The morning had arrived, and most of the inhabitants of the house were still deep in slumber, except for Tawnylon, Aolani, and Armesto. The three of them were seated around an ancient oak table, its surface marked by scars from past battles. In the center, as a grim omen, rested Zarakel's letter, its edges slightly singed by the magical seal that had transported it.

"So, Zarakel wants Thamuz to fight. No, it’s impossible, not in the state he's in," said Tawnylon, clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"The order arrived last night. I’ve already sent a message to one of my administrators, confirming that today the third match of the shamonak to death will take place," explained Armesto, intertwining his fingers with a gesture of resignation.

Aolani, her voice tinged with desperation, suggested, "Tawnylon, let’s flee the city. We can take Thamuz and escape in the carriage. He won’t be able to fight in his current state; they’ll kill him."

"That’s what I would want most, but Zarakel’s tracking creatures have a supernatural sense of smell. They could detect our essence from miles away. We would be condemned to a life of hiding and constant fleeing," Tawnylon replied, casting a compassionate look at Aolani.

Armesto, stroking his beard thoughtfully, interjected, "I could contact some of my allies to facilitate your escape from the city without being detected. However, as Tawnylon said, the real problem would arise when Zarakel notices and unleashes his infernal creatures."

"Do we at least know who his opponent will be?" asked Tawnylon, resting his arms on the table with a weary gesture.

"Yes, he goes by the name Bhaxmunt Exilias," Armesto responded, concern evident in his voice. "He’s a relatively new shamonak fighter, with only seven years of experience in the matches. He’s earned the nickname ‘the cold touch of death’ because his techniques inflict such intense pain that they say it’s identical to the agony of dying."

"How encouraging," Aolani murmured bitterly, sinking into her chair.

Armesto, in an attempt to rekindle hope, suggested, "I could get more bandamenas water. It might speed up Thamuz’s regeneration process."

Tawnylon shook his head, his face shadowed by concern, "It’s not viable. If we overload him with bandamenas water, his cells could grow at an uncontrollable rate. He could develop an extra arm where there were wounds before or, worse, cause tumors to sprout all over his body."

"You’re right, I had forgotten about that risk," Armesto admitted, feeling the last spark of hope extinguish within him.

A heavy silence fell over the room, so dense it seemed like it could be cut with a knife. The gazes of those present wandered lost: Aolani, her eyes fixed on the vaulted ceiling, seemed to be waiting for some benevolent deity to descend and offer them a miraculous way out.; Armesto alternated his view between the shadows dancing in the corners of the room, seeking inspiration in the dimness; while Tawnylon, scrutinized the table’s surface as if its grain could hold the solution to their problems

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the house, as if something heavy had fallen from a nearby room. Tawnylon quickly turned his head, locating the source of the sound in the room where Thamuz was recovering. He jumped to his feet, with Aolani and Armesto following closely, their concern visible on their faces.

Tawnylon cautiously opened the door, trying to discern the cause of the noise. As he fully opened it, the scene that unfolded before his eyes made his heart skip a beat: Thamuz, still weak and trembling, was precariously leaning against the wooden tub, struggling to stand up.

Without a second thought, Aolani rushed to her son, placing one of his arms over her shoulders to support him. Tawnylon, reacting instinctively, did the same on the other side. Carefully, they began to walk, leaving the room with Armesto closely following, his face a mask of worry and amazement.

They reached the table where they had been sitting moments before, and gently, they helped Thamuz sit in one of the chairs. Tawnylon watched in awe as his son had healed much of his injuries. The right arm, once fractured, now seemed to have regained its strength and mobility. The sunken ribs had returned to their natural position, and the bruises that had once covered his body had almost completely disappeared, leaving only a faint greenish tint on his skin.

"How are you feeling, son?" Aolani asked, her voice filled with tenderness and maternal concern.

"I’m… okay," Thamuz panted, each word seeming to cost him a great effort.

Tawnylon, noticing his son’s exhaustion, turned to Armesto, "The bandamenas water has drained much of his energy. Armesto, please bring something for Thamuz to eat. He needs to regain his strength."

Armesto nodded and quickly headed to the kitchen, while Aolani carefully examined every area of Thamuz’s body that had been wounded before.

"Wow, you’ve recovered at an astonishing rate," Aolani commented, gently caressing her son’s face.

"I feel cold, Mother," Thamuz murmured, his voice barely a trembling whisper.

"It must be because you’re still soaked with bandamenas water," Aolani explained softly. "But we can’t dry you off just yet. The water still needs to keep working on your healing."

At that moment, Armesto returned from the kitchen with a tray of food: freshly baked bread, fresh cheese, and a jug of a steaming liquid that emitted an scent of medicinal herbs.

"I’ve brought something to eat and a special infusion," Armesto said, placing the tray in front of Thamuz. "The drink will help balance the effects of the bandamenas water and give you energy."

Thamuz extended a trembling hand toward the jug, but Aolani got there first, taking it herself to help her son drink. As Thamuz slowly sipped the hot liquid, Tawnylon couldn’t help but notice how the color gradually returned to his son’s cheeks.

"What did they do to you, son?" Aolani asked, sitting in front of Thamuz, with maternal concern reflected in her eyes.

Thamuz placed the drink on the table, slowly intertwining his hands, and lowered his gaze to meet his mother’s eyes.

"I was defending Narek from some thugs," he began to recount, "until some guards locked me in a carriage with the gang leader. I think the leader and I ended on good terms, but instead of going to jail, they took me to Zarakel’s castle. It all seemed too strange, but in reality, they only brought me to discover my weakness."

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

"Your weakness?" Tawnylon interjected, trying to infuse some encouragement into his voice. "I don’t think you have any. You are as strong as a mountain, and your will could be compared to that of a star."

Thamuz turned his head to look directly into his father’s eyes. Tawnylon saw the fear reflected in his son’s pupils, and his heart ached when he saw a solitary tear slide down Thamuz’s cheek.

"My weakness," Thamuz continued, his voice cracking, "is that I’m afraid of death. Zarakel tricked me and made me fight Gigantino. He defeated me so easily, he humiliated me, he destroyed me. I felt life slipping away from my body, I felt death close to me, embracing me with its cold touch."

Hearing these words, Tawnylon and Aolani exchanged a glance full of pain and understanding. Without hesitation, they moved closer to Thamuz and enveloped him in a strong embrace, which Thamuz returned with equal intensity.

"It's okay, son," Aolani said, stroking Thamuz's hair. "It's normal to feel fear about this. None of us are immortal."

"Even I feel afraid of death sometimes," Tawnylon admitted. "But I'm more afraid of losing someone I love. I was so scared when I saw you in that state, like the whole world was collapsing on my shoulders."

Thamuz clung to his parents, his body trembling as he released the emotions he had been holding back. Tawnylon and Aolani held him firmly, offering all the support and love that a father and mother can give.

The embrace slowly unraveled, revealing a small smile on Thamuz's face. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand battles.

"I heard your conversation when I came out of the tub," he said, his eyes scanning his parents' faces. "Do I really have to fight in another battle?"

A tense silence settled in the room. Tawnylon and Aolani exchanged worried glances before Tawnylon responded:

"Yes, son. It's a direct order from Zarakel." He paused, carefully choosing his next words. "We’ve considered escaping, but that would mean living in constant pursuit. Even so, it's a price we're willing to pay for your safety."

Thamuz absorbed these words, his gaze lost in some distant point. Suddenly, he clenched his fist so tightly that his knuckles turned white. When he looked up, his eyes had changed dramatically: the whites had turned ebony black, with red veins dancing like flames.

"I’m going to fight," he declared, his voice deep and resonant, as if it came from the depths of the earth. "Even if I’m hurt, I’ll do it. For you, for me, and to show that bastard I’m stronger than he thinks."

Tawnylon couldn’t help but feel a mix of pride and fear at his son’s determination. As a father, he wanted to protect him at all costs, but as a veteran of the shamonak, he recognized the warrior's fire burning within Thamuz.

Aolani, on the other hand, stood up slowly. A shadow passed over her eyes, momentarily darkening her gaze. When she spoke, her voice held a tone that Thamuz had never heard before:

"Come with me, son. Let’s go to your room."

Tawnylon, recognizing the change in his wife, looked at Thamuz with a nervous smile.

"It’s better if you go with your mother," he advised, his voice betraying a mix of anticipation and concern.

With effort, Thamuz stood up, following his mother as they left Armesto and Tawnylon in the room. They climbed the stairs in silence, the only sound being the occasional creak of the wood under their feet.

Upon entering Thamuz's room, Aolani closed the door behind them. The room showed signs of neglect: a thin layer of dust covered the furniture, and the air had a stale smell.

"Lie down, son," Aolani instructed, pointing to the bed with a gesture that brooked no argument.

As Thamuz complied, he noticed something unusual in his mother’s behavior. Her movements, usually smooth and fluid, now seemed more precise, almost calculated. Her eyes gleamed with an intensity that Thamuz had only seen in the most seasoned warriors.

"Mother, what...?" he began to ask, but Aolani interrupted him with a gesture that instantly silenced him.

Thamuz moved towards the bed, each step accompanied by small grunts of pain, evidence that his wounds had not yet fully healed. He lay down carefully, watching his mother closely as she approached.

Aolani dragged a chair from behind a table in the room. She placed it next to Thamuz's bed and sat down, resting her arms on her knees. Her long hair fell like a curtain, partially obscuring her face.

"What are you going to do, mother?" Thamuz asked, the confusion evident in his voice.

Without answering, Aolani raised her hands. Suddenly, a phosphorescent blue light emanated from them, enveloping Thamuz's body in a soft glow.

Thamuz’s eyes widened in awe at the sight. He felt almost instant relief spread through his body, as if the pain was dissipating under the touch of that mysterious light.

"What is that light?" he asked again, his voice tinged with wonder.

Aolani, with a slight smile on her face, replied, "It’s an ancient skill of our family. It’s said to be the light of azhamat, capable of giving life, healing wounds, and curing ailments. Your grandmother taught me this skill when I was just a young girl."

"I have a grandmother?" Thamuz was surprised. "I only knew that my grandfather was a king."

Aolani sighed, her smile turning bittersweet. "Yes. Do you remember the woman who came with Zarakel, the one who hit several villagers on the head? Well, that’s your grandmother, Tyranta. She’s still the same as ever."

"What do you mean?" Thamuz asked, intrigued by his mother’s tone.

Aolani closed her palms, the blue glow gradually fading. Drops of sweat beaded on her forehead, and her breathing had become heavier. She lifted her head to look directly at Thamuz, her eyes reflecting a mix of exhaustion and old pain.

"Your grandmother, Tyranta, was really someone detestable even before she was with Zarakel," she began, her voice filled with repressed emotions. "She was cruel to the castle workers, beating and humiliating them without them being able to defend themselves. She was even unfaithful to my father, King Khumulak."

"Someone truly wicked," Thamuz added, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yes," Aolani nodded, her eyes reflecting old wounds. "But the good thing is that I haven’t seen her in a long time, not since I escaped with your father. The last I heard is that she married Zarakel."

Aolani reopened her hands, the blue light emanating from them like a soft glow. She passed her palms around Thamuz's body with an almost reverential gentleness, as if performing an ancient mystical ritual.

Thamuz watched his mother intently, noticing how the sweat began to bead on her forehead and her breathing became increasingly labored.

"What’s wrong, mother?" he asked, the concern evident in his voice.

Aolani closed her hands, the blue glow fading. She leaned back in the chair, visibly exhausted.

"Using this technique requires a lot of training," she explained between gasps. "Something I neglected when I escaped with your father. I’m very basic in using it, though at least I was able to heal some of your father’s wounds when he went hunting."

"I see," murmured Thamuz, thoughtful. "Do you think you could teach me this technique? It might be useful in the future."

Aolani shook her head, a sad smile on her lips.

"I can’t, son. It’s something that’s passed down from generation to generation to the royal women. It’s just something that appears in our lineage."

"That’s a shame," sighed Thamuz, turning in bed. "I would have liked to learn it."

"Well, I used all the strength I had left to relieve you," Aolani said, changing the subject. "Do you feel much better?"

"Much better," Thamuz confirmed. "Now I can move more easily."

"I’m glad to hear that," Aolani smiled, standing up with effort. "The fight will be in eight hours. I want you to rest for six hours to regain your strength."

Aolani headed for the door, but Thamuz's voice stopped her.

"Wait."

"What is it, son?" she asked, turning around.

"Could you give me a kiss on the forehead before you go?" Thamuz asked, his voice filled with a childlike tenderness that contrasted with his warrior appearance.

A warm smile lit up Aolani's face. She approached the bed and leaned over her son, planting a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Rest well, my little champion," she whispered with motherly love.

"Thank you, mother," Thamuz replied, his eyes already closing from exhaustion.