Mahar often visited Mara’s domain, sotis staying for extended periods. For larks, it was instinctive to establish their own territories. They rarely ventured beyond their borders unless they had a compelling reason.
A domain was both a shield and a statent of power—a declaration: “This is the extent of my strength.” When one lark trespassed into another's territory, it was a challenge, a test to determine who was stronger. The loser would often beco the victor's prey.
Despite being far stronger than Mara, Mahar subdued his presence entirely when entering Mara’s domain. He even took on a smaller form, a gesture akin to a human walking into enemy territory unard. This behavior convinced Mara that Mahar harbored no hostility toward him.
After eting Mahar, Mara found it increasingly difficult to endure solitude. Like a pet yearning for its owner’s return, he waited for Mahar. He treated Mahar’s stories as gospel truths, absorbing them with unwavering faith.
Mahar often stressed the importance of distinguishing themselves from other larks.
"We are not like those inferior beings obsessed solely with survival," he would say, his tone filled with disdain. "Awakening does not make one special like us. It’s only you and —us." This content belongs to novel fire
Before eting Mahar, Mara had never approached humans. Even when his curiosity drove him to seek out other larks, he instinctively avoided humans, sensing an unspoken danger.
So, when Mahar revealed that he had lived among humans, Mara was awestruck. Mahar’s wealth of knowledge, gained from his experiences, captivated him. No question seed to catch Mahar off guard.
Mahar taught Mara about the fearso power of kings, strategies to handle warriors, and the intricate nature of Anikas. Mara trusted Mahar completely, revering him as a font of wisdom. His admiration deepened with every lesson, solidifying their bond.
One day, Mahar’s visits grew less frequent. He claid he was busy.
"Humans dominate this world. Yet, they are absurdly weak and incredibly foolish. Despite that, they threaten us. This is not the rightful order," he declared, his voice tinged with disdain.
Whether Mahar truly harbored ambitions to rule the world or used such words to veil other motives, Mara didn’t know then—and still doesn’t know now. But it didn’t matter. At the ti, Mara accepted everything Mahar said as indisputable truth. Now, Mahar’s motives no longer concern him.
As Mahar’s visits beca sporadic, Mara continued to wait, his patience unwavering. Whenever Mahar returned, he brought an abundance of new stories, making the wait worthwhile.
Mara vividly rembered Mahar’s exhilaration when he t a shaman and finally acquired the sorcery he had sought. Mahar spoke of how he deceived others into believing he was an extraordinary human, using their admiration to rise above them. Though he withheld certain details, Mara understood enough to grasp the process.
At the ti, Mara believed Mahar shared such knowledge out of trust. In hindsight, he realized it was all part of Mahar’s plan to shape him into a useful pawn.
"I can no longer co to you," Mahar said one day, his tone uncharacteristically grave. "They plan to seal using the sorcery. Since I can’t move, you must co to ."
Without hesitation, Mara abandoned the domain he had protected for so long and set out for the place Mahar described—a city now called the Holy City. Under the cover of darkness, he slipped inside, carefully avoiding detection. There, he finally t Mahar in his human form, shaped by the power of sorcery.
Until then, Mara had only seen humans from a distance. Seeing one up close for the first ti—even if it wasn’t a real human—left a lasting impression. It felt strange. Mahar had always described humans as foolish, cunning, and dangerous. But to Mara, they didn’t seem that way at all.
"Child, stay by my side and observe. Learn. One day, all that is mine will be yours. This inheritance is a human custom."
The concept of passing down a legacy—a deeply human practice of connection—resonated strongly with Mara. It gave him a sense of belonging he hadn’t realized he craved. Thus, he willingly stayed by Mahar’s side, despite no longer having a domain of his own.
Mara found joy in exploring Mahar’s domain, marveling at its constant transformations. The place where Mahar’s true form was sealed had beco the Holy Palace, accessible only to a select few humans. Around it, the city grew, enclosed by walls that seed to expand endlessly as more humans gathered over ti.
Initially, the novelty of exploring this ever-changing realm kept Mara content. But over ti, he began to envy Mahar. He yearned to interact with humans as Mahar did, to forge a bond like the one Mahar shared with his shaman—a relationship he had heard about but never experienced.
Despite Mahar’s frequent warnings to stay away from humans, Mara couldn’t suppress his growing curiosity. At the ti, he believed Mahar’s caution stemd from concern for his safety. Looking back, he wondered if it was sothing deeper—perhaps an instinctive wariness.
Hiding his burgeoning interest, Mara began to venture beyond Mahar’s domain. At first, Mahar appeared concerned, but as Mara continued to leave and return unhard, Mahar eventually stopped interfering.
Then ca that day.
Sotis, Mara couldn’t help but wonder—if not for that day, how might his life have unfolded? Would he already have been devoured by Mahar, his flesh and bones consud? Perhaps the place he wandered is now part of so kingdom’s territory, but back then, its borders were undefined and wild.
As usual, Mara road aimlessly, hoping to prey on a lark. Yet, it seed all the strong predators had fled far away, leaving him with nothing to hunt. Even the beasts and lesser creatures instinctively avoided him.
So when he stumbled upon a pack of wolves, he felt an unexpected surge of gladness. On a whim, he intervened, saving a young girl who was monts away from being devoured. To his surprise, the girl didn’t recoil in fear. Instead, she expressed heartfelt gratitude, her innocence disarming.
When Mara spoke to her, she clapped her hands in delight, her laughter filling the air.
"What’s your na?"
"…Na?"
Up until that mont, Mara didn’t have a na. Mahar had always addressed him as “child” or “you,” terms that, while familiar, he understood weren’t nas.
"You don’t have a na? Did your parents not give you one? Or do you not have parents?"
"I have parents."
"Then do your parents not have nas?"
"Mahar."
"Shall I give you a na?"
"Alright."
"My mom’s na is Jessie, and my na is Jera. So, let’s call you Mara."
"Mara… my na…"
The mont he received that na, chosen without any apparent logic, sothing deep within Mara shifted. For the first ti, he questioned why Mahar, who had claid to be his parent, had never given him a na. Cracks began to form in the unwavering faith Mara had placed in him.
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