A City of Flames

by Rina Vasquez

Genres: Dragons & Mythical Creatures; Humorous Fantasy; Romantic Fantasy

Synopsis

THE BUZZING, ENEMIES TO LOVERS TIKTOK SENSATION

'I absolutely loved this book from the rich world-building to the diverse characters' ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

'Rina has a way of really drawing you into the worlds she's created'⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

'The ending left my emotions in tatters' ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
.........................................

Nara has always desired justice.
Could hunting dragons bring her peace at last?

When a fire dragon attacks her village, the perfect opportunity presents itself - now she can take revenge on the creatures that killed her father. But the dragon she's determined to kill seems fascinated by Nara, something everyone slowly begins to notice . . .

After this strange event, Nara is invited to join the Venators - a trained order of people who slay dangerous magical creatures - just like her father before her.

This offer should be a dream come true. After all, who wouldn't jump at the chance to hunt down the cruel, destructive creatures that enslaved humans for thousands of years?

But Nara is about to learn the ugly truth; history is written by the victors.

Release date: September 28, 2023

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 464

Sample

‘What a great day to shit oneself to death, don’t you think?’ My second oldest brother whispers beside me.

I roll my eyes and turn to face him. ‘Careful Illias, your sarcasm could get you killed, and then you’ll be shitting yourself postmortem.’

His thick dark brows bunch together as he huffs, cutting a gaze towards the woods in front of us. A broken tree has blocked our pathway, making it merely impossible to jump over the height of it, yet excellent when it comes to hiding from whatever creatures lie ahead of us.

‘Why is it that you drag me out on every hunting escapade of yours?’ He groans quietly as the spring morning sunlight streams through branches and high trees. ‘Why can’t you ask Iker to do this instead?’

‘Iker . . .’ Being two years older than me and cannot tell whether it is night or day most of the time. ‘Iker is dreadful when it comes to moral support, unlike you. Besides, you’re my favorite out of the three.’ I smile. Illias is known as the lenient one out of the four of us. He can never say no to my offers to purchase him cans of paint for his canvases if he tags along.

He scoffs, brown doe eyes locking with my light blue ones. ‘Now you are outright lying—’

I lift a hand to silence him and listen carefully as the bushes to my right rustle in the distance.

‘What? What is it? Should I start running?’ Illias asks. The lining of his dusted tunic frays at the edges.

My eyes search every thicket surrounding us. ‘Where did you set the trap?’

‘Trap? I was supposed to set a trap?’

I turn my head slowly and grit my teeth. ‘I asked you yesterday!’

He gulps, short chestnut curls fall across his forehead, just about touching his brows. ‘Oh, we really are going to die, aren’t we?’

It’s a possibility, yes, but am I telling him that? No, I am not. ‘I’ll just have to catch it a different way,’ I say and rise to my feet. Birds scatter towards the skies, and the wind blows wisps of my hair across in a dark and eerie ambience.

I pull the cloak down from my head and draw two daggers out of the leather sheath strapped around my corset. I wait five short seconds before a crack of a branch comes from my side, and I whisper, ‘Now . . . you can run.’

On cue, Illias takes off in the opposite direction as a rümen catapults out of the bushes, heading to the main forest. I waste no time leaping over the tree. One of the blades warms against my non-gloved hand as my boots sink into the crusted grass. I pass darker branches, lichens, and shrubs as the rümen screeches in the distance.

Rümens rely on scent and hearing for everything. Where eyes should be, slits can be observed on either side of their head, rendering them blind. With the grimy slim body of a long snake and the wings of a bat, they look intimidating enough, but their screech? That is a deathly sound no one should experience at proximity.

I don’t intend to kill one. My primary purpose is trapping, even if rümens are one of the hardest species to catch due to their speed and agility. Yet, a simple nick to the scales on their back renders them weak.

Pausing in the middle of a clearing when it’s no longer in sight, I keep my grip steady and bring the dagger to the side of my head.

More birds flee from their nests, and I wait . . . I wait for any movement, any noise to show the rümen is still lurking within the depths of the woods.

Turning in a slow circle, my breath wavers. And just as I spot a glimmer of sun bounce off the scales of the rümen hidden between bushes, a snap of a twig behind triggers the creature, causing it to fly out, fangs at the ready as it sends me to lie flat onto the ground. Both knives fall from my hands, and I bring my forearm out to its neck, stopping the horrid creature from biting me.

Everyone knows the bite of one is lethal – a death unimaginable.

I wince, trying to reach for the blade that has fallen on the far left of my body while the rümen’s head comes down, snapping its razor teeth and bellowing out its cries which only remind me of something far more feared in our land.

Dragons.

Suddenly, flashes of that day when I was twelve years old echo in my mind. How my mother’s screams resonated in our cottage as I stood there paralyzed with fear, helplessly watching a dragon kill my father in broad daylight.

I grunt out a cry as the rümen’s talons sink into the side of my leg, the same way the dragon had sunk his in my flesh, slicing down from my palm to my forearm. I had raised it as a shield at the same moment my oldest brother Idris shot an arrow to its back, projecting the dragon forward.

The memory comes back to me so vividly it all but blends with the present, the blurred images fogging over the reality of the moment. I had raised my arm as a shield back then, yet the blunt force of the arrow made the dragon’s claw slice down into my palm.

As my mind finally allows me to focus on the present, the rümen stops, looking into my eyes as if it can see me—as if it’s analyzing me, just the way the dragon had done, right before taking Idris’s arrow. I take that as my chance, and once my hand latches onto the handle of the blade, I bare my strength and ram it into the side of the creature’s neck, deepening it until blood, warm and thick like lava, erupts down my hand.

The rümen screams out its agony one last time before slumping. Membranous wings fall limp, and I push its body off of mine, scrambling to my feet while catching my breath.

So much for not wanting to kill.

Picking up the other blade, I half turn to try and find Illias when a sense of darkness up ahead draws my attention. I stare at the thorns encasing the path leading to the Screaming Forests, a territory that separates the land of Emberwell from Terranos and a place where rulers of earthly immortals reside. No human on our side ever dares pass it. Not after the settlement was forged for all of Zerathion and its four lands, three hundred years ago. Each to their own land except for rulers.

‘What did you do?’ Illias comes over, panting, and pulls me out of my thoughts. ‘Ivarron always wants them alive!’

I tear my gaze away from the thorns that almost block the forest and instinctively wrap calloused hands around my other wrist. Glancing down at the fingerless leather glove ending just below the elbow—at the scar that hides beneath, I say, ‘It had the upper hand . . . I had no choice.’ And look at Illias.

He stares and his brows furrow like he knows that’s not the case. I might be good at hunting and trapping creatures, but Illias has always possessed the talent of detecting when something bothers me, much like Idris, and that something usually tends to be what had happened all those years ago.

‘Come on.’ I motion my head before he can say anything and start walking out of the woods towards the main village.

The fresh scent of baked goods fills the clammy air of the market square as we make our way past horses and carts. People smile to greet Illias, and I watch as he does the same, but the minute they see me next to him, they duck their heads and scurry off. Something I’m used to, since it started the moment everyone found out I work for Ivarron as a trapper. It’s not a safe job, and Ivarron is known as a scheming pig.

‘Shit, kill me right now,’ Illias mutters. I glance at him with a wary frown, stepping on chunks of stray hay across the cobbled ground.

I stumble to a pause from the pain that the rümen’s talons had caused when it sliced my thigh. ‘What is it?’

‘Kye is over there.’ He nudges his chin forward. I look in the direction he indicated seeing his former lover Kye – someone that happens to work as a woodcutter alongside Idris – casually leaning against a murky stone wall and talking to a friend of his. An immediate glare forms on my features as I remember how broken Illias was over Kye’s infidelity.

‘He’s been spreading a rumor about my hand,’ Illias continues with a murmur. My glare deepens as I lower my eyes to Illias’s left hand, a birth defect, designing it only with an index and a thumb. Still, it never stops him from creating artwork beyond imagination. ‘That I was born a beast worse than the rümens and that no one should approach me or the venom I’d spew would kill them in an instant.’

‘How come I have not heard of this rumor?’ I seethe. If anyone in the village dares to believe such an absurd rumor as this when so many know and adore Illias, they must be the stupidest people on earth.

‘Because half the village is afraid of you,’ he retorts, making a solid point. Not only do people fear me as Ivarron’s trapper, but they also expect me to have a drastic reaction when it comes to protecting Illias. One of the reasons why no one ever befriends or finds interest in me, not that I want someone. Either I end up chasing them away, or Idris does it for me.

Focusing my deadly gaze on Kye, I see his long blond hair looks dry and brittle even from afar. ‘Stay here,’ I say and ignore Illias’s pleas not to get involved as I start heading Kye’s way with a slight limp.

‘Kye.’ I greet him with a mocking smile on my lips when I near him. His golden complexion turns white as he spots me and stiffens. His friend mimics his moves, and I swear I can see a slight tremble come from him. ‘You remember me, right?’

He nods, swallowing and unable to look away as if he fears I will snap at any moment. I mean I could, obviously, but that requires effort, and it has been an awful long morning already.

‘Well, I couldn’t help but overhear this rumor—’ I place a dry, bloodied finger against my chin. ‘That has something to do with Illias . . .’

He opens his mouth, but I don’t let him even get the first word out. ‘Now, it’s strange because I’m not sure how you found out.’ I sigh dramatically. ‘But even though you were right, we can’t have you telling everyone around now, can we? So—’ I move my cloak and show the knives strapped to me. ‘Perhaps I should kill you before you inform anyone else.’

His face blanches. ‘I didn’t mean to say anything, I swear it. It was just a stupid joke—’

‘Listen, Kye,’ I say and lean in, making sure he and his friend can hear me as I whisper a menacing threat, ‘If you ever make up a rumor or break my brother’s heart again, I assure you; no amount of healing will manage to fix you once I’m done with you.’

I step back, satisfied, and a smile shapes my lips as I watch Kye’s throat bob. His wide green eyes slide from me to his friend before both nod frantically and rush away.

I inhale with pride and spin on my feet, heading back to Illias as I take out my wood carving of a crescent moon from my pocket, weaving it through each finger. A lucky carving, I call it. Something I’ve carried around with me since the age of ten.

Illias grimaces, rubbing his face. ‘Do I want to know what you said?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘No, you do not.’ As I’m about to grab his arm, he stops me from doing so and peers over my head.

‘Shit, Venators.’

Upon hearing that word, my head whirls around, scanning through the villagers passing by in their tattered dresses and tunics, until my eyes set upon what they are all looking at . . . Venators. The Queen’s noble warriors, who reside in the infamous City of Flames, and whose job is to protect the population from threats such as dragons, rümens and others of their ilk. They are the official dragon hunters of the kingdom. What my father once served as, and my one dream profession – what I’ve always dreamt to become.

I inhale softly at the dark leather-plated armor shaping each strong Venator. My eyes travel from a few of them standing guard in every corner of the village to one of the female Venators in particular. She holds her firm posture as the sun shines down on the flame designs of the leather cuffs wrapping around her forearms.

Surveying them all, my sight soon catches the color of red across from me – a band on the arm of another hunter. From this distance, a normal person wouldn’t be able to make out the engravings, but I can. A golden scaled dragon roaring, surrounded by a swirl of fire . . . Only the leaders of the Venators have one of those armbands. I know, because my father had one.

Bringing my gaze up, curious to see the face of the person who has taken on my father’s responsibilities, I freeze in shock when I do. He’s young. Barely a few years older than me.

His hair is short, shag at the neck. The copper color resembles that of the flames on his leather cuffs. His defined muscular arms, as he crosses them over his chest, draw my attention. And from how sharply cut his face is, you can see even from here he is without a doubt a handsome man – a warrior of elegance.

His eyes, whatever color they may be, cut straight to me, and for a minute, neither of us makes an effort to look away.

‘What are they doing here?’ I ask Illias, placing the carving back in my pocket, as the Venator and I continue our staring contest.

‘They look to be patrolling,’ he states the obvious. I give him a severe look, and he sighs. ‘Maybe a dragon was spotted nearby. It’d make sense since many houses have boarded up their windows.’

A dragon . . . we haven’t seen one in our village since that day, nine years ago.

Whipping my head back around to look at the Venators again, the one with the red armband doesn’t step down from his stare. I glower in his direction, hoping he’s the first to look away, and to my contentment, he does but a tug at the corner of his lips has me questioning what he finds so amusing.

I’m ready to go there and ask myself when Illias links his arm with mine and pulls me out of the way of an oncoming traveller and his cart. ‘Let’s head to Ivarron’s and get this shit over and done with.’

Right . . . Ivarron.

Everyone in the village knows where Ivarron lives, in the little district past the market square. But no soul will be found wandering about his street if they can help it. Though some poor unfortunate ones have no choice, living in the few thatch-roof houses flanking Ivarron’s. What a dull sight our village makes.

I sigh, gazing at the busted door, its wooden exterior – much like every place here – starting to get moldy at the sides. The smell of rotting flesh rises to my nose when I enter alongside Illias. He shivers next to me as we glance around at slanted shelves filled with jars containing fangs, hairs, talons and then maps spilling across other areas of his home.

Ivarron used to be a trapper, selling creatures off to the city long before I was born. It wasn’t until he caught me trapping a goblin by the woods at the age of thirteen that he used me instead. Young and foolish, I made a deal with him for the money I’d receive after my mother’s death a year on from my father’s. It was the only way to help Idris when neither Iker nor Illias could find work.

‘Faerie blood?’

I turn to Illias as he grabs a vial of iridescent red from one of the shelves. ‘Don’t touch anything,’ I hiss at him, and he immediately drops it, raising his arms apologetically as I manage to catch it between my fingers.

I release a breath, shooting him a stern look as the wax candle flickers above us, the only source of light because Ivarron refuses to install windows. I go to place the vial back when heavily padded footsteps approach from afar.

‘Naralía,’ a grating voice says my full name.

I glance to my side, abruptly putting the vial away into my sheath pocket, and now face Ivarron. His fine, long mousy brown hair is pushed back, showing off one single green working eye, the other a pale glass sphere.

Revealing his crooked teeth, he says, ‘what a lovely surprise.’ He picks off the dust from his navy threaded jacket. ‘Did you capture the rümen?’

‘No,’ I state firmly. ‘Trapping was bad this morning.’

He narrows his single eye and hums. ‘It’s a good thing I like you, Nara,’ he says, moving one of the rings that adorn his withered hands around. ‘Because you just cost me a huge sale today. Rümens are quite popular in the city.’

‘Then perhaps you can catch one yourself next time,’ I tell him. ‘I hear they’re attracted to money-hungry swine.’

My eyes catch Illias as he tries to stifle a laugh, then at Ivarron’s anything-but-amused face. He takes a few slow steps and stops mere inches away from me. The man is short, at least five inches shorter than me, but even with his small stature he doesn’t possesses a hint of fear or cowardliness. ‘Don’t forget your place with me, girl.’ He grinds his teeth. ‘You may be my best trapper, but I still hold more power over you.’ His working eye moves to Illias. ‘And we both know where your weaknesses lie . . .’

My brothers.

Illias, too, tenses at the threat and moves to make a protective shield of his body between me and Ivarron, but I stop him before he can, slamming my arm against his chest, indicating with a head shake that there’s no need for him to intervene. My brother may not seem like it, with that loving, nurturing quality to him, but that same quality also makes him fiercely protective. Like a Mother Hen.

Ivarron breathes a laugh, eyeing Illias with disdain. ‘I expect you to trap something good tomorrow morning if you want your week’s pay,’ he says. A grim smile shows up on his face as he looks at me again. ‘I hear a water pixie from the north side of Undarion has made its way through.’

Oh, how I’d wish to stab you.

I smile tightly instead. ‘You’ll get whatever there is to catch first thing at sunrise.’ And grab Illias by the arm, not uttering another word as I turn us around. Ivarron’s harsh laugh echoes through his house before I storm out of the doors, glad to be breathing actual fresh air.

‘I hate him . . . I really hate him,’ Illias says, fuming. I couldn’t agree more, but I also can’t deny Ivarron trained me well from a young age and taught me about most critters. ‘Damn you, Nara, for getting yourself involved with someone dangerous.’

I huff, not saying a word, and rush him down the streets. Idris once tried to get me out of working for Ivarron. But his roughing Ivarron up hadn’t helped the situation at all. The bastard repaid by sending some of his men to find Iker outside the tavern one day. They’d simply left him barely breathing as a warning.

‘Nara, are you listening to me?’

‘I am, but what can I do about it now—’ I pause when I spot a tall figure from afar, wearing a grey shawl that I immediately recognize. ‘Shit, Idris,’ I mutter, looking up at Illias, who is placing the edge of his hand against his forehead and squinting from the sun.

‘What does Idris—oh,’ he says casually before realizing what is happening and makes a face, widening his eyes. ‘Oh . . .’ He drops his voice to a low tone. ‘He looks pissed.’

Indeed, that is true. Idris’s usual scowl does not falter once as he excuses himself from the few villagers he was talking to and makes his way towards us. His shoulder-length chestnut hair sways with each solid stride. It’s the color all three of my brothers share, in contrast to my golden honey locks – a courtesy of my father’s genes.

‘Do you think we have time to run?’ I grimace, watching Idris getting nearer.

‘No,’ Illias says. ‘But maybe if we pretend to be doing something—and he’s standing in front of us, ah, hello brother, fine day—’

‘Both of you, home,’ Idris grits his teeth, trading glances between Illias and me. His voice low and stern, like always. ‘Now.’

Facing Idris or a rümen? I’d choose the rümen again.

By the time we arrive at our secluded cottage on the other side of the village, it’s already past midday. There is a light breeze, despite Emberwell normally never getting cold even through the winter months and strands of my hair flick around as I near the grey stone walls. You can make out the steel powder trapped in the mortar between stone walls to ward off any possibility of a dragon. People say it’s a weakness for them; however, it’s hard to obtain unless you come from the city. Luckily working for Ivarron has its perks, particularly when I steal from him, much like the faerie blood vial in my sheath pocket.

I push through the wooden door, trudging inside. Light encases me from the open windows. My eyes then trace the flower-decorated carvings I have done on each corner of our rickety home. My carving tools, which were a gift from Idris on my birthday a few months back, rest on the floor to one side.

‘There you guys are,’ Iker says, jolting up from the wooden chair by the fireplace. I frown, noticing he’s cradling a pure white rabbit in one of his arms as he waltzes over.

I would ask how, what, when, and why, but I am too afraid of what the answer might be. I turn, following his movements as he goes to stand between Idris and Illias.

Taking the opportunity of having the three in front of me, I look at them – at their features. How Illias’s and my soft upturned noses differ from Iker’s slightly crooked one, the result of Ivarron’s temper. Regardless they all shared that same defining jaw covered in a thin layer of stubble, and what everyone knows us for . . . the Ambrose hands. Strong, rough, full of creativity – even with Illias missing a few fingers and mine with a jagged scar.

‘Threatening to kill Kye?’ Idris’s rage-filled voice drags me back to the current situation. ‘Really?’

I keep my face neutral. It’s not as if I was going to act upon it.

‘You know what it’s like to have someone who works with you run up and say that you need to keep your sister in check?’

Well, it seems Kye truly has a death wish.

‘If I may.’ Illias treads to my side carefully, pointing a finger in the air. ‘She’s had a rough morning trying to capture a rümen—’

I silently pray for him not to go on, but it’s already too late as Idris looks at me with narrowed eyes.

‘What?’ He raises his voice. The golden tan of his skin, the same complexion all four of us share, pales at the mention. ‘Do you have any idea how dangerous those are? There’s no cure if they bite you, Nara.’

‘And you think I don’t know that?’ My brow quirks. ‘I hunt down creatures for a living, Idris. Anyway, why are you so worked up about this now? It’s not like we haven’t had this conversation a thousand times before.’

‘This time you are hurt,’ he points out and glances down at my thigh, which I have failed to cover with my cloak. ‘And because rümens are lethal predators.’

I know they are. ‘I can’t just stop,’ I whisper, looking downcast.

‘Then I’ll deal with the consequences of Ivarron if I have to, but you’re not working for him anymore.’ That makes my head shoot up, brows furrowing. Idris had attempted that in the past, and it didn’t end well. For any of us. ‘When Mother fell ill, she entrusted me to look after you. Explain to me how I can do that when you’re out there, putting yourself in danger—’

‘Mother may have entrusted you with our safety,’ I say, moving in closer and emphasizing my words. ‘But you do not get to decide what is best for me and what is not.’

Idris scoffs, shaking his head the way he always does with me. My fist clenches. I am sick and tired of watching him treat me like nothing more than an unruly child. For eight years, he’s had to look after us, carrying the burden of both our parents’ deaths, when neither was his fault. But not once did he stop to think that we didn’t need him to decide everything for us.

‘Nara, I think—’

‘No,’ I cut Illias off but keep my gaze fixed on Idris. ‘Time and time again, you have disagreed with me on everything. When I told you I wanted to become a Venator, you shut me down, yet I know for a fact father would have been proud if it meant I was carrying out his legacy.’ My nostrils flare and my blood boils. ‘I’m twenty-one, Idris. Not a child and not the weak little sister you think that I am.’

Silence.

Utter deafening silence resonates in my ears as I stay staring right into Idris’s eyes, the swirls of blue and green in his iris brightening against the shaft of light. Those eyes that are the same color as mine. The same as our mother’s.

I wasn’t going to back down. After all, defying Idris is a habit of mine, but of course, Iker intervenes with a whistle and smiles, slapping one hand onto Idris’s shoulder. ‘She laid one on you, brother.’

‘Shut it, Iker,’ Illias says. ‘It’d be in your best interest not to get involved seeing as you disappeared all of last night at the tavern and didn’t come back until the early hours of dawn.’

‘And with good reasoning,’ Iker says, covering the rabbit’s ear. ‘I heard Idris cooked a dreadful venison.’

We all look at him, not knowing whether to tell him that a rabbit is no elk. Idris is the first to sigh deeply, deciding to ignore Iker as he says to me, ‘Get that wound cleaned and dressed before it gets infected,’ and shoulders past me.

Short curls fall over Iker’s forehead as he blows a breath of relief. I glance at Illias, who smiles uncomfortably at me in a bid to lift my spirits. I barely lift the side of my lips in reply, the reality of how we’ve had far too many of these disputes against Idris sinking in.

Later on that evening, after a tense supper where no one spoke except to fight over the last piece of bread, I wind up in the bathroom. I take off my corset along with the sheath strap, leaving me in a loose white shirt as I set it all on top of the chipped sink.

I exhale deeply, glancing into the mirror and running my fingers along the sides of my body. Although Iker and Illias find it impossible to obtain a stable job, I am grateful Idris and I can provide sufficient funds for food. Some days I still have to hunt so we can have a meal on our plates. Yet, regardless of whether we’re starving or not, my natural figure never loses its busty curves.

My hands slowly come down to my thighs until I wince and look down at the injury. I had put herbs and dressed it up after Idris told me to, and of course, Illias had offered to help, but my stubbornness made me storm off with a half-arsed job.

‘Hey, Trapper?’ Four obnoxious knocks accompanied by my nickname tells me it’s Iker on the other side. ‘Can you cover for me if Idris asks where I am?’

I roll my eyes, knowing he’s going out to try and trick people into giving him money by the tavern.

His knocks continue, with loud whispers of my name over and over again, but I don’t respond as I twirl waves of golden hair and weave it into a half-up half-down plait.

I quickly grab my moon carving and turn towards the door. The brass mortice knob cools against my skin as I pull it open and see Iker’s hand midair while his gaze focuses on how I tap my foot on the floor impatiently. ‘You shouldn’t go out,’ I say, looking over his shoulder at the rabbit nibbling on its paws. ‘You have a new pet to look after, wouldn’t want me leaving the door open so he escapes now, would you? Or worse, imagine you eating dinner tomorrow and realizing what’s in the stew?’

He blinks, narrowing his eyes with faint amusement. ‘Oh, you are positively evil.’

‘We share the same blood, so you and me both, Iker.’ I pat his shoulder with a smile and walk off, heading outside and into the front gardens that lead up to heaps of woods and greenery.

I stop and take in the unusual hues of purple enhancing the night sky and rest onto the thick layers of grass. I bring my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around as I lift the carving between my thumb and index finger, studying it under the light of the stars.

Sighing wistfully, I remember how a few years back, my mother took me to a neighboring village. I’d been carrying a carving of the sun I’d made myself before I bumped into someone, and the carving slipped out of my hand. In a rushed attempt to recover it, I ended up with a moon carving instead. I guess the person I’d bumped into must have dropped it at the same time I’d dropped mine and we’d exchanged them by accident.

My mother told me how it was a sign . . . a form of luck. People of Zerathion believe our universe was created millennia ago with the power of the sun and the moon – deities named Solaris and Crello. They believe that the sun always seeks its moon, and when they join, an unimaginable power will surge from them.

My brothers don’t share that faith but I do. I want to believe there is something.

Minutes pass as I flip the crescent and run my thumb over the letter R engraved on the oak surface. My curiosity grows before someone calls out to me. I look over my shoulder, seeing Illias’s figure through the window, waving at me to come back inside.

I shake my head humorously at how concerned he gets sometimes, and I dust the dirt off my fingers while rising. When I glance at my carving once more, I breathe a sigh, wondering if I’ll ever get my sun returned, as I start making my way back.

‘You didn’t steal that bread like last time now, did you?’ Miss Kiligra, the seamstress of our village, asks, squinting her hazel eyes at the loaf in my hands.

‘Course not, Miss Kiligra,’ I drawl. ‘That was Iker.’ A renowned trickster, he used to dress up as a frail man in need of bread before returning home.

‘Oh, you Ambrose siblings are all the same,’ she complains, her voice sounding as brittle as a rusted piece of metal as she totters to the back.

After trapping a water pixie