“You are very handsome. Do people tell you that?”

“No.”

“Well you are. I think you are the most beautiful human male I've ever seen. I think you're fibbing and that you get told that kind of thing a lot. You have the perfect proportions and now that I've seen you naked I don't believe you've never heard it. You must've been with a lot of women, huh?”

“...”

“Hey, you don't talk much. Y'know? Is it because you don't like me? Because personally, I really hope we could at least be friends. Are we friends already? Sorry. I've never had a friend before. Everyone else is so old... I was born in captivity so it's not like I had any children to play with. Except for the masters grandchildren, but his sons would beat me if I did that. And then they'd beat Abe for letting me run off.” Xavier continued at this for minutes, and then hours, and then days. Only falling asleep when Girshan became sufficiently agitated with the pestering, acting on Tyr's behalf. Not that Tyr wasn't similarly affected. Like a chisel on manatite, it brought him near to the point of fury several times. Except... “It's cool that we have a human in our group now. Neal doesn't count, of course. Human slaves are pretty rare in Kriegstad, did you know that? Abe called it an ethnostate, and he always knows the most. Some of our guards were humans, and some of them were nice. Like George. He'd always beat me softer than the other guys, just enough to make a noise. Always pretending. I hope he's okay. Do you have any friends back home?”

He was just a child, only in the body of a grown man. Therefore, blameless. Tyr didn't understand their gestation cycle, but according to Benny all kijin males aged exceedingly rapidly. He had thought Benny was a strange one, but once Xavier's metaphorical 'walls' had dropped – he became many times 'worse' than the former. The 'warborn' they called them. Old stories of when the kijin kingdom still ruled the southeastern stretches of Varia. About their breeding camps, how they'd send adolescent kijin no more than three years old into war before they had ever learned how to speak properly. Their bodies were strong enough, and that's all that had mattered to the 'kijin primus' at the time. A lofty title, and a heretical one – as there was no such thing as an inhuman primus. Thus, they'd been caught up in one of the most notable genocides in recorded history. Another kingdom, like the Anu, that had been torn down by Varia. Ages ago, centuries at least.

“Not sure. I don't have a 'back home'. But there's at least one.” Iscari was all he could think about that would match the description. He'd warmed to the idea of the others as friends, but he wasn't sure. Alex had tried to stick by him, at least to 'save him' – whatever her motivations. As far as he was concerned otherwise, the others had abandoned him. Not that he blamed them for it. Tyr didn't want to be saved, he wanted to find whatever he was looking for by himself.

Then again... He had literally run as fast as his feet could take him. What could they have done in the face of his fathers judgment? Nothing, that's what. Tyr was coming to the point where he couldn't really blame them for what they'd done. In fact, shames and pride aside, Alex had really and truly stuck up for him and he'd... Not acted appropriately, to be sure.

“How did you get so big?”

“Big?”

“Yeah.” Xavier replied. They were both shirtless. All of them were, bathing when given an opportunity to by the landscape around them. Some of them were completely naked, while Tyr opted to wear an extra pair of shorts into the pool. This time, in a waterfall fed reservoir that had no outlet, leaving questions as to where all that water went. “Like... Muscles.” He added, flexing his wiry arms to accentuate the point.

“I'm not that big.” Tyr frowned, and he wasn't. He wished he could cut such an imposing, masculine figure as someone like Samson, but he was more compact. Wished he had the manly features of Jartor, but too much of his mother was plain in his feature, thought they certainly looked alike. Muscular, yes, he knew how strong he was – but aesthetically it wasn't like he was a body builder or strongman.

“You're of a decent shape. Not the physique of an orc, but few humans cut a figure like that.” Jura purred, altogether too close behind him. She, too, was stark naked. At least Yana had the shame to shroud herself in a sheet before she was submerged to her neck in water. Jura's tight curves were presented for all the world to see, not that anyone stared. Slaves were apparently not afforded the luxury of gender specific bathing facilities, and those that abused this 'privilege' were beaten by man and woman alike. “The scars add a lot to your appeal.”

“Oh yeah?” Tyr turned to her. “How about we do it, right now? Get it over with, yeah? I'll put you right over that rock and show you the Harani way.”

She backed away, for the moment. Blushing through all the bluster, leaving him some space. He didn't like when people came too close. It made him anxious beyond belief. She still stared, for whatever reason, but at least she wasn't within arms reach. Compared to Tyr though... Frankly, that was the one thing that truly made him feel nervous. Hiding it well enough for the time being, he wasn't even sure if he could follow through at all...

“I think you're huge.” Xavier added again. “But you didn't answer my question.”

“I'm not huge.” Tyr argued. He was tall and athletically built, that was all. Brenn was larger than him, and he was just a 'normal' man. Standing over six foot made him a giant in the eyes of the common people, but a lot of noble born people were tall. And Oresundians in particular, that which made up half of Tyr's blood – or so he hoped – were the tallest of all the human sub-races. One of his maternal uncles, Absolon, was even taller than Samson. “As to how... Hard work. A lot of it.”

“How much?”

“Hmm...” Tyr thought back. Technically, he'd been training for as long as he could walk, and it was constant. Growing more and more intense as his age increased. His father had put him through the ringer hundreds of times in an attempt to force him into coming into his primacy. “Real training? Since I was eleven years old, I've spent every day doing some kind of exercise. I only took breaks when I am wounded or unconscious. Naturally, I count hard fights as a workout – it's not always lifting weights or running, but I do a lot of that as well. I'd say I dedicate about four to six hours a day to physical training. When I was in the palace, I started as soon as I woke, sometimes it was long depending on the day.”

“That sounds awful.” Girshan said. His naked body, submerged at the navel, was much larger than Tyr's own. Of a similar height, but much more apparent in musculature. This was common with beastkin, especially those forged in the aesthetics of a predator – like the large cats or very rare 'wolf men' that had ruled Sinea in times past.

Tyr looked at him with a skeptical glance. “What do you mean? With a body like that, you work out a lot... Right?”

“I have never lifted a weight as humans do in my life. We are born with these bodies. Some say they are earned through combat, but there is clearly a disparity in how hard we need to work, versus a man. Some are built for speed, others for power, some for a mix of both. Among other things.”

“Huh...” Tyr breathed. “That explains why Ajax asked me why I was constantly 'lifting heavy things only to put them down where I found them'. At the time, I thought he was joking.”

“Ajax?” Yana's head jerked in his direction, rising just enough in the water to show more than she'd wanted to before yelping and falling down again, blowing bubbles while the others ignored her and continued their conversation. As much as they were men, all were either used to seeing female bodies or completely uninterested in staring. “Did you just say Ajax?”

“Yes. Do you know him?” Tyr asked. He'd thought that Yana was from Saorsa, like Girshan was before he'd traveled north as a mercenary to find permanent work in Sinea. Saorsa was evidently a peaceful nation, unlike their late northern neighbors. Not a lot of work for warriors, he'd said. “He was a commander of some sort in the Sinean military. Or so he claimed.”

“Ajax Gurren was the chief of our kaddiskan. Our clan, or house as you humans see things. Like a large, extended family. He is alive?” Girshan inquired, though not nearly as interested as Yana. In fact, he looked a little disappointed. “He had blue-gray fur and a larger body than my own. One of the largest of my kin I have ever met.”

“As far as I know.” Tyr shrugged. “Not sure where he got off to. Killing something, somewhere. Probably.”

“That would make sense. He was always good at that. Little good it would do him, or us.” Girshan shook his head, while Yana's eyes seemed fit to burst into orbs of light so hopeful was her countenance.

“You dislike him?”

“Not exactly.” Girshan replied. “He killed my brother, but I have no claim to blood after losing to him in the blood-rite. I do not wish him dead, necessarily. There is a reason for all things – but I would not have wept should you have informed me otherwise. He, like all of our commanders, deserved what many of them got when they knelt to your cursed primus. No offense.”

“None taken. My assumed father is a hard man to love. Or like, whatever the case.”

“Not your father.” Girshan spat. “Cortus. Your father fought valiantly, and allowed many to live when he had only reason to scour the assembled packs. Cortus was who they fell in with, believing his words that he was Jartor's equal. Low and behold, he was not. Managed to escape, somehow, but I heard justice found him eventually.”

“None are.” Tyr replied, almost laughing at 'Jartor's equal'. He had many questions and reservations about the man, but if he was one thing, it was mighty. “Cortus was beyond foolish to think that he'd survive an encounter with the primus of Haran. And that isn't just pride speaking. I've met all the living primus', and only two scared me.”

“Who is the second?” Girshan asked. “Ragnar of the north? I've heard he is a mighty warrior, a slayer of legions. I would like to meet this man, though I know that is a fools wish.”

“Not Ragnar.” Tyr said. “Alexandros. I hope I'm never forced to be in the same general area as that man again.”

“I'm not that familiar with the republic as a whole, but you should find an easy time with that. He almost never comes out of the western astral space. I've heard that he doesn't accept invitations to any social events. In truth, I understand how you feel. I fear no man, but when I felt your father enter the field of battle at our capital... It's self evident.” Girshan shrugged. “Mighty. A hunter worthy of respect. I do not wish to lay eyes on him again, and I understand the tales they spun of the primus' and their valor.”

“Mmm...” Tyr returned to his washing. Barely any of which was required. He didn't stink, ever. Something to do with the spira, maybe, but it was a habit and offered some catharsis. Even if he was filthy, he would use magic. But bathing gave him time to take stock, meditate over his dozens of scars and then some. Scars that had appeared relatively recently to mar his flesh. Memories that would never fade no matter how many times they were forced to heal. Out of curiosity, he'd even skinned himself to see if his skin would return in pristine condition. It had not. The scars always came back, as if they were part of his skin. He chuckled as he remembered a pale faced Iscari staring at him in horror, not understanding why his friend was mutilating himself on his bed like that.

“Never heard you laugh like that before.” Abe was long finished, seating himself on dry ground with a folding armchair Tyr always kept in his dimensional ring. Polishing his stave and whistling contentedly, white robes and... Telurian...? Majestic? Not really...

“Like what?”

“Like you really have something to laugh about. Your mirth never seemed to reach the eye, until now. Of course, I understand we've known you only for a short time, but you're a heavy man. So depressing. Learn to live a little.”

“Ah...”

“You don't talk much either, as Xavier said. I feel like we could go days without you speaking a single word unless it was necessary.” Jura said. “I like that in a man, in all truth, but your silence gets creepy sometimes.”

“I talk all the time.” Tyr argued, shooting a look at her. Somewhere between confusion and his best poker face. She was still naked, and revealed, but it was just a body. He almost felt concerned at the complete lack of yearning he should feel.

“Only when I ask you so many questions that you give up on ignoring me and answer.” Xavier smiled up at him, somehow managing to have found a fish which he had tied a corded reed around and begun to lead it around like a dog. Leaving Tyr curious as to the mechanics behind such a thing, the fish even seemed to be having fun with it. “Why doesn't your face scar? Oh. And your mark is gone.”

“I don't know, and my mark has been gone. For a while. I wear an artificial one you can buy at certain parlors in the city.”

“Why?”

“Dunno. Looks cool.”

“I thought those were supposed to be permanent? Like even if you burned it off, it would go all the way down into your flesh?”

“They are.”

“See what we're talking about?” Jura rolled her eyes, leaving the pool and affectionately slapping Xavier in the back of the head on the way out. Tyr watched the 'bob' of her, she didn't seem to mind, well aware that he was doing it. He was doubtful she knew why, though.

“Speaking of the scars, though.” Abe cradled his ridged chin in one of his six fingered hands. Too many fingers, Tyr thought. It made him uncomfortable to look at them. “Yours regrow with you? Or were they there before your regeneration? Why do none of them extend to your face?”

“They've accumulated over time. They are purely aesthetic. If you looked deeper, you'll find no scar tissue. My face and eyes in particular are never permanently damaged – though I do not know why. I could skin myself now, and the skin would return with the scars upon it. Some of them don't even match wounds I remember getting.”

“Fascinating.” Abe began doing 'his thing' again. “Perhaps your regeneration has something to do with your deepest self image? If that is the case, then the much more complex features of your face would stay fairly similar between sessions. Since you can't actively observe yourself injured. I wonder if it's subconscious, then? Hmm... Questions. What about your--”

“Yes.” Tyr lowered his eyebrows. “It's still there.”

“Did they hurt?” Xavier asked, maybe missing the point of the question...?

“Skinning myself, or the scars? Or my...” Tyr's eyebrow slowly rose as he wondered at whether the boy had read between the lines to inquire about his 'berries' or not.

“Well...” Xavier looked at Yana with concern as she joined them at their campfire near the pool.

“I think he means both.” She provided, blushing in her way of seeing anything that could be remotely related to impropriety as the peak of embarrassment. “And not the other thing.”