I left his face unfinished on purpose.
He’s a young apprentice stepping out of the shadows, a halo flickering above him like a memory kept in gold. In Byzantine tradition, apprenticeship was almost sacred, a passage where craft and devotion were learned together. So I painted him as someone still forming, his features waiting to be shaped by time and teaching. Around him, scattered tesserae of red, blue, and yellow float like pieces of knowledge he hasn’t gathered yet.
He isn’t an heir. He’s a student. Alongside The Defender and The Preserver, he closes the circle: one guards, one teaches, and one learns so the story can keep going.
Look at him long enough and you might recognize someone. Most of us have been that half-drawn person at some point.
التلميذ
تركتُ وجهه غير مكتمل عن قصد. إنه متدرّب شاب يخرج من الظلال، تومض فوقه هالة كذكرى محفوظة بالذهب. في التقليد البيزنطي كانت التلمذة أقرب إلى الطقس المقدّس، يتعلّم فيها المرء الحِرفة والإيمان معاً، فرسمته إنساناً ما زال يتشكّل، تحيط به قطع فسيفساء حمراء وزرقاء وصفراء كمعارف لم يجمعها بعد. أطِل النظر إليه وقد تتعرّف إلى أحد تعرفه؛ فأغلبنا كان يوماً ذلك الشخص نصف المرسوم.
