Narek, stunned by the sudden violence, looked alternately between the aggressor and the place where Thamuz had impacted. The other diners in the restaurant had fallen silent, some slowly moving away from the scene, others watching with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

"What the hell...?" Narek began, but was interrupted by the sound of falling debris.

From among the dust and remains of the wall emerged the imposing figure of Thamuz. His clothes were torn and covered in dust, but he seemed more surprised than hurt. His eyes, now shining with a clear feeling of confusion, fixed on his attacker.

"I think I deserve an explanation," Thamuz said, his deep voice resonating in the now silent street. "Why are you attacking me?"

The man stepped forward, his body tense as if ready to launch into attack again.

"Khabixan is my sister's husband," the man growled, his eyes shining with fury. "Now she's crying while Khabixan is fighting for his life in the hospital, and no one makes my sister cry."

Thamuz maintained his firm posture, his voice deep and controlled despite the tension in the air.

"Khabixan knew what was going to happen when he faced me. Don't come seeking revenge for something that was resolved long ago. I don't want to have a fight without a valid reason."

The man seemed not to have heard Thamuz's words, his gaze clouded by rage as he approached menacingly. Thamuz observed that his words had been useless and gave a sigh of annoyance.

"Alright, you asked for it," he said, preparing for the inevitable confrontation.

The man lunged again, this time hitting Thamuz with his closed hand. Thamuz received the impact full in the face, but instead of flying off, he stood firm, tensing his muscles. The man's punch ineffectively stuck to Thamuz's face, who took the opportunity to grab his attacker's wrist. With a quick movement, Thamuz raised his leg and hit the man's knee with his foot.

"Damn you!" exclaimed the man, the pain evident in his voice.

Thamuz released his wrist and stepped back, while the man clung to his injured knee.

"I warned you," said Thamuz, crossing his arms with a calmness that contrasted with the violence of the situation.

But the man, blinded by his desire for revenge, ignored the throbbing pain of his broken knee and lunged at Thamuz again.

This time, Thamuz acted quickly. He ducked, dodging the man's blow with grace, and in a fluid movement, hit his attacker's chin with the palm of his hand. The impact was so powerful that it lifted the man into the air.

In a final move, Thamuz grabbed the man in mid-flight and slammed him hard against the ground. The impact resonated in the street, raising a small cloud of dust.

The dust cloud had dissipated, revealing the man's inert body on the ground. Thamuz approached and squatted down to examine him more closely. He expressed a small sigh of regret and stood up.

"Now your sister has two people to cry for because of your stubbornness," he said in a deep voice, walking towards where Narek was.

Narek observed with amazement the consequences of the fight, while some shamonak fighters who had been in the restaurant approached him.

"Wow, isn't that the one who defeated Bhogtan and Khabixan?" asked one of them, his eyes shining with admiration.

"Uh... yes, yes it's him," replied Narek, trying to control a slight tremor in his voice.

"Are you his friend?" inquired another, his tone full of curiosity.

"Yes," Narek replied dryly, still cautious.

The shamonak fighters fell silent for a moment, while Narek stared at them, his mind full of worries. What if one of them was accompanying the man Thamuz had defeated? What if they were part of the same group and wanted to vent their fury on the one who seemed weaker?

But his fears vanished when he saw one of them take out a small stone container.

"Could you ask your friend to sign for us? We've been big fans of him since we saw him in his first fight," they said in unison, their voices filled with excitement.

Narek immediately relaxed, feeling a great weight lift from his shoulders. He received the stone container and walked towards Thamuz, standing in front of him.

"Well, you sure gave a great fight, even for free," said Narek, trying to ease the tension left by the confrontation.

"Yes, although I wouldn't have wanted it to end like this. But well, I wasn't the one looking for a fight in the first place," replied Thamuz, crossing his arms with a gesture of resignation.

"By the way, some shamonak fighters asked me for a favor. Could you give them your signature?" asked Narek, extending the stone container.

"Of course, I'd be delighted," said Thamuz, his face lighting up with a smile.

The two headed towards where the fighters were, who visibly excited to see Thamuz approach. Thamuz stood in front of them and looked at each one with appreciation.

"Wow, I never thought that such big and strong people like you would have me as your favorite fighter. I'm very proud that it's so," said Thamuz, with a tone of genuine happiness in his voice.

"Since I saw how easily you defeated Bhogtan, I was amazed by you. There aren't many fighters capable of doing what you did," explained one of the fighters, his voice full of reverence.

"Well, I was a bit scared when I faced him, but you know how it turned out," said Thamuz, putting his hand on his chin in a thoughtful gesture. "But that's a thing of the past. Where do you want me to put my signature?"

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The fighters looked at each other and pointed to various parts of their bodies, like their forearms and knees. Thamuz smiled, understanding their desire, and dipped his finger in the stone container. He waited patiently until his finger began to burn, indicating it was ready to leave his mark.

With quick and precise movements, Thamuz imprinted his signature in the different places they had shown him. The magical ink glowed for a moment before settling on the fighters' skin, leaving a permanent mark that seemed to move slightly with the light.

The fighters, exultant about the signatures that now adorned their bodies, received the stone container back. They bowed their heads in a respectful reverence before leaving, their faces radiant with excitement.

Thamuz and Narek were left alone and began to walk down the street, moving away from the scene of the incident.

"That bastard destroyed all your clothes," commented Narek, observing Thamuz's torn garments with concern.

"I'm sorry about that," replied Thamuz, with a slight tone of sadness in his voice. "You and your father told me to take care of them, but I couldn't do it."

"Hey, don't worry," said Narek, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "At least it was the clothes that got damaged instead of you. Besides, I know a very good tailor near here. We'll have new clothes made for you there."

"What's a tailor?" asked Thamuz, his curiosity evident in his voice. The word was completely unfamiliar to him.

Narek smiled, always willing to explain things to his friend.

"Tailors are the ones who make and repair clothes. For example, the ones you're wearing were made by the tailor we're going to," he explained patiently.

"I didn't know about that," admitted Thamuz, his voice full of genuine curiosity. "In my land, clothes just... appeared."

"You learn something new every day, friend," said Narek, shrugging with a smile. "And I'm sure the tailor will be happy to explain the whole process to you. She's a true artist in her craft."

As they walked through the city streets, Thamuz couldn't help but notice the looks he was attracting. Some were of admiration, others of fear, and a few of pure curiosity. His recent display of strength had left a lasting impression on the witnesses, and the news was undoubtedly spreading quickly.

"Narek," said Thamuz in a low voice, "do you think I did the right thing by fighting that man?"

Narek considered the question and tilted his head a little, his eyes reflecting curiosity.

"Why such a sudden change of emotions?" inquired Narek. "Before, you looked proud, as if you had won an official shamonak match, but now you regret what you did."

Thamuz let out a sigh, his gaze fixed on the horizon as he searched for the right words.

"It's something I feel quite often," he explained, looking into Narek's eyes. "I do something I'm enormously proud of, but then I feel regret, as if I had committed the vilest acts."

Narek reflected for a moment, his hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Maybe you're still very soft," he suggested. "After all, how old are you?"

"Six years old," replied Thamuz, scratching his head with some shyness. "I'm six years old."

Narek's eyes opened with surprise.

"Six years old? I'm eight years older than you, but look at you," he exclaimed, making an encompassing gesture towards Thamuz. "Most kids your age are just at home, playing with their toys and doing some kind of silly thing. But you're here, fighting in a big tournament and easily beating your rivals. Even though you have the body of someone strong, you can still feel those childhood feelings."

Thamuz seemed to consider these words, his face showing amazement.

"Do you really think so?" he questioned, raising his head with hope in his eyes.

"Yes," affirmed Narek, rubbing his own hair in a reflective gesture. "When you came to the city, you were very excited about it, as if a child was seeing daylight for the first time. But well, I've given you my answer. It's up to you if you want to stick with that explanation or keep thinking and mortifying this journey."

"Thank you for your answer," expressed Thamuz, a small smile forming on his lips.

The two walked for a good while, observing the different establishments around them: varied restaurants and sellers of shiny gadgets. However, as they advanced, the streets became more neglected.

Thamuz turned his head slightly, his gaze catching an establishment where several scantily clad girls were, and a sign next to it with a mouth sticking out its tongue.

"Look, Narek, those women must be so poor they can't afford clothes," Thamuz said innocently, pointing with his finger.

Narek looked in the indicated direction, his eyes widening. He quickly grabbed Thamuz's chin to divert his gaze.

"That's... something you shouldn't see for now," Narek said nervously, recalling his friend's youth.

They continued their way until they reached a medium-height building, covered with fine and bright fabrics, notably contrasting with the neglected street where it was located.

"Here is our tailor," Narek announced, putting his hands on his waist with pride.

"The place looks very colorful," Thamuz said, raising his hand to get a better look at the establishment.

"Yes, she loves to show off. Come on, let's go in," Narek said, heading towards the door.

Narek knocked on the door with his knuckles repeatedly, getting no response. After several attempts, he scratched his head, puzzled.

"Maybe she's not home," he suggested.

"Let me knock. You're not doing it hard enough," Thamuz protested, positioning himself in front of the door.

Thamuz raised his hand, tensing his muscles to knock with great force. Just as he was about to do so, the door opened, revealing a thin and small man.

"I'm here, what do you nee...?" The man's words were cut short by the strong impact of Thamuz's knuckles on his face, sending him flying into the building.

Thamuz's eyes widened immensely when he realized what had happened, while Narek covered his mouth, stunned.

The man finally stopped when he collided with some object, emitting a disturbing sound. Footsteps were heard approaching from inside, and Thamuz, panic-stricken, ran to hide beside the building. Narek remained motionless, still in shock.

A female figure with short hair and pointed ears emerged from the open door. Two horns protruded from her forehead, but the most striking feature was her apparent old age, with wrinkled and stretched skin.

"Narek?" said the female figure, her voice full of surprise.

Narek, still dazed, tried to compose a smile.

"Ah, hello... uh... we came to..." he stammered, searching for the right words while casting furtive glances toward where Thamuz was hiding.

The woman narrowed her eyes, her sharp gaze scanning the scene.

"We?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow. "I only see you, dear. And by the way, have you seen my assistant? I swear he just opened the door."

Narek swallowed hard, his mind racing to find a plausible explanation.

"I... uh..." he began but was interrupted by a groan coming from inside the building.

The woman quickly turned toward the sound, her expression changing from suspicion to concern.

"What the hell is going on here, Narek?" she demanded, her voice taking on a threatening tone. "You'd better start explaining, and fast."

Narek looked desperately toward where Thamuz was hiding, knowing he would need all the help he could get to get out of this situation.

"I accidentally hit your assistant," Thamuz said, still hiding.

"Who's talking?" Mrs. Dhexna questioned, raising an eyebrow with curiosity.

"He's my friend, Thamuz. We came for you to make him a suit," Narek explained, trying to calm the situation.

"Well, he better come out," Dhexna protested, with a tone of anger barely concealing her intrigue. "He has to face what he did to my assistant."

Thamuz heard these words and began to slowly emerge from his hiding place. His footsteps echoed on the ground as he walked up to Dhexna, who was left speechless upon seeing the newcomer's large size and imposing appearance.

"I'm Thamuz, ma'am," he said in a deep voice, standing before her and offering his gigantic hand.

Dhexna observed Thamuz's slender form with incredulity. Her eyes traced the defined muscles under his black skin and his great height with great astonishment. Her mouth hung open, almost drooling, while her cheeks showed an intense blush that contrasted with her pale skin.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" Thamuz asked, genuinely concerned by the sudden silence.

"Mhmmmm..." a faint moan was the only response Dhexna gave.