“Ayaz... Jukman, I…” Zoeb’s face turned pale, and his jowls began to quiver. “I simply can’t allow-“

“That is fine, friend. Because this is not really your choice to make.” Jukman turned to the crowd of nobles that stood beyond his retinue of Sacred Archive Guards.

He raised his arms and shouted, “As you may have recently found out, I am Jukman. A holy Guardian, who is blessed with powers unimaginable.”

The crowd murmured fearfully and whispered amongst themselves. Some knelt.

Jukman continued. “I am going to follow the wishes, or more aptly, the demands, of the people. I will do this by wresting the position of Sultan for myself. But do not misunderstand me, I harbour no ill will towards Zoeb or his family. In fact, I will allow him a position of power under my new rule, and sufficient accommodations for his family.”

Imani ran from the crowd toward Jukman – a familiar sight – and was stopped by the guards. Jukman waved the guards to let her in and crossed his arms comfortably as she strutted toward him.

“Ayaz, cease with this nonsense! You are not Jukman, you are insane. And for whatever reason nobody but me can see it.” Imani had tears in her eyes. She was afraid, confused.

“Imani.” Jukman grasped her beautiful head in his hands and put his forehead against hers. “I am finally free. Free from the cycle of hate and rebirth. We can be together now, forever and ever. You just have to trust me.”

“Trust you? I don’t know you.” Imani tore herself from him. “We have had a relationship for what? A few months? And then you start to claim you are Jukman come back from exile? I cannot.”

“Imani, I am Jukman. Just wait and you will see.”

Jukman turned back to Zoeb and pointed at him. Rain began to patter against the high windows.

“Now. I will be needing your co-operation. Just-”

Ayaz stopped. Darkness crept around his vision. He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hand. He braced for the vision and saw wood shavings on his desk. The boy was-

A stranger is at the door father, and they said that you are needed urgently.

Hush child. I am busy.

But dad! They say it is important!

Go. Tell them that I am busy. Go on.

Jukman took a deep breath and looked around himself in a panic. He had the eyes of a cornered animal.

Zoeb stood. “I know not why you wish for me to go. And I am not a child. But I will if that is what you command, Jukman. I have no choice.” He took off his many-bladed crown and held it out toward Jukman. “Please, just don’t hurt her.”

Jukman’s animal gaze rested on Zoeb and cleared. He took the crown and placed it on his head without ceremony. Outside, thunder clapped and rain lashed the walls.

“I will need that ring, Zoeb.” Jukman pointed to a small ring on the ex sultan’s left index finger. It was gold, and had on it a small rectangle that sat across most of the finger.

Zoeb shook his head. “No. This is something I will not do. This ring is a family heirloom, I will die before I give it up.”

“No, you won’t. Give it to me. Quickly, we are running out of time.”

What once was the light of a bright day was now the deep grey of a storm. Flashes of lightning filled the encroaching darkness of the room, and wind howled and pushed against the windows. The great wooden doors that led out of the throne room thrashed violently against the wooden beams keeping them shut. This would have been less concerning to the inhabitants of the room if the doors were not deep within the palace, far from the effects of any natural storm.

“Hey!” A lithe, well-dressed woman shouted from the crowd. “Tell us what is happening. If you insist on being the new Sultan, then lead us!”

“Yeah, stop leaving us in the damn dark. Tell us what’s going on!” Someone said further into the crowd. They were getting restless

Jukman took a deep breath and shouted, “Everyone get to the sides of the room, or you will be crushed by the doors. Guards, move those who don’t move themselves.”

While they organised themselves Jukman turned to Zoeb and held out his hand. “Give it to me. Nothing good can come from keeping it. Trust me.”

Zoeb frowned and stroked his ring possessively. Then, an understanding flickered in his eyes. “Oh. I see.” Zoeb handed him the ring and ran to the corner of the room, where Imani was ushering the especially slow civilians.

Jukman walked to the thrashing doors and stood, unflinchingly, in the middle of the hall. He listened to Olan’s ramblings, just audible under the crashing of wood and steel.

“You, I’m. I’m going- I’m coming to get you. Nobody will- By Mother this door is strong!”

Jukman splayed his legs and crossed his arms, one on each shoulder. With a tremendous wrenching sound, the great doors flew off their hinges and flew toward him. The corner of the left door crashed into him and exploded into fragments as if it had hit a steel pillar. The rest of the doors flew at the wall, crushing the throne and booming against the flat stone.

Wind streaked in, blowing dust and wood chips around the room with deadly force. A wild-haired woman floated in; her arms outstretched.

A female voice boomed - much like the doors had done a few seconds earlier - throughout the room. “Brother! I have come to take justice against you. Surrender and your people may not get hurt.”

Jukman adjusted the golden ring on his left index finger and shouted over the wind. “Olan, please listen. I just want to talk with you.”

“What is there to say? You are a monster.”

She settled herself down on the floor in front of him. He could see Haritek, Nabhan, and William behind her.

“Olan. I am glad to see you.” Jukman said, sincerely.

“I'm not. I am going to hurt you.”

“You don’t have to. All this, it’s…” Jukman looked at Haritek. He was not close enough. “It’s not worth it. For what you’ll get.”

“How would you know?” Olan looked haggard. She looked hungry. Jukman almost pitied her.

“Guess, sister.”

Jukman reached his left hand to Haritek, and darkness enveloped him. He fell to the floor, and he breathed in the smell of sawdust.

Little Evan walked up to him and tugged on his sleeve.

“Please, he was scary. I don’t want to go back by myself.”

Jukman looked down at his son. He had a little button nose and a mop of curly brown hair. But most importantly of all, he had a pair of lovely green eyes, just like his father.

“What did he look like?” Jukman put down his tools and got up, not bothering to brush the shavings from his pants. “And what did he say?”

“He said that you are needed urgently. That he apologises… produsely for asking but that you are needed urgently.” Evan looked at his father to see if his message was correct, he obviously didn’t understand the words.

Jukman nodded and opened a portal to the front door with a wave of his hand. He stepped through and let it close behind him. The door was a deep lacquered red. Jukman opened the door and squinted against the bright sun and stifling heat beyond. A muscled youth with significant facial scaring bent his knee as soon as the door swung open.

“Lord. I apologise for interrupting.” The man wore a simple tunic of fine wool. Two lightning bolts sewn into the front of his garb marked him as a messenger slave.

“It’s fine. What is your name?”

The scarred messenger stood back up and addressed Jukman with pride and respect. “I am Roscius, Lord. Sent by the Chosen to deliver a message of utmost importance.”

Jukman leaned against the door frame and looked beyond the slave. The view was legendary. From the rock-strewn and shrubbed mountainside, the whole of Paridea could be seen. Its reaching spires, its giant domes, its artful composition, as if it were the work of an optimistic and talented painter. It spanned far, and never ceased in its attempt to amaze and impress. No inch was the same, but every single one was beautiful.

“Deliver it then.”

“This is the direct transmission from Colonel Vigek.” The slave straightened himself and stared the blank stare of a trained reciter. “’Sir, Tacolos is no longer responding to any of us. She refuses to acknowledge anything that is not directly within her path. And when she does it is to remove it. Sir, I am sure you are aware of the project she has been implementing over the past few months. As the culmination of the said project has been approaching, she has become more erratic, unpredictable. I regret to disturb you, but I am afraid you are the only one who can shift her from this concerning mood. Please come to her workshop as soon as possible. Apparently she has hunkered down there for the completion of the project. Good Luck’”. The slave bowed his head briefly to show the completion of the message.

“Looks like I’ll be leaving then.” Jukman turned back and shouted into the house. “I’m going for a few minutes! I’ll be straight back!”

A faint voice shouted back. “Bring some caramel!”

Jukman rolled his eyes and gave a conspiratorial smile to the slave. “Kids these days. Would break their parents back for a piece of candy.”

The slave laughed awkwardly and nodded. He obviously didn’t have any children.

Jukman made a portal and stepped through to Tacolos’ workshop. He squinted for the second time at the heat. Massive bellows churned the air and blew fountains of sparks. Molten metal flowed in intricate runnels to moulds and other runnels. A great anvil stood in the centre of the sweltering room. Its detail runes were illuminated by flashes of orange and white.

Tacolos stood in front of the anvil, hammering something savagely and with great force. She didn’t react as Jukman put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Olan shook Jukman awake. He was lying on the cold floor of the throne room. It was deserted except for him and her.

“What? What’s happening?’

“You passed out.” Olan was sitting on the floor next to Jukman. She brushed a caring hand across his forehead. “And maybe for a second or two I forgot about taking revenge on you and saw my vulnerable little brother laying on the floor. In need of help.”

“Where has everyone gone,” Jukman said.

“I sent them away. Nobody is dead, don’t fret.”

Jukman sat up stiffly. “Why aren’t I dead right now? I don’t understand why you are being nice to me.” Jukman looked at Olan with a healthy mixture of aprehension and disbelief.

“Well.” Olan sat back on her hands and blew some of her voluminous hair from her face. “I did want to kill you. Very much so. But after you simply passed out in front of me I felt… a bit silly. The wind was gone from my sails in other words. I thought to myself, ‘Why am I here? Maybe he has changed. Or maybe I was wrong after all.’ And anyway, I couldn’t kill you like that, on the ground. So, I decided to wait for you to wake up.”

“Ok.”

They sat in silence for a while. Jukman finally broke the silence.

“I’ve been having many of these visions lately. At least more than I’m supposed to by now.”

“Supposed to? Visions? Explain.” Olan looked at Jukman like a good sister would to an injured little brother.

Jukman smiled at her and explained everything.