Silva-Sensei
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Youthful Reincarnation: Chapter 35
🕑 Added 2025-09-22 17:02:24 +0000 UTCChapter 35: The heart of the Karavik Empire
He leads by his cold claws’ swing,
Tales of his battles the deserts sing,
Victory, spices, and gold are promised,
For all who kneel under his wing.
—The Sharim, from the Karavik collection, One Thousand and One Days.
***
Sunlight blazed down onto the sandstone walls, which were carved with intricate tapestries that depicted the Karavik empire’s long history: caravans crossing deserts, soldiers clashing with sandstorms, and rulers seated atop grand thrones.
Marketplaces sprawled along the main boulevard: merchants with tanned skin paraded fragrant powders, fabrics, and glimmering jewellery; dancers twirled atop raised platforms, their movements precise and hypnotic; artisans shaped clay and metal into delicate forms, their hands moving faster than my eyes could track.
The heat was oppressive, but it didn’t dull the vibrant colours of the city. The scent of spices rolled through the air, mingling with smoke from cooking fires. The desert wind whipped through the streets, carrying laughter, shouting, and the distant trot of camel-like mounts.
I couldn’t help but study it all. The architecture, the clothing, the people and of course... the flora. Everything seemed to have been designed with both elegance and practicality in mind.
Thick city walls, narrow alleys to provide shade, and canals of water hidden beneath open courtyards, cooling the air. Each adaptation spoke of a city that had learned to survive in a harsh environment—to thrive despite nature's cold shoulder.
Glyffe walked ahead, steady and measured, his eyes scanning the streets. Silvia followed beside him, unhurried, almost as if the sun and the city were mere acquaintances she had known all her life. I lagged behind, head turning in every direction, heart racing with a mixture of awe and anxiety.
The white statue at the city gates caught my attention. Even from a distance, it radiated authority: a massive lion-like man, muscles taut, eyes fierce and piercing. The guards’ words echoed in my mind.
Revere the Sharim.
My boots crunched over stone and sand as I approached, noting the tension in the air. Soldiers with polished spears surrounded the statue, their stances rigid. A man’s figure detached itself from the crowd further ahead, waving energetically as he approached us.
Glyffe’s brows furrowed. “Do you know him?” he asked quietly, glancing at Silvia.
“I’m afraid not,” she said, her voice low.
The man grinned, hands raised in a gesture of peace. “Tourists, right?” he said cheerfully. “I’m a local tour guide, are you interested in a free tour of Laireo?” His monocle flashed in the sun.
The three of us exchanged glances. A tour guide wasn’t in the original plan but...
Before we could ask more, he began bowing slightly, placing his right hand over his heart. “Forgive me,” he said, voice bright. “Always start with respect.” There was a flourish to his movements, a melody that hid in the way he carried himself.
I found myself mirroring his movements, bowing with my right hand on my heart, despite my own awkwardness. Glyffe and Silvia followed smoothly, though their glances flicked towards the surrounding soldiers.
“What do you think?” Silvia said, turning to Glyffe.
“Hmm...” Glyffe stroked his chin as the tour guide looked at him expectantly. “Sounds fine. We have some time to kill right? I think it’ll be good for Reno to get a good look around while we’re here.”
“In that case, a tour would be lovely.” Silvia nodded to Glyffe, then flashed the man a smile. The tour guide’s face lit up, his next words rushing out in an excited mess. He probably didn’t get customers often...
“You can call me Old Lefty, I’m quite well known around these parts, so you don’t have to worry about being mistreated!” He said, a wide smile beaming across his face. Old Lefty, huh... surely he didn’t name himself that because of the monocle, right?
Old Lefty walked in front of us, taking a slight off angle. He led us closer to the statue. “Behold, the Sharim,” he said, his voice lowering reverently. “He’s the progenitor of all Karavikans. A lion in form, a king in spirit. Though now both he and his race have gone extinct.”
I studied the figure. Muscular limbs, a flowing mane carved into stone, and eyes that seemed almost alive. Was the Sharim part of an ancient beastfolk race? Like a lionman? My mind raced with biological questions, imagining muscles, tendons, adaptations—rationalising the very anatomy that had made the Sharim supreme in this harsh environment.
Old Lefty stopped in front of the statue and got on one knee, beckoning for us to do the same. A complicated feeling arose in my chest, nonetheless, I bowed as instructed, kneeling on one knee with a hand on my heart.
The weight of the city pressed down around me. The heat, the sun and the watchful eyes of the soldiers. It felt like more than just a gesture. As I straightened, I glanced at the sprawling city.
Somewhere beneath the beauty and bustle, the desert’s harsh hand lingered, shaping every detail. Laireo wasn’t just a city; it was a relic. A living, breathing historical site. And something called out to me, telling me to explore every inch of it.
“Do you have a specific destination in mind?” Old Lefty said once we’d all bowed.
“Is there a way you can frame the tour so that our last stop is the playing gardens?” Silvia replied.
The tour guides eyes went wide with shock hearing Silvia’s words. “The playing gardens... do you have family there?”
Silvia nodded and Old Lefty’s back instantly straightened. A strange glint flashed in his eyes. “I see... that can be arranged. Alright, our last stop will be the playing gardens!”
I was curious about what the playing gardens were and why his reaction was so intense, but I refrained from asking. I’d find out soon enough.
Old Lefty guided us past the towering statue, weaving through the marble-paved courtyard towards the city outskirts. “This is the great mural!” he said, pointing to the city wall. On it was a relief carved so deep and precise that sunlight and shadow played across it like a living animation.
The figures depicted were unmistakably lion-like: warriors leading envoys, scholars reading from tablets, hunters tackling massive desert beasts. I watched as locals passed by and bowed their heads, whispering silent prayers and respectful greetings.
“Remarkable, isn’t it?” Old Lefty’s voice broke my thoughts. He leaned closer to the mural, fingertips brushing the cool marble, eyes glinting with a complicated light. “Every detail matters. Every stroke carrying intent and purpose.”
I could see Silvia’s light, playful smile in the corner of my eye as I nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of his words. Near the mural, half-buried in the sand, I noticed a slab of darker stone. Its surface was etched with inscriptions unlike any writing I’d seen in this world or my last—angular, flowing, and yet precise. I knelt down, tracing a finger along the grooves, feeling the faint heat from the sun.
Old Lefty followed my gaze. His face softened, the glint in his eyes turning almost nostalgic. “Ah… that,” he said quietly. “A relic of the ancients. Few truly understand it, for it is written in the tongue of the Sharim. A language older than our memory. Scholars have tried to decipher it for centuries, yet none have succeeded.”
I stared at the slab, a chill running through me despite the heat. The symbols were mesmerizing, almost vibrating in the sunlight. “For now, we bow,” he said. “And we carry the memory with us.”
I straightened, brushing sand from my knees, my thoughts heavy with wonder. “Come, come,” Old Lefty said with a smile. “There’s much more for you to see.”
We moved away from the city wall and approached the grand boulevards. For some reason, my attention kept drifting downward, scanning the flora that clung stubbornly to every corner.
Desert succulents grew along the edges of the streets, their thick leaves storing water like tiny reservoirs. Some had tiny, iridescent flowers that shimmered faintly. My mind immediately ticked through their possible uses—hydration, medicine, perhaps even a mild toxin.
Beneath an archway, I saw glowing mushrooms sprouting in narrow underground canals. The faint bioluminescence traced the edges of the stone, creating a soft, eerie light. I crouched slightly to study them, noting their coloration and spore patterns, wondering how Daphne might store these in her garden.
Spice plants grew in small, cultivated plots between the buildings, the air heavy with aromas. Old Lefty waved at one merchant who leaned over his stand, shaking a handful of saffron-like threads. "This is our signature spice," he said with a grin, "Emberpods."
For some reason, the name sounded familiar. Had I seen them in Butter Town somewhere... Suddenly, my gaze shifted, caught by a sudden moving object. The fauna of the Karavik Empire was just as striking as the flora.
"No way..." my mouth hung open as Silvia and Glyffe chuckled. To my disbelief, giant scorpions patrolled the streets as mounted guards rode them, carapaces glinting under the sun. Their pincers were sheathed in polished metal, and their tails curved high, a living weapon guided by an unspoken bond between rider and beast.
"That... can't be normal right?" I said, looking at Old Lefty in shock.
"Ahem," he coughed, giving a sly smile. "It's very normal. That's a Scorpo, a common mount that guards use to patrol the city." My eyes widened as it drove by us, but the city didn't give me anytime to catch my bearings.
"What the hell.." I muttered under my breath. A caravan was approaching us with camel-like creatures plodding steadily along carrying enormous loads without faltering. Within one of the caravans was a... flamingo?
It's long neck stretched as their feathers glowed faintly green in the afternoon light, probably algae from the looks of it. "There's just no end to it." I sighed, lamenting the fact that for now, I could only store plants. I'd have to wait for Daphne to evolve... still though, the possibilities made my chest tighten with excitement.
We paused near a book stall, and Old Lefty's expression shifted. It seemed like the stall owner was only selling the same few books. "These are all extremely famous books," he began pointing at the book stall's merchandise.
"Kid's books?" Glyffe asked pensively.
He nodded, "Something like that. You see, our people adore hero stories so our children often grow up reading these tales. You interested?" He said, looking towards me. He'd noticed that my eyes were glued to a particular book.
"Oh good choice," he said with a merchant's smile. "This one's about a hero, golden-haired, and as radiant as the Sharim himself."
Old Lefty's voice dropped into a tone that drew attention beyond our small group. A few curious merchants paused mid-transaction, children leaning from their parents' robes, and soon a small crowd had gathered, eager to hear the tale he was about to weave.
I leaned closer, intrigued. "This story is etched in many corners of Laireo," Old Lefty continued, "in carvings, poems, and in the songs of merchants. Even now, children whisper his name as they play in the streets."
I nodded, imagining the golden-haired hero standing proud atop the dunes.
"Long ago," he began, his left monocle catching the sun. "There was a hero with hair like molten gold. He travelled the lands, defeating monsters and rescuing countless people who were in captivity. He was loved by all. In his final great act, he defeated a great sand monster called Chronov. But like all the greats, he was gone too soon... he vanished after vanquishing the great beast, leaving nothing but whispers in the dunes."
The crowd buzzed with speculation. One merchant swore the hero had retired as a fisherman somewhere, though I couldn't hide my scepticism. A fisherman? In the desert? Seriously. Others offered theories of hiding, or secret training grounds, that the hero that was lost to the sands was still out there somewhere.
Old Lefty smiled knowingly, as though he'd heard every tale a hundred times. Then he glanced at me, a subtle shift in his expression, and said casually, "His hair, they say… it looked much like yours."
I froze mid-step. The sun glinted on my blond hair, and I realized for the first time just how unusual I looked here. Around me, the Karavikans all had dark hair. Black, brown or chestnut. No one else had hair that caught the sun in the same way. Still, I didn't dwell on his words, treating it more like an interesting fact.
A childish voice piped up from the heart of the crowd. "Uncle, uncle! Tell another story!"
Old Lefty's face lit up. "Sure, which one?"
The little girl instantly quieted down and assumed a thinking pose. A boy next to her interjected. "What about the story of Benny the Fool?"
Old Lefty's jovial expression faltered. His eyes hardened, a shadow crossing his youthful features. "Alright, everyone," he said firmly, the weight of his authority cutting through the murmurs. "Time to disperse. I'll tell you all stories another time, okay?"
The crowd of kids shuffled away in disappointment, some whispering to each another. What was... that? I gave Old Lefty a side-eye, noticing how unnatural it was that as soon as the words 'Benny the Fool' was mentioned his demeanour changed greatly.
When the bustle had faded, Old Lefty turned to us, voice quiet now, "I'll show you more of Laireo, if your curiosity can keep up."
I swallowed hard, feeling slightly unsettled. I looked up at Silvia whose expression was neutral and unreadable as always. Glyffe had an amused smile on display. Benny the Fool... for some reason, now I couldn't forget that name. Just then...
Pang! Pang!
The streets of Laireo suddenly hushed as the distant sound of drums and the rhythmic clip of boots echoed through the marketplace. Heads turned, and even the merchants paused mid-sale, leaving spices and wares forgotten for a moment.
"Hm?" Glyffe stroked his chin.
"What's going on?" I said in surprise, instinctively turning to Silvia.
"Ah yes, it is that time of year," Old Lefty murmured, his voice carrying some nostalgia. "The Queen approaches."
What the hell... the queen? Of the entire empire?
