In the midst of this tumultuous gathering, the Du Quam Kedrik found himself in trouble.
There was a window of opportunity to witness the Sijarkes' inauguration. Though he did not wish to, he can't help but feel as though he might waste the chance to make critical observations. That was immensely important. So important that he had made a web of tunnels littered throughout the construction of the temple so that he may catch tidbits of conversation among its inhabitants without leaving the comforts of his chambers.
Umdochar had known about it later on, though he could not fault Kedrik. There had been times it was put to good use.
The Sijarkes' inauguration would take place at the Tirkju'a's balcony. Good, but not favorable. He would have to sit out of his own balcony to serve as audience.
He was going to risk it, even if direct exposure to the sun burnt his skin raw. The sacrifice was trivial, for now.
"Why is this taking so long? Vile creature, ruling two Domminical seats." Kedrik settled unto the throne on his tower balcony. He had been lucky that Umdochar thought ahead, setting textiles over the balcony roof to conceal him from the sun. "Who does she think she is?"
Umdochar came up behind him, summoned from the shadows of the dimly lit tower. Kedrik glanced at him momentarily before settling back unto his throne with a gravelly sigh.
"Umdochar, we've dug our graves now. The Sijarkes'll never listen to a word we say."
"It's about getting her where we want her to be." Umdochar took his place beside him, watching over the crowds. "You know I cannot stay long in Gu'ambiss. I have to return to Urbedaur as soon as the ceremony concludes."
"What do they make you do there? You are not their king. Not even their governor." Kedrik won't admit it, but he disliked the absences Umdochar took even in their tender age. When he got a job, he always placed it above everything else. Kedrik was going to guilt him about that for as long as he lives.
"The things the Tirkju'a should've dealt with all those years ago." The response came curtly. After a beat, Umdochar continued. "I'm his Du Quam, this is my obligation."
Kedrik shrugs, knowing well that there are personal reasons.
He pointed somewhere among the crowd, across the templeside. "Your spirit son."
Umdochar followed his direction and saw the graceful figures of the Sijarkes' party as they emerged from the Tirkju'a's large balcony, almost comical when compared to the Sijarkes' size.
"Kedrik, has it been that long?"
"Yes."
"284 years, gone just like that."
"Oh well."
"Look, here they come. It's the—"
"—the Urbedaurian?!" Kedrik yelped, clutching his armrests so viciously that it would have crumbled under his grasp. "Umdochar, explain. Now!" He bared out his teeth in such a raw way sending Umdochar back from where he formidably stood.
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As the masses crowd below, Toruaz witnessed the capacity of which the Tirkju'a's courtyards could contain as it stretched for several hundred meters, surrounding the Tirkju'a's tower. He could not spot his uncle from this vantage point. It was, however, easy to spot—what he assumed to be—Urbedaurians, wearing fashions similar to his, and with faces half concealed by dark silks. It was rather assuring. They had not been completely left out.
"Where would the Du Quams be?" He must know where the Du Quams might be watching.
"Over there, at Du Quam Kedrik's tower." Nubejul gestured to the Margijer's templeside with his chin, at a tower balcony where Kedrik was engaged in an argument with Umdochar. Nubejul frowned. "I see there had been something I've left unattended."
The Sijarkes whipped around, glaring.
"Don't mind that now. Get some wind going, I have an image to uphold," the Sijarkes hissed, gesturing to the golden robes hanging over her tiny figure. Nubejul chuckled, trying to shake off the incident at Kedrik's tower from his mind. It happens fairly often, Toruaz presumed.
As for the Sijarkes...
Well, with the way she was fidgeting with her fingers, he could see that she was feeling hesitant now that the tide has come to this. She looked too young to be ruling anyway. He almost felt sorry. But then again, looks are deceiving; she had outlived multiple generations of his kin, though her appearance does in no way reveal such a truth.
What could be the reason for this uncanny, youthful appearance? Even the Tirkju'a aged, the Oranseh aged. Was she a different case then?
By the edge of the balcony, a short, round black man in the most extravagant robes stood, a gracious smile on his face. Toruaz knew without a doubt that this was another Du Quam—the oldest of their generation, Kor Dui Wisaf, Du Quam to the Domme Avigrijer. To his shock, Kor Dui's body bore only a few wrinkles, looking almost patted down, like a bump in a clay figure. In his right eye socket, a ruby stuck in place of an eye, shimmering under the gaze of the sun's rays.
The Sijarkes had stopped only a few paces before him, and they gave each other a look over, approving of the garments they had donned.
The crowds cheered, seeing her now in physical form, a complete opposite reaction to how he had felt then when he had seen her for the first time.
The Sijarkes cleared her throat. Nubejul moved aside to let her through and eyed Toruaz' distance from the Sijarkes before turning to partly face the crowd, perhaps as a show of impartiality to neither man nor Domme. Kor Dui did as well, though he did not acknowledge Toruaz.
"The Domma Margijer," the Sijarkes began, her voice ringing out throughout a hushed crowd of a several thousand heads.
"The Elder XVIII Du Quam to the Domme Avigrijer, Kor Dui Wisaf
The XXII Du Quam to the Domma Margijer, Z'jil Kedrik
The XV Du Quam to the Domme Tirkju'a, Adan Umdochar
My First Du Quam Regent, Nubejul Tavhaii
Chief Oronosojal Sinderzof Rozkamoro and other honorable members of the court-sojals
Members of the Quamship
Other distinguished guests
Followers of the Domminical Order
I bring you a message.
A message that has stood the test of time for thousands of years, unyielding to forces which had yet to extinguish its flame. We stand in an era of Domminical history, a fallen brother-state at foot, the pillars of our Order in the hands of Gu'ambiss, Eloh Morica, Ovzamaazat, Cussarossia, and Urbedaur—fellow sister-states to the Order.
I, who is known to you as a Domma, the Sijarkes, stand before you as a vassal of the Dove to declare this: the reign of the Domme Tirkju'a has not come to an end.
For in the Tirkju'a's loyal service did we witness a time of great fortune, wealth, peace, and prosperity, of which the Dove has multiplied unto us with their wisdom and foresight. These monuments and histories are still among us." The Sijarkes gestured to the Tirkju'a's bells, followed by a sweeping motion to the rest of the temple.
"Recall now, I implore you, the blossoming of our motherlands and fatherlands, all united under this promise—a promise which I bring to you with renewed vigor.
There is a big world out there. There is potential in even the smallest endeavors. We shall venture to make the most of what we are blessed with. Valiant warriors, fertile lands, devout minds and spirits—there is nothing more the Dove shall seek. For there it lies with you, the stronghold of our Order, of which I serve only as a pillar.
As for the brothers and sisters we have lost in the conflict over Sesserja, Sesserjan or not, you will be honored. Some of you still live among us now. Wherever you are, the boundaries of the Order will be your refuge. Trust in our good faith. A haven for us all is the desired outcome for our efforts. Believe nothing else that tempts you otherwise.
Each and every one of us has a world of our own, with lives to live, goals to achieve. The Domminical Order exists to make this possible, with as much security and opportunity lying in wait for the common man to rise above and claim his rewards.
I do not need to prove I am different from the Tirkju'a. There is a lesson I can learn in his footsteps. It is necessary to build on what has been laid out. As the new Tirkju'a, his post will be undertaken by me. Rest assured, I will uphold the responsibilities and victories he had won for the people of the Order.
To the Domme Tirkju'a, may his spirit remain among us; the Dommes of the Order, who held the torches lit by the wisdom of the past, burning with the passion for the future; and the Parrhadomme, the Dove, whose vision will propel us further to a world where fulfillment is the norm, where peace will prevail.
We will prevail, no matter what comes." The Sijarkes smiled. "Long may the Domminical Order reign."
Kor Dui raised his staff before her. Nubejul followed, and so did the Du Quams Umdochar and Kedrik, from their own tower.
"On this day, in Ki Heptre 3734," Kor Dui smiled. "The people of Ori'ehem and the Domminical Order welcome the Domma Sijarkes, the regent Tirkju'a, a seat among the Dommes of old, and an honorable residence into the Ori'ehemian Quamship temple."
"Long may you serve the people, and long may you light the way," Nubejul swiped his staff towards the eager crowds, letting the banner of the Order hang from its tip.
In the loud applause and ovation of the masses, lucky enough to witness the blue moon inauguration of a Domma, Nubejul leaned forward discreetly.
"Not any more forts, Domma Sijarkes?" Nubejul gleamed. The Sijarkes scoffed, turning her nose up.
"For you, only of concrete and hard, bloody labor."
Her gaze shifted to Toruaz, a brow raised. "Take note, Rozkamoro. You're drafting all my future speeches from now on, to that standard of brevity and charm." She returned to basking in all the fame and glory, seeming genuinely pleased.
"Understood, Domma Sijarkes," Toruaz said quietly, bowing his head. Once upon a time he had a noble band of silver upon it, but now he was a subject of the Sijarkes. This was his life purpose. He had achieved it. There was nothing else left to do but get his years in—and make it out alive.