The Collage of Taben’Rael

 

Collage of Taben'Rael 

 Friday Morning: The Call of Refinement

5:00 a.m., the heights of Taben’Rael were still cloaked in silence. Malaki and James lie deep in their dreams, their bodies bruised from purification, their minds stirring in the echo of vows whispered the night before.

Then—{Bang. Bang. Bang.}

Malaki jolts upright, breath short, heart already halfway down the candlelit corridor. He casts a glance toward James—still asleep, tangled in the white sheets like a boy half-forgiven.

Quietly, Malaki steps over and gently presses a finger to James’s lips.

"Get your butt up," he whispers, steady but stern.

"Five swats after breakfast. You know why."

James blinks awake, eyes wide.

"Oh shit! Did I miss the call?"

But there’s no time to answer. Both boys move instinctively to posture—standing firm at attention in their tight white briefs and tank tops, the uniform of repentance.

The door creeps open. Isaac stands in the frame, candlelight casting long shadows behind him. He steps inside like silence made flesh.

Isaac: "Good morning, lads. I trust your sleep refined you as well as it healed. You are to be washed and dressed—gray shorts above the knee, white shirt buttoned to the collar, gray tie, gray shoes. Dressed not just in uniform, but in expectation. You have one hour to reach the dining hall.

Be late... and your cleansing will be public.

Is that understood?"

The boys reply in unison, crisp and reverent:

"Yes, Sir. Guide Isaac."

Isaac saunters between them, inspecting the silence where bruises still burn. Then, with ceremonial swiftness, he smacks each of them on the backside—a gesture not of punishment, but of renewal.

He exits without a word, leaving the door wide open. The two watch as his figure recedes into the candlelit hall, swallowed gradually by the shallow darkness.