“He’s not a coward!” Said the eclipsiarch, stepping between Liam and the prone werewolf.

Her ears were flat, laid against her skull, and her tail was stranding straight upwards, quivering, yet resolved to stand between death and her guardian. She was terrified, knees knocking. She bit her tongue to suppress her chattering teeth. There was nothing that Liam could do. Besides smile at true courage.

“You are his charge, Taloc created his race to protect yours, but look at him! Cowardly, incompetent, or stupid. His actions have all stemmed from one of those three traits. I’m glad he rejected me. Better that he cowers in slavery with a fake collar than face actual danger on the road to war. If he cowered like this during a battle, more than his worthless life would be lost. I wouldn’t know what to do with such a complete failure of a warrior. Strong ideals without the will to enforce them are as useful as a pile of dried shit.” Said Liam, approaching the eclipsiarch and dropping his shield.

He lowered one knee to kneel before her, offering his hand. It was a foolish move, but she was the only one in Kheresh he felt any true loyalty to. This girl was most likely Nyota’s daughter or niece, and needed real protection. Not a pretending werewolf who was only brave enough to tell a toddler to leave.

If Liam disrespected the girl, it would be dishonouring the promise made to Nyota on their wedding day. A vow he wouldn’t break. Couldn’t break. Even if Pandora were to rip his arms and legs off a second time, he would still cling to Nyota’s promise.

“Leave him alone!” Said the teen, reminding Liam how quickly felinds matured. Most likely due to Taloc’s engineering of their race.

“If that is your will, it shall be done. My name is Li– uhm… Actually, Call me Tufan Biliam Alhusam, Tufan will do.” Said Liam, deciding he did not want to be introduced to Nyota as a toddler.

That conversation was going to be difficult enough without further complications. Especially considering her… condition. He’d tried to peek in on Greenwood but something interfered with his portals, forcing him to rely on Quetz’s pseudo-omniscience of the Lightning Daughter, and his report that she was still pregnant, for a third year after his death. Maybe a fourth.

Nyota, how could you forget about me so quickly– Actually, how long was I dead for? Wondered Liam, realizing three years was likely the minimum timeframe but no maximium existed. What if it took time to retrieve his soul? Or to find a vessel with suitable characteristics?

“Tufan… Bilal… Alhusam? That’s… Did you pronounce that right?” Asked the eclipsiarch, resting a hand on the lycanthrope’s shoulder to prevent him from rising and resuming the fight.

“It’s my name. Who could pronounce it more accurately than myself. It’s the tempest that brings change or Taloc’s cleansing stormblade. Tufan or Biliam will be fine, do you have a name or should I just call you teenie cat?” Answered Liam, wondering if Sirin had embellished the name a bit too much.

“You’re the teenie one! Or you will be, once you grow another two feet.”

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Liam’s jaw dropped at the quip… More surprised about how correct she was, rather than insulted.

You’re not wrong… He thought, lips twisting into an upward smile. His hands went to his pointy ears and he manually flapped them twice.

“I’m just a teenie knife ear, not a cat. Should I call you nyannyan? Or meowsers? Or maybe kitty! Nyankitty? Nytty? Nytti?” Asked Liam.

(Maybe) Kitty crouched in front of him, lowering herself to his eye level.

“You’re a knife eared little twerp.”

“Yes yes,” answered Liam, waving his hand, “but now you’ve sunken to my level and become a tiny kitty too!”

“Ugh, my name is Maya! Why are you even here?”

Liam opened his mouth to speak but Maya turned her gaze towards the unlocked gate, muttering a curse before a third voice spoke.

“I should ask the same question my lord. Why are you mingling with slaves? And these slaves in particular?” Asked a familiar voice.

The voice alone gave it away, Captain Thaddeus had arrived. Though he was wearing little more than a sword and dagger. His armor was gone, and the tunic he wore was threadbare, dirty, and covered in sweat. Droplets of water ran down his face, as if he’d been running before sunrise. Six ducal guards stood twenty feet behind him, apparently petrified of the First Captain, or maybe it was the score of uncollared slaves. No, their eyes were entirely on Thaddeus.

Of course… We’re in a desert, no one wants to do cardio in the desert! Good ole David Goggins isn’t a thing here. Though he would be a great guy to take along when the Lightning Toddler goes to war, to find his MILF.

“Thaddeus, do you recognize me as a Lightning Lord?”

The paladin’s eyes hardened, but he bought a moment by wiping the sweat from his brow before speaking. He glanced towards the soldiers, waving them away.

“This is a private conversation. Back to your duties.” Snapped Thaddeus.

The men saluted and walked away, crossing the empty market. As a paladin, Thaddeus was outside of their chain of command, but these Kharmites seemed to know when to keep their noses clean.

“I have seen you slay two scores of men with your lightning, even a blind bastard could recognize your power. But that’s not really what you’re asking. Is it?” Asked Thaddeus.

Liam didn’t respond, he just stared at the man, one eyebrow creeping upwards.

“Bah, three Lightning Lords in as many years, and the only human one goes and dies on us.” Muttered Thaddeus, simultaneously making Liam’s heart soar –at the prospect of seeing Arlet and Jenkins, truly meeting them in his own body– and plummet at Nyota’s near instant rebound.

He’d been reborn almost at the moment of his death, plus or minus a few months…

“I would have sided with the human Lightning Lord before all others, but I do not consider it dishonourable to serve you.” Finished Thaddeus.

“If it makes you feel better, my mother was human, how I came to have pointy ears–” you’d have to ask mom… The same mother that died on their watch… Thought Liam, glancing death at the retreating guards.

Liam bit his tongue, clamping down until pain refocused his mind. Sirin was dead. Nyota was the only matriarch he could cleave to; and she had found someone to be the father of her children. Sickness rose within him as his stomach wished to copy his heart and be ripped from his chest. How had this happened? He’d died for her to live. To be happy, and yet here he was, alone, grieving the death of his only blood kin–

–claws wiped his tears. Slender arms, stronger than reason allowed, lifted him off the ground. His face encountered an old dress, not quite rags, but smelling of month old sweat and desert heat. Not too dissimilar to how Sirin smelled each night. Which only plunged him deeper into despair.