Two, three, five…

Five faces against the sea of people. Pushed upstream. Manners of roughness and discipline shaped their solemn visages.

One unique uniform.

One unique emblem.

Rokah stood high in the carriage, towering over the covered and the uncovered scalps, pursuing an overall dominance. Like rings of chain enclosing, he felt trapped in a solid web. His colorless hair, white skin, his odd-colored eyes rendered him nude, a recognizable target.

Without moving his head, side glances scanned Nayara's profile. The guilty halo falsified her indifferent mask. But The stubbornness bordered her look and won over.

A rough hand forced his head, strained his neck.

He learned this lesson twice. Panic, anger, will merely worsen his stand. Escape? Hard, and it will confirm whatever charges this woman forged to blame him for…

Shoved onto his knees, head down, hands immobilized. The dusty ground, the muddling shoes topped the extent of his vision.

Murmurs, gurgles, conquered the bottom of his ears and dispersed, lacking meaning. He barely separated proper words.

The Aramaic, the supposed official language in Babel, Rokah couldn't decipher the familiar somehow, the unfamiliar sounds.

A dialect…

A jarring force almost sundered his arm from his body. Consequently, his body slid with an overwhelming flow. Aching knees, sore muscles hindered the difficult advance. Aware of it, the guards didn't waste an ounce of pity. When he tripped, they dragged him mercilessly.

Strangely, this kind of treatment, Rokah felt it, akin to a previous ancient routine. He despised this sense of déjà vu. This taste of humiliation was bitter.

Far from the barbed touches of the spring sun and the delicate scent of a cool breeze. The underground cell lurked with the constitutional decadence and the oppression of withered souls. An occult chill outstripped the skin and goes upright to the flame of existence, freezing it.

As he pushed inside. His heels stuck in a mellow thing, between a fuzzy rot of death and tender fat of leaving.

Startled, the cell had its own inhabitants. Numerous. Faceless. Darkness devoured most of their features. Not questioning his recent ability to see through the obscurity, Rokah's eyes traveled the four corners, swiping each and every material into his consideration.

The comfortable spots in the back and front were all occupied. Resting his back to the rods, he dwelled in a long journey of meticulous calculations.

However, his brain was exhausted, his spirit drained dry.

He didn't come to Babel to be a rat.

He came to Babel because of his thirst, an unyielding impulse, seraphic calls to reunite with someone or something. His life and death, empty, pointless if he didn't fulfill those urges.

Breath after breath, a sigh after sigh. Nerves strained with dark thoughts, hopelessness. In this kind of forgotten place, time stops. Seconds became hours, hours turned into days. And the dark side people strive to control flares, vividly, like a dying star.

Rokah wasn’t an exception. Like every prisoner, he strived for a tiny excuse, a simple intimidating look, a near hiss.

In face of uncertainty and grave limitations, his earlier exerted self-control had diminished. The chains of his raging repression burned every spot for rationality.

He exploded, freeing the accumulated frustrations. Hate. Directed at himself, his surroundings, the world, and everything else.

Alarmed by the outbreak of rebellion, guards stormed like an ocean wave.

*** *** ***

Past the buzz of disorders to the routine of daily life. Babel basked in sunlight. Roads crowded, markets fraught. And every inch screamed alive. However, for some, life had cast away its adornments. Only left its gloomy face hanging amidst the shadows.

The recorded piano music played and replayed endlessly, like a waterfall.

The scent of Jasmine impregnated the dusted room. The dark solid curtains defeated the uninvited sunrays.

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Tiny red drops fell into a glass. Merged with pure water.

Nicolai quaffed the blend, hoping for clearance from this intolerable thirst.

In this whirlpool of forgetfulness, he played his thoughts along with the sad rhythm. Over and over. Seeking an escape from this ichor dependency.

Soon, the small bottle will be dried out. And then, like a dog, will chase after Francis everywhere the latter goes.

It drove him insane, butchered his heart apart, crushed his soul. How the situation had reversed.

The soothing rhythm stopped… Waking him up.

Startled by the materializing silhouette of wings, Nicolai faked attention to the crumpled paper in his hand: "You are a lost cause." He said to give his act a solid push.

Black lines are woven on faultless white paper. His dark pupil roamed the unrecognizable thin dark gibberish. "What is this?"

"The opal circlet," Shiva fixed the curtains to secure air of low lighting. "Since it's hard to find something you didn't see before, I figured an illustration will help…"

"Oh..." A sarcastic breath, "Please my Lord, you are better-using words."

"Did you make any progress?" A set-up presumed question was thrown out by Shiva, its hidden meaning partially escaped Nicolai wit.

To demonstrate to this demon that he was not yet blind, he needed to show off.

The headache knocked on his temple as he prepared to honor the accord between him and Savannah. Weakness pulled at his eyes. Iris split in two. Sclera veins bulged from the effort.

Behind a bravado facade, he locked the pain and exertion, rebutted to entertain Shiva more than he already did.

If he succeeded in spotting the jewelry whereabouts, Savannah will leave Rokah to him. At least for a certain time or so, this was their agreement.

The other man kept his gaze glued to Nicolai's direction. Anticipating, observing. The low light obscured the delicate details of his profile. And served as a hideout.

Carefully, Shiva strode closer, confident, hungry. A predatory atmosphere throttled the room.

Nicolai jerked his head left. "Did you know?" his eyebrows lowered, signaling a great deal of concentration: "Your brother-in-law is here."

The statement melted Lord Shiva's enthusiasm, freezing him: "Really…"

A split-pupil marginally glared at the horned man. Two irises swam in the white reddened sclera, hovering.

"Where?" An edgy inquiry eloped under Shiva's lips as he retreated.

"In Etemenanki, the ziggurat of Marduk."

Astounded, Nicolai closed his eyes, pulled his head in the opposite direction.

"What?" the winged man asked.

"He sensed me, watching."

"Who?" Shiva swallowed: "My brother-in-law?"

"No..." Eyes still shut, Nicolai moved towards the sofa, discarding the jolt he just felt into its comfy garments.

"Who?" Shiva insisted.

"Marduk," Nicolai confessed, reluctantly.

Fingers pressed lightly on his eyes. Teeth grinding behind his lips. Nicolai damned his recklessness, the insecurity that pumped by his wavering heart. Just now, the new degraded extent of his clairvoyance has been successfully tested.

What an embarrassment, a pity, falling for an obvious, childish trick as a provocation.

He couldn't open his eyes to witness the horned man's reaction, not only from soreness but also from disgrace.

Bathed in the dim light, dark thick scales surfaced on the back of Shiva's neck, under the folds of the unrestrained hair. His expressions inundated with uncertain contradiction, the most prominent, sluggishness. Disappointed, he lodged the words of displeasure under his tongue:

Ah, he figured it out quickly, a shame; I was hoping for another breakdown.

"Then, shouldn't you start telling me what this precious jewelry of yours looks like?" Nicolai's cynical comment brought Shiva from the pit of his anticlimax.

The horned man was quick to recuperate. He shamelessly threw his body next to Nicolai, spun his neck to eye the seer. The right corner of his mouth lifted." Honestly Nicolai, tell me why you want to help us. I mean, why do you want to help Savannah?"

The Seer kept his eyelids shut. No answer, no reaction... Nothing at all.

A sigh escaped Shiva's mouth, his smirk melted under the cold treatment. Despite that, he wasn't discouraged:" If you tell me, I may give you plus benefit."

"I believe she had already told you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah… You may be able to persuade Savannah with shallow explanations, but not me."

Three distinct round irises in one eye arranged like heads of triangle focused on Lord Shiva's visage, "I understand now," the other eye stayed shut, "I understand why you don't want me to inquire about this jewelry. It must have quite a value."

Shiva pulled his face away at the sight of the trigon. He stood up, avoiding further direct eye contact, the tone of his voice changed: "Huh, you are overestimating my possession, dear Hendrickson." Shiva ached to read Nicolai's face but feared all of his secrets being spilled out if he took even a quick glance.

Oh, god, this is dangerous. He exceeded Nicolai's threshold with his provocation. He should have worn a few more layers of protection.

It was just one ounce of dare.

If Shiva looked behind him at that moment, he would have perceived the tears of blood drawing a crimson line. A face succumbed miserably to the lord of pain. Consciousness at the edge of the blackout. However, Shiva's secrets were more relevant than any challenge.

"Are we going to waste more time?"

Gilding his tone of sarcasm. The strain that pulled on Nicolai's nerves began to dissipate.

The opportunity for a quick brisk surfaced as Lord Shiva proceeded in lengthy prose, describing the opal circlet.

"An oval stone, the shape of a complete moon..." Fearing the outcome of a direct confrontation, Shiva didn't turn his back until he left.

The room oppressed air breathed resolution. The rhythmic tune of tranquillity came back under the blessing of soothing music.

Nicolai's shut-in eyes challenged the darkness. Yet the drowsiness of dispersing and languor took him. Fighting this temptation, he drowned in parallel lengthy speculations.

An opal gemstone.

Of extreme importance to Lord Shiva and Savannah.

He can imagine the cliché scenario. However, he wondered, was it the same gemstone that belonged to the colubrine black dragon of Mt. Ninurta that Shiva joined the operation solely to get his hands on it?

Recalling the glaring, the discontent, the lion eyes of Marduk fulminated annoyance. His invaded privacy. He didn't savor its rotten aroma.

This unwelcomed encounter, exactly what Mr. Hendrickson needed to muddle his situation further. He must change his current location now.