CHAPTER 33: ABLAZE MANE

The four sat cross-legged on the cushion, forming a semi-circle of silent judgment.

Pemah’s arms were locked across her chest, one eyebrow raised so high it seemed to recline comfortably on her hairline. Her lips thinned into a weary, unimpressed line—the look of someone who had witnessed more than enough foolishness for ten lifetimes. Every small movement from the pair before her registered as a personal affront.

Adah scanned them from head to toe, slow and deliberate, lips twitching with a restrained "Really?"

Hana sat with her hands folded neatly, her calm gaze fixed on the two. No sigh, no lifted brow—only a soft, composed look that somehow whispered, "Please... not here." Even her slow, thoughtful blink felt like a gentle protest.

Nicoah drummed her fingers lightly, her holy-yet-murderous smile glowing with quiet menace. "Wonderful," the expression seemed to sigh.

Together, they were a living, breathing punchline—four styles of exasperation aimed squarely at the oblivious "couple" in a silent, audible "Please just get a room."

The "lovers," blissfully oblivious, laughed and whispered together, wrapped entirely in a world of their own creation.

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

Her white robe trailed in an elegant, slightly eccentric sweep, flowing with each refined step she took.

The two "creatures" of "unasked" emotional disturbance were tapped back to earth by the obvious shift in the air. Seeing that the High Priestess had entered, they—though visibly reluctant—had to postpone their "oppressive" reunion.

"Seems I’ll have to let you go for now," Rebi murmured with a soft, gleeful smile as she gently set Jezreel down.

Jezreel mirrored the smile, nodding in acknowledgment as her feet finally touched the ground again since being scooped. The sight of Jezreel’s warm, disarming smile made Rebi’s face crumple into a sad little pout. She didn’t want to release her—if she could have carried Jezreel through the entire Meet, she would have. But some sacrifices, unfortunately, were necessary. With clear reluctance, she trudged back to her cushion.

The others rose the moment they sensed the High Priestess approaching. As she walked toward the center of the Alcove, they bowed slightly and greeted her in unison: "High Priestess."

She returned their bow with graceful ease. When she reached her seat, Jezreel bowed as well and greeted softly, "Mother."

The High Priestess nodded and took her place.

As soon as she sat, the others followed suit.

Rebi’s expression had lightened somewhat, though not fully; the small, wilted pout still clung to her face.

Hana inclined her head in Rebi’s direction, drawing a quiet breath as if ready to speak. But she hesitated, letting the impulse melt away. It was the second time today she had almost asked if Rebi was alright.

A newly placed, appropriately sized cushion sat nearest to the High Priestess, and Jezreel settled onto it with eyes bright in quiet anticipation.

As the High Priestess settled into her seat, her gaze drifted over the room. She paused, closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and released a slow breath.

When she opened her eyes again, she spoke. "Seems everyone made it. For the past three years, I’ve wrestled with the true meaning of the prophecy and the words from Nicoah’s Insight. My meeting with the King back then offered neither clarity nor the answers I sought. Only recently have things begun to take shape."

"We all felt it last night—the Mystic Lines over Izz are thinning, and they grow thinner still."

"You know this truth as well as I do: our Lines emerge only when we become one with our Kismet, when understanding deepens into embodiment. The Unseen Realm breathes around us; we live within its weave. Through meditation, we touch it. Through discipline, we ascend its chambers. But now the Mystic lines wane. The Unseen Realm is being corrupted... and the source of that corruption remains a mystery."

"When the prophecy spoke of ’the glow bringing crimson once again,’ we assumed it meant the crimson glow that appeared three years ago."

Everyone’s brows furrowed as the same confusion rippled through them: how could the prophecy be hinting at a different glow?

They all had this question in mind, and Adah asked it. "’...bring crimson once again.’ We all know the last one, how it happened. Even the history books don’t mention it, but we do, even if only wetin. The ’Mad’ Regime, the Son of Thous, General god King, the Blood Ender—his rise caused the glow—the Death Crimson Glow. So what other ’again’ could the prophecy mean if not the one from three years ago?"

They couldn’t agree more.

"Hm... except it glowed twice," Rebi murmured, tossing the statement out with the effortless casualness only she could manage—an interjection so smooth it slipped into the air like a shrug.

Pemah’s gaze slid toward her, neutral. "The Sacred Orb never glows twice—not for the same cause. And there have been no signs. Nothing noteworthy has happened. The glow was crimson: blood. Tell me, has there been any recent bloodshed we’ve somehow missed?"

Nicoah rested her chin between her fingers. "It is strange... that no bloodshed has followed, even after a crimson glow."

Rebi lowered her chin, eyes drifting to the little circle she traced with her fingers, unbothered. "Hmm... now it sounds like we’re wishing for bloodshed."

"It’s not like the glow specifies where it comes from or when—only that it’s soon. It warns, not dictates; we know this," Nicoah said, her voice steady.

"I thought the same. But the Orb did glow again. That is why I issued the summons." Morriba paused, letting the weight of her words settle.

Their reactions came exactly as Morriba anticipated. Rebi had tossed the idea out casually—because it was the only other possibility—but she hadn’t truly expected it to be real. The shock hit her as well.

"It did?" Pemah was the first to let the thought slip into the air this time.

Morriba nodded, her expression darkening. "It glowed last night—the same day the King’s father died."

The words lingered in the air, heavy and unmoving, as each person tried to make sense of them.

Morriba recited the prophecy softly. "’When Might leaves Strength and the Crimson glows again...’ Do you see it now?"

Their eyes widened, shock passing between them in shared glances.

Meanwhile

Ajab walked quietly behind the King, who seemed to have a destination in mind—though at this rate, it might as well have been the ends of the earth, because the walk felt endless. Then, suddenly, they arrived before a humongous door. Ajab halted. Something was wrong here.

He glanced back, but there was nothing—just absolute, devouring nothingness. Beneath him, the ground looked like a clouded sheet of water... or water made of cloud; he couldn’t tell. One moment they had been walking through the palace halls and now... this.

His confusion deepened when he realized he couldn’t see the top of the massive door. Was he too close? He didn’t know. He couldn’t see the end of its sides either.

He turned to his father, who stood beside him with a sharp, almost carved-on smile. "Where are we?"

The King shrugged, eyes half-open, the smile unchanged. "Let’s find out, shall we?" he said, stepping forward slightly away from the door. His gaze stayed fixed on it, as if he were contemplating how to open it—though he clearly wasn’t.

Ajab frowned, questions crowding his mind, but one rose above the rest: How does one open something that barely admits it’s a door? The structure before him felt too solid, too seamless—more a boundary of the world than an entrance.

"Are we going through that?" Ajab asked.

The King nodded. "Shouldn’t we?"

Ajab shot him a look—who was he asking? He turned back to the enormous door. "And how do you plan to open this?" The entire place already felt far beyond ’strange,’ but since his father offered no explanation, he could only wait and see what would happen.

"Oh," as if he didn’t know that was supposed to be an obvious question, the King widened his eyes in unnecessary realization. "Let’s keep going," he said, still smiling the whole time.

Now, was that supposed to make sense? Ajab had no idea either, but he wasn’t the one leading, so he might as well just watch.

As the King stepped forward, the colossal doors parted, both sides gliding open. Given their sheer size, Ajab expected the ground to tremble, but no quake came. The King was already nearing the entrance, and Ajab realized he might be left behind if he didn’t move. He went after him, and together they crossed the threshold.

The inside made Ajab doubt his memory skills. He thought that perhaps coming here without knowing how—despite having walked in himself—might have been due to "who knows," but he definitely remembered seeing a gigantic door. What he was seeing now made him wonder if he wasn’t the problem here—like, what was this?

After crossing in, he had looked back out of curiosity to see what its back looked like—and the door he saw was... tiny? It wasn’t even the size of his chamber doors; it could barely fit two people side by side, except he was one of them. That wasn’t the most frightening part. The door stood between... nothing. No walls, nothing—just plain nothing. He turned his gaze to his father to seek answers, but a view reached him first, stopping his attempt.

Before him stretched a vast landmass, reaching as far as the eye could see and farther. Hills and mountains were blanketed in pristine white snow, every surface covered. Strangely, it wasn’t cold—at all.

Then the ground shivered beneath him. The tremor forced Ajab to wave his arms and wobble like a dancing figure, and he frowned at the absurdity of it. Glancing at his father, he saw no such struggle. The King stood motionless, hands clasped behind his back, staring ahead as though untouched by the shaking as though it wasn’t the same ground. Not even his robe moved. What...?

Noticing his son’s "dancing", the King turned to him.

"Oh... nice movements. Still don’t want me to carry you?"

Being carried might not have been a terrible idea—but absolutely not. Nooo.

"Yes," he said, teeth clenched in a firm resolve not to flail any further.

The King nodded. "Very well." Then he resumed his quiet gaze into the expanse ahead, as if waiting for something to appear.

The tremor intensified, its rhythm unfamiliar to Ajab. The King showed no hint of concern over the approaching steps, and Ajab quickly dismissed any thought of fleeing—not that he would have, just would have minded his business...yes.

Coming from the horizon, he saw it. A horse? No—a creature? He wasn’t sure.

When he realized what he was seeing, his eyes widened: the head of this creature rose above the distant mountains and hills. It stood taller than anything he had seen. From far away, he could see its entire body, though he couldn’t make out the number of legs from his vantage point. But he could tell they weren’t ordinary; its hooves burned with flames. Despite the snow, the creature had wings of fire too, its mane ablaze. It was a living, walking flame horse with an unusual number of legs.

Ajab didn’t know what to focus on first—its immense size, or the fact it burned yet lived. Stepping off his father’s back to get a better view, he immediately collapsed under the overwhelming pressure. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe; every bone felt as if it might shatter.

"Oh... hehe... don’t move alone," the King said, stepping in front of him. Instantly, the crushing weight lifted.

Coughing, Ajab lifted his gaze. The creature, which had seemed miles away, now towered before the King. Its head as though reaching the sky.

It neighed...