Finally Reposted (and Published To Ao3). Might Throw It On Wattpad. I Don't Know.

Finally reposted (and published to ao3). Might throw it on Wattpad. I don't know.

Sun at Night (夜に太陽)

@ayaisokay / Yoru Ni Taiyō / M.H

Short story for 1K word prompt challenge

Ishi awoke violently, escaping subconscious terrors, and grounding himself within vivid sensations of reality.

With arms involuntarily outstretched, Ishi breached the cold air. Incidentally, they moved with ample pace, enough to induce pain. His left arm had jerked out and hit the wall at the side of his bed.

The pain preceded the sound. "Yume!" He winced. His stutter was like an echo of the thud that reverberated throughout the small shelter.

"Sis?" He called out once more, finally sitting up and looking towards Yume’s rocking chair. It was empty.

With a shudder and a shiver, Ishi got to his feet and analysed the shelter. He took care to avoid long glances at the mirror. But he did notice a new crack, and a droplet of blood obscuring his image.

That of a pale, meek boy, with short bed-worn hair, puffy cheeks, and brown eyes that hastily avoided the sight of their face’s softness— a contrast to other boys his age. The subtlety of his chin was a sore spot, his visible bindings too.

With a forced smile, he concealed his body with rags.

Between the warning signs of mould setting in, and the cracks on the cold floorboards, Ishi was certain, the mess he called home hadn't notably changed.

Safe for additional discardings of hair, clumsily brushed to the corners of the room.

Ishi wished he could help Yume as much as she helped him. She cut his hair nice and short and helped him bind his chest with lace and leather. She'd been working to buy fabric so Ishi could enjoy some comfort. But, she wouldn't let him join her for any of her work— not even the jobs that hurt her.

She was bad at hiding new bruises and sore spots, or the redness in her eyes. Ishi didn't get why she didn't ask for help. Yume always told him he was strong.

But the thought vanished.

He spotted blood by the door that was left slightly ajar. It was softly illuminated by a mix of distant village lamps and the moonlight. It evoked great concern.

"I’ll help this time." ishi promised, hoping to finally be of use to his big sister.

His decision was in spite of Yume warning him against staying up. She’d told him a journey awaited them tomorrow.

Yet, Ishi quickly set about the door and got onto the stone path anyway.

He was used to walking barefoot. He outgrew his last pair of shoes. Unfortunately, nightly walks were new, and Ishi struggled to avoid sharp pebbles that prompted his small feet to rise with haste.

The dancing luminosity of fire light was not as reliable as it was beautiful.

Though Ishi couldn’t help but ponder the fire that guided him as walked the arching path, seeking the village’s closed off river. One encased by trees.

The fire was pleasant and warm with a gentle hum. There was safety. It reminded him of Yume. But, to get too close, well, even such beautiful things could cause harm. Maybe that’s why Yume never let him help, he assumed.

“You wouldn't hurt me.” Ishi thought aloud as he reached his destination, only to be halted at the foot of the river’s opening. A light thud, followed by hushed whispers, took him from his thoughts. For what they lacked in mutual tone they made up for in synchronised intensity. A lover’s spat? A fight? Ishi wasn't sure.

Slowly he drew nearer the river’s opening, sticking to the side opposite the whispers, about 10 metres away. He oriented himself around the tree slowly, using it to shield himself while I leaned out and peeked.

The tree was less comfortable than grass or smoothed stone on his bare feet. His hands were reddened from his hard grip on the tree. There was no salvation in its holes either— but Ishi was thankful for that. Disturbing a bird nest wouldn't have helped him right about now. Though he wasn't sure what could help. When the first figure came into view, Ishi’s breath grew short and his throat tight.

A bearded man, noble by the looks of his cloak and the silk of his shirt. He was leaning over someone, a hand placed towards them, and another stretched towards the river, holding Yume’s knife.

At that moment, Ishi couldn't help but wonder if Yume had been helping hurt people. He feared that's why they had to leave tomorrow. But, he couldn't accept that thought— “she wouldn't,” he decided silently. Finally turning enough to bring more of the scene into view.

A slender girl, flat at her chest with bruised skin that was otherwise pale. She stood adorned in rags, now freshly cut at the waist where a dampness had begun to form. Her face was obscured by a hand that forced her head against the tree opposite Ishi’s.

The man kept her turned away— leaving only slightly torn hair in view. “You help me enjoy the night, and I give you money to fill your rotten gob.” The man hissed, before lurching her towards him. Kneeing her gut, and twirling to toss her closer. She landed in the middle, by the edge of the river bank.

“Trying to use a toy like this? Well, you can forget about the deal… Boy.” The man snarled.

As he turned to look upon the girl, Ishi’s heart ceased its rapid rhythm. He became a candle, extinguished by grief.

The girl’s brown eyes met Ishi’s in mutual recognition. Her pain heightened by the man’s last words, and her defeat spelled by the presence of kin.

An innocent brother, and his defiled sister. But Yume wasn't the only one to spot her beloved brother.

“You shouldn't have come here; you have ruined us both.” She whispered, trying to get to her feet and position herself between Ishi and the man. But her steps were unsteady, and she was quickly knocked down. Wetness and blood trailing her legs.

“Well, perhaps you can keep the welp’s deal.”

Tearfully, Ishi remained in place, struggling for air, to compose himself, or command his limbs. He knew this man.

“D-dad?”

Your JP blog is making me want to learn Japanese lol. I did it in primary school but haven't touched it much since besides from a few Duolingo lessons.

I'm going to leave some recommendations and useful links for you. Lookout for a new post on @notayamichan (it'll be in English). If anything, I'll DM you a link to the post.

(⁠^⁠.⁠_⁠.⁠^⁠)⁠ﾉ　P.S,　I hope you do start again. I need JP friends.

🐈　There's a silly little Insta GC too (another JP learner there) ❤️

I find both to be isolating in their own way. So, consider them carefully.

No communication is the obvious isolation, and it gets worse when you consider the danger involved with having no vocal, written, or signed voice. But, to speak every thought could cause its own problems.

How often do you have unspeakable intrusive thoughts? How often do emotions shape your thoughts to contradict your true feelings? It could get you into serious trouble or sever all of your bonds. Sure, you could try explain yourself and work with friends to correct the matter... But what's to say their reaction to the initial upset won't make you say worse things?

The question is a matter of choosing your own prison. At least for me.

I'm dependent on others so a loss of ALL communication destroys everything for me. But I'm also emotionally unstable and generally struggle to maintain bonds already. If I vocalised every thought and feeling, I'd probably look insane. I'd probably hurt too many friends.

Is it just me, or is this a cruel choice?

I do wonder what people are listening to... Here are some of my recent playlists :3

I'm likely to redraft the first chapter; however, I'm just as likely to erase it completely. I don't actually have any idea whether it's worthwhile.

A first chapter should introduce the protagonist and set the stage for the rest of the story. But the reality is that, the first chapter takes places a couple hours before the inciting incident, with chapter 2 skipping to right after.

Elijah is (initially unknowingly) saved by his mother, hence the chapter title "Goodnight Elijah."

The story involves uncovering what happened. The inciting incident is that Elijah's people (the Wilsics) have been exterminated.

We don't introduce Hayden (second trio member) until chapter 2: "that's a friend," and Xander is teased in chapter 3: "for girls."

Trio De Hearts: Dust & Ashes

Sample from: Chapter One

Story by @ayaisokay (main blog)

A trio of unlikely friends embark toward neighbouring lands, hoping to find answers about the attacks against a warrior clan native to their land. While united with differences, will they find more similarities than expected?

The following sample is being redrafted, this will soon be outdated

"I'm not gonna lose to you again!" Elijah told his cousin, rushing past Tiago as he tossed a thick ball of snow at his head. Tiago stumbled, but he wasn't beaten just yet. He had longer legs that came down hard with a loud crunch against the snow.

Elijah was much smaller still; but he wasn't above finding ways to compensate for his shortcomings.

"There's more where that came from." He warned the older boy with a ghastly grin, scooping up more snow and balling it up in his stiffening hands. He turned back and found that Tiago was already gaining on him once more.

"Try it again, you little cheat." Tiago warned him, working to close the gap. He'd have probably managed it if he wasn't being pelted the entire time. The first strike scarcely missed his knee, the second strike, to his hip, almost sent him face first into leafless trees, but the third was better. Another headshot. Tiago was left struggling for footing after tripping on a rock he'd missed while temporarily blinded. He went down, lightly enough to roll and resume running fast, though he'd still wasted enough time for Elijah to create a large gap.

Yelling and making all manner of noise, the cousins soon found themselves breaking free of the forest's trees and into a short stretch of open plains.

Almost every blade of grass had been concealed in a thick layer of snow. Luckily, the cut out path remained illustrated by horse-tracks and their prior steps.

The boys had been at the race for 12 minutes already— this was the returning and final lap. They'd undergone this race countless times, but their return was always a test of their stamina— and yet, unyielding against his depleting reserves of energy, Elijah pushed on where he would often falter. Tiago wouldn't give up either. With two winters more growth, his strides made up for lost time— he was rapidly closing the gap between himself and Elijah.

They’d traversed roughly 2.4 kilometres already— there was barely 800 metres left to run.

Committed and at their limits, the rivals quartered the remaining distance in about a minute and a half. But, they’d fallen into silence. Only the sound of faint pants and the soft thud of snow crushed underfoot escaped them. Neither dared to utter a word, as they advanced onward, adorning the path with frantic steps.

Determined as he was, Elijah could only maintain his leading position for about a minute longer.

In the short stretch of plains, Tiago was unstoppable— Elijah had no branches or roots to help slow Tiago to his pace.

He passed Elijah with a grin, making sure to tilt his head back so that his rival could see it.

Unphased, Elijah stared dead ahead. The family estate was in sight, just 200 metres ahead. His objective: the well. It was visible through the open gate. He'd make it there first, he told himself, pushing to keep going, much to his aching legs' displeasure.

He'd noticed something his opponent had not. His legs just had to hold out long enough to take the advantage. "You're forgetting to keep your eyes forward," Elijah thought to himself, with a smirk forming on his face.

In close to 30 seconds, Tiago passed the village's gate first, triumphantly pumping his fist. Anticipating victory as the well sat just 20 metres away, he began to yell and cheer. "You're gonna lose ag—" he started, only to stumble on the latest coat of ice while Elijah slid past him. He'd happily embraced the opening, dropping to his knees and letting physics take control. For the first time, he attained victory against Tiago.

"Again?" He asked, "I wouldn't count on it." The proud boy exclaimed, taking his seat at the well.

"No way you won. You're as slow as a blind scribe writing lore." Lyra claimed, yelling from her house opposite the well. She was a meek girl with the voice of a Lion and the kind of attitude that would get boys into trouble.

"Leave him be," Tiago told the girl between breaths, tossing a snowball as he rose. Prepared, she dodged it quite effortlessly, surprising Elijah who watched as he caught his breath. "I'll be back to winning tomorrow." He claimed, tossing a second snowball bounding toward a red faced Elijah.

The hit almost knocked him into the well, but he couldn't help but giggle. "Yeah, if I freeze to death in there," he proposed to Tiago, who dragged himself over to take a seat at his side.

There's another WIP reveal!

Heads up that feedback and thoughts are appreciated— even if it's just saying "I love x," or "y is cute."

Trio De Hearts: Dust & Ashes

Chapter 2: That's a friend

The following text is a draft of chapter 2. It is subject to change. As an added note, chapter 2 was originally chapter 1— thus, it was actually written first.

Trio De Hearts is a WIP trilogy series by @ayaisokay, Dust & Ashes is the first entry in the series. Please note that name's like Vaera and such are not definite and will likely change.

Book 1 is largely about Elijah (and by extension Hayden)

Book 2 takes more time to explore Xander's past, following the events of book 1, where the trio must journey to his home.

Book 3 takes a more central focus on Hayden, as they are forced to confront Vaera as queen, rather than prince

P.S. I am currently seeking artwork of Elijah, Hayden, and Xander.

Rose red hues and accented amber adorned Elijah's soft green eyes as he mourned the loss of his home— his family. What remained, now blackened ash and debris, stood only as a stain on the land. One contrasting the thin layers of frost and snow. Staring at the tattered tapestry that once bore the mark of his clan, the boy quickly realised that he, and a single sword, were all that remained of his family, his culture, his way of life. Raised as a fledgling warrior, he’d always been told to be strong and brave, but he couldn’t help but shed tears.

How could he not?

He didn't sleep, nor move, and the sight of food made gag and heave. The loss of his family sent Elijah on a rapid downward spiral.

Unable to process his new reality, Elijah stood, trapped in time, from morning till sunset. Despite Lord Dolos’ instruction to leave him be, the village elders, historic sources of both wisdom and charitability, dragged him away as night drew near.

They’d granted him limited shelter and even offered food. But, they hadn’t made much progress in aiding his mental state.

He was hurting himself, and his lack of communication made it impossible to get through to him. He was stuck in that state for three days.

While he was mostly docile, Elijah consistently turned aggressive, almost feral, when confronted about his sword, quietly claiming “Yama is mine”. Some villagers assumed that Elijah was merely protective of what remained, but the more knowledgeable minority understood the blade’s importance.

The Wilsics, Elijah’s people, were renowned hero’s of Vaera, a warrior clan commissioned by the king during old wars. They possessed fantastical artefacts that only they could control.

Fortunately, someone opted for a more direct, albeit harsh, approach. Had they not, Elijah would have surely wallowed in his despair until it destroyed him.

“I didn't think the last of the great heroes would give up and rot away in the dark.”

Elijah knew the voice, but not personally. It was vaguely familiar and their words were stated as though they were meant to form a question. Elijah turned to swing Yama with his right-hand, hoping to be left alone. However, his actions were briefly halted when he discovered the source of the voice. A tall yet thin figured teen with a mixed complexion— a soft contrast to Elijah’s darker skin. Flowing brown hair, straight and reaching to their back,like the noble girls of Northern Vaera. At their neck, attached to a necklace, sat a crimson flower-shaped gem; the mark of royalty.

“Are you going to use that? Or should we hand it over to someone who will?” Hayden asked Elijah as they breached the tent they’d borrowed.

With a reddened face contorted by rage, Elijah prepared to swing once more, boldly yelling, “Like a spoiled prince would know anything at all!”

“Are you going to use that? Or should we hand it over to someone who will?” Hayden asked Elijah as they breached the tent they’d borrowed.

With scrunched eyes and a red face Elijah prepared to swing once more and yelled, “Like a spoiled prince would know anything at all!”

Hayden simply frowned, though it was concealed by their hair as it flowed about in the wind. They knew better than to rise to Elijah's bait. They knew that Anger and sorrow were clouding his judgement— he was overreacting. “I know the Wilsics would not want their will to die with you.” They exclaimed, reaching out with their left hand— a prosphetic.

“We can find out who did this. You’re warriors right?”

While Elijah still seemed bothered, Hayden's words appealed to his better nature. His clan were robbed of their future and attacked without a chance to defend themselves. Hayden was right, but there was something he didn’t get.

“We… find out who did this?”

With a sigh, Hayden swung their hair aside in a perfunctory manner— revealing baggy, unsteady, blue eyes— with hints of red around them. Elijah couldn’t tell whether it was a lack of sleep, the cold, or that they’d been crying as much as him.

“I’m supposed to rule one day and I’ve already failed my people— failed you. I don’t care if you’re ‘just soldiers.’ I should’ve been here to do something.”

While Elijah finally lowered Yama, he was slow to respond. “Thanks. I'm sorry I doubted you, Lord Hayden.”

Right after, with hesitation, adding, “— but it’s not your fault.”

“Perhaps that’s how you feel but I have to protect Vaera’s honour, my father’s honour— and my own. If that’s not enough, then think of it as an investment.”

“An investment?”

“Father used to say that one Wilsic is as good as five soldiers. It’d be silly to lose someone like that, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. There’s no sign of the attack left.”

With a grin, Hayden disappeared momentarily. Returning, with a subtle wince and a certain arrow, they explained that, “I found this among the rubble. The tip seems darkened, as though it was burnt. It could of been used to start the fire but—”

“That’s an Osaeru arrow.” Elijah interjected. Trembling and sweating as he squinted at the peculiar arrow. “G-get it away!” He demanded, almost falling backwards.

“Right, magic-suppression. Sorry.” Hayden replied, softer and quieter than expected.

Fortunately, pocketing the arrow seemed to alleviate any symptoms. “I want you to come with me. I’m taking that Osaeru to my father. The arrow proves this wasn’t a freak accident. And, you called it an attack. Did you see something?”

“Yeah, well, not exactly. It’s complicated.” Elijah replied with somewhat of a stutter, momentarily glancing at Yama.

“So, it’s like that then.” Hayden said, eyeing the black-blade. They’d studied the Wilsics, but their father rarely told them more than their subjects knew.

A warrior clan wielding weapons and tools that perform feats of magic. One or two even learnt to do it without their spirit tools.

As Elijah forced himself onto his feet, Hayden swiftly stepped to the side of the large tent entrance, creating space for Elijah to pass. But, it took a while for them to rise, and they almost fell right back down, as they became painfully aware of their body’s prior lack of circulation.

The sorry luck on his face was enough to make Hayden laugh. “Hey, don’t expect me to carry you.” They jested.

“Why’s it matter? I can’t really come with you can I?” Elijah asked,

The question seemed to halt Hayden for a moment, but they recovered themselves and replied thoughtfully, “why not? You’re a Wilsic”

“— a hero of Vaera.”

“But—” Elijah started, only to be interrupted.

“You’re coming.” They sternly concluded with a straight face and crossed arms. It didn’t seem harsh to Elijah but more protective and wishful, rather than demanding— motherly almost.

“What are you staring at?” They asked, “we have to get going.”

“Sorry! It’s nothing.” Elijah explained with a blush, sheathing Yama and rushing out ahead of the young heir. “That’s different.” Hayden said quietly, adopting a childish smirk for just a moment before twirling to their side and pursuing Elijah.

As their journey from the southern village to the northern village began, Elijah noted Hayden's lack of guards. They caught onto Elijah's suspicion when they noticed him glancing behind himself, at the trees, in the cherry bushes, and far ahead of their path. “It’s just the two of us.” they told him.

“Father was going to send soldiers to take you into protective custody. I asked to handle it myself.”

“Handle it yourself?” Elijah asked, rubbing his messy black hair.

“Sorry. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought you’d like a friend instead of an escort or bindings.”

“So, we’re friends?” Elijah pushed further, prompting Hayden to take their turn stuttering,

“No-no. I mean, not that you’d be a bad friend— I just thought you’d like someone to talk to.”

“That’s a friend, your highness.”

“Then… just call me Hayden.” They decided aloud with an expression that matched their newfound warmness.

The journey to Vaera’s northern village took a day due to the uphill travel in snow. In such weather the journey should have been quite difficult to handle— especially without supplies. However, many folks felt they could not fail to host Hayden and Elijah; the royal status had its perks, more so than being the descendent of heroes.

Hayden had planned with this fact in mind. It gave the two several opportunities to rest. However, Elijah still found himself refusing food. It bothered Hayden, but they had never expected Elijah to recover so quickly— even if he put on a brave face. Death leaves a mark on everyone. Regardless, he’d have to eat before leaving Vaera. If you’re travelling between Kingdoms, food is essential. It’s a lengthy trip even with horses… One Hayden expected to take, given that Osaeru arrows generally came from beyond Vaera.

After 6 hours of travelling on foot, Hayden proposed their final stop for the day. The Miren’s family home; it was well known throughout Vaera’s four villages since it doubled as the kingdom’s best known store for leather goods.

The interior was mostly wooden and the house lacked notable decor. Miss Miren claimed they were often too busy for such things. The two believed her; the front of the workshop at the rear end of the house was a maze of coats, hats, bags, and even protective layering. While Elijah and Hayden were given free reign to utilise the home’s front-room, there wasn’t exactly much to do with the space— safe for examining the shelved books and perfumes. It was a simple room with oak planks, birch furniture and spruce accents. Amidst the centre of one wall sat a great stone protrusion that stored the home’s fiery heart.

The Mirens had opted to remain within their workshop throughout the day. But, even after concluding their work, they made an effort to avoid disturbing their guests. So, Elijah and Hayden had been left to talk alone for quite some time. Hayden didn’t mind; Elijah felt almost alienated by the turn of events. ”— What do you mean it’s not strange? This is their home, not ours.” Elijah argued. Though, he was swiftly shut down by Hayden. “They’re worried they’ll displease me— they know I’m the prince.” While Elijah had guessed as much, he didn’t think Hayden would actually say it. “You’re… happy with that?” Elijah asked.

“It’s not like that. I didn’t ask to be a prince. Everyone is always watching: what you say, what you do, who you talk to, and how you talk. You’re trapped by how people see you. I’m not sure it matters— how I feel.”

In lieu of Hayden’s words, Elijah broke eye-contact, opting to stare at the ground. “You’re right.” Elijah admitted, thinking back to how he’d pre-judged Hayden based only on the fact that they’re a prince and allowed that to influence his actions toward them. It almost felt silly now, but still somewhat expectable. “But, you can’t forget yourself just because of it.”

“Yeah.” Hayden exclaimed with a pleasant smile and a warm voice. “But, you’re not quite the same. You’ve acted against me in spite of how you saw me. It was… different.” Hayden added before considering the irony— those weren’t particularly kind actions. Yet, they were using them as examples to justify some form of genuine connection.

“What I’m getting at is that—”

“—we’re more than just what’s assumed of us.” Elijah deduced aloud. But, the conversation ended there, rather warmly yet expectedly mellow.

There was a budding bond at the very least; trust and understanding.

Before the next hour could pass Elijah was gripped by exhaustion and consumed by sleep.

Noting his distance from the fire, Hayden had concealed Elijah beneath several blankets. Hayden knew better than to ask why, and the fire was hot enough for him to easily surrender his own blanket.

Contemplation of Elijah’s words kept Hayden awake— their prior chat, rather than their dream borne mumbles.

Hayden longed to keep their true self in mind in spite of what others saw but they couldn't help but feel that, “remembering yourself isn’t so easy when you have no idea what that is.” Though, it remained a thought unspoken.