"HEY! OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!"
Kankri blinked a few times as he was startled out of his trancelike state. He'd been walking along with the rest of the tribe. No, they were his family. He had to remind himself of that. 'They are not just people, they are your family. Don't let yourself forget that,' he thought to himself. 'They took you in and made you one of their own despite your differences. Do not insult them as anything lower. The Rakta tribe does not forgive easily. Family never does.'
Undoubtedly, he wasn't the only one in the caravan who felt the same, that they would pass out from exhaustion if they were forced to move any further. But such was the way of the warrior. Most other groups in Andros rode on horseback or in carriages; only the most celebrated of warriors did so among the Rakta and they all rode with no sattle. The only other group that travelled in a similar manner was the Ayatsuri Clan, which was only due to their overall unwillingness to harness animals for work purposes. Their relationship with the other inhabitants of the forest was unique, due to the symbiotic nature... No, his mind was wandering again. If he focused on the here and now, Kankri knew he could stay awake for longer.
Their tribe had been walking for a little over two weeks from their home at the base of the Stroka Mountains, though mountain wasn't the best descriptor. It was excused since they had been named before it was known that the mountains were in fact dormant volcanoes. That was when the majority of the first group of settlers died. Much like their northern counterparts, the Windswept Peaks, the mountains in the South of Andros were considered inhospitable by the majority of people. Rakta lore said that only the strongest could withstand the intensity of the now active volcanoes. Common Andros lore reported the Stroka Mountains were settled by savages and bloodthirsty murderers.
No matter what the history books said, the people that emerged from the struggle to survive were hardened warriors. Homes, or rather simple tin huts, were built on high ground and trenches were dug so that lava flow was diverted downwards. If Rakta legends were true, which they may or may not be judging by the small amount of literacy in the group, the innovation had saved the villages from bloody conflict with raiders on a number of occasions.
It had been eighteen days now since the letter had arrived. Fifteen days since they mobilized the tribe, leaving only those who needed to tend the village. Two days since he'd slept. No, that wasn't important. They were less than a day's walk from the Capitol now. He could make it. He had to make it. He had to prove that he wasn't a worthless straggler. Though no one would publicly shame him, Kankri knew how they all looked down on him. Even his own brother, the chieftain didn't favor him. All due to his "destiny" foretold by some ancient crone.
"Having some trouble?" Kankri looked up to see Karkat riding on his horse alongside him. He was young, just sixteen years old, but his frame was muscular and complimented by the simple leather and bone outfit that he wore. The chieftain smiled lightly at him. "You never were very strong. It's honestly sort of impressive that you made it this far."
Karkat had to be the youngest chieftain in recorded history. If the Rakta tribe had any recorded history, that is. Leaders were chosen by combat and Karkat's twin sickles had shredded his opponents to barely recognizable piles of flesh. The scars crisscrossing his dark chest attested to the struggle, one that Karkat had walked away from with blood drenching his skin in a sticky red. Kankri's own skin was a shade lighter than his chieftain's, most likely due to his separation and his dubious genealogy. Kankri reminded himself once more how lucky he was to be part of the tribe. Better that than slaughtered and rotting somewhere.
"I'd get farther if I had a horse." Kankri forced a smile as he struggled to keep pace with Karkat's stallion. He must still show his respect. Kankri never doubted the reason he was in the tribe. He was there to document and to explain necessary pieces of information on the outside world. Karkat had decided that the tribe would be involved with the rest of Andros once more. As far as local talk went, Karkat was the most revolutionary of chieftains that had come to power for generations. His fearsome anger and savage violence won him leadership, but it was his desire to strive towards new borders, his promise of an age of conquest for the tribe that kept his power unchallenged. It was also probably the only reason that Kankri was still alive.
The young warrior smiled in his own cocky fashion. "Sorry, brother. You know how it is. You have to earn your horse in combat and... Well." Neither one of them needed him to explain further. Karkat shrugged. "Can't change tradition." Of course, Kankri knew that already. It was what he'd been told to everyone who had spoken with him on the subject, usually with stifled laughter or sneers. He had to wonder to himself, if there was anyone who could honestly understand his situation, being a scholar among warriors.
That was when the vision began.
At first, it was just a slight tingle and some confusion as to why the edges of his vision had blurred. And then he began to consider why a smoking figure shrouded in rags and darkness rode a stallion of bones beside him, where Karkat had been just moments ago. It all hit him at once. Kankri screamed as a splitting pain seared his skull and he fell to his knees. The shrouded man noticed, and his hand pointed to Kankri's falling body, but he was no longer there. Now he was soaring through the sky in a body made of air.
He flew high above the clouds, where large spires of marble and pearl rose above the grassy plains. He looked over his shoulders and saw, to his amazement, that there was a set of nearly translucent wings. Then he was gone once more.
He was in a great city now, in a room of scrolls and books. A tall and lithe blonde woman in a violet dress stood and spoke with a shorter and dark-haired woman donned in an unflattering and simple brown robe. As he floated down to join them, he was suddenly repelled by an unseen force. The dark-haired one was looking away, but the blonde looked up directly and gave a peculiar stare, as if she didn't quite understand what she saw. Her eyes narrowed, and he felt himself being blown away, far away on a cold wind.
He was standing in the midst of a snowstorm and his sister was calling to him in the distance. The ice and snow whipped at his face, but he was not cold. He saw nothing and yet he saw everything simultaneously, all haze and blur. There was panic in the voice he heard and the soft thud of quick footfalls behind. It didn't matter. They had both been deemed unworthy; their last hope of salvation was gone.
It was cold in the cave that he stood in. Dark, save for the red and blue eyes of the wolf pack around him and the power crackling in his fingers. He stared at his brother and his brother stared at him. He was staring at himself, it seemed. They were one and two at once and they knew things so dark that he knew if he allowed himself to see them, it would be at the cost of his sanity. The two selves strode forward and he knew that he could not stay in this place, that he didn't want to see what would come next.
His eyes opened and a blonde man in shining armor and a red cape was walking in front of him. Massive gears turned as the gate lowered and the man's comrades followed him out of their castle as they began their journey. A young woman and an old hag walked behind him. She laughed in her mind, or was it his mind? He had so much to see, she told him. So very much to see, but so little time to see it all. And then he did.
He saw pale white become dark and then black. He saw the darkness melting under a fire so hot that it could scorch empires. He saw that which was unbreakable shatter against an unspeakable and unstoppable power. He saw the rise and fall of an empire. He saw a throne room coated with blood and a clash of once beautiful colors become a myriad of pain and death at the center of the world. And then he saw nothing.
When Kankri awoke, it was dark outside, yet he couldn't see the stars. It was with a sudden jolt that he realized that he was actually inside one of the tents that the Rakta tribe had built, made of hardened leather. As with horses, these portable structures were built and reserved for warriors, as well as their wives and their children. All who did not fall under that category were required to sleep outside. Kankri had never even been in one of the tents before.
He sat up slowly and cautiously, hoping not to arouse the anger of anyone who might be nearby. The tent was remarkably bare, save for small paintings drawn into the side. Strangely enough, there seemed to be small red dots covering the inner walls. Just as he began to inspect closer, he heard a rustle to his side and saw that the door was opening.
His first instinct was panic, but that quelled to relief when he saw that it was Karkat who entered. And then he began to worry once more, fearing that he might have offended the tribe by going against tradition. But it wasn't his fault, was it? He couldn't help where he was moved when he was unconscious. At remembering his last moments of clarity while under the sun, he winced with pain from the splitting ache in his skull that made its presence known.
Karkat knelt down next to him, apparent concern across his face. "You alright, brother?" He put a hand on Kankri's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. It was the first time that Kankri had ever seen the chieftain sit on the ground for the sake of a tribe member.
"I'm fine… Brother." He added the last part cautiously, and seeing that Karkat had no real reaction to the term, he relaxed a little more. "What am I doing in here? I thought that tents were only for warriors." I
The young man grinned at that. "Yeah, they are. And you've earned your spot, and won me a bet on top of that." He motioned with his thumb back where he'd come. "Some stupid assholes bet me that you wouldn't make it the rest of the trip."
By that point, Kankri was immensely confused. "But I didn't make it all the way, did I?" There was a night of walking left, as best he could remember.
Karkat scowled. "Yeah, because they cheated. Dumb fucks were scared you'd make it all the way, so one of 'em slipped something in your food. It was supposed to take you out this morning."
Questions swam through Kankri's mind. Karkat had bet on him? He had bet for him to win, even. Did he actually believe in Kankri or even see him as strong? Kankri had always understood that he was not truly Kankri's "brother", that it was just a term that he used to describe his fellow tribesmen. Kankri technically qualified under that terminology. He had always gone under the impression that he was merely a tool unworthy of being a true member of the tribe. But, could it be that his assumption was incorrect? One question at a time. "I was poisoned?"
The chieftain's voice was dark and angry. "Yeah. It was supposed to kill you this morning." So much for the false assumption. Not that he truly believed he had been wrong. "Took a whole lot of strength to make it all the way to noon and survive."
Kankri blinked and looked up at his brother, and was met with a wide grin. "I told the tribe that you'd proven yourself in combat with that. So, you've got your own tent and horse."
"I thought there were no extra supplies?"
"Yeah." Karkat shrugged. "I killed the motherfucker who poisoned you. Hope you don't mind using his stuff."
"Of course not." What did bother Kankri how willing Karkat was to kill for him. He must have seen the concern written on the scholar's face, because Karkat immediately replied, "I'd do anything for you. You're my family."
Kankri let out a heavy sigh. "Karkat, my origins are still unknown. I know little to nothing of my past, save for a caravan I briefly traveled with at a young age and never learned a fact about. Furthermore-"
"But you're Rakta!" Karkat's fists were clenched as he stared down Kankri, who instinctually began to shrink away. The warrior saw this and took a deep breath before continuing. "Look, you're my brother. We have blood, don't deny that. And I say we're brothers, so we are. Got that?" Kankri nodded.
"Good." Karkat looked around nervously, as if afraid that someone else may overhear him, though they were alone. "There are some people saying that what happened was different. Unnatural." He looked tense and uncomfortable with the topic. "They say you saw things. Is that true?"
He had to think for a moment before responding. The wrong answer could potentially land him in a great deal of trouble. He spoke cautiously in his reply. "Yes." Karkat breathed in quietly, but sharply. "But, it was just a fever dream. A product of the sun's heat combined with the effects of the potion." He decided best to leave out specifics of the sights that he had seen for the time being. Leave them alone until he could decipher more. It seemed to be a good time to push all thoughts of the old crone out of his head.
Karkat just nodded. "Alright. You'll sleep in here tonight. You need rest, and I don't want to risk moving you."
Kankri raised an eyebrow. "And where will you be sleeping?"
"Oh, I won't be sleeping." Karkat was smiling his cocky smile once again, the one he wore when he was about to go to battle. "Gotta take care of the troublemakers. Forget about it and just go to sleep." And with that, he stood and walked outside of the tent, closing the door behind him.
He tried to do as his chieftain commanded. He cleared his mind, he thought of nothing and tried to fall asleep. But sleep did not come easy after what he had seen. And so he lay awake as the moon sat high above and a chorus of screams echoed up to the heavens from outside his tent.