So! This is my first time attempting a Razia's Shadow fanfic. I really hope you'll enjoy it. It's not all done yet, but I haven't had success finishing any of my long fics, so I'm hoping that by posting this one before it's done, I will be motivated to keep it going.
If you notice any mistakes, please tell me so I may fix them!
Disclaimer: Razia's Shadow belongs to Forgive Durden and Thomas Dutton. I don't own it.
This shall be the last time.
He pours air into his lungs, full of dust and dirt in a thousand pigments. His fingers tremble as they rise, baked by long hours of sun in distant terrains where there is no life. The pebbles at his naked, brown feet begin to whisper down the side of the mountain. The wind soughs through the wisps of his blackened hair, and he is ready.
The eyelids snap back to opaque looking glasses, and the air is pulled in from the cardinal directions, the hazy indistinctness of the terrene coming with it. It gathers around him in a cyclone of sound and fury, making the lines definite and clean, and once they are defined, it stops.
Everything is as it was. The trees of the valley still proudly disport their vivid green dressings, the streams and brooks and creeks still glimmer between these seas of life, but it is as if the image has been sharpened to a fine, beautiful point. No longer is the vision dusky and vague, but tangible and absolute. Still, though, there is that awful silence that has been his boon companion for far too long.
He has fixed this.
There stands in front of him a man, dark-skinned as he is, but lacking a strand of hair on his head. He is clothed in yellow-brown robes that remind him of the clay he would dig up as a child in that distant country. He is young and strong, confident and powerful, and yet with all the innocence of a child.
"Father?" he asks.
O the Scientist keeps his calm and expressionless gaze on him.
"Welcome to existence, Ahrima."