The Poppy War

The subject is with tears flowing in torrents, groaning in sorrow.

“A leader abandons their people,” read the Talwu. “A ruler begins a campaign. One sees great joy in decapitating enemies. This signifies evil.”

“The subject comes, abrupt with fire, with death, to be rejected by all. As if an exit; as if an entry. As though burning; as though dying; as though discarded.”

The net has been cast on the setting sun. This spells misfortune.

“The subject ascends to his place in the sun. There will be supreme good fortune.”

“One is ready to move, but his footprints run crisscross.”

“You are going to paint the world in Altan’s blood, aren’t you?”
“I’m going to find and kill everyone responsible,” said Rin. “You cannot stop me.”
Chaghan laughed a dry, cutting laugh. “Oh, I’m not going to stop you.”
He held out his hand.
She grasped it, and the drowned land and the ash-choked sky bore witness to the pact between Seer and Speerly.
They had come to an understanding, she and Chaghan. They were no longer opposed, vying for Altan’s favor. They were allies, now, bound by the mutual atrocities they had committed.

When Rin didn’t respond, Qara seized her by both shoulders. Her fingers dug painfully into her flesh.

Rin forced the last parts of what was human out of her soul and gave way to her hatred.

“You’re so much stronger than I am,” said Altan. Then he let her go.