Mien: rAjadarzana

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Numbing his skin with its wintry touch, a hand caressed his face, providing him with the final act of comfort that he would be receiving in this lifetime. With furrowed eyebrows conveying his curiosity that was laced with agony, the man lowered his head to glance at who was standing in front of him.

Even though his vision was still blinded by the luminescence that encompassed his surroundings, the man immediately figured out the identity of the person, whose cold hand was his sole source of warmth at that very moment. Seemingly fragile, the rosy hue that shaded the hand down to the wristbone was the only colour that strayed from the white and black concept of his environment.

The ragged outlines of the bodies of people moving around, buildings slowly disintegrating, and the elements of nature abiding for their end, all of them were being swallowed by a glowing magic circle that was drawn on the sky. Against the pure white background of the scenery, all creatures and things appeared as if they were a toddler's attempt at scribbling an image of their hometown.

"Please live."

The voice that reverberated through his head was soft but insistent, urging him to accede. His breath hitched as the part of his countenance, in contact with the hand, ached with tension. Her command was like a pebble lodged in his throat, incessantly impaling his conscience that was no longer of this world. There was an expression of undeniable repentance on his visage to accompany his trembling gaze.

"Do you hate me?"

Upon hearing the query, the man opened his mouth to articulate a reply. In that instant, there was nothing that would defeat the hollowness of his utterance. Again, he strove to let out a sound, yet it remained to be for naught. He started to panic knowing that time was of the essence. However, what made him petrified of trepidation was the smile that made its way to the person's countenance -- A mere black line, still enough to show anguish.

"I see. You do loathe me. After all, everything was my fault."

Remarking the nonchalance in the tone, the man yearned to break what was hampering him from speaking. He could not bear to allow the person confronting him to form assumptions that benefited their self-contempt. He wanted to make the individual pay by forcing them to kneel afore the people who they forced to suffer, by inflicting the same pain that they bestowed upon the people.

Be that as it may, the ideas remained in the vault of his head. In actuality, he couldn't even groan as to a reply, what more to push the person away from him?

"I must go now. Although you are not aware of it, this has been the fourth time that I've bid my farewells to you."

'Fourth? What is she talking about? I have to ask her. Speak, come on, let me speak.' The man became profuse in compelling himself to say a word, bordering the extent of sanity.

"Wh-what?" Finally, he was able to pronounce something. But before he could rejoice, the discordant and successive ringing of several bells pierced his ear, giving him the sensation that his head was repeatedly knocking on a metallic surface. Vulnerability took over his system, shutting his eyes shortly by virtue of the excruciating ache that assaulted him.

Hemmed by the endless darkness, the man let his eyes roam around. To his dismay, the space he was in measured up to a room that was painted with shadows. He couldn't feel the ground he was standing on, much more look far ahead.

All of a sudden, the events that transpired prior to the darkness' emergence flooded his mind -- the magic array, the fading city, and the voice of a woman. Once he scoured through his memories, hatred filled his heart, feeding it with the nourishment that it didn't need.

'This should not have happened. I have to hunt down th-'

---

Coaxing him to wake up was his body lurching followed with a slight shudder. With that, he surrendered his time of leisure. As he gradually opened his eyes, he pondered over the occurrence.

'It's always that dream, though it was in a different place this time. I can't seem to remember what that woman said nor her face. Well, unless it's a threat to me, I will dismiss this as an uncanny psychological phenomenon.'

The moment that his eyes fully adjusted to his new surroundings, he was welcomed with the sight of a man, rather pot-bellied, who was prostrated on the floor. At half-past the 5th Noma, a happening that wouldn't have any particular importance in history was the current attraction within the audience room of the Seraphiel Empire's monarch.

'He still hasn't spoken. This is a waste of valuable time.' The Emperor declared his ire only to himself, talking to the nagging insistence from deep within his desires to end the meeting.

Truth be told, Merlon Istani, the lowly Baron who was kneeling before the steps of the throne, had been waiting for the Emperor to give him a sort of permission to speak. If not for the impatience that was creeping up his back, he wouldn't have gathered the courage to announce his intentions.

Thus and so, bearing the absence of sensitivity to his leg muscles, the Baron talked willingly out of turn, "Your Majesty, I request of you to dispatch reinforcements to my fief! The barbarians have established a command centre, and are slowly building up their forces. I am afraid that my fief will be taken over if I do not bring up this issue as soon as possible."

Heeding to the etiquette of the royals, he bowed his head thereafter raising his request. He awaited for the Emperor's acknowledgement while embracing a silence that was overwrought, reaching the extent of nearly snapping its threads.

Scrutinizing the Baron more closely, every inch of his being was quivering, most noticeable on his lips and gritted teeth. As improbable as it may seem, the instant that he departed his fief, the Baron began to shook in fear by the mere thought of his gathering with the Emperor.

The noble wasn't the sort of person to make obeisance to anyone, considering that he ruled the north-westernmost edge of the Seraphiel Empire without the interference of other higher-ranking aristocrats. As a consequence of being a recluse, the Baron came to know the Emperor's propensities through the hearsays of the Istani Fief's citizens. Using his demeanour afore the monarch as a basis, the rumours ought to have been unsavoury.

During the uneventful respite, the urgency in the Baron's heart grew larger.

'This was an utter failure? Did he even recognize my request? Hah! I was right! A young man like him isn't fit for the throne. He should be advised that the empire is not his playground.' Simultaneous to reasoning out the Emperor's quietude, the Baron strained to hear the most silent of resonations lest missing a single breath from the Emperor.

Unable to contain the urge of heightening the gravity of his concern, something inside the Baron flew off his control. His stomach turned out to be sour with nausea. Overanalyzing the issue led him to slip through the dreariness of his emotions. The fear that he felt initially mixed in with the air, soon vanishing from anyone's view, and was replaced by displeasure.

Granted that it was his first time in the audience room, validating his ignorance of the rules, his act to meet the Emperor's gaze was a move that he shouldn't have done no matter when or where. He should've assayed to gather immunity to such lengthy repose of his monarch.

The second that he lifted his head to give the visage of the Emperor a glimpse, drops of sweat dribbled on his forehead despite the truancy of torridness within the room. His fear promptly came back, creating a prison that smothered his whole being, and took his liberty to be in command of his own body -- Even diverting his stare proved to be the as taxing as battling a titan with his bare hands.

Nevertheless, no matter how difficult it was, the Baron muster all of the strength that he could to give an apology that was due.

"I... I-i di-did not mea-m-mean t-to-to come-om at-t-at t-th-th-this-his t-time --kuk" Exactly when he swallowed the pool of saliva that was blocking his throat, the Baron mistakenly choked on it and that started his coughing fit.

Tears began to race down his cheeks, momentarily joined by streams of mucus that came running out of his nose. It was nothing short of unsightly for a noble, but he didn't have the choice to cease on his own.

In the meanwhile, the Emperor didn't bat an eye at the familiar sight that was playing on the previously spotless wine-red carpet. To accommodate his enthusiasm to conclude the discourse, he decided to address the Baron's torment.

"You were so adamant in defending your territory yourself, Baron Merlon Istani. How did you acquire the audacity to ask for an audience with me belatedly in the ordeal?"