The temple holds secrets that far surpasses anything within the boundaries of human understanding, and to know something of that level requires the seeker to be capable of wielding the responsibility of knowing and regulating their capacity to channel what they found; therefore, that task was entrusted heavily on Du Quams; and thus, to even be qualified for Du Quamship, rules had to be set in stone, some of which goes as follows:
1. Having been raised in the temple for a decade or has the same expected years of secured residency;
2. Acknowledged into the Private Council of an anointed Du Quam active in service aged not less than one hundred and fifty years; and
3. Limited contact or no contact with family relations or communities outside the temple; and so on...
Du Quam Kedrik grumbled to himself, "How many years have we been doing this? Months? I think it's only been months."
Shortly after Kedrik spoke, the Du Quam Umdochar descended from the stone staircase across the large pool, and he replied, "Don't be ridiculous." He sighed after a pause. "More, I'd say."
"I don't believe so." Kedrik never failed to be so stiff-necked; he didn't believe in the concept of time—things just happened and there was always something to be done. The cosmos moved without intervention from any entity and the world aged because that was its nature—time was just a way to measure it.
Many times he wondered as he sat there in the undergrounds, watching over Nubejul who was in a deep sleep, his golden face sealed under the waters of a pool made of the Shaman Dove's tears, if someday, man would be able to control the very factors that time itself measured—the cosmos, the aging of all living and non-living, or the grievances of his own wearing body.
On some days he could barely even stand straight and keep steady. Long ago—so long ago—he had been a rather active and excitable fellow as Umdochar had recounted. So was the man sealed in the pool, his bright face at peace and striking from under the still waters. Nubejul himself would soon come to a halt after his peak followed by the slope of his descent.
But he was only in his early twenties, and Du Quams live long, wearing only a fraction of the pace by which they naturally age.
To sustain this phenomenal ability, they kept a secret tradition between Du Quams and their sole successors. As soon as the latter was chosen, they were immediately taken to be submerged under the Dove's tears for hours, days, or months—depending on how long an Elder Du Quam can keep watch. There he was able to absorb the strange properties in the liquid itself and build a stronger, formidable body that does not easily wear and tear whether in combat, in his day to day routine, or on expeditions.
Du Quam Umdochar himself is able to withstand damages that a pointed weapon might inflict. Blunt or heavy objects do him almost little to no harm. All those accumulated years of being submerged while in a partial comatose had left his body solid and nearly impenetrable.
That was the desired effect for all Du Quams in the contemporary age.
Because of how fatal the body enhancement's effect had on its users, the Dove strictly ordered for it to be taught only among the most intimate circles in Katill Broiis and between Du Quams who are given the task of finding a successor that suited the trajectory of their respective reigns.
Nubejul's heritage was not even a secret to the templemen who had accepted him just as they did any other templeman. And to top it off, he was acknowledged as the son of the temple—an heir to the Du Quam Umdochar, and future Elder to the successor of Kedrik—should he decide to take one in.
At his age, at only twenty one summers, he had cemented himself as the youngest Du Quam to ever come into rule. No doubt, a very bright future lay ahead for him.
However, all this was not entirely a good thing.
Upon Nubejul's wake, Kedrik jolted from his meditations and watched as Umdochar stirred also from his chair.
"He's too young for this. Umdochar, you must take proxy."
"I will, don't worry. I will remain superior in-charge until I die, or until you and I feel as though he is ready. Nubejul, do you understand?" Umdochar always took Nubejul's opinion into consideration. He needed the young man to feel secure in his standing with his spirit father and mentor.
Nubejul nodded. "I thought so too. Where would we be without you?" He gazed up at Umdochar with eyes of acidic green steel—the mark of a Du Quam whose eyes were ritually exposed to the Dove's tears.
Kedrik, with his own fading green pupils, gave him a nasty look before he scoffed. "Quite clear."
To dry himself off, Nubejul took the staff at his side and made circles in the air, squeezing out the liquids as he waded to the edge of the pool. He kept a good grip on the ground as he stepped out unto the ledge and carefully exited. He'd done this plenty of times before, but this was the last time wherein he can strengthen his body before duty calls most of his time and attention to the Sijarkes.
He prayed all those years would be enough.
Du Quam Kedrik was almost right—it had only been a short while. He didn't keep track anymore. When submerged, he was unconscious, only half-awake to feel time crawling by.
Kedrik took initiative and lifted his own staff, and the pool of the Dove's tears were drained until not a drop was left.
Umdochar stood, letting out a huff of air.
"All is ready above ground. You need only put on warm clothes and sort your paints. The paints, Kedrik?"
Kedrik scoffed, getting on his feet and sliding over to the wall. "I'll paint him myself."
"Then make haste. Unto the Hall of Du Quams, hurry. The Sijarkes is set to arrive tomorrow, if not today." Umdochar gestured for the two to go ahead. "Always on a tight schedule, we are. Never a moment's rest."
Kedrik swiped at Nubejul's arm, dragging him towards the staircase. With Kedrik at his side, they ascended the only discreet connection to the Hall of Du Quams itself.
"To think you've only been training for twelve years, the shortest one yet," Kedrik sneered under his breath. He did it so often that Nubejul never minded it anymore or as much as he used to. Besides, the most long awaited day in his life was coming fast.
"Not bad for a farmer's boy," Kedrik added.
"I can't wait," Nubejul smiled as if he hasn't heard those same words from his Elder a hundred times before. Once he crossed the staircase, the provincial life would not be able to touch him anymore, or remind him really of where he ought to have been.