1217-10-04
Lying in bed, I stare at the cracked ceiling, the faint hum of the desert wind outside filling the silence. My mind drifts, as it often does, to the United Islands of Khiz. The name alone carries weight, a sense of mystery and possibility. The UIK—isolated, self-sufficient, and untouchable. At least, that's how people speak of it.
I've heard stories, of course. Everyone has. Tales of the Grand Regent, Flavius Marwyn, the man who rules not with an iron fist but with the quiet strength of someone who doesn't need to shout to be heard. They say he's a master tactician, a leader who's kept the islands unified despite their scattered nature and stubborn, independent people. They call him the Silent Watcher—a man whose eyes miss nothing.
The UIK is unlike here. It's not barren and sun-scorched but lush, with cliffs that rise like fortress walls against the sea. Each island is its own world, connected by the endless rhythm of the waves. Some are said to be so small they hold only a single village; others are sprawling, with forests and rivers and fields that stretch beyond sight. Solitude is what defines the UIK, a quiet peace broken only by the roar of the ocean.
But it's not perfect. Nothing ever is.
The war with Rali has been going on for years now. A feud over trade routes, resources, and power—at least, that's what the merchants and travelers say when they pass through. Battles fought at sea, on the fringes of the islands, have scarred both sides.
I couldn't help but wonder if it's worth it.
What would life be like there? Would the air feel different? Cooler, fresher, untouched by the grit and sand that seems to fill every corner of this place? Would Neith get better? Could we finally escape the endless ache of scraping by, of watching her suffer and feeling helpless to stop it?
I think about the fishing towns I've heard about—simple places where life is slower but steady. Boats coming in at dawn, nets heavy with fish; evenings spent mending sails and sharing stories around a fire.
It's not just about me. It's about Neith. It's about my parents.
Would she be safe there? Could she grow strong, play in the sand without fear, and sleep without pain? Or would the war find us, even there?
I roll onto my side, closing my eyes, but the questions don't stop. They swirl and loop, pulling me deeper into the what-ifs.
Maybe tomorrow, when Father's back, we'll talk about it. Maybe this time, things will change. Or maybe they won't.
The only thing I know for sure is that staying here feels like standing still. And I don't think I can do that anymore.
The familiar roughness of the blanket beneath me brings me back. The room is dim.
Home. I'm home.
The thought steadies me, but only for a second. A sound reaches my ears — a soft, high-pitched whine. My stomach tightens. Neith.
I'm out of bed. I grab a shirt off the nearby chair. I pulled it over my head in a rush. The whine comes again. I'm already halfway down the stairs. The morning heat bites at my skin..
"Neith?" I call softly
I follow the sound to the small cradle by the fireplace. She's there, her mouth open in a silent cry.. My heart twisted at the sight.
"Shh, I'm here," I murmur
I scooped her up into my arms. Her welts had faded, and she looked better than she had in a while. Was she in pain? Hungry?
Her dark patches of hair had grown a lot. Though she was older now, she was still often in pain. Her tan skin seemed to glow, and her amber eyes shone faintly in the dim light.
I sway gently. "It's okay, Neith. I've got you."
Her cries soften into soft hiccups. She's okay. Just startled, maybe hungry. I'm not sure, but at least she's calm now.
I glance around the room. His usual spot at the table is empty. His mug is missing. There's a faint smell of ashes in the heart.
He's gone.
He would've left early, slipping out without a word, as he always does.
"I'm sorry, Neith," I whisper, brushing a hand over her soft hair. "I should've been up. I should've seen him off."
She doesn't answer. Her tiny fingers curl around mine. I sit down in the old rocking chair by the hearth, holding her close. I rock back and forth. Her soft coos filled the silence.
"It's just us now, huh?" I say quietly. "You and me. Until mom wakes up."
"You'll be fine," I promised her.
As long as she's safe. As long as she's here. I'll do whatever it takes to make it so.
With her cradled in one arm. I stand and head toward the kitchen. My father may be gone, but life doesn't stop. And neither will I.
I heard the sound of footsteps. Turned to see my mother.
"You're up early," she smiles.
"Couldn't sleep," I replied
"Neith was crying earlier. I checked on her."
She looks at me. "Thank you for that."
I shrug, trying to downplay it. "It's nothing. I was thinking, though… have you considered moving? Maybe to the UIK or somewhere better? It's hard living here. And it's not like we're thriving."
Her expression shifts, a mix of surprise and hesitation. "You want to leave? This is our home."
"Is it?" I say, stepping closer. "We're barely getting by. Neith… she's always sick. Maybe it's this place. The sand, the air, I don't know. Maybe she needs something different."
She's quiet for a moment.
"I don't know," she says finally. "What if moving doesn't help? What if it makes things worse?"
"It's worth trying, isn't it?" I press. "But what if she could be better somewhere else?"
She sighs, setting the stick aside. "When your father gets back, we'll talk about it. Tomorrow."
I nod. "Alright. Tomorrow."
She gives me a small, weary smile. "Tomorrow."