"Food... food," mumbled someone through cracked, dried-up lips.
He wore a robe that covered his entire body except for his neck and head. A frown rested on his temple as if he were in deep concentration. Sunlight shone on the bald patch at the top of his head. His hair had retreated to the back and sides, barely holding on—his last line of defense against full-blown baldness. Maybe going completely bald would've been better.
"What are you doing?" asked a deep voice coming from under the shade of a tree.
It belonged to a man with skin so dark he would disappear under moonlight. He sat cross-legged, resting his head in the palm of one hand, the elbow perched lazily on his thigh. In his other hand, he held a huge green leaf and fanned himself.
The robed man broke from his trance and turned to face him.
"I'm trying to breathe through my ass," he said, completely serious. " can't you see I'm trying to concentrate here while you sit around ?"
The man under the tree didn't react. He simply glanced at the cat curled up beside him in the grass—its white fur in sharp contrast to the green—and then said, in a calm voice:
"Maybe we should invite scribes from the Cathedral of the Four. I'm sure they'd want to witness this historical event—the first time a man draws breath through his ass. Who knows? If you're lucky, they might mention you in the Divine Sheaf as the first ass-breather."
The bald man clenched his fists and teeth, sensing the mockery. He wanted to punch that smug summer face in front of him, but he held back. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and spoke again—smoother this time.
"This is our last chance this month. If we fail again, we either beg... or die."
The man stopped fanning himself. He put down the leaf and finally looked up. His eyes were a golden yellow—like a ball of gold set against white silk.
"And whose fault is that?" he asked, pointing toward something in the distance.
They both turned to look. There, lying awkwardly in the grass, was a fleshy pink rod. They both averted their eyes the moment their gaze lingered for more than a moment.
"Not my fault, is it?" the bald man snapped. "How was I supposed to know people crafted imitations of male genitalia ?"
The golden eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" asked the bald man.
"You think about dicks all the time, don't you?" the dark-skinned man said suddenly.
"Wha—what?!" the bald man stammered.
"Don't 'what' me. I should've known," the man continued, eyes widening like he'd solved a mystery. "You being all friendly with the old receptionist at that shady guild, getting kicked out of your house—it all connects. You had an affair with that sleazy old man."
He made a gesture—touching his forefingers together. ><
"Your kin found out. So they kicked you out."
His tone was proud, like a inquisitor unveiling a heretical conspiracy. Then he stood up, walked over in four long strides, and towered over the bald man. He wore a white tunic and black trousers.
Placing a hand on the bald man's shoulder, he leaned in, face serious.
"Don't worry. You did nothing wrong. So what if you're into old wrinkly dicks? Or want to breathe out of your ass? I'll always support you, Marin."
There was a faint smirk trying to escape his serious expression. Marin, however, was red with fury.
And then... the wind stopped.
The trees stilled. The heat and cold vanished at once.
Sensing the shift, the tall man—Asher—swept Marin up by the waist with one arm. In the same motion, another large hand grabbed the white cat, without hesitation. The cat struggled for a moment but recognized its owner and stilled, though its fur bristled in alarm.
From under its paw, it caught a glimpse of something.
A distortion. The world shimmered unnaturally—something was coming through its fabric of space and time.
Before it could make sense of it, its view was blocked by a tree trunk. Asher had moved swiftly, coming to a stop behind it.
Marin, still dazed from the sudden motion, straightened and blinked.
"What was that?" he asked, no longer red.
Asher frowned. "I don't know. You tell me—it's your trade."
"I didn't do anything! I just channeled my Huna a little, that's all!" Marin said, clearly panicked.
"We'll deal with that later," Asher said. He leaned sideways to peek.
The cat climbed up onto Asher's head to get a better view. Marin joined them.
Three heads in order of The Cat, Asher and Marin from top to bottom all let out a single sound.
"Huh!?"
"Huh!?"
"Meow!?"
In front of them stood a massive box—shining white, as wide as four Ashers and three times as tall. It had thick black wheels like flattened stone circles. Its sides gleamed like wet stone and bore panels of glass that shimmered like water.
It just stood there.