Prince of the EmberSctar

         Sita awoke in the night, a soft breeze bringing in the sharp scent of salt from the ocean. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and wondering where he was. It was difficult, sometimes, to remember that his world was completely different than it had been even a week ago. Instead of waking up in his bed to the smell and sizzling sound of bacon frying and his mother singing, he was alone and cold. He was shivering uncontrollably, either from the slight drizzle that had started some time in the night or from the ache of despair he felt for a life he now mourned, he didn't know. All he was certain of was that he had to keep moving. Staying in one place for too long was a bad idea. He had learned that the hard way, after he'd been recognized and almost caught in the last town. He grimaced as the echo of his mother's last words flashed unexpectedly through his mind, "Run, Sita! Change how you look, the way you talk and never let anyone know who you really are! GO! NOW!". Tears welled in his eyes as Sita sat back down on the damp earth. He allowed himself to the count of three- a trick his mother had taught him- took a deep, cleansing breath and stood up, renewed in his resolve to continue his journey. His mother's death must not be in vain, her only crime being an Embersctarian. The Izan had been after their kind since the beginning of time, though they have been known by many other names. They had persecuted, tortured and all but eradicated any culture or person that didn't align with their views, for eons. Yet Sita's mother had always been strong and confident in her life. She did not let the fear of judgement and persecution by any man deter what she knew in her heart to be true. She held fast to her beliefs, and her son was strong of character and will, for all her love and determination was channeled into his rearing. Sita didn't know how valuable he truly was. He had always known his family held some importance among his people, but he had never inquired too deeply. Now he wished he had. He tried, again, to recall everything he knew about his father's family. It wasn't much. They were originally from Bremall, but moved to Yenthzura after the Lower Ember Wars. His father had always talked about those times with a bitterness that was palpable. He had been forcibly removed from his home as a child, during one of the most violent wars ever known to the inhabitants of the Third Sctar. Still, his fate was a lucky one, compared to so many of his peers. Of the hundreds of thousands of Embersctarians were forced into slavery and sent to live in 'Dreggits', which were essentially torture and "rehabilitation" camps.