Page 21 of Storms of His Wrath

For a moment, the image came alive in Naya’s mind—a boy fighting through trained warriors to reach those who had raised him. The scale of violence that would’ve been necessary sent a chill through her despite the warming air.

“The people saw him as one of their own. It’s the only way they would have accepted a Sy ruling them again. But winning the Battle of Sy, being determined to restore their greatness as a culture made him better than they could ever be. They treat him like a physical embodiment of the Voices. Divinely chosen to lead them from the ashes.”

Suddenly the reverence toward Akoro by the people during the ceremony made sense. They truly believed he had been divinely appointed to restore their lost glory.

Naya shook her head slowly, her mind connecting information she already knew. The pressure of expectation that Akoro would have faced would be immense. He lived most of his life with guilt about his family and on top of that was the crushing expectations of his people.

“I need to know,” Naya said, her voice steadier than she felt, “why you accused him of being cruel and harming so many Omegas. When I first arrived someone said that.”

Oshrun’s jaw clenched, her demeanor returning stern. “When he took control of Onn Kkulma and then Tsashokra, he implemented the no-Omega law in the region. Many Omegas were thrown to the Sands, and many ended up harmed.”

“Were any killed?” Naya asked, needing clarity on this crucial point.

“No,” Oshrun admitted. “But King Sy knew that exiling them to the Sands would likely be a death sentence.” Her eyes narrowed. “Remember, princess, he doesn’t know about this community. As far as he knew, he was condemning them to wild magic and isolation.”

That certainly wasn’t good, but before Naya could think about it, a rustling sound came from the path below, interrupting their somber conversation. A small voice called out tentatively from the canyon floor. “Mima? Mima!”

Tiny sandaled feet pattered against stone as a little girl, no more than four or five years old, climbed the winding steps to their ledge. She wore a simple dress of light brown fabric, embroidered at the hem with geometric patterns in rusty red thread. Half of her hair stuck up in all directions, puffed out in a crimped frizz while the other half was styled in tight braids close to her scalp, decorated with a few small wooden beads thatclacked when she moved. When she spotted Naya, she halted abruptly. Her wide eyes, the same amber-brown as Oshrun’s, grew even larger as she stared.

Oshrun straightened, her posture instantly shifting to stern disapproval. “Nnimi!Pri shi hon kkuu? Shnim nta ea kress llinn.” Her tone made it clear she was scolding the child.

But the child stood frozen, staring at Naya with wonder, her small mouth forming a perfectOof surprise. Her gaze traveled over Naya’s borrowed earth-toned clothing, her copper hair catching the morning light, her face, lingering on the fresh scar across her cheek.

Despite the heaviness of their conversation, Naya smiled at her. There was something about the child’s unabashed curiosity that softened the weight of her emotions.

Oshrun sighed, her stern expression melting as she beckoned to the child. “Come, then. Since you’ve already found us.”

The little girl’s face broke into a delighted grin. She scrambled forward, throwing herself into Oshrun’s outstretched arms. Tickling ensued and bright, unrestrained laughter echoed across the canyon walls.

Naya laughed with them. Something about the girl reminded her of Lili, and the way she would crawl into Papa’s lap during their morning conversations, demanding attention with her infectious giggles. It reminded her of a time before the weight of death, destruction, and destiny had settled on her shoulders.

When the tickling subsided, the little girl nestled against Oshrun’s chest, still watching Naya with unabashed fascination.

“Are there many children here?” Naya asked, her voice softer. “In this canyon?”

Oshrun smoothed a hand over the child’s puffy hair, her expression softening further as she gazed out over their hidden community below. “Yes. This canyon community—we call it Ilia, which means ‘protection’ in our tongue—is home to severalgenerations. We have over forty children under the age of twelve, and over twenty-five adolescents.”

She turned to the little girl, speaking in their language again while gesturing toward Naya. “Mmi emea,Princess Naya.Shnim ip hhitss pa llorke shmoo nte kun ro.”

The child’s eyes widened even further. She straightened in Oshrun’s arms and, to Naya’s surprise, spoke in the Common Tongue. “Good Morning, princess.” The words were heavily accented but clear and easily understood.

Naya blinked in surprise. “You speak the Common Tongue?”

“Everyone here does,” Oshrun said. “Even the youngest begin learning as soon as they can speak.”

Intrigued, Naya addressed the little girl directly. “What’s your name?”

“Nnimi,” the child replied with a shy smile. Leaning forward in Oshrun’s arms, her small hand reached out toward Naya’s hair with obvious fascination. “Are you really a princess?” she asked.

Naya smiled, tilting her head slightly to allow her to touch. “Yes, I am.”

Nnimi’s fingers gently brushed against a strand of Naya’s hair, her face alight with wonder. “Your hair is pretty,” she whispered, as though sharing a precious secret.

“Thank you,” Naya whispered back with delight. “Yours is prettier.” They shared a smile, and Naya glanced up at Oshrun. “Why do you all learn the Common Tongue? It seems... unusual for a community so isolated.”

Oshrun hesitated before setting Nnimi down, speaking to her again in their language, her tone gentle but firm. “Pri shi? ram. Shnim kitss nnel klaeplu?. Shku? prat ku?n hhe aen ttae taetslae.”

The little girl nodded reluctantly, casting one more wistful glance at Naya before scampering back down the stone steps.

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