A few days ago…

Out of the turbulence of the unknown, a fake calm, like a serene water surface adorned Rokah's face.

He advanced, the luxury mesmerized the heart of his artistic fondness. Overwhelmed by affluent glitter, he flowed aloft by the coaxing force.

Heads lowered, a row of attendants groveled behind them. Their chief, in front of him, led the way. He commented with a flawless command of the Aramaic script,

"The young master has recuperated so much since he started following your prescription."

An invisible throb made the locks of white hair fluctuate up and down. Faintly, casting a trace of a shadow on his forehead.

Rokah's never respected his right to silence,... As he did now.

Door after a door, twist after twist, the old man halted at the entrance of a magnificent chamber.

Rokah's gaze bounced over the opening, out of curiosity, spying on the presence that hibernated inside.

A Sidelong glance watched the old man. Expecting some kind of signal. Or explanation. A noiseless nodding cue answered his brief wait. He strolled inside in response.

Meeting the widened eyes, he felt the need to perform certain courtesy moves.

Evident who was the master here. Amongst the several women who encircled the big bed, the one who possessed enough prestige, sat, persuading a young kid into drinking a bowl of soup.

Rokah straightened his back after a short bow. Vigilant, he studied the figures, gauging and mincing the details collected by his sensors.

The well-dressed woman stood, handing the bowl to one of the maids. She smiled at him with infinite grace. Many signals she gave clasped various interpretations.

His heart tensed, and a slight pain ticked in his chest. For he was never the kind to pursue a wedlock woman. Nevertheless one of a kind of such prestige and powers. It ruled a recipe for disaster, for instant death. And he understood his place very well.

Reverent, he bore the attitude of the oblivious. Painting the young kid on the bed with keen interest, the measurement of an experienced professional. Is this the young master he presumably had saved his life?

No hints in the dusty drawers of his memory reflected this grand accomplishment. Or even getting the acquaintance of such a high, rich family.

Nevertheless, he should act the role to the demand of normalcy scope, no matter what…

"I was afraid,..." She said a forged melodic sadness sipped through her words: "Since you were traveling around, and his health wasn't that good." Ah, he could see the reptile's cold tears, "Even when his health was stable those months, my heart never rested."

Inspecting the pale skin, a general deduction fixed in his mind, the young kid appeared far from being obedient and complied with every demand of his whoever was his doctor.

The weakness withered his tiny body, stole the flowering of his youth. Rendered him stony to the maintenance of strangers. More profound examination and the picture drew itself. Clear and ugly.

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Headache thundered Rokah's scalp, splitting it. Searching for meanings, motives…

The signs of chronic poisoning prostrated openly before his skillful scrutiny. Exercising the right to silence, he kept an air of apathy.

With an arranging focus, cleaning the disorder of his thoughts. He woke up to the realization; This woman certainly was younger than to be the kid's mother.

Oh god…

Was he implicated in some kind of conspiracy to kill this little kid?

No matter how bad he viewed himself, it never crossed him, being bad to this extent…

Chewing, over and over, the available choices, his decision swung between. Tell or not to tell…

"Then, doctor, what do you think after seeing my heir?" Babel Viceroy, his greatness, Lord Irshusin II demanded.

Pressed under the transient moment, Rokah molded the reply, as fast as he could, as ambiguous as the situation demanded: "The symptoms of poisoning were mild, but existing."

He could never dare to practice the art of medicine if such a thing happened.

"I see," The Lord locked hands behind his back, "It's good that I have followed your instructions."

A certain doctor stood back, considering the gist, eyes nearly popped out…

"Why do you keep such a woman?" Regretting the question. He received an ample check for his sanity, his highness delivered; "Political maneuvering." The answer was short and simple.

Invoking his right of silence. The little chat came to an end: "We can always communicate through the stone moon house." Were his highness final words?

***

Into the haziness of a fragmented dream plunged Rokah. Uncertain, confused.

Before the daybreak, the carriage left him in the middle of a road. A discarded chess piece that summed his feelings at the moment. However, for his highness, it was a strict measure for their mutual cooperation.

Godforsaken, the meaning of his deep words. Rokah wondered, What just had occurred?

Alone in the darkness, in a strange yet familiar place… The world seemed endless, wireless.

Where should he go?

The flying laughter behind the closed doors tickled his ears. The ashen illumination that escaped the tiny cracks accompanied him. As he passed through a myriad of tall walls, a cracking sensation of loss gnawed at his bones.

Alone in the narrow pathway, he dived, lacking a destination. Succumbing to the calls of his vocation, he moved forward.

Somehow, a string of nostalgia wrapped around his hollow heart.

How much he missed Madam Linda's cooking, the naïve smiles of her daughter. The faint light of handmade lanterns. the warmth that kissed the tired faces of the diligent woodcutters. The words of respect and appreciation.

How painful, the echoes of departure and goodbye.

Then the shadow of Mr. Hendrickson showed, silenced, dispersed all those warm moments of sentimentality. The pointless bloodshed never stopped in that tiny village. The damn fibster did one truth ever flee his smug mouth.

Was it really the Chimera Magus who caused all the massacres of innocent people? He can't believe anything anymore...

Why was he remembering all of this now?

Regrets...

Why did he feel that he will never find the answers?

It was a cold spring night; the breeze sang the symphony of farewell. Aimless, Rokah walked sluggishly. The gloomy road prolonged farther and farther….

Akin to a feral ghost, Soundless, a particular black cat moved in his trail, its glowing eyes reflected the presence of a black star. Invisible in the darkness.

Like an illusion, he could hear Madam Linda's voice… He could see her face distorted, merged together with the image of his grandmother. Despite that, the two of them are dead.

"Because you are going to be a doctor…"

"Thank you, doctor…"

"You should take care of yourself more…"

"Don't worry, I will prepare this…"

Somehow he was unable to feel his legs, yet he pushed forward….

Somehow, he could not see what was in front of him, but he advanced, nevertheless.

Somehow, everything went blank. All of his senses clicked off. He didn't know anymore. Was he alive or dead?

Then everything submitted to the solitude of nothingness…

"Where do you think he was going?" The black cat moaned.

Only a faint yellow glim was apparent. "I don't know." Between her lips stuck a silent whistle.

Those words left her throat at the same time the whistle dangled from her fingers. In a gesture of decency, Savannah took off her shawl and covered the senseless body. "Maybe to the whereabouts of the Opal stone." Wasn't Savannah and Kanari's ultimate purpose in creating this doll?

The cat moaned, climbing atop the dead body. Making sure of his departure.