AVATAR┊VOICES OF THE WIND

SILENT PRAYERS┊🪲🫚

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ZAYEEY┊HOKOL

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A fierce war cry erupted through the swamp, the sound bouncing and echoing off the dense foliage as a dwarf direhorse ripped through the swamp's edge. The call ignited a chorus of cheers from the hunting party, prompting their triumphant spirits soaring as they began to celebrate their hard-won victory. Yet among the revelers, the seasoned Hokol felt a familiar unease settle over him, forcing his ears to droop instinctively. Cautious by nature, he couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that hung in the humid air. "Do you not think it is a bit premature to celebrate?" He called out, guiding his direhorse closer to Lan, the young warrior leading the day's fresh hunt. The youthful leader merely laughed, his joy infectious as he let out another loud yip, stirring the group into further celebratory cheers.

Hokol couldn't help but let a scoff escape his lips as he reared back, his dark eyes reflecting the deep greenery around them. "You must lighten up more, Hokol! You are just as skittish as they warned me, it would not hurt to relax a little!" Lan shouted, his face alight with a childlike joy. "You do not understand! I know these terrains better than any of the other hunters! This place is brimming with Sky People! There are rumors that they have set traps to catch any of the Rìkeampi who dare leave the marshes–" His voice rose in urgency, but Lan, undeterred, spurred his direhorse ahead, leaving Hokol's warnings in the dust. As Lan's steed lunged forward into the depths of the swamp, the ground suddenly erupted beneath him. An explosion of dirt and debris engulfed Hokol's vision, tossing his body backward in an instant. He slammed into the ground, the world spinning around him as smoke clouded his vision as the world began to fade from above, the pain radiating from his body as the celebration turned to chaos in a mere instance.

–

Hokol's eyes snapped open harshly, raw and disoriented as a violent cough erupted from his throat, snapping him back to consciousness; thick ash coated his lips, making every breath a struggle. The Meitayo warrior blinked rapidly, desperately trying to grasp the shattered reality surrounding him. Small flames flickered hungrily at the edges of his vision, while the ground lay smothered in a ghostly white shroud, remnants of the explosion that had just obliterated the world he was once in. A deep furrow creased his brow as thought began to take root in his mind: he might be the only survivor from the trap. As the weight of the realization crashed down on him, he used the best of his strength he had to push himself into a sitting position, the small effort felt somewhat monumental in the face of the desolation that surrounded him. More coughs erupted from him as he tried to take a deep breath, his large webbed hands finding their way to his face as he tried to wipe the smeared ash from off his skin.

With more effort, Hokol slowly began to bring his knees closer to his chest, the unconscious action of standing emerged from his mind, only to be shot down by the searing heat that rushed through the length of his left leg. His pained groan rippled through the now vacant bit of the swamp as he peered down to the source. A large piece of metal shrapnel stuck out of his shin; the blood, that had clearly once dried, began to flow again, running down his deep olive colored skin. A slight panic surged within him, an tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm his senses. Though he had faced wounds before—bruises and cuts that had marked his flesh and even his spirit—this almost felt different. The stigma of being considered cowardly gnawed at him, but the cold hard truth loomed larger: there was no way he could make it back home alone.