Chapter (Arc 9) (Book 5) Ashborn 363: Full Circle (Maiya)

Chapter (Arc 9) (Book 5) Ashborn 363: Full Circle (Maiya)

A line of handmaidens stood before Maiya’s makeshift desk, all waiting their turn. Maiya could barely see them through the towers of papers piled so high that they threatened to collapse with a stiff breeze.

Which was why Maiya had ensured that her office had no windows. Made entirely of stone, and constructed with typical Hiranyan low-budget corner-cutting, the space resembled a dungeon more than any place of work.

Yet this one room had constituted Maiya’s surroundings for the better part of a week now, as preparations for the clandestine meeting of not just two, but three figures of power were made. Four, if she included herself, which Maiya assumed she had to. The Blessed Chosen of the Children of Ash was nothing if not famous. Or more appropriately, infamous.

After months of careful planning, carefully laying the foundations of this meeting, the fated moment was almost upon them. A meeting that could very well alter the face of the realm for centuries—perhaps even millennia—to come.

And the honor of ensuring it not only occurred without detection but was also successful, rested on none other than Maiya’s slim shoulders.

Shoulders that drooped under the weight of a perpetual lack of sleep, far too much tea, and an unending deluge of stress. There was but one reason Maiya had survived until now. One drug she’d relied on so heavily that she couldn’t conceive of life without it.

Tapping on her Foundation Chakra, Maiya’s thoughts stabilized. Her woes and worries abated, and the calmness of the Godshollow flooded her.

It was nothing but a temporary measure. A quick fix to ward off the inevitable buildup of fatigue. Only rest could solve that, and there was simply none to be had for now.

“Report,” Maiya said, sounding thirty years older than her actual age.

“Yes, ma’am,” a handmaiden replied, stepping crisply up to her desk and curtsying. The girl was dressed in typical Hiranyan commoner clothing—that was to say, dirty, smelly rags that bore no hint of color. Coloring was a luxury, and in a land as diseased by corruption and mismanagement as Hiranya, luxuries were nothing but a dream for most its citizens.

“Reporting on the venue preparations. The owners of the establishment began to grow curious as to the nature of our use. They began asking about the number and identities of the attendees.”

“You dealt with them, yes?” Maiya asked.

“Of course. They were paid off. It seemed they were looking to pad their coffers.”

Maiya hardly needed to hear the first words out of the handmaiden’s mouth to understand how this would play out. Corruption ran through every strata of Hiranyan society, rotting it from within. Everyone was out for themselves, and all problems could be solved with money.

“Keep an eye on them, anyway,” Maiya said. “See to it they do not meet anyone suspicious or divulge any information. These people are like vultures, happy to play both sides, so long as their coinpurse grows heavier.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the handmaiden said, snapping to attention before walking swiftly away. Maiya’s eyes lingered on the girl’s back as she left.

As nerve-wracking as Maiya’s position was, she never forgot what a blessing it was to have such elite troops under her command. They were intensely loyal, highly capable, and able to quickly assess any situation, no matter how complex. They would execute orders to the T and think independently when the situation called for it. They were, in Maiya’s mind, the finest force in the realm, and without them, her job would have been impossible.

“Next,” Maiya said, turning her eyes to another. The line, it seemed, had not grown any shorter.

“Ma’am, I bring a report of the security preparations. Cooperation with the prince’s soldiers has gone well, though flashpoints exist over a handful of lapses in judgment on their part. I have grave concerns over these misses, and respectfully suggest we replace as many of the prince’s men with our own.”

Maiya smirked. “And how would the prince feel about that?”

“He does not need to know,” the handmaiden swiftly replied, clearly having anticipated this line of question.

“And if he discovers?”

“He will not.”

Maiya sighed. Yet another tough decision that fell upon her to make. Risk compromising the security of the meeting—with potentially catastrophic consequences for all sides—or risk upsetting the prince when he finds out his men have been incapacitated, imprisoned, and replaced by her own. An outcome only slightly less catastrophic.

“The third option,” Maiya said, rubbing her temples. “Pair one of our own with Sanobar’s guards at all hours. They will move and operate as one.”

“The prince will not be happy about this.”

“You worry about security. Let me deal with the prince.”

“Yes’, ma’am!” the handmaiden replied, curtsying before walking out as quickly as the agent before her.

“Next,” Maiya said, feeling herself pulling on the Foundation Chakra yet again. Just like yesterday, and the day before that, this would be another long one.



It was around midnight by the time Maiya finally finished her affairs, burning several candles in the process—a luxury she wouldn’t have dared dream of even as soon as two years ago.

Rising from her chair, Maiya stretched her creaky bones and left her self-imposed dungeon after what seemed like an eternity.

“Going out, ma’am?” her personal attendant asked. Diya was handpicked from the cream of the crop, and Maiya couldn’t be happier with the results her aide had delivered thus far. From seeing to Maiya’s personal needs such as food and water—and taste testing everything to ensure it was safe—to scribing messages, organizing handmaiden logistics, and everything in between, the girl had been absolutely indispensable, especially with Yamal and Bheem off running Children affairs.

“I’ll just be out for...” Maiya trailed off. Where was she going? She’d needed some fresh air, and despite the hour, despite everything she’d been through, sleep was the last thing on her mind. How could she sleep on the eve of such a monumental event?

The tiniest spark of an idea lit within a distant recess of her mind. One that she’d not visited in ages, which had been growing cobwebs all the while.



Because she knew now that it wasn’t about the wealth or the prestige or the ability to boss others around. These were but distractions.

The true reward of power was the ability to influence the world for the better. To allow future generations to grow, live, and thrive. To walk the streets without fear of abuse, and to sleep securely at night knowing that their government upholds the law of justice.

To rest assured that one’s parents won’t be brutally murdered for no reason other than to protect the life of a scared, innocent boy.

Maiya’s cheeks felt suddenly cool, and when she lowered her veil and wiped her hand on her cheek, it came away wet.

“Unholy blight,” a thin reed of a main muttered after having witnessed the sight, spitting at Maiya’s feet as they passed.

Maiya continued to stand in the middle of the road that grew more and more busy with each passing minute. Watching. Observing.

This one road in this backwater village spoke for the entire nation. The bodies emaciated from the famine. The children who ran barefoot, and the hollow, hopeless gazes of adults who passed her by.

Maiya did not judge them. How could there be any hope for these people? There was none. Not as long as the despot Rayid languished on the throne. The world Ira sought to create would be a better one. Brij would be richer. The children would be well-fed, and culture could flourish. Those who wished to move to the city for a better life could do so.

“Excuse me, sir?” a young boy said. He was the first to address her, despite the dozens who’d passed her by.

Looking down, Maiya found she didn’t recognize the child.

“Are you lost? Do you need help?”

Half of her wanted to scold the naïve boy for approaching such a suspicious figure. The other half wanted to praise him for his kindness.

Instead, Maiya glanced down the road, which she knew led to her old home. Was it still boarded up? Empty and abandoned? Or had a new priest moved in? Perhaps with his family?

To her surprise, Maiya found herself hoping someone had. She hoped the home was once again filled with the warmth and happiness a family brought. For there was far too little of that in the world.

Smiling, Maiya ruffled the young boy’s hair.

“No, I think I just found what I was looking for,” she said.

There was no need to walk the streets of this village. To revisit old places and reminisce about old times.

This outing had proved fruitful. Not only had it brought peace to her mind in a way the Foundation Chakra never could, it had also come with a profound realization.

That the person she was now was not the girl she was before. That her hopes, desires, and worries had changed so greatly from the Maiya of before that the woman who stood here today was no longer beholden to the shackles of her past.

“What did you find?” the boy asked.

Maiya lowered her veil and crouched to the boy’s level. She uttered just one word.

“Myself.”

Bringing her thumb and index finger to her mouth, she let out a screeching whistle, which caused the boy to clutch his ears, and everyone nearby to take several steps away.

That proved prudent, for when Frumpy beat her mighty wings and landed in the middle of the road, those who hadn’t dropped onto their bellies, lest they take a wing to the face.

The boy, far too terrified to think of doing the same, stood petrified in place as Maiya mounted the Acira.

“W-who are you?” the boy blurted, just as Maiya took to the sky.

Maiya beamed back with a warm, gentle smile. “Just a villager like you.”

Frumpy flapped his wings, knocking the boy and everyone else over, and then they were gone.

Just as Vir had once left his own legacy upon the villagers of Brij, so too did Maiya.

And while the tale may have started small, as the years passed, it changed with each retelling as most tales do, becoming ever grander and more terrifying.

Eventually, the tale of the ‘Blessed Chosen of the Children of Ash’ would become part of the folklore that formed a standby of the myths of Brij, where the leader of the dread cult himself had visited the village, promising absolute destruction should they stray from the good path.

Why the Archlord of a blasphemous cult would preach such things, or why everyone assumed the mysterious figure was a man, despite the boy’s insistence she was a beautiful crimson-haired woman, no one would ever know.

The village would nevertheless continue to spread the tale, forever unaware of just how close to the truth they’d come.