The damage in Pasco’s latest incursion seems to be the most extensive since Piso was tasked in the campaign to conquer Aramathi, and rebuild the city from its settlement status. Three days have passed, and yet rebuilding remained slow. Many have fled to the suburbs, who had to make do with temporary shelters that only worsened the crowded areas.

Nevertheless, they were convinced that anything else is better than what Pasco City has become. In comparison, the slums outside Pasco may prove to be more livable at this moment. Meanwhile, for those who remained in the city, especially the people who kept much of their properties intact, the survivors were forced to scrape their belongings in exchange for obtaining vital resources such as food and water. Many did not choose to bury the corpses in order to consume what is left of them and live for another day.

Far from being the Abode of God, Pasco has turned into a hellhole. Among all of Horden’s magnificent edifices, only the Governor’s Palace and the barracks did not require repairs, but only because they were where government forces retreated to make their last stand. Even though the battle was won, devastating were the effects that any celebration to remember it at this time was temporary. It was like listening to jubilant music, only to become melancholic later on because the song has ended.

Meanwhile, albeit the structures deep in the city were mostly saved, the atmosphere was just as hopeless as in the surface. Why would it not be? These were the dungeons which kept the people regarded as refuse of Aramathi’s society, and among its latest additions was the mutinous ambassador.

“Here’s your rations,” the guard scoffs as he slid a tray into Rabka’s cell, “I say, you lot shouldn’t be receiving these anyway! Especially you! You’re the one behind our hardships just now, eh!”

Rabka, clad in his torn clothing, remains silent and seated. Far from achieving glory, he has been incarcerated. He blankly stares at the food and water, which already spilled from the tray because the guard’s push was purposely forced.

“Hmph! Not that I care! The only good thing you did was clearing my way for a promotion!”

Rats and insects suddenly appear from out of nowhere to devour what was actually for Rabka.

“Alright,” the guard said with a nod and a strike at the bars, “Silent treatment it is!”

The guard, who began to feel cold, hastily leaves to return to his post. Meanwhile, as if awakened from sleep, Rabka’s empty mind begins to be flooded once more.

He thinks, “Bel Kabab… Is he real? Am I really his last ambassador? Then… why did he make me fail? Why did he let me rouse people… only to have them meet death from cold steel?”

Tears begin to form as his train of thought remains going, “The Pure Land… The Purification of Fire… Is everything… false? Lies? Why… why am I even born? Why am I even here? If there’s nothing else beyond, suffering is useless… Perseverance is foolishness… All is meaningless…”

He pounds the stone floor until his fists began to bleed, “If anything is possible for anyone who believes, why is his purpose thwarted? Why undergo this shame? This loss? Even when I’m devoted to the purpose… Even when this world is impure… What went wrong? Am I wrong?”

Looking at his bloodstained and chained hands, he felt if there is any strength left in his bruised body. He has not eaten for days. Sense of time in such a dark place has been highly maligned. Surely, his stomach and its neighboring organs are on fire, but what became even more fiery was his eyes.

In an instant, he grasped his own neck, and tightened it with the most powerful grip he can come up with. Almost immediately, Rabka choked, but only enough to make him faint. For hours, he remained seated, as if in meditation, whereas he has already lost consciousness.

“Rabka…,” a gentle voice can be heard, “What are you doing here?”

Rabka did not have any response. In his mind, it is probably one of those haunting voices again that berates him for a job not well done. Voices that accuse him. Voices that do not give him a wink of sleep.

However, when he began to smell something tasty, his saliva came out uncontrollably from his mouth. He figured it must have not been from the rations, and so he opened his eyes. Before him was a smorgasbord, all of which are considered impure food.

“I can’t eat these,” Rabka slowly said, “Bel Kabab has judged them as impure.”

Light then began to fill the dark cell. It was bright enough for Rabka to cover his eyes.

The voice returned, “Rabka, get up and eat.”

“N-no, Bel Kabab… The food is unholy.”

“Rabka, get up and eat.”

“My god… No, a thousand times no. You’ve decreed so.”

“Rabka, get up and eat.”

Just then, the light disappeared, and he felt something is crawling across his body. When he looked, one by one the food is marching towards his mouth. He bit his lips, but mind does not seem to conquer matter as food began to fill him in quite a forceful manner. In the end, he got to consume everything, and when his nutrition needs are satisfied, he fell asleep.

“Rabka…,” the gentle voice speaks once more, “What are you doing here?”

Light fills the cell again, but Rabka did not seem to notice. He was sound asleep.

“Rabka… what are you doing here?”

After the voice was heard, a light punch on the gut made Rabka’s body tingle all over, waking him up. Then, the light began to shrink until it becomes a small, flickering, and floating flame.

When Rabka knew it was not so bright to blind him, he removed the covers from his eyes. He could not believe what he is witnessing. It was almost a repeat of his experience thirteen years ago! The nostalgia has struck him so much, all of his senses feel shot.

Kneeling down with his head on the ground, the startled prisoner wailed, “Bel Kabab! My will! My fire!”

“Rabka… what are you doing here?”

“Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Purification of Fire has failed. The Pure Land has come to nothing. I am an ambassador in chains. None of your followers remain.”

“You have failed. I didn’t. Do you question my will? The will of fire?”

“W-what do you mean? I’ve been very zealous in carrying out your purpose!”

“Zealous, yes. My purpose, no. You have been an arrogant man, forgetting how I raised you from ash. You have been overly confident, yet all your abilities only I have given. It’s not by human authority that you gained your license to lead!”

“Forgive me, Bel Kabab! Forgive my unbelief! Forgive my doubt! I strayed from the Path to the Pure Land! I’m no longer fit to live! Nor to be in your presence! Cast me away forever!”

“You try to take your life. You try to take anything else. Yet you know for yourself that you can’t do it. You just can’t. What you seek to do, you don’t do. What you don’t seek to do, you do.”

Rabka had no answer. He thought what the voice meant as it continues speaking.

“What you have called impure, I have made pure. When you say there is none, I have set apart some. Your followers are no more, but not mine. There’s a remnant loyal to my cause, yet you don’t realize it so. They will rise up in the appointed time. Therefore, I give you this charge.”

Rabka then realized how the voice made an allusion to his experience with the food.

“Bel Kabab,” the confused prisoner interrupted, “I don’t see what it has to do with feasting or fasting…”

“Therefore, I give you this charge… As the last ambassador of this world, the Purification of Fire shall devour not only the land of your ancestors, but all lands of this world. You shall receive power when my presence goes with you, and you shall purify Aramathi, and all of the earth.”

“But my god, how shall it come to pass when I’m imprisoned?”

“You will raise armies larger than ever before. You will raise my banner across the world. And then, my flames shall prepare the descent of the holy ones, and I will reside with you forever.”

“How can I believe this when you had denied your aid in the purification of Aramathi?”

“You’ll see for yourself, Rabka, you’ll see how all things go together for the greater good.”

“Please, Bel Kabab, please give me a sign! Give me a sign of your mercy and compassion!”

“Look up, Rabka. A sign that shall renew your commitment. Witness the Sign of Ziferate.”

Rabka slowly raised his head, and behold, the little crimson flame began to whirl, transforming its color into green as it enlarges. He covered his face when the flame began to reach him, but there was no heat.

Then, it split into many smaller flames, scattering themselves all over the place before rushing to the metal bars and his chains, cutting them clean. The bars fall away from Rabka, who felt nervous when they caused a great sound. However, no guard came to check on him. The flame returned to its original crimson color, and the voice was heard again.

“Come, follow me. There are still tasks to be accomplished and purposes to be established.”

The flame went on to guide Rabka through the maze of the dungeons that is sure to confuse a casual visitor. As he ran, Rabka felt his strength suddenly renewed for he was able to keep up. Then again, he also noticed the most peculiar phenomenon. All the people he passed through, prisoners and guards alike, were immobile.

Even when the flame produced much light, when his footsteps caused much noise, or when anything else happens, they seemed to not care at all. Is it some mannequin challenge or Bel Kabab making wonders? Rabka was convinced for the latter. Before he knew it, he was already out of the city, which confounded him. He knew the way he was interred into the dungeons, so he is certain that his prison cell was below Pasco.

More so, there was nobody else around. Was not Pasco’s suburbs also populated? Nonetheless, the environs still seemed to be that of Aramathi. He can only think he was not that far away. In his sightseeing, he lost track of the flame. He ran circles in search of it, but there was no trace.

Then, he heard something cutting through the air. It sounded like metal, but there was nothing in the surroundings. Suddenly, a blazing sword spins from the sky and plants itself in front of Rabka. While it seemed to be giving up smoke, the sword did not appear to be hot as well. Upon seeing the sword, he fell on his knees and his hands trembled.

It was the Ziferate! From accusing fingers, his eyes were filled with visions of crowds larger than ever before, raising their hands with the sign of the horns, marching triumphantly, carried by waves upon waves of fire.

“Now I know,” the ambassador said as the shaking spread all over his body when he holds Ziferate, “how the will of fire remains true… The purification continues, and it shall cover the entire world…”

News of Rabka’s miraculous escape took time before it gets reported to Aramathi’s provincial government, which only goes to show how crippled the internal administration became due to the conflict.

“How can this happen?!”, the head guard, now acting as Pasco’s representative to the Assembly, shouted as he slammed his fist, “Rabka’s incapacitated by the Lord Exquisitor! Can you… Argh! Can you believe this, my lord?!”

Alus gives a forced smile, “D-do you think… I should’ve finished him… right there and then?”

“I can understand, my lord…”

Alus, the head guard, and the rest of the people in the place turned with utmost surprise at where the voice was coming from. They cannot believe their eyes and ears at that moment.

The elated colonel bawls as he hugs, “Taraga! You’re awake! Oh, thank Ieso! You’re awake!”

“Wait, spare me a moment, please,” Kayapa slowly speaks, “H-how long have I been out of commission?”

“This would be the fifth day! I can’t believe it! Ieso has brought you back to us!”

“Y-yes, well, I believe I’d be going back there again if you don’t stop hugging me so tightly.”

The head guard suddenly takes away his arms, which caused Kayapa to almost fall from his bed. He then feels some stinging pain from wounds inflicted by Rabka during their fight, making his arms wrap around his body. Despite being relieved of Kayapa’s recovery, people around him began to look glum. It particularly caught Kayapa’s attention even when he still endures pain.

With a frowning face, Kayapa firmly said, “Spill it, Zandoc!”

Alus looked around to determine who Kayapa was referring to, only to find the rest gluing their eyes on the unassuming head guard. It startled the pretender exquisitor, who then pointed a shaking finger at him.

“Y-your name?!”, Alus asked with skepticism.

Zandoc nodded, “Yes, my lord. With all due respect, haven’t we been introduced yet?”

“We’ve been through thick and thin these past few days! How didn’t I catch your name yet?! Would it kill you to wear a name plate?! Does it take eleven minutes to say your name?!”

Some gave stifled laughs, but the new governor was not having any of the amusement.

“Indeed, he is Zandoc, Lord Exquisitor,” Kayapa entered, “and he has some explaining to do.”

Zandoc cleared his throat before responding, “Eherm, I mean, yes, governor…”

“Taraga’s fine, or… do you want me to call you Honorable Assemblyman now?”

After some repeated refusals, Zandoc briefed Kayapa of the matter.

Kayapa massaged his brow, “I think I need to get psyched first… Where’s my Kwan?”

Alus was about to ask what it was when Zandoc tapped him. When the pretender exquisitor looked, Zandoc motioned his hand on his head, signifying that Kayapa meant his headwear.

One of them, Horden’s commanding general who was caught in an orgy during Rabka’s attack, brought out the former governor’s gold crown, and spoke with hesitation, “Honorable Governor, didn’t you mean your crown?”

The rest of the people there widened their eyes, even the sweating Zandoc and the clueless Alus. It is a moment of truth. Would Kayapa prove to be a governor similar to Horden? If not, would he be better or worse? For Horden’s associates, the new governor was almost always seen as an outsider, and so they never had a chance to assess the man.

However, now that it is clear for the republican government that only an Assembly vote remains to officially proclaim Kayapa as the new governor, they felt the need to measure this big kahuna, especially because they themselves have been involved in the issues which pinned down Horden’s administration.

“My Kwan, dear general,” Kayapa coolly replied, his freezing tone sending chills to the general holding the crown, “Crowns are for kings. Frankly I ask you, do I look like a king to you?”

Alus twiddled his thumbs while wondering if he ever heard a similar phrase before. Before the general can reply, a civilian official comes into the room and hands over a black velvet hat with tassels of red and blue.

It definitely was Kayapa’s Kwan, and he wears it as soon as the civilian official has finished his bow. His face remains serious, but more because of the pain than the ill feeling Horden’s general has sparked against him.

“Alright, good work,” Kayapa said as he fixed the hat to cover his black hair, “About this Rabka problem, it sure looks like a replay of thirteen years ago, doesn’t it?”

Zandoc interjected, “Indeed, Taraga. But at least then, we sort of knew where we can find him. He was called the “desert sage” after all. Now, we believe he’d be too smart to remain here.”

“Nothing’s sagely about that cult leader. If I knew him better, I can already imagine him raising yet another army of frenzied fanatics ready to fight for him… Wait, that’s correct, there’s another desert, and it’s way larger than ours!”

“No… Do you mean Berania?!”

The rest began to murmur among themselves. Kayapa looked around him before coughing, which caused them to shift their attention to him. He quickly hides the bloodstained hand he used to cover his mouth.

The new governor continued as he made a circular motion with his other hand, “I know we’re undermanned, but as much as possible, I want you to scramble all we can to cover every sector of our borders. We can’t allow Rabka to slip out of Aramathi… dead or alive! Understand?”

All of them saluted, and then went on their way. However, when Kayapa spotted Alus among them, he hailed him back. Alus can only hide his embarrassment as he was used to following orders. After all, he was no exquisitor, but a lowly attendant with a rank of lieutenant. Alone in the room, Kayapa motioned Alus to take the seat beside him, and so the latter did.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Kayapa began, “but you really didn’t look the exquisitor type to me.”

The pretender exquisitor looked away from Kayapa while laughing nervously, “Heh, is that so, governor?”

“You see, that’s just it. You could’ve left me bleeding to death, and then you wouldn’t have to explain the situation to your superiors. Reportage is the single, most dreaded job of an exquisitor. But… Here we are, I’m governor, or at least until the Assembly officially approves it. Well, my appointment would definitely solve a possible succession crisis that might result from all the politics. Just like a typical exquisitor, the Assembly won’t want to disturb the respective local status quos that helps them keep their jobs.”

“I… see…”

Kayapa smirked as he tried fixing his sitting position on bed, “Besides, I meant it when I said being a representative isn’t profitable for my career. I’m always out of the province, mostly being made unaware of the… our people’s conditions, just to witness more bickering and toga pulling in those hallowed halls. Pathetic.”

“I did notice you’re having trouble identifying with Aramathians. So why serve here?”

“Where else can I be? We’ve been forced out of Bayan, and Aramathi is where I grew up. This place may not love me, but at least I can say, I grew to love the place. You get the gist?”

“No, I mean… You just needed residency to become an official elsewhere. Kamui… Kandara…”

Alus refers to the residency requirement for public officials running for local positions. Depending on the province, it usually requires at least one year of being a resident of a certain locality to be able to be a candidate for local elections. For Aramathi, it is currently at five years.

The new governor shook his head, “I know… But honor mandates my duty to my family. They’ve been disgraced, fallen from society, in this very city… Anyway, enough about me…”

“I don’t mind, governor. Really, I don’t.”

Kayapa looked at Alus’s hands, “Your sword style. It’s familiar. Too familiar, in fact. Would you mind telling me about it?”

“Now that I think I’d mind,” Alus answered with a laugh.

“No. I’m serious, my lord. It’s a deadly technique, yet your weapon control is quite impressive. If any other handler might have pulled it off, Rabka’s emerging as a dead man.”

Alus almost flushed as he scratched his head, “Oh, I don’t know about that. Like, killing him would’ve been the better option, don’t you think so, too?”

“It was Lord Piso’s legendary technique. Do you still deny it?”

The pretender exquisitor was shocked by Kayapa’s impatience, “Uh, well, I guess… I mean, how’d you know?”

“I’ve heard of it, but never saw it in action... With so many skilled warriors accompanying Lord Piso, I believe he rarely pulls out the sword nowadays. Yet you can do it so flawlessly. You must’ve been a special one to receive training for such a coveted technique.”

Alus sighed, “Yeah, perhaps… But I can the same for you. Nobody can easily determine that.”

“You flatter me, but not even one of my attacks scratched Rabka. You took him out with two moves! The Seven Deacons and the Twelve Disciples. Many people who heard about them even think they’re myths.”

“I admit, Lord Piso did take some time to train me… But that’s about it. I learned only the Three Sages, the Five Kings, the Seven Deacons, and the Twelve Disciples. The first two I thought wouldn’t cut it against Rabka, seeing how he dealt with your vicious attacks.”

“Are you saying there’s more to Lord Piso’s technique?!”

“It’s not like Lord Piso was the original creator of this style, or so he taught me, but he did say he developed other moves that are unique to him…”

“Yet he didn’t pass on to you?”

“Pretty much like it, governor. Disappointing, am I not?”

“No! Disappointed, yes, but not with you! If you’ve just seen what I saw on you then… I’m disappointed that I can’t get you to teach me the entirety of the technique!”

“Wait, what?! In your condition?!”

“I’m a fast learner, my lord. Demonstrate sword play for me, and I’d probably get it. Mentally.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to teach you but… I’ve a top secret mission…”

Kayapa’s eyes narrowed as he puts his hands in his arms, “And it’s not about Aramathi, is it?”

“I… There’s only little that I can say, but can I trust you?”

“What do you think, my lord?”

Alus searched Kayapa’s eyes, and there seemed to be nothing that can persuade him otherwise.

“I need to get to Bayan. Soon.”

Kayapa waited for Alus to speak, but he was forced to break the silence.

“T-that’s it? I suppose it’s really that classified of an information that you can’t say more...”

Kayapa put his hands on his hips before continuing, “Sure, I’d be glad to accompany you there! Provided, of course, that you do that demonstration I’ve been asking you along the way. Besides, that fight with cultist Rabka reminded me that I’d be needing some more exercise.”

Alus opened his mouth in an attempt to dissuade Kayapa, but a look in the latter’s face can make anyone believe he really is in good condition already. Alus then realized that having a descendant of a former Bayan citizen might be quite helpful for proceeding in his journey, and Kayapa must have been confident that he can leave Pasco for a while. Thus, he finally agreed, albeit with reluctance.

Nonetheless, would Alus really teach Kayapa the legendary technique? How does Rabka plan to regain the people’s recognition of him being the last ambassador of Bel Kabab? What can Zandoc and the rest of the Aramathian officers do in their pursuit of recapturing the elusive ambassador?