Kinza watched the hundreds of flowers float up on the wind, rising high above the smoke of the pyre.
Many of the blooms she recognized, but many she did not. It seemed a rather apt representation of her time in Rhapta. Many things were familiar, like the path the sun takes or a mother’s love. But many were not, like the Anunnaki she watched now as they coaxed the fire higher and the smoke and wind away from the eyes of the dancing crowd with nothing more than magic.
She supposed she could add funerals to the list of things that were different for her. She remembered attending her own parents’ funeral, and it was a somber affair, with the usual black clothing and tears. Anunnaki reacted differently, though, when their loved ones passed. She had discovered this over the last two days as th
