CHAPTER 32: MY BABY

"If everything Father said is as is, then I was right—I never used the Thousand Steps."

A crease appeared between the King’s eyebrows. "How so?"

"Father said ’walk in reverse’. Even when cornered by Mother, I never walk in reverse." His tone carried a quiet conviction, each word settling into place like a stone set on firm ground.

It was really difficult to know what was a joke and what wasn’t when his son spoke. He simply said things, and the fact that he believed them made it hard to decide whether to laugh or cry—and in that moment, he could do neither.

The King’s brows tightened into a sharp crease, a silent plea slipping into the air unheard. "What is your mother supposed to be? Some aggressive boar?"

Ajab narrowed his eyes, fixing his father with a steady stare.

"Father, a Prince’s words hardly stand against a King’s" He’d know— he had tried. He exhaled softly. "So I can’t march before Mother and repeat what you just said, with nothing more than blood on a sword for evidence. And if Father insists on calling Mother such names..."

He lifted a brow. "I’d rather not be within a kilometer of such scene." What if he got blamed? "Who calls their wife a boar?"

"Huh?"

The King’s eyes snapped up, startled—then his expression darkened like storm clouds rolling over the horizon. Before the child could utter another syllable, the King’s hand shot out, landing a ’thunk’ of a knock on his head.

Ajab froze mid-step, mouth parted, blinking in stunned confusion. One hand went to his head.

What did he do?

He wished he’d dodged—but he hadn’t even seen the hand until his head felt like it was leaking steam.

The King lowered himself to Ajab’s eye level, his eyes twitching "I called your Mother a boar?"

Ajab blinked at him. Who else did? "Is Father saying I did?"

Another twitch tugged at the King’s eye. The boy looked genuinely innocent—no mischief, no trickery. Was he truly not doing this on purpose?

The King exhaled, straightened his back, and resumed walking.

Ajab stayed planted where he was.

"No apology from Father?"

The King’s eyes narrowed. "What for? I barely grazed your head."

Honestly—what was he meant to apologize for? Who innocently frames their Father?

Why was he not receiving an apology—better yet, why had he been assaulted in the first place?

"Why did Father strike my princely head?"

The King stopped and turned; Ajab stood a few steps away.

"I did not strike you—it was a graze." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Just consider it Father...feeling your head."

Ajab’s head dipped, shadows sliding over his eyes.

"...I see."

That was it. Today, he would resign. Dignity aside—he could not survive these people.

He would resign from their sonship entirely. No more.

The King nodded, satisfied—utterly unaware of whatever mutiny Ajab was plotting in silence.

"Now, about the ’reverse.’ The Thousand Steps links to your past footsteps. Anywhere you’ve walked becomes a point you can return to, regardless of what lies between. With more mastery, the distance you can move increases."

Ajab stared blankly. Why was the King explaining this?

Who said he had any intention of using anything?

Like he said; he had resigned—he was done.

Across the City of Omah, in a fortress-sized temple, two nurices scoured the halls for their charge—again, perhaps more than ’again’.

Lunai had already checked the bakehouse three times. As she moved to go in again, Raphai stepped in front of her.

"Is there some other dimension in there? Does she vanish the moment you step inside and only reappear when you leave?" Raphai might not be any taller, but right then she felt like a mountain.

Lunai blinked. "I was just passing by—this way leads to the field."

Raphai fixed her with a flat look. "So she’ll reappear there too? And seriously—haven’t you had enough cakes?"

"Ahem..." Lunai coughed, awkward. "But we’ve searched everywhere."

"As if." Raphai pinched the bridge of her nose.’Everywhere’ wasn’t the right word, but they had really searched; but Her Sacredness was still to be found."Go back to her room— Incase she’d gone back. I’ll ask around. She wouldn’t have left the temple."

"And the Library?" Lunai asked

Raphai sighed. "Checked, twice. You know she prefers to come and just take."

Lunai narrowed her eyes. "You get to check more than once?"

Raphai stared. "Do you see any cakes in my mouth?"

Lunai had taken some for the road—it wasn’t the sole reason she passed by; she truly was looking for Her Sacredness. "I was just passing by. Just passing by," she repeated as she headed towards Her Sacredness’ room.

Lunai pushed the door open to find the little Sacredness perched at the window, legs swinging free.

She gasped, darted forward, and scooped her into a tight, relieved embrace around the waist.

Jezreel blinked up, eyes wide with bewildered innocence—completely baffled by the fuss.

"Why were you at the window? What if you’d fallen?" Lunai’s voice trembled; The room was about a hundred feet high— falling wasn’t negotiable.

Jezreel blinked again "But there’s a balcony," she said softly.

"Even so—windows are off-limits. Where have you been? We’ve been searching everywhere."

Jezreel glanced at Lunai, hesitating—how could she tell her she’d been on the roof? She had only paused at the window to sit for a while.

So she shook her head and said, "I’m sorry for worrying you." The innocence in her voice could melt any heart—at least Lunai’s. Her tone was calm and smooth, adorable enough to make anyone forget their woes.

Lunai’s mouth bloomed into a proud, relieved smile; her eyes shone. She nodded once, chest puffed in quiet triumph—everything the Sacredness did was right in her eyes.

"Did Lunai visit the bakehouse?" Jezreel asked, innocent as ever; it was in the air.

"Huh?" Lunai blinked, caught off guard. "Ahem..." She straightened, lifted her chin about to relay a glorious tale. "There was nowhere this nurice did not dare to go just to make sure Her Sacredness was found," she said, nodding to herself.

"Absolutely, and to show for your endless effort the scent of temple cakes decided to embrace you in commemoration—who else could deserve a medal of honor if not you?"

The sudden voice of Raphai caused Lunai to jerk; she spun around, surprised.

"I thought you went to ask around?" Lunai asked, surprised.

"I saw Her Sacredness at the window the moment I stepped out to ask," Raphai replied, turning to the child whose gaze had remained on them both.

"We’ve been searching for you," Raphai said, worry softening her voice. "Why were you at the window? That’s dangerous—you could have fallen. And when did you get back to your room? It was the first place we checked."

Jezreel blinked quietly; she couldn’t quite say where she’d been. "I’m sorry for worrying you," she said instead. "I was just looking at the sky."

"What’s so wonderful about looking at the sky? Your Sacredness should just eat first."

Raphai turned to Lunai, her gaze sweeping her from head to toe and lingering long enough to deliver a wordless, ’’Really?’’

Lunai shrugged, defensively innocent.

Jezreel’s smile lit the room. "Sure," she said, teeth gleaming.

Raphai faced her. "There’s an Aclove meeting. We need to prepare you."

"Did Mother ask me to come?" Jezreel asked, hopeful.

"The High Priestess did," Raphai confirmed.

Jezreel nodded; she tried to keep her composure, but the eagerness was obvious.

...

At the Aclove, every High Doyen settled into their seat—at least, as normally as one could expect—save for Rebi. Dark shadows clung beneath her eyes, her face drained of expression, hollow and unreadable. She had arrived before the others and now sat with her legs crossed, staring into nothing, her gaze void of even the faintest glimmer of light.

Whether she was trapped in a trance or touched by some divine revelation, no one could tell.

Silence held the room in place; the High Priestess had not yet arrived.

The air seemed to shift as a small figure entered—half the height of the others, yet somehow weightless, as though her steps barely grazed the floor. Her braided hair fell to her waist, her gaze steady, her presence as serene as a quiet meadow, as fluid as a gentle wave.

Like the rest, she wore a white robe. Reaching the center of the room, she inclined her head in a graceful greeting. "Greetings, High Doyens." Her voice carried an airy mix of innocence and charismatic strength.

The High Doyens returned her greeting, their heads inclined like her’s though they remained seated. "Your Sacredness."

"It seems you’ll be joining us," Nicoah said, her smile warm.

Jezreel returned it with ease. "It’s an honor."

The Doyens nodded, pleased—her composure and grace radiated effortlessly. All except Rebi, who had neither greeted nor stirred since Jezreel’s arrival. Hana hadn’t even noticed when the shadow-shrouded figure beside her vanished. She only realized it when she saw Rebi standing directly before the Young Sacredness; not even the wind had betrayed her movement.

The moment she stood before Jezreel, every shadow beneath Rebi’s eyes dissolved, replaced by a blinding shimmer that lit the room. She lifted Jezreel effortlessly, spinning her once before pulling her into a tight embrace. Still clinging to her, Rebi’s face puckered into a wounded pout.

"Where have you been? Why did you leave your favourite person alone? I searched for you all morning. Not even my Lines could find you. I’ve been miserable."

Jezreel cupped Rebi’s cheeks with a bright, gentle smile. "I’m sorry I wasn’t around. I didn’t know you were looking for me." She brushed her nose playfully against Rebi’s. "Tell me—how can I make it up to you?"

Rebi’s eyes melted instantly, tears welling. "My baby..." Her voice broke as she began to cry.

The air shifted once more—another figure had entered...