"My Lord, what do you think of this painting?" Nicolai attempted to ease his benefactor's mood. At the same time, he desired an opinion. Half of his face sunk in the vicinity of his right palm, closely exploring the angry brush strokes and savoring the hidden meaning that slept between those lines.

Taken by surprise, Shiva's absent-minded eyes and busy mouth, kissing the edges of the coffee cup, alerted.

Was this a miracle? Or he was dreaming. Unfortunately, the canvas board was placed backward to his sightline.

Not discouraged by the inconvenience, he traded the luxury of his seat and settled next to Hendrickson.

Shiva didn't consider himself an expert when it related to painting. However, and without exaggeration, he enjoyed indulging his eyes in observing a good piece of art, especially those that depicted natural scenes.

This painting was the ideal opposite of his inclinations, gloomy, abstract, and, on the top, disastrously unfinished.

With the corner of his eyes, he skimmed a glance at the dazed Nicolai, not sure if he should play with the man's ego and praise this piece or be honest with himself and scorn it.

Lost between this and that, his unfocused vision stumbled on tiny written words. Shiva's pupils contracted to discern their meaning.

A poem… Rather a verse from a poem.

Brought up in a family versed in literature and poetry, Shiva cultivated a refined taste in both of them. He murmured after reading the verse: "Nice, I know this poem…"

"Hmm." Nicolai received the word as an ambiguous answer to his earlier inquiry. Did the Lord compare the scene in the drawing to a depiction of a poem?

Quite rare, in light of Lord Shiva's vast expertise in the field.

He got it all wrong.

Shiva irked that approval look on Hendrickson's face. It cut to his hesitation to scorn the man's ego, at least indirectly: "I meant the verse of the poem."

"Poem?"

Finger-pointing at the small white gibberish drawn on the headstone in the painting, Lord Shiva contemplated Savannah's tip-off. She didn't exaggerate when she informed him that the man, the renowned Seer, was going blind: "Here, on the headstone, in tiny lines,"

Ashamed of being obvious about his fascination, Nicolai hinted approving:

" Right, there is tiny writing. I didn't see it."

A clear confession… from Nicolai about his novel visually impaired condition.

Truthfully, this confession wasn't free. It was because he was unable to read the word; It was his way of discretely asking his companion to recite it and elaborate.

Heart flattered by pity, Shiva picked up on the discreet hint. For a thriving instant, he thought he was immature, childish, more than it should be. In a clear voice, he declaimed,

"The city is on its fortieth birthday."

Then, where is its dim color? What is this fragrant flower?

Vanquished. Here, under, lay its legacy.

A goodbye greeting to a leader. One day he was among conquerors."

Shiva added when he didn't receive an opinion: "You should know this blank verse. It's from a famous epic that immortalized the chronicle of the Colossus. You know my family roots… "

He paused when the feelings of being ignored transcended the surrounding air since he didn't receive an agreement or disagreement about his narrative. The process of affirming his feelings made his heart shudder.

Two straight brooks embarrassed Nicolai's expressionless visage. Gushed silent and calm. His eyelids were paralyzed to shut, in fear of turning those shallow brooks into a stream.

For several seconds, he didn't shift his eyes from the incomplete painting. As if he was unaware of this emotional burst.

At last, two fingers pressed slightly into his eyes. "Sorry…" The voice was hoarse, tattered, reflecting what was already apparent. "I couldn't surpass it."

Shiva, a sentimental being as he liked to describe his existence, baffled, thrilled, delighted. This vivid range of mixed sensations, only Savannah in rage, was capable of stirring them.

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Compared, Hendrickson was a flavorless blend in his tight control. Whereas the broken Nicolai, at this exact moment, rendered the almighty Lord Shiva awfully satiated.

Faking nonchalance while drifting his body to the comfortable couch, head high and eyes glancing in secret, uneasy. Shiva needed to say something, anything, whatever thing….

"You should cry more."

"...."

"It's good for your health."

Ready to accept some kind of scolding, maybe a little reprimand for his evident fulfilled delight... The waiting extended...

Shiva startled at the man beside him, silently sobbing fervently as if mourning his death.

***

Rokah's companion was no less calm. Riding the slow horse carriage to Babel, sniveling, and moans echoed over the environmental solitude. It collided with the sounds of horses' hooves hitting the solid unpaved ground and won over.

Acting on his amassed irritation, Rokah demanded with a placid face; his focus never left the road. "Shut up or I will leave you here."

The gorgeous woman stole a glance between her wrapped arms. Eyes all red and swollen. A stream of tears made the transparent scales on her face glow.

Endorsing his indifferent profile, the woman raised her head, all blame. "Yes, you should have left me to die there."

The carriage's irregular motion paused, abruptly.

The young, mysterious man next to her gestured with his head: Get down.

Naya's tired wit didn't absorb the meaning, but when she did, she exclaimed: "What? You want to leave a gorgeous woman alone, in the middle of nowhere?"

Glares escaped Rokah's odd-colored eyes: "Then, stop wailing." Since he didn't fathom the reason for her cries. That other horned man didn't do a thing to her. Expect nullifying spells and freeing that poor Simia family from her grasp.

The carriage started moving and the standing-up woman almost fell off. "You barbaric thing…"

After she settled down, Rokah finally looked at her. "What?" she snapped at him. "Focus on the road."

What an unpleasant woman, she must grow rotten throughout spoiling.

"Who is the man you met earlier?" Rokah, getting to the point.

"An uncivilized man like you."

"Then, must be a demon-like you." His cynical tone flounced Nayara in anger.

It was an expected reaction, a purposeful aim on his part. The first time Rokah called her a demon, she danced in flames. Perhaps he will secure better information if she is in disarray.

"Don't call me that. I am not a demon nor a devil. We are sentimental beings, we get moved by other chaotic emotions, we thrive on fulfilling their yearnings, desires, and dreams."

"Oh…" Not impressed, Rokah proceeded to his next inquiry.

"Who is Savannah?"

No answer…

"You said you have sensed my presence for hours. How come that man didn't?"

Again, no answer…

The silence festered with tangible animosity, fermented the mutual vigilance to a suffocating ambiance. Naya didn't support the crushing weight and succumbed first. She strived to shatter it.

" Maybe because you are an empty shell. No desires, no wishes, no dreams gushed from you. A hollow container you are..."

"Nonsense!"

The suffocating ambiance breezed through this interruption. Rokah didn't acknowledge its re-emergence, he added to seal his partiality: "I do have a desire, a pressing one…"

"To get to Babel, to find someone or something you didn't even know?" Naya unimpressed. "This is not a desire… It's more like being controlled, induced."

The horse carriage halted abruptly for the second time. Naya exclaimed the sudden pause as her body swung forward, almost falling off: "Hey…"

The cold young man she was looking at, at this moment, was detached from reality, floating below the existence and above nothingness. There was a trace of undetectable loss emanating from his soulless void.

Naya swallowed; Oh… Isn't this unruffled Savannah kind of flavor? Far, thin, and completely addictive.

***

The other carriage mounted by the Simia family arrived at the Crocotta’s cliff and stopped in a village that hosted only a special variety of Chimeras.

The residents greeted them with open arms, served them food, hosted them.

The Simia male delivered Lord Shiva's letter to the main house. He found himself appointed as Butler to the big house, serving women who looked like divinities messengers.

Contented by his new position, his new home, his new village, he strived to honor the contract between him and his savior, Lord Shiva.

An unpleasant smile forced itself on Surveen's thin lips.

"You can start work tomorrow." Out of all the sort of Chimeras she had encountered, she despised, especially Simias." After you have settled down, you can bring your family in the next few days."

The Simia male in front of her was oblivious, clumsy, to the desirable manners of high society. Soon, he will get accustomed to the various needs of predators.

The main house of the village drastically changed, not in its architectural forms, but rather in its atmosphere.

Who knows that the change of seasons, or maybe ownership, or maybe both, will cause a radical transformation?

For Surveen, the house is now much livelier, vivid, and brighter compared to when she arrived.

Every single window was wide naked, its transparent glass allowed the cheerful spring sunlight to embrace the dreariness of the gloomy corridors. Sometimes servants let the air invade a couple of hours after the sunrise.

In short, this place can be a paradise, if handled right.

With a short quick tap on the door, she announced her presence, and, more accurately, she demanded permission to enter.

Esere Akila crouched beside the bed, reading in some notebook she was holding for days.

Their eyes collided, allowing Surveen the opportunity to ask for an update: "How is Kanari?"

"Her breathing is stable, but she didn't wake up." Akila's hand caressed her daughter's forehead. "Everything is done?"

"Yes." Surveen's tone indicated that she didn't finish her inquiry. While Akila waited for her to summon the courage and ask.

"What happened to Kanari? Could it be the battleship's special fuel?"

The Kilioz has long since departed.

Akila pushed the notebook to the bed table, adjusted Kanari covers before she ruminated.

"To be honest, it is a family matter, nothing is connected to an outside attack." Her vision hovered around Surveen, falling on each detail except Surveen's face. The latter grew quite curious.

"Those troublemakers of mine teamed up yet again to increase my workload."

"I may, can help."

Naturally, Akila wasn't going to spill the container of her personal trouble if she didn't expect Surveen to offer her help. But wanting favor in handling her children's hurdles skewed away from her craved objective. Something like a pretense, or a better fit, like making a scapegoat.

What she desired was something else, thus she continued divulging the much-real state of affairs, gaining both sympathy and paving a Silk Road for her true intentions:

"She is suffering the consequences of practicing a banned technique."