in the forest, but you shouldn't have to worry about them if you stay at the entrance. Watch out, though: they're cunning and often well-hidden.

- Ramèch! Dad! Can you hear me?! If I die, it's for good".

Azazor turned a hard gaze on his son. Only he seemed capable of looking at him like that. A cold, hard, unwavering gaze, yet one that hid affection and a hint of sadness.

"- I know, son. That's why I told you you were going to have a special experience. Few homins here have ever experienced it. That feeling where you can actually die. It changed my vision of the world, and it'll change yours.

- Why are you putting me through all this? Ramèch de bordel à yubo! WHY?

- Because one day you'll come with me. Where it all began. Where we should never have left.

- Your ancestral desert craze again? If you want to go, go! But I'm staying in the New Lands.

- You'll go too, when you're ready. Not because you're my son, but because you've got a taste for it.

Uzykos frowned, saying no more. It was impossible to negotiate with his father. If he had decided something for him, he had no choice but to comply. So, after waiting a while, interrupted only by the mooing of an armadai, he bent down to the barda on the floor and rummaged through it.

"What should I get? he grumbled, not hiding his bad mood.

- Everything. You take it all. We Miri are not afraid of heavy loads"..

A glint of surprise shone in Uzykos' eyes. It was the first time his father had used his mother's surname, not his father's, to refer to him. The Miri, named after one of his probable ancestors from the Akatorum or Atakorum tribe, he couldn't remember. His link with the Old Lands. He picked up the whole bag and slung it over his shoulders. It was heavy, but nothing compared with what he'd already carried. Then he moved towards the start of the road, looking off into the mist.

"And don't forget the salina leaves, Azazor added.

- I hate you, he breathed, as the cool wind lifted his red hair.

He walked slowly away without another word. Azazor watched him go for a few minutes. When his son disappeared into the fog, his eyes had become moist.