Orahamm
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Fane and Ajay stood in the hallway with Zahar, Chaitan and the other bodyguards for the royal family. The King, having answered to Chaitan’s knock and noting the congregation of men waiting on their charges, closed the door in their faces, telling them that it was private business amongst the family.
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Fane shifted, his skin prickling at the heavy embroidery rubbing along his scars. He still wasn’t keen on the new clothes, though he was getting used to them. He studied himself in the mirror hung on the inside of his wardrobe. Black kurta, black churidar, black leather jutti. He had to admit, it all moved…
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Having returned to Ishan’s offices, Fane was at a loss regarding what he was supposed to do. He was no bodyguard. He was neither certified nor trained as one. He was an ammo tech and dive instructor. He monitored the armoury. He cleaned and accounted for everything. He taught people how to not drown when…
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Slime. Sludge. A black inky depth loomed beneath him. Grey tentacles reached out from the infinite oblivion, grasping for him. A hideous odour of rotting fish and fermented fruit permeated his senses. Screeching, like that of thousands of people dying in fire, grated at his ears. An air raid siren pierced through the terror. It…
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“Come on! We need to get going!” Shelly popped into the room unannounced. The instructor and Fane flinched, glancing up from a children’s workbook. “What’s wrong?” Fane rose, his hands clearing every vest and pocket in succession as he subconsciously checked for his armaments.
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The guns were laid out on the side table, along with about half his stash of knives. Ajay had insisted that he respect his employer enough not to come to the lunch table completely clothed in metal.
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A light rapping at his door woke him. Thankfully he had slept through the rest of the night, and dreams had taken a hiatus, to his relief.
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He woke the following day to a glaring light slipping in through his window and his gut twisting in painful knots. A cold sweat broke out across his body as he dashed for the bathroom.
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Shelly left Fane at his room after their evening meal, promising to show up the next day. She had reserved several hours with a local wise man who supposedly had some old scrolls she was chomping at the bit to see and was unsure when she would come to him.
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Stepping out of the sliding doors, a blast of dry heat swamped Fane. The glaring sun sparkled on the cityscape. He shielded his eyes, waiting for them to adjust. A line of hover-cabs sat idling in the loop. The roar of engines signaled another plane’s departure.
Chapel Orahamm 