The mellow fragrance of local Panjkorian dune-lemons wafted through the warm air as a namkita washed the Zaipha’s long raven hair with mint oil of the Bilithgoric variety. Cutting through the smell of the dune-lemons like a well-sharpened blade, the mint oil was rather crisp and strong to the nose, but also refreshing; it was like touching a stalagmite of zakroa’zukae in the coldest underwater cavern on a blistering hot day. The heated bathwater covered Zayd’s skin, sucking all the ache and pain that still resided within his muscles from today’s terraizing training.

At least this’ll be the last day of training, he thought, staring off into space.

However, as soon as the thought entered his mind, it didn’t bring about a feeling of thankfulness that sung the praises of the Oxi. Instead, it brought about gut-swarming anxiety at the recollection that his family wouldn’t be attending tonight’s Coronation. This’ll be the last day he’ll be able to see his father and sister before he goes on his journey… They just had to come.

Water suddenly poured from above, washing off any oil residue. The ringing sound of the namkitas’ anklets reverberated off the walls about as they worked together in carefully draining the water from Zayd’s hair. Pitter Patter, Pitter Patter, the water roared loudly as it clashed against the private bath’s stone ground. The servants’ hands moved as though they were blessed by Yutlol – the Oxi of bathing, healing, and fragrance; Daughter of Naar and Yama. Mother would’ve pulled and pulled despite all Zayd’s pleas.

“Zaipha Al-Faris, are you able to stand?” asked Uzi, the namkita in charge of bathing today. Her voice was almost as soothing and caring as the water.

“Dem,” the young Zaipha responded and rose to his feet. Bath water slithered down Zayd’s skin and continued to do so as he walked, the height of the water getting lower and lower. Without his glasses, everything was blurry and colors shifted with one another. But with his sense of touch and hearing, nothing was impossible. Might be tricky at times, yes, but not impossible.

“Ah, Zaipha, careful. You are nearing the steps of the bath,” Akmira, another namkita, cautioned with great worry. She was always a worrywart of a girl, especially given that she was a new servant who started working at the Naraum a week ago.

Zayd knew that Akmira was just trying to be helpful, but it was irritating to be treated like a delicate flower. Being bathed in this private bathhouse for eight years meant that he wasn’t going to make a silly little mistake like unexpectedly pump into the stairs and hurt himself. He knew where he was going. However, a Zaipha shouldn’t be rude, especially to a young one. And so, Zaipha Al-Faris gave a gentle smile and turned to where Akmira’s voice had come from. “Yes. May the Oxi bless you for your carefulness, Akmira, however, I’m very aware of my surroundings. I know that the steps are right here.”

A few giggles ringed through the bath’s walls, followed by Akmira’s quiet attempt to have them silenced as Zayd put out his foot out and felt solid rock. He continued to do so as he climbed out of the bath, one by one, until he felt the bumpy foundation of cobblestone grace his feet.

A horde of feet clattered against the floor as he heard Uzi, Akmira and the other namkita make it to where he was. Water was still dripping from every inch of his body but that was quickly patted away by soft, cloud-like sheets of cotton. Jingles of anklets fluttered the air once again, and the end of a comb carefully starting from his scalp and finishing just above his knees before starting back up at his scalp filled his senses.

Hair was important in Tilithian culture. Like the million grains of sand that covered Tilith’s landscape no matter the millennium, long hair represented vitality and long life. If it was ever cut short, it would spell a disastrously short live for its wearer. As for the Zaipha, hair was divinely important; the longer the hair, the more insurance that the reincarnation cycle would continue on, so the namkita were careful with their combing.

With his hair now combed and as dry as they could get it, they moved on to braiding. As they tightly weaved the hair, soft sheets of linen were wrapped around Zayd’s hips in layers that stopped little above his ankles. A heavier weaved cloth made of cotton – the ceremonial Yunook – was then placed over the layers of linen and began to be bound by a strip of what felt to be kakory silk. Clouds of browns and greens came together here and there, melting into one another seamlessly, so while it might’ve been difficult for Zayd to pinpoint where was what, the texture of it all wasn’t. The yunook was softer and more elastic than anything he’s ever worn before. It was a higher grade than his pet kakory, Sidra, could weave together. (Sorry, Sidra.) It was also strapped around his waist, keeping everything in place quite tight… tighter than Zayd would’ve liked, but he didn’t complain. No Zaipha complained, and Zayd certainly won’t be the first.

“Zaipha Al-Faris, I’m going to be placing the Kashan band around your neck,” Zanini, another, more experienced namkita explained from behind. “Alert me when the tightening is to your liking.”

“Certainly,” Zayd said with a cheery smile as he tried to shake off the tightening discomfort that the kakory silk around his hips brought.

The Kashan neckband – the other official signifier of the Weapon Wielder of Tilith besides his Holy pair of war-hammers – was colder than he expected when its metal slowly closed around his skin, causing Zayd to shudder and recoil. “Why is it so cold?” he growled.

The coldness that the Kashan possessed stopped from closing in and moved away from his skin. “Please forgive me, Zaipha Al-Faris,” Zanini said, her voice genuine. “A million apologizes! I just thought since it’s really hot today, even hotter than normal, and how your skin turns a deep red color whenever in such an environment, a nice cold neckband would cool you down some and refresh you.”

“Yeah, a nice cool zakroa’zukae would be refreshing, but not the thing that goes around my neck!” He yelled. “You’ll have me look a fool, trembling and shaking as I go about, checking on tonight’s processions. Honestly now, think! Or are you that stupid that you can’t even think?”

Zayd waited to hear a response, but no such thing came. In fact, all the clatter of feet and voices came to a halt, leaving the private bath as quiet as a graveyard. He suddenly felt embarrassed at his childish outburst but didn’t allow it to show. “Just hurry it up,” he growled. “I don’t have all day.”

The clatter of feet and the voices, if awkward and slightly cautious, resumed. One Namita added shoes to his feet while another finished the braiding. But not Zanini. She was quiet, but as she ended up wrapping the Kashan band around his neck, Zayd heard the sniffling of her nose as though she was trying her hardest to hold back tears.

He stood frozen for a moment, wondering if his ears were deceiving him, but they weren’t. Then embarrassment morphed into shame. Not even when one of the namkita grabbed some fat from his stomach and gave him his weekly manhood shot erased the feeling.

Zayd couldn’t go back in time and stop himself from getting angry, to stop himself from speaking to Zanini as though she was some type of animal. What’s done is done, no matter the regret he felt. He had to accept the consequences of his actions, but when he realized that, it only made him clench his fist and hang his head.

Gruummmmbbbbblllleeee.

The sound of the cane’s tip sliding along the ground from side to side across filled Zayd’s ears while the uninterrupted, repetitive movement let him know nothing was in his way, but the memory of how he treated Zanini still replayed in his head. In fact, the cold Kashan neckband was indeed refreshing against the hot desert sun as he walked out of the Private Bath and onto the Naraum’s grounds, grabbing onto the back of Elder Zamya’s arm for her guidance and descriptions of things that were beyond his line of available sight. And it only made him feel worse.

“You’re not as talkative as you usually are,” Elder Zamya noticed. “Is something troubling you, little one?”

“It’s just… It’s just that today hasn’t been going like how I expected it to. From what the scrolls say and from what I’m able to recall from some past lives, Coronation Day is supposed to be a time of much joy and nostalgia – a time of togetherness and celebration – but it hasn’t been like that. Not for me, anyway. Not only that my family isn’t coming to the celebration, but I also acted out and treated Zanini poorly because of it. I said something awful to her – something I regret and wish I can take back.”

“What did you say?”

His mouth hanged open hesitantly at first, as though he was ashamed to repeat them, but then his mouth and tongue soon began to move and those very same words slipped through his lips one by one. Now that he wasn’t irritated, he realized the vileness of his words.

Elder Zamya harshly inhaled her breath, almost sounding like a gasp. With his glasses on, Zayd saw a slight rumble of the Overseer of Panjkora’s cascading yellow robes and bronze skin, though the exact gesture was quite tricky. If he had to guess, she probably put her free hand over her mouth in shock. “I agree,” she murmured, surprised. “That is awful.”

“I know. She was just trying to take care of me – trying to be considerate – but instead I got irritated and said that to her, talking to her as though she was some type of animal. Not only that, but I also made her cry. My words clearly struck a cord with her, but I…” He sighed and hang his head once again. “I don’t know if saying anything will repair the damage.”

“Perhaps you can ask the Oxi for forgiveness and then apologize to Zanini afterwords,” Elder Zamya suggested. “Maybe the Oxi will even gift you with the right apology.”

But will the Oxi really forgive the Zaipha? The doubt began to creep into Zayd’s mind. If Zayd was an Oxi, he certainly wouldn’t. But perhaps the Oxi weren’t as harsh and rigid as him. “Can we try?” he asked sheepishly.

“Certainly,” Elder Zamya replied with an encouraging, soft tone. “And after that, we’ll check up on tonight’s dinner preparations.”

“Wait, but I thought we were going to go review the food right now,” Zayd said, finally raising his head back up.

“That can wait a few minutes. Asking the Oxi for guidance is much more important.”

With a smile, Zayd couldn’t agree more. Elder Zamya was always kind and keen of the ear to people’s problems. She was just like Tak-tuk, the Oxi of Issues and Solutions. But calling upon Tak-tuk wasn’t going to be enough. Even Tak-tuk could make mistakes; Oxi, not matter the domain, are not perfect beings, so Zayd needed all ten Oxi when asking for advice and forgiveness. Not just one.

“The namkita are going to opening up the door that’s coming up,” Elder Zamya mentioned, her gate slowing down.

Listening to the Elder of Panjkora’s directions, Zayd slowed his walking until it came to a halt; the tip of his cane was as still as Sidra past moon rise all bundled up in his little sand burrow. Being reminded of his little kakory and the all those little bumps on his dry skin that Zayd used to love petting for hours on end elevated his mood even more.

Looking at what was in front of him, the Tilithian Weapon Wielder saw a blurry mass of what looked to be made of pure darkness come into view. According to what Elder Zamya said once, the mass was actually an exquisitely-carved giant door made of wood from the resilient Charcoal Tree sitting near Panjkora’s watering hole as it towered over all the native palm and apricot trees. Back when the Charcoal Tree was but a mere sapling fourteen years after The Conquest, it was personally donated by Amphitrite during The Occupation to ease tensions in the home-oasis. It still amazed Zayd that Panjkora and his previous incarnation at that time, Cairo the Traitor, accepted such a thing from the very same woman who systemically attempted to kill off Tilith’s many dialects and cultures and replace it with her “superior” Athaese language and influence.

Well, with an epithet like that, what could Zayd expect from his predecessor? But still… shouldn’t have Cairo put his foot down? According to the scrolls, Cairo adored Tilith, so why would he agree to such a thing? The thought of betraying your country, your people, just so someone else – a former friend – can come and take advantage of not only it but also you, left a bad taste in Zayd’s mouth, reminding him of Cixi and all those heated fights she had with Alejandro and Omaya.

Despite losing some holes in his memory of Omaya’s life, Cixi’s words still rang as clear as the day she left the conference room in an angered-fueled puff. “Just remember this, Alejandro. Next time we meet, I won’t be the same old Cixi anymore.”

Not only did chills run down his spine, but his blood began to boil–

The door suddenly let out a loud groan, causing the Weapon Wielder of Tilith to be released from his thoughts and memories. It was for the best. He couldn’t risk getting angry, especially today where plenty of people are going to be gathering. The door’s groaning grew louder and louder as the minutes went on, almost like an echo, until it came to a sudden stop.

Elder Zamya continued her walking, and Zayd followed as he thanked the namkita who opened the door for the two of them. The rumbling noise that came about from sliding the tip of his cane across the floor came to a halt once he passed through the doorway. The ground wasn’t as rough as the ground that was paved outside in the open desert. It was much smoother, like the same smoothness as the tiles that were in his bedroom upstairs.

The smell of Panjkorian favorites such as Navasou, a hearty stew cooked with plenty of ground lamb, spices, onions, carrots and plump red tepary beans, sweet Yaviya tarts and Garbanzo con Bak’yo from the nearby noisy kitchen stuck around in the air thanks to the cooling and fuzzy blue orbs of zakroa’zukae that littered the wall together with that pesky all-too-bright hakfe’zukae.

It might’ve looked nice for sighted people to have those light stone fragments light their hallways, but not for Zayd. Despite wearing his special glasses, his vision only worsened. His eyes ached with pain as he squinted as best he can, his surroundings all morphed into this accursed wall of light due to the light stone always having this glaring effect, be they fragments or that giant stalagmite that jutted out from the Community Prayer Room ceiling.

Thankfully however, Zayd had his cane and Elder Zamya here to help.

After a turn to the right and passing by the fifth door, the smell of the nostalgic foodstuff finally drifted into the background and the hakfe’zukae’s light dimmed more and more until it disappeared. As his eyesight slowly returned, halos hovered above these blurry orbs of reddish-orange and Elder Zamya slowly came to a halt.

“We’re here at the Oxi room, Zayd,” The overseer of Panjkora announced. “The doorknob is on your right.”

The Tilithian Weapon Wielder turned to the fuzzy outline of the what looked like a doorknob and extended his hand out to meet it. He didn’t grasp it at first, having expected the door handle to be only about a half a foot away and was instead greeted by the lone, emptiness of air, but once he reached out a little farther, he finally felt its smooth, round handle and gripped it tight.

Even if it wasn’t his fault and knew Elder Zamya wouldn’t comment negatively on the little mishap, Zayd still scolded himself for making mistakes that could have him be seen as pitiful and weak if in the eye of the public. He could hear it now, how some of those new to Panjkora, visiting for the day to bear witness to tonight’s Coronation Ceremony, would whisper in the audience about how they don’t like seeing him with his cane as it made them feel uncomfortable or say that being disabled is the most horrible thing in the world. It wasn’t. The most horrible thing that could happen to anyone is for them to die before their time… like Mother. His heart felt sad and low again as he sighed.

And so, Zaipha Al-Faris turned the knob and opened the door wide–

Disgusting!!!

An overpowering stench preoccupied his senses more so than his saddened heart. It was like a rotten lemon dune had been allowed to bathe in the humidity brought by the desert sun. Despite trying his best to resist the putrid odor, Zayd still couldn’t stop himself from coughing. His eyes started to burn and water.

If only he was the Weapon Wielder of Bilithgorn and had the ability to aerize a ball of clean air around his face instead of being forced to put up with this smell. Even though he didn’t have Earthquake within his possession just yet, Zayd knew that terraizing would be useless against things like intangible things like smell.

“What is this?” Elder Zamya’s voice began to strain as she coughed along.

“I think… I think a namkita forgot to dispose of the incense after they awoke the Oxi this morning.”

“I’ll check who was on Oxi duty this morning,” Elder Zamya said with an irritated tone. “The Oxi don’t deserve this. Here, Zayd. Hold the door open while I purify the Oxi circle. The old, dirty smell will filter out now that they a way of escape.”

Having shifted his weight to lean his back up against the door, Zayd saw the Overseer of Panjkora’s blurry form shifted and felt his hold on her wrinkly arm fade as she made her way inside the Oxi Room.

The sounds of cabinets opening and closing littered the air as Elder Zamya was no doubt looking for those greenish Faro’zuk Rings. That quickly came to halt as she let out a “Aha!” and shut the cabinet for the last time. Its chains then rattled as she slid them on to her fingers.

The fragrance of freshly lit lemon dune incense soon erupted as the bright reflective quality of the metallic censer flew about, following whatever kind of hand movements Elder Zamya made.

Despite not liking bright lights, Zayd liked the smell that came with it. Unlike turning sour under the day’s heat, fresh lemon dune was quite rejuvenating to the senses. It had a calming lemony scent, like returning to a freshly cleaned house after a long day of playing outside. No wonder it was used to purify the Oxi Circle and rid the room of any previous visitor’s call for advice. Surely, the Oxi liked the smell too.

“Better?” Elder Zamya asked.

Zayd sniffed the air. “The old smell is still lingering just a tad, but we mustn’t worry about that. The fresh lemon dune is enough.”

“Alright.”

Zayd stopped using his weight and allowed the door to close behind him as he made his way for the center of the room. The Oxi “circle” was more like a clump of greyish brown that stood tall like a group of palm trees and gave no indication as to the gap that laid in between. This was always the tricky part. When Zayd leaned out his hand and felt the coarse slab of earth, he used his cane to tell where the gap from this slab to the next was.

Chack – Chack, the cane rang and Zayd followed. The gap wasn’t as wide as usual, but he mustn’t rush unless he wishes to rip and soil his ceremonial clothing.

When he finally got into the middle of the circle without a tare and sat atop of the prayer cushion, Zayd folded up his cane and placed it on his lap. He then took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh lemon dune and allowed it to purify his spirit before he spoke a word, all the while staring up at the greyish brown earth slabs that surrounded him.

Zayd was able to make out the color of the paint, but that’s where it ended. The lines that were used to depict the Oxi on each slab were too jumbled up, disintegrating into fuzzy balls of color. When he was younger, he had a hard time being able to distinguish one Oxi from another due to being taught to follow the lines of paint with his fingers. It was a good technique to improve tactile skills, but it was only really useful for when someone who was sighted was around to place everything into context when he was done.

As he grew older and wanted more and more independence, he taught himself to associate a color to an Oxi: red for Xani’ik, the Oxi of Fire, Daytime and the Sun; black for Naar; brown for Satearr, the Oxi of Sand and Earth; green for Yanesh, the Oxi of Life; blue for Yutlol; white for Asaky; Violet for Oai, the Oxi of Love and Family; Lilac for Yama, the Oxi of Dreams and wife to Naar; Orange for Delyde, the Oxi of History and Legends; and Gold for Tak-tuk.

Not only did he associate the colors, but Zayd could also feel the Oxi around him. As he sat inside the Oxi Circle, his heart thumped and thumped with the ferociousness of a Panjkorian sand-dusted palmpecker as it banged its strong bill into the side of a palm tree, eager to gorge itself on the defenseless ant larvae that lived inside. His stomach swirled about as though his intestines were magically forced into knots while the air became thick with pressure.

Will they give me an answer to my prayer? The Tilithian Weapon Wielder thought. What will they advise? Will they pull and push the strings of the future and grant me the right words to apologize to Zanini with? Or will be disappointed in me for my un-Zaipha-like behavior?

With his shaky and sweaty hands, all these thoughts rushed into his head seemingly all at once. They were honest worries, but he mustn’t allow himself to become overwhelmed by a future that has yet to come.

Inhaling another breathe, Zayd steeled his heart one again before he spoke. The Oxi don’t like visitors who were easily jumpy.