Slowly, the audience began to applaud and cheer for the two warriors, moved to tears by the display of valor and tenacity they had witnessed. The atmosphere in the stadium was electric, a mix of admiration and awe.
Aolani descended from the stands, running to where Thamuz stood, her face reflecting deep concern for the multiple wounds covering her son's body. Meanwhile, Tawnylon also made his way down, with a slower and more solemn step, letting a few tears of pride roll down his cheeks at his firstborn's victory.
Thamuz walked out of the shattered combat arena, holding his dislocated arm with his still functional limb. He limped slightly and spat dark blood along the way, leaving a crimson trail on the ground.
Aolani stopped right in front of him, scrutinizing him with hawk-like eyes, trying to analyze every wound, every bruise, every drop of blood on her son's battered body.
"By Azhamat, Thamuz, look at how that bastard left you. Come, let me heal you," Aolani said with a trembling voice, trying to gently grasp Thamuz's dislocated arm.
Thamuz pulled away, avoiding contact, not letting his mother touch his wounds. He looked at her with eyes shining with determination and bent down a bit to be at her level, ignoring the pain the movement caused.
"It's nothing, mother. Just small bruises," Thamuz said, trying to calm her with a hoarse voice.
"How can it be nothing? Just look at yourself, you look like a walking corpse," Aolani protested, raising her voice as she tried to get a better look at her son's wounds.
Tawnylon approached from behind her and, seeing Thamuz, raised his strong arms and caught him in a powerful paternal embrace.
"That's my boy! You've won your second combat in shamonak. Not even I would have done it that way," Tawnylon exclaimed with pride, squeezing Thamuz tightly against his chest.
Thamuz groaned in pain, gritting his teeth and looking at his father with narrowed eyes.
"Father, you're hurting me," he whispered with difficulty.
"Oh, sorry," Tawnylon replied, immediately loosening the embrace.
Tawnylon released him, a bit embarrassed for hurting his son unintentionally. Aolani, meanwhile, gave Thamuz an analytical and worried look.
"See? You are hurt. Let's go to the carriage before night falls," she suggested, extending her hand toward him with a maternal gesture.
Suddenly, a chilling scream echoed throughout the stadium, causing Thamuz and his family to turn around startled. The screams were so horrible that they froze the blood, as if someone were being subjected to the cruelest of tortures.
"Where are they coming from?" Tawnylon asked, his voice tinged with concern as he scanned the surroundings.
Thamuz surveyed every corner of the stadium until his eyes locked on the luxurious quarters of Zarakel. A shiver ran down his spine.
"They're coming from there," he pointed with a trembling voice, his hand rising slowly as an uncontrollable tremor took over.
The screams turned into heartbreaking howls, and suddenly Thamuz recognized the voice of the one suffering so horribly: it was Shandam.
"Shandam! I have to go rescue him," Thamuz exclaimed, starting to walk with determination despite gasping from the effort and pain.
Tawnylon quickly extended his arm, placing his hand in front of Thamuz as an insurmountable barrier.
"You can't go, son. There are still two more combats before you can face Gigantino. Besides, look at the state you're in," Tawnylon explained with a firm but worried voice.
"But father, listen to how he's suffering. I have to get him out of there!" Thamuz protested, trying to bypass Tawnylon's hand with desperation.
"I said no!" Tawnylon roared, his voice resonating like thunder. "You'll only get yourself killed quickly, and I don't want that to happen!"
Thamuz froze at his father's shout. He had never raised his voice like that before. Overwhelmed, he could only lower his head in submission and walk alongside his mother towards the exit, his heart heavy with helplessness.
Tawnylon followed them, but before leaving the place, he cast one last look at Zarakel's quarters. What he saw there froze the blood in his veins.
It was Zarakel himself, completely covered in fresh blood dripping from his clothes and face. A long, demented smile was drawn on his lips as he held aloft, like a macabre trophy, the severed head of Shandam.
"Let's go, don't look back," Tawnylon said in a faint voice, protectively covering his family with his arms and quickening their pace.
They reached the stadium exit and opened the heavy door, being greeted by an unsettling solitude in the streets. The silence was so dense it was almost palpable.
"Why is everything so deserted?" Aolani murmured, hugging herself.
"They probably hurried to their homes for some reason," Tawnylon responded, though he didn't seem convinced by his own words.
Suddenly, a familiar voice called out to them from afar. It was Armesto, frantically waving his arms to make himself visible in the falling dusk over the city.
"Look, Mr. Armesto is calling us," Thamuz said, noticing his urgent signals.
The group cautiously walked towards where Armesto was. Narek approached Thamuz and observed with a mixture of awe and respect his dislocated arm, hanging limp.
"Wow, it's your first mortal injury. You'll get used to it later," Narek said, giving Thamuz a small pat on the waist.
"I got careless for a moment. I thought Khabixan had really surrendered," Thamuz explained, slightly moving his dislocated arm and suppressing a grimace of pain.
"Let's go home, Armesto, to treat the boy's arm," Yakrare intervened, observing Thamuz's injured arm with maternal concern.
Armesto, without wasting time, called for a carriage. This time it wasn't the luxurious vehicle from before, but a common one. It didn't seem like much, rickety and creaky, but it would serve to transport them away from that lonely place. They all squeezed inside, making an effort to leave enough space for Thamuz to enter without hurting himself further.
The carriage started with a rattle, the whispering wind being their only companion in the deserted streets. Tawnylon looked out the window, observing with unease that the city's streets were completely empty, with no trace of life.
"The streets seem very lonely, don't you think, Armesto?" Tawnylon asked, glancing at his old friend.
"It might be because of the ghurkha," Armesto replied, his voice laden with worry as he scanned the horizon.
"Ghurkha? Isn't that supposed to happen in three months?" Tawnylon inquired again, with a tone of curiosity mixed with apprehension.
"Yes, but the astronomers predicted it would happen much earlier. Although I didn't think it would be this close," Armesto said, his face darkening.
Thamuz, who had been listening to fragments of the conversation, felt curiosity growing inside him. Leaning a bit, despite the pain, he whispered in Narek's ear:
"What are they talking about?"
"Don't you know what the ghurkha is?" Narek asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No, that's why I'm asking you," Thamuz replied, somewhat annoyed by the obviousness.
"Well," Narek began, lowering his voice, "the ghurkha is when our sun is covered by a gigantic creature of colossal proportions. It feeds little by little on our sun, but after a week it leaves it as good as new. This has been happening since ancient times, since Yhamataw was born."
Thamuz felt a chill run down his spine. The idea of a beast so immense that it could devour the sun itself was terrifying. He looked out the carriage window and, for a moment, it seemed as if the sky darkened unnaturally.
"And what happens during that week?" he asked, almost fearing the answer.
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Narek remained silent for a moment, as if hesitating to reveal the whole truth. Finally, with a sigh, he replied:
"Darkness falls like a plague over this world," Narek continued, his voice barely a whisper. "Unknown beasts emerge from the abysses to attack anything they see. Even Zarakel takes refuge in his quarters throughout that week, tripling security in the entire city."
"How terrifying," murmured Thamuz, feeling a knot in his stomach.
"It truly is," Narek agreed, his gaze lost in the carriage window.
The vehicle continued its journey through the empty streets, while the group engaged in conventional conversations, some revolving around Thamuz's recent victory in the arena. But for the young warrior, his triumph now seemed a distant memory, overshadowed by the constant and threatening thought of the impending week of darkness.
Finally, they arrived at Armesto's house. They disembarked from the carriage one by one; Thamuz, this time, did not make his iconic jump due to his injuries. He descended carefully and walked slowly toward the entrance, each step a reminder of the punishment his body had endured.
Armesto paid the driver with two green pamtans. The man tipped his hat in thanks and, with a click of his tongue and a whip crack, set his beasts of burden in motion.
Everyone entered the house, immediately embraced by the comforting warmth and freshness of the home. It was as if they had left behind a nightmare world to enter a haven of peace.
"Love, bring some bandamena water for Thamuz," Armesto asked his wife.
"Right away, dear," Yakrare replied, hurrying to the kitchen.
Thamuz sank heavily into a chair, with a view of the backyard. The majestic mountains in the distance were still bathed in sunlight, but that golden brightness was slowly fading, as if it were a prelude to the darkness to come.
Aolani stood behind him, her motherly hands gently caressing her son's head and planting a kiss on his forehead, trying to comfort him amidst his physical and emotional pain.
Yakrare returned with a conventionally sized barrel. She carefully opened it and took a carved wooden cup, pouring some of the barrel's contents into it. The liquid was amber-colored and emitted a sweet, herbal aroma.
She approached Thamuz and offered him the cup, which the young man accepted with trembling hands.
"Drink, this will help you heal," said Yakrare warmly, as if sharing an ancient secret.
Thamuz observed the liquid for a moment, its reflections dancing with the dim light filtering through the window. Then, he brought the cup to his lips and took a long sip. The taste was strange, a mixture of sweetness and slight bitterness, but he immediately felt a comforting warmth spreading through his body.
"I’m going to realign your arm. I need you to hold on to someone, because it’s going to hurt a lot," Yakrare said calmly but firmly, standing in front of Thamuz.
"Tawnylon!" Aolani called urgently.
Tawnylon appeared suddenly, observing the scene before him with attentive eyes.
"What happened, love?" he asked calmly.
"Hold Thamuz. Yakrare is going to realign his arm," Aolani explained quickly.
"Right away."
Tawnylon positioned himself behind his son and held him tightly, his muscular arms becoming an iron prison. Yakrare gently held Thamuz's dislocated arm, while Aolani stood in front, holding her son's head and stroking it in an attempt to calm him.
"This will hurt a lot, Thamuz," Yakrare warned gravely, looking him straight in the eyes.
"Do it, the quicker the better," Thamuz responded with determination, closing his eyes tightly.
Yakrare nodded and firmly grasped Thamuz's arm. She applied constant pressure, squeezing the muscles until finally, the bone popped back into place with a crunchy, eerie sound that made everyone present shiver.
Thamuz writhed in place, a heart-wrenching scream escaping his throat due to the unbearable pain that pierced through him like a burning lance. Tawnylon held him with all his strength, trying to minimize his spasmodic movements.
Yakrare finished realigning the arm and carefully released it, letting it return to its natural position. Thamuz slowly opened his eyes, raising his newly adjusted limb to observe it with squinted eyes.
"How do you feel now?" Yakrare asked, a satisfied smile lighting up her face.
"Well, now I can move my arm much better, but I still feel some pain," Thamuz admitted, his expression tightening into a slight grimace.
"That's because your ligaments need to heal. The bandamena water will make you recover faster," Yakrare explained kindly, extending her open hand to receive the wooden cup from Thamuz.
Thamuz placed the cup in Yakrare's hands and let out a deep sigh. He stared at the ceiling for a while and, after patting his knees a few times, stood up and looked at his parents with determination.
"I’m going out for a bit, I want to clear my mind," he announced calmly.
"Alright, son, remember to come back early. You can see on the horizon that the ghurkha will begin in a few hours," Tawnylon warned, placing his large hands on Aolani's shoulders.
"I won’t take long," Thamuz explained, turning his back and beginning to walk outside.
Thamuz headed to the back of the house, once again welcomed by the view of the great mountains rising majestically on the horizon, dimmed by the almost nonexistent light heralding the imminent arrival of the ghurkha. He walked to a nearby hill, climbed to the top, and sat down, watching the darkened horizon with a meditative air.
The little light still filtering into the environment manifested on Thamuz's face, gradually illuminating his body. He lowered his head a bit, trying to receive less brightness, but also to better formulate his thoughts.
"Did I really... really win by my own effort? Or just because I was born with an overly strong body?" he questioned himself in the privacy of his mind.
His thoughts grew stronger until he felt a slight touch on his back, as if a hand were seeking his attention.
He turned his head quickly, trying to see where the touch came from. To his surprise, it was Mr. Armesto, gently touching him.
"Hello, champion," Armesto said, flashing a big, friendly smile.
"Hello, Mr. Armesto, what brings you here?" Thamuz asked, curious.
"I saw you so lonely on that hill and couldn’t help but come to see why you’re here," Armesto explained, slowly sitting down next to Thamuz with a slight groan.
"It's nothing really, don’t worry about it," Thamuz replied, forcing a faint, unenthusiastic smile.
"Come on, you can tell me. I'm almost like an uncle to you," Armesto insisted kindly, giving Thamuz a light pat on the shoulder.
"It's just that... after the battle, I can't help but question if I really deserve the victory," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "Khabixan accused me of winning only because of my supernatural abilities, not because of my effort. And part of me fears he might be right."
Armesto remained silent for a moment, his happy expression slowly fading. He turned his head slowly to look at the horizon alongside Thamuz, where the sun was beginning to set, tinting the sky in shades of orange and red.
"Tell me, can you change your body right now?" Armesto asked, with a serious tone.
"No, that would be impossible," Thamuz responded softly.
"Then you shouldn't lament it. The gods gave you the strongest body I've ever seen in my life, well, before your father. But you shouldn't think you would be nothing without it. There are many people who would wish to have the same strength and muscles you have but were born with much more fragile and weak bodies, like Khabixan. But do you know what they have done?"
"No, I don't know," Thamuz replied, turning his head to look at Armesto. His eyes glowed with intensity, reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.
"They have used what they were given and improved it every day, training to exhaustion, until their bodies could take no more, with the goal of becoming much stronger and not remaining in weakness. The burning flame they always had inside was kindled even more with each passing day."
"Really?" Thamuz asked, his curiosity growing.
"Yes, for example, look at me. What do you see in me?" Armesto said, standing up and putting his hands on his hips, as if striking a heroic pose. Around him, several small luminous insects began to dance in the growing darkness.
"Well, I see a family man and a friend," Thamuz replied, his eyes glowing a bit with an intense red color.
"Wow, what a compliment, but look closer, I want you to tell me how you see me," Armesto explained, a big smile spreading across his sun-weathered face.
Thamuz looked more closely, observing Armesto better. He was someone of relatively short stature in yhamak terms, standing about one meter and ninety-eight centimeters tall. His hair was thick and brown, and his face was adorned with the passage of years, with several scars and wrinkles covering it, symbols of the battles fought and experiences lived. His body was somewhat plump, not to the point of obesity, but it was clear that in his youth he must have been muscular and athletic. His legs were somewhat thin, while his arms were robust like oak, revealing the strength he still possessed.
"Can I say it, but you won't be offended?" Thamuz asked, nervousness in his voice.
"Go ahead, I'm all ears," Armesto responded, closing his eyes and raising his arms in mockery.
"Your body seems to have paid the price of the years, you're a bit short, a little taller than my mother. Your skin is too wrinkled and your legs look like dry branches," Thamuz said in a monotone voice.
Armesto burst into laughter at Thamuz's words.
"Very observant, but yes, that's my body, isn't it? I can't grow taller or be as muscular as before, but that's because I was made this way. I will never be able to change it, but I can improve it, reach almost the top, fail, but climb again."
"Were you muscular before?" Thamuz asked curiously.
"Not as much as your father or the conventional shamonak fighters, but I did have some muscle. I was the shortest of all and one of the weakest in terms of physical strength, but I could improve and almost overcome those weaknesses, making a place among the best. But I was always overshadowed by the talent and pure genetics of your father and the other fighters, so I always took third or fourth place. But I could feel good about myself knowing that, although I was born with one of the weakest bodies, I could get close and touch the top a little."
Thamuz remained silent, listening to Armesto's motivating words. He turned his head to look at the horizon again, which was covered by the darkness slowly approaching them, caused by the ghurkha. Armesto gave him a small pat on the back.
"Do you now understand what I'm saying? You shouldn't feel bad because you think you only win because of your body. Instead, you should be grateful that you were born this way. Many would envy the capabilities you have, but just like the weak people, you can improve and become much stronger every day, not stagnating in just the abilities your body offers."
"Thank you, thank you for your words, Mr. Armesto," Thamuz said, a tear sliding down his cheek. The glow of the rising moon was reflected in his reddish eyes.
"It's alright, that's what I'm here for, to motivate you to keep going. Come, let's go into the house, it's getting too dark," Armesto said, helping Thamuz up.
"Yes, I need to rest, tomorrow I have to fight again," Thamuz said, standing up and walking with Armesto.
"Tomorrow? You don't have a fight tomorrow," Armesto asked, somewhat puzzled by Thamuz's comment.
"But I have to fight for five days," Thamuz said, a confused look on his face.
"Yes, but during the ghurkha, the first three days are complete darkness. You wouldn't see a burning flame even if it were in front of your face, so all activities cease during those three days. After that, everything becomes clearer, with the last two days being the brightest," Armesto explained, putting his arms behind his back as they walked toward the house.
"Three days? Excellent, I'll spend those precious three days sleeping," Thamuz said, showing a big smile.
image [https://th.bing.com/th/id/OIG4.Eafy6XKtFbRJshYgZW0f?pid=ImgGn]The ghurkha creature