Shizuru froze. She stared at the Akhma Merkheleh wide-eyed and forgot to breathe. The lizard-like child's eyes seemed to glow in the twilight of the temple, fixated on her as if seeing into her very soul. With the radial pattern on the wall coming to a point behind his head, he looked like a deity staring down a mere insect.
The silence was oppressive. Neither Amiro nor Nayavi spoke, waiting for the Elder of the Mountain to continue. Viyal could not show any reaction to his words since it would confirm that she understood their meaning despite being only a toddler. Thus, time seemed to stop in this most sacred place. The only one who could break the spell was the Akhma Merkheleh.
"Bring her to me, Amiro of the Zakhira," the boy ordered. Viyal looked up at her father, who seemed surprised by the order. But his expression settled into silent determination, and he stepped forward. She stared at him, then her mother, who only watched calmly. Their trust in this representative of their god was so unshakable that they would hand him their daughter without question. "There is no need to be afraid."
Viyal turned to the lizard boy, whose expression was inscrutable. He had no eyebrows, and his broad mouth did not emote like most other humanoid beings she saw in this world. His yellow eyes would always look like a predator's, regardless of his intentions. It made it difficult for her to trust him.
The Elder of the Mountain gestured for Amiro to place Viyal before him. Then, he waved him back to take his position by his wife's side, almost like his presence was an afterthought. Such was the sway he held over a tribal chief who commanded hundreds that he could treat her father like a mere servant.
"I see that you do not approve of my treatment of your family," the boy stated, opening his mouth to show off his sharp teeth. Perhaps that was his species' version of a smile, though it did not extend to his eyes. Viyal was frozen under his gaze like a rat caught in a snake's glare. "You must come from a world quite unlike this one."
How did he know she was a reincarnated being? Did he truly have divine powers? Could the voice that gave her this second chance at life have been Azakhal? These and more questions swirled inside Shizuru's mind, but Viyal dared not move a single muscle and simply stared at the Akhma Merkheleh.
He raised a hand, and a monk waiting on the sidelines approached, carrying a polished circular mirror. It was the first mirror Viyal had seen in this world. Since the steppe tribes did not have metallurgy, they only had access to such objects through trade. Only wealthy high chiefs of tribal confederations would accept such an expense for a luxury that only satisfied one's vanity.
The monk placed the mirror before Viyal, and she beheld her new form for the first time. Now she understood what Uncle Gavro meant when he called her 'too white' on their first meeting. Although her gray skin was only slightly lighter than her mother's, her still short hair was white as snow. And while her father had blue and her mother green eyes, Viyal's were as red as blood. She was an albino.
"Your parents brought you here because your Takheleh could not pierce the mist of time obscuring your future," the boy announced as if to everybody in the main hall, causing Viyal to look up from the mirror and stare at him. He closed his eyes for the first time and sighed wryly. "How could she have. Your potential was far beyond her understanding."
Viyal heard her mother gasp at those words but did not dare look away from the lizard boy to see what her reaction meant. Whether the potential the Akhma Merkheleh spoke of was a positive or negative thing remained to be seen.
The boy placed his left wrist on his left knee with the palm pointing up and extended his right hand expectantly. Four monks carrying incense bowls with lit sticks silently approached from the sides and placed them on the corners of the platform before retreating back into the darkness.
A young Shangra nun approached, swaying under the weight of a bronze basin filled with water. She stepped onto the platform and placed it under the elder's left hand. Another young nun from a species Viyal had never seen before brought a severed branch with long, narrow green leaves and placed it in the elder's extended right hand. They, too, retreated swiftly and silently.
The Akhma Merkheleh shook the branch once, causing it to rustle audibly. The high-pitched prayer bell rang out in response, echoing through the hall. He repeated it twice, causing the lingering sounds of the separate bells to harmonize into a singular echo that filled the otherwise silent space.
The boy swayed slightly, and his blue tongue flicked from his thin lips a few times. He turned over his empty left hand, but the water in the bowl splashed as if something heavy had been dropped into it. Upon hearing the sound, he opened his eyes. The relief behind him lit up with divine light and seemed to shine right through his head. If his eyes appeared to be glowing before, they were radiant like the midday sun now. He grew larger in Viyal's vision, filling out her entire world.
"Omen Child!" he declared, his voice deeper and louder than his slender body could have ever produced. It was as if Azakhal spoke through him. "The girl shall die before the thirteenth day of her birth or live to conquer the world!"
This time, both Amiro and Nayavi gasped. The Akhma Merkheleh closed his eyes, and the relief behind him grew dark again. As if the divine energy fading from his body took a toll, he slumped his shoulders. He deliberately breathed in and out a few times to regain his composure. Then he raised a hand toward Viyal, and she flinched.
The boy's thin lips parted into another sharp-toothed smile, and he pointed down at the mirror between them. Viyal looked at her reflection and beheld something that had not been there before. Five cross-shaped wounds had opened on her forehead without her noticing, taking on the appearance of a diadem.
She raised a hand toward them but dared not touch the raw-looking wounds, although they did not bleed. They did not even hurt. A moment later, they began to close before her eyes and faded to a barely noticeable darker pattern on her skin.
"The mark of the Omen Child," whispered the Akhma Merkheleh, barely loud enough for Viyal to hear. He leaned closer and touched her forehead gently. "Remember, soul from another world. A prophecy only has as much weight as you afford it. It is your life, in the end."
With this, the divination was complete. The lizard boy leaned back and peered down at Viyal's parents with a look that suggested they could leave now. He stared at the little girl's mark as Amiro picked her up and returned to his wife's side.
"We thank Azakhal for the revelation," he bowed again with Viyal in his arms before retreating with Nayavi by his side. The high-pitched bell rang out one last time as the Mosyvvi family walked down the main hall. All the while, Viyal could not tear her gaze from the Akhma Merkheleh even as he covered his face with his hood and started to meditate.
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He knew she was a reincarnated soul from another world. With such divine insight, she could only believe that his prophecy would come true. Yet, his parting words suggested that things were not set in stone. It was up to her to live in a way that could lead her down the foretold path. Or perhaps she could choose a different path altogether.
Die before she saw her thirteenth birthday or conquer the world. It was not even a question. Shizuru had been born a chosen one in her previous life. Now, she was a chosen one in this new life. What else could she do but fulfill her destiny and live to rule this world? She would be betraying herself if she did not aim for the top.
As Amiro carried her out of the temple gate and onto the winding path outside, he wore a broad grin. His was the expression of a proud parent itching to announce his daughter's greatness to the rest of the tribe. However, Nayavi's face was clouded with worry. She suddenly stopped and pulled on her husband's sleeve.
"What is it?" he inquired with a smile. It seemed nothing could dim his excitement.
"We have to keep it secret," Nayavi declared. Viyal had never seen her wearing a severe expression like this before.
"What are you saying?" Amiro seemed genuinely confused by his wife's attitude. "Our daughter is the Omen Child! The forespoken conqueror under Azakhal!"
"No, our daughter will be dead before the seasons change," she put a hand on her husband's arm holding Viyal and stared up into his eyes. He sniffed in disdain, ready to make a sarcastic remark. But then, he realized that his wife spoke the truth.
The Zakhira tribe was strong, but it was still only a tribe of the steppe. Even if the prophecy did not include the part about Viyal possibly dying before she saw thirteen thawing seasons, other tribes would come to kill her to prevent her ascension. The repeated battles would grind the Zakhira down until nobody was left to protect her while she was still a child.
"You are right," Amiro finally admitted, peering down at the city below them. Snuffing out a prophecy of such magnitude could motivate even those who were not violent to take rash actions. Slaying the Omen Child surely brought fame and glory. Having to fear death every day was no life for a child.
"We have to keep it secret," repeated Nayavi, wearing a difficult expression.
"What do we say then? The prophecy needs to be worthy of this visit to the Akhma Merkheleh," Amiro scratched his chin thoughtfully.
Viyal looked between her parents silently. She had not even considered the possibility her mother thought of so readily. Despite knowing that this world was a harsh place, she felt shielded from it all because of her tribe's martial prowess. Like in her previous life, she had thought herself untouchable.
Her parents discussed possible alternatives they could tell their tribe on the way down the path. Amiro seemed reluctant to lie to his people. Still, rumors would spread even if he ordered them never to reveal it to outsiders. A thoughtless conversation overheard by traders, drunken bragging when they made camp with another tribe, possibly even a traitor among their ranks. It was best that the number of people who knew remained as low as possible.
Viyal caught herself worrying about the knowledge getting out from the Temple of Time itself. Yet, her parents did not mention that possibility. Perhaps they believed that the Akhma Merkheleh and his followers would not reveal it to anybody.
Ultimately, they settled on a completely different prophecy. Instead of conquering the world, Viyal would slay the Girgasatso of the Wastes on her thirteenth birthday. She did not know what that meant but assumed it was a mythical beast known to all steppe folk. It did not sit well with Amiro to falsify the Akhma Merkheleh's divination, but he would accept even the wrath of Azakhal to protect his daughter.
Once again, Viyal understood how loved she was. Her parents were evidently strong adherents of their religion, but they were willing to put their beliefs aside for her sake. She watched her father's expressions as he practiced in a whisper to make the delivery of this new prophecy sound as natural as possible. Her mother walked behind them, remaining silent the whole way down the mountain.
The last light of the sun was already fading when they reunited with the others of their tribe in one of the guest houses in the city. They awaited their chief's grand announcement since they had judged from his expression that he had good news. Especially Noro and Saro were looking forward to learning the greatness their sister was destined for.
Amiro glanced at his wife, who returned it without changing her expression. Then, he picked up Viyal and raised her above the gathered, reciting the prophecy they had prepared. She was no longer the Omen Child but a promised hero of the steppe, and there was no mention of her dying before fulfilling her destiny.
The following celebration passed in a blur for Viyal. She remembered the tribesmen who came with them congratulating her and showering her with praises. Even Yunil seemed to have understood the importance of her prophecy and declared that she would follow her wherever she went. Then, food was passed around, and Viyal received a large helping, which she gulped down without even remembering what it was.
Only when she was finally in a bed with Yunil did she snap out of her trance, and wild thoughts flooded her mind. Clearly, the people in this world, or at least those of the steppe and the mountains, believed in the soothsayers' prophecies. But she had unmistakable proof of the Akhma Merkheleh's validity.
She could only hope she would be safe with her parents' lie. As a weak child now, her grand destiny could be easily snuffed out. Her mother was wise to bring it up with her father. Viyal would likely never have had another wink of peaceful sleep out of fear of being targeted at her weakest.
Her imagination ran away with her anxieties about the future and conjured scenarios of doom. It took only one of the monks gossiping to spread the rumors across the steppe. Then, the tribes opposed to the Zakhira would keep coming after her, either to kill or control her.
As she imagined assassins in the dark, her body shook inadvertently. Yunil woke up from the motion and noticed Viyal's condition. The little Nokkoy hugged her tightly and rubbed their cheeks together. It snapped Viyal out of her mental spiral, and she calmed down.
"No fear," Yunil whispered in the darkness. "I'm here."
Viyal reciprocated the embrace and sighed. She was being too fearful. Her parents had tided over the situation, and she had to trust that this was the end of it. There would have been no meaning in their lie under Azakhal's gaze here in his lands if she remained too afraid to sleep anyway.
She squeezed Yunil and nuzzled against her cheek as she slowly slipped away into slumber.
Their journey back to the tribe waiting outside the mountain range was uneventful and swift. When they descended the slope toward the rocky landscape that led back to the steppe, they saw the Zakhira tribe's tent village in the distance. It looked the same as it had when they left, and a commotion broke out in their midst when they noticed the return of their chief and his family.
Viyal found that her mother seemed to be worrying about something again as they reached the edge of the camp. Gavro and Zalavi came out to greet them ahead of the others, and she understood the reason for her unease. Would they tell them the truth about Viyal's prophecy? They had not told Noro and Saro since they were still young and likely could not keep a secret, but these two were adults and their twins.
Amiro picked Viyal up from the cart and carried her at the front of the procession toward the camp's center. Everybody stared at them expectantly, especially since Amiro wore his practiced proud expression. He would announce his daughter's prophecy before the whole tribe.
When he finished his speech, and the crowd cheered, Viyal felt like an accomplice to a crime. She saw Gavro's and Zalavi's wondrous expressions, and her chest tightened. Her uncle took her from Amiro's hands and raised her high above the heads of the other tribespeople to pronounce her greatness. He was genuinely proud of his niece, unaware it was all a lie.
But she had to make peace with it. If her parents had shared the real contents of her prophecy, the tribe would have celebrated all the same. Their lie was not to hide something evil but to protect the tribe. Not revealing the truth would bring no harm, only avert it.
Thus, she pushed away her inhibitions and let herself be praised by her tribespeople like a child her age should. Things would work out one way or another, no matter what she thought. She could only believe so for now.