the Andinna he liked judged him for what he once was. He’d always been loyal to the Andinna cause, even if he had to do things he didn’t want to talk about, things he tried to forget. He used his knowledge of the Elvasi army to help the Andinna.
There’s nothing I can do about the past…only the future.
He tried to keep that thought close as he tended his shared home. He took great care, knowing it was the best home he’d ever had. He had a nice apartment in Elliar while working in the pits, but this place was growing on him. It made him feel connected to the Andinna in a way he had never felt before. He lived like them, ate like them, and trained like them. In some ways, his continued help with the Andinna’s side of the rebellion was penance for the life he lived in Elliar.
He genuinely enjoyed it more. It was simple, raw. The Andinna stripped life and its trimmings down to the barest necessities, something he found pleasant after his first few seasons. He was even sleeping on the floor now, finding it to be cool and comfortable. Many mornings, he woke up off his mattress, curled into furs away from it. It was nice having so much space, no longer confined to the idea of a bed.
But the botched training made him remember one very important fact.
I’m not Andinna.
He was falling ever more in love with their culture. He found simple pleasure in the way they lived, the honest way they spoke to each other, the wisdom their way of life gave them. He loved the way they looked at the sky as if they loved and revered it. They talked about balance, and he had seen a year of their rituals, how even the worst of them still respected the world they lived in. Even the roughest, meanest of the gladiators were quiet and respectful on Al Moro Nat, a strange night to honor the dead.
But he always had to remind himself of one important detail.
I’m not Andinna, and I never will be. They’re allowing me to see their culture, but they’ll never let it be my culture, and they shouldn’t. I’m Elvasi, and I have no right to it, not after everything my people have done to them.
He sighed as he finished his daily household chores for the second time. He had done all of this when he woke up, ushering Dave and Emerian out the door, so neither of them would be late to their appointments. Dave was in the war room every day, and Emerian had to be awake before dawn, so he could be ready to assist Mave. Trevan didn’t have to be anywhere until midmorning, so he took the time to tend their home.
With nothing to do, he started a slow roast for dinner that would be done by sunset. He didn’t know who would be home for the last meal of the day, but he made it, anyway. Emerian sometimes ate with Mave and her family, and Dave was developing the habit of eating at the war room while he worked with Learen.
Once the roast was set, Trevan knew he didn’t have to watch it, so he decided it was a good time to bathe. He grabbed a small bag with his cleaning items and began the slow hike up to his favorite spring. It was too small for Andinna to use, thanks to their wings, so he had claimed it for him and Dave over the past winter.
It was another thing he loved about the mountains and the way of life he never thought he would get to see. He knew Elvasi who scoffed at the Andinna, calling them rough and uncultured, claiming the Andinna had needed the Empire’s intervention because they were savages.
Trevan sank into the hot spring and couldn’t figure out how anyone would think that. There was beauty in simplicity. It wasn’t uncultured, but honest in its beauty, honest in its brutality. The Andinna accepted the world and found their place in it. They didn’t try too hard to change it to suit their own needs or wants. They adapted.
I would choose this over the trappings of the Empire any day. I wonder if Alchan would permit me to stay when this is all over. I don’t want to go back.
“Hey, Trevan!” someone called. He opened his eyes and saw Dave walking over. There was barely enough space for both of