Ardara, Fire Tribe
Hézo
In the palace courtyard, swords whistled and clashed in sharp metallic bursts. Each strike carried the echo of restrained rage, each step in the dust stirred a burning breath. Hézo pivoted, dodged, struck. His bare chest, glistening with sweat, tightened with every movement. The air vibrated around him, heavy and hot like his anger.
His opponent sank to one knee, panting, sword trembling. His frantic gaze searched for a breath that would not come back.
A figure approached—Selom, the nurse, dressed in yellow with a red sash tied at her waist. She handed over a towel, which Hézo snatched without a word, wiping his face with a brusque gesture.
— Sir…,the soldier gasped, gathering his strength. I think we can stop here. I admit defeat, once again.
Hézo did not answer immediately. He took the flask Selom offered, drained the water in one gulp. Drops slid down his dark skin, trailing over his heaving chest.
— Get up, he finally said, eyes hard. This isn't enough. If you can't stand anymore, send someone else.
The soldier shook his head, exhausted.
— Prince Hézo… What's the point of all this? You spend your days fighting. You're still just a child…
The look Hézo gave him was glacial. Cutting. The soldier looked away, reduced to silence.
— Forgive me.
— It's not enough, Hézo repeated, lower this time. Against the Governor… it will never be enough. He is the strongest among us. And after him… it should have been me.
— But you don't ha—
The crash of Hézo's blade snapping back into its scabbard cut the sentence short. He couldn't stand that reminder. That truth clinging to his skin like a curse.
— You may go.
Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed his clothes and turned on his heel.
The garden reeked of peace, cruelly contrasting with the rage pounding in his chest. A breeze lifted the blossoming branches along the path, scattering their scent into the warm air.
— Imany, he breathed, halting. Why are you still hiding behind that bush?
A small silhouette burst out. A little girl, younger than him. A tiara glittered on her long braids, carefully adorned with shiny rings. Her white lessi fabric floated around her, tucked under a kita wrap blazing red, orange, and yellow.
— Big brother! she exclaimed joyfully. Are you done training?
— You shouldn't be here, Princess Imany! cried Selom, outraged. Where is your chaperone? We're going back right now.
— Leave her, said Hézo, a tired smile touching his lips. She likes watching me fight… Come on, Imany.
— By all the Loas! Selom fumed. A princess watching sword fights. Too violent!
— Big sister Jahia is allowed to…
— I sometimes wonder what goes through your father's head, Selom grumbled. Giving weapons to a princess…
— If anyone heard you, Hézo mocked, you'd be in serious trouble.
— I've raised you since your very first cry. I know you'll never let me fall.
She burst into a small laugh and walked off. Imany followed her in dancing steps. Hézo lingered, savoring the calm. The rare instants when his heart stopped burning.
***
They climbed to the first-floor balcony, overlooking the main courtyard and its radiant gardens. It was from here that Hézo once watched the Governor's training. Now, he was no longer the only one training there. Jahia, Hézo's half-sister, was also present. She crossed blades with their father, fire in her veins, sparks in her eyes.
One day, she would receive Suman, the Superior Loa of Fire, the one that should have been his.
Hézo clenched his fists.
Jahia, Efia, Imany. Three sisters, three flames. All bearers of Loas.
He… nothing. He had been born before Jahia, but history had chosen to forget him. Son of a union the Governor disguised as marriage, before his mother vanished. And his father looked away. The power of a tribe was only passed down to those who bore the fire. And Hézo had remained cold.
The rustle of fabric behind him. He stiffened.
— Isn't she graceful? a soft, venomous voice said.
Hézo turned, jaw tight.
Dyandra. The Queen.
She blazed like a polished flame: white lessi, radiant kita wrap, golden jewels catching the light. Her mere presence reignited everything Hézo struggled to bury.
— What do you want from me? he spat.
— Can't I greet my stepson? We still share a roof…
— You got what you wanted. Jahia is the heiress. Congratulations.
— Oh? Everything she has… rightfully belongs to her. If you had been capable of carrying Suman, you would be in her place. But look at you. A profane. Can you imagine? A Governor without fire? What would the other tribes think?
She laughed. A mocking fire in her throat.
— No, Hézo. You are not worthy.
His knuckles whitened on the railing. He did not reply.
— If you'll excuse me, I have more urgent matters.
Dyandra walked away slowly, leaving behind a heady perfume… and the sting of her words.
Hézo remained there, alone, gaze fixed on the courtyard below. Flowers danced in the wind, carefree. But all he saw were ashes.