The warm salty breeze caressed his face slowly and gently as if in awe of his majesty.His long dark curls moved to the cadence of the wind, with each sweep letting his bronze skin radiate its beauty through. His features were sharp; his honey brown eyes akin to a door to the heavens and his lips full but pursed. An air of beauty evidently hang around him but seemed to mask a boundless sense of melancholy. In his eyes reflected his people, the subjects he lorded over. Like moths before a flame, the crowd bustled and moved trying to fly into him. The empire's guards could barely control the wave of people.
"Azrael! Azrael! We will wait for you!" " Our prince please do not leave.." "...Prince....Azrael...Lord !...do not forget our plea"
The handsome young man glanced a quick pleasing smile to the people before lazily waving his hand goodbye. The whole show was very apathetic but something about this man seemed to soothe one's soul and even the guards and train station workers found themselves in a bit of a trance. Beside Azrael was a lady dressed in fashionable clothing; a rich brown skirt with a darker tone for her pants underneath and a light blue blouse that showed her pale white skin different from that of the locals. Her face was covered by the lace of her feathered hat and her hands covered in gloves reached out to gently tap the young lord's shoulder. Azrael involuntarily shuddered and the lady withdrew her hand but flashed a beautiful smile. She curtsied quickly and turned to leave.
The gentle morning sun lit up the interior of the train cabin where Azrael was seated. He held a reserved air and filled the cabin with a sense of dominance, not that anyone would notice as he was alone in the cabin. He only had a simple bag next to him. Nothing matching his striking appearance and his noble demeanour.
He sighed slowly as he fell into deep thinking. ' So it has begun...'
His eyes seemed to water slightly before the drops of tears seemingly evaporated into thin air. Onwards to the capital for the young lord of the Byzan kingdom - no of the Byzan duchy.
The stewards whispered behind the cabin's door.
" I swear these people are savages...all that noise and chaos for what?"
" Shhh...don't speak loudly he might hear you and he's soon set to become one of them"
"Him? there's no way Leah, I know an apostle when I see one..he'll probably join the ranks and die off as soon as he came, it's the fate of his kind..." The cocky old man laughed off his silly subordinate's worries.
Azrael heard all this but he was not moved. Their concerns, words or taunts barely scratched his ego or disturbed him now. After 19 years of living in Byzan as the son of a fallen Al Mazrui, this was at most a humorous occurrence.
" Salvation...haha...salvationn.."
He picked up a piece of paper he had in his side pocket, it was a conscription letter. It was for the enrolment into the Muscat Empire's Holy Church Academy. Well at least for the main branch in the capital.
He watched lethargically as the scenery of the beachside swept before him. He had been raised here, well raise might not be the most apt description but he had his attachments to this land that his forefathers left him. He was the last living Mazrui. The region's hope, their Messiah.
Soon the sea could no longer be seen and the train rushed past the greenery of a dark forest below, one that stretched as far as the horizon. The dark red moon began to shine slowly, as the light of dusk retreated west. Azrael was never a fan of the night. It made him feel anxious and weak, not that any would ever notice, no they never did.
He shut his eyes and hummed a sweet lullaby, his only keepsake from his mother. In his slumber he saw the people of his duchy bowing reverently before him and his heart winced. He stood there like a statue for long, unmoving and unfeeling. That is before he woke up to the sound of the train pulling up to the capital.
As if he had never slept, he woke up, slang his bag over his shoulder and walked out of the cabin and towards the city streets; past the station.
The Capital of the Muscat Empire spread out before him, it was a mix of gothic architecture and modern brutalist buildings. The capital looked weird but there was an indescribable appeal to it. Something about the stark difference between the spires that rose up the sky, the cathedrals for the deities adorned by steeples and grand in their showiness and the down to earth almost bland square buildings that haphazardly lined up the streets. This was all as a result of the culturally rich and diverse nature of the capital as well as it's long history and ingrained beauty standards that seemed to fail to compete with modern trends. Despite the grandness of it all, Azrael missed the gulf design of his hometown.
Regardless of his feelings and against his wishes, he was here and he had an objective to complete for now.