Taeho's hand, which had been applying a bandage, stopped.
"Prometheus?"
Taeho asked back as calmly as possible.
"You know of it?"
Mansour's eyes widened.
"I know a little. Where did you hear of it?"
"That's the thing."
Mansour pulled a thin sheet of paper from his pocket. When he unfolded it, cipher-like sentences mixed with handwritten Arabic and English were visible.
"Three days ago, I found it while organizing Latifa's personal safe. Most of it was routine documents, but this memo alone was rather strange..."
Taeho took the paper. The writing was shaky as if scribbled in haste, and more than half was stained or torn, making it difficult to read. Only fragmentary words caught his eye.
Prometheus······ Phase 2 activat······ HLA-targeted vec······ global······
Taeho's face hardened.
Though they were fragmentary words, combining them brought one possibility to mind. And that possibility was all too horrifying.
Mansour spoke, watching Taeho's face.
"Before she died, Latifa exchanged encrypted messages with someone. Our intelligence team tried to decrypt them but failed. But this memo was written by her own hand. It seems to have been written hastily. As if she was rushing for fear of being caught by someone."
Taeho examined the memo closely again. There was a faint brown stain on the edge of the paper. It could have been a bloodstain.
"Uncle, has anyone else seen this memo?"
"For now, only the security team chief and I know. I haven't reported it to my elder brother yet. Because nothing was certain."
Mansour looked straight at Taeho.
"But you seem to know. What is Prometheus?"
Taeho pondered for a moment.
How much should he tell?
He chose his words carefully.
"Prometheus is, in my estimation, the organization behind Latifa that manipulated her. And they are also the ones who designed the virus I discovered at the French conference."
Mansour's face paled.
"The French conference? Designed a virus?"
"They are developing custom pathogens targeting specific genotypes. The royal bloodline was also among those targets."
"Then Latifa infiltrated the royal interior at their orders?"
"That's correct."
Taeho carefully rubbed the stained part of the memo with his finger. But no more letters were revealed.
"But most of this is mere conjecture. More information is needed."
Taeho paused for a moment. In his mind, the virus from the French conference, Latifa's infiltration of the royal family, and the fragmentary words written on this memo were coming together into one picture.
Mansour stood up from his seat and spoke.
"Whatever terrible scheme those bastards are plotting... We must hurry and track them down."
Mansour spoke, hiding his darkened expression.
"Anyway, we are reassured to have you. Thank you, Taeho."
After Mansour left, Taeho called Rema.
"Rema."
—Yes, Taeho.
"Additional information on Prometheus has come up. There's a Phase 2, and it's estimated to be global in scale."
—Understood. I will gather related information.
"And cross-analyze all data related to past bioterror incidents. We need to find out exactly what Prometheus is targeting."
—It may take time.
"As fast as possible."
—Understood.
Taeho looked out the window. The sun had completely set and darkness was falling.
He couldn't be certain. What exactly Prometheus was planning, how large the scale was, how urgent it was.
But one thing was certain.
This was only the beginning.
***
Outside the palace grand banquet hall.
Taeho stood wearing a pure white kandura, with a bisht embroidered with gold thread draped around his waist. On his head he wore a ghutra in the style of a scarf, neatly secured with an agal.
"Brother-in-law. Ready?"
"Faisal."
Taeho had always been calm no matter how urgent the situation. But now his palms were sweaty. A wedding was the event of a lifetime, and moreover, it was a wedding in an unfamiliar culture, so he was nervous.
"I just have to walk in, right?"
"Theoretically, yes. Hahaha."
Mansour answered with a laugh from across the way. He wore a splendid golden bisht and had a ceremonial sword at his waist.
Taeho looked toward the end of the corridor. It was about 50 meters to the banquet hall entrance. A red carpet was laid out, and thousands of guests stood on both sides to see the groom's face.
At that moment, the sound of drums came from afar.
Boom. Boom. Boom-boom-boom.
The low, heavy sound of bendir drums echoed off the palace walls.
"It's starting."
Faisal tapped Taeho's shoulder.
"Uncle Mansour and I will escort you. Just walk proudly like a man."
Faisal smiled playfully. Faisal, who was usually cautious and on the timid side, seemed to have an overabundance of adrenaline today.
"Ah, and don't be too surprised."
"What's coming out?"
Before Taeho could even ask, a procession began to appear at the far end of the corridor.
First to appear were four drummers.
They each had a huge bendir drum strapped at their waists and were beating them furiously with both hands.
Boom-boom-boom. Boom-boom-boom-boom.
Behind them, two mizmar players blasted out ear-splitting high notes.
Skreee!
Bwaahng!
The sound filled the corridor, and Taeho almost reflexively covered his ears.
"This is normal, right?"
Taeho shouted, but his voice was mostly drowned out by the music.
Faisal nodded and gave a thumbs-up.
After that, a shocking sight unfolded.
Twelve men were walking toward them in two lines. They were all wearing traditional clothes, but in their hands they held dazzlingly shining swords.
No, they weren't just shining. Looking closely, real flames were burning from the blades.
"Wh-what is that?!"
"Flame swords!"
Mansour answered with a loud laugh.
"Aren't they magnificent? They were specially prepared for you! Hahaha!"
They looked more dangerous than magnificent. The men with swords were dancing, raising and lowering their swords to the rhythm. Flames traced arcs in the air, sparkling even more brilliantly under the corridor lights.
Taeho couldn't close his mouth.
At a Korean wedding, the groom walks alone to quiet music. But this was like the march of a general heading to the battlefield.
"Now, it's our turn."
Faisal shouted.
The procession arrived in front of Taeho. The drummers split to the left and right, and the men with flame swords lined up in two rows to make a path.
"Let's go, groom."
Mansour pushed Taeho.
Taeho took one step.
Instantly, the flame swords on both sides were raised upward in unison. Twelve flames formed an arch over Taeho's head.
"Ugh!"
Dodging the flying sparks, Taeho instinctively hunched his body.
"Hahaha, it's fine!"
Faisal pushed Taeho's back.
"Keep walking!"
Taeho walked forward with trembling legs. One step, two steps. He could hear the swords burning above his head.
Crackle. Clack. Even the sound of sparks jumping was vivid.
The mizmar sounds grew louder, and the drumbeats faster.
Skreeeal! Bwaaaang!
Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom!
And the guests lined up on both sides shouted in unison.
"Mabrook! Mabrook! (Congratulations! Congratulations!)"
The sound of clapping thundered.
It was his first time standing in the middle of such chaos, so Taeho was bewildered.
Faisal and Mansour walked alongside Taeho. They waved their hands and greeted the guests as if used to it.
"Smile! You are the brave warrior who dares to take our princess!"
Faisal shouted to Taeho.
With flame swords burning above his head and music that seemed to tear his ears, Taeho forced the corners of his mouth up.
The procession slowly approached the banquet hall entrance.
At the midpoint, one of the men with flame swords jumped out in front of Taeho with a fearsome momentum.
"Uh!"
Startled, Taeho reflexively stepped back.
The man danced, spinning his sword round and round. Flames left a circular trail. He knelt before Taeho and raised his sword above his head. It was just like a medieval knight swearing fealty to a king.
Then he stood up again and returned to his place.
"What is this?"
Taeho urgently asked Faisal.
"It's a show of respect for the groom!"
Faisal answered with a smile.
"It's our Nahyan royal tradition. It means recognizing the groom as a warrior."
"I'm a doctor!"
"Hahahaha! Today, you are a warrior!"
Mansour laughed heartily.
As the procession continued, three more men jumped out in turn and repeated the same ritual. Taeho gradually began to get used to it.
As his tension slowly eased, he looked around properly for the first time.
The guests were divided into men and women on both sides of the path. Their faces held sincere blessings. Some waved with tears in their eyes, and some lifted children onto their shoulders to show them Taeho. The elderly held their hands together in prayer.
Instead of the music being merely noisy, it made him feel with his whole body how joyful these people were.
The flame swords looked a bit dangerous, but looking closely, a fire truck was waiting in the distance.
The procession ended, and a brief silence fell.
Taeho was about to sit in the chair in the center of the stage, relieved. But Faisal grabbed his arm.
"It's not over yet, brother-in-law."
"Huh?"
At that moment, men began to stand up from both sides of the banquet hall.
Royal advisors sitting beside King Zayed, royals who had come with Mansour, even Faisal's friends. About twenty men walked out to the wide space in front of the stage, adjusting the hems of their traditional garments.
The men's expressions looked very serious.
So this is Ayyala!
He had heard the explanation from Amira, but this was his first time seeing it in person. It was a traditional dance of the UAE and a UNESCO cultural heritage, he had been told.
Faisal pulled Taeho down from the stage.
"Let's go!"
"But I really can't dance that!"
"It's fine."
Mansour gestured to Taeho with a smile from across the way.
"This isn't a dance. It's a warrior's oath."
An attendant approached Taeho and handed him a thin bamboo stick. It was about 1.5 meters long and about the thickness of two fingers. Light but sturdy. A golden ornament was attached to the end of the stick.
Faisal also took an identical stick. With practiced hand movements, he spun it once and rested it on his shoulder.
The men began to line up in two rows in the space in front of the stage.
Ten on one side, ten on the other.
The two lines stood facing each other at about a 5-meter distance. Like two armies facing off on an ancient battlefield.
Taeho ended up standing beside Faisal, near the center of the line. In the very center of the opposite line stood Mansour. Beside him, the captain of the royal guard and close aides lined up.
"Just follow us."
Faisal whispered.
"It's not hard. Just match the rhythm."
The sound of drums echoed from the back of the banquet hall.
The men moved in unison. They grabbed the sticks in their right hands and slanted them across their left shoulders. It was exactly like soldiers shouldering rifles.
Taeho hurriedly followed.
Boom-boom-boom!
The drumbeats gradually began to speed up.
From the opposite line, Mansour opened his mouth.
"Ha!"
The men in the opposite line answered in unison.
"Ha! Ha!"
At the same time, they raised their sticks from their shoulders and thrust them toward the sky. Twenty sticks rose at exactly the same angle, at the same timing.
The men moved their bodies. They tilted to the right, then to the left. Like sand dunes in the desert rippling in the wind, they moved simultaneously like waves.
Taeho followed while looking around.
Right. Left. Right. Left.
It was easier than he thought. Entrusting his body to the rhythm, the movements followed naturally.
Taeho was beginning to understand the pattern now.
It was a ritual symbolically expressing the moment when warriors of this land fought to protect their tribe hundreds of years ago.
Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom!
The drumbeats reached their climax.
Mansour led the chant in a loud voice, and the men lined up on both sides followed.
"Ikhwan! (Brothers!)"
"Ikhwan!"
"Wahid! (One!)"
"Wahid!"
Clack. Clack-clack. Clack.
The sticks collided with each other accurately, matching the rhythm.
The men began the final chant.
"Allahu Akbar! (God is great!)"
"Mabrook al-Arus! (Bless the groom!)"
And all the sticks were raised toward the sky in unison.
After pausing briefly and lowering their sticks, the men turned their bodies toward Taeho all at once.
And holding their sticks to their chests, they bowed their heads.
It was the posture of warriors paying respects to their leader.
Taeho was overcome with emotion.
"......"
King Zayed slowly stood up.
He raised both hands and clapped.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The queen rose and clapped as well.
And the entire banquet hall stood up.
Hundreds of guests sent applause in unison.
Thunderous applause filled the palace.
Faisal approached Taeho and wrapped his arm around his shoulder.
"Now you're really our family, brother-in-law."
Mansour also walked over from the opposite side and tapped Taeho's other shoulder.
"You did well, Taeho."
Taeho suddenly thought that in all his life since birth, he had never received such fervent celebration.
"Thank you!"
"Waaaah!"
When Taeho waved his hand, the guests cheered and went wild for the groom.