The road home for Thamuz passed fleetingly, like a flame dancing against the wind. His steps grew lighter as he advanced through the cobblestone streets, as though an invisible urgency was pushing him forward.

From time to time, he stopped to pet the peculiar creatures resting in the corners of houses: six-eyed beasts that gazed at him with profound intensity while panting with their tongues exposed. Thamuz couldn’t help but feel tenderness at how these creatures melted under his touch, purring with sounds no animal he had seen before could produce.

After a long walk, he reached the outskirts of the city. He paused for a moment to contemplate the colossal walls protecting the city’s interior, their ancient stones rising into the sky like silent guardians.

Carriages of all kinds traveled the road: some sped by like arrows, while others crawled with a slowness akin to a planetoid spiraling toward a dying star.

Thamuz raised his hand, trying to stop a carriage. Some passed by, ignoring his signal, while others deliberately avoided his gaze. For a moment, he considered using brute force to stop one, as he had done before with Narek, but something held him back—perhaps exhaustion, or maybe concern about harming the driver. With a sigh, he lowered his arm and clasped his hands in resignation.

The sound of creaking wheels and the snort of a beast broke the air. Thamuz turned his head to find a carriage that had stopped beside him. The driver, one hand on his chin, observed him with curiosity.

“So, are you getting on?” the driver asked in an affable tone.

“Yes, of course,” Thamuz replied, heading to the back of the carriage.

The driver gave a light flick of his whip to his transport beast, which responded with a menacing roar before turning and taking the road in the opposite direction.

“Where are you headed, sir?” the driver inquired.

“I don’t know the exact name, but do you know the residence of Mr. Armesto?” Thamuz asked.

“Of course, he’s one of the most influential people in the city. His house is so imposing you can see it from afar,” the driver replied, pointing toward the horizon.

Thamuz followed the indicated direction, gazing at Armesto’s mansion, a structure so majestic it looked more like a castle than a residence.

“Yes, that’s my destination,” Thamuz confirmed.

The driver nodded and steered the carriage toward the imposing structure. Along the way, he cast furtive glances at his passenger, who nodded off with arms crossed, struggling against sleep.

“Judging by your appearance, you must be that shamonak fighter who’s been causing quite a stir, right?” the driver ventured.

“That’s right. Why do you ask?” Thamuz replied, letting his arms fall.

“Just curious. With all you’ve earned in the matches, I thought you’d be traveling in something more extravagant: a carriage four times the size of mine, plated in exotic materials and pulled by high-level beasts like the mhonktan. But here you are, in my humble carriage,” the driver mused, briefly turning his head to look at his passenger.

“Well, I didn’t know I could buy that, but even so, why would I? After all, you’re performing the same function as such a high-end carriage,” Thamuz said, fixing his crimson eyes on the driver. “The function of getting me to a place. The rest is just luxury—a whim I’ve despised ever since my parents explained what it was.”

“You’ve got a point there,” the driver replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “We exist to transport, nothing more. You’ve got a great mindset; I even envy it.”

The journey continued in silence, with Thamuz watching as the sky gradually darkened, revealing the dancing auroras rising over the plains.

The green and red colors intertwined in a silent symphony that, though inaudible, seemed to play in the minds of Thamuz and the driver. The latter even hummed a soft melody to himself.

When they arrived at Armesto’s house, Thamuz stepped off the carriage, walking over to the driver and handing him a green pamtan.

“Sorry to ask, but are you a relative or a friend of Mr. Armesto? He only allows people close to him into his home,” the driver asked, playing with the pamtan coin in his hand.

“I’m the son of a friend of his. We’ve been staying at his house while the shamonak to death days pass,” Thamuz explained, looking toward the massive stone gates.

“I see. If that’s the case, best of luck in your battles. From what I’ve heard, King Zarakel has hired a very strong shamonak fighter,” the driver remarked, settling back into his seat.

“Don’t worry about that. All his experience will be useless against my brute strength,” Thamuz said with a defiant tone.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

"I hope so," said the driver.

With those final words, he cracked his whip again, and the beast began to run as fast as its six legs could carry it.

Thamuz watched as the carriage vanished into the horizon until no trace of it remained. He let out a deep sigh.

"Brute strength, yes, I can do it," he murmured in a subdued tone while gazing at his right hand.

He began his walk toward the massive stone gates, which, to his surprise, creaked open before him. As he crossed the threshold, he spotted a burly man with white hair and beard operating the heavy wheel mechanism that controlled the gate.

"Who are you?" Thamuz asked.

"I’m the guardian of these gates. I’ve had some trouble and couldn’t fulfill my duties. And you, who might you be?"

"I’ve been living here with my father, Tawnylon, a friend of Mr. Armesto."

"Ah, I see," the man said, stroking his thick beard. "Mr. Armesto did tell me to keep an eye out for the son of a friend of his, but it seems you’ve taken your sweet time, boy."

"What do you mean? How long has it been since I left?" Thamuz’s voice carried a note of worry.

"Two full days. If I were you, I’d run to the house and explain everything in detail. I believe they went out looking for you all over the city yesterday," the guardian replied, pointing toward Armesto’s mansion.

Thamuz nodded and broke into a sprint toward the house. The wind whipped against his face as the ground trembled faintly beneath each step. When he reached the entrance, he slowed his pace and crept toward the backyard, hiding behind a bush to observe the house.

There he found Armesto, seated in his distinctive chair by the table, gazing at the horizon where the auroras continued their ethereal dance. In his hands, he held a steaming cup, its contents swirling from the heat it emitted.

Thamuz moved stealthily from bush to bush, trying to avoid Armesto’s gaze until he stumbled over a stone and fell into the shadows, dangerously close to the seated man.

"Who’s there?" Armesto asked, rising from his seat.

He approached the source of the noise, where he could make out a large dark mass sprawled on the ground. He nudged it with his foot, feeling a hardness reminiscent of a rock.

That figure began to rise slowly, towering over the slender figure of Armesto, revealing crimson eyes that glowed in the dim light.

"Hello, Mr. Armesto," whispered Thamuz's embarrassed voice.

"Thamuz? Is that you? We've been so worried, you've been gone for days," said Armesto, feeling the young man's face with his hands.

Thamuz stepped out of the shadows, letting the light from the torches decorating the courtyard bathe his figure, as he accompanied Armesto into the house.

Once inside, Armesto went to the kitchen and returned with another steaming cup, which Thamuz drank in one gulp, as if it were a refreshing beverage.

"What happened to you, Thamuz? Why did you disappear for two days?" asked Armesto, a reproachful tone in his voice.

"When I went to the city, I ran into Korro, I suppose you know him, the former leader of the Steel Fangs. We talked until we reached his house..." Thamuz began.

"You accepted an invitation from a stranger to his house?" interrupted Armesto, raising his voice.

"Yes, I admit it. I was curious about what he wanted to show me. He offered me some funadortel..." Thamuz confessed.

"Funadortel?" Armesto's voice suddenly shifted from annoyance to curiosity. "What did you think of it?"

"Well, it made me lose all sense of everything and wake up in a stranger's house," Thamuz explained, puzzled by the sudden change in his host's demeanor.

Armesto burst into a loud laugh, slapping his chest with his palm, spilling some of the liquid from his cup.

"Your first time with funadortel! I still remember my first experience! They found me five days later on the outskirts of the city!" he exclaimed between laughs.

Thamuz laughed nervously, caught up in the inexplicable joy, until Armesto, wiping the tears from his cheeks, regained his composure.

"Well, there's your experience. If you want to try again, I have some essences and softer powders that will help you adjust," offered Armesto, taking Thamuz's empty cup.

"I appreciate it, but right now I need to know where my parents are," Thamuz replied, worried.

"They're upstairs, room twelve on the right. The door is open; you won't have any trouble finding them," Armesto indicated, heading toward the kitchen.

Thamuz gave thanks and climbed the stairs, walking through the vast hallways until he found the indicated door, from which the clinking of dishes could be heard. He approached silently and peeked around the frame, smiling at the scene before him.

His mother, Aolani, sat in a chair, watching as his father devoured a bowl of thick, steaming red soup. Aolani, with her sharp maternal instincts, immediately sensed a presence.

"Is someone there?" she asked.

Thamuz gathered his courage and stepped into view. Aolani froze at the sight of her son, as if time itself had stopped, until her muscles reacted, and she threw herself at him, embracing him so tightly it took his breath away.

"Son, where have you been?!" his mother sobbed.

"I got lost in the city; it’s no big deal," Thamuz tried to reassure her.

The caresses on his head and the sound of her son's voice gradually calmed Aolani, who returned to her chair without letting go of Thamuz's wrists.

"Promise me..." she pleaded between sobs, "promise me you'll never get lost again."

"I promise. This was just something unexpected," Thamuz replied.

He turned his gaze to his father, who was finishing wiping his mouth with his forearm before slowly turning his head.

"Hello, son," his father said in a dry yet warm voice.

Thamuz looked at his father with relief: his musculature had returned, his pale skin had regained its characteristic vigor, and his blue eyes shone intensely in the dim room.

"Hello, Father," Thamuz replied, comforted by his recovery.