Chapter Text
It's always the same.
As soon as he wants to go out, she wants to go out too. Ayla wants to do everything he does.
And since she's the favourite, of course their parents insist she goes with him. It doesn't matter that he's going to do stuff with his mates or that he complains. He has to take her with him.
It is so unfair.
He knows he should be kinder to her.
He must watch over her and protect her. That's what it means to be a big brother.
Even if he wishes she'd just leave him alone.
Yonah holds the tiny hand in his and walks through the market lanes. It smells nice—spices and fresh mint. Ayla follows him, thumb in her mouth, cuddly toy clutched to her—some old thingy, and it stinks, too.
"You sulking?"
He puffs out his cheeks, but says nothing. She's coming with him, plus he has to look after her, Dad reminded him. He mustn't do anything silly: he's the eldest and must set an example.
And more importantly, he mustn't leave the Gunja district.
Alright, he's not an idiot; he and his mates know well enough they can't venture too far from here. He can hear the adults talking, their voices dropping the moment they spot a child. They think he doesn't understand, but they're wrong.
Yonah isn't a little boy anymore. He knows full well that they're at war, and that fighting is still going on a little further north.
"Yonah! Over here!
- Oh no, not her again!"
He lets go of his sister's hand to run towards his friends, unhappy to see her tailing him.
"My mother didn't give me any choice."
"Pff, and of course you do as you're told," Azim grouses. "Who's a good mummy's boy, huh?"
Cut to the quick, Yonah feels his cheeks go warm. He grumbles some lame retort while digging his hands into his pockets. The group of friends is already moving onto something else: today's adventures.
Azim and Zayn heard Kanda war-monks had come to lend a helping hand and train in a neighbourhood north of here. It's a golden opportunity to see them in action! They might even show them how to fight properly! Rumour has it one of their warriors is worth ten Amestrian soldiers, after all.
They absolutely have to see it!
A small hand hooks onto his.
"Isn't it dangerous?" the reedy voice says.
"That's why we don't want girls with us! You're afraid of everything!"
The boys all nod at Zayn's comment. Yonah frees his hand.
"I didn't force you to come, Ayla. If you're scared, go home!"
"I'm not scared! I'm coming with you!"
She's still clutching that thing of hers. Yonah shrugs.
"Whatever."
***
The eastern wind sweeps the desert dust and heat along. The streets grow less and less frequented. The children talk a mile a minute, excited to see the monks in action. Azim, the most daring in the group, demonstrates a few moves his big brother showed him under his friends' amazed gaze.
Ayla stays close to him the whole way—and keeps him from playing warrior with his mates. What a pain!
A dull sound stops them at once. The little girl grabs her big brother's hand.
"It's them! It's coming from there!" Zayn exclaims, grinning.
Yonah breaks away from his sister and runs with the other boys to a house bigger than the others. They hide behind a wall, Azim pokes his head through an opening.
Nobody.
The children exchange a puzzled look. If that wasn't them, then who?
"What in Ishvala's name are you doing here?"
The big, deep voice startles them—Ayla even lets out a surprised squeak and drops her cuddly toy. They turn around to face a tall man, his torso wrapped in a sash bearing Ishvala's colours.
A monk.
"You've got no business here!" he scolds.
The man looks very angry. Yonah hunches his shoulders while Azim explains they have come to watch them train. They'd like to become warriors too, so they can protect—
"Go away!" the monk rumbles.
He roughly pushes Zayn towards the street they arrived from. The dull sound rings again, louder—along with the same eastern wind, growing hotter. The adult turns to the north, frowning. Yonah follows his gaze: the sky is losing its colours.
"Fire is about to rain from the sky," the warrior predicts. "Quick!"
The expression sends shivers down his spine; a drop of sweat runs along his neck. The children are hurried away. They finally get out of their torpor and dive into the pathway, bump into each other. Yonah pulls on his sister's hand, heart throbbing at his temples. She struggles to follow, but he doesn't slow down.
How long have they walked to come down here?
How long to go back home?
"My toy!"
Ayla stops and pulls him back. His mates keep on running, a few yards ahead.
"Don't care, we have to go!"
"But, my plushie…" the little girl whines, eyes filling with tears.
"Yonah, what are you doing? Get a move on!"
Ayla keeps pulling on his arm, turned towards the house they've just left. Yonah hesitates, then pushes her to his friends.
"I'll get it. You stay with the others, okay? I'll catch up with you."
She sniffs, but nods. He pushes her once more, makes sure she runs to them. Then he darts back. The effort makes him hot, far too hot—his lungs burn. He bursts out of the alley. Where's that stupid thing? He looks around for it.
It's hard to breathe.
That dull sound again. Louder, always louder.
The toy—there, on the dusty ground.
Yonah rushes to it. His tongue stings, his nose stings. The sky is covered in a white veil. He holds the toy against his chest, takes a step back, then turns on his heels. He dives between the houses, joins the road where he left his sister and his friends.
They're just there, a little further ahead. He's the fastest in the group, he'll quickly catch up. A few dozen metres left.
A column of flames springs out. Screams. The hot wind lifts him off his feet and hurls him away.
He crashes into the sand with a groan of pain. His head is spinning. A foul smell sticks to his tongue, to his palate. He leans on a wall to stand up and look ahead.
His eyes sting. And open wide.
Where his friends stood just a moment ago, there's nothing but smoking embers.
"AYLA!!"
Yonah lunges towards his little sister; he's held back by a firm hand.
"Not that way!" the warrior they met earlier warns.
"My sister… My sister… Ayla!"
The fingers dig into his arm.
"It's too late."
He doesn't understand. Ayla is just over there. With his friends. He has to give her the cuddly toy back, she takes that old thing of hers everywhere. She's going to cry again if he doesn't bring it back to her.
She's going to cry…
But no one is crying.
Not a sound.
Only silence.
Only fire raining from the sky.