The grand palace of Marah was silent in the afternoon. Golden butterflies flapped their wings outside over the thick plants decorating the windowsill.
Devices attached to the palace measured the temperature. It appeared to be a calm seventy-four degrees outside.
Guan Sui's face was calm and calculating. He sat on a classy bed layered in quilted embroidery. A notebook rested on his lap as he wrote with a smooth feather lathered in ink.
He stared outside at the beautiful sunset, grinning peacefully. Night would fall very soon, though he frowned slightly at the thought that this day would end.
Patting his head, he remembered the absence of the headband that had been stripped away from him.
He began to write once more. His face remained blank, but azure veins grew like cables across his arm.
"I am a silent performer that they do not see, so they cannot make their judgment. If I let them see what I have to do for them to be protected, that would mean I'm invoking fear for them to appreciate me . . ."
Taking a deep breath, he looked toward the door to his room. It was open, and it sat beside Chief Asem's room, as if to mock him.
He stared with scrutiny. His palm gripped the feathered pen tighter. With a covetous expression, he outlined the elegance of the canopy over Asem's bed in his mind. The scarlet, lavish blankets on the Chief's bed mocked him with their warmth.
Glancing downward at his own white sheets, his knuckles tightened until they turned white as well. His lips curled downward slightly, but he remained silent and didn't move.
He stayed still like a porcelain doll. After a moment of thought, he wrote again.
"It doesn't matter what I do. They'll always praise him first because he's the one in the chair. I wonder if they cheer for me because they support me, or because they're entertained by me."
"My hopes dwindle to become a king in a land where I don't have to submit to a selfish nation."
His veins pulsed. After a deep breath, he rested the notebook alongside the feather and ink on a wooden cabinet beside his bed.
Opening a drawer, he found a dictionary. His golden tongue licked his fingers to moisten them as he flipped through dozens of pages.
Then he landed on it. Dragging his finger across the dusty page, his hand trembled.
He muttered with venom in his voice, "Malik . . . means . . . k-king . . ."
Slowly closing the dictionary, he took a deep breath. His veins swelled larger as they climbed toward his neck.
Walking to a mirror at the end of his room, he stared at the crown resting upon his black hair. Vanity hadn't overtaken him. Detachment had.
He cleared his throat and spoke to himself, "I have belittled myself to become a charlatan in hopes they would listen, but what do my words establish when a blade speaks tenfold louder than them?"
"My tongue has been scarred by the blade, and my words are tainted, but I can still speak. As long as I can speak, people will always heed my words and harmonize with them."
"I rid them of their problems silently, yet if I let it run loose, they'll run back to me like the sycophants they are."
"Yet they cheer for the spy. A walking plague donning the garments of rebellion."
Then he whispered in a golden tone, "He is the apoptosis of our island . . ."
He held his chest tightly as he felt his ribcage nearly split open, but his heart remained tied to strings wrapped around every bone.
Looking outside the window once again, he saw children playing while wearing headphones. Their parents called them in for dinner, and they happily ran home.
The parents embraced their children with great love before entering their homes to enjoy a splendid meal.
Guan Sui watched from the high palace, and a tear escaped his eye.
He murmured, "I-I must . . . even if it hurts."
A grin, larger than before, carved across his face.
Except it wasn't cunning. It was genuine.
With his hands behind his back, he stared at the tribe he had built over the past decade with the widest smile imaginable.
Yet a different thought lingered beneath his joy.
Then, cocky steps entered the room uninvited.
Snorting, one of the recovering sycophants spoke, "Talking to yourself again, Guan Sui? I could hear you from the other room." With a smaller, hunched stature, he kept his snobby behavior intact even after the events of the court.
The once-crowned subordinate didn't respond. A vein still popped.
The hunchback pointed at him. "I'm talking to you. Seriously, what will you do now after having your position taken by a lowly visitor?"
Guan Sui stayed silent, paying attention to the outside. Veins crawled across his forearm. They weren't only blue; they were oddly gold.
The sycophant added, "It's time that we claim our rightful throne, as we own the tribe, the island, and soon all that detest us."
Guan Sui finally turned around, "We? Have you been reading too many fairy tales?"
The air dropped. A hint of golden eminence lurked, but not one of joy.
He took a step forward, and a sudden energy released from his body, an overwhelming one. It was jagged, encapsulating his entire figure.
The sycophant raised his arms, "Y-You're scaring me, L-Lord Guan Sui . . ."
Guan Sui took another step, "You have no dignity. First you claim us as kings, now, in fear, you label me a lord, but I label you nothing but a coward."
The hunchback stepped back, "I-I didn't mean such a thing."
"But you did. You lose yourself in words, but all you can do is bark and harass those weaker than you. You disgust me, and the fact that you stand before me with the gall to speak to me as if we are equals."
"I'm-"
Guan Sui blitzed forward. Golden sparkles left his pores. He punched the sycophant in the gut, twisting his stomach from the inside.
It knocked the air out of him, as he couldn't scream, only flail like a half-dead insect on the floor.
The once-crowned prince of Marah sat on the bed, avoiding the injured council member's eyes.
"You do not deserve even the luxuries of our palace. You much better belong to the other tribes, of which we lie about our resources just so that we remain prosperous."
The sycophant coughed, hugging his stomach.
"Y-you, you'll be thrown out if you get caught saying that, don't you realize it?"
Guan Sui laughed, then paused, "My words are not escaping this room . . . neither are yours."
He slid his fingers across the soft white sheets, "But before that, I want to ask you something, sycophant."
The hunchback breathed slowly on the floor, clutching his seizing abdomen, "I-I have a name."
"A noxious one. Say, did you kneel before M-Malik . . . in the courthouse?" Guan Sui injected.
The sycophant remained tongue-tied, moaning helplessly on the floor.
"My threads are as loose as ever. You should be able to speak."
Wordless, the council member wouldn't move a muscle.
Guan Sui could only stare at the jeering red sheets from Asem's room as he waited for the sycophant to respond.
He let his shoulders sag, "I see. But I'd like you to tell me what it is he had that I lacked."
". . . H-help," the bootlicker groaned.
His body began to turn a bluish hue from a lack of oxygen. His heart pulsed slowly as he could barely make out another word.
Guan Sui didn't blink. His pupils were unfocused and dilated. His body twitched at random moments, and he stared remorselessly at the sight below him.
He cackled. It rang throughout the room.
The sycophant grabbed Guan Sui by the ankle.
"I-if he was really a spy, then why d-didn't he apprehend us right there?"
In that moment, the air fell silent as nightfall ensued. The golden butterflies of joy were gone.
Guan Sui kicked the arm that grasped him and stood up, crouching beside him.
"I want you to be honest with me. Whose side are you on? Answer truthfully."
After stating that, a golden tint scorched his glare. Golden and blue threads leaked out of his mouth like yarn.
The bootlicker turned his head and finally faced the subordinate dead in the eye.
"For Marah," he said, coughing afterward.
Then, a golden tone emerged from Guan Sui's voice, his veins finally turning a pure flaxen.
"Your lies cannot save you anymore."
. . .
The subordinate's virulent gaze pierced the animal beside his feet.
He stepped back. A golden flame shrouded his legs. He lifted the heel of his foot like a hammer and—
His heel collided with the sycophant's temple, splitting his head in two as his cranium scattered across the room. His lower jaw remained intact, leaving only the bottom row of the sycophant's teeth visible.
The eyes rolled across the room, still attached to the red optic nerves as blood left a trail behind them.
The corpse let out one last breath as his body finally decided to give up.
Guan Sui stared. The smile lined in threads truly carved itself into his face.
The threads decided to stitch onto his cheeks, giving him an unusually wide smile. Blood leaked down his cheeks as he hadn't felt such euphoria before.
His knees shook as he stared at the life he had taken beneath his heel.
Such a simple task, yet so rewarding . . . I could never blame the others.
He remembered the massacre of the sycophants. The limbs taken by the blade, and the utter joy on the blade's face.
Leaving the body aside, Guan Sui looked into the mirror one last time, disheveled his hair, and pointed at himself.
In his reflection, he could only see himself. Everything behind him was an enigma. He could practically envision the crown being placed upon his scalp.
He murmured, "I am no blade, because I cannot be wielded. That dictionary lied . . . a name does not dictate the life of a person."
The adrenaline rushed throughout his body as he admired the flaxen veins that crawled across him.
After worshipping the only image in the mirror, he walked away, squashing a sanguine eyeball beneath his sole. Ignoring it, his eyes were fixed on the room opposite his own.
He mumbled, "You told me we were equals, Asem. How long I believed that lie."
Entering the bedchamber, an aroma of serenity encompassed his body.
He faced the scarlet sheets and the high canopy of the royal bed and found himself immersed within it as he immediately leaped onto the mattress.
His body sank into it as the fluffy sheets massaged him. He stared into the pavilion and envisioned it.
All the tribes praised him as he was bestowed the crown. In that dreamscape, he believed he could conquer the world. There were no spies. The land was fruitful and united.
"Paradise . . ." Guan Sui whispered.
After a moment, his vision was short-lived. He stared up again and could only see a canopy. He looked at the bed he rested upon and could only see a bed.
Sitting up, he realized the room was just a room.
Though his smile remained upon his face, deep down, he sauntered.
Now, I see . . . what brings me the truest joy.
But though I may be happy now, was I in the wrong?
He sat there, palming his face in an endless cycle of culminating thoughts.
Then, the clicking of heels from afar crescendoed through the hallway between the two rooms. The leaking blood began to seep into the pristine carpet between the doorframes.
The effeminate clicking stopped for just a moment as a curvy figure stood in front of the other room. Guan Sui recognized the woman as one of the administrators from the council and plugged his ears.
A hollow scream drowned out in his ears as it played like a beautiful symphony to his eardrums.
The voluptuous woman immediately ran into the room.
"Guan- Su- Ma- li-"
The woman toppled over and fell gracefully to the ground. She hyperventilated on the floor, the image of the half-decapitated council member stuck in her head.
Then Guan Sui unplugged his ears, and he could sense the despair within the woman's shrill voice.
He stood up and sat beside her. He caressed her hair as he consoled her.
"I couldn't be angry at you, darling. You weren't there at the court, tarnishing my reputation before the tribe."
She nearly cried on the ground as she barely had any strength left.
Guan Sui petted her, his golden eyes piercing hers.
"Tell me what you wanted to say beforehand. Forget the sight you just saw."
For a moment, the woman spoke normally, as if her prior reaction were a farce.
"One of our scouts has located a ship of the Messengers near the shore, and I've come here to notify you . . . It is more than likely that the governments have found our refuge."
Her body still shook despite her expression remaining neutral and elegant.
In that moment, Guan Sui could see the entire palace fall apart. The island became ruins, refurbished by the modernization of the realms. He could see his day-to-day life once more.
He saw the moment he slaved away at a job he despised, and the prison bars of his own apartment. He could smell the ugly fog of industrial chemicals flowing through the air once more.
He saw the death of his tribe, the death of his crown, and the death of his title. The quilted clothes he wore would be incinerated as he would once again wear what everyone else wore.
Recalling his studies of the Solythic Pact of Harmony, the three echoes stapled themselves into his mind. First came the golden mouth, then the golden gaze, and finally the golden threads.
The pages of study all tore apart right before him.
His veins bulged from his forehead. He grabbed the woman's face and stared deep into her soul.
One of the threads on Guan Sui's cheek snapped off.
"You may remember what you just saw. Sear it into your vision, so that every night you sleep, you'll see it again and again."
The woman shrieked. Her tan skin became ghostly pale as she whimpered on the floor for minutes on end.
Guan Sui stood up, making mercurial movements across Asem's bedchamber, pondering what to do next.
The palace of his dreams stood before him, one far grander than the one he stood in. All it took was the utterance of a phrase. The throne and the crown were one leap away, one beyond the echoes he had studied for so long.
All of a sudden, more threads formed across his face and even his eyelids. His smile remained intact, and his eyes no longer blinked.
His manic expression became that of a sculpture that wouldn't change, even when he spoke.
He whispered to the woman, looking down at her,
"There is nothing to lose anymore."
The cacophony of red rain sang outside, unwavering.
. . .