Kor Dui's head jerked upward, his towering headdress, encrusted with rubies and emeralds, scattering refracted light with every movement. Though smaller in stature and stockier than Umdohar, Kor Dui exuded a commanding presence. His ebony skin, smooth as polished Gaboon wood, was offset by the soft, diaphanous lavender of his robes. He resembled a flower in bloom—regal. Radiant, once you overlooked the bags under his eyes. Despite having lived more than ninety years, Kor Dui bore the countenance of a man no older than forty. For a moment, his expression was blank—then recognition flickered, followed by a weary smile that failed to reach his eyes.
"Umdohar," he said slowly, his voice dragging.
Their eyes locked, and Kor Dui flinched.
He rose slowly, his movements heavy, and motioned for his companions to carry on without him. To Kor Dui's discerning eye, Umdohar had changed little since their last meeting. At a glance, he seemed unremarkable, blending into the crowd with none of the flashy grandeur Kor Dui carried so deliberately.
As they withdrew to a secluded corner, Kor Dui's carefully maintained composure began to fracture. His trembling hands disappeared beneath the onyx-studded folds of his vestments. A sneer twisted his lips, and his voice, sharp with frustration, emerged low and taut. "The royal family of Eloh Morica… they have done it again—they have framed me. Those disappearances… I played absolutely no hand in them. I was on the opposite side of the world when they occurred."
Umdohar's gaze remained fixed, his expression unreadable. Only his piercing, acidic green eyes betrayed his attentiveness.
Kor Dui leaned closer, his tone dropping to a cold whisper laced with desperation. "I need the Du Ku'am's favor. With it, I can force the royal family to retract their accusations. I can clear my name."
He paused, gaze wavering. Shaking his head, he sighed. "But I cannot do it alone."
Umdohar nodded slowly, a gesture that seemed more a concession to the gravity of the situation than a promise of aid. "You will have your chance," he said, his tone flat and measured.
"That is not enough," Kor Dui snapped, gripping Umdohar's shoulder with trembling hands. "You know what is at stake. Gurkiim's health is failing. If we lose him, everything we have worked to build will crumble."
Umdohar's reply came calmly, almost detached. "The Setikosi have softened his heart these past weeks."
Kor Dui's brow arched, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "The Setikosi, again?"
From the earliest days of Umdohar's reign as Brother Regent, his bond with the Setikosi had been a subject of intrigue—and, at times, quiet unease. Kor Dui had assumed their alliance was one of convenience, a temporary measure. He had not imagined it enduring for so long—or bearing such influence. But he must not underestimate the very crowd who worked in the shadows to secure Umdohar's ascension to becoming the Regent. They could turn on him just as easily. Time will tell. It always will.
"If you are in such a hurry," Umdohar said, his voice devoid of emotion, "go see the Du Ku'am now."
Kor Dui's breath came in short bursts, his desperation cutting through the quiet. "But I need your help," he exclaimed, his voice trembling with exasperation. "If we are going to secure this, I cannot do it without you."
He came knowing Umdohar had so much to risk when dealing with a Du Ku'am persecuted by the Moricani royal family, but Umdohar was not any better than him. They had once been strangers to this temple, seeking for their own protection, their future. If anything, this should be reason enough to band together.
"There is nothing you can do once he refuses," Umdohar replied, his tone even but edged with finality. "He is not a Setikos whom you could so easily call upon in times of need. He is a Du Ku'am with a reputation to uphold. You cannot force him to risk defying the royal family another time."
Kor Dui never released his grip. "You know I will always have your back. Especially now…Gurkiim does not have very long."
Umdohar hesitated, the burden of Gurkiim's failing health pressing against the cold calculus of his thoughts. He glanced towards the private chamber where Gurkiim rested, concealed by curtains. He nodded.
"It is more than loyalty now, Kor Dui. It is a necessity," he said, his voice steady but deliberate. He let the words sink in before adding, "You are both just the same: you do not have the luxury of time."
Kor Dui swallowed hard, his gaze darting to the floor. He had been in this position before—cornered, grasping for survival—long before Umdohar was appointed Brother Regent. "So here I am," he muttered, his voice laced with a bitterness that betrayed his vulnerability.
There was no escaping Kor Dui, not when he held the truth of Umdohar's rise. Years had passed since those dealings, but the consequences of that shared history lingered. Umdohar could not forget the role Kor Dui had played in helping him ascend the ranks even if it had been self-serving. The debt loomed large, as inescapable as the shadow of Gurkiim's impending demise.
Umdohar's expression hardened. He could not afford to let their precarious alliance crumble—not now, with Gurkiim's passing likely to ignite chaos among the Du Ku'ams.
For better or worse, Kor Dui's survival was tied to his own.
"Let us go, then," Umdohar said, his voice resolute. He moved forward with purpose, and Kor Dui—after a brief, inward falter—fell into step behind him. The murmur of the banquet hall receded like a dying tide, swallowed by the hush of the banquet hall's deeper corridors.
"Umdohar," Kor Dui said, breaking the silence, "if Gurkiim goes, everything will have to change. The Du Ku'ams would not hold together without him. We have already lost his Elder Du Ku'am. The Du Ku'am in Kos Al-ros'a resents us, and the younger one in Ovzamaazat has refused my visitations. Both so impertinent, so arrogant. I shall not even bother to name them."
Umdohar gave no answer at first, his gaze fixed ahead, footsteps measured. Within, his mind was a storm of contingencies.
"That is why we act now," he said finally. "We salvage what we can."
Ahead, the Du Ku'am's private chamber loomed, its towering doors etched with ancient glyphs of wind battling flame.
Kor Dui cast a glance sideways, sweat forming on his temples. "How do you sound so sure? You sound more and more like that bastard of a Maazati Du Ku'am."
Umdohar paused. "Believe it or not, I have been preparing for a future without Gurkiim," he said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion. Umdohar raised both hands, willing the doors to open, the jaws of a giant.
A heavy cloud of incense greeted them, strangely cold. Slumped on his cushioned seat, Gurkiim seemed more a relic than a ruler, his strength all but vanished.