Tales from Llanka: To see the sky Part 4

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It had been nearly four years since that evening in the kitchen.

Time had not dulled the memory—it remained vivid, like heat trapped beneath the skin.

My mother still brought up the Ashilyr path at every chance, only now with more urgency and

less patience. What was once a gentle prod had become a forceful push, and my

dreams—childish, unattainable, as she called them—were no longer seen as charming

distractions but dangerous deviations. I’d grown, yes, but so had the weight of expectation. And

lately, it felt like that weight had started to crack something deep within me.

It was early golden hour when I decided to go down to my favorite spot within the lower

ring of Llanka. At the wide arched entrance, I removed my shoes as was the custom, and

proceeded through the ocean of grass that lay before me. With each step, the azure blades lightly

caress the soles of my feet, welcoming me into the atrium. Here, the sounds of immutable

rainfall were ever so quiet.

Instead, the effusive hymn radiating off the branches of the phosphelyia took precedence.

Its serene tone reminded me of a singer getting ready to perform. A couple of hums both high

and low, relaxed pacing and an eerie pause… Before returning to that rhythm once more.

Some believed the crystalline inclusions at the base of the phosphelyia housed the voices

of heartbroken Melawa. It’d take their sorrows away, protect them and eventually cultivate them

into the hymn that bathed its audience in tranquility. I was hoping it would take my sorrows

away. Perhaps there was a more scientific explanation but I didn’t want to ruin the magic.

Eventually the grass ended and I found myself on a familiar quartz road leading up to my

destination. The floor was deceivingly warm despite being next to a large pond. I took a moment

to gaze upon the still water only to flinch when I realized it was reflecting the rain hitting the

glass dome above. “Meluika- I’m being overdramatic” I mutter to myself before continuing up

the path.

To my surprise, there was someone here sitting on the bench that overlooked the hush

gardens. In front of him, a canvas with but a few specks of wistful color. He raised his arm to add

another stroke yet hesitated to move forward with his intention. A sigh escaped from his mouth

as he lowered his gloved arm softly to his lap. I was walking slower now so as to not startle him.

But as I got closer I couldn’t help but notice how large his horns protruded from the sides. Surely

he could not have been one of them? This was the lower ring after all and-

“Hm?” The man’s sharp ears perked up in my direction before he slowly turned to face

me “Ah, Suarii Khayr young girl, I did not think anyone came here at this hour” I froze for a

moment when I saw his face. The sclera of his eyes were almost completely muddled black, a

sign of seniority for Melawa. His irises on the other hand, were like a flickering candle at the end

of its wick. Though instead of a bright orange, it was a vibrant turquoise that met my gaze. What

stuck out to me most was the circular insignia on his forehead.

“S-saurii Ker- I mean, khayr” I stutter rapidly trying to show my respect “I am so sorry I

didn’t realize someone of your rank would be here this morning! There must’ve been a sign and I

passed by it like the dunce I am! If there is anything I can do- wait what am I talking about

there’s nothing I could possibly do for you that you can’t do for yourself. Sorry I’m rambling. I’ll

just leave now- but only if that’s okay with you!”

The man stroked his wispy beard in amusement “You needn’t leave, it is a public space

after all. I do not have enough authority believe it or not to reserve a whole atrium for myself. I

found myself here to relax but instead I am now mildly amused. Hmm, not an unwelcome

progression.” His voice was surprisingly chipper for a man of his age. Before I could vomit out

more gibberish, he pushed himself off the bench with his mighty tail. My head was still fixed

downwards as he began towards me with a prideful stride. “I am now curious. Kids of your age

are usually asleep at this hour are they not? Did you come with your parents?” I was frozen.

“Hm? Is something wrong dear?” He cocked his head.

“Oh! Uhm, sorry sir! My parents are sleeping right now but I left them a note saying I

was going to the Velatari for early prayer!” I shifted awkwardly “I-I actually just used it as an

excuse because I wanted to come here.”

I was sure I’d be dragged to the Velatari any second after that confession. Everything

about this man marked him as a devout Ashilyr. His attire alone spoke volumes—pure white

linen adorned with embroidered flames, cascading from neck to knee. His sleeves billowed with

even the slightest motion, restrained by golden ribbons tied neatly at the elbows. Loose, puffy

trousers completed the ensemble, cuffed precisely at the ankles. He looked every bit the part of

someone who should’ve been praying—not sitting here listening to my excuses.

Even if I was not the best follower, I knew this attire represented great respect towards

Aczl, blessed be his name. “I swear I will repent greatly for this sir.” I say, dropping to my knees,

profusely bowing out of fear and respect… Though mainly out of fear. It was silent, or at least

that’s what it was like on the outside, on the inside my thoughts were pounding.

“Young girl, this is hardly a gracious display. Please pull yourself together, I am not here

to castigate an innocent child for wanting to wander such a beautiful place.” I peeked up slightly

to see the man holding out his angelic hand “If it quells your excessive praise, I was requested to

visit an Velatari nearby but instead chose to come here. There! Now we both have something to

repent for” I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing but his genuine and warm smile belied

this thought. A man of his rank, choosing to visit here of all places instead of the Velatari? That

seems almost sacrilegious.

“Eh?” Was the only word that managed to escape from my hundreds of thoughts. Without

any clue on what to do I hesitantly grab his hand and pull myself off up from the ground. I

probably look like a mess right now, my hair is frizzy and I just collapsed to the floor in a

pathetic display. My cheeks were most certainly flushed right now. How embarrassing. “Thank

you… Sir.” I clear my throat while awkwardly brushing off my pants.

“You are very welcome dear, may I inquire about your name?” He asked.

“Oh- of course! My name is Seneca Amari of the Itza” I squeaked out.

“A fine name indeed! My name is Ibrahim Nazar.” he said, a flicker of amusement in his

turquoise eyes “Though, I am also known officially as an Ignitor of the Ixcali” I almost couldn't

believe what I was hearing. An Ignitor? Here of all places? A smirk shone ever so slightly when

he saw my reaction “However, I prefer to simply go by Ibra, it can be rather exhausting to hear

my whole title.”

I had only heard of a few Ignitors in my lifetime, mainly from Mother. However, she

mainly talked about Ignitor Lucanis as he was only 21 yet still managed to reach such a rank. I

felt guilty that the thought of him annoyed me. Mainly because my Mom always thought I could

potentially reach that level… Still, to see an Ignitor in person it felt almost impossible.

“Ah, I don’t think it’s appropriate to call you such a casual name Sir.” My eyes darted to

the floor “my mother would surely raise a fit.”

He let out a disappointed sigh “I suspect she isn’t here? If that is the case, your mother

needn’t know. Hmm, is that me inciting a rebellious nature?” He pondered for a moment looking

at the glass dome above, for a moment his eyes shone ever brightly. “Ah the golden hour never

ceases to amaze me in its brilliance. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Sir?”

“Ah, forgive me—I’ve grown rather fond of human art lately,” Ibra said with a soft smile.

“Their paints are crude in some ways, but there's something honest about them. I’ve been

experimenting… trying to render Llanka as they might see it.”

My brows raised in surprise. “You paint human-style landscapes?”

“Hmm, not landscapes exactly. Not the way they do them. More... impressions.

Fragments. I was inspired by a human artist named Lucian Orzho—perhaps you’ve heard of

him?” I shook my head, and he smiled knowingly. “Not many outside the upper rings know his

name. He painted not what he saw, but what he felt. Emotions in color, in shadow. They said his

skies bled with sorrow and his cities sang in silence.”

“That sounds… incredible,” I said, leaning forward slightly. “Is that what you were trying

to do just now?”

“In a sense. Though I’ve not the soul of a human painter, I try. Would you like to try with

me?” he offered, motioning to a small palette beside the bench. “I could make space for you on

the canvas. Perhaps it’s better shared.”

My heart stuttered. Painting alongside an Ignitor? Mother would have scolded me for

wasting time—but in that moment, I didn’t care.

“I… I’d love to.”

He dipped a brush into a pale green and handed it to me. I took it carefully, my fingers

brushing his glove. For a while, we said nothing, only adding strokes—tentative at first, then

braver—as color slowly bloomed across the once-empty canvas.

In the golden hush of the atrium, we painted Llanka. Not as it was, but as we felt it.