Abasi's Day in Atenkhet

The warm hues of dawn licked into her room, fiery orange colors peeking through the slots in the sturdy stone shutters. Abasi grumbled in her throat, checking over the heavy iron locks on them. I know, she thought. She knew the locks were good, but a part of her demanded checking still. There were no strong winds to rattle them, and being so high up, most thieves wouldn’t bother. Her modest apartment lived in that happy middle ground of dodging both problems.   Heading to her apartment’s front door, she slid open the slab of polished sandstone, nearly silent despite its bulk. Tiny rollers in the frame helped it slide sideways into the wall, just enough to squeeze by. Her amber eyes winced at the hallway light’s jarring brightness. Shaking her head, she shut the door, then hefted up the iron lock hanging off her leather belt. Looping it through the door handle and its frame, she clapped it shut, both her black-furred paws cradling its heaviness for a moment. “May the feathered thief find only boredom,” she muttered in prayer. And hopefully work is interesting today.   Satisfied, she left down the hall. Darker sandstone surrounded her, its neatly cut and polished faces adorned by murals. Many showed rivers flowing and greenery growing from them, some of the peoples nearby either swimming or working fields. They ended and began abruptly where other neatly spaced apartment doors popped up. All the years she spent here, and they still never bored her. Compared to sand-covered huts and bleak, craggy rocks, and simple waystones, the splendor of it comforted her mornings.   In reaching the stairwell, Abasi took to the circular stairs with routine ease. Echoing shoe-covered steps joined hers, a few beneath leaving, a few above heading to the roof just like her. The morning light spilled in from above, pouring through the rooftop archway. The elderly priestess Hespah waited on the other side, smiling with a mother’s warmth.   “Akenra’s gaze upon you, suon-kten Abasi,” Hespah said, holding out a folded carpet on both arms.   Bowing to the priestess, Abasi took the carpet gingerly. “May we be seen together, suon-tek Hespah.”   Pleasantries observed, Abasi headed over. The roof stood neatly flat save the stairwell housing and a guard rail at the edges. Dozens of others milled about, kneeling or crouching as they laid out their carpets. A quiet murmur of morning conversations—well wishes, blessings of luck to be noticed, and the such—filled the air along with their shuffling. Abasi joined in silently, only a few acknowledging nods and looks greeting her. Together they all arranged their carpets, heads towards the rising Sun, neatly spaced apart into rows and columns.   Abasi’s fluffy ears twitched under her headscarf when she saw her carpet. Oh, it’s the river and reeds one. She liked the blue fabric with its decorative and highly stylized design. Of the carpets she ever received, it was among the rarest. Kneeling carefully, she rested upon her thighs and curled in her tail, its many beaded-braids rattling. Unwrapping her headscarf, she neatly folded it on her lap, wiggling her ears and letting them stretch a bit more freely.   A familiar sight laid before her, the skyline of Atenkhet awash in the coming dawn. Sheer-cut surfaces sloped against soft-rounded edges, punctuated by overhangs and pillars, glistening with luxurious glass windows and their stained paintings. Every day she found somewhere new to look, for by the moment the sight changed with the rising Sun. In a way, she pitied others. Not one scepter’s length of Atenkhet went unaccounted for, but some had the misfortune of living behind buildings a bit too tall.   At least they got voucher slips for worship in public parks as compensation.   As enviable as having real grass and trees for morning rites was, Abasi liked what she had.   A detestable scent reached her nose, and with secretive dread, Abasi noticed who plopped down on the carpet beside her. Before she even heard that ear-wrenching voice, Abasi exhaled through her nose, finding the steel within her soul.   “Braids are much too harsh on the fur, this I know! Oh! It’s you, sweet suon-al Abasi.”   “A fine morning for you, suon-ya Kesseha.”   “Fine it is! Such a good morning I awoke to, I hardly needed a minute to become presentable!” Kesseha made a huffing sound, the older nebusah sounding satisfied with her fortunes. “Why, perhaps the Great Sun may indulge in my …”   There were few times Abasi willfully wondered what dying and experiencing Judgement was like. Would the Goddesses blame her for wishing for an expedited process, if they knew what dealing with Kesseha entailed? Ah, let not the shortcomings of others undermine one’s paws, she thought, reciting the axiom. Yet for as much as Abasi blocked the woman out, she always found a way to get by.   “Say, are you still looking for an artist on your markings?” Kesseha asked, partly leaning toward Abasi despite their distance apart. “The one I visited to renew mine did excellent penning; I can take some of my time to recommend you.”   “You’re too kind. I’m troubled by indecision over my choices, you see, and won’t let you waste your time.”   “Pssh! Indecisiveness like this is why you have no husbands!” Kesseha said with a shake of her head. “What boys will want to offer themselves up when they see this?”   The punctual timing of priestess Hespah’s clapping saved Abasi from further ‘conversation’. All eyes went to the westward facing front, the priestess’ silhouette cast against the burning dawn. The murmurs of conversation died in an instant, followed by the resounding clap of paws answering back. “Gracious is this moment, kten! Akenra's light draws once more over our world, Her gaze cast upon us all.”   “Graceful do we strive, never to turn Her eye away,” answered by the crowd, Abasi’s voice within a chorus of others. Thus began the morning rites, a low, thunderous rumble of voices all across Atenkhet speaking in disjointed unison. Those who could do so properly recited on their ways, filling even the busy streets with hymns and verses. For the entire Hour of Dawn, the vast city awoke with prayer and worship of Akenra’s splendorous light, thanking Her for casting out the darkness once more. Once done, they sang of virtuous deeds awaiting to be done, graceful actions to be seen, and all the more in hopes of captivating Her judgmental gaze.   Abasi couldn’t help mumbling out those portions of the prayers. She never really did anything glamorous or deserving of a goddess’ attention. Taking on long hours for work just meant she could send more pay back to the tribe. Visiting temples and helping out was just the thing to do for the divine. Not to mention helping others, albeit that mostly came into finding stray pets or giving directions. How Kesseha, of all people, looked entirely serious during ‘virtuous declarations’ left her gobsmacked. But it did not fall to Abasi to judge.   Even if, sometimes, she did wonder …   At the end of the Hour of Dawn, Abasi got up, her legs well-used to the long process of the morning rites. It was a luxury being able to do them properly—she couldn’t help remembering her ‘on the go’ rites when she first moved to Atenkhet. The mere memory of it made her fur stick up with a nauseous shiver. I don’t know how they do it, Abasi mused with a shake of her head, rolling up her rug properly. Ah, enough about that. I’ll miss the cart.   Hustling over toward the stairwell door, she handed over the rug to priestess Hespah, bowing in the process.   “Suon-kten Abasi.”   Foot halfway through the door, Hespah’s voice made her pause. Looking over, Abasi’s ears twitched uneasily, trying to think of whatever it was she did improperly. “I-I’m sorry,” she said, already moving to bow again. A hand on her shoulder stopped her with a jerk, and she saw Hespah regard her with concerned eyes.   “There is no wrong. What ills you?”   “Me? I—nothing does.”   “A shining day such as this and still a cloud hangs over suon-tek Abasi,” Hespah said, waving her free hand in a grand gesture to the sky. “My ears listen for whatever winds come.”   Abasi did pause at such a generous offer, her brow furrowing. What is there to say? she wondered. Work, promotions, payments, living; such mundane, everyday things. To bother a priestess over something so petty really would be rude of her to do. “There is nothing,” Abasi said again after a long moment, bowing her head.   “Mm.” Hespah didn’t sound convinced in the slightest, but let go of Abasi’s shoulder. “Should there ever be a need, I will keep one ear open.”   “I thank the priestess for her gracious offering.” Abasi hurried out with the others still leaving the roof, her skin itching with anxious energy.     Setting the basket into her cabinet with a sigh, Abasi adjusted the undergarments she’d just put on. The smooth-as-oil white linen never felt right, even if it was premium quality. Whether it’d slip right off always worried her. It never did, of course, but still it plagued her. The rough, fur-gripping texture of a decent cloth would’ve been better. Picking up her work clothes basket, she left the cabinet room, stepping through a simple doorway into the long dressing room.   On one side stood small dressers and large mirrors, all to view one’s self and ensure they were up to standard. On the other stood a few comely desks, filled with brushes, paint vials, brush kits, and the dutiful men who tended them. A light bumbling filled the air, small talk in the early morning while most of them were still kind of waking up. She found an empty dresser and set her basket down on it before pulling up a seat. The U-shaped backing bit into her, usable to sit on but by no means comfortable.   Dragging her paws down her face, Abasi blanked for a moment. She knew what to do, her mind just didn’t engage.   The slapping of sandaled feet stopped nearby, her ear swiveling at the noise. Glancing from the corner of her eye, she saw one of the dressing men standing there, smiling politely. Of those who bothered to help her, she distinctively recognized him and his mountain-esque tattoos. “A warm and sunny day,” she greeted, adequately conversational sounding.   “It is indeed!” he said, dipping his head quickly.   “I need some help dressing.”   “Please, allow me, suon-ya Abasi,” he said, bowing with his paw over his heart.   “As ever you are the first, mund-al Nemda.”   “I’m glad to have won such distinction,” Nemda said with a smile, retrieving his brush and comb. “Now, what does her excellence suon-ya Abasi need on this day?”   “The Skisira expects me today, so I‘m told.”   “Oh. Ohh.” Nemda nodded, his tone gravely falling from its warm ambience to something serious. “Then I shall make suon-ya Abasi most fitting for her to gaze upon.”   “Let us hope her judgement is not harsh.”   “This requires something special, a delicate touch,” Nemda said.   Abasi’s ears twitched and locked onto him, her eyes following as he went to his dresser’s desk. He brought back a simpler box of muted yellow and black banding, worn by age. He presented it to her, opening the lid to reveal the tiny glass containers within. Abasi’s eyes widened at the sight, all sorts of elegant blacks, golds, blues, and greens awaiting. Humble painting brushes, both great and as fine as a few hairs, sat beneath them. “Shall suon-ya Abasi enjoy a finer selection of facial wear today?”   Makeup remained her weak point. The perfect combination of elegance and status without the permanency of tattoos. “Yes,” Abasi said in slow thoughtfulness. “I think I will.”   Once Nemda had an idea of her dressing needs, the rest went by in an efficient routine. Being the white-green madan she was, working under the employ of the Pharaoh entailed a strict standard. An enveloping white dress formed the basis of her attire, complimented by the river-and-grassland tapestry tied over it. The sun-gold arm and leglets, accompanied by the simplistic diadem on her forehead, denoted the proper employment status.   If only they could see me now, Abasi mused, her faraway family coming to mind. I look richer than Mother ever did. Hmph, mock me for leaving. If I’d stayed I’d be grateful for mud on my fur and nothing else. Not to mention, if all went well, she’d be heading up the next step on the social staircase. Abasi straightened up a bit, inspecting herself in the dressing mirrors. I just need to work a little harder and it’ll be worth it.   She found herself taken with Nemda’s makeup work. The solid black, circular flairs around the eyes had been replaced with a gentler sweeping yellow and green, a bit almost like a breaking dawn on the reeds. Coupled with the blue splashes on her cheeks—and the important symbols of officialdom—she felt like a beautiful painting. Abasi had to keep herself from touching her face, but she gladly angled to see her profile. Were her eyes a stand in for two Suns? It’d fit the artful teasing she felt it offered.   “Your paws are as deft with a brush as a priestess is with sermons,” Abasi said.   “No, no,” Nemda said, smiling and looking like someone who wanted to turn away, yet held out his paws for the compliments anyway. “The beauty of unmarked skin suits suon-ya Abasi, for she is as a dawn breaking. Endless possibilities await my brush.”   He always proved one of the few with such vocal support. Abasi bowed her head agreeingly, and they finished the final touch ups befitting one who worked for the Pharaoh. Nemda flourished his paws toward the exit, grandly bidding her farewell, much to her amusement. On her way out of the dressing rooms, Abasi found all sorts of eyes staring at her; far more than usual.   Nemda had truly outdone himself with how much glowering envy shone upon her. Ah, she felt as if she might sparkle like a lumii coming across the ocean.   The rarity of such a feeling was not lost upon her, either.   Entering the administration building properly, muted white stones, gold frames, and turquoise carpets greeted her as they ever did. Abasi folded her paws together in front of her lap, dutifully merging in with the stream of clerks heading toward the elevators. Such normal crowds made it that much easier to fall into the working mindset. Walk with set distances, keep the tail straight, eyes upon the destination—usual etiquette. Friends and cliques eschewed distance for conversation, making for such irritating crowds.   The looks of others didn’t escape her notice. Makeup wasn’t that strange, for there were any number of cute suns, stylized winds, and even caricatures of notable scriptures. A few had much grander work done, not unlike a moving mistress piece in some regards. Abasi felt herself become a little hotter under the attention. I haven’t gotten this many eyes since I started working, she thought with an anxious spring to her step.   Stepping through the threshold, the X-shaped stone gate slid closed behind her. “I need the seventh floor,” she said, looking down at the smaller man working the controls. He nodded.   “Lift’s full! Watch your legs and tails.” Tails wrapped around ankle skirts, and the small space suddenly felt all the larger. Abasi especially so, her feet set apart in anticipation. A sudden, terribly soft jerk shook the floor underneath her when the elevator started. Glowing teal energies thrummed in small, geometric lines, coursing from the smooth crystals sat on opposite sides of the floor. The whole thing moved with magic, using the same crystals in the elevator shaft walls to move up or down.   Abasi never really figured out the hows, even if it did look quite pretty.   When they reached her respective floor, she hurried out of the elevator. Ugh, moving ground, she thought sourly.   Her floor never saw much through traffic, the only people who came delivered reports or took them. Turning a corner, the long hallway that held her work desk awaited. A thin wall sectioned off each work area, leaving six on either side, twelve in total. Before she began, Abasi visited each area, greeting her fellow clerks. Such proper manners were important to not only check on each other, but let everyone know one was there. How some chose to neglect them, she couldn’t fathom. At last, she sat down upon her plush, pillowy and vastly more comfortable chair; Abasi wiggled into utmost comfort.   “Mm, suon Abasi?” came a voice to her left.   Not even one minute, she thought, but said instead, “Abasi here, suon Jaseen.”   “I think these tablets they left us were meant for you,” Jaseen said. “I recognize markings from the east on them.”   Well, that was one of her specialties. Eastern tablets? Abasi wondered, regrettably leaving her chair and heading over.   So began the start of her day in earnest, handling a rather bizarre batch of incoming records. They turned out to be a collection of notable trade deals, taxes, and other marks. Traditionally, most nomadic groups or small settlements utilized clay-based tablets, being both cheap and flexible. Did none of the eastern nobles do any proper processing? she wondered, the oddness of it all sticking out. A single scroll of reed paper would’ve been far easier and cheaper to send than literal crates full of clay tablets. Nevermind the possibility of shipment damage to the records. Certain orders of operation existed for just this!   Abasi, holding a tablet, scratched her head. “Not one of them is something we should receive,” she mused aloud.   “Why is that?” Jaseen asked, the human woman angling to try and look from her seat.   Wagging the tablet back and forth, Abasi said, “This is the local trock headcount.” She set it down and picked up another. “Total crysium mined, if any.” And again. “Mana barrels collected—this is the only important one so far.” Abasi eyeballed the three chest high crates stacked against the wall in Jaseen’s work area. She lifted another tablet. “Food stored, food for trade. Dyes are included on this one, for some reason.” Squinting her eyes at the tablet, Abasi felt an inkling of familiarity. “It might be one of the northern tribes in the east, most of their dyes come from foods.”   “I agree this is sounding improper for us to handle,” Jaseen said, rubbing her chin. “Who would send this to the Pharaoh?”   “Not any noble, they know better.”   “But then who could afford to send us clay tablets?”   The two of them shared a contemplative hum. Abasi’s face scrunched up. “It would be prohibitively expensive. Who sent this? The pranksters’ guild?”   Jaseen hid her mouth behind a hand, a snorting laugh escaping.   “Who signed this in? Where’s the record?” Abasi asked, answered by Jaseen’s shrug. She let out a sigh. “Help me find it so I can speak to whoever did the signing.”   Thankfully the actual packaging proved fairly standard. Untie the securing cords, open the lids, inspect the interiors, and so on. The signed record of acceptance should’ve been on top of it all, attached with its own cord. That it wasn’t meant an unrecorded shipment had arrived into her branch. A shipment large enough needing multiple people to freight up to her area.   Abasi felt a headache at how many failures of protocol that entailed.   Little by little they made progress, every other record Abasi looked at merely confirming what she knew. In what might’ve been at least an hour, if not two, of basic work, the clack-clack-clack of sandals snapped in the air. A terribly unwanted voice cleared her throat then, and Abasi turned with dreadful lethargy.   “My, my, what has come to trouble suon-al Abasi?”   “The noble toil in service to the gracious and wise Pharaoh is no trouble,” Abasi returned, the dryness in her voice making the two male servants perking up with agitation. “What ails suon-ya Nefertehn to need my help?”   Nefertehn, the regally stuck-up woman she was, sneered. It was not the obvious sort less diligent folk resorted to; no, just a slight curve of her already unreasonably harsh face. A tightening of the eyes, and a pointed glare that conveyed her displeasure. Being a white-blue in the hierarchy, she was anything but a role model for a superior. Flicking her paws, Nefertehn said, “Give her the record I received on her behalf. It seems some cargo was shipped specifically to you, not this branch.” One perfect, lushly thick eyebrow cocked upward. “I dare ask, suon-al Abasi, is this really for the Pharaoh?”   Calmly accepting the copper tablet, Abasi found the paper writ that denoted who accepted the cargo. Standard detailing of weight and approximate description, no curious notes or otherwise. Flipping that over and letting it dangle by a cord, Abasi’s attention went to the tablet itself. Reasonably thin and firm, it completely surprised her an actual metal tablet had been cast. Such was only reserved for the most important of matters, not simple cargo. “It must be,” Abasi said, half-speaking to herself. “The cargo is from the east … and the sender … oh.”   “I learned from the writ, but why did that end up lost in my department?” Nefertehn asked irritably. “The cargo,” she said, her voice growing worried, “quite clearly made it here.” Abasi’s face had turned sour and pale, a difficult sight beneath her beautiful makeup. “What is it?” Nefertehn demanded.   “Where is the Skisira?” Abasi asked, looking up with the utmost seriousness in her eyes.   “… Her floor as usual, I presume,” Nefertehn said, cowing back beneath Abasi’s gaze. “I have not heard of anything demanding her attention today.”   “I thank suon-ya Nefertehn, for she is as a cloud in my clear day,” Abasi said, bowing her head politely. Turning toward Jaseen, she then said, “Secure the cargo properly, and no one is allowed to move or inspect it unless it is myself or the director.”   “Eh? Ah? I, of course, I will do so,” Jaseen answered, a bit flabbergasted.   Abasi wasted no time in leaving then, moving at a speed that bordered on the improper.   Nefertehn and Jaseen watched her departure before looking at each other, each rather bemused.     The elevator slid to a stop, Abasi and the operator the only two on board at such a height. She stepped into a large hall markedly different from the rest of the building. Smooth arches lined the ceiling with thick, brick-like glass between them. Reinforced by steel framing, the roof allowed Akenra’s bright, unrelenting light in. Tiny slits inside the walls sent water babbling gently into gutters that ran along the floor’s edges. Whether to the director’s domain at the far end, or the archival halls off to the sides, it lent one’s ears a gentle treat to listen to.   Abasi, noting no one but the director’s secretary was present, hurried toward her.   The secretary herself looked up, a younger nebusah with the dense facial tattoos typical to northerners. “… Yes? Suon-al Abasi’s elevation is not yet time,” she said with a look of recognition.   Her words jolted Abasi. Ah, that’s today, she thought, gritting her teeth and looking down. Moons’ luck! The Skisira, mm, this will reflect badly on me ... Still, she had to bring it forth. It would be irredeemable of her not to do so. “I understand. I come for another matter of utmost import for Skisira suon-daikan Clentehka.”   The secretary blinked, her tilting head accompanied by the jingling jewels hanging on her ears. “What is the nature of this matter?”   “It concerns nobility.”   “… I understand, please be seated. Skisira suon-daikan Clentehka is currently meeting with others. It should be nearing its end soon.”   Abasi bowed, and thanking her, went over to a seating area. The waiting hall itself was divided into quadrants, with clearly marked walking paths cutting through in a crossway. Exquisite rugs, topped with nebusah-sized pillows awaited, awaited. No expense had been spared: the rugs comfortably firm, the pillows robustly soft, and each piece terribly expensive in its artsy detail. It made laying down that much easier waiting for the director’s unpredictable schedule. Having been twice already, Abasi felt none of the ease the hall was supposed to bring. She couldn’t even distract herself with the mural landscape stitchings on the pillows.   Sitting cross-legged, she scowled down at the tablet in her hands. Thinner than the clay tablets she held earlier, it felt like a brick in her paws. She half wanted to throw the thing through a wall and forget ever seeing it. Oh, it would’ve been so much easier. Oops, it got lost, Abasi thought dryly, her wishful thinking drifting farther and farther away.   Nefertehn probably never has to deal with something like this. That woman got all her promotions and secured respect, all the while avoiding unsavory business. People flocked to her! Even if she was, well, unbecoming to listen to. That part she could do without. The respect and subordinates and the agency—that would be nice. Plain old blank-faced Abasi, going to lose her job.   The dreadful knot in her gut eclipsed the morning’s anxiety.   Abasi stared at the tablet long and hard, trying to think of some magical solution. When the director’s doors slid open, she hardly paid it any mind. Not even the group walking past her drew so much as an ear twitch.   “… si? Suon-al Abasi?”   Abasi jerked her head upward, ears perky and swiveling as they searched for sound. “Y-Yes?” she asked.   “Skisira suon-daikan Clentehka will see you now.”   Rising up, Abasi found her legs shaky. She bowed to the secretary on her way past, stepping into the director’s domain. Befitting of her rank, it yawned before Abasi like a throne room, complete with a set of small stairs leading up to a plateau. Farther up another few steps sat the Skisira’s dais, her voluminous chair and expansive desk looming. The slanted wall behind it stood with thick glass, and Abasi imagined she might look down onto the roof-top gardens on the floor below.   An estimable domain, one befitting of she who led the entire branch building.   Abasi slid the door shut behind herself before ascending the stairs. She stopped before the dais, sitting down onto her knees and bowing appropriately. The Skisira, busy with something on her desk, did not acknowledge her. In the ensuing silence, the babbling water that ran through the domain didn’t ease her at all. A sigh soon came, followed by the clinking of a metal pen being laid to rest.   “Suon-al Abasi was not meant for evaluation until the dusk of this day,” Clentehka said, her exceedingly punctual articulation landing like a sack of bricks on Abasi. “Why is she here?”   “I ask forgiveness with this intrusion, but I bring important records of nobility for the Skisira to see.”   “Is that so? The junior clerk will bring them to me.”   Abasi rose then, ascending the dais’ steps with all the care of one walking on lightning-struck sand. Clentehka awaited, sitting within her chair and exuding a pressure of presence that made Abasi’s hairs wilt. Older than her own mother, Clentehka’s withering age didn’t impede her estimable aura. She couldn’t meet the director’s gaze, instead focusing on the copper tablet she offered over the desk. Clentehka took it with her left hand, the gem-encrusted gauntlet sparkling in the light. Her sharp gaze fell upon the tablet, reading with a methodical precision.   Holding her paws in front of her lap, Abasi stood there, waiting. Her anxious nerves made her peek at the director, something that didn’t help her heart at all. Clentehka’s face darkened by the line, denting with a scowl only those reading something truly unsavory ever showed. She looked up, not to regard Abasi but to stare just past her, as if deep in thought. Then she looked down again.   When the tablet landed gently upon Clentehka’s desk, the sound resonated terribly loud in Abasi’s ears.   “I was not aware you were a part of the eastern daikhetm, junior clerk suon-al Abasi.”   “Strictly speaking, politely, Skisira, I am not.”   “Then why have their tribal leader addressed this matter to the junior clerk, personally?”   Abasi wanted to scratch her head from how badly it itched. Decorum dictated she remain as a statue. “I am uncertain, Skisira. If I were to stretch my imagination, it is possible the tribal leader spoke to my family. They are a minor family in an adjacent tribe to the daikhetm.”   “Hm. The junior clerk’s tone wavers, why is that?”   There really was no getting out of it. She really did have to dig up that buried piece of history and be done with it. In front of her superior, no less. The realization of it all oddly calmed her, soothing the anxious energy thrumming in her nerves. Almost like a wave of cooling water, really. Abasi straightened up a bit, meeting the Skisira’s gaze straight on. “Respectfully, I was disavowed from my family. If the tribal leader spoke to them, I do not know why I would be named.”   Clentehka’s head tilted slightly, enough her head jewelry jingled. “Junior clerk suon-al Abasi, possessing such an impressive record, it troubles my mind to imagine why she would be disavowed.”   “Ah? To ease the Skisira’s worry, I was the seventh daughter. My family wished me to marry into another adjacent family.”   “My worry turns to confusion, certainly. What caused such a disavowing?”   “I wanted to—be more, learn more. I wanted to come to Atenkhet, but they demanded otherwise. We did not agree, and I left under cloudy weather. To my knowledge, my mother disavowed me.”   “Hm.” Clentehka tapped her jeweled claws upon her desk, a rhythmic wave born from years of practice. “It helps the junior clerk to remember that a mother never forgets her daughters, no matter what comes between them.”   Abasi blinked, her stiff ear flicking with reflexive confusion.   A scrape broke the air as the Skirsira stood up, her jewelry jingling and rattling. “It is necessary to postpone the junior clerk’s evaluation. I will be guided to the junior clerk’s work area to assess this received cargo.”   She half-expected the words to sting a bit more. Bowing her head and holding a paw toward the office’s door, Abasi said, “I shall lead the Skisira.” To her surprise, Clentehka stopped in front of her, eyes still utmost serious.   “Junior clerk suon-al Abasi, you may be requested for further questioning by the Lower Solar Administration. The seriousness of the matter mandates it.”   Her soul must’ve left her body and she wished it’d taken her with to Judgement. Abasi, eyes tight and nearly ready to scrunch up and die, nodded. “I understand the Skisira’s expectations.”     Letting out a long, defeated sigh, Abasi stared out across the expanse of the Eastern River. She half-hoped its dull roaring waters would soothe her as it usually did. A good seat at the Tipped Cup right on the patio, not exactly cheap to pay for. Half-sitting, half-laying back in her expansive couch-chair, she must’ve struck quite an inelegant sight. Ah, she couldn’t even work up the energy to care about that. Her dull claws raked idly against the sun-tanned leather underneath her.   Okay, she thought, finally mustering up the willpower. What’s the worst possible outcome?   Outside of being fired, she’d be buffeted from promotion for a while—if not indefinitely. It wasn’t that she hated her current job at all, but she wanted to do more. Maybe even be a Skisira herself one day.   Ah, how far away that all felt now.   I could try transferring to another branch, but I’ll be marked in the records. A major trade organization? I know a few people from handling their records …   Of course, the problem there was who she knew, but more importantly how she related to them. The most renowned of companies were highly selective in who they hired. Blood relations were always at the front of the line, and some did not even open their doors to anyone otherwise. She didn’t need to get to the absolute top, an upper-middle position would be more than enough.   But that would mean tattooing up and fully trying to be one of the Atenkhet people. Not just herself anymore.   Did it really matter, though?   It wasn’t as if she’d ever be going home again.   Abasi, uncaring of her makeup, slapped her paws onto her face. Growling, groaning, and huffing all at once, she writhed on the chair, pure anxiety having its way. This blows! It blows big sandy crap! she thought, no other words sufficing for the terrible ennui that was her life. An all-consuming thing that only yawned more and more, no matter how she tried tackling it. Really, what was the point of doing anyth—   A tremor rattled her chair, the stone cup on the table nearby, and even the rafters of the café behind her. Abasi shot upright, ears perked as she looked around. The other people in the dining areas around her, likewise, all became alert. Rising to her feet, she slipped on her sandals and tried to see … anything, really. The river flowed onward, and the peoples on either side she saw had come to a standstill.   A veltronquake?   Another tremor followed, then another. Distinct, rhythmic, and not at all like a proper quake. She’d experienced those herself to know the differences. Two serving staff boys hurriedly ran into her area, gathering up her drink, half-eaten food, and everything else they could carry. Abasi did a double-take at their speed, and asked, “W-wait, what is going on?”   One of them paused and regarded her long enough to say, “The good ma’am should hurry along! It is coming!”   And like that, he was off with an armload back into the café.   Abasi found the people in the other areas were, themselves, now moving with a decided purpose. Not panicked, but very much excited. Heading into the café, the crowd swallowed her up in their flow outside, the serving staff that much busier cleaning up afterward. To her even greater surprise, more people of all kinds flooded into the thoroughfare! They poured out of buildings, crowding the expansive street from end-to-end.   Being among the first people out, she found herself pulled along toward the edge of the Eastern River. Stone railings and steel cross-wire formed an impenetrable safety barrier, something she stood three rows away from touching herself. The tremors continued all the while. As it grew nearer and stronger, her ears perked up, hearing the rolling shouts and yells of far more people farther away.   What is going on? Abasi wondered, wringing her paws together. Standing on her tip-toes, she barely saw past all the tall ears in front of her. Nothing really looked that different. As the incoming whatever it was neared, though, she picked up one distinct word, cutting above the noise.   Pharaoh.   Is it the Pharaoh? Here? Oh, she wasn’t proper at all. Her face was a mess and her work dress wasn’t—well, she couldn’t change that. Abasi nonetheless tried nail-combing her hair, smoothing out the unsightly ends poking out. A number of others around her were already doing the same, some far more haggard than her. Glancing about fruitlessly, Abasi’s paws froze when she beheld it.   The walking, titanic construction she’d only ever seen in pamphlets or decorative artwork: the Guardian of the Black Pyramid.   It’s HUGE! That lone, singular thought defined Abasi’s sheer awe, the slow-walking construct defying belief. The Eastern River itself, one of the four great rivers that flowed from Atenkhet, barely had enough room for how wide it was. Forget the many river-side shops, cafés, rest areas, and otherwise—their tallest floors scarcely reached the guardian’s underbelly. Only the few towering office-buildings that lined the river came close, and the one Abasi saw only went up half-way to the tail.   No wonder the veltron shook underneath: every step thundered, and the water underneath erupted in an explosive geyser. The voices farther away disappeared beneath the noise, its awesome presence alone drowning out thousands. Abasi couldn’t hear her own thoughts anymore, consumed beneath water and footsteps alike.   As it neared, the people around her raised their arms in a wide, Y-shaped figure, paws and palms outstretched to the heavens above. Abasi did the same, her own heart beat a distant feeling to what came. Her tribe once braved the terrifying kelansahdar. This awesome presence tower past that awful memory, an imposing warmth that chased away fear. As if, in a small part, the very light of Akenra itself treaded the veltron nearby.   “Praise for the Pharaoh! Eternal is Her reign!” the crowd sang out in joyed exaltation, Abasi’s own words lagging slightly behind.   The guardian marched onward, Abasi only seeing its underbelly and its legs with their yawning steps. One of them thundered to the river floor just in front of her. In a mighty, muted thwump a column of water shot into the air.   That’s a lot of water, she thought dimly, eyes widening at the sight. Towering as a grand building, it yawned over her, the shops, the street—blocking even Akenra’s light itself for a moment! There was nowhere to go, and everyone yet remained standing there, awaiting its arrival. Truly, its sparkling blue, clear waters carried a hint of gold, as if from the Shimmering Ocean itself. Between the droplets and the torrent, she even spied a rainbow sneaking through like a thief.   How beautiful.   It crashed down upon her.     The acrid taste of paint snuck into her mouth and Abasi spat it out to the ground. Wiping her already ruined face, what little paint remained sloughed off onto her paws’ fur. She wiped them on her knees, work dress already stained with the last bit she’d cleaned off. Utterly drenched from head-to-toe, her only solace was the nice, solid stone public bench beside the roadway.   All around her was joyful laughter, singing, and even dancing. The many people who, like her, had been blasted by the Guardian were busy enjoying themselves. All sorts of praises to the Pharaoh followed, some delivered words from written canon, others spoke from the bottom of their hearts. The shops and cafés nearby desperately tried to bring out food and drinks, serving the jubilant crowds with cheaper prices, if not free outright.   But all Abasi could do was sit there.   Sit and be herself.   The warmth of Akenra soothed her along with the refreshingly cool water, but she remained soaked. For once, she wasn’t really troubled by her thoughts. Simply being there amongst the crowd was more than enough.   “… towels, free to those who received the Pharaoh’s blessings!”   I haven’t a clue how the dressers will take this. Staining one’s clothes with food dirt was bad enough. Most of her paint had splashed right down onto her dress. Nemda’s handiwork would get him in trouble as well, using so much on her. Abasi scratched at her forehead, no answer coming to mind.   “Towels, free to—”   “Is the ma’am in need of a towel?” a woman asked, much closer to her than anyone else.   Abasi looked up, then had to paw her bangs out of her eyes to see. A priestess waited, one adorned in sun-gold cloth and sparkling blue-green apatite gem jewelry. The full-body attire carried a regal air, one of sophistication and refinement untouchable by the world around it. Abasi straightened up immediately at seeing her aged face, smiling enough her eyes creased. Better yet, she stood up and hurriedly bowed. “I find myself in need of one, great priestess!” she said, as respectful as she could be.   “Gracious is the passing of the Pharaoh, for blessings follow in Her wake,” the priestess said, turning to one of her servants. The much comelier dressed boy held up a tablet and writing pen to her, which the priestess then offered to Abasi. “Please record your receiving of the complimentary towel issued by the Upper Solar Administration. Name and residence. Have you received a towel before?”   “N-No, this is the first time.”   “A wonderful occasion, is it not?”   “It is,” Abasi said, not even sure how to describe what just happened. She filled in her name and residence, and checked off some other questions about receiving the towel. A quality assurance form proved recognizable to her eyes. In handing it back, the priestess handed it off to her attending servant, who then handed her a towel.   “Bask in the warmth of Akenra and feel peace with this blessed day, suon-kten Abasi,” the priestess said, holding out a towel. Abasi took it and bowed again. The priestess offered a smile and a nod before going on her way.   Abasi looked down at the towel in her paws. It really did have an exemplary make and feel to it, smooth yellow threads locking in soft, absorbent tufts of cloth. Just holding it felt like she had a cloud in her grasp, so soft and intangible it might fade away. Smoothening it out, she let it hang above the ground, its long length almost entirely as tall as her. Black thread, stylized in a very simplistic cut out of the Black Pyramid defined the iconic facing it had. Beneath it read the words, ‘Complimentary towel issued by the Upper Solar Administration for those washed in the presence of the Pharaoh’. Then a bunch of identifying serial numbers for this specific and unique towel.   Do I … Do I dry myself or hang it on a wall? Abasi’s face scrunched up. Ah, fine, she thought, rubbing her head and sitting down. At the least she needed to clean up her hair and be something other than sopping wet. For as much as one could in public, anyway. Head mostly dry and puffing up something fierce, she started working on her furred arms. Her eye caught a strange sight while she did so, that of a serpentine woman standing amidst the crowd.   Her smooth, almost rainbow-like scales shimmered in the sunlight, and her own baggy traveler’s clothing were utterly drenched. No, not quite a rainbow, black with a … sheen? Unlike everyone else around her, she hemmed and hawed, looking completely lost in the crowds going on around. A single, unmoving person in a wave of many bodies. The oddest part was how sleek the woman was. Most nuhara Abasi saw had hardy scales and bulky bodies, while the stranger seemed almost malnourished by contrast.   A slurping suck of someone drinking came from her right side. Abasi’s ear flicked and she looked over. Rather than a person standing nearby, she saw something far stranger. A large beetle perched on her shoulder, one made of green and resplendently translucent chitin. Were it not for its twitching legs, the flutter of furled wings, and its tongue sucking from the stone cup in its tiny grip, it might’ve been a statuette.   A real beetle!?   She’d never talked with one before.   “Umm,” Abasi said, at a loss for words. “Hello?”   “Hey,” the beetle said back before taking another slurping sip. “You should talk to her.”   “Talk to … who?”   “The rainbow snake over there,” the beetle said, pointing with one of its free legs. Abasi followed along, seeing the same woman she noticed earlier. “It’ll be fun.”   “But I don’t—” Abasi looked back, and the beetle was gone. As suddenly as it had appeared it vanished, not even a droning buzz of wings taking it away.   What? she thought, exasperated. One more unexplainable thing happening in her day, it really did tire her to—No, wait, the priestess’ words came back to mind. The Pharaoh’s blessings, is it? Abasi mused. She clapped one paw into the palm of the other, as much as she could while holding a towel. Ah, maybe it’s a blessed meeting!   It would explain the beetle’s seemingly divine guidance, surely.   Taking a look over at the nuhara woman, Abasi resolved to get up and go over. At the least she did seem lost and troubled, so she could help with that. Cutting through the current of people passing by, her stature and work dress did well to make them part for her. Few willfully stood in the way of a government worker, after all. She tried calling out, but the woman didn’t hear her; not until she got close enough to almost touch her shoulder.   “Are you lost?” Abasi called for the sixth time in a minute, the woman looking over. Their eyes met, and she found herself surprised. The stranger’s eyes were a mesmerizing fiery-blue opal hue, twinkling in the sunlight and even refracting as her face moved.   “Me? Yes,” the stranger said, smiling uneasily and showing her fangs. The inner, dark green color of flesh stood at odds with her pale skin so much Abasi did a double-take. “I had a guide but they disappeared when that big, ground shaking thing walked by.”   For a foreigner, she spoke the native tongue well. The hiss of a nuhara’s mouth being one thing, Abasi didn’t recognize the accent at all. “Ah, that. We call it the ‘Guardian of the Black Pyramid’.”   “It guards that huge pyramid?” she asked. “Why is it going away, then?”   “It also protects the Pharaoh, who I believe is going somewhere important. Naturally it would follow her command.”   “Oh, of course.”   “Erm, if the ma’am would follow me, let us leave the roadway here,” Abasi said, gesturing to be followed. The stranger did so, and the two of them went to another bench that just opened up. A nice one surrounded by flower pots, nonetheless. With far less of the crowd around, Abasi finally heard her own thoughts again. “Forgive the rudeness, but are you new to Atenkhet?”   “I am,” the stranger said, before doing a double-take. “Oh, my apologies. I am Verssha, daughter of Tersskan.”   “My name is Abasi, it is fortunate to meet you, suon Verssha. What has brought you to Atenkhet?”   Verssha smiled uneasily and scratched her head, her braided and unbraided hair a mess together. “I ventured over the southern ocean. My father spoke much of his home, and I wanted to see it.”   Two stone gears turned in Abasi’s mind. There wasn't anywhere really south of Atenkhet that wasn’t Atenkhet. Perhaps one of the outer regional districts, but that was a stretch. “It is a poor showing on our part that your guide has lost you,” Abasi said, bowing her head. “I apologize on their behalf.”   “I-it’s no trouble!” Verssha said, holding up her hands. “I didn’t know a celebration was happening today.”   “It is a bit ... impromptu. There are good fortunes to be found in the Pharaoh’s passing.”   “She died?” Verssha asked, sounding surprised.   Abasi’s ear flicked. “What? No? The Pharaoh rules eternal.”   “But you said—oh, it’s a words thing, isn’t it?”   “You speak well for someone new to Atenkhet.”   Verssha grinned. “My father taught me one set of words, my mother the other.”   “I see. Erm …” Abasi looked from Verssha to the towel in her own hands. She held it out daintily to the nuhara. “Would you need this?”   “Please,” Verssha said with a laugh, taking the towel. Like Abasi, she started drying off at the head. “The air here is so dry. It was refreshing getting splashed again.”   “Dry? Is it not so on the coast?”   “Coast?”   The two stared at each other confusedly for a moment before Verssha laughed. “No, I’m from what your people call Etzli Cuauhtla.”   “Oh. Oh! Oooh.” A flash of recollection struck Abasi with one particularly odd record shipment she’d dealt with once. “The Kojahenkhet Outpost!”   “That’s it,” Verssha said with a nod. For what there was to towel off on her torso, she started working on her big, lower snake half. “I came across that shimmering ocean of yours.”   She’d never met a foreigner from that far away before! Abasi’s head tilted, her ears flicking together like two twiddling thumbs. “It must’ve been difficult crossing.”   “Long and boring, but not unsafe.”   “Do nuhara have trouble on ships?” Abasi asked.   “Nuhara?”   “… Is that not what suon Verssha is?”   “No,” Verssha said, smiling amusedly and pointing toward herself. “Mussuba.”   Abasi’s head tilted the other way. “Do you … need, anything particular?”   “An idea of where I’m going,” Verssha remarked dryly. Seemingly done, she handed the towel back to Abasi.   “If the suon Verssha needs, I can help her to find the guiding company she is owed.”   “I don’t wish to impose.”   “It’s no trouble for one who serves underneath the Pharaoh. I work to help everyone.”   Verssha smiled, a bit bashful and rather caught out looking. “Then, if you don’t mind, I’d be grateful.”   It’d put a delay in her return to the branch, but Abasi found the concern not at all bothersome. For the time being, helping out Verssha took more of a priority. She couldn’t solve her problems all in one day, but at the least, she could help someone else out with theirs. It was the right thing to do.     Her heavy apartment door felt oddly light when she opened it. The lock had been unopened, so surely no one had broken in. Abasi, scowling and shaking her head, paid it no mind. “I’m home,” she called out, sliding the door shut. The magical lantern in the roof blinked alive, casting the sandstone floor and walls in a warm, lifeless glow. Nothing else answered her, not that anything ever did.   She kicked off her sandals by the door’s landing and set her traveling clothes onto the wall rack. The dry, exclusive towel she’d gotten, however, hung in her paw. Abasi squinted and stared at the thing for a moment. I suppose I should clean it? she wagered, weighing if it should go into her closet or laundry basket. The basket won out, and she stopped by in her bedroom to drop it off.   Unburdened at last, Abasi headed to the far end of her apartment and unlocked one of the three big window shutters there. A blast of orange light dazzled her, the brightness of Akenra’s descent. Rubbing her eyes and clean face wearily, Abasi slumped against the window sill, her arms barely long enough to reach the outside edge. Only then, in the realm of her home and no one around to see, did she let out an ungracious, deflating sigh.   This whole day blows. She lazily clapped her paws together, face-first into the window sill in an awkward prayer. Forgive me for squandering Your light.   It wasn’t as if she had anything worthy of a goddess’ attention, anyway.   Abasi looked out across her little part of Atenkhet, the descending Sun’s light that bit different. One might say dawn and dusk weren’t so different, and she once thought that way. In seeing how Atenkhet changed, however, she found the truth. It wasn’t that the colors mattered, but the angles. The rising dawn tore away darkness and invited warmth in a clear day. The falling dusk took the light back, and so darkness yawned like fearsome beasts in every corner. Safe in her apartment, it was a sight to behold.   Not that anyone here worries about nighttime, Abasi mused dryly. People even went about their business in the gloom, unburdened by worry or fear. No roaming animals that might drag them away into the sands, no bandits waiting to silence them. I wasn’t a great fighter but, to think I’m greater than most of them.   Her mother would’ve laughed until her sides gave out.   Abasi raked her claws across her scalp, scratching it and her ears in one angry motion.   The sound of something hard hitting her door came, banging five times. Her open ear swiveled toward the noise, the rest of Abasi following after it. Who? She wondered, pulling herself up. Uncaring of how proper her simple vestments may be, she went and dragged her door open a little.   “Suon Abasi,” a familiar voice said in a singing tone, peeking through the door crack much like her. A single eyeball of golds and browns, resting in an all too recognizable face.   “Suon Janan?” Abasi asked, sliding the door open properly. The motherly nebura that was her neighbor stood on the other side beaming, her brown-tipped, turquoise feathers perking up. “For what does she need of me?”   Janan held up her wing-arms, a basket on each carefully held up by a single thumb. “I believe Suon Abasi needs something to eat? For her day was one of evaluation, no?”   I’d prefer sleep, but … The longer Abasi stood there smelling the delectable aroma, her angry stubbornness crumbled away. Both her ears flicked irritably before she bowed her head and stepped out of the way. “I shan’t decline the offer.”   “I thought not!” Janan remarked smugly, stepping in with a light scrape of toe-claws against the floor. The rustle of feathers and cloth accompanied her movements, a long tail swinging with her steps. Being a larger nebura, she stood as an equal to Abasi in size. The comely apartment started feeling a bit cramped with two people, though.   Janan set the baskets upon the living room’s only table, kicking one of the two chairs back to sit herself down. “Do the kindness of plating, suon Abasi.”   Rolling her eyes, Abasi went through her small kitchenette, pulling out simple stone plates, bowls, then metal forks and spoons. She set them on the table before going back for a jug, filling it up under the water tap and bringing it over as well. “What did they serve downstairs tonight?” she asked, taking out the small bowls, boxes, and wrappings of food. A delicious scent of fried food, roasted meat, punctuated by a headiness of vegetables undoubtedly in a soup.   “The usual with something extra,” Janan said with an air of mystery; or haughtiness, Abasi couldn’t tell. “But surely suon Abasi wants to speak of her great day? I have an ear or two listening …”   If she deflected, that’d raise questions. If she answered, she’d have to relive it all. Abasi grumbled under her breath, far more interested in plating herself something to eat first. Thin cut strips of ribs, some purple rice, and tasty little sugar flake sounded nice. She did much the same for Janan. Sitting down, she remarked tersely, “A day I could forget, I suppose.”   Janan froze, a wave of shock rolling over her before she adjusted. Her feathers tightened in and her posture straightened up, as much as a nebura in a chair could anyway. “It could not have been so terrible,” she said, taking the plate and a fork. Within a few seconds, it delved into the usual manner of nebura eating: holding the plate, and shoveling food into her mouth.   Seeing no other way about it, Abasi recounted her day in its entirety, only pausing to drink or eat. Janan listened long and well, humming acknowledgements at one point or another. By the time she finished, the Sun had vanished and the gloom of night awaited out of her window.   “Mmm. Then suon Abasi’s evaluation is being withheld, a terrible fortune,” Janan said, nodding her head. “But she has found relief in our Pharaoh’s passing! Lamenting that, I should slap her upside the head!” She brandished an arm, the elegant plumage spraying open. Abasi looked up from sipping her soup spoon, ears keenly forward but otherwise unbothered. “Tsk. Ever unmoving like a stone, she is.”   “It isn’t the wings that’d concern me,” Abasi remarked airily. “Besides, what is so great about being drenched in water like that?”   “’What is so great about it’,” Janan mocked, her feathers fluffing up with indignation. “I, who lived here for years longer than she, and still haven’t been graced by the Pharaoh!” She pulled up a whole wing arm, burying her head and indignant words into it. Janan was soon to peek over and stare at Abasi. “Don’t tell me that suon Abasi also received the towel …”   “… It’s, erm, in my laundry basket.”   Janan, using what fingers she had, dragged them down her face with a suffering sigh. “Nonsense! Stupidity! And so much more! Tsk. nebusah are too honest sometimes.”   Abasi’s ears flicked confusedly.   Shifting in her seat, Janan used her other wing arm’s feathers to point accusingly at Abasi. “Your evaluation is on hold, not cancelled. Worrying over failing something yet to come; how silly.”   “But now the matter of my family will enter the records. Who has heard of a disavowed daughter somewhere respectable?”   “Plenty.”   Abasi blinked at the deadpan answer.   “Our Pharaoh’s work is one of merit, not blood. You know this, suon Abasi works for her!” Janan said, throwing her wing-arms in exasperation. “Dutifully diligent, informative as the Skisira needed, helpful in processing that unusual work—all admirable feats, and suon Abasi worries over failure?”   “But the … the thing …” Abasi tried, but no real counter argument came to mind.   Janan chuckled and waggled her wings in a dismissive manner. “Silliness. And she has helped that woman, Verssha. I hadn’t taken suon Abasi for a boastful bragger.”   “I do not brag!” Abasi retorted, sharp enough her voice almost cracked. Janan, meanwhile, cackled and laughed. The first round of eating had long since finished, and with nothing else to say, Abasi fussed about serving more. Thankfully their conversation pivoted away, Janan griping about her children and their usual issues. Abasi didn’t know what to offer to help, but listening often proved enough. By the end of their second serving, Janan departed with the baskets and empty dishes. Chilly night time air blew in through the open window, and so Abasi went about shutting it.   Before she did so, the sight of Zolkalkehtum and Umsaldareltum in the sky caught her eye. Pale red blanketed Atenkhet, the ethereal and bloody glow casting it in quite a different light. The tribe priestess would say something like ‘change is coming’, Abasi mused. There’d been more of such nights in recent times, but that usually marked summer heading into winter. Lingering at her window as she was, Janan’s words yet remained on her mind.   Hmph. It’d be nice if being proper was all it took, Abasi thought with a shake of her head, and closing the heavy shutters. I shouldn’t complain, I’ve done more here than I ever dreamed of back home. The hollowness of that accomplishment, perhaps, is what bothered her the most. Would it be enough even if I did make it to Skisira?   Brushing past the cloth draping over her bedroom door, Abasi trudged over to the mound of pillows and blankets that was her bed. A quick shedding of clothes and she plopped down over it, not a care in the world. She’d deal with tomorrow’s problems in the morning.