Chapter 2: A Scenery of Life

If anyone around Orron was found talking about a person who hated the very idea of youth, they were certainly discussing Rraos Arroxath. Even if most of this potential Arroxath heir’s personal details remained a mystery to the general public, one detail that he never managed to hide was his utter disdain for his own youth. This belief baffled the old and the young alike, but anyone curious who had a chance to converse with the young man would receive a straightforward answer.
In Rraos’ own words, what could youth offer that wealth could not? If he had enough money, he could keep himself fit regardless of age, hire enough security to be outwardly safe, be in the finest circles for both friends and lovers; in short, there was nothing afforded to him by youth that wealth could not surpass. On the other hand, youth came burdened by expectations. Youths were expected to work hard and build the strength of character, of mind and body, and of whatever else people decided to tack onto this never-ending list. So why must he not disdain his youth?

While most in his family disagreed with this notion of Rraos, they too had peculiar ideas and sharp gazes. Like him, they were notably tall by the standards of Altrakh. And like him, they revelled in wealth and high standing within the empire.
Here ended the similarities, as Rraos, unlike any other Arroxath, placed a much greater emphasis on the spending of money over its distribution. To him, the balance between effort, earnings and expenditure was the key to life’s equation – ‘The lesser the effort for greater the income, the greater the value, being able to spend a greater sum’.
Simply put, Rraos did not believe in the work ethics ingrained into the rest of his family. If he toiled endlessly, when would he spend the money? And if he did not get to spend money, why bother earning it in the first place? While reasonable at a glance, these ideas often proved problematic in practice for those around him, especially coupled with his detachment towards many aspects of life and connections. Only those painfully close to Rraos could see him for the totality of who he was – a swindler born to a family of respected and learned merchants.

Today was a special day for Rraos, just as yesterday had been. It was special because today, just like yesterday, he was worried that he himself was about to be swindled.
The disaster may not happen on this very day, or even a few days after, but what about in a few weeks? What about in a month? Was this possibility of him being hoaxed a divine retribution for all these years he spent making unfair trades and causing others losses? More realistically, was this a plot of revenge by someone he had manipulated for a profit? Maybe someone from his own family? Or was this a ploy by one of his ‘siblings’ to eliminate him from the race of succession? If it was, then he dearly hoped he would know before its completion. He would then personally give the perpetrator a written declaration, renouncing any intention of being the Arroxath head. Why would he want to be the head when he could be the stomach, digesting profits from both his family and outsiders?

Sitting on his black velvet adorned couch, Rraos released a deep sigh. He had been feeling a curiosity nibbling him for some time now. The recollection of a wild young man casually bending the world to his will haunted him. It made him itch with the desire to compare. It made him petty.
This feeling had persisted right from the day the young guard of the merchant Vaong’rr had caught Rraos’ eyes. It was just another meeting with just another merchant. But this mannerless boy stuck out like a sore thumb. He had smiled too much. He was too confident. Too young. Too unknown.
But living where he had for so long, Rraos just could not accept that attitude. Even if the boy had shown his strength. How far away from himself could one country bumpkin be?

“Be limited!”
The young Arroxath’s intonation stirred only himself. Managing the slightest tug on the world felt like it would tear him to shreds.

Of course, that obnoxious boy likely wasn’t comparable! Cursed beast in the form of a man!
Now, he would have to ask one of their xamosa for their opinion. How strong was the nobody?

Tired and unsettled, Rraos buried himself in the softness of his couch. These two days had been exhausting! No matter how vigorously he had ransacked his brain pursuing the best explanation, nothing beyond unstable speculations took form, all of them falling apart under serious scrutiny. How did such a no-name boy acquire so much information?

Right now, his brain was refusing to cooperate. Any further agonizing, and Rraos was likely to turn himself insane before arriving at a conclusion. But did that mean he would give up? Not a chance!
His preferred lifestyle was at stake! If he didn’t think things through, he risked his lifestyle being pried away by unfamiliar, clammy hands. What he needed was to start his mental investigation anew, preferably after a short break!

Rraos stood up from his couch and stretched, his muscles relishing the movement after rolling around for so long. A pleasant sensation spread through his limbs, washing away some of the tension that had built up in his mind. Then, he shook his arms and legs before rummaging through the deep pockets of his baggy trousers. His fingers brushed against familiar objects – a pen, folded paper – before settling on what he sought. A large case of cigarettes and an ornate, expensive-looking lighter emerged from his pocket.
With a thoughtless, practiced motion, he flipped open the case and pulled out a long cigarette, letting it dangle between his lips. And then…. nothing.

Rraos’ already drifting mind had sailed away completely, not towards thoughts or worries, but towards a blank thoughtlessness. The cigarette hung precariously, forgotten by all but the instinct of his facial muscles that kept it hanging. His mind emptied itself so suddenly, so completely, that he had entered a state of raw perception. He saw without comprehension, felt without thought. He was aware of his heartbeat, of the slow rhythm of his breath. He noticed the subtle weight of his clothes pressing against his skin, the cool air moving in the space around him, and the extremely faint smell of things borne aloft by it. There was the metallic chill of the lighter in his fingers. The steady, cold contact of the floor beneath his feet. The unnatural weight of the cigarette between his lips waiting to be lit….

It was his body, not his mind, that nudged Rraos back to cognizance.

A slow blink; a deep breath; a flicker of amusement; now, the voyage of his mind was complete.

The feeling of refreshment in Rraos’ mind was phenomenal. He was accustomed to working his mind over his body, so such moments of reprieve were a rare and priceless welcome.

Rraos lit the cigarette, smoked a puff, then made an ash-bowl available for himself. Deciding against sitting back down immediately, he inhaled smoke again, stepped over to a water jar, then exhaled long and deep. Instead of pouring into a drinking glass first like any normal person would, he tilted the glass jar and let the cool, refreshing water dribble directly down his throat. Only after quenching his thirst did he bother to fill up his drinking glass.
Manners held little weight in private, so he held the glass in the same hand as his cigarette, only holding the ash-bowl in his other minding convenience. Returning to the centre of his spacious room, he set down the ash-bowl and drinking-glass on the tiny smoking table there, then sunk into the soft cushions of the sofa awaiting his return. Another slow drag preceded another deposit of ash at their designated destination.
Then, he was ready to think again. His mind was clear.

The first idea in need of consideration was a familiar one. The boy who called himself Jyevodirr could have been bluffing. Of course, that would mean that Rraos had given himself away. The boy had at first merely asserted a couple of times that Rraos did not intend to be the Arroxath heir. Only after he reacted did the boy press further, as if he had confirmed the boy’s suspicions. The rest was likely to be more guesswork.

The problem with this theory was that the boy was without any significant standing. A nameless boy from a near nowhere village would not gamble so hard without anything to win. But if awards were to be promised, that would make the boy connected, even if in some miniscule capacity. That couldn’t be correct either, as Z’xalorr, who had been with him that evening, would have uncovered at least something suspicious by now. The only suspicious thing unearthed about that wildling was just how utterly non-existent his standing was. But Z’xalorr had managed to find out about his origins and even trace the path the boy had taken to Orron, so he really was nothing special. Which was exactly why the boy’s strength nagged at Rraos.

Before this inconsistency could unravel the idea completely, Rraos suddenly considered a second, hitherto unthought of idea. It was a dangerously treacherous thought.

This Jyevodirr know too much, he knew too little. Comparing all the resources available to both, it was not too farfetched to claim the boy should have been as good as blind, while Rraos near omniscient. So how could the opposite happen? Unless it was his own family that had turned against him?

Dread pressed down on the Arroxath youth with its skeletal hand, but he nudged it aside for now. He needed to consider the whole idea first.

With the strength of the boy’s assertion that Rraos would not be the heir, considering any of his siblings to be the culprit was wishful thinking. None amongst them could ever suspect his personal stance. The only two people who might be able to do so were Z’xalorr himself and his mother. No other consideration made as much sense as this.
But why the secrecy? Why use a some-none?

A shiver wreaked havoc through his body. Rraos felt tiny, like a droplet of water caught in a storm.

He rose abruptly from his cosy lounge, his mind made. Walking closer to his wardrobe, Rraos threw it open and sifted through his formal attires. He quickly managed to pick out one of his finer ensembles.
A snug, sandshell-coloured, high-necked, full-sleeved shirt was paired together with tough yet flexible tan-colored trousers. Over them, he donned a form fitting sand-coloured robe that split at the waist, its flowing fabric ending at his calves. A pair of fully covering cloth gloves, thick grey boots and an imposing white mask, its upper half sloping back and lower jutting out like a shield, completed the look. Every piece bore the emblem of the Arroxatha.
He was ready to move.

The curtains were drawn shut and the air-adjuster powered down. Every task meticulously completed, Rraos now stepped out of his own room into the guards’ waiting room. A guard, newly promoted and having served him no longer than two months, was lounging around. No one else was in there.
So where was Z’xalorr?

The man’s absence made Rraos’ stomach churn with unease. He beckoned the guard, who was now standing at attention, to approach.

“Where is the captain of my guard?” Rraos asked.

“The captain said he would be investigating the target, Qaiz’rra,” was the reply.

While a reasonable answer, it only further discomfited Rraos. Now that he dared to point a questioning finger at his own shadows, it was turning him into a very paranoid young man. If not, he was one about to stumble upon a scenery he had for long been running away from.

“Then get ready to move. I want to get back to our estate as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, Qaiz’rra. Should I –”

“Look here, my man. I know you are hesitant about protocols, since it hasn't been long that you were promoted. But time is ticking and I am in a deadly hurry.”

“Deepest apologies, Qaiz’rra…. I’ll make haste. Qaiz’rra, please wait for a few minutes.”

The guard hurried out.
Had Rraos’ concerns been any lighter, he might even have chuckled at the nervous fellow. But as things stood, he had no time for this comedy snap. A beast at good health may mock the worms, but a sick one had only the leave to worry about them.

Rraos did not get to tire his brain too long. Four guards marched into the room, three of them falling-in behind the vice-captain that had left earlier. They looked sharp and up to attention.
Rraos nodded at them. It was their cue to move. With practiced efficiency, they cleared a path through the room for him, then followed him outside in formation.
In the city block that lodged Orron’s most powerful, the movement of such a party as theirs did not attract any inquisitiveness. Regulars and workers barely glanced at the party, while the unaccustomed could not stand around slack jawed for every important looking retinue.

At the end of a painstakingly maintained front lawn, a carpet of regularly trimmed grass, agaves, yuccas, and year-round blooming flowers from around Orron, waited a large, dull-white carriage with four powerful Moyeganeni horses harnessed. Rraos ascended with sprightly steps; the doors shut firmly behind him. The guards took up their respective positions, with three on the open back-seats behind the carriage, and the head of the unit in his special seat behind the coachman. When all were seated, the coachman issued a loud command.
The carriage rumbled down the streets of Orron.

The journey from the city walls to the Arroxath estate cost less than ten minutes. As soon as the carriage drove inside the outer gates and stopped, Rraos wasted no time in getting down and hurrying through the inner ones. It was unlike him to rush, but impatience gnawed at him today.

He sped through the estate grounds in a hurried gait, not caring for the puzzled eyes he drew upon himself. The main building felt particularly distant today, but he persevered and crossed the central avenue without outright dashing. But just when Rraos finished his upward climb through the stairs, stepping onto the raised courtyard, he was impeded by a figure he had no desire to meet, especially at such a moment.

“Oh my! Look who decided to show up here?”

The boy who spoke, Radus by name, was the youngest Heir Candidate of the Arroxatha; he was also by far the most infuriating. Clad in his usual immaculate attire, the boy cut a form of effortless poise. Rraos knew better.
He mentally debated simply flouncing past this prickly stick.

“What? No witticism today?” Radus deliberately skipped over into Rraos’ personal space. “No silly attempt at a banter at all, dear brother?”

Rraos frowned. He did not have time for this venomous rodent.

“Get out of my face and my way, you smelly little crotch-biter! I don't have time for your barbed tongue today.”

Radus' smile widened like a predator catching scent of fresh prey.

“Oh? And why is that, I wonder?” Radus stepped back a little, tapped an index finger between his brows, and frowned. “Why is our dear brother, so unaffected, so naturally carefree, flapping around like a headless bird?”

Rraos made to sidestep Radus, but the younger brother moved too. Always a little beyond reach. Still blocking his path.
Rraos would have ordinarily brushed him aside, but something about Radus’ behaviour – his abnormal persistence, his barely tamed glee – gave Rraos a pause. Radus did not miss this chance.

“Could it be, dear brother, that you did something…. irreversible? Is that why you're in a hurry?” His voice lilted in mock-innocence as he took another measured step back. “Is that why Z’xalorr decided to rat you out?”

Rraos lunged. He would have had Radus down on the ground by his throat had his brother not made his measured retreat.

“I dare you to run your mouth again, brother.” Rraos growled, angry beyond measure. At whom? He did not know. It did not matter. He would break whatever his hands fell on. Preferably starting from the smug little parasite before him.

Radus sneered back, another measured affectation. “Are you so drunk on yourself that you are blind? How many times had your precious captain of the guard visited the head’s office these two days?” His voice sharpened enough to cut. “She may be your mother, but do you think you won't be cut and thrown away if you become a death-tumour?”

Rraos nearly flew into a fit of rage again, but his anger fizzled out, leaving behind a sickening sense of fear and betrayal. It was relatively easy, even a little fun, to entertain thoughts of betrayal against oneself. But to have it really thrown unceremoniously into one’s face was a world-shattering horror no amount of prior contemplation could prepare anyone for.

Somewhere behind him, Rraos may have heard his dear little sister, Xilasya, call out his name. Maybe she was delighted by his visit. Rraos might even have heard Radus throw a few more verbal jabs. He was a poisonous little thing, after all. But none of them mattered. None of them were heard. The only sound he could hear was the pounding noise of blood in his ears as he thundered up the staircase of the main building. He needed to get to his mother’s office. Immediately.

A worker stumbled out of the way as he shoved past, then a maid yelped as he crashed into her. That, too, did not matter. He was gently stopped by a guard at the door to his mother’s office. He shoved that guard in through the door, but the guard managed to drag him down even while falling. Rraos did not resist. He ended up being pinned to the ground. He did not struggle. It did not matter.
What mattered was that Z’xalorr was here, and so was his mother.

His mother waved a finger, and the pressure of being held down vanished. Rraos did not get up. His mask had been knocked away during the scuffle, but he didn’t care. He wanted answers.

“You look foolish, laying on my floor like that, Rraos.”

His mother's voice was strong. Commanding.

“Get up,” she ordered. “Tell me what brings you here.”

Rraos felt nauseous. He wished he could bury this place with money. Even so, he sat up.

“What are you planning, mother?” Rraos asked, his voice sharp with accusation. “Why is Z’xalorr hiding around you these days? Why are you both disrupting my life?”

At first, his mother only stared, silent as a grave. Then, she sighed and seemed to shrink.

“Your desires are too strong, Rraos.” His mother's voice, so unshakable moments before, now sounded a little frail.

Frail? His mother? Rrianxi Arroxath, who was the head of the Arroxath family? One of the most powerful people in Moyegan Sy’vethrron, if not the entirety of Arrkad’vla empire? The woman who had only known strength was feeling weak? What an absolute joke.

“What should I do about you, son?” She continued to speak to him. “You’ve always been such a free-spirited child. When would you ever be satisfied?”

Rraos’ mother walked up to her son and crouched down before him. Her crimson eyes locked into his own, and he saw in them something unexpected. Pity.

“You caused some losses for us, and I let it go. You abandoned your education, and I overlooked it. You caused people grief, and I tried my best to mend what I could. I understood.”

She rose again, turning away, walking to a window. Still speaking.

“We are the Arroxatha. We are born with power in our blood and responsibilities upon our shoulders. After the Dosiloth, we are one of the four rulers of the Moyegan. Even the Dosiloth is so often chosen from among our family! Dosiloth! The highest standing in our sy’vethrron! There is immense pressure upon us. Endless expectations. We train our body with discipline; the mind we sharpen with knowledge. Above all, Mayyux guides us through everything. All of it unceasing. Constant. This is the environment we grow strong in.”

Rrianxi Arroxath turned back to look at Rraos. The fire was back in her eyes. Whatever little vulnerability she had allowed was quashed. Rraos knew he would get the answers he came here for now.

“I know you reject this path, Rraos. I understand that. I never knew how you wished to grow strong; still I knew you yearned for more. For you, I provided all I could.”
She meaningfully paused, eyes meeting with Z’xalor before she looked back at him. “Tell me then, son. Why did you believe your way to strength would be to turn back on the family?”

Rraos started. What was she talking about?

“What were you conspiring with that country boy? Whose hand have you grasped?”

Rraos’ bewildered look alternated between his mother and Z’xalorr. Something was very wrong here.

“Mother, I –!”

His words were cut off almost immediately. “I will hear nothing more from you. You are my son, my only weakness. You lied to me countless times; I chose to believe you each time. But now I cannot listen. Not when I don’t know what is at stake.”
Rrianxi shattered all hopes of Rraos. “The Questioner will hear you.”

Rraos wanted to curse and shout. He wanted to rage and break things. He wanted to wrestle his mother, knowing he stood no chance, just so he could be heard.
But whatever he wanted to do would not be allowed. Z’xalorr, who was always at Rraos’ back, now stood in front of him. Rraos was unsure, but the loqerron could very well be a traitor in their midst. Him not being a renegade was too terrifying a thought to even pursue. If the one who had seen all was innocent, who was the culprit?

“Take him away, Z’xalorr.”

The command was abrupt. Before Rraos’ mind could register it, his trusted partner had him turned around caught by the back of his neck. His arms were twisted and pinned behind him, and his legs forced to march towards the door. Rraos squirmed and yelled, trying to break out. It unsurprisingly did not work.

“You’ve got it all wrong, mother!” He shouted, his words cracking like a child’s tantrums. “I was never planning anything! Someone is out to deceive you! Someone wants me gone!”

Rraos was choking on despair by the time he was forcefully shoved out of the door. He vaguely registered his mother standing still, looking out of the window with a frown. It was an insignificant detail in the face of his own predicament. His life was over. Nothing mattered anymore.

Through the haze of fear in Rraos’ mind, a whimsical thought made an appearance. If that Jyevodirr boy was telling the truth, he should be showing his face now. What the boy had said did come to pass, no? The boy should be an honourable man, right?

Whimsy was whimsy; it had no place in reality.
He was being forced to walk without any hope. Step by step. Bawling and screeching. Feet dragging. Neck hurting. One foot forced to be put before the other.
On and on he was forced to walk. Through the corridor outside his mother’s office. Down the stairs leading out from the building. Plodding through lost luxury. Marching with horrified looks trained upon him. Stripped of his dignity with each step.
Onto the courtyard he was marched. Xilasya looked devastated. Radus smirked. Rraos walked past them. Past many others.
And then, they halted.

They halted?
Rraos was confused. He looked around and saw everyone looking elsewhere. Even traitorous Z’xalorr had loosened his grip.
Eyes quickly passing by everyone, they glanced at the windows of his mother's office. She still stood and still looked where she had, a grim smile being the only addition now. It finally occurred to Rraos – everyone was looking in the same direction as his mother was.

Then, her eyes flicked to him and softened. She nodded.
It was a kind nod. As kind as he remembered her from his childhood.

What?
Bewilderment pushed back his hopelessness.

He finally heard the faint commotion. Then, the stone underneath his feet rattled.
Weaker workers shouted and retreated back towards the office areas. Guards streamed out and away in the direction of the estate gates. Orders were barked out. And, to his shock, too many xamosa walked out into the open together.

Xamosa. The champions. People who dedicated their entire lives to strength. The jewels of any large groups, powerful communities.
They almost never crowded together, unless it was an important or threatening matter.
But they were now.

There was a flash of light. Then, a violent shockwave rippled out through the estate, shattering unreinforced glass and damaging unprotected structures. Rraos would have tumbled and fallen quite far away, had he not been restrained by the traitorous loquerron.

For hundreds of years, they had not been attacked by outsiders. Every faction had kept their balance, none engaging in something so warlike, so unbridled. Xamosa fought for groups settling formal disagreements. Internal strife and power struggle raged beneath the thick bedrock of peace. But no one disturbed the surface. No one wanted to. Things were good as they were.

No powerful intruder made sense. No foreign enemy, no close competitor, nor even the Kraturr or his Mag’rra. If they had to move, they would do so with formal notices, or with shadows and whispers. No one would profit from tearing down the centuries old system.
The only possibility that rippled to clarity within his mind was the one who promised hope. A preposterous young man with long, disheveled hair; a country bumpkin commanding the world around him with mere words.

Rraos was uncertain what his mother was up to. He was uncertain of Z’xalorr’s loyalty. He was even uncertain about whom he could trust, what could happen next, or where his path would lead. But one thing he was certain about was the scenery before him. This was the scenery he had been running away from; the one he had tried to shut out with comfort and wealth; the one he never intended to see in full. It was a simple scenery that ruined the meaning of luxury he had painstakingly defined.
This was the irrational scenery of life.

Another burst of power snapped Rraos out of his stupor. Jyevodirr suddenly appeared in front of Rraos and sent Z’xalorr flying. The world around Rraos spun out of control, but the madman grasped his hand and steadied it. Another wild man, burlier than the one Rraos was acquainted with, appeared at their side.

“Are you okay?” The familiar madman asked.
Rraos forced on a smile.

“I’ll live.”
And nothing else mattered.