Sayseen

"There weren't always dragons in the valley." Papa had whispered to me in old Samol a mere 100 years ago. I begged him to entrust me with the tales of old Suna that remain core and classified, concealed by the C.O.D but gossiped under hushed tones in the mining beds. The faceless high capital Sanso puppeteers ruled all of Suna, and we in district 7 lived under the duress of their thumb. Hard-pressed and unforgiving.

Papa was a tight-lipped, sunburnt loyalist who knew nothing about anything and has since remained the enduring and darkest wound to etched itself on my heart. He who left me inept and haunted in agony that I too knew naught of that which would become my burden to carry. To unravel what was grayed from me since birth.

This burning rock drifting in sunder was all I knew to be trustworthy and honest about its unrelenting and sharp nature. Painted in hues of amber at dusk and royal scarlet at dawn, sweltering and twisting the human form, not intended to endure such heat. Torrid dunes and flaxen plains characterized Suna 84 from 83. Do not land. Do not enter. Do not stay. If you leave - DO NOT COME BACK. A place that was exploited for the content buried in its belly. For the riches, it promised and despised for its vilified predecessors.

"Please, papa, tell me about the valley; what was there before the dragons?" I would cry out. My tiny frame bounced on the tarp hammock swinging atop the oval pit on the roof of our dusty saffron clay home, shaped as though the land on which it rested had sighed deep and heavy, blowing just enough scorching air to stretch it out into a dome.

"People, Omar. The Sayseen people." He heaved out, grabbing hold of my underarms with his calloused palms and settling me down to curl up on his rounded chest. The air had stilled during the day's high point, a consistent, stifling boil that was said to continue for a time not specified by the high capital Sunso.

"Were they from district 7?"

"No, they were nomadic bands across Suna, 84 and 83. Before the splitting."

Papa worked on Terra 7- mining duslin. One of four mining beds in Suna 84 that received an inkling of relief from the pounding waves of feverish heat. Corporal Hasan assigned him there in hopes he could lift the spirits of the throng of reaver-wielding miners who grew agitated with the deteriorating conditions of Suna 84.

Not even a 100 years' worth of work could repair the damages of the first war. The splitting. One planet, torn into two.

100 more years, and only now have I pieced together what father had told me that night. How bitter and fruitless my efforts would yield.

"Tell me about the Sayseen, Papa?" I cooed, feeling drowsy as one would, given the thin and polluted air.

"Sayseen means the fierce one, a name ascribed to them for their brawn and proud spirit. However, before the first war, rumour took hold of the lands that the Sayseen were looting resources, everything one would need to live, water, food, duslin." Papa's voice trailed off.

"Then what happened?" I nudged him with a pointed elbow, curling up further, tucking my head under his prickly chin. I listened to Papa's breathing waver as he let out another laden sigh.

"What happens next is dark, Omar. Some of the old legends one could hear of in the market places or the mining beds of Suna 84 is fragmented history and unsettling." He stated, sullen.

"Is it as dark as our nights?" I retorted, fighting to stay awake.

"Nothing is as dark as our nights." Papa chuckled, knowing I had him beat.

"Then tell me, Papa."

"When whisper had finally reached the farthest stretches of Suna, all the tribes had plotted a murderous wake for the Sayseen. One that would quietly starve them. They began a shift of population to new districts intended to isolate them from mining beds and farmland, blockading them into what is now known as Suna 84. The Sayseen tribe were said to have been distinct and rather unnatural aside from the alleged corrupt dealings."

"How so…" I hummed.

"To speak plainly, who can say. I suppose something so tortured to decisively be omitted from the historical recount."

"And then?" I managed to mumble under the sweet caress of sleep.

"The Sunso council was formed and became a separatist government establishing Suna 83. They built a bone-white iron wall soaring above the ridges of the sky. The same one greets us with an arrogant posture of grandeur every morning when I string up the curtains in the living room. The only piece of the old legend that is rooted. When the land dried and the last of the Sayseen remained, the Sunso council created an immoral concoction diffused into the air. A toxin so vile it turned them into wretched scaled beasts with wings spanning the size of one mining bed."

"Mother was part Sayseen," I whispered.

"Yes, your mother's great grandfather was Sayseen; though she grew up in 83, she eventually ran away to 84. So, that is how she and I met, somewhere in the wastelands of Ruphat, and if it wasn't for that archeology operation, she and I wouldn't have had you."

Papa broke off before he got carried away in sentimental moments.

"Omar?" He called out, wrapping his bulky arms around my dozing body.

"So the Sayseen...all died?" I crooked.

"I think it's time for bed, Omar."

"You never finished the story, papa!" A tired giggle escaped my mouth, hearing papa snort.

"No, some remain among us. Their blood was weakened by hundreds of years of mixing, execution and imprisonment, but there are said to be whole bands in the capital that have found positions of high praise, while others joined Suntalon insurgent groups with bounties up to 500 Calests per head."

"Tell me more," I whined, turning over in Papa's embrace.

"It's time for bed, Omar, tomorrow is almost here, and the sky train arrives as soon as dawn breaks."

Papa cradled me in his warm and locked arms while swinging his legs over the unstable hammock, feet planted firmly against the dusty rooftop that remained sturdy under his enormous build.

"Papa, is anything you said true?" I asked with my eyelids weary.

"No." Papa snickered.

"Then why do people tell these lies?"

"I wouldn't call them lies, Omar. Rather tales of old from which lessons of life can be derived. Does that make sense?" Papa asked.

At last, I was hooked by the soft serenade of sleep. Papa's voice rung muddled in my ears as the black night that remained empty was the last I saw through hazy eyes.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

A 100 years later, Papa has been dead for about 99 of those wretched years. He lied. About everything. Or was it that he knew nothing?

It doesn't matter now. There's almost nothing left of Suna 84. What little sustained its people when Papa was alive is entirely gone. The districts are in a riot, and caravans of refugees have travelled to the white-bone iron wall. The capital's solution: train excavators to look for untapped resources.

The wasteland heat seeped through the soles of my tans. Even duslin-infused outerwear was not a match for Ruphat. Of course, the capital paid for our uniforms and our excavation gear, but what would they know about the cruel bit of Suna 84 after abandoning us.

"Omar, remember to be back before the day's high point. There's still some ground blasting at zone 7 we haven't finished," Researcher Zahid called out.

I wasn't listening. How could I, when it took me 100 years to piece together the truth of what happened to the Sayseen?

The blaze of the wasteland was beginning to agitate me. I could feel the tear at my forearms when it started, the broken skin bleeding as jagged crystal growths peeked through, inching their way out slow and agonizing, but I trained for this day. First, I learned how to transform. Second, I struggled to control my rage, and today I was on edge. A war was coming, not because of famine or oppression on Suna 84.

I had to run if I was going to make it before exposing myself. So, I sprinted, leaving behind zone 7 as a blip in my line of sight. Then, a scorching sweep of air slipped through the eye socket in my helmet all at once. I was turning, and I couldn't stop it. I kneeled, reaching for the clasp to my helmet and tossing it to the side. The toxic air of the wasteland burned the pupils of my eyes. The teasing wind tossed my hair into a sandy heap. I screeched, covering my face, but it was too late.

Every ounce of my flesh burned, and my lungs caught fire.

I have to wake them up. All of the dragons, have to wake up.