#Xorynth Nailo | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dashingndaring · 6 years

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Once Off That Island

Characters are from the main D&D campaign I play in, the Enigma Emblem Chronicles. Xorynth (PC) belongs to me, and Keynan (NPC) was created by me and belongs to @scatteringmyashes

Rating: Teen, for mention of abuse, violence, and death.

Words: 5,658

Summary: Xorynth, with the aid of the mysterious Keynan, has escaped from Skia island, but not without consequences. Will she be able to accept them and reclaim her freedom? Meanwhile, Keynan tries to reassure the struggling half-elf, but isn’t sure what he’s doing wrong.

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When she awoke to the taste of salt and the foreign feeling of being suspended, the half elf jumped with a start. This of course resulted in her ass hitting wood as her entire body crashed from a hammock to the ground.

Banished light on high that hurt more than it should have...

As quickly as the thought nestled in her brain, it flew away in a panic. Calm down. Think. She stared up, noting that the only light in the room came from an orange flame from beyond the door. It trickled in just enough through the door cracks to reveal wooden planks all around. On impulse she brushed her hand against the hardwood beneath. Rough, she noted, even against her calloused fingers. Slivers threatened to leave splinters, but she couldn't bring herself to care about the small pricks of pain. They were nothing compared to the emptiness quickly consuming her insides. Now that the shock of waking up in an unfamiliar room had worn off it was impossible to stay calm while every gruesome memory came flooding back.

She wasn't on the island anymore. She had run. Rhaina had tried to stop her. But what came next? Why couldn’t she remember what came ne--

Rhaina is dead.

Ice erupted in her lungs at the memory. No, Rhaina’s death wasn't as simple as that. It was far, far worse.

I killed Rhaina.

Xorynth froze, but time continued on. Seconds went by after the revelation. Then minutes. Then hours. Slowly, her mind found an eye in the storm of her raging thoughts, just long enough to grasp the situation at hand. She should probably figure out where she was and if the person who “saved’ her was also here. But when she did, how would she react to them? Thank them for her life? Beat them bloody for daring to interfere, for making her escape a thousand times worse?

Soon enough the wave of clarity passed, and she couldn't be bothered to deal with the questions posed. They were problems that required moving, and she never wanted to get up from her new resting place.

So she remained there. Back to wood in the darkness.

***

It didn't take long past daybreak for him to realize she was conscious again. He knocked, several times, greeted by only silence before attempting to slip inside. Bread in one hand, a lantern in the other, and a bottle under his arm, he quietly closed the door before turning around and nearly dropping everything with a frightened squeak.

He had expected her to be asleep, perhaps even nervously huddled in a corner from sea sickness or anxiety. What he hadn't expected was for the girl -- woman? -- to be laying on the floor, eerily calm as she steadied her unreadable gaze towards him in the dim light.

Pulling himself together with a trademarked smile he prayed. Please, let it be that she didn't hear that squeak or see my nerves. Because it certainly seemed that her steely eyes were trying to reach into his soul for… something. Maybe information?

Well, information he could give.

***

“Hello, my name is Keynan,” the figure offered, managing to recover enough from their initial fumble to gently place their items on the ground as they sat down to be closer to her level. The words were spoken so softly Xorynth couldn't help but wonder if they were afraid of breaking her.

She simply blinked in reply. It was them. The one who stopped a spear from piercing her heart. The one who forced her hand. The one who took her to this room to face her demons alone.

The bittersweet irony of the situation did not escape her. This Keynan seemed afraid to break her, when in reality it took all her years of patience training not to levy a killing strike to their throat at any moment. Logically, she knew she did what it took to leave the island alive. Reasonably, she also knew that she plunged the dagger into her partner's heart, not Keynan. The demons in her mind had been keen to remind her of those facts since she awoke.

But emotionally? She was irrationally angry at this stanger. Unhinged grief, sorrow, and anger had taken turns over the hours trying to beat her heart until it stopped. Swords had left scars, teachers had left bruises and broken bones, and even Rhaina - oh elders passed on high, Rhaina - had made her bleed with searing, hot white pain. Yet, none of those experiences were as excruciating as the phantom feeling currently tearing Xorynth apart. She felt the pain in the same spot where a metal spearhead should have been, where a polished wood pole, marked by a single purple ribbon tied above the handle, should be protruding from her chest..

She wanted to fight back against her grief. To scream at an invisible enemy and rip their last breath from their chest. There was nothing Xorynth wanted more than a physical manifestation - a scapegoat - to take her anger out on.

Despite the urges, the monk schooled her visage into the embodiment of cold. Her body still frozen to its resting place. This stranger, who she had yet to decide if she owed or was owed by, would not be submitted to her inner plots. Not yet. Instead she would remain here until she was ready for whatever was beyond that door. Once she quelled the storm inside she could learn more. Then she would decide if Keynan was worthy of her wrath.

***

She hadn't spoken that night.

Keynan introduced himself, hoping to gauge her reaction to him. Does she remember? She probably does, right? He tried detecting any trace of fear in those silver eyes, at the same time noting the left was both silver and hazel. That was all he got, however, from her piercing gaze. If he could just get to talk…

“May I ask what your name is?”

Silence. Fair enough.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, wondering if his voice was soft enough. “The journey off island was difficult, I'm sure you're famished.”

She didn't even glance at the bread he held out, let alone reach for it.

“Ah, of course. Silly me. You can’t eat with a dry mouth. Something to drink?” He tried again, replacing the food in his hand with the glass container of water.

Her reaction remained the same. She simply stared back: serene and guarded. Occasionally she would blink owlishly, something Keynan would have found humorous if the tense atmosphere wasn't thick enough to cut with his sword.

Nothing he said, no matter how much he turned on the charm, compelled her to react. Neither her body or mouth moved. Most concerning of all, her stare never faltered.

“If you're tired I can leave you to rest further. I don't fault you for not wanting to talk or eat. You've been through more than anyone should.” Keynan paused, hoping for a small glimpse of any emotion. But her stoic face and silence drew on.

After it became evident she wasn't going to answer, he continued with every ounce of sincerity he had. “The captain told the crew to treat you like a guest. I intend to see that order through and more, just so you know. Anything you need, I will do my best to give.”

With that he stood up, gave a farewell bow and left her to her own devices. For now.

***

Over the next two days, the pair settled into their pattern.

Xorynth would wallow and seeth and plan and meditate - all without moving. It took all of her concentration not to drown in the weight of her actions and all of her energy to remain in a facade of calm. If she had any water or food to relieve herself of, she wasn't sure she would have been able to get up.

Every few hours Keynan would come back with food and water. Each visit brought gentle attempts at conversation that always ended in one-sided sharing. However, by the third try the first day she wasn't sure if the words were to soothe him or her.

She assumed Keynan identified as him by this point, anyways. When she faded in and out of consciousness, Xorynth periodically heard the other sailors talk about the weather or each other. Surprisingly her visitor was a common conversation topic. She heard rumors that he never slept, that he had saved dozens from burning ships, and even one that he could glow bright gold, blinding his enemies in battle.

The monk almost rolled her eyes at the thought. Slinking in the shadows was one thing. Glowing? She wasn't a fool.

Still, the superfluous talk helped distract her from her plight. There had been no time or mercy for distractions in her past life. Now she was clinging to any and all whispers in the dark like a lifeline. But they weren’t enough to drown out the voice in her mind. She needed more to keep her busy, to prevent the plunge into pure self-deprecation long enough to think through her next steps.

So at the end of the second day she decided to actually look at Keynan when he arrived, instead of staring emptily at him. This visit would be about information, not intimidation. She was level headed enough to let her guard down for just a few moments of observation. It is just a basic perception exercise. You’ve done this hundreds of times. Yes, she could perform this simple task.

Finally convinced to follow through with her plan, she let her eyes wander, hardly straining with her darkvision despite the familiar low-orange light.

He had a lot of features she simply hadn't registered in their escape. First she noted his height. He was likely a few inches taller than her, which she was surprised by. The few humans she had known at the monastery were all shorter, though perhaps a faulty sample size. Being lower to the ground was an advantage in the acrobatic fighting styles they trained in.

Next, his skin. Judging by what little she saw illuminated in orange, aside from a few pale scars that peaked from the collar of his shirt, he was darker than her. Also something she was not used to. Wherever the new recruits came from, it didn't seem to be from wherever her ancestors did. She had been considered dark for their lot, although it had never been a problem. In fact, her brown tones made it easier to blend into the darkness, earning her favor early on. Now on a ship probably leagues away, Xorynth couldn't help but feel emptiness in the pointless praise she once held dear.

His hair was also dark, coiled neatly into locs that ran past his shoulders. He seemed to take care of it well, and the thought of him spending time to manicure them stood in contrast to both his simple clothes and the opinions she hadn't fully formed around his character. She assumed he worked hard, perhaps a favored shiphand based on the rumors and his freedom to make time for these visits. But making snap judgments was a dangerous path. Who was she to say whether this man was selfless or shallow? Rhaina had more ferocity and work ethic than Xorynth had known possible, and she liked to spend hours playing with both her own hair and Xorynth's curls.

The thought made her blood grow cold. Rhaina is dead. There would be no more secret morning rendez-vous just to play with hair. Gone. No more stolen moments to feel like normal girls for at least a precious few minutes. Because you killed her.

Xorynth had nothing left. Where would she go? The orphanage wasn’t an option; she was almost of age and she would rather die than risk falling into their incapable, corrupt hands again. If she stepped foot on the island again the Elders would have her blood or make her pay for her insubordination in some worse way. The only home she ever had was Rhaina. Reliving the realization that her home and partner were gone hit sharply in her abdomen. So sharp that Xorynth couldn’t handle the pain and finally moved.

Curling in on herself, she turned her back to Keynan. Perhaps if she didn't look, she wouldn't have to acknowledge anything outside of the darkness of this room and the dryness in her mouth.

***

Why?

Keynan could only pace outside of the now closed door to the girl's room as he tried to wrap his head around what had just happened.

For a moment it seemed like she was sizing him up. Quiet still, yes, but her normally cold eyes had melted into curiosity. He dared let a sliver of hope grow while he let her. Maybe she was finally warming up to him, he had thought. Getting her to eat and drink and stay alive could work. If she reached to meet Keynan just one step closer to halfway…

But fate had other ideas. Soon enough her curiosity died, replaced by a brief flash of pain so quick Keynan might have imagined it. Just like that her back was to him, closing herself off from him so assertively she chilled the room. Somehow the gap between them had grown farther apart than when he had started.

After all the attempts to make her feel welcome -- sharing what he could about the ship she was on, bringing her food (even if she rejected it), and giving her quiet company -- he had managed to do the opposite. His stomach sank.

Why is she so closed off?

Obviously, Keynan was missing something. All the visions of child slaves in the world couldn't tell him the whole story of this one girl's life. Which meant he had to work with what he knew. Alright, go over the facts.

Fact one: if his visions were time accurate she had to have been on the island for approximately 10 years. So there were a decade’s worth of memories, training, and potential horrors he didn't know about. Keynan frowned. He needed to be careful about what assumptions he made going forward.

Fact two: she had been trying to escape, seemingly on her own. When he stumbled onto the scene of her yelling at another monk, he had only caught snippets of the disagreement. The gist he got implied the red haired one currently on board had been trying to convince the other to join her “to escape from His control”. The plea seemed to fall on deaf ears. Keynan couldn't be sure whose “control” she was referring to, but he guessed it was one of the traffickers.

Fact three: the brown hair monk had tried to kill the other. That's when Keynan got involved. At first he had parried the blow, saving her from a lethally aimed spear. But he left himself open in checking to see if she was okay, and she had to turn around and save him. The spear wielder crumpled to the ground as Keynan watched the young half elf take a dagger out of their assailant’s chest. Keynan cringed at the memory. Despite a lifetime’s experience he had let his guard down. Perhaps she thought ill of him for his mistake? He tucked away the idea for later.

Fact four: she remained graceful on her feet after the fight, but her whole body was shaking as they maneuvered their way to his hidden boat. And she didn't stop until she was long into her fitful sleep. That night he wondered if the brown haired girl had been her first kill. She seemed fairly young after all The action seemed to come naturally, however, so maybe there was a different reason for her frightened reaction. Perhaps the more important question was who were the two monks to each other?

Keynan needed to reflect on this information, and quickly. The captain was gracious enough to pardon Keynan for getting involved on a simple reconnaissance mission and take in a survivor without questioning. But that patience would only last so long. She would have to do her part to gain trust and keep this ship afloat if she was going to stay. More urgently, if he couldn't get her to accept sustenance soon she was as good as dead even off the island.

***

On the third day he didn't come. Xorynth knew the moment the first replacement knocked -- two loud thumps compared to the soft pattern he used.

Apparently her outburst yesterday had cost her valuable time to learn more from Keynan. Even if he avoided speaking about himself and the circumstances of her “rescue”, every session carried important kernels of information on the ship and the outside world. For instance, knew she was on the second floor below deck, and outside her door lay the food storage, drink cellar, holding cells, weapon rooms, and the anchors. Upstairs were the living quarters, mess hall, and captain’s office. She also knew that the ship’s crew were contractors for hire, who take missions that aligned with their “cause”: defeat local pirates, smugglers, and thieves on the water in exchange for money and reputation. But she hadn’t heard anything about their current contract or why they had been at her island. Why Keynan had been there.

She sighed. The pirate seemed genuine, but Xorynth couldn’t take anything at face value. She thought her Elders, hard as they had been, genuinely cared for their charges. She had been wrong. She needed to figure out if Keynan was really friend or foe. But when the first knock of the day arrived, she got a sinking feeling that the opportunity had fallen out of her reach.

Instead of his overly positive attitude and gentle mannerisms, someone else came through the door. The figure was a short and lean gnome with pale skin and red hair, carrying the usual lantern, food, and water. Unlike him, they silently accepted her lack of acknowledgment. Whether they were too respectful or nervous or indifferent to introduce themselves, she didn’t know. They simply shrugged off her cold stare and left the items on the ground before closing the door once again.

After having a soothing voice to listen to so frequently, the long stretch of silence settling in filled Xorynth with dread. Soon enough her mind would turn against her. Don’t let the voices back in. Please, no.

Squeezing her eyes in concentration, the monk strained to hear the whispers from the outside, hoping to hear anything, even a weather report.

Boots shuffled. Wood planks creaked. Crates slid, creating soft crashed. For what felt like an eternity, the closest thing to company were rare, indistinguishable murmurs. Then she finally got lucky. A gruff voice carried down the hall just loudly enough for her to pick up the middle of a conversation.

“... about the girl?”

A second voice replied, slightly higher in pitch but too soft to hear clearly.

“Apparently she hasn’t spoken a word or lifted a finger, yet.” A pause. “Waste of rations in my opinion. We be carrying a bad omen on board, an fer what?”

Their companion murmured again, frustratingly too quiet again.

“Did you not hear? Got silver eyes, she does. An’ different shades. It’s like we’re asking for a tempest. Stranger still, I hear she has those old Eladrin markings ‘round her eyes and hair like burning coal.” The gruff voice waited again.

“If you don’ believe me ask Cain yerself! Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she were a spy from you-know-who,” they exclaimed conspiratorially.

“Kyrin, not everyone is a spy,” someone else calmly replied.

“Until you get proof, I’ll be suspicious all I want,” Kyrin muttured.

“Given where we found her, she probably just needed time. She’ll earn her keep soon enough.”

Xorynth’s stomach sank, ever so slightly, while she waited for the next damning words. Useless. Burden. Failure. Her mind filled in the gaps, but the words never came -- only the heavy fall of boots reached her ears.

She was used to ignoring rumors; the gossip itself didn’t bother her. But hearing angry mutterings while at the mercy of an entire ship of strangers? With no real context for an escape route, the words made her feel trapped. Who knew how many others felt the same way as Kyrin? Just because some of the crew didn’t mind keeping dead weight on board for now, didn’t mean they would lift a finger if the Captain suddenly decided to change their mind about her current “guest” status.

She was running out of time.

Your time is already up. Without her, without them? You have no future.

Xorynth gritted her teeth, doubling over as the phantom pain returned with a vengeance. She gasped, struggling to breathe. No, no, no! She needed to clear her head, she needed a moment to think. To breathe.

There's no point. You have nothing. All you can do is hide in the shadows. Hide, hide, hide…

As the darkness took her again, she had one thought: Maybe it's right.

***

“You want my advice?”

The ebony skinned woman sitting across from Keynan posed her question without looking from the small wooden bird beginning taking form in her hands.

“Yes?” He returned the question with his own and a charming smile to boot, hoping she could see it in her periphery.

Keynan had spent most of the day in thought while going about his ship work. What was the best way to make a secluded victim feel ready to ease into the outside world? Keynan had helped countless others in his lifetime, including slave rings and indoctrinated children, but this particular situation was different. Messier. Over the course of the day rational thought and prayers blurred into an unintelligible headache that could only be cured by taking to another person. And who better than his only friend on the crew to have a similar disposition to the monk?

Lucia sighed, staring down the figurine in her hand. Keynan had explained the situation so far, including what he knew from the mission. After a few moments in thought she set the dagger and bird down on the table to focus on her companion. “What’s your goal?”

“Primarily for her not to starve or dehydrate.”

“A wise idea. And after that?”

“To learn her name.”

“And after that?”

Keynan scratched his head. “Well, I was she would want a tour of the ship. That stuffy room isn’t good for anyone after more than a day.”

Another sigh escaped the woman. “Long term Keynan.”

Placing his elbows on the table, Keynan laced his finger together and used them to support his chin. “I spoke with Captain Taffrin about her condition today. They were… frustrated and concerned to say the least. If I can’t get her to a stable condition and working for her keep soon, Captain is afraid of unrest. I managed to convince them to give me another day, and a promise that if she proves capable, a place onboard.”

Lucia raised an eyebrow. The gesture was simple, almost vague, but Keynan knew her well enough to understand the implied question.

“Only if that’s what she wants, of course!” Keynan raised his hands in surrender. “Otherwise we can take her to the nearest port and set her up for a week or so. But I can’t imagine just leaving her there. After all she was victim too I’d like t--”

The woman interrupted, raising a hand. “Stop right there.”

“Wait, wh--”

“Shh.” Lucia waited for Keynan’s confused noises to cease before continuing. “That is your problem.”

It was Keynan’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“She isn’t simply a victim who needs saving. She has most likely experienced trauma, yes, but that is not what defines her. As long as you have boxed her as a victim, you will not be able to help her climb out of whatever slump she is in.” Lucia picked up her wooden bird and made a few key carving strokes. “She is a survivor. Perhaps, she needs a reminder of that.”

Keynan stared at the finished bird statue his companion set on the table between them as he mulled over her advice. The statuette depicted a great-horned owl, which Keynan vaguely recalled as a night time predator. Though it live in darkness, it may thrive. Hmmm.

A signature smile slowly grew on Keynan’s face. With a jolt of newly found optimism, he reached over to grab her face in his hands and placed a speedy kiss on her forehead.

“You are truly shining blessing my dear, dear friend!” He called out as he skipped from the table.

If he had bothered looking behind him, he would have seen Lucia shake her head knowingly at his familiar antics, a small smirk on her lips.

***

Dark. Twigs snapping. Panting. Foot steps.

She was running. Every muscle burned, but she couldn’t stop. They knew she had left. They were following. She had to keep going, to push through her bodies’ screaming.

Leaves rustling. Another twig, snapped. Sweat. Salt in her mouth.

Faster, or they’ll catch you. Faster or you’re dead. Faster, faster, fasterfasterfaster--

Whoosh.

Time slows to a crawl. Out of the corner of your right eye you watch a spear barely miss your ear. Silver eyes register purple ribbon.

She’s here.

Skid to a stop. Grasp the spear free from bark. Turn. Search for the familiar.

The face you find has her features, but not her eyes. Close them, it’ll go away. Shut it out, shut it out shutitoutshutitout shut--

Open. Panting, once more. Foot step. But not just yours.

They’re running, too. This connected body. Arms linking, shoulders supporting.

Together you run and run and run.

“Don’t give up.”

Warm voice. Who said that?

“Don’t. Give. Up.”

The burning is intense. It would be so easy to collapse, to rest…

“If you give up you lose. Trapped for eternity. Do you want your freedom or NOT?”

The voice booms like thunder.

Freedom. Sweet on your tongue. Heat turns to cold. Feet heavy, yet light.

Freedom. You choose freedom.

Suddenly, salt water. It crashes over, fills every pore. But you take a shaky breath. Air fills your lungs.

Dark. Peace. Finally.

***

Xorynth woke from the dream in a cold sweat. Most of the imagery faded instantly, but the swirl of emotions -- the fear, then confusion, followed by helplessness, and finally peace -- stayed and sat in her belly. She let herself cycle through them one at a time, again and again.

Freedom. Sweet on your tongue. She could almost taste it for a brief moment.

The half elf frowned. Was her freedom not what she wanted? What she craved and risked everything for? Why was she trapping herself in a desolate room after such sacrifice? She would not get to take this second chance at life if she withered away in the bottom of a ship.

For this first time in days, she sat up, fighting through the painful twinges of moving. It was a logical train of thought, a life line her mind began to wrap around. To get her freedom she simply needed to take control.

As soon as she thought the words, the voice inside chuckled, dangerously low. She realized now, almost like the dream had jogged her memory, that the voice reminded her of Elder Ru: patronizing and deep. Control? What control do you have? You have yet to properly taste freedom, and already it paralyzes you. The one thing you loved you destroyed.

NO! she tried to scream, but instead sharp pain erupting in her throat, taking the sound away.

You are a fool! A slave! A child! It taunted.

Closing her eyes as tightly as possible, Xorynth fought to clear her head. To meditate on the wood beneath her, the salt and sweet of her dream, on dreams of freedom. It was an uphill battle. The berating voice just had so much power. Only a few seconds into battle felt like an eternity at war.

You will never be free. You were groomed better than that.

No! No… she felt her fire dimming.

Submit to your fate. Accept your failure

I am tired...

Then stop wasting your energy. Rest. Submit.

Suddenly it felt so easy to submit to the storm. To the anger and fear and exhaustion. Why had she ever thought freedom would be attainable?

Knock-knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound of the familiar knock pulled Xorynth roughly out of her trance. Keynan was back. She felt like that was significant. Like she was supposed to remember something, but it escapes her, just out of reach. It takes all of her remaining energy to stay upright, eyes and ears open, though faced away from him. So she ignores the feeling of forgetting.

She heard glass and clay touch wood. Her stomach knotted and throat throbbed, in response. No, I -- I don’t deserve it.

He doesn’t speak right away. A true silence falls over the room for once, and she realizes that they’ve both held their breath.

“I do not pity you.”

Involuntarily, her back tenses. She doesn’t understand. What does he mean?

“A good friend reminded me today that pity isn’t always empathy. Sometimes it is a reflex that shackles those it means to help. So I do not pity you.” He sighs.

She remains silent, struggling to process his words with the fog of the voice and her dream heavy over her consciousness. But she keeps trying.

“We do not know each other yet. I can tell you need to grieve. By escaping captivity you’ve gained much, but I would be a fool not to acknowledge that you may have lost something else worth one hundred fold. You deserve to take as much time as you need to process this new life.”

He has no idea how much I have lost, she thought bitterly.

“But the woman I escaped that island with was strong and determined to reach freedom.” With every word his tone was shifting. The gentle lilt she was now accustomed to hearing took an assertive and passionate turn. “Though she shook with pain, she ran. Despite fear, she did not stumble. She was not a simple victim. She was a survivor. You are a survivor. Would she truly allow herself to starve, caged in this room?”

It was like he had dumped water over her head. The shock of his words rushed through her system, clearing the fog. Banishing the voice. She could finally take stock of the pieces her life had become.

Despite the fragments, she had survived. Despite all odds and every circumstance she. had. survived. For the first time since waking on this ship she allowed indignance to take over. Memories of every lashing, every night without sleep, every physical punishment, every mental test rushed through her mind’s eye. She had survived. Despite abuse and torture and an assassination attempt: she had survived.

So lost in her reverie, Xorynth almost missed what Keynan said next.

“I refuse to pity you, survivor. Lie there all you want, but know that every time I leave those doors I will come back until you decide to function again and earn your keep.” He paused, and the no doubt intentional dramatic effect creating enough tension to brandish the next sentence in her brain. “I am not giving up on you.”

It was too early for promises, but Xorynth pondered the significance of the offer nonetheless. If she could manage to not give up on herself, perhaps that would be enough. With enough time, maybe she could put the pieces back together and slowly learn to function in this new world.

Maybe it was time.

***

The man shook his head in disappointment, dreads gently swaying from the momentum. The deafening silence in the room, after all he had said, ached more than it had before. Standing in front of the door he couldn’t help but feel the disappointment spread, creeping up his neck. He had sincerely expected that speech to work. He reached for the door handle, plans already swimming in his mind. Perhaps tonight I ca-

“Xorynth,” rasped a mysterious voice.

Keynan’s hand hovered above the knob. Had she just--

Like lightning he spun around to face her again, taking in the scene before him.

Instead of facing the opposite wall, she now faced him in a meditation pose. Her legs bent at the knees and she held the flats of her feet together, making a shape of a butterfly. One hand was still, palm down her right knee, while the other held the bottle of water she was chugging in a surprisingly graceful manner.

He closed his dropped jaw and and simply stared, unsure how to react. Eventually, she finished drinking and placed the bottle gently by her side before boring her eyes into his in a now familiar fashion. Silver searching gold. But this time it was warmer, dare he say more relaxed.

Keynan didn’t dare breathe in fear that whatever this breakthrough was would end as abruptly as their last encounter.

Apparently, it was his lucky day.

Whatever thoughts she was processing ran their course, and whatever she was searching for in him she seemed to find. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed in the way one does when a burden is relieved. It was as if she had been single handedly holding a ship on her shoulders and just now let it fall. Or was it resignation? Keynan couldn’t be sure, but in that moment of vulnerability he swore to himself he would learn to tell the difference in her nuanced expressions with time.

Keynan only had a moment to be shocked at how strong his emotions were to invoke such a promise when her voice rose again. A murmur much smoother than the dry scratch from earlier carried across the room:

“My name is Xorynth Nailo.”

#Enigma Emblem Chronicles #EEC #my writing #my ocs #Xorynth Nailo #Keynan #Lucia

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