Anu 28, 1001 A.D.
Morning, it was.
The warm sunlight danced upon Cenk's closed eyes. He's been up all night hence the dark circles have shown him his wage. Tattered, his clothes were worn. Not a fitting outfit for a bey* of the sultanate. Rumour has it that the sultanate will return, but as the current situation is concerned, the defeated is no more than just slaves and commodity of the Empire.
Although the beams of light have tried to illuminate his tired eyes, Cenk didn't compromise his treasured sleep for the thought of an earlier awakening. He slept seated. The floor was cold as ice. A signal for the coming winter. On his neck was a wooden pillory with some runes painted on it. Glowing green and blue, changing by the minute. While a rune-embedded metallic handcuff hugged his right hand tight like a lover on a lonely night. A short heavy chain connected this handcuff to the sturdy granite walls at his back. Well even the walls itself had runes on them, but they were not glowing, instead, darkness was sucked up by them. All these things kept the prisoner at bay making the captive, mana paralytic, hence even though Cenk bin Anirab has learned bits of strengthening magic from his academy days. All of his knowledge was futile before these null-runes. Useless, he felt weak.
Cenk was not alone in this chamber he was in. There were three similarly dressed men as he was, bearing the heavy pillories too. Everyone was seated on the granite floor. The smell of their dirty bodies emanated in the air, while the closed environment spread it evenly together with the standing water puddles and the moss. He was together with an Emir*, a Pasha*, and one of the Hojas* of the Sultanate, Emim bin Aaaqil the one they called 'The Great Teacher'. He himself is one of the counselors of the Sultan Sheikh Wasim bin Jorin al-Sashwin.* Although the invasion is not yet finished, but doom is already imminent. The surprise war given by the Jade Empire have caught the sultanate off guard, and the war down south against the Rajahnate of Shiva Vanshaj had torn the country apart. Thus even though such an important figure like Emim Hojas have been in prison, the Sultan couldn't really force himself to find ways and rescue him. Nope, not on this lifetime, as he himself, out from the news from the battlefield, have been battling assassins day after day, and night after night. The Empire nailed them for good.
"Awake! you dumb sashwinos!*" the nearby guard shouted, with a smash of his staff on the iron bars. The sound of condescending was heard. With him was a group of people with palettes of food, bringing the prisoner their breakfast. Although the meal was quite good for the usual prisoners, for they were nobles and had better treatment than the civilian captives, but knowing that their country was in a mess, not a single one of them minded the sweet aroma of the roasted roclings.* Except for one, the Pasha, Aman bin Yusuf, the Commander of the Agaveli Garrison, who was caught by a lotus assassin while asleep, although he tried fighting back, the unaware ill-equipped general couldn't really fight off a fully-geared killer on the dark of night.
"Eat up everyone." Said the Pasha.
"Pasha, do you think this is a bit off? I mean our sultanate is still on the edge of destruction, but you wanted to have a feast?" inquired the Emir, disgusted of the Pasha's actions.
"But roasted roclings are a delicacy here in the Empire. Eat now my Emir while it is still hot."
Although both of them held high positions within the sultanate, not one of them talked out of anger, as they both knew of the one higher than themselves, the Hoja who's still asleep, or rather pretending to be one.
"Just eat what you have in front of your friends. We need strength." uttered the Hoja, lazily.
"Old man? Why would you talk when your eyes are still closed? Come and have some." said the Pasha.
"I'm conserving my strength, Aman. There's a great war coming."
"But we sure won't fight on an empty stomach Hoja." replied the Pasha.
"Honorable Hoja, I think talking about things like this would get us nowhere. You see, not only were we captured but even the Sultan is running away from constant assassination. We are doomed Emim Hoja." the Emir interjected, respectably.
"What you see now is nothing but a picture of the coming, Fayiz."
"Hoja, we were caught off guard. Preparation is what separates the victor from the victim, and we who are unsuspecting towards our neighboring country, have tasted the bitterness of defeat."
"Fayiz, your father should feel bad about you. You were born a winner, why would you feel like you're a loser, just because of this little misstep?*"
"I'm sorry Emim Hoja."
"Nothing to worry about, just eat the meal in front of you, and you young bey, Cenk. You should eat also. Just keep a portion for me, I'm still finishing my meditation"
Cenk being the youngest in the group didn't really try to pry on the topic. For it is against the customs of the sashwinos for the younger generation to join in the conversation of those who are older. Especially, for those like the three who held great power within the sultanate.
"Yes, Hoja. I will." Short replies were uttered by Cenk's mouth.
The three began to eat the meal before them, but the Hoja didn't. He was asleep, or rather just his eyes. The dark wet cell with a little fire in the middle became their home for a few days now. The constant patrol of the guards their alarm. The little sticks of light through the covered gap between the lintel and the roof acted like a tapestry of daylight.
Sleep was Cenk's friend in this place, and so did everybody. After their meal, they usually sleep until lunch. After lunch, the same pattern goes until evening. When there's something new from the war front they're given the information, as nobles it was their right to know what's happening.
So when their breakfast was finished, they've begun to be silent again, still as the pillars of the ghastly corridors, connecting each of these chambers.
A minute and a few seconds, Cenk began his course to the land of dreams. Softly, his breathing began to beat in andante, to lento, until it became as slow as largo. He was half-asleep. His ears can still hear the constant fall of the droplets somewhere outside, but it was slowly fading.
Then out of the blue, a strong wind pulled him back. He then opened his eyes but what welcomed him was not the inside of the prison cell, nor was it the corridors of the garrison that he was in. He tried to, but he can't figure quite out what happened, but he was sure of one thing. That he was in a place he's never been before. Clothed in a cozy but a bit unbearable linen maybe due to its poor quality. He was standing on a hill filled with wheat. It was a lovely wheat farm. On the distant, a lady in white silk was dancing with the breeze. Her dance was one of worship. She was dancing like no one was watching. The vibrant colors of this dream have taken Cenk aback. Seeing that lovely visage at the distance of a refined girl clothed in the purest of silk, he assured himself of its reality. His eyes darted back to his feet on the dirt and to his surroundings, to check if he is indeed standing on a field, on this sunny day. To his dismay, he can't be certain of the current situation he was in. He felt scared. Afraid of the unknown. He then closed his eyes to internalize what was happening to him. He took a deep breath and breathed out his shivering heart. Slowly he opened his, now penetrating dark brown eyes.
Suddenly, what he saw was that the gentle breeze from earlier changed, into a firestorm, and it was closing into where he was standing. Cenk tried to use his mana, but not a single spell worked. He braced himself for the coming disaster, as his sight went back to the girl at the distant, but the girl was no more, what stood there was a burning tree and atop the tree stepping on nothing was a man clothed in noble garments, with a mask of a jester on his face. The mask wasn't looking funny, it looked creepy and terrible.
"Cenk.." the man uttered with a familiar tone.