When Cyra was young, she fled from Old Flame Legion.
She grabbed her little brother Remus, and ran until they were safe with the other Legions.
However, with her little brother being barely three years old, it was clear that he belonged into the Fahrar.
And with a heavy heart, Cyra had to oblige, and let go.
But the worst was yet to come - Cyra ended up in the Blood Legion, with a mining warband. Unknowingly, in a high security settlement where little information gets out due to the importance of the mining operation.
And her little brother in an Ash Legion Fahrar, sworn to secrecy.
They quickly lost track of each other, and no matter how much Cyra looked for her little brother, she never found him.


Day in, day out she works.
And uses every day she gets off work to travel to the Black Citadel. Looking for her brother, still not having given up hope. And sparring in the Bane with anyone who dares to step up.
To keep her sanity, year in, year out. And to hone skills she had never learned anywhere else before.
Most of those fights are a short, but furious affair - few words, but a lot of clashing steel and roaring magics.

Until one day, an odd little Charr steps up - a scrawny little female, clad in lots of leathers and a dark hood.
When Cyra spots said little Charr wearing a certain necklace that she had given her little brother Remus so many years ago, she can feel her blood boil.
Did this stranger kill her brother? Where was he? What happened to him?
She raises her sword. She will have answers.

But the rage gives way to confusion, as Cyra approaches.

That scent...
is familiar.

All too familiar.

"....Remus?"

A confused look.
The little Charr speaks.
"...I don't use that name anymore... nobody has called me that since the Fahrar. How..."
She stops.

The large Cyra sinks to her knees and tries to get a good look at the smaller Charr, and their nose now also twitches.
And when the hood of the smaller one gets pulled back, two sets of eyes meet.
Made of the same amber.
A stout, spiked muzzle. Two, like one.
Big, turned horns. Two pairs, images of each other.
Cyra swallows hard.
"Seventeen years... you... you don't recognize me anymore...?"

The little Charr's mind is racing, and she can't say a word.
The larger Charr's voice is quiet when she mutters - "...I'm Cyra.... your sister."

The smaller Charr's mind reels. Memories long since buried or forgotten, or far too hazy to recall started seep forwards.
"I was... I don't... wh- what do you mean?"

Cyra now wordlessly extends one hand to the smaller Charr.
Palm facing towards them, the scar is visible.
Cyra points to the scar, then points to the necklace around the smaller Charr's neck.
"That fang, on that necklace... was the one mother used to ignite my spark... right here, in my palm... I gave it to you as a keepsake... telling you I'll be back..."
She takes a deep breath to steady her shaky voice.
"I never found you... /seventeen years/ I toiled in the dark, living each day... for the small glimmer of hope... of finding you again..."
Cyra tries to look at the little Charr, but tears begin clouding her sight, and they begin rolling down the grizzled fighter's orange and gold fur, staining it dark as it turns damp.

The small Charr puts a hand onto the necklace, still too stunned to speak.
A vague memory takes shape.
The tears...
The way Cyra's fur darkens, it sparks the image of rain. A younger Cyra vehemently swearing to be back.
The little Charr takes a hesitant step forward, and finally speaks again.
"You were... I thought that was just a... a dream, or a-a fantasy.. I didn't realize that I had..."
The words trail off as she looks closer at Cyra, and touches her shoulder. Looking her over.
"It's like... looking into a mirror. A fuzzier... orange striped mirror."
The words come out soft, shock and confusion overwhelming inner emotions for the time being.

Cyra is becoming more and more of a mess. The tears flow freely, no amount of blinking being able to stem the tide.
Her arms slowly reach out, hesitantly. As if she fears the smaller Charr would pull back any second.
"You.... you are alive... and you are /fierce/..."
Cyra smiles, despite all the tears.
And finally, she just puts her arms around the little Charr, pulling her into an embrace.

The little Charr has not had any training for this. Emotions were nothing any Ash training of the world /could/ have prepared her for.
She gets hugged, still a little bit stiff.
She quietly speaks.
"I-... I am alive! I haven't stopped! And..."

Then the scent hits her, embraced by the larger Charr. Enveloped by her and her smell.
She was too young to remember fully, the trauma of the events surrounding their extradition from the Old Flame Legion too hazy to call forwards, but scent...
Cyra's scent hits her like a tidal wave.
The smell of a protector, of kin, of meals and games and kindness that she had stuffed away in order to become who she was now.
Her eyes tear up.
Flickering images of a larger female that would care for them, looking up to her big sister, never understanding why the males treated her so poorly...
The tiny Charr shakes, her tail quivering. Memories of Fire... of illness... of confusion and fear... then that night.
That stormy night when Cyra had been forced to give her over to the Fahrar.
"Cyra...?" she says, the flickering remembrance bleeding into her words.

Cyra looks up a little bit as her name is muttered.
Eyes still awash with tears, she nods.
"I'm... your sister. And you... you aren't... aren't Remus anymore... but you are my sibling..."
She lets go of the embrace a little, and slowly raises her hands up to the smaller Charr's face, softly cradling it in her large, scarred paws.

The little Charr did not pull away, still trying to reconcile what the past was from what her present is.
She shakes her head. "I'm... no, Remus never fit me. I'm Accalia now. I never liked... being male... or males... or..."
The sentence trails off, as Accalia is finally piecing the puzzle of her prior life together.

Cyra smiles in between sobs and sniffles.
"You never did like it all... being male... male roles, male upbringing... it's why everything our sire tried to push on you never sat right with you... and he resented you for it... you fled into mine and mother's arms. And every day, we held you. And promised we'll watch out for you..."

Accalia stutters, so many questions rushing through her mind.
"And you... you are just a miner? You fight like a warrior! Why are you a miner?"

Cyra huffs, and answers.
"I didn't get to choose. I was assigned. With no building skills or education, Iron didn't want me. With no subterfuge skills and the subtlety of a volcano, Ash didn't want me... I was sent to Blood Legion."
Her expression darkens a little.
"They hate mages. And they hate Flame Legion. No warband wanted me. Except the dregs. The miners. I had to do it. It was that, or becoming a Gladium. Might as well have been dead."
She shakes her head.
"And I couldn't allow that, because I /needed to find you again/... all my fighting skills, I taught myself. Here in the Bane. Challenging anyone. Losing. Over and over. Eating dirt. But /learning/."
She looks into Accalia's eyes again.
"And never giving up. Holding onto that spark. The thoughts of /you/."

Accalia blinks.
"I... You looked for me? But you-..."
Realization dawns on her.
"I changed my name in the fahrar! And you were looking for Re-... oh, traps and torches..."
She shakes her head gently.
"Of course you never found Remus... between /that/, and I... haven't been in the Citadel much... of course you never found me. If I hadn't come here on a whim, hearing the sounds of battle, I..."
She blinks slowly, before she wraps her arms tightly around Cyra's midsection.
There it was.
The familiarity was coming back, squeezing into Cyra's chest, her face burying itself into the side of the miner's neck fluff in a way that was no doubt reminiscent of when they were younger.
"I have a /sister/...", she mutters.

Cyra smiles.
"And I have been looking for my little brother Remus for seventeen years... not realizing I... have a little sister now..."
She finally finds the strength to heave herself up a little bit. And wraps the little Charr into her embrace.
The tall sister. With the warmth from her chest, a heart of fire.
And those palms of blazing heat. That burned the brightest on the day she melted her shackles.
As well as the faces of those who stood in the way of her and her sibling. Breaking out to freedom with nothing but her bare hands.

Cyra holds her little sister, head turning down to press her snout softly into the mane of the much smaller Charr.

"I love you."

---

Throwback to an emotional scene from these two being reunited.
Drawn by the wonderful Moldypaw, find him here: https://moldcomms.carrd.co/ !

Cyra, the big sister, is mine.
Accalia (Lia), the little sister, belongs to a dear friend of mine.