15th of Vhalar 722
Training concluded earlier than it would have, had Kalif kept his interceding mouth quiet about helping Harrow. As it was, the Marshal had seen fit to detach Kal's squad from the Brigade at Morq's Aerie, and send them to the Border Zone, to see how Kal could help with the problems they were having with cultural identity, with inclusion in the Empire and belonging. This amused the avriel, as he saw this much as the blind leading the blind. As an avriel seeker of Delroth, he hardly fit neatly into any category. Whether that of a Athart ex-patriot, a wandering avriel, or an Imperial soldier, and now worst of all knowing he was not pure. A half-breed of some other uncaring Immortal.
He was hosting his squad in the interim at All-Colors Aerie. Soon, in around twelve trials he'd be accompanying them to their mission's destination. But for now they enjoyed his hospitality, such as it could be, with his somewhat skeletal staff of hired servants. They weren't the best at what they did, but they got on well enough and were able to clean a mess, sweep floors, and answer a door.
For now though, he left them behind, easy in the knowledge that they would behave themselves in his house.
In his time beneath the shores of Arithzma's Tears, the lake sitting beneath Aeva's Peak, he remembered his encounter with Navyri, who spoke of Arithzma. She'd disavowed Kal's own childhood stories of the Avriel as incorrect, and bid him to talk to the Immortal that granted his blessing, if he wanted to know the truth of things. In after arcs, he'd learned more by small catches of information. He was able to piece together precious few actual solid facts or leads on Arithzma, however. Not until he came to Aeva's Peak, did he even hear the Silvered One's name uttered once more, this time in reference to the lake north of where he made his own Nest.
There were villages of people about, small, but they had stories of who Arithzma was. An avriel that had defied the creators of his race, and persisted in a tragic existence, perpetually spurned by humankindi as well as avriel. Chasing Delroth as one would a fieldmouse, who hid in cowardice and fear. But Kal knew it wasn't cowardice or fear that motivated his patron. More likely, he wished to avoid a hard question the answer to which could only make him appear unattractive.
Kalortah sat by the lake, contemplating this question, of why Delroth had evaded his firstborn, when it was clear by all accounts that he had escaped corruption. And having escaped corruption, was there a way to make one pure again? When Kal had lived in Athart, he for a time lamented the decadent brutality of his people. How they treated their possessions, their servants, a reflection of savagery cast outward in blood and grisle left in the angry wake of their hunting parties.
He thought once that improving the culture one person at a time could tame their savagery. Then, when the plague of Aloplumia came in the wake of the Fall of Emea, he thought this would surely humble them, and realize that they must at least cling togeher. Instead, they sank the ship that sailed from Athart with the Windshear Brotherhood, destroying the unfeathered to the last child. That was the last time Kal saw his birthplace as anything but a pit of filth and ignominy. There was nothing to redeem there. Yet he'd come from that place, that same kind. The savagery that flowed through the hollow bones of every avriel did in him, mortalborn though he was.
He wished he'd never met that wretched brat of his patron. If only to preserve the illusion that he was anything near to Pure. Yet it must have explained how he among his kindi had managed to elude the lesser impulses. All the arrogance, with less of the brutality.
So, he flew out to those camps and villages, seeking the true story of the firstborn, to see what he might learn, what clues he might gather, and learn of his ultimate fate.
