Kor Dui and Umdohar slipped into the chamber, their footfalls muffled by the thick, woven rugs beneath their sandals. Sounds from the banquet hall faded behind, the clamor of laughter and discordant music replaced by a somber quiet that seemed to stretch on forever. Here, deep in the sanctum where Gurkiim rested, time held its breath.
The Du Ku'am Gurkiim reclined on a wooden chair, his massive frame shrouded in heavy furs. Beneath this shroud, the weathered armor of his tunic peeked through, as though it too had borne the centuries of wear and decay. His figure was unmoving, looking to be carved from the same basalt that lined the chamber walls. Only the faint rasp of his breath betrayed any signs of life.
Kor Dui hesitated upon the threshold, his gaze fixed upon the stagnant form of his Elder. For a moment, he panicked, believing Gurkiim had been lost. The stillness was not merely that of repose; it bore the suffocating weight of finality. Yet, his spirit lingered, tethered precariously to the mortal plane.
A Du Ku'am in decline was an omen, a herald of collapse.
With reverence, Kor Dui stepped forward deliberately. When he reached the foot of Gurkiim's chair, he dropped to his knees, bowing low until his forehead met the cold stone.
"Forgive me," Kor Dui whispered. What followed was a torrent of confessions—failures, slights, and inadequacies laid bare. Recent visitations had been fraught with tension between the two Du Ku'ams, their conversations laced with barbs. In this solemn space where Gurkiim confined himself to, away from the eyes of his guests, Kor Dui could not help but be overcome with regrets he could not make amends with. When at last he fell silent, lifting his head cautiously, his heart jolted. Gurkiim's eyes, dull yet searing in their intensity, were fixed upon him. A gaze that demanded truth and offered no comfort.
"Is the royal family testing you again?" Gurkiim's voice was low and frayed, each word an effort. "Is that why you have come? To grovel at my feet like this?"
Kor Dui faltered, his tongue dry as he tried to muster a response. He forced a weak smile, though his trembling hands betrayed him. "I trust your wisdom, honored Du Ku'am. I seek your guidance…your strength. I have brought you gifts—tokens for your tomb. Please, if there is anything more you need, I remain your servant."
Gurkiim's expression remained inscrutable, his ancient face a mask of weathered stone. Slowly, he raised a bony hand, each movement weighed down by age but no less commanding. "To the chamber," he said. "They will rest there, waiting for me."
Umdohar bowed deeply in acknowledgement. With a swift gesture of his hand, the walls shifted with a low groan, invoking a hidden motion within the stonework. Like puzzle pieces, it revealed its true form—a hidden entrance that led straight to the Hall of Du Ku'ams, the sacred resting place of their lineage. From the darkness, veiled Ku'ams of Amethyst Hall emerged. Their hunched forms moved soundlessly as they accepted Kor Dui's offerings, disappearing back into the chamber without a word.
"All you ever bring me are gifts for my tomb," Gurkiim muttered, his tone edged with mild bitterness. "Is my death all that occupies your thoughts?"
Kor Dui's chest tightened. He had come seeking more than this confrontation—affirmation, guidance, perhaps even a sign that his Elder still saw worth in him.
"You… disappoint me," Gurkiim said, each word a deliberate wound.
The sting of those words rendered Kor Dui momentarily speechless. Before he could respond, Gurkiim gripped the golden staff at his side. Its head bore the carved symbols of the Shaman Dove, complete with its six mammoth wings. With startling speed, he brought the staff down, striking the side of Kor Dui's head. The blow was not hard enough to injure, but it burned with humiliation.
"A Du Ku'am who cannot wield his own power?" Gurkiim's voice rose, regaining some of its former strength. "We are not ornaments for temples, Kor Dui Wisaf! We are the hands of the Dove, enforcers of its will. Tools to shape the world!" He sneered, his yellowed teeth bared. "How dare you crawl to me like this, Du Ku'am of the Mountain Jewel."
Kor Dui clutched his head, nodding frantically. "You are right, of course. Forgive me, I… I only thought… I was in doubt—"
"Doubt?" Gurkiim's voice softened, but it carried a dangerous edge. "I vanquished doubt long ago, Kor Dui. Slain before it grew into a titan. When nations envied our dominion of the Mediterranean, I faced them alone. Their ships were countless, their armies relentless. For days, I battled them at sea. I destroyed their fleets, crushed their forces."
His fingers tightened on the armrests of his chair as his gaze drifted, his breathing labored. "On the fourth day, the Dove descended upon the Eastern seas. It did not forsake me, as I did not forsake myself to that wreckage. Together, we annihilated those who dared to sully our waters."
A moment passed in reverence. Gurkiim's tone grew quieter. "At dawn on the fifth day, it brought me to its tower. Of all the men in our great history, it brought me. There, it offered me its blessing: five wishes."
Towards his mouth. "A tongue that could extract the truth of any substance, experience, or lie—a tool without which I could not endure, for truth can never fall far from my reach."
Towards his left hand. "Hands that felt the force of life in all things which I have lost over the years; to feel pain and pleasure once again, and understand its weight."
He raised his staff, motioning toward his eyes. "Eyes that could see through walls and the ends of the Earth; to see the nature of all things, the realms which are visible and invisible. The natural and supernatural."
Towards his left ear. "Ears that could hear the cries of the Du Ku'ams who came before me and understand any human tongue—even the heartbeat of the Earth itself."
Towards his nose. "A nose that can pick up on the unspoken desires of all those within my vicinity. This knowledge was vital to advancing in this world far from its completion."
"Completion?" Kor Dui asked quietly.