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Winter in Khura’in. The early morning sun was just rising and its rays shone through the windows of one of the palace’s offices. Prosecutor Sahdmadhi, Nahyuta, was looking over papers regarding the arrest of an insurgent as the light softly reflected off of his rosier-than-ever cheeks. He had been sitting at this desk looking through these papers since before the sun rose, and assumed he would still be sitting at this very desk looking through papers well after the sun went down. This particular insurgent was no more special than every other insurgent that had been arrested, however he had garnered the attention of the masses and therefore would probably receive a harsher sentence. But prison was prison. And if it came to it, death was death.
Nahyuta never let himself dwell on this too much, or he did, but never the particulars. He could never get his mind to dwell on the particulars. Every time he caught himself thinking about the death penalties that were his fault (unconsciously including those that weren’t his fault), he could never think more than I killed them. “I killed them”. The words would echo in his head as if any other thought that should have been there was gone, leaving only a cavernous abyss housing ghosts of his past, present, and future. Nahyuta liked work. He liked being distracted by it. He didn’t like thinking about what he was doing or what he was working on, but he liked doing something. That was why he had been working non-stop since the arrest of that rebel.
The echoes that had been ringing in his head since he first picked up the document were cut short by an abrupt banging on the door. Sluggishly he stood up and went to open the door.
“Prosecutor Sahdmadhi! You have been summoned. Her eminence wishes to see you in the throne room in ten minutes.” One of Her Eminence's royal guards. Nahyuta wasn’t sure which of them this was. They all blended together, faces blurring into simply the shadow of a tyrant. He dismissed that thought quickly, not allowing himself to process what he was thinking. He couldn’t forget his place.
“..Thank you for telling me.” Speaking felt tiring, taking almost all his breath for a simple response.
“Forgive me, prosecutor Sahdmadhi, but you don’t… look so well.”
The guard had a worried tone, worried for prosecutor Sahdmadhi. Not for Nahyuta, but for the persona he had created. Well, at this point it was hardly a persona. He had adopted it so well that it may as well have been his true self.
At the moment, Nahyuta did not think any of this consciously. He did not think of thinking it. On a tired evening where he had the energy to consider his own position, these would be among many topics rolling around in his mind. But these months – nay, it must have started years ago, early into his abdication, he had been more dismissive. More unresponsive to his own mental cues, like a husk.
At the start of this career, he would have thought about his position. He would have been aware that overworking was his way of distracting himself. He’d have been aware of the echoes in his head. He’d have been aware that he could never dwell on particulars. He’d have been aware of the guards' blurring faces, of his persona that he had adopted so properly and finely and readily. He may even have been aware of the fact that he wasn’t aware. But this was not the case now.
Now he was simply… there. He’d never think of himself. It would not even occur to him that he was something to think about. That his situation, his position, his thoughts and his feelings were something ever worth spending time thinking about. He was lost in resignation, drowning in it and being strangled in it silently. To him, he was nothing. There was no point thinking about nothing.
“Ah… I feel just fine, but thank you for worrying about me. Your benevolence does not go unseen.” He smiled kindly, his rosy cheeks lifting up in subtleness.
“Eh..! Yes..!!” The guard turned on his heels and went down the hall. Nahyuta had forgotten the exchange already. Unimportant, ordinary, repetitive. An exchange mirroring his previous exchanges with the guards, or anyone really. They were all the same. He turned back and adjusted the papers on the desk in a neat manner before making his way to the throne room, thinking only of a soft buzzing.
~^~
Nahyuta stood in the hall by the doors leading directly into the throne room. Usually, this place was cold. The closer you got to the hallway, the colder it felt. And these doors were always so very cold. But today felt different to Nahyuta, it was much warmer. Not in the contradicting sense, the way the cold had been stinging and therefore the warmth would be comforting, but in that this warmth felt gripping, clutching onto him and enveloping him, restricting him as if a blanket had been wrapped around him. If the cold froze him and stiffened his muscles forcing him into torpor, then the warmth tired him and made him feel faint and rotting. Yes, it was so tiring, so dizzying. It was all so dizzying.
He was pulled from the dazed state of near-hypnosis by the jolting doors opening inwards. He fixed his posture, held his head high, and walked towards the throne.
Sitting at the throne, the queen gazed at him from on high.
“Your Eminence, you had called for me. What may I do for you?” He bowed politely. If possible, he always avoided looking her in the eyes. They felt like a mirror that stared back at him, telling him exactly how lost and compliant he had become. Looking at her eyes was the only time he realized the concept of self-reflection. So he avoided them like the plague, unconsciously or not.
“Nahyuta.. You had been assigned the papers regarding that rebel, the one making such a ruckus. Tell me, are you making progress?” She spoke with a demeaning tone, no different from her typical.
“Yes, Your Eminence. It is all coming along finely.”
“Good. You aren’t hesitating, are you? I worry your ability to make sound decisions wavers when presented with tasks such as… This .” She shifted her position to rest her cheek on her knuckle, seemingly not caring for the high queenly formalities with him. Like a slip of her first facade. With her other hand she tapped her nails along the decorations of the throne rhythmically. Tap, tap, tap, tap, in quick succession. It was nauseatingly familiar. Nahyuta felt the buzz in his ears grow louder. The louder buzzing was a gateway to a sharp stinging pain in his head. He ignored it. After shifting her position, the queen continued. “How about it? Are you certain I can trust you to mete out unbiased justice on the pests plaguing our kingdom?” She had attempted to sound kind, as if this action was no trouble, only an act of kindness towards the kingdom she had built.
His voice started out faint, requiring build-up to be heard. “...Yes, Your Eminence, always. From the start, my goal has been to rid this kingdom of disease, ensuring only safety and prosperity. That will never change, Your Eminence. I will remain… steadfast, bearing this duty.” As he spoke, he felt the cruel irony spread over him, like a slow frostbite. First his fingers, then his body. His head remained hot, tired, and dazed, but his body felt ice cold.
The queen, Ga’ran, smiled as kindly as she could possibly muster. She was a good actor, almost entirely managing to twist her contempt and great satisfaction into a sweet smile. Nahyuta was aware of how she truly felt. He paid it no mind. It was as always.
“You never disappoint, prosecutor Sahdmadhi. We shall make sure that your devotion and faithfulness reaches every corner of our humble kingdom. All shall know of your undying piety. Now that you have reassured us, we are certain we can trust you with the task of overviewing an inspection regarding rebel allegiance. You will receive the details in a moment, it is as any other inspection. We are sure you are well aware of what it entails. Find out if they’re a rebel.”
“Yes, Your Eminence, of course.” He wasn’t sure if it was himself speaking, or if something had taken control of him to speak for him. Something that wasn’t him, something that could handle the situation much better than he could. He could still feel the dizziness. The sharp pains. The hot and the cold. The soft but ever-present buzzing that had only intensified. It was all so distracting.
“I am glad you understand. You are dismissed until I have further need of you.” She waved her hand, the tapping stopped.
His schedule seemed fixed for the next few weeks. He’d, as he had assumed earlier this morning, sit at that very same desk, with those familiar papers, from before the sun rose to well after the sun went down. He would be drowned in work, in distractions, and complete his assignments faithfully without thinking about anything else.
Nahyuta’s body turned around and made for the hallway he had just come from. He didn’t bother thinking about the details of his new assignment. He simply accepted the task as another part of his fate.
The buzzing intensified further.
~^~
“So, any news on that loudmouth?”
A knife flew across the room and crinkling paper sounded the moment the knife hit its target. The leader of the rebels, Dhurke Sahdmadhi, had just entered the dusty room covered in webs. It had once been a proud office of law, but now only stood as a memory of what once was, and a sign of the present times.
Dhurke viewed his office in three ways. In one, he reminisced about his experiences, his ferocious and boasting wins in court and his good times with comrades in these very seats. In another, he thought about the damage that had befallen his country. Law is dead, and he is living proof of that. In the last, he envisioned the future. He imagined how one day, when all is fixed and every person may walk freely in the comfort of knowing they are safe under the dragon’s gaze, his office would be remade, cleaned, and obtain a new owner. Someone would take over this shack of an office and turn it into their own ferocious and boasting domain.
Currently, the office existed as a memory of the past, a signature of the current regime, and it would eventually come to be seen as a rebirth, a rising. A new hope. But for now it remained a dirty old shack with crawling spiders and grilled lizards (This, for one, may never change) that had seen infinitely better days.
Dhurke walked over through the dust and slumped on the whining couch closest to the knife-target on the wall, throwing a mango to the man behind him who had just spoken.
“Aww! You got me a mango.. Thanks!” Said the man, his right-hand man, Datz, with genuine endearment. The sort you’d expect from a man whose life consisted much of treacherous mountains and little of mangoes. The sweet delights, only cultivated at lower altitudes.
Dhurke sighed. “Nothing noteworthy whatsoever…Nothing for the past three days.” He dropped his head on the backrest of the couch, closing his eyes. Their topic of conversation was the rebel that had recently been arrested, the one that had been making a ruckus in public and attempting to ignite the souls of those willing to join the cause.
“I see. ...You’re not really thinkin’ about that though, are ya? Mind elsewhere, I’ll bet.” Said Datz, retrieving his knife and aiming once more between the eyes of the paper tyrant.
“You know me better than I know myself sometimes.” He opened his eyes and turned his head right to look at his right-hand man, vision sideways. “No news about Nahyuta for the past three days either. Tell me Datz, am I being overprotective? Overbearing father? Too worried about his kids to let them do anything on their own?”
He looked at Datz with expecting eyes, and Datz did not have the heart to say ‘ well you sent your 10 year old son away to another continent overseas all alone so I think you’re good?’. He trampled the thought and came up with another, genuine answer.
“You’re fine, and I’m sure he’s fine too. But it is a bit worrying…” He threw the knife in his hand, and it landed directly above its target. “Awh..”
“I am not any less worried after receiving that response than I previously was, Datz.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not.”
Dhurke sighed. He felt a little less alone, but his worry was still strong.
Raising his head back up and continuing with a tired tone, he spoke again. “You know, I heard a rumor. But-”
Datz interrupted him with eagerness. “About Yuty? It is, isn’t it? So ya did hear something? Do ya know what he’s up to?” He twirled around the couch, now standing in front of Dhurke.
“Calm down, calm down. I was just about to say that it is only a rumor. I’ve no idea about the details nor the credibility of it.”
“Well, speak! What is it? Whatcha got?”
Dhurke put his hand up attempting to signal to Datz that he should calm down. He was unsure if it worked, but Datz looked expectantly at him.
“One of the guys stationed near the palace had overheard some guards mumbling.” Datz put his valuable mango on the table and sat down on the couch opposite Dhurke, pulling out a knife and peeling an apple as he listened. “Apparently he’s ill. They didn’t seem to be sure though, so I can’t take it as facts. …But..” He looked down.
“But it’s the only info you got, right?”
“As you say.” He closed his eyes in affirmation, with worry welling up into a small headache.
“Well then, what are we waiting for? Breaking in and sneaking around is what we’re good at, ain’t it?”
Dhurke looked at Datz with a face that said ‘Really? You’ll let me?’, then smiled. “Yes, let’s go check up on the boy.”
~^~
“Dhurke! Ya better hurry up! I dunno how much longer I can keep this up for..!”
“Hold on just a bit! It’s almost there.. I’ve almost got it..”
Underneath the moon’s light in a corner of the royal courtyard was the rebel leader Dhurke Sahdmadhi, and the rebel leader’s right-hand man, Datz Are’bal. The two highly feared individuals were currently squabbling and bickering, with Datz carefully balancing Dhurke on his shoulders and Dhurke attempting to break into the living quarters of one Nahyuta Sahdmadhi.
Nahyuta’s residence was in a corner-most building of the royal courtyard for a number of reasons, which could all be summarized as ‘Ga’ran wanted it to be so’. Queen Ga’ran had so graciously offered Nahyuta free living quarters in the royal courtyard for the reasons that she was so benevolent and kind that she simply couldn’t not offer residence to such a loyal, devoted follower and practitioner of Khura’inism. Nahyuta had accepted her offer (Out of necessity, insists Dhurke) and that was why the two of them were squabbling in the royal courtyard right now.
“Who makes windows this small and high up anyways?! Architects of the Ga’ran regime…” Whispered Dhurke, a little too loudly.
“Just hurry up! There’s NO WAY we haven’t been seen by how stupid we look.” Whispered Datz, also a little too loudly.
Click, it sounded.
“Ah! I got it! Stay close by and don’t let yourself be seen. It would cause trouble for Nahyuta.” Dhurke foisted himself up through the window and closed it behind him.
“I know thaaat!” Whispered Datz behind him and went off to hide nearby.
Inside, Dhurke felt warmth envelop him. He landed quietly onto the floor and tried to carefully listen for any sound. The lights weren’t on, so he was unable to see anything until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The moonlight from outside barely reached in through the high windows of the room, leaving it in a state much darker and vaguer than outside. His ears caught on to the small sound of breath, going in and out in a repetitive, somewhat unnatural cycle.
Dhurke stepped very quietly forward, towards the faint outline of a door. As his eyes adjusted, he thought he was able to make out the shape of a lamp’s chord to the right of the door. He put his fingers around it and followed up until he found the switch, then he held his breath, closed his eyes, and turned on the light.
The light of the lamp would have flashbanged Dhurke had his eyes been open. It took his eyes a small moment to adjust to the light, and when they did, the first thing he saw was a bed next to a lamp which stood upon an oak nightstand. In the bed, and the owner of the wispy deep breaths lay Nahyuta, his son. He was deep asleep, with disheveled hair and rosier-than-ever cheeks. His eyelids twitched for a bit before stopping, seemingly irritated by the new light of the lamp. No matter how alert he’s always been, when he was sick, nothing could wake him.He was wearing a white linen button-up, and his typical prosecutorial get-up was draped over the foot-end of the bed, as if he had hurriedly removed it and fallen into bed.
“My son.. So it’s true. You are sick.”
Dhurke extended his right hand, brushing the strands of hair out of Nahyuta’s face.
“I am sorry I didn’t come sooner. Had I known you were all alone for days, I would have been by your side in a heartbeat. There’s no one to take care of you here, is there?.” He whispered softly, knowing he couldn’t risk waking his son, and knowing his words and care would go unheard.
Dhurke lifted his head and looked around the room. “So this is where you live now, is it? You sure don’t have many knickknacks! You should see your collection back home. Datz and I have been very good at not letting it gather dust. It’s just the way you left it.”
The room’s door was opposite of where the window Dhurke had dropped in through was located. It wasn’t an especially big room, only a simple square. On the right side of the door was the oak nightstand upon which the lamp stood, and next to it was his bed. It was a simple bed, with a single pillow and a thin blanket. That won’t do , thought Dhurke. You’ll get cold. Bundle up, like we used to all those years ago.
On the left side of the door was an oak bookshelf, filled with books related to the rule of Ga’ran or practices of Khura’inism. A few of them seemed familiar, copies of books Dhurke himself had at home.
Between the law and religion books, there was a fairytale . It was one Dhurke was very familiar with, one he had read to his kids countless times. His heart twisted. Nahyuta had hung on to this tale? He had remembered it, and taken it with him? Oh Nahyuta, oh son.
Dhurke glanced over at his son, ill and covered in sweat, he’d been alone these past few days. All alone, sick in bed. Turning his gaze from his son’s face, he noticed the oak nightstand again. By the foot of the lamp lay a pen and a piece of paper with somewhat unintelligible writing. There was a lukewarm glass of water, and an empty foil pill pack. A single pill lay on the floor by the nightstand.
He kept looking around, next eyeing the oak desk by the bookshelf against the left-most wall. It was a classic desk, with an upper section by the wall and a somewhat narrow, long drawer. On the desk lay countless papers, a few pens and pencils, as well as inks and stamps. It was all a bit of a mess, and Dhurke assumed that Nahyuta had attempted to work whilst sick and dazed. He knew his son, after all.
Next to the desk was a small trash can. Dhurke didn’t dwell his gaze on it but at a small glance noticed it was almost filled with papers. On the back wall, underneath the window and in the right corner was a dresser. It was modest and not very big. On top of it was a neat stack of organized papers, nothing more. And that was it for Nahyuta’s living quarters.
This place could use a lot more trinkets. Nahyuta would love a lot more trinkets here . It was clear the room was a reflection of Nahyuta’s self under Ga’ran. Dhurke could see as much. But it was not a room Dhurke thought was very Nahyuta-like. He loved small little items that seem pointless. He loved reading books, not simply law and religion but books pertaining to everything, with all kinds of information. He loved his quarters having character, warmth to them. The Nahyuta that Dhurke knew was opinionated and strong. He didn’t let himself be silenced. But the Nahyuta that Dhurke gleaned from these surroundings was a follower. A listener. Someone who did what he was told with blind obedience, throwing away any sense of personality to optimize his living space for his duty.
Dhurke sat next to Nahyuta on the bed and put his hand up to his son’s forehead. He was burning up intensively and, knowing him, he probably hadn’t eaten much in a long while. There was no one to bring him food or to care for him while he was like this , after all. Dhurke grabbed the thermometer on the nightstand and brought it to Nahyuta’s mouth, careful not to wake him.
He waited a moment for the results, then again carefully took the thermometer and read it. Too high for comfort, much too high. He needed medicine, if not to be brought to the hospital. Nahyuta rarely got sick, but when he did get sick it hit like a storm. At least that hadn’t changed. For a moment, Dhurke considered kidnapping his own son and whisking him away. It was not the first time he had such a thought, and he figured it would not be the last. Many times he wished he could just go into the palace, retrieve his son, and run away with him, boasting to Ga’ran that she did not manage to take yet another away from him. This was just a passing thought however, and Dhurke shook it away quickly. He understood that Nahyuta had a reason, trusted his son, and so he was not going to interfere. No matter how much he wanted to.
Dhurke scrambled around the room looking for any sort of medicine. Something that would help ease the pain and discomfort even a little. Nothing worthwhile around, some pain killers wouldn’t do him good right now. He needs something real, effective.
Dhurke carefully got up from the bed and stuck his head out the window.
“Datz..! Hey, Datz!”
No answer
“Daaatz..!” Attempting his best to whisper a yell but still receiving no response, Dhurke grabs one of the many books from the bookshelf, this one titled “The advancements of Khura’in in..”
Whatever the title, Dhurke didn’t care for it. Pulling his arm back, he throws the book into the darkness of the courtyard.
…
…
“Ow!” It sounded. “Show yourselves, dogs of-”
“Datz, quiet!”
“Huh?”
The fool stood up from some nearby bushes and raised his voice, only to be quickly cut off.
“Datz, c’mere. I need you to go to the hideout, get some of that medicine we kept around. You remember, right? And grab a peach while you’re there. Do we have stew? Get some water too. I know you can do it.”
“Woah, woah, hold on. I can get the meds and some water but do we have peaches? And you want me to bring stew too? You’re asking a lot of me, bossman.”
“We’ve always had fresh peaches? Datz I always make sure we have peaches, did you… not know?”
“Huh..? I thought… so those in that bowl aren’t fake huh.”
“Why would I have fake peaches lying around.”
“Well, you know how you can be. Right?”
“What?”
“Argh whatever. You got it bossman, I'll get the meds, water, and a peach. No stew, alright? Now go to your boy’s side and I’ll be right back.”
Dhurke sighed and looked away from Datz to somewhere off in the distance.
“Thanks Datz, I can always count on you.”
“Course ya can!”
And with that, he scuttled away.
Dhurke was left on his own, looking back into the room where his sickly son lay irregularly breathing. Carefully he walked over, sat on the edge of the bed just like when Nahyuta was a boy. Hell, he was still a boy to Dhurke. Still my boy. He unfocused his vision to some corner of the room.
“Son, eh.. You know, I messed up a lot when I was raising you. ...You two. I thought I did my best and you two were running around like a pair of birds, happy as you could be. You were passionate and strong, it seemed like nothing could stop you from being the heart of the rebellion. You’d never give up. But.. It must’ve been hard.”
Dhurke turned his head to look at the flushed face of his resting son, lilac hair strewn everywhere, and continued quietly.
“I wasn’t always there for you. No matter how busy I might’ve been, I wish... I’d spent more time with you. The four of us shoulda gone on more fishing trips!.... Hm. ….I’m not sure what they did to you, if even anything at all, but you’re missed, son. We’ll wait however long it takes and welcome you home with open arms. Alright?”
Dhurke stood up and picked out the fairytale book he had noticed earlier on the shelf. Upon closer inspection he noticed that, unlike a few of these, this book had no dust on or in front of it. Looking at it reminded him of all the nights he read for his kids, all the times Nahyuta had to quiet Apollo down and tell him to just listen to the story. No matter how many times he read it, Nahyuta never seemed to get bored. Apollo would always be out like a light before they reached the conclusion. Wonder if he knows the ending now.
Dhurke put the book back and continued towards the desk. He sat down on the somewhat uncomfortable chair and started attempting to organize all the scattered items. Leaving the documents, unsure of how they should be organized, he compiled the pens, the ink, the stamps, the few pencils and erasers into their own areas on the desk. He opened the drawer of the desk and was surprised by the contents. There was the usual, pens and inks and whatnot, but also a myriad of bandaids. Some bandages, some painkillers, a small sewing kit, and a swiss army knife. Although the sewing kit seemed more stationary than not, Dhurke was happy to see another remnant of the Nahyuta he knew. The Nahyuta he still knows. . Someone who patches up torn clothes, is always prepared, and refuses to remain still when there is something to be done.
The longer Dhurke stayed in that room, the smaller it felt. Or larger, in a way. It was a cage far too small for anyone, a cell only existing to detain and chain. And yet it felt so large as well, for the resident within was a small, fleeting existence whose presence barely illuminated the corner of the room. Doing only what was necessary and then, nothing more.
The cold night’s wind gushed through the open window sounding hollow and melodic. There was not a soul that knew of the scene in this room, save for the father.
Dhurke’s heavy eyelids fell and fluttered open for what had felt like an eternity. A repetitive motion, occasionally broken by a thought or two in between to keep him distracted for long enough. The chair was uncomfortable, the room was both disgustingly warm and distractingly cold, and so foreign too. How Nahyuta could stand it, if at all, Dhurke hadn’t the faintest.
There was a soft knocking on the window, and Dhurke’s eyelids fluttered open once more. He moved over to the window, looked down and saw a familiar stupid grin with his arms full.
“Knew I could count on you.”
“Yeah, yeah, just take it alright? You look like you’ve got dumbbells for eyelids!”
Dhurke accepted the water bottle, the peach, and lastly the medicine from Datz. A little care package for Nahyuta, all they could put together. Datz waited patiently outside the window as Dhurke carefully laid the peach on the bedside table, moved the glass to the desk and put the water bottle in its place. He slightly opened Nahyuta’s mouth and dropped a proper amount of the medicine, watching him automatically swallow it and without choking on it. He placed the remaining medicine by the water. He could always get more somehow, but Nahyuta wasn’t gonna go out of his way to get medicine when he could simply work through it. He wasn’t going to actively seek it out.
Dhurke, having completed his fatherly duty of caring for his son no matter the situation or circumstances, looked at his son’s face one last time. The son he will save one day, no matter what. He will create a world where his children can happily exist in safety and without worry. It will happen, even if it will cost him his life.
Dhurke turned off the lamp, walked towards the window, jumped out, and softly closed it behind him.
~^~
Everything was hazy. His mind, his vision, everything. Nahyuta felt warm and uncomfortable, sweaty and yet much… Better. Something within him had settled down.
He was laying in his bed, eyes half open unable to fully close but also unable to focus on anything. In his confused and groggy state, he thought he could make out the outline of a sweet, firm and fuzzy peach on his bedside table.
Before he could reach out towards the shape, he softly drifted off to sleep once more with the thought of a treasure too good to be true.