Talios-Chapter 39: White Bushes

Liah’s attempt to reach the Physician was little more than an instinctive bid to salvage the situation. Only her hands moved, her body lagging behind, and with the man already closer to the Young Master, her effort amounted to nothing.

Physician Otoma’s abrupt dash came to a quick pause—an almost dust-piling pause, only that there was no dust here. He stopped just close enough to Elmah, yet still at the edge of the cushion, leaving sufficient distance to avoid the other’s breath while also sparing himself the loss of an eye.

"How do you feel? Your eyes—do you feel any strain? Where does it hurt?" Physician Otoma’s eyes glinted with concern—whether wholly for his patient or entangled with other motives was impossible to tell.

Touching as it may have been, Elmah had no intention of answering.

When his barrage of questions met an unyielding wall, Physician Otoma paused, drew a measured breath, and reclaimed the composure befitting his profession.

It was normal for the lad to feel some form of discomfort, but from the look of things, he was not going to cooperate. So, the physician decided to proceed with his due diligence.

One hand behind his back and the other stroking his rich beard, he fixed Elmah with a gaze meant to see through him. There was no obsession in it—only precise scrutiny. Elmah answered with perfect stillness, eyes deadpan, seated cross-legged and unmoving.

After concluding his examination, Physician Otoma placed both hands behind his back and leaned in slightly.

"You can’t use your eyes anymore."

Like a tizzling shock, everyone in the room jerked at the sound of those words. Liah’s face twisted in disbelief before settling into a worried frown.

If the Young Lord went blind, what would become of him? How was he to live his life? And what of His Highness—how would he bear it? The anxious tremor that seized the room seemed to exist in a separate space altogether—for the one person this news was meant for either had not heard it, or had heard something else entirely.

Elmah was the one this news should have troubled the most. There was no way he had not heard it—unless his hearing had been among the strains that were absorbed.

His expression remained unchanged—no twitch, no flinch, not even the reflex of a blink.

The way Elmah saw it, some things deserved attention, some deserved a voice, some deserved presence, some deserved reaction—and others, none whatsoever. This was one of those things.

Watching the physician struggle to remain composed, Elmah decided he could spare him a moment and listen.

The man just had to go ahead and say whatever he felt like. What eyes could he not use? The scene before him, which he clearly perceived—what was that? What did he use to see it then, his nose?

Was this man truly a physician?

"Are you saying the Young Master won’t be able to see again?" Doubt crept in almost immediately—was Elmah truly blind? He didn’t seem so. "But... isn’t he seeing now?"

"Huh?" What did she mean? Catching the room’s expressions, he quickly realized the misunderstanding. "No, no—that’s not what I meant." He turned to Elmah. "Young Lord Ecnes, you can’t use those eyes any more than you already have." He placed both hands behind his back, assuming a scholarly posture. Elmah’s brows rose faintly at the display.

"The strain your eyes endured doesn’t resemble anything caused by ordinary sight." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It has little to do with what was seen and far more to do with being pushed beyond natural limits—no different from lifting more than one’s body allows. An eye can only see what it can keep up with. When forced past that point, it suggests..." He paused deliberately. "The involvement of some form of power." His eyes settled briefly on Elmah.

When something so direct is spoken—especially at such a moment—one expects a reaction.

BAM! He still met the walled face of the lad. Nothing seemed to get through. Surely it wasn’t that the lad truly couldn’t hear? Right?

"Ahem..." He cleared his throat and pressed on. He was certain of his conclusion: the obstacle was the lad himself.

"Whatever power lies within your eyes," he said, meeting Elmah’s gaze, "you can’t use it anymore. Unless... you awaken your Aura." His tone sharpened subtly at the end.

Then came the shock.

His voice was cold. For someone of his stature, it seemed mismatched—neither deep nor rugged, yet undeniably heavy. It commanded attention not through force or plea, but through quiet curiosity and instinctive dread.

"I’m an Ecnes. We do not awaken Auras."

He had long given up on getting the lad to speak, so hearing him utter a word for the first time since he arrived took him by surprise. Still, there were matters he needed to straighten out with his patient.

His face turned stern as he responded to Elmah. "You’re also an Ecnes who doesn’t have Color, which means you cannot use magic—you are no Mage. So there you have it. It’s either one of the two. Or you’ll die."

...

Just as when they first entered, Ajab had no idea how they left. He wasn’t even certain they had used the door. The shift between before and after blurred into something indistinct—there, yet not.

"Come," his father said, gliding forward in measured strides, his outer robe stirring as he moved. "We still have things to do."

Ajab had lost count of how many times he’d heard the word ’come’ since his father entered his room. He was hardly satisfied with the outcome of this walk. He had gained piles of questions, yet his supposed guide showed no intention of providing answers.

Just as he considered asking how he kept arriving in places he clearly walked into yet never remembered entering, another "come" reached him. He sighed and followed. Perhaps the answers would come another time. Or no—wait. He almost forgot. Yes, he had already resigned.

Following his father, they arrived at a vast, crowded hall—the very same one Ajab had entered earlier: the Royal Rites Palace.

The long hall was filled with people lining both sides of the walkway, all adorned in plain white. Despite the sheer number of individuals, the place was utterly silent.

Everyone had been seated cross-legged, but at the sight of the King and Prince, they rose in complete silence and bowed deeply, eyes fixed on the floor.

From the first pillar to the far end, the hall was filled with palace eunuchs.

As they walked through the parted sea of people, the King’s expression remained unchanged, his pace unbroken. So was Ajab.

Passing through the doorless archways that led into the same room, it was occupied by a considerable number of people this time—quite different from before.

The King turned slightly to Ajab, his tone bare and his pace unchanged. "It is a King’s duty to properly send off his predecessor, and an honor to the dead to have his chamber filled with those who respected him. That is why we observe the Days of Mourning."

Ajab’s expression remained stoic as his gaze settled over the gathered figures inside.

The King’s officials stood in deep bows, their otherwise thunderous numbers subdued by the vastness of the chamber. The Almond Box remained at the center. A calm current of air moved through the chamber, the burning incense lending the space a quiet, living stillness—as though Tranquil were a person.

The soft rustle of robes was the only sound in the chamber, lending it the feel of a vast garden of white roses—save that these blooms stood with heads bowed.

Certain figures were easy to pick out—Generals Roah, Toah, and Linh; Duke Ecnes; and at the center, a commanding presence whose grace endured even in plain white, her head inclined slightly—Mother.

She was not the only one who radiated presence within the tranquil chamber. By the Queen’s side stood another figure—upright, yet her imagery felt floating. With her head bowed, her features were obscured, but Ajab already knew who it was.

Not that It did anything to disturb his stoic composure. It seemed the four generals were already here.

...

Distanced by miles and intention, over the horizon—far beyond a dark, dust-choked dune of desert—stood two figures astride their mounts. Beneath them, the mounts bore eyes coloured like blood and teeth like cabers, their weight pressing the ground into shallow submission. Claws extended from their limbs, daring enough to be mistaken for blades. The riders themselves wore attire unseen within any known border: sandals of skinned leather, belts of skinned foreskin, chests left bare, lips stained with colour.

One of them held his gaze northward over the horizon, eyes fixed on a land far beyond what sight could reach.

In a tongue they could both understand, Kanku turned to Kunku, his body leaning forward atop his mount, hands set in front of him as he soaked in the view.

"Is that the land the Great Mother talked about?"

Kunku turned slightly toward him. He lay bare-backed atop his mount, face tilted upward, one leg swinging idly at its side. His eyes remained shut beneath the gleaming drop of sunlight, his posture one of easy enjoyment.

"Hm," he hummed, turning his face back toward the sun and continuing to bask.

Just then, the sound of a ridden mount cut through the stillness, approaching fast. Kanku turned, and as the rider closed the distance, he guided his mount to face him.

"Kunku," the rider called out. "Kuracha calls for you."

Despite the rider’s arrival, Kunku did not abandon his easy enjoyment of the sun. The message seemed to make little difference.

"What does he want?" Kanku asked, his voice edged with cold indifference.

"The Great Mother has opened the pond"

Kunku’s eyes glided open.