Akila and Leya

Deep in the woods outside the village of Til’Amin, 27 year old Akila Solamin crouches silently. Every step she takes is as silent as a cat's paw on a silk rug. Her breathing is controlled and deliberate, long and slow. Designed to slow her heart rate and increase her focus and calm. Her eyes narrow, darting at every bit of movement in the otherwise still forest. Every leaf floating down from the canopy, every bird preening its feathers, every Sajab scurrying up a tree. She is hunting, stalking her prey.

She is the Heir apparent to the throne of the Empire of Sumanita. Tasked with the honour of ruling by Emperor Asair Mumahete in recognition of her prowess in battle, bravery and legendary feats during the twenty year conflict between Sumanita and Caelyrion. She is what her people call a Sewseti, a person born female in all but genitalia. One in every thousand or so baby girls are born like this. It is considered a great blessing among the Sumanitian people, so it is no surprise to her countryfolk that she has achieved so much and is set to achieve even more.

The woods are still and silent, only the occasional chirping of a Blue Tipped Indivar can be heard. From the distance the twang of a bow release breaks the silence and a whistling arrow pierces through the air. Akila deftly leans to the side and the arrow sings past her ear and sticks into a tree behind her. She quickly shifts her weight to her back foot and then takes off as another arrow sails through the air far behind her. She dashes through the woods like a panther, hurdling over fallen logs and slaloming between trees without breaking her stride once. The arrows cannot find their target, she is too agile, too fast.

She slams her back against a tree and waves her hand out to the left, plainly in the open. She hears another bow twang and spins around the right of the tree as an arrow flies past to the left. Hurling a throwing axe that spins through the air until it cuts through some thick brush and disappears. A dull thud reverberates through the woods followed moments later by another as an arm flops out onto the ground from behind the brush, lifeless and bloody.

Akila never sought after the throne, she never wanted it or even considered it. She’s a hero among her people but for being a warrior not a leader. She’s led men and women— sure— but into battle. Now, with the conflict between Sumanita and Caelyrion ended, her most powerful asset (her knowledge and skill as a fighter) will not help her guide her people through this new era of peace and diplomacy.

But it was too lofty an honour to turn down, it would be a great insult— not just to Emperor Asair— but to her people. She is their champion, they treat her like an idol. To say no to the crown would be akin to turning her back to all of them, like they weren’t worthy of her leadership. She worries it’s her who’s unworthy of leading them.

Killing for them however....

Akila darts from one tree to another, inching closer and closer to her next target. Her attackers bow nocked and ready to fire, he scans the forest for any sign of her. He hears a rustling in the canopy above him but before he has a chance to look up Akila drops down onto his neck like a guillotine.

Despite the peace accord between the two nations there are still a smattering of skirmishes and conflicts between them. Separatist groups, loyalist factions, old grudges still held, old wounds still aching. After twenty years of war it is to be expected. The path from war to peace is never smooth and so far things are progressing much more agreeably than expected.

She should be at the capital city, Armath, in the Silver Palace, preparing to take the crown. But when the kings aid A’peris informed her that a group of Caelyrion rebel terrorists escaped captivity while being transported near Til’Amin, she decided to meet the challenge herself. It’s where she felt she belonged in that moment.

From her peripheral vision she sees movement to her left. She spins to face her third and final assailant. Knocked and drawn, his fingers release the arrow and it travels through the air, aimed directly for her chest. She slices diagonally, up and to the left, spinning on her heel as she does and leaning in the opposite direction.

The arrow deflects off the flat edge of her sword enough that it grazes past her ribs as she leans away from it. Her prey throws his bow down and unsheathes his sword as she charges at him. Their weapons clash against each other. The sound of steel striking steel rings out into the forest for a time... and then, it is quiet.

Akila wipes the blood from her blade and sheaths it, then raises her arm to inspect the wound the arrow cut into her side. Nothing serious, only a grazing injury. She checks the sky for the position of the sun. She won’t get back before nightfall so she’ll have to find a place to make camp within the next couple of hours. She hikes in the direction of Til’Amin for a short time before finding a place to make camp.

She builds a fire and places her sleeping mat on the ground next to it. While stoking the fire Akila notices an odd tingling sensation radiating out from her wound and up into her shoulder. She inspects the wound again but it doesn’t look infected, it’s clean and dry.

‘Dammit!’ she realizes. ‘I didn’t check the arrow! How could I be so stupid!’ The tingling sensation begins to radiate down her arm and a cold sweat forms on her brow. She considers the situation.

‘I’m alone. That arrow was likely poisoned. I don’t know the poison so I can’t make a remedy. I can’t get back to town before night.’ Her situation seems to be dire.

‘Those prisoners might have had a remedy. If I can get back there I may find it in time.’ She stands up but her left leg nearly gives out from under her and she wobbles in place, barely able to hold up her own weight. She'll never make it back in her condition. Staying calm, she slows her breathing and thinks about the next step.

‘I’ll throw some green brush onto the fire to make smoke, keep it stoked as long as I can and hope I survive long enough for somebody to find me.’ She begins to work, gathering green bushes and branches and throwing them onto the fire. Her mobility reduces at a steady pace. Soon she is crawling across the woodland floor grabbing what she can and dragging herself back to the fire. When she knows she can do no more she flips herself onto her back. Her body is numb and nearly paralyzed and her breathing is becoming more laboured.

She tries to stay calm and keep her breaths slow and even. The slower her heart rate the slower the poisons effects will take hold. She begins to meditate, focusing on a mantra;

‘Yital’lamil’ — It means to breath in and breathe out. What seem like hours go by, her breathing is shallow and weak. She can faintly hear a rustling in the distance getting closer and closer until a silhouetted figure is standing over her. Her vision is faded and dark, she can’t make out the person in the dim dusk light. Her body is too numb to feel it but the figure touches her neck and her wrist, feeling for a pulse. They put their ear close to her mouth. With what little vision she has left she sees that the shape of their ear is slightly pointed.

‘It’s a Caelyrion! There were only meant to be three escaped prisoners!’

Momentarily furious at the shoddy information she was given, she calms herself down, accepts her fate, and prepares for death...