Aren Khane Lakshar stood in the Palace of the Sun, at his king's behest, unsure why he'd been summoned. The latest boons for the last successful raid had been granted, and he was eager to head back east for another battle against the savage Nora, but he'd been told to leave his ranks and go to the palace, where, upon his arrival, some of Jiran's honor guard had escorted him to a lavish but empty sitting room and left him alone.
He paced, getting impatient, his fingers itching to make the Voice of Our Teeth sing its glorious song of death once more. It was bad enough that he had to endure the thanks and the gifts lavished on him every time a battle ended and he had to report back to Meridian before being dispatched again, now his Sun-King was keeping him from leaving? What was the meaning of this? Didn't His Radiance understand that the battlefield was where Aren belonged?
Suddenly, there was a sound at the room's sole entrance, and Aren straightened, coming to attention as the door opened to reveal a hulking figure who came in with no guards or accompaniment. The man was massive, and could have been chiseled from the rock formations that bordered the Daunt; his black hair was pulled into tight braids along his scalp and then tied behind his head in a short ponytail. Most intimidating, though, were his eyes: steel-gray irises, not many shades different from Aren's own, that looked more like knives than means of sight, sharp and cold and utterly without feeling.
There could be no doubt who this man was, and Aren instantly dropped to one knee respectfully, prepared for whatever might be coming.
"Up," barked the monster of a man.
"Sir!" Quickly, Aren rose, though he dared not look into those dead eyes again, averting his own out of respect.
"You are Aren Khane Lakshar?" inquired his superior.
"I am, my lord," Aren nodded.
"Do you know who I am?"
"Of course," Aren replied. "You can be none other than the Terror of the Sun, the mighty Helis."
"Then we are introduced," Helis stated. He began to pace, his eyes stabbing into Aren's very flesh, cuts Aren could feel despite being sure not to lift his own eyes above the revered kestrel's boots.
Not another word was spoken, and Aren kept his mouth shut, holding his pose at attention, suppressing his frustration. Every passing second was another second he wasn't going out on another raid, but to express himself in the presence of one of the most feared men in all the lands would be nothing short of foolish, a mistake guaranteed to get him thrown into the Sun-Ring within seconds.
"You have patience," Helis observed at last. "Discipline. That's good to see."
Still keeping his mouth shut, Aren inclined his head.
"You've been making quite a name for yourself," Helis went on. "You've served our Sun-King as a soldier for only a few years, yet you've risen by leaps and bounds through the ranks - the youngest to even be sent into the Savage East, let alone survive."
"Yes, sir," Aren nodded. He was fully aware of the reputation he had among the Carja - after only a single year, following his success at Cinnabar Sands, he'd been pulled from raids on the Utaru and promoted straight past the Banuk and Oseram to the Tenakth, and another summer after that, he was being sent east to raid the most feared tribe in all the known land, the savage Nora. Only veterans, or at least those who had fought for Jiran for five years or more, were sent on those raids, a rule to which so far he was the only exception, and he'd been scoffed at from the moment he'd joined the raiding party headed for Daytower - his commanding officer, Zaid, had taken one look at him and said, "You won't last five minutes out there, boy," while the others had muttered about him being "arrow fodder". But when they entered the so-called Sacred Land, the Voice of Our Teeth had sung true, and for every one arrow that managed to bury itself in Aren's flesh, three of his had penetrated Nora throats. The whispers had gone from disdainful to curious, with a few grumbling that he'd gotten lucky, but after two more successful raids, even the grumbles had stopped. Now he'd ventured into the Savage East five times, each time bringing back victories and sacrifices for the Sun-Ring, and most of the whispers he heard these days were of the people's fears about this young terror on the battlefield.
It all meant nothing to him. Praise or fear, boons or neglect, none of it mattered, so long as he got to see blood spill by his hand, watch the life fade from the eyes of those who thought they could stand against him. The fighting, the killing, it was all its own reward, and he wanted nothing other than to get back to it.
Instead, I'm here, being appraised by the Terror of the Sun. For what?
"My king is highly impressed with you," Helis informed Aren. "I'm told this last raid on the savage Nora was a victory like none other - an entire village of the savages taken, either killed or brought back for sacrifice. Prefect Zaid planned it, but it was you who spearheaded the attack, faced an entire army of savage Nora by yourself when your two companions fell and gave the rest of your unit enough time to get into position."
"It was certainly a battle to remember," Aren agreed, daring to allow himself a small smile at the memory. While he'd drawn the attention of the braves, his unit had circled the village until it was entirely surrounded, and there could be no escape. Once everyone was in place, they had converged, and oh, the panic and the screaming, the blood and the death…just remembering it caused Aren to smile a bit wider. The Nora were the most feared tribe for a reason - it wasn't often that he got close enough to take down a Nora opponent with his knife, actually look into their eyes as they died. But on this last raid, they hadn't been able to run. Even up close, they'd fought well, he'd taken a few wounds from their spears, but in the end, he had ended anyone who tried to end him.
Truly glorious.
"I see you are a man without mercy or pity," Helis observed, returning Aren's smile with a slight one of his own. "That, too, is good to see. Perhaps this is not so foolish of an endeavor as I'd feared."
"Sir?" Aren blinked, confused.
"After the slaughter at Cinnabar Sands, enacted by your hand more than any other, my lord was granted a vision by the Sun that you were meant for great things," Helis informed Aren. "He took a risk on sending you out against the Tenakth, then the Nora, even at the Sun's behest, but though he had his doubts, you did not disappoint. It would appear that you are favored by the Sun, and His Radiance has decided that, despite your youth, you are worthy of being considered for the position of kestrel."
"Kestrel?!" Aren gasped, breaking form for a moment. Even his vicious older sister, despite achieving a place on the Sun-King's honor guard, hadn't been considered for such a high-ranking position! "Me?! My lord, I…" Something stuck in his throat, and he had to clear it. "I am…honored."
"As well you should be," Helis nodded. "And it is my job to see if you are truly worthy." The Terror of the Sun tilted his head, his sharp eyes - which Aren now had the courage to meet - cold and calculating. "To be a kestrel is an honor, but also a great responsibility. We must stand as shining beacons in the night, examples for all others to follow, that we might honor our Sun-King, and the Sun itself. Do you believe you could be such a noble representative of the great and merciless Sun?"
"I will do as my Sun-King commands," Aren recited. As long as I'm still allowed to go into battle.
"But do you think yourself radiant enough?" Helis pressed, and Aren couldn't help but wince internally, momentarily flashing back to the many lectures his parents had given him growing up. "Could you stand as a lesser Sun in your own right, a light to guide the faithful through the darkest of times, as well as burn away the faithless?"
"If I am commanded to take this role, I will do my best," Aren responded.
"Hmm." Helis frowned, and Aren knew he should be afraid. "You do not crave this honor?" the Terror of the Sun questioned. "The glory that will be yours should you rise to this occasion? Or even the power and wealth you will acquire?"
"I crave only the blood of our Sun-King's enemies, and the blood that the Sun demands," Aren stated, only half-lying. "So long as I would still be allowed to venture into battle, I would be nothing but pleased to take on this mantle."
Helis resumed pacing, his stony face chiseled into single-minded thought. "To be a kestrel is not a mere title," he informed Aren. "In order to achieve this rank, you would be sent alone into the Daunt for days, without food or water. The Sun and the sand will peel the flesh from your bones, and should the Sun deem you worthy, new flesh will grow in its place, stronger flesh, an armor granted by its might. Should you return at the end, there will be no doubt that you are favored by the Sun, and you will answer to none but me and our Sun-King; should you not return, you will receive no funeral rites, for you will have been proven unworthy."
"Alone?" But then I would have no one to kill! "Surely our Sun-King needs as many men on the Red Raids as he can muster?" Aren inquired cautiously.
In response, Helis turned those knifelike eyes on him, and Aren felt them pierce his skin.
"Of course, that's not my decision to make," he mumbled. "My apologies."
But Helis tilted his head, the blades of his glare dulling slightly. "Tell me, boy," he said, "where do you think you would best serve our Sun-King?"
"I…That's not my decision to make," Aren repeated, choosing his words carefully, though something in him resented the inherent dishonesty that was always necessary when talking with figures of Carja authority. "It is the Sun's will that directs me, and I will be honored to serve it." For a moment, he considered leaving it at that, but that as-yet-unidentified quality inside of him refused to stay silent, and he blurted out, "But if it were up to me, I wouldn't have anything change. I serve our Sun-King best on the battlefield, obeying the orders of my superiors. I'm not one to make decisions."
"You would have to make decisions if you were a kestrel," Helis stated, his tone unreadable. "You would be giving orders, not following them."
"I would…If that is the Sun's will, then it is what I will do," Aren said, reeling in his runaway tongue. "I will serve our Sun-King however he sees fit, and…gladly so." Liar, liar…
"…I see," Helis said slowly, and Aren wondered if those gray blades in the form of irises were able to cut right through all his carefully-phrased facades, if perhaps attempting to put on a show of devotion was pointless in the presence of this legendary warrior. "I will discuss the matter with my king, and you will be notified when a decision has been made. You are dismissed."
"Sir." Aren bowed his head, then made for the door.
"Oh, and boy? One more thing."
Aren stopped short in the doorframe and turned back. "Sir?"
"I have heard rumors about you," Helis informed him, and something about his expression put Aren on guard. "There are some who say you are not grateful for the many boons our Sun-King has granted you in return for your services."
Aren swallowed. Some of the greatest acts of dishonesty in his life had come in the form of the gratitude he'd feigned for everything Jiran had granted him for all his hard work in the Red Raids - he'd had no choice, of course, as to express anything but gratitude would see him tossed into the Sun-Ring himself, yet he always loathed the process. His armor and his bow, those he genuinely appreciated, but the rest, the shards and the trinkets and the women…none of it interested him. Why should he be paid for any of it, when fighting made him feel alive like nothing else? If anything, he was the one who should be paying for the privilege. "I…am nothing but grateful for the Sun-King's favors and recognition," Aren said, trying to put the truth as diplomatically as possible. "He honors me, and I am humbled that he thinks me worthy of such honor. But…if he were to never see fit to grant me any boons, nor any recognition, it would change nothing for me, I would do nothing differently. To go into battle and spill blood is its own reward, and if anything, to do so for profit cheapens the experience. So long as it's all in the name of the Sun, of course," he added quickly.
"Hmm." Sweat bloomed on Aren's palms under his fingerless gauntlets as Helis pondered these words, but then, suddenly, the mighty kestrel's pale lips quirked into a satisfied half-smile. "I see. So that is your position. Very well." He nodded. "Go. Your unit will be departing shortly, you'd best rejoin them before they set out."
"Sir." Aren bowed his head again, then left, hoping that the hurried nature of his steps was attributed entirely to his eagerness to return to active duty.
Fear was not an emotion Aren Khane Lakshar was terribly familiar with - he did not fear battle, nor pain, nor judgement, nor death. But something about the interview with Helis had left him uneasy, anxious for some reason, though it was hard to pinpoint exactly why that was. It lingered with him throughout his sixth raid on the Savage East, evaporating only when the Voice of Our Teeth was singing its song of death to the Nora braves they fought against, and returning as soon as the arrows stopped flying and the knives were sheathed. When a runner found their unit after their triumphant return to Meridian with a message for him, the nervousness roiled in his gut until he thought he might be sick; it was all he could do to listen.
"By order of His Luminance Jiran, thirteenth Sun-King of the Radiant Line, it has been decreed to be the will of the Sun that the decorated soldier Aren Khane Lakshar continue his duty as a Red Raider in service to His Radiance's cause, and not ascend to take up the mantle of kestrel," the messenger stated.
His military buddies clapped Aren on his shoulders and offered their condolences, some even expressing indignation that the young prodigy not be granted such an honor, but though Aren accepted their commiserations and tried to act like he was only pretending to be okay with the news, in truth, he felt nothing but relief, all his fear and anxiety melting away like snow in the light of the great Sun.
Nothing was going to change, and so long as nothing changed, he could continue doing what he loved. What more could he possibly want in life?