Talios-Chapter 43: Sharp Hue

Just as the Prince settled onto the stepped seat, the Court’s massive doors opened once again.

Ajab had been the last to enter the court—so who else remained?

The atmosphere shifted the moment the figure glided in, and everyone felt it. His black robe danced alongside his trailing hair as he strode forward, steps firm, each one sending a seamless ripple through the hall. Amid the sea of white-robed roses, he stood out like a black sheep.

Every gaze fell upon him. This living symbol of death, standing unannounced among the living.

Reaching the throne steps, he halted and lifted his gaze to meet the King’s—eyes still heavy with indifference. The moment lingered briefly before he bowed deeply.

It was a soundless bow—no words spoken, yet his presence spoke enough. He turned and offered the Queen the same bow, which she returned with a slight nod and a mild smile.

Then he turned to the Prince. The bow did not come immediately. He showed no shock at seeing His Highness—no reaction at all. His expression remained unchanged from the moment he entered the hall. Though his reputation carried the stench of death and danger, his face held only calm—measured, restrained, unremarkable. Perhaps the ripple his presence commanded stemmed not from his demeanor, but from the weight of his disposition and the number of souls he had claimed.

As the calm gaze settled on him, how could Ajab allow himself to falter in such matters? His father’s gaze remained unchanged—why should his differ?

He did not need to look to know his father’s disposition; he could already predict it, and it met expectation without fail. Like the King’s, Ajab’s gaze upon the imposing figure remained indifferent—utterly void. Still, curiosity lingered beneath the surface. Hopefully this was not yet another relative his father would claim had been present when he was still in the womb or something.

The eyes of this fellow lingered on him. Ajab was not sure what the extended gaze was for, but it was becoming uncomfortable. He had not wanted to be here in the first place; this man did not need to make it more unbearable.

The black-robed man bowed to the Prince, then straightened. Taking a few steps back, he moved to a designated spot and stood beside a lady marked by an intriguing, almost unnoticeable scar at the corners of her lips, her eyes a shade of burnt bronze. Clad in white, she bore a striking resemblance to the Queen. He stood besides Eihpos.

It was not written on his face, nor did he bear any badge, but Ajab could tell who the figure was immediately. Standing beside Eihpos, given those who already stood there, it went without question who he was—the great General Znoh. Who else would stand beside the Mighty Yoab in court if not the great Znoh?

That recognition did not extend beyond the court. As the legends foretold, "he rode a wild dark horse across unnamed fields, their hair moving in harmony." Those who had seen this rider ride through the cold streets needed no introduction. Ajab had not—and even if he had, he would not have known. Such details belonged to those obsessed with war stories and army ranks. The only thing that might have caught his interest would have been the horse itself—Mambal. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

This felt less like a final court and more like a punishment. Ajab could not decide which was more bone-breaking—the rigid seating or the suffocating silence. What was meant to honor a figurehead through stillness slowly became, for him, an ordeal he wished desperately to escape.

When the appointed hours elapsed, the court finally drew to a close. The massive doors were cast open and the King rose, prompting all others to stand with him. The High Priestess took the lead, her steps measured, as the Royal Household followed in solemn procession toward the Ascensral grounds.

Upon arriving, the corpse of his grandfather was already there, still as it had been since the first time Ajab had seen it. It was time for the purification rites. Surrounding the almond box were nine priestesses, all covered in veils—half holding shandring bells, the other half wide leaf stems. Walking ahead of them all, the High Priestess bore both bell and leaf, standing precisely between the divided ranks.

She looked to the King for permission to begin, and his affirming nod urged her forward. After so long, the hall swam with sound. Like the incense drifting through the space, the melody poured through the chamber and spilled beyond its walls. Bells chimed, leaves whispered, and the priestesses’ humming voices filled the air as their bodies swayed in seamless harmony. Bearing both bell and leaf, the High Priestess circled the almond box while the others moved in unison—each sway fluid, elemental, as though the sea itself had learned to dance.

With the chiming came the wailing—thus, the first wailing for the deceased since the mourning began. Hearing it rise first from the priestesses and then from the maiden servants, the same wave of feeling that struck him when he first heard the news returned, but this time it was different. This one came with memories and unprepared slits to the heart.

He had not expected his heart to ache so sharply. The sensation was foreign, unsettling, and before he could brace himself, warm, unfamiliar streaks traced their way down his cheeks.

It was shocking, yet he could not respond any differently as memories rose unbidden. Each chime carried its own recollection; each wail brought twice as many.

He found himself stretched upon a green meadow, resting in quiet leisure, eyes closed while peace washed over him. Yet in the present, his eyes lay wet—tears falling freely, as though he had granted them leave.

Whether he alone was caught in this tide, he could not tell. He did not bother to look—it no longer mattered, and that realization itself felt strangely unsettling.

Then everything paused. His eyes were not shut, yet it felt as though they had just opened as the atmosphere shifted abruptly. The incense-laden sorrow vanished, replaced by immense pressure. It was not strong enough to force him to collapse as in some "other incident." But was of a different kind not one that burdened the body, but one that pierced straight through the soul. He nearly bowed instinctively before snapping out of it.

When he looked again, certainty escaped him. The High Priestess stood before him with eyes glowing bright and empty—void of even a trace of pupil. Her hair lifted as though caught in unseen currents, and her voice rang out in vibrant, otherworldly echoes.

"AND NOW SHALL THE SONS OF FIRE SWEEP THE FIELDS IN PURSUIT OF THE ASHLIGHT—"

She turned sharply toward the King.

"WHAT, THEN, SHALL THE SONS OF BLOOD DO?"

It struck as suddenly as it did sharply, unmistakable in its clarity. Whether it was understood, however, depended entirely on whom one asked. Ajab was still grappling with what he had felt—whether the words themselves had reached him at all was something that could only be answered later.

What had just happened? What had he just experienced?

When he turned back to the High Priestess, her hair had fallen back into place, her eyes restored to their natural hue. Her expression was solemn—stunned, even—as though what had spoken through her had caught her unprepared.

Turning from the High Priestess, Ajab found the priestesses who had moments ago been dancing now strewn across the floor. Whether they lay unconscious or had collapsed by instinct, he could not tell. The maidens at the sides were down as well—utterly unconscious, that much was certain.

The eunuchs stationed at the sides and along the archway had fallen as well. Turning to the opposite side, Ajab saw the heads of most of the powerhouses bent in reverent bows—even the Queen’s. Yet when his gaze reached his father, he found the King unmoved, untouched, standing as straight as ever.

Among the entire sea of those gathered in the Ascensral grounds, only the King and the Prince appeared untouched—at least outwardly, for the Prince.

The stunned look on Morriba’s face was far from premeditated; this had truly caught her off guard. When she left the temple that morning with the priestesses who accompanied her, it had been solely for the purification rites—she had no idea a prophecy would erupt. Her ability, and when it activated, lay with her, but not every time. These occurrences came with being High Priestess and had nothing to do with her personal abilities. So, like those before her, this had taken her by surprise as well. Having it happen in the middle of a purification rite was especially daring; any other time would have been fine—why at a funeral?

Standing barely a stone’s throw from the King, a quiet smirk tugged at his lips as he watched the King’s back—unperturbed, unbent, even beneath such an overwhelming presence. Yet it was the Prince who truly held his attention. The boy had not moved. Not even a fraction. His eyes narrowed then, sharp with a refreshed interest.