*Holy Arkhul,* Neyra gasped in his mind. Her shock evident even with her spectral tone.
They were met with burning. Burning and carnage. Before them, engulfed in the crackling and popping of embers and the distraught, anguished screams, stood part a devastated village. Shacks and huts of wood, thatch and stone had been brutally ravaged and wrought into the smoking ground, without thought or mercy. The village had been reduced to piles of ash, charred splinters and smouldering rock.
From the design, while broken and disfigured, Kyan recognised them as the indigenous natives of Golidu. He'd actually managed to stumble across a native settlement, or more accurately what was once one.
'If only it had been under better circumstances,' Kyan thought, extinguishing any ember of excitement inside himself.
Steadily, Kyan advanced into the smoking ruins, both him and Neyra keeping out a cautious eye for what possibly caused this. Kyan's hands grew closer to his sword and tome with every step he took, as the magnitude of the destruction brought upon the village became evidently clear. Half the village was gone. No maybe even more than that, Kyan considered. And what remained was barely hanging on, the structures just scarcely maintaining their integrity.
As they got they found origins of the cries and screams. Villagers were scattered across the scorched ground. Many wandered around seemingly shellshocked, lost and dismayed. Others, more composed, tried to support their fellows, providing first aid, pulling the injured from the debris and escorting the women, children and elderly to safety. Kyan's eyes continued to grimly scan the environment. Dozens of bodies littered the wreckage. Some emitting pained grumbles, some twitching … most were motionless.
One such body was before him, a man, dressed in thick, fur pelts and possessing an unruly, black beard and the pale skin of the northern nation. He was flat down, his stomach against the ground, trapped beneath the burning wreckage of what Kyan assumed was his hut.
Kyan knelt down and gently placed his two front fingers upon the native's neck, searching for any sign of life. The skin was cold. He found nothing. Kyan stood and sighed, he'd expected nothing less but like always he tried. That small glimmer of hope, that minuscule possibility of preserving life, fuelling his humanity that he so tightly tried to cling onto.
*Kyan behind you* Neyra informed gently, feeling his despair.
He turned to the sound of crunching of snow. Three villagers approached him. Their faces were pained, exhausted and wary, from the ongoing carnage, they glared at Kyan cautious and confused. A woman, who'd ascended to her late years, wrinkled and pale with braided, white hair and piercing blue eyes led the march. The village Elder Kyan figured, he thought back moments ago when he'd seen her as one of the natives restoring order and establishing aid to the settlement. Behind her two mountainous, burly men, he imagined to be her guards, followed. They were clad in sturdy armour of fur, bone and chitin and both wielded two giant steel war-axes, that they made seem weightless with their enormous, muscular bulk.
"Tivaaink," the elder spoke, but he was unfamiliar with the language.
Unlike the rest of the world who'd adopted the dialect Mazican as a secondary language for universal communication centuries ago, many of the isolated communities such as, many of the Golidu natives remained with their ancient tongues. And unfortunately Kyan had come across one of said tribes, though which one was an enigma. If the texts he'd read were correct, there were thousands across the artic lands who all shared dozens of languages. Languages Kyan knew nothing of.
Slowly and calmly Kyan raised his arms up praying they understood it as a sign he meant no harm and didn't attempt to cut him down. He knew, well, that many of Golidu tribes were known to be friendly with outsiders but after an event like this he wouldn't blame them for being on edge. Especially when it could very well have been outsiders like himself that caused all this destruction.
*She's asking who you are,* Neyra said.
Stunned, Kyan's head snapped to the right to where the glowing figure of Neyra stood, invisible to everyone's vision but his. Instantly he regretted his actions as his sudden movements caused the guards to tighten their grips upon their weapons.
'You understand their dialect?' Kyan questioned speechless.
*I'm definitely rusty, but yes, apparently I do,* Neyra answered. Her tone suggesting even she was taken aback with herself.
Kyan stifled a grin, even after all these years she continued to retain the ability to surprise him.
*I know,* Neyra grinned, feeling his thoughts, *aren't I just amazingt.*
Ignoring her gloating, Kyan contemplated his options.
"Come out," Kyan said.
While to Kyan it appeared as if nothing had changed. From the fact that the two guards flinched back and even that elder seemed stunned it was evident that Neyra had completely manifested into the world for all to see. As the surprise wore off the men's stunned faces turned into defensive, almost fearful glares. The guards aggressively stepped in front of the elder, axes raised. Kyan's hands instinctively dropped to his weapons as he sensed the possibility of battle.
Without uttering a word, the Elder raised her arm. Instantly, the men lowered their weapons and stepped back behind her once again without delay, although their cautious stares never abandoned them. It was now that Kyan noticed the gaze of the Elder, it showed no fear like her guard's. Her eyes trembled with curiosity as they latched onto Neyra's figure, mesmerised by the fiery and flowing magenta and violet glow that coated her body.
"Tilli qonaq?" the Elder asked.
*Asking what I am,* Neyra translated.
"Qaasrena … kimusiusrelli," Neyra replied gently, in the same native dialect that continued to baffle Kyan.
Upon Neyra's words, Kyan noticed the tension fade from the guards stances and the Elder released a relieved breath as the glimmer in her eyes ascend into something new. Hope.
"What did you say?" Kyan asked.
"That I'm a protective spirit bound to you" Neyra explained. Kyan nodded, while not completely accurate her answer wasn't exactly wrong either.
Suddenly there was agonised moaning from the burning debris beside them. The guards acted immediately clearing away whatever rubble they could however, the majority of the wreckage was still fiercely burning, the flames battling off the guards as they desperately tried to save their fellow villager. The voice of the trapped villager began to fade beneath the crackling of flames. Despite their frantic struggles it was becoming clear the guard's attempts were going to be in vain.
The Elder turned to Kyan and Neyra. "Kuuiki," she said. Kyan didn't need to be fluent to understand a desperate plea for help.
"Tell them to move back."
Neyra repeated Kyan's words to the Elder and after a single command the guards backed away, utterly defeated.
Kyan stepped forward to greet the villager's fiery prison. He raised his open hand towards the wreckage. A deep breath escaped his lungs and with it his magic started to flow from his body, in the form of mana. While invisible to the naked eye, Kyan could see it, the same vibrant aura that engulfed Neyra, constantly switching between hues of violet and magenta in a transfixing display of colour. His mana curled and slithered out from his hand like a translucent, viscous smoke. It moved as if it was just another limb, obeying his every thought. His magic snaked its way through the debris curling around and latching onto each piece like spectral tentacles and claws. His mana smothered flames to charred embers as it constricted the wreckage in its grip, extinguishing the heat and allowing Golidu's freezing air to return.
Satisfied he'd grabbed hold of the main bulk of the rubble, Kyan curled his fingers through the air. His mana tensed like a flexing muscle, and seized tightly hold of the destroyed hut.
He lifted his arm, pushing through the invisible resistance that tried to fight against him. When he'd first begun training a task of this magnitude would've felt as if he trying to lift his entire body weight with one arm, now if felt like nothing more than lifting a simple rock you'd find on the beach or in the woods. As his hand raised through the air so did the wreckage. To everyone, but his and Neyra's sight, it would seem like he was using telekinetic powers, moving the debris with his mind. Technically that assumption wouldn't be wrong. That was a common name given to classification of magic he was casting.
With a swift flick of his arm, Kyan chucked the debris off to the side where it could no longer do harm.
Initially stunned by Kyan's display, the guards quickly snapped back into reality and wasted no time. They clambered across the smoking ruins and emerged with a burnt, bleeding, bruised however, alive girl. The larger of the guards carried the girl from the wreckage and passed her off to another villager so she could be taken to receive aid.
Kyan felt a gentle touch upon his shoulder. He turned to see the Elder by his side. She stared at him astonished with wide eyes and a soft smile. Her gaze then dropped down to the thick, ancient, leather tome at his waist.
"Mage," she stated breathlessly.
Kyan nodded.
She then continued to speak, but he didn't catch a single syllable.
"She says there are still many more of her people trapped," Neyra said, "Will we help them?".
Kyan nodded, a determined shine in his gaze. "Lead me."