Habib would prepare a meal for the family.

He would mix chickpea flour,

with water and 2-3 eggs.

He spiced the preparation in his own way.

Gently with a little salt from a new bag.

The house was silent, there wasn't a sound,

apart from the sound of the whisk scraping up the meal.

Léa hated spices, so Habib didn't add any.

He placed the dish in the oven and prepared the bread.

Compared to what you might think,

This is mainly eaten as a sandwich, which makes it an easy meal to transport.

As he cooks, he prepares himself and looks at his complexion;

The soft darkness of his beautiful skin,

His young musculature,

It's clear that Habib had an artistic body.

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The very quintessence of nature.

The food is ready, he makes sandwiches,

Gets the drinks,

And rushes out.

. . . .

Ruh advanced through the manor, until he reached a tall man.

He was dressed in the red, black and gold noble garb of Tarshkilian high society.

In short, he was the Governor of MarcheRoi.

And he greeted Ruh by dipping his hand in hers.

‘How do you feel, my friend?

- The pain is gone, Master Raphy.

- Good, know that the nobility is greatly indebted to you.

Ruh leaves a silence, showing his nonchalance at this information.

Come on, be proud! You know that in this world, when you devour the heart of an animal, you get its powers? It's an undeniable fact.

- Of course it is.

- And you also know that by doing so you can expose yourself to their twisted diseases?

- Of course I do.

- And that's where you come in, Ruh!

Your shots and poisons injected into you create these vaccines!

Vaccines that prevent these supermen from dying; what you're doing isn't in vain.

You can be proud, Ruh.’

Ruh doesn't answer.

He walks wearily across the big red carpet, chandeliers shining.

Towards the whitish, secret room at the back;

Where the pest-doctor and the little jesters are holed up;

Ready to tell Tarshkila how the day's operation went at

MarcheRoi.

He sits down, exhausted, and sighs.

If it weren't for his poverty, he wouldn't have undergone this harsh ordeal.

If he wasn't subject to this law.

If only he could break his chains for a moment.

He could afford to feel the hunger tearing at his guts for a thousand years;

But he couldn't even imagine it touching his child.

So for that, he sacrificed his sweet health,

Administered poisons and delayed death,

So that a younger generation wouldn't miss out.

The light from the lamps blazes into his eyes.

A bright, thorny flash.

In this life, dreams don't exist.

You fight until you're tired of it.

And you end up either victorious or gone.

‘Go on, I'm ready. Ruh sighed one last time.