The Red of the Writing

Six | Rija

In the glow of the rising sun, Zesa is positively radiant.

The increasing light illuminates the quaint cottages that make up the outer residential ring, casting a dappled pattern across the gently sloped roofs. Birds chirp merrily, loudly announcing the start of a new day to anyone close enough to listen. The fresh smell of the air, courtesy of last night's rain, adds the final touch to the fairytale landscape.

If I didn't know how ugly this country really is, I might have found the scene beautiful.

It's not like I have much room to speak, though. Azov isn't any better.

Occasionally, I allow myself to wonder what would have happened if I had ended up in another country. Where would I be if the ship had been going to Reva? Thalone? Zerai?

But I never dwell on those possibilities for long. Thinking about what-ifs is useless; the ship went to Ayera, and that's that. It's probably for the best, anyways. With how the situation in Azov has evolved, Reva and Thalone would have been too close to my home country for my liking. And, concerningly, Zerai's emperor seems to be growing particularly cozy with Azov's high chief.

Ayera might be a fractured country, but it's separated from Azov by both an ocean and the tensions between the two governments. And I'd take a fractured country over the shattered, bloodstained pieces that make up Azov any day.

Lost in thought, my feet carry me out of the outer residential ring and through the inner residential ring, which consists of smaller houses and townhomes. Everything is jammed closer together here, and it lacks nearly as much greenery, a stark turnaround from the almost whimsical air of the outer residential ring.

As I move closer to the center of Ayera's capital city, more stores start appearing between the small homes. Finally, all the residences give way to Zesa's massive main marketplace.

Although it's pretty early, many of the stores and street stalls are open already. The smell of fresh bread wafts out of a nearby bakery, making my stomach rumble. I left early this morning, forgoing our provided breakfast, and my stomach now scolds me for the decision.

I'll have to suck it up and ask Tanik for a few mirra later. Ordinarily, rebels who have been part of the Resistance for less than a year shouldn't be given money by their supervisors, probably because the higher-ups are afraid that they'll run off with it or something. But a few coins will hardly empty out their treasury, and Tanik seems to trust me enough to agree.

As I walk, I notice that wooden crates line many of the bigger streets. Men in neon orange vests lean over these crates, pulling out several shapeless, colorful heaps from each.

Right. Freedom Day.

This year, Freedom Day will mark the two year anniversary since the current Ayeran government came to power, or, in their words, "liberated" the rest of Ayera from the "oppressive" rule of the old one.

I can't say how much of it is true - I never experienced life under the previous government. But, judging by the slew of new, restrictive laws passed by the current regime, I'd say a lot of it isn't.

But even if I wanted to skip the festivities, I don't have much of a choice. Everyone in Zesa is required to attend at least the parade, in which the benevolent President will pass by in a carriage, smiling and waving.

He'll undoubtedly have a ton of armed guards with him, making the job of the Resistance a whole lot harder. The President and his oligarchy aren't idiots, unfortunately, and the Resistance is still a fledgling organization. It can't afford the risk of attacking the President and his guards, which would draw the Kaval's attention to the organization, without a guarantee of success.

And so, in two days' time, I'll be standing on these streets, in the capital of a country that fears me, clapping for a leader I don't believe in. Unable to do anything about it.

Finally, I slow my brisk pace, coming to a stop outside an intricate iron fence. If I listen really closely, I can hear the low hum of electricity. Thin strands of barbed wire are woven throughout the design, turning the ornamental fence into a deadly defense feature.

Guards stand at attention in watchtowers, constructed at regular intervals in the fence. The closest watchtower is still quite far from my position, but the distance doesn't dull the intensity of the guards' stares, which I can feel on my back and sides.

I ignore their gazes. I'm not doing anything wrong, after all. Instead, I scan the sea of green that stretches beyond the fence. My eyes wander, taking in every bit of information they can, before moving up, hesitating on the much more fortified wall further in, and finally resting on the crown jewel of Zesa. What all these fences and walls and guards are trying to protect.

The palace.

Former residence of the late King and Queen of Ayera, and now the home of the President.

It towers above the other buildings in Zesa, both due to its location, at the top of a hill, and its soaring towers, so tall that their points seem to pierce the very sky.

Truthfully, the Resistance's cause wasn't my fight. I'm not Ayeran, and I came here while running from a fight, not trying to get involved in one.

But, somehow, over my time in the Resistance, it's become my fight. It's certainly a lot more than the easy source of food and shelter it used to be. Somehow, I've become far more invested in the outcome of this battle than I ever intended to be.

I suppose a part of that could be attributed to Tanik. It's easy to see how passionate he is about the Resistance - his eyes light up, and his entire demeanor brightens every time he talks about their goals for Ayera's future, after the oligarchy is taken down.

But it doesn't matter what caused the change of attitude. All that matters is that my future is tied to this, now. My conscience won't let me leave without seeing this through.

Staring up at the palace, I make a silent oath. We'll make things right, I promise the King and Queen. Whatever it takes.

It's an impossible goal, but I've never been one to not fully commit.

Gods, Mahina, if you could see me now. Despite the painful edge that thought contains, a hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat. Joining a resistance group and helping to overthrow an entire government.

I know my older sister. She'd probably laugh at that statement, maybe tease me about the size of my dreams. But my older sister's not here - the version of her that answers is a twisted product of my mind, haunted by everything I've done.

I know that. But that doesn't mean it hurts any less when she asks one simple question, one that I can't answer.

Why didn't you do the same for us?

* * * * *

Current word count: 7184

I did say I would pick up the pace! I'm not sure how sustainable this will be, but I'll make it work - I will finish this novella. I will.

Anyhow, I hope this chapter wasn't boring! Rija is right where she needs to be, so I tried to incorporate some worldbuilding and backstory. Please let me know if it was too much! I tried not to info-dump, but I might have failed. :/

Thank you for reading! Hopefully, it was an enjoyable experience. :D