The sun had just broken across the horizon and it only took the slews of Akra’s servants less than half a candle-hour to barge into his room. They stood in two opposite straight lines within his outer chamber, heads bowed and mouths silent. Walan stood in the unoccupied space between them, back slightly bowed and eyes lowered. The youth glanced at the exquisite redwood trays those servants held in their hands. Each tray displayed either a piece of Akra’s chosen clothing set for him, a piece of jewelry or a hair accessory of some kind.

This scene was so eerily familiar that Yuer could tell what Walan was about to open his mouth to say. Like a dream on repeat, the Ayaseen head servant greeted, “Good morning, esteemed young master. We are instructed by esteemed Dasiri to get you ready for the harem Selection. May we please step into your inner chamber to dress you?”

Silence met Walan’s request. It stretched for some time until Yuer broke it with an impassive voice that betrayed none of his true feelings, “You can bring the trays inside. However, only my personal servant is allowed into my inner chamber. She will dress me.”

Walan looked like he might have wanted to protest but he apparently thought better of it for he voiced nothing. Instead, he beckoned the army of servants on either of his sides into the inner chamber with a swift flick of his long sleeve. The twenty servants shuffled into the room one after another like highly efficient ants; never brushing shoulders, never jolting each other. Eventually, they came out, empty-handed this time, and resumed their previous positions behind Walan.

Walan bowed to Yuer and announced, “We will wait for esteemed young master at the entrance of the courtyard.”

He then retreated backward, the rest of the servants following in his wake. Soon enough, Yuer’s outer chamber was quiet once again.

“Esteemed young master.” called Sakina from the inner chamber.

Yuer turned around and walked into his personal room. He found Sakina standing in the middle of it, surrounded by trays of expensive crimson brocade and gem-crusted accessories. Her dark brown gaze was especially deep as she stared at those items. She said in a low, almost hushed voice, “The red is too vulgar and conspicuous. It does not suit my esteemed young master.”

Whenever Sakina spoke in such a tone, Yuer would know she was fighting to contain something within herself, in this case, her anger toward Akra and the latter’s petty attempts at publicly humiliating him.

Sakina continued, “She wishes for esteemed young master to appear cheap and tasteless. She brought a tassel crown when she should know only officially bonded Reznali consorts can wear them. Your esteemed self has yet to bond any Reznal and she is already making esteemed young master look like some shameless status seeker, panting after the Rezas’s sons.”

Yuer walked toward one of the trays. He brushed his slim fingers against the embroidered, glaringly red silk. Such vivid color was usually reserved for pleasure workers who looked to seduce their patrons in hope of being brought in as concubines. It had an obscene connotation in the capital. Back then, he had no idea and wore it so readily, so happily. He thought himself lucky to have such a caring consort mother who was willing to spend a fortune on his selection’s clothing. Little did he know the extent of Akra’s games. Because of these very robes and this very tassel crown, he remained a laughingstock of the Dasrari and the Reznali for quite some time.

It looked nothing has truly changed. What else did I expect from her?

Yuer sighed and turned to Sakina, “Let’s put it on.”

Sakina frowned, visibly conflicted. Yuer smiled at her and patted her on the shoulder. He leaned over and whispered to her ear, “Don’t worry. If there is someone to be humiliated today, it won’t be me.”

Sakina looked at him for a moment, curiosity and concern warred in equal measures within her gaze. Yuer reassured her with a confident and especially sharp smirk, “There will come a day when she will pay for this. Don’t fret, my friend.”

He brushed his hand against Sakina’s cheek in an affectionate caress. His sweet gesture contrasted keenly with the vicious expression on his face.

Eventually the girl nodded and Yuer smiled, dropping his hand from her face. He slipped behind the dressing screen and called out to Sakina, “Let us not waste another moment, Sakina. It’s about time this show starts.”

Sakina smiled a little crooked smile and eagerly heeded her young master.

Another half-candle hour or so, Yuer walked out of his outer chamber, accompanied by Sakina. He took small, steady steps to the courtyard where he was met by Walan, his team of servants and a waiting Akra.

He gave a slight bow in her direction; the four long silk tassels clinging to his gold headpiece followed the wake of his movement. He then straightened his back and effortlessly plastered a bright smile upon his faintly red lips, “Greeting consort mother.”

Akra’s deep gaze swept over his slender figure, appearing to take him in from the top of his polished tassel crown, to his elaborate updo, to his gold sash and lastly, to his hidden flats tacked underneath a wealth of flowing, gold-trimmed red silk. After satisfying herself with scrutinizing every inch of him, Akra acknowledged his greeting. Her rouged lips slightly twitched as she smiled at him, likely holding in the urge to openly cackle at him.

Yuer pretended he was none the wiser and played up the cluelessly happy act, “Shall we leave, consort mother?”

Akra contradicted in a casual voice, “No, not yet. I need to see you practice the Red Dawn one last time before we leave.”

Yuer smiled, indulging Akra. He walked to the middle of his courtyard and commenced his dance. He twirled, swayed and span, sometimes at the right points and sometimes slightly off. He made sure to keep his movements marginally stiff in some places, giving Akra the illusion of his ‘ineptitude’.

Once he was done, he was met with the collective sound of Akra’s and her servants’ forced claps, none of them bothered to correct any of his obvious mistakes. Yuer could see Sakina practically seething from the corner of his eye.

He bowed to Akra, face slightly flushed, “Many thanks to consort mother.”

She smiled, patting him on the shoulder. Akra rarely if ever touched him. Yuer figured she must be so pleased with herself that she momentarily shed her closely guarded sense of propriety. She then turned, giving Yuer her back and said, “The carriages are waiting for us outside. Your sire will meet us at the palace. Let us go.”

Yuer followed behind her. Once he was sure she couldn’t see him, he turned around and gave Sakina a meaningful look. The girl caught his gaze and grimly nodded. She then disappeared back into the residence.

There were two carriages at the residence’s entrance gate, both bearing the crest of the Ayaseen clan and its blue banners. Yuer and Akra were supposed to ride separate carriages as per tradition. Yuer used the stool the coach driver provided him and settled into his seat, waiting for Akra’s carriage to take off first.

When the youth’s carriage was about to set off, Sakina returned accompanied by a grumpy-looking Hasha. Sakina struggled to hop on the carriage with the weight of the darkwood chest in her arms. Hasha gently shoved her aside, taking the weight off of the younger girl’s hands. The redhead placed the chest between the two opposite seats and settled into her own. Sakina sat next her. The Mesrin laid her head against the girl’s shoulders unceremoniously and closed her eyelids, resuming her morning sleep.

Yuer asked Sakina, “The boy?”

“He is asleep in my quarters. I woke him up earlier and told him you had somewhere to go today and can’t bring him along. I gave him the writing assignments you arranged for him. He looked a bit sad but he didn’t voice any objections. He seemed interested in the homework.”

Yuer genuinely smiled, recalling big innocent black eyes. “That’s good. He will work on them until I get back to take him.”

Sakina nodded, saying nothing. She probably wanted to ask why Yuer cared so much for the little boy but thought better of it.

Shortly after their brief exchange, the carriage started to rock, signaling the beginning of their ride to the Reznali Palace.

It didn’t take long for the carriages to travel from the Dasrari District to the Palace. The distance was rather short and usually the Dasrari would walk on foot if they wished to reach the Palace. Today however, was all about prestige, face and rank. From his carriage’s window, Yuer could glimpse other carriages in front of Palace’s gates. They all bore different clan crests and banners. The youth recognized some of them; those of the great four clans were rather hard to miss. Their crests were more elaborate, their carriages bigger and fancier.

It was only natural that the four most prominent clans after the Reznali would be invested in this harem Selection. Selections for concubines mattered little. Selection for official consorts however was of the utmost importance to these ancient and old-blood families. More so because those selections only happened once. Unless a consort passed away young, by the Law of the First a Reznal couldn’t take another as his official bonded. Hence so, bonding alliances with the ruling clan was how the four great clans maintained their influence and power. It also gave them an entryway into court politics.

Yuer recalled that in his past life there were six other candidates for the consort positions aside from him. Four of them belonged to each respective great clan. Most of the Reznals were still young and none of them had an official consort yet. In fact, only Mayir and Jarak had established harems with over three concubines, Jarak being the only one with a son. Sinrad didn’t appear to care enough to bring his famed many lovers into his residence and Ivak seemed to have no desire for either lovers or harems.

If Yuer’s memory didn’t fail him, Ivak had been the only Reznal who didn’t choose a bonded in this Selection, meaning he didn’t select any of the candidates. Back then, Yuer felt sorry for him, thinking that Ivak must have felt humiliated due to his inability to choose. Even the naive and tender him of gone days knew of the tactful agreement between the Dasrari clans to not allow their sons and daughters to be bonded to the black sheep of the Reznali clan. The shame alone for being so bluntly unsought would have probably made the Kersasi young man want to bury his head in the ground. However, much to Yuer’s surprise back then, Ivak didn’t appear to be affected by it in the least. In fact, he seemed utterly disinterested and desensitized by the whole fanfare. Now that Yuer’s eyes were open to the many truths of this world, he more than empathized with the Second Reznal’s nonchalance.

Yuer’s thoughts didn’t get to stray for much longer before the driver parted the carriage’s curtain and offered a hand to the heavily-dressed youth. Yuer didn’t take it and instead, descended down the carriage’s stool on his own. Once his feet touched the ground, he could already hear the murmuring and the whispering around him. Yuer could clearly tell what the surrounding Dasrari were gasping about: it might have been the vivid vulgar red of his robes, or it might have been his audacious tassel crown or perhaps his gaudy and tasteless jewelry. Yuer didn’t care enough to guess so they might as well choose their pick.

The youth breezed by the crowd, striding into the outer Palace’s courtyard. Sakina and Hasha flanked him on each side. The further away he walked, the louder the cackling of the Dasrari folk behind him became. His past self might have burst into tears of humiliation right there and then but the new Yuer couldn’t care less what any of those pompous self-important court jesters thought of him. His skin had grown far too thick for such minuscule, childish jabs.

Akra followed closely behind him, fighting to hide her twitching lips. She must have thought Yuer’s brisk departure was him storming away due to his shame and humiliation. How wrong she was. Once Yuer and Akra reached the inner Palace’s gardens, they were greeted by a company of dark blue-clad bald men with silver nose piercings. The youth recognized them at once: Reznali Eunuchs. Their head guided the youth and the Dasiri of his birth clan to the Reception Hall where the harem Selection was designed to take place.

Yuer walked into the hall, his blue gaze sweeping across the familiar grandiose building. The hall had dark and beautifully variegated marbled floor, grand ornate pillars that supported a frescoed dome ceiling and sliding moon windows with flowing silk curtains the color of gold. The hall’s walls were tall and plated with engraved bronze, showcasing verses of Semani poetry composed by past rulers.

The hall was mainly divided into four partitions. The first being the Rezas’s throne and the daises reserved for his sons right underneath his platform. The second being the parallel rows of low seats and redwood tables meant to accommodate the candidates’ clan members on one side and the Kumatani on the other. The third was far to the south of the hall. It was meant for the musicians. Comfortable and exquisitely made cushions were arranged in an orderly fashion upon thick fur carpets. A moon window was left open to provide the players with a fresh autumn breeze.

With a bowed head and lowered eyes, the leading Eunuch guided Yuer to the last partition, the one tacked at the far east of the hall, away from viewing eyes. The partition was separated from the rest of the hall by elegant white gauze curtains, probably in an attempt to offer the candidates some decorum of ‘modesty’. In the same fashion as his past life, Yuer was granted a cushion somewhat different from the others. His spot had a screen divider that blocked the rest of the candidates from seeing him. Yuer understood it was all but a show the Palace had to orchestrate due to his Alikana-marked identity and the Temple’s ties to his personage. They had to at least maintain the image of respect, even if they held no actual respect toward him.

Once Yuer seated himself on the cushion, the lead Eunuch bowed to him saying in a soft and raspy voice, “I hope Exacted One is comfortable with his seating arrangement.”

The youth nodded, offering the willowy eunuch a small smile, “Yes, I am. I thank you.”

“It is my utmost pleasure to be of service to the Exalted One.” The eunuch then went ahead to explain, “The selection will start as soon as His Majesty graces the hall. Their highnesses will soon follow and then the performances will begin according to the prearranged order of oldest to youngest. Each candidate is expected to perform a dance of their choosing. After a performance is concluded, the candidate is then allowed to proceed to greet His Majesty and their highnesses. The final step is waiting to be chosen by one of the honored Reznals. In the case of Exalted One, he is to lay his sash under the dais of his chosen bonded.”

Yuer didn’t ask for an explanation but he also didn’t wish to appear rude. Thus, he pretended to ponder over the eunuch’s words before nodding, “I see.”

The eunuch offered him another deep bow before retreating. Yuer closed his eyes as he waited, his mind divided between present and past. He had yet to get used to the surreal sense of replayed timelines. He didn’t mean to lose sense of his surroundings but apparently he did for he was abruptly jolted back to reality by the sound of music.

The first and oldest candidate was already performing which meant everyone who needed to be here was present. Yuer glanced at the northern end of the hall. Although the gauze curtains obstructed his vision, he could still recognize that very silhouette, that very shape anywhere and anytime.

Jarak Reznali.

He was seated right under his sire’s throne. His hair was as golden as ever, his figure as straight as ever. Yuer could almost picture it, that gentle, soft smile on his impeccably handsome face. Yuer could almost see them, those light blue eyes that would crease at the edges whenever their owner laughed. Yes, those chips of ice that would turn even icier when he sunk his hand into Yuer’s hair and yanked and yanked. Oh yes those big, yet elegant hands too, those claws that bruised and maimed and that delectable mouth that bit and gnawed.

Yuer didn’t realize he was trembling until a hand rested against his. For a moment, he involuntarily flinched, his mind unsettled by the memories of another time, another place. He jerked his head and took a deep breath, warding off unwanted feelings. He looked up and found Sakina’s concerned brown eyes on him. Yuer didn’t want to worry her so he squeezed her hand, hoping to reassure her and maybe himself as well. He asked, “Did you bring them?”

Sakina whispered, “Yes.”

She handed him something wrapped in cloth and Yuer silently took it. She then informed him, “I gave the zither and the musical piece to one of the musicians. He looked quite confused about the broken state of the instrument but I insisted he play it as it is.”

Yuer nodded, “Good.”

As Yuer and Sakina continued to converse in hushed tones, a voice bellowed from across the hall, “Yuer Ayaseen! The Exalted One, the Alikana-marked of the Seventh Age and youngest son to Naer Ayaseen, head of the middle-tier Ayaseen clan and Chief Agriculture Assistant. May esteemed Yuer Ayaseen proceed to the performance stage.”

Yuer rose to his feet. He unwrapped the cloth in his hands, revealing a twin pair of rusted swords. He invoked his Earth Echo, sharpening one of the swords to the point where it was no longer blunt and dulled. With it, he started to tear at his red robes piece by piece uncovering the plain black silk underneath it.

He touched one of his hands to his hair pulling away at the tassel crown, at the dozen gold hairpins and at the countless accessories. Some of them tangled with his brown strands but Yuer didn’t care and strongly tagged at them until they were removed. The force stung his scalp but Yuer barely registered the pain. He released his hair from its elaborate updo, kicked off his flats and parted the gauze curtains. He walked barefoot toward the stage, leaving behind a mess of torn silk and discarded gold.

The stage was right in the middle of the hall, facing the Rezas and the Reznals and bordered by the Kumatani and the Tewekaga on the right side and the Dasrari on the left.

Everyone’s eyes were fixated upon Yuer as he strode closer toward the stage, his mourning black robes dragging behind him. A hush fell upon the crowd; the audience likely stunned to silence. The style of his robes’ collar challenged anything a Semani has ever seen before. It was so high it somewhat crept on the edges of his chin in a peculiar unprecedented fashion, serving to cover his Alikana-mark. His back, in contrast to his neck, was designed to be exposed from below the nape, following the shape of ‘∧’ symbol. His vivid serpent tattoo caught the light, causing it to shimmer and stretch along his naked skin almost menacingly. Yuer held the twin swords, one for each hand. His bare feet were especially visible underneath his robes as he walked the very final steps in his way to the stage.

Once he reached the performance area, Yuer barely registered how he greeted the Rezas, his sons and the Tewekaga. His intense, chilling gaze bore into Jarak’s, refusing to budge from that face. The latter cocked his head slightly, appearing confused at what warranted Yuer’s hostility. He returned the thinly veiled animosity with a gentle uplifting of his lips and Yuer was instantly hit by a wave of disgusting familiarity. There it was; Jarak’s standard smile. It was the kind of smile that transformed him into something almost human; a pair of squinting eyes, slightly flushed cheeks and white straight teeth. It was nothing less than perfect: a flawless, polished facade for a man-beast with the blackest of hearts.

The longer Yuer stared at that familiar mockery of a human smile, the icier his blood turned his veins. Yuer smiled back at Jarak, albeit his smile cared not to play at being either gentle or human. It was bluntly feral and vicious, brutally raw in a way Jarak’s can never be. Fearing he might lose control and tear Jarak apart with his third Echo, Yuer eventually had to shift gaze away. His eyes instead sought another familiar face on the far left end of the platform.

Ivak noticed his gaze. He took a sip from his wine cup, his eyes still locked into Yuer’s. He then tipped the cup slightly in the younger youth’s direction, as if toasting to him. A crooked, careless smirk surfaced upon his half-damaged face, making him simultaneously charming and intimidating. His face was a total contrast to Jarak’s. While the latter’s was flawless and perfect, the former’s was scarred and flawed. However what Jarak’s impeccable face lacked in character and humanity, Ivak’s more than made up for it. The Second Reznal’s face was like the rest of him; raw yet strong, damaged yet true. Yuer smiled back at him; his smile considerably softer than the one he gave the Malhada.

He then turned to the musicians and gestured to the one on the far right. The young man rushed to check the broken zither, as if it needed any checking and began to play the musical piece Sakina handed him.

The melody was that of the widely known Red Dawn but because of the zither’s half missing and frayed strings, the tune sounded alien, jagged and dissonant. Although looking visibly pained, the musician continued to play, the sound woven by his fingers chillingly resonated through the hushed air of the grand hall, eerie and unsettling. It grated on the nerves as if there was something inherently wrong about it; as if it was a copy of something beautiful and right that ended up becoming a discordant, jarring monstrosity.

Yuer began to sing, his voice surprisingly husky and broken, overflowing with a storm of emotions he had to bottle up for so long: pain, fear, grief, anger and hate. His body followed suit, falling easily into a familiar sword-dance:

Jaws gnaw upon my flesh

And the earth soaks my blood

Oh sire!

How could you sell me to the beast?

Worms carve my bones

And the earth wears my skin

Oh sire!

How could you sell me to the beast?

Right in the middle of his dance when the tune stilted for a mere instance, Yuer twirled around, his twin swords swiftly cutting through the air. He looked at the visibly riled Naer as he continued to sing:

Oh sire!

What was I to you?

The dirt on your soles?

The filth on the hems of your robes?

Oh sire!

What was I to you?

Yuer stomped on the ground; causing the marble to break and splutter beneath the force of his Earth Echo. He danced and danced upon the broken marble pieces until their jagged edges bit into his the soles of his feet. Blood flowed out from them and glaring red smeared the once pristine floor:

Oh sire!

You of no heart

You who sold his blood

I shall not cry again

I shall not grieve again

There will come day

And we shall meet again

This rusted heart of mine

This rusted sword of mine

I shall plunge it into your chest

And let the debt be repaired!

Oh sire!

You of no heart!

As jarringly as it started, the song ended. There was no closure to the melody, not satisfying ending tune. It disappeared in abruptness just it had begun, leaving behind nothing but the ghost of its harsh and hauntingly broken sound. This was not a merry song. This was not a victory song. This was a song of a broken soul mourning itself, the unfair and far too early loss of its life. It grieved, raged and hated and it wanted vengeance. It was an achingly human soul; Yuer’s soul.

Yuer stood upon the performance stage, soles bloodied and all alone. He felt strangely weary, not in body but in soul as if his very being was exhausted. The youth didn’t get to breathe out before Naer’s enraged voice exploded across the room, sounding beyond thunderous, “Yuer Ayaseen!!”