Raem’s Revelation

The following is an original fiction excerpt.

“Oh! And I washed your battle suit for you and found a note!” Caela’s quick, melodic chirps ring for nobody but her. Raem marches forward; a steady two steps ahead. “Loving how wash-resistant digital scrolls are in fashion right now! I’d ask you if you’re talking to anyone special but it has the imperial seal on it. Unless your girlfriend’s the entire Empire-” Raem snatches the scroll from Caela. It’s clearly a different energy for Raem.

Raem’s knuckles tightly clutch the scroll as they file down the hall. Their march is a solemn, yet biting stampede at a lion’s pace. The scroll’s exposed digital wiring, Raem’s perked collar bone and their furrowed brow are repeatedly hit by columns of a resolute blue. The sounds of a distant waterfall grow closer in contrast to the self-fanning flames of resentment. “Uh. Raemy? Raem-”

“How could he.” Raem thinks to themselves. “How could Marioth meditate in his old age with all of these deeds sitting on his conscience?” Raem’s card is repeatedly denied before their leg stomps the gate wide open. To Raem’s left, Caela childishly inches her wrist towards Raem’s nose. Her usual, jovial sheen showing the slightest sign of faltering for probably the first time.

“I-. I’m wearing Mystic Number 3.” The gates flash a lively, yet sickly green before loudly opening at a dramatically slow speed. “Uh…” Raem’s steel soles hammer it open with just one stomp. Caela knows: Raem’s quirky self has no place for what feels like their first grudge.

The sun’s light challenges Raem’s bedridden eyes as it breaks into their view. Marioth, legs crossed, lay seated upright underneath the waterfall as per usual morning routine. Caela stays by the opening before swiftly peeling to the side of the gate opening. A confrontation? From a solemn, quirk-laden Raem? What would that even look like?

“Wake the fuck up.” Raem’s even volume wasn’t yet satisfying the gravity of the moment. “I now know about The War of Drought.” Raem holds up the digital scroll, with the center’s elastic alloy freshly bent by Raem’s furled knuckles. “Open your eyes and answer me.”

“Do you say that to all of your blind guardians?” Only Marioth’s lips move, without even a hint as to his lungs even taking part. The stillness is still just as commanding as it has been.

“Ra Sie, the minister of the Aquatic nation. Marioth, his Treeling shadow and the sole surviving war hero. Save for Ra Sie’s son, the last Aquatic.”

“And what?”

“It’s me.” Raem’s trembling begins to grow. “Don’t play idiot. Don’t play casual.” Raem’s left eye twitches, the sky glimmer losing shape as their face begins to scrunch. “You had the sole surviving Aquatic in your flat since they were in diapers. You fed them, you clothed them, and budged for punishment more than praise while knowing their origin.” Raem’s stammer vibrates to a steadfast body. Feet planted. Eyes forward; unerring. A new feeling, yet radiating with what feels like years of experience. “Not a powerless Homb. Not a commoner found and trained under elite military expectation.”

Raem’s eyes shoot wide open. “Marioth. An entire Imperial library with thousands upon millions of Aquatic literature classified under the lock and key of honored ex-military such as yourself. An opportunity for an Aquatic such as myself to learn of their origins and commune with water. Wasted!” Raem’s feet move a deafening iard wider on the ground. “Wasted! Marioth! Why?! Tell me why-“

“A useless effort.” Marioth. The statue. Unmoved as anyone would expect. “You would rather struggle communing with water your whole life? Instead of professing in the sword?”

“Yes!” Raem bellows. “Yes, frankly I would have!” Raem’s volume reaches new heights. A hidden Caela in the back with eyes opening wide. Who is this person? “Past the age of seven lunar cycles, Aquatics, Treelings and many others lose grip on their ability to hear their force of nature had they not been exposed early.” Eyes moistening from fury. “Sure, no Aquatic would be around to instruct me professionally but what about culture?! What about the courage in trying?!” Raem stomps his foot in front of him. “Maybe I could have practiced a mediocre grip on manipulating water for a few minutes each day to remind myself of my roots. Maybe that skill would never become a battle trick. Maybe while my sword skills could have been just as fluid, a daily practice could have turned in to a ritual for a healthy pride.” Raem’s intensity rises, exactly like how his Selena’s razor sharp edge would stab foes…getting to the heart of it. “Do you truly expect everyone in your life to either be as great as you, or lesser?!”

Tree roots rise past now-broken tile to Marioth’s ankles, lowering his feet down to the shallow water.

“And what else?” Marioth even still holds his position. Colorless eyes ever unblinking.

“I hate you.” Raem utters. The quieter volume returned for just a moment in time, following a sonic rhythm that’s as off beat as their usual jests. Yet the arrythmic beat punctuates not with a punchline…but with a sharp, tumultuous ardor. “Just because you cast aside your ties to your Treeling family doesn’t mean that I have to inherit your cowardice.”

A silence falls into the room. For a moment, Raem could swear that they saw Marioth’s left eye, the one that always was just a bit more closed than the other, twitch. As the expectation grows within Raem, after winding themself with expelling such fresh thoughts, feelings, and questions that boiled too fast for a clear sense, their sharp ears picked up an inhale. Would Marioth answer? Elaborate for more than five words at a time?

Or would nothing change?

“Okay.” Marioth walks forward. His tattered, faded brown cloak just hinting at the polished gold armor beneath it. Even on an off day, the militaristic attitude matches his wardrobe. Walking away from the conversation feels like one of Marioth’s famous, lightning quick swings of the heavy blade that rests on his back. Raem, ever still, then suddenly deepens the harsh “v” of his deep azure eye brows.

“Stand and fight.” Raem snatches his elbow. Marioth’s slow walk is at but a third of its usual speed with Raem’s initially scrambled grip holding him. “Don’t run from this Marioth.” Raem fastened their grip. “You know I deserve answers. You know this isn’t ethical. You’ve always been cold and tight with words but please, please convince me how you did the best you could. This conversation isn’t over!”

“He…” Marioth’s left hand twitches, and his eyes flash a quick, vibrant green. “…would have wanted this.”

“Marioth, no!”

Thick, animated roots rise from the ground and envelop Marioth. They hold still for but half a second until they pull down into the ground with an urgency that betrays their size. Marioth, getting pulled into the ground by his roots, escapes. The deep, olive skin on Raem’s fists flush immediately with a clenched anger. Before expulsing: “No!” To their knees. Fists bang on the cracked tile. “No! No, no, No!” Tears flow immediately down their face. A deep shriek fills the echoing room. Caela, unmoved from her eavesdropping back at the gate, jaw dropped open.

Time passes like hours in merely a span of two hefty minutes. Caela inches forward.

“A-. Raem.” Caela says, as Raem drags the base of their fists back just an iard towards themselves holding an otherwise wallowing, stable position. “What can I d-“

“I don’t know” bellows Raem. A steady, quiet stream of tears turns hysterical. “I don’t know I don’t know! …How could.” Raem’s words trail off as Caela, who was but an agent to Raem’s battle prep for the Empire, reaches her hand for their head. “Did my words reach him? Do they ever reach him? Is it pointless in me speaking? Is it pointless in me coming into who I am? Is it?!” Raem’s resolve melts. Peeling back to the phlegmatic flavor that many know him for outside of sanctioned battle. Yet dramatically defeated. “How could he.”

Raem’s tears gently, yet partially float aside in thin air as small drops. With an Aquatic’s sky blue glow of forgotten legend. For but a second, while Caela’s eyes were closed. Until the glow flashes gone and fall to the floor.

Devín Sanclemente is a proud Colombian & Roma-American interested in voice acting and writing for games and animation. A lifelong creative with a background in acting, voice acting, and comedy. Say hello at info@devinsanclemente.com.