The Shattered Crowns

"So," Sillia began, her voice softer now, "where are you from? The red hair is a telling sign, but I won't assume—unlike some people." She shot Dante a sidelong glance.

"Morgoi," Akash said, his voice low. "Really, there's no need for this. I need to get back to searching for my friends."

Sillia pushed him back down with a gentle but unyielding hand. "You crossed the sea?" she asked, her tone tinged with disbelief. "You might actually be worse than Dante. What scatterbrained idea made you attempt that?"

"Not enough time," Akash muttered. "A middle-aged woman with a ridiculous hat insisted we had to. She said it was important."

Sillia's hands stilled for a moment. "What kind of adult would drag a child across that sea? Surely, she'd want to protect you—and your friends."

"Winter?" Akash let out a dry laugh. "A parent? No. She's not the type. And it's not like I have parents anymore."

The admission hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Sillia's movements slowed, and she rested her hand lightly on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "No child should grow up without parents."

"It's fine," Akash said quickly, his voice tight. "They're gone. It's been that way for a while."

"Hush," Sillia said, resuming her work with a gentler touch. "Just relax and let me handle this."

They worked in silence for a few moments before she spoke again, steering the conversation toward lighter topics. "Is it true you have giant slugs in Morgoi?"

Akash's face lit up despite the tension. "You mean the Mikar? You know about them?"

Sillia smiled. "Yes. Your homeland is the stuff of stories—endless forests, towering trees, and creatures as wild as the land itself."

Dante chuckled from where he leaned against the wall. "I always thought the people of Morgoi were supposed to be short, tree-like creatures."

"We're looking at one right now," Sillia said, gesturing to Akash. "And he's taller than you."

Dante smirked. "Sure, but his parents were probably from Kalla. The red hair gives it away. Kalla's people are tall, no question about that."

Akash nodded. "Most of the villagers back home weren't as tall as me, but they reached about my shoulders."

"Well, this'll ruin some historians' dreams," Dante said, clearly amused. "I might just write a book debunking their nonsense."

Sillia rolled her eyes. "Strange how you seem to enjoy tearing them apart. Almost like you have a personal vendetta."

Dante shrugged. "Maybe I do. They make my job harder with all their flowery nonsense."

Once Sillia finished stitching Akash's wounds, she stood, brushing off her hands. "There," she said, satisfied. "You're patched up for now, but you need rest."

She turned to Dante, her tone sharp. "And don't you dare bother him."

Dante grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Sillia smiled at Akash, her expression softening. "Take care of yourself, Akash. I hope we can talk again—under better circumstances." She left with one final warning glance at Dante, the flap of the tent falling closed behind her.

Dante waited until she was out of earshot before settling into a chair. "So," he began, "what do your friends look like? If we're going to find them, I'll need details."

"You'll help?" Akash asked, his voice hopeful.

Dante held up a hand. "Sillia said rest until tomorrow. I can't promise much tonight, but I'll send men out to look in the capital."

"Thank you," Akash said, relief flooding his tone. "Thank you so much—"

"Don't thank me yet," Dante cut him off, his voice tinged with skepticism. "The sea's taken entire towns. Even if they survived, they could be past the Dragon Fang Mountains by now, on the western side of Lorian."

Akash's jaw tightened, defiance sparking in his eyes. "They're alive. I know they are."

Dante sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're one of those people, aren't you?" He shook his head. "Fine. Tell me what they look like."

They continued for a few more minutes before reaching a simple white tent set up near the edge of the bustling encampment. Dante pulled the flap open and motioned for Akash to step inside.

"Relax for now," Dante said as Akash entered. "I'll fetch Sillia. She's our healer, and you'll need her work. Just pray she doesn't decide to have my head for bringing you in looking like this."

He made to leave but paused in the doorway. His tone turned firm. "One more thing—don't step outside. Once the Lunar Storms start, you won't survive them."

A faint smile tugged at Akash's cracked lips as he nodded, sinking onto the cot inside. His muscles groaned in protest, but the soft bedding was a welcome relief. Elys curled up at the foot of the cot, his warm, matted fur brushing against Akash's feet. The boy absentmindedly scratched the tiger's head, drawing a deep, rumbling purr from the massive beast.

Time slipped by slowly. The rhythmic rise and fall of Elys's breathing lulled Akash into a quiet stillness. His fingers drifted to his side, gingerly prodding the wound there. He winced but pressed on, testing its limits, until a sharp voice cut through the silence.

"Stop poking at your wound, you buffoon."

Akash turned his head just as a woman strode into the tent, black braid swinging with each purposeful step. She carried herself with an air of authority that left no room for argument. Trailing behind her, Dante entered with an exaggerated shrug, as if he had already been scolded and resigned himself to her wrath.

"Sillia," Dante said, his grin widening, "at least he's lucid enough to poke at his injuries. That's a good sign, right?"

Sillia shot him a withering look before focusing on Akash. "Let's see what we're working with," she muttered, setting down a leather bag stuffed with supplies. Her hands moved with practiced precision as she began cleaning the wound, her touch firm but careful.

"So," Sillia began, her voice softer now, "where are you from? The red hair is a telling sign, but I won't assume—unlike some people." She shot Dante a sidelong glance.

"Morgoi," Akash said, his voice low. "Really, there's no need for this. I need to get back to searching for my friends."

Sillia pushed him back down with a gentle but unyielding hand. "You crossed the sea?" she asked, her tone tinged with disbelief. "You might actually be worse than Dante. What scatterbrained idea made you attempt that?"

"Not enough time," Akash muttered. "A middle-aged woman with a ridiculous hat insisted we had to. She said it was important."

Sillia's hands stilled for a moment. "What kind of adult would drag a child across that sea? Surely, she'd want to protect you—and your friends."

"Winter?" Akash let out a dry laugh. "A parent? No. She's not the type. And it's not like I have parents anymore."

The admission hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Sillia's movements slowed, and she rested her hand lightly on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "No child should grow up without parents."

"It's fine," Akash said quickly, his voice tight. "They're gone. It's been that way for a while."

"Hush," Sillia said, resuming her work with a gentler touch. "Just relax and let me handle this."

They worked in silence for a few moments before she spoke again, steering the conversation toward lighter topics. "Is it true you have giant slugs in Morgoi?"

Akash's face lit up despite the tension. "You mean the Mikar? You know about them?"

Sillia smiled. "Yes. Your homeland is the stuff of stories—endless forests, towering trees, and creatures as wild as the land itself."

Dante chuckled from where he leaned against the wall. "I always thought the people of Morgoi were supposed to be short, tree-like creatures."

"We're looking at one right now," Sillia said, gesturing to Akash. "And he's taller than you."

Dante smirked. "Sure, but his parents were probably from Kalla. The red hair gives it away. Kalla's people are tall, no question about that."

Akash nodded. "Most of the villagers back home weren't as tall as me, but they reached about my shoulders."

"Well, this'll ruin some historians' dreams," Dante said, clearly amused. "I might just write a book debunking their nonsense."

Sillia rolled her eyes. "Strange how you seem to enjoy tearing them apart. Almost like you have a personal vendetta."

Dante shrugged. "Maybe I do. They make my job harder with all their flowery nonsense."

Once Sillia finished stitching Akash's wounds, she stood, brushing off her hands. "There," she said, satisfied. "You're patched up for now, but you need rest."

She turned to Dante, her tone sharp. "And don't you dare bother him."

Dante grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Sillia smiled at Akash, her expression softening. "Take care of yourself, Akash. I hope we can talk again—under better circumstances." She left with one final warning glance at Dante, the flap of the tent falling closed behind her.

Dante waited until she was out of earshot before settling into a chair. "So," he began, "what do your friends look like? If we're going to find them, I'll need details."

"You'll help?" Akash asked, his voice hopeful.

Dante held up a hand. "Sillia said rest until tomorrow. I can't promise much tonight, but I'll send men out to look in the capital."

"Thank you," Akash said, relief flooding his tone. "Thank you so much—"

"Don't thank me yet," Dante cut him off, his voice tinged with skepticism. "The sea's taken entire towns. Even if they survived, they could be past the Dragon Fang Mountains by now, on the western side of Lorian."

Akash's jaw tightened, defiance sparking in his eyes. "They're alive. I know they are."

Dante sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're one of those people, aren't you?" He shook his head. "Fine. Tell me what they look like."