This was not meant to be.
Twelve years of the Du Quam Tavhaii's life gruelingly spent training to succeed Umdochar as the next Du Quam to serve the Tirkju'a—all wasted.
Umdochar had never thought that one day he would have to hand over his own spirit son to such a despicable beast who had remained in Katill Broiis, whose presence is never felt, which to him, says a lot more than anything he had seen or heard of her.
And they've met before.
He had disguised this fact from his spirit son, though it must've been obvious to Nubejul that he had been lying. He always looked at him for a long time after he would admit to something. Umdochar understood later on that Nubejul was simply gesturing him to share more details on this strange snake child whom the Tirkju'a was mentoring.
But those encounters had been nothing but unpleasant. And to put his spirit son under her, it would simply be a death sentence awaiting him.
But it was too late to complain now...
"I, Nubejul Tavhaii, the fourth child of Reiil Tavhaii and Sufii Devchajan, lay my life and soul down before the Domminical Order; to serve as a dutiful son of Ori'ehem; to banish the ills brought by the passing seasons; to carry the weight of my growing spirit and understanding; and to uphold the promise set forth by the Great Dove, the Almighty Shaman of the East, his High Wisdom. All this I hold to my name, my honor, and my life."
Nubejul sunk further down the ground, embellished in intricately woven overcoats and shawls, and adorned with emeralds and rubies—the signature jewels of the Domminical Order. In his ritual wear, he outshone his predecessor, for Umdochar always sported a large, red, armored robe over his tunic. Though the emeralds and rubies were never lost on him, he still wore them on most occasions, letting them dangle from his headdress to boast his attained wealth.
"Bless my oaths, Du Quam Umdochar, my spirit father."
"You may now rise, boy." Umdochar says as he encircles Nubejul's head with the staff's banner. Umdochar bent before him deliberately, looking at him head-on. His arm extended before the young man, holding a staff with the Order's insignias sewn unto the attached banner.
"Taz du'merezja, I Du Quam Nubejul Tavhaii. You will make me proud, boy. Make all of Oriehem bow."
The most long awaited moment of Nubejul's life was within reach. He had left no doubts behind.
As he reached for what was rightfully his, several knocks resounded from the door, leaving the room dead silent.