Talios-Chapter 45: Show Hands

After taking off the last strand of bandage, Elmah didn’t feel sore anymore. In hindsight, if he remembered clearly, he wasn’t supposed to do this himself; it was supposed to be done by the physician, since according to him, he had to be sure. But Elmah wasn’t having it. He had already been taking them off gradually and measuring his body—if anyone knew his body well, it was him, or so he thought. The physician hadn’t visited since the day he had him re-mummified, which was understandable given the mourning days in place, but Elmah was very much okay with the arrangement, even if it was not by intentional design.

Since waking up bound in wrappings, Elmah had been noticing unsettling things about his eyes. They activated more often than he could count. Over the past few days, even casual, fast-paced movements triggered them.

He would watch something in motion, and in the very next instant it would appear frozen before him. It happened too many times for coincidence, until understanding finally settled in: the world wasn’t stopping—his perception was.

One of the earliest incidents occurred when he noticed someone’s gaze lingering on him for far too long. He’d been in the middle of a supposedly harmless indoor routine. The attention unsettled him. When he tried to react, the same sensation from that day in the hallway returned: his senses leapt ahead, sharp and alert, while his body failed to keep up, stiff and uncooperative. Movement no longer flowed—it stalled. There was no blood, this time around but the disturbance gnawed at him all the same.

Despite the strange shift in his eye’s hue, Elmah had only just begun to understand this newfound ability—one that, in a broader sense, made no sense at all, for reasons too many to recount. Mourning restrictions kept him confined to the palace grounds, ruling out even the option of sneaking away.

So he walked instead, drifting through the palace meadow. Yet with every step came another thought, heavy and intrusive. The walk failed to clear his mind or sharpen it—it merely amplified the noise within.

Since the incident—the late dipping that bled blue into the Family ritual pool and locked the same hue into his eyes—Elmah had gained remarkably little. The phenomenon bore some resemblance to the first Ecnes, yet there was no documentary on The First Ecnes. There was nothing to explain what it meant, what abilities accompanied it, or what consequences lay ahead.

The strange coloration only worsened matters. Without it, he might have retained his former title and identity, bearing nothing more than the weight of disgrace. Expectations would have been limited.

But now—with this new calamity layered atop the old—everything had become tangled and uncertain.

A lineage of Mage combatants had no use for a lens that merely slowed perception. With casting speeds already honed to precision, what purpose did it serve? Worse still, the ability hadn’t manifested until recently, surfacing during training.

So for more than a year and a half, he had remained unchanged, still the Jinxed Demon—only, more colorful.

That entire stretch of time had been reduced to fundamentals—the most rudimentary body training imaginable: squats, jumps, short explosive movements. He couldn’t even justify complaint; despite his age, this was the first real training his body had known. What Ecnes stayed till they were five before going through the basics? What a joke. Even Lant started at two.

For a Combatant Mage, the early years defined everything. By five, magic training became absolute, and whatever foundation had—or hadn’t—been laid before then determined the combatant they would become. He had not asked, but having Lord Halh provide him with pointers probably had something to do with His Highness. Merely being the Prince’s sword was insufficient justification—especially since Elmah hadn’t even been the original choice. Even acting as a sparring partner scarcely made him worthy of such attention.

Reaching a certain tree, he leaned back against it and stared into the sky. When His Highness had once asked why he stared at the still sky, he had replied that he wanted to see how long his eyes could stay up. But now, it was avoidance—to escape the discomfort of motion, of anything that might return his gaze. Even if the unease stemmed from his own perception, it remained unsettling. Few people ever came here, and the sky, at least, did not stare back.

He turned his head toward the light stone and grimaced. Who truly enjoyed a moment of rest beneath such relentless brightness?

When he turned his head, he caught sight of His Highness already turning away, his back half-presented as he moved to leave. If he were to meet anyone here, His Highness was the last person he’d expected.

But in the narrow stretch of shadow cast by a small tree, another presence lingered. Its stance alone spoke of threat. Everything felt wrong—most of all, the distance separating it from His Highness.

In the span of a single thought, Elmah dropped into a near squat and drove power into the tree behind him. The recoil launched him forward, closing the distance in a breath.

His intention hadn’t been to attack—only to place himself between the figure and His Highness. Yet as he surged closer, instinct sharpened into certainty: whatever stood there would not allow mercy. If he wanted to live, he would have to strike first.

Before he could even reach His Highness, he saw it—a taunting smile curling at the stranger’s lips, the look of someone already assured of victory. Elmah drew his daggers mid-motion and committed to the strike.

From the moment he moved until the moment steel met resistance, the blue in his eyes glinted.

His thrust was met with resistance, steel screaming as it clanged through the air. The advantage should have been his—surprise had been on his side.

Instead, a cold shock raced down his spine, and he retreated instinctively the moment their weapons collided. Even in retreat, he placed himself before Ajab, feet set, hands raised, blades steady in open defiance.

Elmah didn’t know what had stopped his strike. But the reason he withdrew was clear.

The figure’s gaze had never left the Prince. When Elmah attacked, he was ignored—parried without acknowledgment. Only after the clash, when Elmah stood within arm’s reach, did the gaze shift to him.

That single downward look was enough. Every instinct he possessed screamed retreat.

"Wow. I didn’t know His Highness had such a capable aide at his side while walking out alone tonight."

The voice was carefree, almost warm. It carried no trace of threat. Had Elmah not crossed blades with the man moments earlier, he would have thought it belonged to a caring gentleman attending to his cherished grandmother.

Elmah’s expression hardened as he scoffed. He would know if he were truly capable—he felt it in that brief exchange. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

If this figure had wished it, Elmah would have been crushed with casual ease.

Still, he didn’t relax. If anything, he steadied himself further.

Ajab’s face remained tight. People intruding upon his space seemed to be becoming a pattern. With Elmah, at least, the reasoning was clear.

But this was different. Ajab was certain he had passed the spot where the figure now stood—and there had been no one there. Which meant he had been followed.

Who would dare?

Though the stranger’s face remained hidden in shadow, their feet edged into the light, revealing a white robe.

So which guest had decided to follow him?

"Your Highness truly is impressive—not even startled by my presence."

The voice returned, unhurried. Since Elmah had surged past him, Ajab hadn’t advanced a single step, remaining where he was, hands clasped neatly behind his back.

"Why would anyone be startled by you? Keep your mouth shut and show your hands."

Eh...? Ajab blinked. Elmah had spoken before he could respond—voice cold, hostility unmistakable, hands firm on his daggers, eyes sharp with intent.

Ajab was curious as well—but did Elmah truly need to be so abrasive? And what, exactly, did he mean by why would anyone be startled?

"Hehe, I see."

He stepped out of the shadow, his face finally revealed. A carefree smile accompanied the motion as he scratched his head.

"My apologies. I merely wished to see what His Highness was like. Please forgive this senile fellow."

Ajab recognized him at once. He looked nothing like the man who had walk into the court earlier. Everything about him now was different, including the robe—white instead of black—though the style remained the same, his right hand still concealed.

The question lingered: was this carefree disposition merely a change of attire, or was this who General Znoh truly was when the formalities fell away?

"You are far from forgiven," Elmah said coldly. "And I said to show your hands—and lose the smile. It’s redundant."

Ah... Ajab’s lips twitched as he glanced at Elmah. He hadn’t relaxed at all—but seriously? Ajab could recognize the man easily, but Elmah hadn’t been present at court. But since when had he become so talkative?

He hadn’t expected such bluntness from the lad, nor to be given no face at all. He hadn’t realized his smile was such a provocation. Momentarily at a loss, he continued scratching his head.

"I didn’t know my smile was that bad. Am I truly that offensive?" A trace of worry surfaced in his expression.

Elmah remained unmoved, his expression hard. "You can cut your hair if it bothers you so much. There’s no need to keep scratching it. Show your hands. And wipe that smile off—you’re still wearing it."

Ajab blinked once... then again.

Well. This Sword of his was quite audacious.