“I am Khav, Head Archivist and Scribe for the Tethren Royal Archives,” Khav rewatches his video for editing at his desk. The video is of him speaking into an expensive camera. Behind him was his typical office space. It held his ever so organized desk, bookshelves lining the walls with  his two sets of ear wings folded lazily, nestled in his hair. Two larger wings peaked out behind his cape on his lower back. As usual, his hands were placed nicely in front of him in a tight clasp.

    “The following is a message from the government: ” In his line of work as a scribe for the high guardians, this warning has been burnt into his memory from  training.

“This video is not permitted to be released anywhere out of the Tethren Royal Archives. Any person or persons breaking this order will be executed immediately without trial. Don’t worry, we’ll know.” The Khav on the screen tilts his head and takes a deep breath–which sounded more like an annoyed sigh.

    He watches as his eyes in the video dim with annoyance. “Must I do this repetitive warning every time I record myself? Out of the sea of valuable information the data center holds, would one really try to snoop through my personal files?”

    The domineering voice of an older woman spoke up in the background of the video.

“It’s my order, no? My word is law, no?” She walks into frame.

The puffy frills, the flowing silk capes, elegant hues of the archivist uniform was immediately oppressed by the dull, unpolished nature of the woman’s uniform. The long, straight cut and jet black shadow she called a cape, dragged behind her on the ground. Everything about her was angular, every wrinkle from her clothes seemed to be snuffed out meticulously. Light barely bounced off her clothes as if the unpolished black of the cloth was a bottomless, light eating pit. The only color that seemed to be at the least tolerable was a sanguine colored, matte sash. It was like a streak of blood over a dark, plain surface. Military medallions and pins made only for the most dedicated warrior in the Tethran ranks adorned her sash, making her rough demeanor imposing even through the screen. 

“My little dove, you’re in no position to order your Mistress around, correct?

    “My apologies, Mistress.” He balls his fists as his eye twitches with subtle fear.

“Very well, the purpose of these logs are to document my entire life from my point of view up to being bought out and freed by Grandmistress and her family.”

He gives another annoyed sigh. “I’d like to thank Grandmistress and the entire Hyldin family for giving me the opportunity to live as a free Seraph.” He mutters sarcastically with a hint of annoyance.

    “I’ll be reading my diary for this log. This binder, amazingly enough, details my capture. It details the people I loved back then, how I coped with adolescence, and what happened to me.” Khav tilted his head to the other side. “I’ll be starting with my first ever entries. I was a hatchling, I don’t even think I had a name when I was kidnapped.”

    Khav, at his desk still, flips through the pages of cold paper as his video self reads out what’s on them. He reads along with his own voice and lays them out on his desk, a pit forms in his stomach. 

    “For people….(scratched out)—five people…(scratched out)—seven people in my cage.” Entry one depicts nine tally marks, one for each child Khav witnessed being trapped in the cage with him.

    “I dreamed of mama she cried lots…I think her heart was broken…bad man hit her..she cried when the people take me.” Entry two depicts a child’s drawing of two winged figures, supposedly Khav and his unnamed mother.

    “The bad man yelled again! I think he’s mean—very mean.” Entry three depicts a crude drawing of a dragon shifter, presumably the kidnapper(s).

    Khav shifts uncomfortably as he stares down at his thick binder, his face darkening more by the second as the thumping in his chest beats faster and faster. His expression sours as he’s stunned with the memories of being kidnapped and thrown into a cage like a lowly animal.

    “Khav?” The older woman’s voice cuts through the silent background of the video again, “What are you doing? You agreed to this, remember?

    The video ends, quickly going to a black screen with the Tethran Government Seal with the warning from the beginning of the video. The watcher, the real Khav, shakes his head and runs his hands through his curled dusty brown hair. The chair scoots back with a drawn out screech, he rises from his seat. Looming over his desk, big teardrops fall on the keyboard. 

    “This damn seal, this damn place…” He crumbles onto the desk, knocking down the penholder. The pens make a clanging sound as they slam onto the floor. Khav looks up at the dark screen, the government seal glaring back at him like a silent judge. 

    He wipes the burning tears from his freckled face and gently ruffles his feathers behind him, “I’m not that nameless child, I’m Khav.” He pleads with himself, trying desperately to hold himself together. “I’m Khav, me—me! I am Khav, I’m not that child.”

    Khav storms out to his balcony. “Damn, I’m going to have to do this tomorrow.” He slumps over on the railing rather dramatically. His ear wings flopped to the side of his face, his back wings fell along with them. He lets out a heavy sigh. This, unfortunately, is the daily life of the Head Archivist and scribe at the Tethran Governmental Center of Knowledge.

Stay posted for Rue’s next entry, “Diary Two,” in December’s edition of “The Blueprint.”