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.
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.