Lastly, I have been forced to see that existence has no meaning.
Everything withers over time. The world promises fulfillment, yet only breeds the urge for more, always more. If everything is temporary, then everything is chasing after the wind.
And thus, I conclude that I will be the last of our blood. Absalom's curse will end, and a new sprout with abundant branches will emerge, and they will live for generations to come.
***
The pale young man put his quill down and closed the book. He stood up from his chair, its creaking too loud for the silent house.
He swept aside the curtains to the balcony and stood beside a bush decoration. The night breeze played with his long black hair, but he paid no attention to that.
He basked in the moonlight, overlooking the city full of stone houses from his Arabic-style palace comparable to that of a sultan.
"It would've been better to be them," he said, "to not have the luxury to think as I do."
He looked down from the balcony at the gate guard, who was fast asleep.
He took out a knife from his white silk robe and said, "The day has finally come", and poked a hole into his right index finger, the knife digging effortlessly. But his heartbeat remained the same.
A drop of blood came out.
Then he murmured, "I am ready."
He went inside and put the knife atop the ebony table. Wasting not a single second, he then crashed into his bed.
The sun rose 3 hours later, and the boy woke up with the first ray upon his eyes.
He sweated profusely and breathed like someone was chasing him with a chainsaw.
He clenched his hair and covered his face with his palms.
He let out a shaking, deep breath and stood up.
His eyes were red, his head was ringing, and his whole body was sore.
But he first put the knife inside the drawer. The door to his room was knocked right after.
"Young master Azrael, would it be-"
"Enter," Azrael said.
A black maid with long braided hair entered the room and bowed down to Azrael.
He didn't react to her and stood in front of the mirror.
The maid took off his silk robe and the tunic under it. He had scars all over his muscular arms and a tattoo of the sun behind his neck.
He stepped aside from the mirror and entered the bathroom. The maid said, "Young master, do you need-"
"No, as always," he said.
The maid nodded and cleaned up Azrael's room.
She put a new towel and garments on the bed and stood beside it like a statue.
Azrael took off his pants and bathed by himself, an act of low class by standards.
He finished bathing and stood up from the tub.
He stuck out his index finger and muttered, "Ventus," as if it were any other word.
A breeze came forth from his finger, and it swirled around him, drying his whole body.
He came out of the bathroom, and the maid gave him the towel.
He chanted Ventus again, and the breeze dried his hair with the towel in a few seconds.
Then the maid dressed him and placed the jewelry upon him.
With all things done, he said to the maid, "You may leave."
The maid bowed down and went to the door, then said, "Happy Birthday, Young master."
"Hmmm," he replied.
He went to the balcony and stood beside the bush decoration. The carriages and soldiers in front of his palace, standing with carts of choice gold and rare treasures, stretched as far as the eye could see.
But Azrael gritted his teeth and muttered, "Damn hyenas," as they craned their necks toward the balcony.
A cloaked man from the crowd looked up at Azrael and thought, 'There he is. Azrael, the son of Bishop Saalih.'
Azrael sighed and went inside his room. Then, the door burst open.
A 6'6" man entered the room and looked down at the 6'1" Azrael. The giant man glared at the boy, his long beard masking all other emotions. And the man said, "Congratulations on reaching 20, son."
Azrael nodded and said, "Thank you, father. I am honored."
Saalih paced around the room and saw the book Azrael was writing. He picked up the book that had more than 2000 pages and said, "Have you written your chapters?"
Azrael replied, "I need to add some final touches. It will be ready by tomorrow."
Saalih said, "Hmm," and put the book down without opening it. Then, he continued, "The book will be read for generations to come. You should think about what you will leave behind."
The two stared at each other a moment, and Saalih said, "Let's go down and greet the guests."
Azrael nodded.
They walked through the hallway, each pillar coated with gold and every utensil made of silver.
The servants prostrated and attended to every single reaction they gave. And Saalih smiled at all of them while constantly saying, "Thank you for the work".
Azrael looked at all of it and thought, 'We have equal exchange of service and payment. It would be wiser to work without interaction to maximize efficiency. Yet. . .'
Saalih punched Azrael's head and said, "You've been acting strange ever since you came back from your travels. I shouldn't have let you go alone."
Azrael said, "You're right. It was all meaningless."
Saalih stopped and glared at Azrael. Azrael calmly looked back. Saalih let out a small sigh and went ahead.
They reached the bottom floor and went inside a private hall where the fragrance of sandalwood incense lingered. Saalih kneeled before the cross in the middle of the floor and said, "Dear Heavenly Father, please give my son a tenth of the wisdom of King Solomon."
Azrael clicked his tongue, and Saalih continued praying. The moment the prayer finished, Azrael got up and said, "I'm going ahead."
Saalih slapped Azrael with the back of his hand, launching him to one of the pillars. He rolled back his sleeve, revealing his 18-inch forearm and thick fingers, with veins pulsing beneath them. He said, "You are supposed to bow before God for a few moments before departing. The curses will flood your house higher than the sea if you continue in rebellious acts like this."
Azrael slowly stood up and muttered, "What did mother do to deserve death then?"
On the verge of tears, he bowed down and screamed, "I AM SORRY, FATHER," and bit his lips till blood came out.
Saalih exhaled and looked at his son's small stature. "Don't commit sacrilege in these sacred grounds ever again. Do you understand, young man?"
Azrael said, "Yes, father," and left the hall.
Saalih looked at his son and then at the cross. "Dear Lord, please guide me so I may lead my child away from ruin," he said, and went after Azrael to meet the guests. Azrael sat on a throne on an elevated platform and made a natural smile all day long and greeted all guests with the same words and gestures. Some who noticed started gossiping and thought it was impressive, and some thought it was uncanny.
After the sun set, the banquet began. The finest wine and cuisine were presented to the guests by the world's best chefs.
At one end of the garden was a renowned singer and a dancer who mesmerized the crowd, and at the other end was an instrumental performance. Inside the palace was a ball dance. Everyone was entertained according to their taste. Saalih drank and danced where the singer was. Azrael looked at his father and said, "How carefree. He doesn't care about the past or the future. Maybe that is why he has such fulfillment in subjective experiences."
He looked at his wine and thought, 'I can never have that.'
He gulped it in a go and stood up. "Alright, the time has come."
'It will be tragic for him,' he thought, 'but with me gone, he will have to marry another wife and live a new life to continue Cassius' legacy. Start again, father. That is the only way to break our curse.'
Just as he stood up from his throne, a cloaked man kneeled in front of him. Azrael asked, "To what do I owe this pleasure, good sir?"
The cloaked man removed his hood, revealing his red eye and long blonde hair. "Long time no see, Lord Azrael," he said and stood up.
"Ah, Kasper, how have you been?" asked Azrael while walking toward the palace.
Kasper followed Azrael and said, "Nothing much, just exploring the world, trying my best not to die."
Azrael smiled and replied, "Yeah, you should consider your answer as advice. You almost got us killed in Tanzania."
"AHHH," he screamed and made a stoic face like Azrael's, then continued, "Everything you do is meaningless. WHO SAID THAT?"
Azrael said, "What? I don't remember that happening. I only know that someone tried to sell a public statue and got us on the wanted list."
Kasper averted his eyes with sweat and replied, "Well, you know, it's that... um, yeah, I wanted to give your life meaning."
Azrael's smile withered. "Well, that didn't amount to much, though."
Kasper stayed silent and followed Azrael to the front of the palace and said, "Young master..."
Azrael looked back.
Kasper continued, "If the answer is hard to find, don't make a solid conclusion."
Azrael stared at Kasper and let out a small laugh.
Then he said, "If you see a great wall, you have two options. To overcome it or to leave the route and follow other paths. If you follow other paths, the wall will block the light. If you overcome it, new horizons will open. That is a pattern of existence I have seen."
He sat on the stairs and continued, "If you see neither the wall nor the light, the darkness will not bother you. The problem lies in seeing that the wall exists and the darkness it will create. You will be consumed by madness in the darkness you created by going around the wall and not overcoming it."
He looked at the starry sky and ended his rant. "But if you can't see the limit of the wall, nor the first step to climb it, you can't help but quit or step into madness."
Kasper looked at Azrael in confusion.
Azrael chuckled and then burst into laughter. "Yup, you're really interesting, Kasper."
He entered the palace alone.
The noise of the banquet died behind the doors as if it had never existed. Music, laughter, and footsteps. . . everything vanished. Only the cold marble floor and the faint ticking of time remained.
He locked the door.
Not out of caution that someone might enter, but out of habit.
He loosened the clasps of his robe and let it fall where it pleased. The tunic followed. He did not fold them. Someone would deal with it later.
He crossed the room barefoot, every step unhurried, as though the night had all the patience in the world.
At the drawer, he stopped.
He did not open it immediately.
Instead, he looked at his reflection in the darkened mirror: pale, composed, eyes steady. A face that had never begged the world for permission.
"Look at me," he said quietly, not to himself, but to the room. To the lineage. To the centuries that had decided his place before he was born.
No answer came.
As it should.
He gave a small, amused breath through his nose.
"The night is young."
The drawer slid open.
Azrael rested his hand on its edge and paused in consideration, like a man deciding the order of tasks. Then he took his knife.
"Since this is all existence amounts to, since this is all I am destined to see in all my days," he continued, voice level, almost bored, "then I'll decide where the conclusion belongs."
Outside, the wind stirred.
The bush decoration on the balcony trembled, the sky growled, leaves whispering against one another though no storm had been forecast.
Azrael didn't notice.
He straightened, shoulders relaxed, utterly certain of himself.
"Let us see," he said, "whether the world dares to answer."