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yzeltia · 1 year

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The Lost Year

Chapter 1: Ship to Wreck Characters: Hein Rijin, Y'zel Tia Rating: T Notes: CW: Ideation

Reunion was alive as always. The neutral grounds remained a hotbed for trade and friendly gathering for the Xalea of the Steppe, who otherwise might find themselves at odds. It seemed worlds away from Doma, and yet the noise and sense of community often reminded Hien of home. There wasn't a shortage of work he could find, whether it be hunting down a beast or gathering resources. As an outsider, he could cross into most territories without causing an incident between tribes.

Today's visit was of personal nature. Rather than seeking out coin, he had come to spend it. An arms merchant had set up shop. The dealer had gathered wares from all over the eastern nations, bringing them to the hotbed of battle in hopes of making a mint off the Xalea tribes. Among his wares, a Doman katana, Hoshikiri, that he intended to reclaim.

"Ah. Lord Hien. Welcome, welcome. Come to collect the sword of legend?"

"I have A'bhen," the prince answered gruffly, dropping a pouch of gil down, letting it spill over.

"Oh! Wonderrful," the Tia purred, eyes wide and upon the counter.

"I'll have it then?"

"Yes, of course! One moment."

With that, the merchant turned to retrieve the sword, tail swishing in delight. Hien crossed his arms as he watched the Tia, eyes narrowed. He held little trust for opportunists. No doubt the prize was ill-gotten in the wake of the Garlean occupation. It felt wrong to have to buy it back, though the idea of anyone else having it felt worse.

"It's a fake," a listless voice sounded.

Hien turned toward as A'bhen clamored, startled by the unwelcome appraisal. The prince crossed his arms, finding a pink-haired Miqo'te looking up to him from a rug. The young man was on his stomach, yukata undone and holding a pillow as a Xalea girl painted flowers down his back.

"I don't know who you are, but I'll kindly thank you to keep your tail out of my business," A'bhen hisses as he roughly placed the sword on the counter, "I do not know who that is Lord Hien, but I assure you this is, I'm fact, the genuine article."

"I'd hear our friend speak," the Prince offered wearily, hand upon his coin purse as he unsheathed the and lifted the sword into the light, "It looks legitimate to me. What gives you pause that you might besmirch this man's reputation, friend?

The interjecting Miqo'te largely seemed unbothered by the fuming dealer as his large blue eyes drifted from Hien to the sword, studying it closely. The prince couldn't help but feel like there was a certain doll-like quality to the interloper. There was little reaction as the woman brushed in the little pink flowers on his body. It almost seemed like it was happening to him, not for him.

“The scabbard is made of compressed wood rather than carved. See how there’s no splintering, but chipping instead? The ribbon on the hilt doesn’t match the ribbon wrapping on the scabbard either. Looking at the blade, it’s also missing a tang marking. Not to mention that I doubt the Garleans parted willingly with a historical piece. Nor do I think it’d have found itself able to trickle down as far as it has to be sold for a fraction of its true worth.”

Hien examined the blade then set it down before taking his gil back. “Guess I’ll be keeping my gil then.”

A’bhen’s tail twitched as he looked the the stranger that had ruined his sell.”You little shit. I’ll cut you ear to ear!”

With that, the merchant took the blade then rose it up high before finding himself stuck with an arrow by a Qestir guard. The Tia hissed as he doubled back, falling on his ass as he held where he was struck. The other Miqo’te hadn’t flinched.

“You whelp! I’ll see you skinned! I’ll- I’ll,” A’bhen screeched before being detained by the guard and carted off to be thrown out of the settlement.

“You have my thanks,” Hien praised as he watched the pink-haired Miqo’te finally rose to his feet, slipping his unpainted arm back into his yukata, “And my curiosity as to how you came to know such things. There are not many Miqo’te in these parts. Many would scarce believe I ran into two in the same village on the same day.”

The Miqo’te hummed, looking back to the prince, considering the question before tossing his hair, “My dad was a Raen of Othard. As a boy I made it a point to learn everything I could about his homeland as a means to feel closer. I simply picked up a few things.”

Hien scratched his chin as the other started to wander off, leaving him to sit with his coin purse and thoughts. Crossing his arms, he turned to the Xalea who’d been painting on him. “Who was that?”

“I’m unsure, sir. They showed up some weeks ago and have drifted in and out of Reunion trading services for fish and arrows,” she answered softly while cleaning her brush.

"I see," Hien answered, stroking his beard for a moment before tossing her the gold intended for the sword as he headed out of the camp, following the Miqo'te from a distance.

He traveled as the Xalea women said. The Miqo'te wandered the Steppe hunting game just as the princess had been doing, though something was certainly off. Success held no joy. Failure lacked frustration.

The Miqo'te seemed to tire easily, often heading to one of the many shallow rivers to drink or rest. Eventually Hien was led to the end of the Hak Khaal, where the river poured into The Wound. He watched as the stranger stood, teetering over the chasm, unaware of the samurai's gaze as well as a stalking baras from the ledge above. Blowing his bangs from his face, the prince gripped his sword then advanced forward quickly. “Away from the ledge!”

Though the Miqo’te turned to the voice, he remained still, lazily looking up to the predator then closing his eyes. Hien’s blade met the claws of the beast before it could strike the stranger, forcing the creature aside. Watching the other take a step back, he reached out and took him by the arm to sling him away from the ledge before fending off another rake of the beast’s claws.

“Move,” the prince ordered, though the Miqo’te did not stir, watching quietly as put himself between the snarling predator and the listless stranger.

Panting, Hein shifted his stance, having trouble getting his footing in the running waters. As the baras snarled and paced around him, the prince inhaled then rushed forward, striking the big cat in the back of his head with the back of his sword to drop it. Splayed out, the creature grunted, leaving Hein to clean off his sword and resheath it before turning to see the Miqo’te sauntering off back up the shore.

“Hey! Get back here!”

The prince gave chase, easily closing the distance to grab the other by the wrist. The Miqo’te turned, looking to where he had been seized then up to Hein with his large blue eyes.

“Are you possessed? Were you just going to let it kill you!?”

“Yes.”

Hein stared at Miqo'te as he looked away, tightening his grip before letting him go, brow furrowed as the other kept going. “Why?”

The other paused, looking back. “I lost what was most precious to me.”

“So have countless others, and yet; they do not fancy themselves willing meals.”

“Then you don’t understand…”

“I think I understand a pity party when I see it.”

The Miqo’te flicked his tail then turned away. “I don’t recall giving you an invitation.”

“Oh! Is that wit I hear? There is something in you other than despair.”

The pink-haired stranger turned in full, tail flicking, ears folded back, “It runs in my family,” he started before stepping forward, letting his ears perk high as he closed his eyes.

Hein watched the other, ears flicking now and then as he seemed to concentrate on him. After a moment, the sad blue eyes opened, looking up to the samurai solemnly, hand reaching out to rest on the other’s chest, “Excuse you, little cat?”

The Miqo’te recoiled his hand, gaze drifting, “...It’s nothing. I'm sorry. Thank you for intervening on my behalf. I’ll…be sure to avoid larger cats in the future.”

“You’re not getting off that easily,” the prince huffed, “Besides, you were the first to meddle, were you not?”

“The dealer was misrepresenting his wares and taking advantage of your apparent nostalgia for your homeland.”

“And what would you know of that?”

The Miqo’te twitched his ears, “I hear the whispers of the past. You, too, have lost what was most precious to you. Your home, Prince Hein Rijin.”

Hein was taken aback for a moment as his name left the other’s lips. His hand instinctively went to his katana, wary now.

“If that’s all. I should return to Reunion and turn in my bounty. Since I didn’t become that creature's lunch, can I perhaps treat us both? Perhaps after a meal you’ll find I mean no harm to you and we can stop stalking me.”

“Stalking,” the prince repeated, tilting his head.

“You’ve been following me since I left the settlement,” the Miqo’te said, tossing his long, tangled, pink hair, “I thought you might be some sort of tail-chaser, though I suppose that hasn’t exactly been ruled out.”

With that, the Miqo’te turned, tail flicking around behind him as they made their way back to the place they met. Hein let his blade go, believing the other to not intend him harm for now, though half-believing his claims. At the very lest, he could get some meat, opting to not tell the Miqo’te the origins of his pending pay-day upon their return.

“Hey! Gloomy little cat! Are you going to tell me your name?”

The Miqo’te paused, looking back as he brushed his hair from his face, “Y’zel. Y’zel Tia…”

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