Azalea stared at her four new roommates. They stared back at her. Currently, she was in the living room, holding a bowl of noodles. Grandpa Vremya might’ve never consumed food, but Azalea didn’t share the same inhibitions. Sometimes, when she wanted to interrupt the monotonous grind of munching on tasteless spiritual pills every day, she would grind them up and sprinkle them on top of an actual meal. Today was one of those days, but for some reason, she didn’t think she’d get to eat anything. Every since she started cooking, the four phoegons had followed her around like dogs seeking a treat. Now that she was done, if she placed her bowl of noodles on the table, there was bound to be a fight for it. However, what choice did she have? Grandpa Vremya warned her they were as strong as soul-seed cultivators.
A sigh escaped from Azalea’s lips as she placed the bowl of noodles down. Like lions pouncing on prey, the four phoegons dove headfirst into the bowl, slurping while clawing at each other to get as much noodles as they could. When she was younger, Azalea had heard stories of woman giving birth to cultivators, some special geniuses blessed by the heavens who’d be born with a spiritual foundation, skipping the qi-gathering phase entirely. When she was younger, she’d relate to the young genius. Now, however, she felt closer to the mother who gave birth to that hero. How did she potty-train someone who was physically stronger than herself? How did she get him to eat vegetables? When the young genius threw a tantrum, how many of his mother’s bones did he break when she tried to stop him? It was no wonder why those young geniuses were always so arrogant in those stories. Their parents simply couldn’t discipline them without dying!
“What are you doing?”
Azalea turned her head towards Grandpa Vremya, who had walked into the room with a dried tentacle. The phoegons’ raised their heads out of the noodle bowl and sniffed the air. Then, they abandoned Azalea’s bowl of noodles, that she put hard work into, and crowded around Grandpa Vremya’s feet, fighting to stand higher than one another. Azalea grumbled as she got a new bowl. “I was going to eat, but your new pets had the same idea as me, evidently.”
“They aren’t pets,” Grandpa Vremya said, tossing the tentacle behind the phoegons. They brawled and wrestled each other, destroying the floorboards, to get to the piece of titan flesh first. “They’re companions.” He glanced at Azalea. She was giving off the aura of a nascent-soul cultivator, which was odd, considering he had given her the unfertilized phoegon egg. “Have you bathed in the amniotic fluid yet?”
Azalea shook her head. “I haven’t,” she said. “I’m a bit concerned about the impression we left on all the cultivators. What if they decide to seek us out either for friendly or hostile reasons? If I’m busy cultivating, I won’t be able to help you navigate that political minefield.”
“You’re worried about me?” Grandpa Vremya asked, raising an eyebrow. He gestured towards the phoegons ripping apart the black tentacle. They were born the other day, and as the offspring of a dragon and a phoenix, creatures that matured extremely slowly, they should’ve looked relatively the same as yesterday. However, they were larger than they were yesterday, their bodies more muscular, their claws sharper. “No one will have the courage to plan anything against us when they see these four. They’re like our guardians.” Grandpa Vremya stroked his beard. “In fact, that gives me a good idea on how to name them.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Oh?” Azalea stared long and hard at the four phoegons. However, even with her identity as a nascent-soul cultivator, she had no idea how to tell either of them apart. To her, they looked exactly the same. Since that was the case for her, it should’ve also been the case for Grandpa Vremya. “Do you even know which one is which?”
“Of course,” Grandpa Vremya said. “But they don’t know yet.” He went over to the phoegons, and they stopped fighting, turning their heads to look at him. One of the phoegons took advantage of that moment to sneak another bite in, causing the remaining three to growl and fight for their own pieces once more. Grandpa Vremya stroked his beard and squatted next to the phoegons. He placed his hand on the one that had seized the opportunity. “Your name is South.” He placed his hands on the remaining phoegons, naming them as he went. “East, West, and North. Those are your names now.”
“You named them after the four cardinal directions?” Azalea asked, raising an eyebrow. “I suppose it could be worse.”
Grandpa Vremya snorted. “Are you doubting my naming skills? In the future, when people hear the word north, they’ll think of North right here.” He patted one of the phoegons’ heads. Azalea still had no idea which one was which, and she seriously considered whether or not she should place stickers on their scales to tell them apart. Grandpa Vremya patted another phoegon. “When people hear the word south, they’ll think of South. And—”
“When they hear the word east, they’ll think of me!” a phoegon said, its head rising above the others. It was hard to tell what it was saying because it was speaking around a chunk of flesh held in its mouth. As the descendent of a phoenix and a dragon, it was only logical it didn’t have cheeks as well.
“You can speak?” Azalea asked, her eyes bulging. “Why haven’t you said a single word before this?”
“I just learned how,” East said after swallowing. His head swiveled around, his gaze sweeping over his siblings. “And I’m the first! That means I’m the smartest!”
“So what?” another phoegon asked as it pulled its face away from the tentacle. “The only thing that matters is strength, and I, North, am the strongest!” North pushed East to the side and chomped away at a morsel of flesh that the latter was saving for its last bite.
“Fight more, fight more,” South said, nibbling away at the portion North had left. It chewed twice before swallowing. “Show us how strong you are.” While its siblings fought to exert dominance, it would take all the rewards. Who cared about strength and smarts if it didn’t fill one’s belly? Being clever was the way to go.
“Why don’t we all stop arguing?” the last phoegon, West, asked. “We can split the food evenly, and everyone will be full.”
“I see the language elixirs I mixed with the titan flesh worked,” Grandpa Vremya said and took another three tentacles out of his interspatial ring. He tossed them towards the phoegons and snorted. “There. Why would any of my companions ever have to share? Its stupid to waste your strength fighting against each other when you can work together to take things from other people.”
Azalea cleared her throat. “I’m going to take in the amniotic fluid now,” she said, rushing out of the room. She had no intentions of sticking around, not with four phoegons wrecking the place. For once in his life, Grandpa Vremya seemed to be taking responsibility for something. She didn’t want to ruin it by helping him out and gradually ending up doing everything. It wasn’t because she was afraid of the phoegons or anything, definitely not. She certainly wouldn’t be afraid of them after absorbing the amniotic fluid. How was she supposed to do that anyway? It was such a rare item that there wasn’t any information about consuming it available on the internet. Grandpa Vremya did say she had to bathe in it, but did bathe really mean bathe? Well, she’d figure it out.