Melita had only known bright, happy things. Her world had yet to be spun into chaos; she’d been carefully guarded, despite all of her curiosities, all of the temptations, all the enticements glorified in the reaches of this wonderful land. She’d explored and loved and craved, but had never seen the dissolution, the chaos, the spinning of nefarious hands, the fervent echo of life dying, of souls wilting, withering, and fading. She’d truly never even seen or understood death - until it seemed to wash out before her, in a steady stream of violence, corruption, and ruin.

These bright, beautiful, wondrous creatures weren’t coming back. They took their final breaths in a rush of savagery, in blinding forces of vigilance and aggravation, just and vengeful. She could see Iskra’s mother, always potent, always powerful, smothered by the shadows, gone, never to return (and she couldn’t understand it - why were they being destroyed, mutilated, coerced into absolute nothingness? Why?). She yearned to ask, for her mind was an endless sea of questions and inquiries, but the words died on her lips.

Panic settled in as the din, as the throng, as the chaotic whirl circled around her, suffocated her; her mind was a mess of confusion and upheaval, skull turning every which way, trying to find someone she knew, someone she could follow, someone who could show her where to go – because Helovia was all she’d ever known (the beautiful sands of the Throat, where dragons reigned, where boldness bloomed). “Mother?!” She shouted, eyes widening, hoping, praying she hadn’t been amongst all the decaying, gone tides. She swallowed down the tears threatening to roll over her features, attempted to spy her sister in the crowd too, lost and little. “Clem?!”

The tiny wakiya perched on her shoulder gave a zealous cry, trying to reassure and usher her along as best she could, but the filly stayed stock still, legs splayed out in seized directions, frightened, terrorized, by the sea of unknown beings and the constant, threatening, consuming fumes. An instant later, she thought she saw Iskra and some other beings – and she wanted to screech out her apologies, how sorry she was about his mother, but in the fury, in the blend of confusion and overwhelming horror, she couldn’t get the words out. She yearned for her mother, for her sister, even the great, mighty Geen, but in the end, it was all about her own perseverance, boldness, and tenacity.

Something she could never forget.

So the little honeybee girl followed, the blind leading the blind, Sila on her spine as they raced towards the strange portal, knowing naught all over again.

Melita

the fires found a home in me