By the time they reach Silan, Azazor and Eeri are exhausted. They greet Be'Arlly Emer, the assistant instructor on duty that day, with a simple Woren siloy when she comes to meet them. They don't stop to chat, however, and continue on their way to the small base camp just beyond. There, they stop, take a breath, glance around, then look at each other for a moment without speaking. They can hardly believe it. So this is it, they've finally arrived? Is it all over?
Six long years of travel and now that they're back, they hesitate. What should they do? Go back to their apartments and relax? See their friends again? Talk to the authorities? And to whom? The Rangers? The Fyros? The Trykers? Who would believe them? They're a shadow of their former selves. A Fyrossa with one arm paralyzed and one eye missing, a Fyros disfigured and mostly burned. But above all, they find it hard to part. For six years, they've been together. They've faced kitins, marauders, monsters of all kinds and even arguments between their two strong characters.
It's Eeri who breaks the ice and says in a tone meant to be nonchalant.
"I'm off to Fairheaven. I'll see you later."
"How are you getting there?"
The question makes the Fyrossa hesitate. Really, how? Here, they can teleport. So why continue on foot?
"I'll take the Karavan teleporter," she says without emotion. "I'll come to Thesos later."
"Okay, see you then. I'm going to the Imperial Academy first," replies Azazor in the same falsely detached tone.
He watches her leave for the Karavan sanctuary. There, she's gone. They parted, without joy or tears, coldly, as hard-hearted Fyrosses.
And now what? He takes a deep breath of the magic-filled air, then heads for the Kamis' teleporter.
Once inside the sacred enclosure, he approaches the Kami. A white, starry-eyed Kami who stares at him in curiousity. The Fyros kneels before him and remains silent. His breath is still ragged from running so fast through the small sea of wood between the Verdant Continent and Silan. Unlike Eeri, who had seemed reluctant to enter the New Lands back, he was in a hurry to get home. In such a hurry that, once back in the New Lands, he would rather take the teleporter to Pyr than complete the journey on foot through the ranger tunnel leading to the Grove of Confusion. But in front of the Kami, he hesitates. Even though he knows in his heart that the Kamis are responsible for his survival in the fight against the red dragon, he also knows that since he left here all those years ago, he no longer feels the way he then did about the Kamis. No more attachment, no more… trust? As if the years spent without calling on their power had cut the cord that linked him to them. He now feels free from the Powers. So why put on new chains? Yet he's curious. Curious to see if "it still works". How was it feeling to teleport? He's not sure. You'd fall into unconsciousness and wake up somewhere else. Nothing else? He's got to try it, at least once. Then, he swears, he'll only do it in cases of extreme emergency.
He stands up and asks the Kami to teleport him to Pyr. The latter asks him to confirm, as if he'd sensed the doubt in Azazor's request. But of course he confirms. Pyr. The capital. Home!
Then comes the light, the warm sensation, then...
Pain!! The body fragmenting!! The pain of feeling his body decompose!! His whole body!! His inner flesh!!
He collapses in pain next to Pyr's kami teleporter. He screams and rolls on the ground! His body burns, he... he smells the sawdust. Hot sawdust under his hands, on his face. The pain is just a memory. And that desert heat... His desert! He's back among his people. Onlookers look at him in surprise, some try to pick him up, but immediately turn away at the sight of his horribly burned face. Why such a pain at the teleport? The loss of contact with the Kamis for so many years? His burns? His head injury, which would have damaged his life seed? Probably this. The Karavan had warned that this could have consequences. But no matter, it's all the more reason not to teleport in future. He struggles to his feet with the help of his axe, blackened by the dragon's flames, one of the few things he has retained from the fight. Then he limped back to the Imperial Academy.
...
Euphanix Apotheps is in her office, filing documents, when there's a knock on the door.
"Come in," says the archivist, without looking up from his documents.
The door opens to reveal a Fyros with a burned face. An ugly hole-shaped scar deforms his balding forehead. He's dressed in a ranger's outfit and carries a well-filled bag on his back. His blistered hands hold a fire-blackened retch. Everything about his gestures shows he's at the end of his rope, and his eyes carry intense pain. Yet he takes a few steps forward, standing as upright as possible, his gaze straightforward. For a moment, the Chancellor thinks she sees Dexton when he was painfully emerging from his illness and was determined not to show his weakness.
"oren pyr Euphanix," says the Fyros in a hoarse voice.
Without waiting for an answer, he puts his pack on the floor, axe handle resting along the wall, and opens his bag. He pulls out a thick leather volume, which he places heavily on the archivist's desk. Varinx leather. Euphanix suddenly understands who she's dealing with.
"Azazor?!"
"ney..."
"I... what... everyone thought you were dead! We haven't heard from you in years."
"And my reports? Never received?"
"Yes, those from Fort Beacon. That's all."
The Fyros lets out a raucous laughter.
"I knew that Ranger had a face not to trust him with anything. But it doesn't matter, it's all there," he says, tapping the thick book on the desk.
Euphanix approaches his head to the cover and reads:
"kün geyum"
An account of the journey to Coriolis on the Road of Oflovak*
"It's all there," continues the Fyros. "All my reports burned up because of that damn red dragon. But not my memory." As he says this, he scratches the skin on his puffy face.
"So on the journey back, we put everything back on leather. My memories, those of Eeri. There are also readings of the star of the day, which should be useful for estimating the circumference of Atys,souldn't they? There are also sketches, notably of red dragons, various notes and maps. Anything our noggins can remember. I'll ask the N'ASA to make a copy to share with the other nations."
The archivist is tempted to open the book right away, but changes his mind. Clearly, the Fyros isn't finished yet.
"I'll leave the bag with you. Inside, there are also vials of sawdust from different biotopes for the xylologists. This should delight Ulyton Meros."
He then puts his hand in the pocket of his armor.
"And here's the most important one," he says with an enigmatic smile.
Euphanix sees him take out a small purse and place it on the desk in front of his eyes.
"Go on, take a look."
She can't contain herself and opens the purse, trembling with excitement. Inside, a shiny purple object returns her her reflection. She nearly faints and hangs onto the edge of her desk.
"An... AN?"
"An amber cube. Damaged. But you must know some scholars to repair that?"
"I... ney, some scholars..."
She delicately takes out the cube to admire it in the light of her office window.
"bavèchen coriolis fyrum... ramèch!!"
"Yeah, indeed. And know that some damn kincher attacked us right afterwards. I didn't have time to look for the missing piece."
"Was it in Coriolis?"
"In a temple high up in what's left of the mining town."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing."
With that, he picks up his axe again and sighs.
"Well, I'd spend hours discussing all this, but not today. If anyone's looking for me, I'm at Pecus."
Azazor then pretends to turn back, but the archivist holds him by the shoulder, not without a hint of disgust at the mangled body.
"Wait, Aza. I've got so many questions!"
"No, I'm exhausted and all I want to do right now is knock back a barrel of shookie. You wouldn't believe the crap they drink over there... We'll talk tomorrow. That'll give you time to read the book."
He holds the office door handle and starts to open it. Euphanix nevertheless calls out to him.
"I just wanted to tell you..."
The Fyros turns, looking straight into her eyes. Wet eyes. Eyes so tired and so... sad?
"Sorry Azazor," Euphanix finally says.
"Sorry for what?"
"For doubting you."
"Then arrange for me to study at the talumetim-an. I think I've proved myself," says Azazor wearily.
Euphanix smiles. Yes, he has proved himself. There's no doubt about it. The Fyros then turned and opened the office door to leave.
"And Eeri?" inquired Euphanix before Azazor crossed the threshold.
"She's probably at the Fairhaven bar, getting drunk. She's lost the use of an arm and an eye, but that won't stop her drinking."
The archivist watches the Fyros walk away, replaying in her head his last sentence. A missing arm and eye? Permanent burns and scars? From what hell had they returned? She couldn't wait to find out. She sat down at her desk and began reading the "account of the journey to Coriolis on the Road of Oflovak"*.
* The book includes all the information contained in the texts published on the forum. It also includes more detailed maps of the Oflovak route and the beginning of the AT desert (based on Kigan's map), measurements of the height of the daystar for estimating the circumference of Atys, sketches of fauna and flora, but also of the cities crossed and some of the characters met, as well as Azazor and Eeri's reflections on fyrak and the powers and some various confessions. Only Eeri's allegiance to Trytonnism is not mentioned. Nor is it mentioned that his escape from the Marauders was the work of a Trytonnist. The notes also include Titus's diary, which Azazor was able to recover on the return journey to the Oflovak halt. We can imagine that the reports already sent by Azazor will be included as addenda later on. It was written by Azazor (since Eeri can no longer use his right arm) but co-authored by Azazor and Eeri.
Six long years of travel and now that they're back, they hesitate. What should they do? Go back to their apartments and relax? See their friends again? Talk to the authorities? And to whom? The Rangers? The Fyros? The Trykers? Who would believe them? They're a shadow of their former selves. A Fyrossa with one arm paralyzed and one eye missing, a Fyros disfigured and mostly burned. But above all, they find it hard to part. For six years, they've been together. They've faced kitins, marauders, monsters of all kinds and even arguments between their two strong characters.
It's Eeri who breaks the ice and says in a tone meant to be nonchalant.
"I'm off to Fairheaven. I'll see you later."
"How are you getting there?"
The question makes the Fyrossa hesitate. Really, how? Here, they can teleport. So why continue on foot?
"I'll take the Karavan teleporter," she says without emotion. "I'll come to Thesos later."
"Okay, see you then. I'm going to the Imperial Academy first," replies Azazor in the same falsely detached tone.
He watches her leave for the Karavan sanctuary. There, she's gone. They parted, without joy or tears, coldly, as hard-hearted Fyrosses.
And now what? He takes a deep breath of the magic-filled air, then heads for the Kamis' teleporter.
Once inside the sacred enclosure, he approaches the Kami. A white, starry-eyed Kami who stares at him in curiousity. The Fyros kneels before him and remains silent. His breath is still ragged from running so fast through the small sea of wood between the Verdant Continent and Silan. Unlike Eeri, who had seemed reluctant to enter the New Lands back, he was in a hurry to get home. In such a hurry that, once back in the New Lands, he would rather take the teleporter to Pyr than complete the journey on foot through the ranger tunnel leading to the Grove of Confusion. But in front of the Kami, he hesitates. Even though he knows in his heart that the Kamis are responsible for his survival in the fight against the red dragon, he also knows that since he left here all those years ago, he no longer feels the way he then did about the Kamis. No more attachment, no more… trust? As if the years spent without calling on their power had cut the cord that linked him to them. He now feels free from the Powers. So why put on new chains? Yet he's curious. Curious to see if "it still works". How was it feeling to teleport? He's not sure. You'd fall into unconsciousness and wake up somewhere else. Nothing else? He's got to try it, at least once. Then, he swears, he'll only do it in cases of extreme emergency.
He stands up and asks the Kami to teleport him to Pyr. The latter asks him to confirm, as if he'd sensed the doubt in Azazor's request. But of course he confirms. Pyr. The capital. Home!
Then comes the light, the warm sensation, then...
Pain!! The body fragmenting!! The pain of feeling his body decompose!! His whole body!! His inner flesh!!
He collapses in pain next to Pyr's kami teleporter. He screams and rolls on the ground! His body burns, he... he smells the sawdust. Hot sawdust under his hands, on his face. The pain is just a memory. And that desert heat... His desert! He's back among his people. Onlookers look at him in surprise, some try to pick him up, but immediately turn away at the sight of his horribly burned face. Why such a pain at the teleport? The loss of contact with the Kamis for so many years? His burns? His head injury, which would have damaged his life seed? Probably this. The Karavan had warned that this could have consequences. But no matter, it's all the more reason not to teleport in future. He struggles to his feet with the help of his axe, blackened by the dragon's flames, one of the few things he has retained from the fight. Then he limped back to the Imperial Academy.
...
Euphanix Apotheps is in her office, filing documents, when there's a knock on the door.
"Come in," says the archivist, without looking up from his documents.
The door opens to reveal a Fyros with a burned face. An ugly hole-shaped scar deforms his balding forehead. He's dressed in a ranger's outfit and carries a well-filled bag on his back. His blistered hands hold a fire-blackened retch. Everything about his gestures shows he's at the end of his rope, and his eyes carry intense pain. Yet he takes a few steps forward, standing as upright as possible, his gaze straightforward. For a moment, the Chancellor thinks she sees Dexton when he was painfully emerging from his illness and was determined not to show his weakness.
"oren pyr Euphanix," says the Fyros in a hoarse voice.
Without waiting for an answer, he puts his pack on the floor, axe handle resting along the wall, and opens his bag. He pulls out a thick leather volume, which he places heavily on the archivist's desk. Varinx leather. Euphanix suddenly understands who she's dealing with.
"Azazor?!"
"ney..."
"I... what... everyone thought you were dead! We haven't heard from you in years."
"And my reports? Never received?"
"Yes, those from Fort Beacon. That's all."
The Fyros lets out a raucous laughter.
"I knew that Ranger had a face not to trust him with anything. But it doesn't matter, it's all there," he says, tapping the thick book on the desk.
Euphanix approaches his head to the cover and reads:
"kün geyum"
An account of the journey to Coriolis on the Road of Oflovak*
"It's all there," continues the Fyros. "All my reports burned up because of that damn red dragon. But not my memory." As he says this, he scratches the skin on his puffy face.
"So on the journey back, we put everything back on leather. My memories, those of Eeri. There are also readings of the star of the day, which should be useful for estimating the circumference of Atys,souldn't they? There are also sketches, notably of red dragons, various notes and maps. Anything our noggins can remember. I'll ask the N'ASA to make a copy to share with the other nations."
The archivist is tempted to open the book right away, but changes his mind. Clearly, the Fyros isn't finished yet.
"I'll leave the bag with you. Inside, there are also vials of sawdust from different biotopes for the xylologists. This should delight Ulyton Meros."
He then puts his hand in the pocket of his armor.
"And here's the most important one," he says with an enigmatic smile.
Euphanix sees him take out a small purse and place it on the desk in front of his eyes.
"Go on, take a look."
She can't contain herself and opens the purse, trembling with excitement. Inside, a shiny purple object returns her her reflection. She nearly faints and hangs onto the edge of her desk.
"An... AN?"
"An amber cube. Damaged. But you must know some scholars to repair that?"
"I... ney, some scholars..."
She delicately takes out the cube to admire it in the light of her office window.
"bavèchen coriolis fyrum... ramèch!!"
"Yeah, indeed. And know that some damn kincher attacked us right afterwards. I didn't have time to look for the missing piece."
"Was it in Coriolis?"
"In a temple high up in what's left of the mining town."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing."
With that, he picks up his axe again and sighs.
"Well, I'd spend hours discussing all this, but not today. If anyone's looking for me, I'm at Pecus."
Azazor then pretends to turn back, but the archivist holds him by the shoulder, not without a hint of disgust at the mangled body.
"Wait, Aza. I've got so many questions!"
"No, I'm exhausted and all I want to do right now is knock back a barrel of shookie. You wouldn't believe the crap they drink over there... We'll talk tomorrow. That'll give you time to read the book."
He holds the office door handle and starts to open it. Euphanix nevertheless calls out to him.
"I just wanted to tell you..."
The Fyros turns, looking straight into her eyes. Wet eyes. Eyes so tired and so... sad?
"Sorry Azazor," Euphanix finally says.
"Sorry for what?"
"For doubting you."
"Then arrange for me to study at the talumetim-an. I think I've proved myself," says Azazor wearily.
Euphanix smiles. Yes, he has proved himself. There's no doubt about it. The Fyros then turned and opened the office door to leave.
"And Eeri?" inquired Euphanix before Azazor crossed the threshold.
"She's probably at the Fairhaven bar, getting drunk. She's lost the use of an arm and an eye, but that won't stop her drinking."
The archivist watches the Fyros walk away, replaying in her head his last sentence. A missing arm and eye? Permanent burns and scars? From what hell had they returned? She couldn't wait to find out. She sat down at her desk and began reading the "account of the journey to Coriolis on the Road of Oflovak"*.
* The book includes all the information contained in the texts published on the forum. It also includes more detailed maps of the Oflovak route and the beginning of the AT desert (based on Kigan's map), measurements of the height of the daystar for estimating the circumference of Atys, sketches of fauna and flora, but also of the cities crossed and some of the characters met, as well as Azazor and Eeri's reflections on fyrak and the powers and some various confessions. Only Eeri's allegiance to Trytonnism is not mentioned. Nor is it mentioned that his escape from the Marauders was the work of a Trytonnist. The notes also include Titus's diary, which Azazor was able to recover on the return journey to the Oflovak halt. We can imagine that the reports already sent by Azazor will be included as addenda later on. It was written by Azazor (since Eeri can no longer use his right arm) but co-authored by Azazor and Eeri.