Finding Contentus

Chapter 117: Attachment

Ayata of Affection was alone in the sky as the Singular. The strong windstorms of Zatalia pushed against him, so he pushed back in order to fly before landing on the other side of Akanto.

He perched on a zip-line, letting his yellow hawk wings disappear. Behind him was the looming statue of Rassy's Racaan deity of natural disasters, Oya, holding a whip in the form of a windstorm.

The winds whispered to Ayata like an admirer that adored his tempest-like demeanour as the ruler of the skies and monarch of the winds.

Where Mettro was sandy and Kimba was snowy, Zatalia was windy. Where Mettro was known for its sandstorms and Kimba its snowstorms, Zatalia was known for its windstorms.

Ayata wore a long black hooded coat with a face scarf, searched for his target, or rather, his targets. He didn't find them on this end. They escaped the clutches of the law in the shadows, just as he and sister did. All for the sake of cheap — dishonourable, loath worthy profit.

Assholes. Ayata hated them all. He hated everything bad, everything that was wrong about the world. He couldn't help it. Though his hate was destructive, Ayata viewed it as a necessity, the other end of his sister's love. In the same vain, his affection was the other end of his own anger.

And his anger, oftentimes, could be very, very, problematic, prompting him to rash action.

It was like Agni's forging fire that always burned and germinated inside him, a wildness like a sungazer dragon that only got wilder as the years flew by. Since his anger was on constantly, he needed to not only manage it, but to direct it, to channel it, but where? Everywhere?

You know where to direct your anger. Ayata's Ghyppty God said in his stormy voice that came from the skies in his head. Your anger is a storm of dust like my own. It is why you are such a good thief. You mean to steal from those who have stolen from you, just as I mean to steal that which is mine by claim.

Ayata's shadowed face became menacing. I fucking hate Set.

As do I. But I do share a strong attachment to that disastrous hoaxer. My true hate is towards Ra — that fuckhead falcon who made him that way. Set is... destruction, yes, but it is his nature. He is the God of war that seeks to burn the world and the hearts of humanity into destructive criticism. He finds it humorous. I am the war God that seeks to burn the darkness away to bring in light from clear skies. My hate is towards constructive criticism of the human heart. Set is...

He's you. Your rival. The inverse. Ayata finished.

So is Malikoh Ramoth to you, Raja Ayata. He too is full of hate, just as you are. That hate comes from Ra. He who stole everything from Ramoth, just as he stole everything from you and your people. So will you steal everything from him?

Are you fucking kidding me? Of course I will! Everything he has belongs to me! It belongs to us! His life and his Kingdom is ours for the taking! Ayata blasted.

His God made a hoarse screech. Good! And we shall take it all when the moment is ripe, to ensure our people dine in gold instead of leftover trash from that fiendish falcon.

Ayata smirked at that. He puffed out a hot breath and scratched his messy jet-black hair. I knew you were the one when I chose you.

How could I not be? Amon is your sparrowhawk, and I am—

Horus — the hawk God of affection, sentiment, safety and hunter of bad health.

Ayata's smirk dropped when something unhealthy like venom coursed through his head. It was the sound of Ramoth's laughter and harrowing cries.