The day when Kwazhak died already passed. They let Saya return to the Al-Bashwa Hôtel, all zapped and exhausted. Before she knew it, the night passed, and she got up early in the morning.
Saya exited the mozkara where Kwazhak once dropped her off, quietly idling around the crisp plaza. The temperatures before noon were of lower temperature, given the month of Zurgaa where the harsh heat struck Yahmajô̗ Alą̧̄utl. Soon, the sun began to reveal itself, the glass skyscrapers and marble walkways reflecting its shine. The more warmth of the sun beamed her skin, the harder she chanted the sutras. It was a still morning.
“Saya?...”
There stood Suruj Zundui, one of the last muqatils alive. Scratching his arms, his eyes widened as he brought himself over. Stumbling over himself, he managed to stand up. They were silent. They were the last two alive. Listening to the hum of the traffic as the Tasdahan people prepared for rush hour, the empty yet solemn square still plastered with yellow and blue.
Not a word spoken. It was as if time stopped for both of them, and they couldn’t find the energy to grieve, nor to cry, nor to say goodbye. Watching everything flash by like fireworks, sparking into a fading light. The people passing by refrained from intervention, the buildings removing their neon glows for the new day.
“I’m relieved you’re alive,” Suruj finally broke the silence.
“Why?...” She aimed her eyes at the ground, “I can’t do anything in getting out of here…”
“You’re a part of the plan.”
“Kwazhak told you that, right?...” Saya began to walk away, but Suruj called out to her.
“We can’t separate anymore. It’s only us left, and if we got into disagreement now-”
“If Mouka were here…”
“I don’t remember that person, Saya,” Suruj winced while touching his head. “Karam found-”
“Leave me alone!” She soon turned to anger and lashed her hand out at him, only for the black bracelet on her arm to disconnect and fall to the floor. The strap had been cut clean off, in a linear fashion.
When Saya bent over to pick it up, she suddenly realized. During the battle, he injured her wrists when she was off guard. Her breathing turned shallow as the bracelet still functioned, turning on and displaying holograms.
“... The bracelets seem to be resistant to sahar, yet the strap was cut,” Suruj inspected it, as she held it in her hands. “Don’t tell me-”
She waved her arms around, “I can feel the particles flowing through me.”
For the first time in forever, the constricted bind that rendered her unable to use spells had been broken, as if an amputee’s leg had been restored. Suruj then inconspicuously wrapped the bracelet around her wrist.
“We gotta get out of this public space before someone finds out,” He urged while walking towards the nearest store, the two of them rushing through the sliding doors. While observing the crowd outside, the presence of the Tasdahan soldiers frightened them. Once they received permission to head out the back exit, they both busted open the door and stumbled into the alley. However, there was already someone waiting for them.
The man wore a red and black hanfu, a conical straw hat obscuring his face. Tall and lean, his arms were folded into his uniform while lying his back against the wall.
“Núnmen dōu zhīdàu Kěwázhākě ah?“ The man asked as Suruj held up his fists. He paid no mind.
“Who’re you? We don’t speak Renhua.”
Saya reached for her back, but she forgot her sword back in the mozkara. They were supposed to be fearful, yet didn’t have the energy to. The Z̆ongren lifted his head, holding up a certain letter she had seen before.
“Zhège āzǔrén… Has my brother taught not thee our tongue?” His face had a similar complexion to Kwazhak’s, now speaking Azu. It wasn’t long before the man took off his hat. “Crown Prince of As-Z̆onghu̐a, Laoyuang Zhenbyoung. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, if thee can enlighten me about the organization who murdered a Laoyuang.”
