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It has always been said that the powers inherited by Natam's descendants were so astonishing that the mere presence of her blood outside the lands of Arnata was capable of raising the dead from their tombs.
Those who bear the eye of Natam possess the gift of sowing life even in the most infertile land.
It is this gift that keeps the lush forests alive in the midst of the desert.
It is this gift that makes such an arid region prosper as a nation.
Those with the goddess's blood are the flesh-and-blood representation of the sun itself, which makes life germinate and grow.
But what use was this magnificent gift to Shuraka?
He is special among those who were already considered special.
He was born with the eye of Natam.
The first to be blessed in such a way by the goddess.
Everyone hailed him as the chosen one.
As the very reincarnation of Natam.
So why...?
Why is he wearing mourning clothes?
Why is he standing beside a coffin?
Why is inside that coffin the only creature on this cursed earth that he ever loved with all his heart?
The clear blue irises of the most powerful man in Arnata are empty, his pupils opaque, his sclera full of reddened veins.
His once youthful and vibrant face is now dark and devoid of any trace of emotion.
Not that he isn't feeling anything at that moment.
Because he is.
He is feeling everything.
Shuraka simply has no strength left.
For three days and three nights he wept, screamed, begged, and cursed whatever deity was listening, but when all he received in return was silence and a body that remained cold and motionless in his arms, the last vestige of warmth that remained burning in his spirit was extinguished.
The gift in his blood was not able to bring back the only person who kept him swimming in this infernal sea that was his miserable existence.
What a cruel joke of fate.
Delicately, the sovereign of Arnata slides the back of his hand against the black hair that resembles the down of a raven and removes a white petal that had become trapped among the dark strands.
In the solemn silence of the open coffin, the body of Tei Woodvan, former border count, former lord of Ovium, empress of Arnata, lies amidst white roses and lilies.
His body is encased in black hunting armor that still holds echoes of battles and stories Shuraka will never be able to hear.
The flowers around his body are delicately arranged. The white of the flowers, symbolizing purity, mourning, and peace, creates a stark contrast with the darkness of the armor.
The elegant shapes and subtle ornamentation of the armor belong to House Woodvan.
Count Chase vehemently refused to allow his older brother to be mourned and buried in the royal robes of Arnata.
Along Tei's chest rests a longsword positioned vertically along his body. His hands are carefully placed on the sword's hilt.
This is how the war generals of Leracal are prepared for the afterlife.
With the honors and laurels of battle.
Just as they lived their lives.
The expression on his pale face is serene.
There is no pain there.
Only a profound stillness.
With his eyes closed, he generates a melancholic ambiguity that makes it seem as if it is only a deep sleep that has taken hold of his senses.
Those who observe him may hesitate for a moment.
Perhaps he breathes? Perhaps he awakens?
But Shuraka knows that this will not happen.
Those red eyes that meant everything to him will never open again.
In that great hall, where some weep softly and others merely observe in silence, the padisha touches the cold, rigid face of his shahbanou. His fingers, covered in scars that have not yet fully healed, slowly trace all the lines and contours of his wife's pale face. Shuraka caresses Tei's cheek, outlines the contour of his lips, lightly touches the old scar on the right side of the man's face, feels the softness of his long eyelashes.
In his eternal rest, Tei holds close to his chest, alongside his sword, all that once meant happiness to the Emperor of Arnata.
All the hardships endured in pursuit of being reunited with his betrothed were in vain.
Year after year.
Holding onto the hope and desire to be reunited.
Everything he had to do.
The blood he shed.
The sacrifices he had to make.
The torture and pain he had to endure.
In the end, none of it had any real meaning.
Shuraka is, once again, alone.
The padisha gently kisses his beloved's cold lips and joins their foreheads one last time.
With a desolate heart, when he closes his eyes, his beloved Tei still lives in the memories that strike Shuraka's chest like a flaming arrow.
◇●○◆○●◇●○◆○●◇
The imperial castle stood tall and imposing against the night sky. The great moon remained the same, casting a cold glow over the lands of Arnata. The white towers were now adorned with long strips of black fabric that danced slowly in the wind.
The inner courtyards were silent. The waters of the fountains flowed, but their sound echoed lonely. White rose petals covered the ground, fallen from branches that the servants, dressed in black veils, had placed throughout the castle.
In the main halls, dark curtains replaced the vibrant fabrics. The shahbanou's throne remained empty, draped in black and crimson silk, a painful reminder of an absence that no power could fill.
Through the corridors of the south wing, the padisha's black robe slid slowly across the floor, dragging with it the white petals of mourning.
The imperial guards stood motionless, their heads bowing slightly as the sovereign passed by them.
At the end of the corridor, the large white doors opened slightly and a man with pale skin, red hair, and hazy blue eyes emerged.
The current lord of Ovium, Chase Woodvan, hurriedly wiped away a trail of tears that betrayed his weeping as soon as he saw the sovereign approaching.
—Halisha is asleep, Your Majesty.—Chase said in a low, hoarse voice.
Shuraka's hands clenched into fists so tightly that the only reason his nails didn't cut into his flesh was because he had already ripped them out by the root.
— Do not pronounce that name in my presence. — The Padisha's face contorted at the mere utterance of the word.
The expression on the nobleman of Larecal's face darkened in response.
— It is the name of my brother's son. — The red-haired man said through gritted teeth. — The name he chose for the child. — The sorrow and pain previously present in those blue eyes were quickly replaced by a deep disgust directed at the sovereign. — And that is what I will call my nephew as long as I have life.
Count Chase never liked Shuraka.
The feeling of enmity that the man harbored for Shuraka was always quite clear. The youngest of the Woodvans strongly opposed his older brother's marriage to the Padisha.
The dislike was reciprocated by Shuraka.
But they were at least minimally civilized when it was necessary to remain in each other's presence for whatever reason.
Not anymore.
Chase no longer has any reason to be cordial with the sovereign.
Shuraka remains for only a moment, staring intently at the face of the Count of Ovium.
He unconsciously searches that face for any trace of kinship with his beloved.
But as before, Tei and Chase look nothing alike.
Continuing with his slow steps, Shuraka passes the other man.
—I wish to take the child to Leracal.—Chase says as Shuraka’s hand almost reaches the door behind the redhead.
—Natam’s blood must not abandon Arnata.—he replies coldly, automatically.
—Halisha does not yet possess Natam’s eye. And it’s not guaranteed that he will.
The two men stand side by side for the length of a terribly long breath.
Shuraka merely cast one last sideways glance at the count and pushed the door open, entering the room.
His arrival caused the four maids present to rise and bow in respect to the sovereign.
—Exit.— Shuraka orders.
The head maid slightly purses her lips, taking a step closer to the sovereign.
—Your Majesty…
Her voice dies the second the pale blue eyes of the padisha fix on her insignificant figure.
The woman lowers her head, a tremor running through her entire body, before bowing again in farewell and indicating that the others should follow her outside.
When the sound of the door closing behind him fades, Shuraka stands motionless in the middle of the room.
The light from the lit lamps is dim, but he can still see every detail of the room.
The high ceiling supported by columns carved from light stone, with gleaming gold details.
Thick, soft carpets, brought from distant lands, covered the cold marble floor.
Cushions embroidered with gold thread were scattered throughout the space.
The air was perfumed with myrrh and sandalwood incense, burning slowly in silver containers.
The walls were covered with fine silk fabrics in shades of gold and ivory, hand-embroidered with geometric patterns and delicate inscriptions that invoked protection, prosperity, and wisdom.
In a discreet corner, small amulets and talismans hung. Ancient symbols of protection against evil.
The gentle night breeze lightly swayed the curtains on the window with the protective patterns, seeming to laugh at Shuraka.
It's as if every piece present in that room, every fabric, every stone, every aroma, was mocking him.
In the center of the room rested a cradle.
A magnificent piece carved from rare dark wood, adorned with precious stones inlaid in subtle designs. Translucent veils of light fabric draped around the crib.
Shuraka breathed slowly, trying to calm the trembling in his hands before approaching the crib.
He took a step forward, then another, until his hand grasped the veil covering the crib and pushed it aside.
And there he was.
Sleeping peacefully between warm, soft sheets.
The parasitic abomination that took everything from Shuraka.
The monster that fed on Tei's life for ten moons.
The Padisha gripped the edges of the crib, staring unblinkingly at the sleeping being between the sheets.
He shouldn't have let this happen.
The moment the doctors said they didn't know what to do, that it could be dangerous, he should have put an end to this madness.
It was his mistake.
He was so desperate for his beloved's approval that he made the biggest mistake of his life.
And now Tei is gone.
Tei, who was his only safe place.
The only person he fully trusted.
The only one he wanted in his entire miserable life.
He's gone.
To a place beyond Shuraka's reach.
The sovereign's fingers bleed from the force with which he gripped the edge of the crib.
Tei is no longer among the living.
This thing killed him.
Is this a curse cast upon Shuraka?
Will the blood of his own blood always cause him such pain?
His father, his mother, his brothers, his own seed.
Why?
How great was the sin he committed to receive such punishment?
Why can't he be happy?
—Why did you survive?— Shuraka's voice is just a whisper lost in the air.
He can't forget.
All the months of suffering Tei went through because of this thing.
The way his beloved slowly withered away day after day while this being took shape inside his body.
Consuming him.
Shuraka can't forget the sleepless night while his beloved suffered.
He can't forget all the blood-soaked sheets.
He can't forget how the doctors and midwives kept repeating that they couldn't stop the bleeding.
Shuraka will never forget how Tei, tired and weak, gently caressed his face with a bloodied hand before the light in his red eyes began to fade and the caress on his face fell away along with his beloved's hand.
Shuraka will never be able to forget all the pain and despair that seized him when the heart in his beloved's chest stopped beating.
He'll never forget because it will never stop hurting.
—Why did he have to die? Why? Why? You shouldn't have been born.
His words were low, almost silent, but the rage behind them couldn't be hidden even if he tried.
Why did Tei want to give birth to this?
The line of succession was already decided.
Jakar would continue the Loram lineage.
They didn't need this thing.
Then why?
Why did Tei trade his life for this?
—I should have killed you before you were born. I should have killed you. I SHOULD HAVE KILLED YOU!
His scream woke the child sleeping in the crib.
Startled, the baby immediately began to cry at the top of its lungs.
The sound only made the fury inside Shuraka boil with more intensity.
When that sound was first heard, it was also the last time he saw Tei's eyes.
—YOU TOOK HIM FROM ME! I SHOULD KILL YOU! GIVE HIM BACK! I'LL KILL YOU!
Shuraka leaned into the crib.
Her twisted hands went directly to the child's neck.
Her bleeding fingers were an inch from encircling the small, fragile neck when the child, still screaming, opened its eyes slightly.
Shuraka's action froze.
Through the small gap visible between the boy's eyelids, he can see a red glint.
Shuraka's breath catches as the boy, crying loudly and frightened, opens his eyes completely and fixes them on him.
—You...
His eyes are crimson.
Yes, someone at some point told Shuraka that.
That the baby had inherited Tei's eyes.
With his whole body numb, Shuraka moves away from the child and uses the edge of the crib to hold on and not fall.
He presses a hand against his face, trying to control his breathing.
What is Shuraka doing?
That is the child Tei gave birth to.
The child conceived by Tei.
Everything in this room was chosen by Tei to receive the child.
He...
...trusted Shuraka to protect the baby.
Through his fingers, the emperor's eyes searched for the small form of the child writhing and crying. He looked at the baby, unsure of what he was looking for.
The tears Shuraka thought she had no more to cry clouded the man's vision like a violent rain.
Out of control.
Without warning.
Without pity.
The Padisha bent over, his shoulders trembling, the bloody tips of his fingers painting his face where he continued to press his hand.
The sound escaped without any attempt at containment.
A loud, broken, raw sob.
—You are all that remains of him to me.
All strength left the man's body and Shuraka collapsed, sitting on the ground.
He clutched his chest tightly, trying to control the painful beating of his heart.
His hands buried in his hair, feeling that sharp despair take hold of him again.
—Forgive me, Tei.— His voice faded until almost inaudible.—My beloved, I can't... I won't be able to without you...
Tears continued to stream down the emperor's face, so abundant as if they had the mission of forming a sea of sorrow.
Shuraka brought his knees to his chest and buried his face in them.
Behind him, the boy's crying continued loud and clear.
On the night of Arnata's shahbanou funeral, the padisha and the little sha cried together.