{{NavChap|[[Chapter XI - The Generation of Miracles]]|[[Chronicles of the First Crusade#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils]]}}

{{Quotation|''Bélénor Nébius, narrator''|:''"So Belenor, have you been able to progress as you wanted to on ''The Sacred War'' these past few months? You were close to the end, weren't you?"

Varran glanced at Belenor, who in turn shrugged his shoulders. Melkiar sighed. Having just returned to Fyre a few days earlier, after a long absence, the Fyros had arranged to meet his comrades at the baths. Indeed, the Imperial Army had been sent far to the west of the Desert in order to push back the insubordinate Fyros tribes, and had for the occasion called upon some qualified reservists. While the Fyros Empire had from age to age have to coexist with these rebels, they had been particularly quiet these two last decades. Recently, however, the tribe of Dune Riders had achieved the feat of subjugating several rival groups, becoming the Empire's ''de facto'' main enemy right within its borders. Wanting to mark the occasion, and to remind the rebellious tribes of his power, Emperor Thesop decided to send his troops to "talk" with the Dune Riders. Melkiar being from the Dragon's Tears tribe, the most powerful tribe subject to the Empire in the west of the Desert, but also the greatest rival of the Dune Riders, he had been asked to join the expedition in order to play the role of intermediary. The young prodigy accepted the imperial order without batting an eyelid, which was an opportunity for him to see his family again.

His family… Belenor stared silently at his friend, now standing and deep in discussion with Varran. They had known each other for some years now, yet Melkiar had always shown himself to be particularly secretive. Apart from the fact that his father, the famous Tigriron, was the leader of the Dragon's Tears, Belenor did not know much about his family. Of course, his friend had mentioned siblings before. However, he had never named them. He only remembered the time when Melkiar, a little too drunk, had mentioned the existence of Aster, one of his childhood friends from his tribe. Only once, then. It was quite obvious, the Fyros did not like to discuss his childhood, and quite often, Belenor assumed that his silence was hiding something. For a few seconds, he wondered if it was shrewd to take advantage of Melkiar's recent family reunion to ask him some questions. But at the same time, Tisse Apoan's voice rang out in the adjacent locker room.

:''"You are really children. You know how irresponsible it is to waste water," he said, trying not to smile."

More than a social norm, the acceptance of nudity and gender mixing was part of a political strategy that was almost two centuries old. Indeed, before the foundation of the Empire in 2275, the Fyros were divided into a multitude of nomadic tribes competing for the territories best supplied with water and fire. When, after a long military campaign, Dyros the Great, the first emperor of the Fyros people, succeeded in subjugating many of these tribes, the will to unite them led the young sharükos to elaborate, with his advisors, the principles known as the "Four Pillars of the Empire" which soon became the values shared by all Fyros: Truth, Honor, Discipline and Justice. For all that, Dyros knew that a simple motto would not be enough to contain the ardor of his new subjects, who were more accustomed to traveling and warfare than to living in peace behind gigantic walls. So the sharükos put everything on the army and education. The newborn military institution would be in charge of educating each offspring of the Empire, in order to make him a patriot convinced of belonging to the same great family. In the newborn cities, parents were obliged to send their children to local schools as soon as those reached the age of three. The tribes that were subject to the Empire but not settled in the city were given the support of imperial commissioners to educate their children. Of course, many families did not take kindly to the Empire's intrusion, as it tried to elevate its laws above certain traditions. However, the Empire never tried to erase tribal customs, as long as they did not oppose the great imperial project. Finally, when the children reached the age of seven, they had to go to a city that housed a subsidiary of the Imperial Academy, where everything was set up to accommodate them. These children, subjected to military rigor since their early childhood, were gathered in groups destined to endure for several decades. Everything was done to ensure that each individual felt close to his or her comrades and that no young patriot was rejected. This is how, under the aegis of the Pillar of Truth, nudity became an important part of the education of the Fyros people. It allowed for the desecration of differences while celebrating their power: the Fyros Empire would owes its glorious future to the combination of its individualities.

Xynala, still standing in front of her comrades, cast an affectionate glance at Melkiar. She hadn't seen him in several months, and Belenor knew how much she had missed him. His happiness was a joy to behold. A happiness that did not last. Tisse joined Melkiar on his island, grabbed him by the waist and pressed himself against his muscular back. Shifting her head to the left, she smiled at Xynala. This one lost instantly her radiant air. Understanding her affliction, Belenor tried to catch her eye. In vain. A few long and silent seconds passed, then Varran spoke.

"Well, Melkiar, you wanted to tell us something? That's why you have gathered us here, right?"

:''"Yes, that's right. First of all, I want you to know that I am glad to see you again. Secondly, I wanted to talk to you about the political situation west of the Desert, and the great war my father has been waging for several years now against the Dune Riders. The help provided by the Imperial Army has been a great help, of course. However, I think it is not enough. The Dune Riders are more organized and powerful than ever, and no matter how well trained the Empire's soldiers are, only those who have grown up in this region are capable of fighting there efficiently. The ground there is very unstable, with shifting sawdust and concealed cracks. Not to mention the gigantic gusts of wind coming straight from the Prime Roots, which often sweep through these inhospitable lands. Many soldiers have perished during our expedition. Therefore, to help the Empire and my tribe defeat the Dune Riders, I plan to join my family in…"

:''"No, that' s not it... That's my parents. Well, my father. I think he was trafficking with Thesop's closest advisors. He's afraid of reprisals and wants us to move to Coriolis…"

The Fyros buried his face in his hands and rested his forehead against the table.

:''"In the end, I may be the one who will leave, Melkiar... Someone bring me a shookie."

:''"No, she whishes us to stay, even though I can feel her worrying too, the Fyros muttered between his fingers. I don't care if they go, as long as they leave me the keys and Penala stays by my side. But I don't want to leave..."

Belenor looked at Garius with a stunned expression. He was liking him? It was true that their relationship had changed a lot since their first fights. For all that Garius had never verbalized their friendship until now. The colossus smiled at him and Belenor blushed slightly. At the same time, a waiter arrived with seven full pints.

:''"Smile youths! You, especially! he said, pointing to Belenor with his free hand. Today is a great day, we'll reflect on our worries tomorrow!"

Perked up, the seven comrades grabbed a pint, toasted, and began to drink. On this strange day, the shookie was particularly good. Xynala, who had just drained off her pint in one go, slumped slightly against Melkiar's shoulder, beside whom she was sitting.

:''"What were we talking about again? Ah yes, the assassination. We have several theories, Belenor. Tisse imagined that the assassin could be a simple angry Pytoist patriot. I find this reasoning too simplistic. Melkiar, unlike Tisse, has a more elaborate theory. Isn't that right Melkiar?"

Tisse frowned, irritated by Xynala's tone. She finished her pint in a few sips.

:''"I don't think my theory is any more consistent than Tisse's, Xynala. Besides, the simplest theories are often the best. I wondered if the assassin could be a spy from the Kingdom of Matia. We know about the age-old rivalry that opposes the Fyros people to the Matis one. For all thta, it has been over forty years since the Aqueduct War ended. So why now? Everyone has noticed that in recent months, Thesop has lost a lot of majesty and ferocity. As if something had happened to him. Or as if he felt stalked. Hence the idea of the Matis assassin."

Pleased with Melkiar's support, Tisse also slumped against him. The alcohol helping, she dared to put her hand against the bare thigh of the Fyros, who for any reaction, finished his pint dry. A dark veil immediately covered Xynala's face. Belenor crossed her eyes and tried to send her a comforting smile. In vain.

:''"Have you ever met a Karavan agent?" Brandille replied without warning.

This time, all turned to their comrade. Since the beginning of the conversation, Brandille seemed to be elsewhere. Melkiar, who was getting drunk, let out a laugh.

:''"You think Thesop was a Karavan agent?" said Melkiar ironically.

:''"Oh, I don't think anything, you know. I'm just spreading ideas… Ideas and messes," Brandille replied sarcastically.

"What Brandille meant, I think, was that Thesop was maybe linked to the Karavan, Belenor continued. And maybe benefiting from their magic. After all, it would not be surprising if the Karavan meddled… It would not be the first time."

"And so the Karavan would have helped Thesop to maintain his power all these years, only to at last leave him to serve up to his people?" Varran asked.

"I hate them! Who do they think they are? To answer your question, Brandille, yes, I have met agents before. One day, when I was a child, the Karavan came to my tribe. I remember vividly that stormy morning when three shadows descended from the orange sky with hands full of gifts and speeches full of promises. I remember their monotone voices. Cold. As if dead. As if their thick, black helmets smothered all traces of life. They offered us resources and protection. In exchange, all we had to do was follow Jena's commandments. They asked for nothing more. Of course, my father refused. Well, he tried... In truth, it wasn't really a given. For yes, I remember the strange psychic pressure they exerted. I remember the hesitant and disoriented gaze of my father. Thankfully my mother was there in support. When my father finally refused, many of my people thought our end has come: one of the agents, more insistent than the others, threatened us with reprisals. But my parents stood firm, and in the end the three strangers rose into the heavens and went returning to where they had come from. I hate the Karavan as much as I hate the Kamis… They think they are our masters… And that will last as long as we continue to name them 'Powers'! For as long as homins chain themselves to them, so long will they remain slaves in their eyes! As for me, I have already made my choice, that day: rather to die free than to live enslaved!"

:''"If they are so different, then why do both claim to be sent by Jena? I know that you have fallen in love with the Kamis, Belenor, but let's face it: the "Powers" are only two sides of the same coin."

Bélénor looked at Brandille, dumbstruck. Then his friend pointed in the direction of the opposite corner of the tavern.

Belenor turned his head, and with a throat full of shookie, nearly choked. A member of the Zorai people was indeed seated at the counter with his back to them.

:''"Enor, let's go talk to him!"

Without waiting, Brandille grabbed Belenor by the hand and pulled him toward the stranger. The Fyros let her, though panicked at the thought of meeting a Zorai. If he had already come across some of them on seldom times in the streets of Fyre, he had never had the opportunity to talk to one of them face to face. Besides, this was the case for the vast majority of Fyros. Indeed, it was often difficult to approach the Zorai people, who had become particularly isolationist over time. It was told that the Zorai had never forgiven the Fyro armies for having laid siege to Zoran on a misunderstanding in 2328, believing that the Theocracy was the ally of the Kingdom of Matia. It must be said that the Great Library of Zoran, which at the time consisted of several thousand volumes dealing mostly with the Kamis, had been completely destroyed by Fyross artillery... This military error had convinced the Theocracy to extend the construction of its Great Wall to all the borders of the Jungle. A Great Wall that the Zoraïs refused to open to Tryker refugees when the Kingdom of Matia invaded Trykoth thirty-five years earlier and enslaved the Lake people. Enough to make many homins suspicious of the Zoraïs, then... Belenor, for his part, was far from these considerations, and ardently wished such a meeting. So much so that he had developed a form of frustration. For, by dint of writing about a people of whom he had never actually met a representative, he feared that his fascination was excessive, that it bordered on racial fetishism. When the two comrades arrived at the counter, they realized that the individual was actually a homina. Leaning against the bar, the Zoraï was drinking a soup through a strange straw. Instantly, Belenor fell captivated by her blue skin, but especially with her mask. Of elongated form and with asymmetrical horns, it was also completely white. If the Fyros was fascinated by its shape and color, one detail intrigued him more than anything else: its texture. At that moment, he would have given anything to run his fingers over that bony face, which was said to be warm and soft. To touch this sacred gift of the Kamis, of which the Zorai people were the sole and lucky owners. Realizing that his friend would not take the floor on his own, Brandille took his best Mateis and called out to the Zorai. For while there was no guarantee that she spoke Fyrk, the Fyro language, correctly, it was rare for travelers not to master Mateis.

The Zorai lowered her head in the direction of the two youths and tilted her mask to the side. Facing her, and though she was seating, Brandille looked tiny. While the Zorai must have been over six feet tall, Brandille was only four feet tall, the average height of the Tryker people. Belenor winced, certain that her friend had been too abrupt. His inability to read the facial expressions of his bony-faced interlocutor only accentuated his anguish. But against all odds, the Zoraï withdrew the straw of the labial slit of her mask and answered in a very comprehensible fyrk.

:''"I'm on a trade mission," the Zorai replied, tucking her straw into the small pouch thet fwas flanking her left thigh. But the assassination of the sharükos changes many things. So I'll have to leave again soon. A story about my people, then? Interesting. I am listening, young Fyros. What questions do you wish to ask me?"

:''"So tell me about the story you're writing, the Zorai replied calmly. And I will tell you what it inspires me."

:''"Ah… Heu… All right. It's a story about a Zorai from a tribe that worships the Kamis, but refutes the idea that Jena is the Supreme Kami. A tribe fiercely opposed to the Karavan, who decides one day to launch a great expedition in order to preach the good word and fight against the Karavan's minions. This is what they call the "Sacred War".

:''"Ah? This is original. And who would the Supreme Kami be?" the Zorai asked, crossing her fingers.

:''"Tattoos?! How horrible. To voluntarily injure your mask is a serious offense to the Kamis. Not to mention the terrible pain involved…

:''"No, Brandille. It's okay. Leave her alone, please," Belenor interrupted her, grabbing her hand.

"I totally understand how you feel Xynala, believe me. And if I seem so serene about Melkiar and Tisse, it's simply because, unlike you, I always knew I had no chance. Melkiar likes women. I like men. As cruel as this reality is, it had the merit of preventing me from hoping.

:''"How can you be sure of that?" asked Xynala between sobs.

:''"I don't think so Xynala, the Fyros replied, stroking her hair tenderly. One day, we won't be friends anymore, that's a certainty. The potential reasons are numerous: ideological differences, weariness, geographical distance, or simply death. Everything passes Xynala. Everything… Sorry, I'm not the best at comforting. What I'm trying to tell you is simply that you'll get better, soon, and whatever happens. Such is life. So goes the time."

:''""Do you think you and I will ever fall in love with a homin who will feel the same way about us?"

:''"How can you remain so pragmatic, Belenor?" the Fyros replied, rubbing her eyes.

:''"It's Brandille. By dint of hanging out with her, I see the world philosophically, he replied in an ironic tone."

For all answer, Xynala smiled and kissed Belenor on the cheek. She took him by the hand and they both headed back to the tavern. She was feeling better. Belenor smiled back. Finally, he wasn't that bad at comforting.}}

{{NavChap|[[Chapter XI - The Generation of Miracles]]|[[Chronicles of the First Crusade#Table of contents|Table of contents]]|[[Chapter XIII - The Desert of a Hundred Perils]]}}

{{Portal|The Great Library}}

{{Portal|Zoraï}}

[[Category:Chronicles of the First Crusade‎]]