The scene blurred away leaving behind stunned Ishit. Oman folded back the scroll and put it away in a bone case. The wispy figure floated away through the skylight like smoke.
A heavy silence fell into the chamber. Oman collapsed into his cushioned chair. He didn't know how many times he had seen the scroll, despite knowing that every time he opened the empyr scroll he lost a bit of life. Every time the scene of his brother's death stabbed a dagger into his thudding heart. He didn't know how many times he wished to abandon everything –his love, his children, and the land for which his ancestor had bled. With Damini (his sword's name) in his hand, he longed to take a bath in the blood of Atlanteans.
Alas! He couldn't. And this helplessness was eating away his heart. The murder of his brother was lording over him. Since when did the lineage of Ankha get so spineless?
Oman didn't want the answer.
