Ashborn 318: Camar Gadin (Patreon)

The city was oversized.

That shouldn’t have surprised Vir—he’d imagined it would be. It was, after all, built for giants. Yet there was a difference between knowing something and seeing it in person.

Vir had imagined the walls would be taller, the gates wider and sturdier. 

Only, he hadn’t imagined well enough. It wasn’t just the major structures. Everything, from mugs to chairs to tables—everything was built for giant hands and giant physique. Even the carvings on the ornate temples were large.

It made Vir feel out of place in a way he never thought imaginable. It worked its way into his skin, yielding a sense of wrongness that had him instinctively tugging on his Foundation Chakra.

“Didn’t that trouble you, growing up here?” Vir asked as the Cirayus, Aida and Vir walked through Camar Gadin’s wide streets.

“Aye, more than you’d know. Wasn’t so bad when I was little—everything’s big for a child, after all—but even to this day, giant-sized is a bit too large for me.

“And regular demon-sized is too small,” Aida chimed in.

“Leaving me in an awkward position, where nothing’s quite right,” Cirayus completed. “It’s fine, though. Now, I just have everything custom-made.”

It was an interesting problem that Vir would never have to deal with in his life, yet one that foiled Cirayus at every turn. Even so, he could relate.

“Reminds me of being prana scorned in the Human Realm,” Vir said. “Even basic utilities were a chore for me.”

“Indeed, I imagine they were,” Cirayus replied.

White canvas tents of all sizes had been pitched throughout the city, utilizing every available nook and cranny.

“Not nearly enough space in lodgings to house the spectators, lad,” Cirayus said. “Even with families welcoming guests into their homes. Every tournament, the city transforms. They’ve done it hundreds of times, and yet, it’s always an undertaking.”

“You sound like you’ve had some firsthand experience,” Vir said.

“We have,” Aida replied. “He always helps with the preparations. Always drags me into it, too. Even though I never participate.”

“Aye, and that’ll change one day,” Cirayus said confidently. “Mark my words.”

The giantess rolled her eyes. 

“I have to say, though,” Vir said. “I’m surprised you’d help.”

“It’s not something a Warrior often does, I’ll admit,” Cirayus said. “And that is why I do it. Lets you learn. See things from the eyes of others. Did you know just how much of an effort feeding forty thousand people can be? Sewage, water procurement, medical aid, traffic… The list of considerations goes on.”

“You sound like Malik,” Vir replied wryly.

“Your logistical expert? Aye—keep him happy, lad. Keep him safe. There are few people more instrumental to the success of an army—or a city—than those who manage the mundane.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” Vir replied.  

“Housing isn’t the only concern, either,” Aida said, nodding her chin to an Iksana and a Bairan who stood in the middle of a street, facing each other down.

Vir didn’t need to hear what they were saying to know a fight was imminent. Their body language said it all.

“Alright, alright, break it up,” Cirayus said, marching directly between them.

Both glared at him with anger and annoyance. Both did double takes, and when they recognized who he was, the fight in their eyes extinguished without a trace. It was replaced by fear and stammering, as both tried to save face and disengage.

Cirayus watched them huff off in opposite directions, then returned to Vir and Aira.

“Happens every year,” Cirayus said, shaking his head. 

Not that any further proof was required, but Vir was once again reminded of just how famous Cirayus was. He was perhaps just as much of a sensation as the Clanlords themselves.

“See the different colored tents?” Cirayus asked as they walked on. The white tents had changed to a sea of purple. “Each corresponds to a different clan. Most clans are quite picky about their bunkmates. So much so that I’d like to just shove them into one tent and force them all to get along.”

Aida snorted. “That’d be a sight. I’d bet five gold we win, though.”

“It’d certainly be interesting, wouldn’t it?” Cirayus said with a grin. “I’d do it just to see the Chits squirm.”

The open hostility in Cirayus’ voice surprised Vir could only hope the rest of the Bairans held as much animosity for the Chits as Cirayus and Aida.

“And that’s another reason this dance is so hard,” Aida said, hefting her Thaumaturge bag. “Even if we did have the space, we can never fully utilize it with all the inter-clan politics and bickering. “

“Now, come. Let me show you to my place.” With a spring in his step, Cirayus let Vir through the city’s many roads and walkways. Aside from the size, Vir couldn’t help but notice its general state of cleanliness and upkeep—incomparable to Samar Patag.

Not only were the tall walls in immaculate condition, despite being so close to the Ash, several guards patrolled its ramparts, with an equal number keeping watch on the city inside.

Despite the hustle and bustle of so many clans, the streets were clean, and there was a liveliness to the people that was entirely absent in Samar Patag.

I want my city to be like this one day… Vir thought. Vibrant and full of hope. With people who moved with a purpose.

Cirayus was right. Society thrived when given a sense of purpose. For the Bairans, it was the ever-present threat of the Ash. What would it be for the Gargans, once Vir had restored his clan?

Vir mulled over these thoughts as he followed behind Cirayus, eventually arriving at a stone structure a bit smaller than the rest. Smaller, but still quite large for normal demons, it stood on its own with what looked to be the remnants of a small garden.

“The plants always suffer when I’m gone, I’m afraid,” Cirayus said, ushering them in. “Welcome to my humble abode…”

“I didn’t know you enjoyed gardening,” Vir commented, barely suppressing a grin. He just couldn’t picture The Ravager with a trowel and an apron, kneeling on the soil and tending to plants.

“You didn’t?” Aida asked, stooping through the door that was too small for her. “I’m surprised. He won’t shut up about it in front of us. It’s his favorite thing aside from fighting.”

“Don’t you forget cooking, Aida,” Cirayus said, already donning an apron.

The abode was, as Cirayus said, humble. Just a single room that’d be small for someone of Cirayus’ stature, with a fabric couch, a table, a few chairs, and a bed in the corner. All a bit too big for Vir, though there were two regular-sized chairs at the table.

Its wooden floors looked old, and creaked when walked upon, and though its vaulted ceiling gave the impression of space, it was a far cry from the mansion Vir had imagined.

“It’s… nice?” Vir said, taking a seat in one of the dining chairs. 

Aida chortled as she fell into the oversized one opposite him. “Yeah, pretty much what they all say.”

“I had a large estate, once,” Cirayus said, lighting a fire in his stove as he prepared to rustle up a meal. “Centuries ago. Live long enough, lad, and you’ll learn that material possessions serve only to shackle you. Yes, luxury is comfortable, but the maintenance headache, the constant worry at the back of your mind when you’re away… The fewer anchors you have, the more free you are.”

“The more free you are to spend decades in the Ash, sure,” Aida muttered.

“Lass… Don’t be this way. You know well why I do what I do.”

“For the safety of the Realm. To hone your skills so you’ll be strong enough for when the time comes,” Aida said. “But when is that time, Cirayus? Is it worth preparing for, even as centuries pass and your loved ones age and die?”

Cirayus said nothing, starting at the boiling water in his pot. Vir sensed it was not the first time they’d had such a conversation. 

To pursue ultimate power was indeed a lonely road, full of sacrifice. What other sacrifices had his godfather made? All for this moment. To support Vir as he restored the Garga and reunited the clans.

A lucky distraction broke the heavy mood. Vir sensed Shan’s prana signature before he saw the beast nudge open the door and lope inside.

“Well, look who showed up!” Aida said, rising to her feet. “How are you feeling?”

Shan barked at her, before walking past her legs and sitting in front of Cirayus.

“Count on a wolf’s nose to lead it to food, eh?” Cirayus said, throwing the wolf a treat.

“He looks fine to my eyes,” Vir said. “Now, I suppose I just need to teach him to use his tattoo before the Tournament.”

“Best of luck with that,” Aida said. “I don’t care how intelligent your mutt is. I’d bet my firstborn he doesn’t learn it for years. If ever.”

“I wouldn’t make that bet if I were you,” Vir said with a grin. “This one will surprise you.”

“I s’ppose we’ll see, then.”

— — 

Cirayus’ meal ended up being an enormous bowl of hot, hearty stew with bread. Simple, yet well-spiced and oh-so delicious. It was the sort of food Vir had always pined for growing up, yet only occasionally had.

Comfort food that reminded him of home. He found his thoughts wandering back to Brij. To the meals he shared with Rudvik by the fire that kept them warm. Of the tales his father would tell him, of heroes and monsters and demons and champions. 

The grief of Rudvik’s loss had been faded, tempered by time. Though the pain would always linger, Vir could look upon those joyous, simple days with warmth and affection.

He wasn’t sure why a simple stew conjured up such images, but Vir was happy for it.

“If you could cook this well, why’d you always feed me raw fruit and vegetables in the Ash?” Vir asked. The cooking was genuinely good, with subtle, refined flavor, and where all the ingredients were in balance with one another.

“It’s the Ash, lad. Where are you going to get spices? And without spices, why even bother cooking? Might as well eat them raw.”

“That’s ajja for you,” Aida said. “All or nothing.”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” Vir said, grinning as he downed another spoonful and tore into his bread.

Time went by in a flash, with the three exchanging idle banter, and soon, the meal was polished off without a drop wasted. Even Shan devoured had his stew.

“Thank you,” Vir said softly.

“Cooking you a meal is the least I could do, lad,” Cirayus said. “After all we’ve been through, you would thank me for this?”

“Not just that,” Vir said, heart pounding. It was just one simple word, and yet, he struggled. “For… For treating me as you do. For treating me like… Like family, I guess.”

Vir blushed the moment he said those words, and he looked away.

Cirayus looked at Aida, then at Vir. “Not like family, lad. As far as I’m concerned, you’re as flesh and blood as my hot-headed granddaughter here.”

Vir had expected Aira to bonk Cirayus, rebuking him for his words. Instead, she stared into Vir’s eyes and nodded.

“Family.”

Vir’s chest suddenly grew hot, and his moistened. He broke Aida’s gaze and looked away.

“That’s, er… Thank you. Truly.”

“Alright, alright,” Cirayus said. “That’s enough, Aida. Before you go and make the lad lose his dignity in front of us all.”

Both grandfather and granddaughter laughed, and this time, Vir laughed with them.

“So… What now?” Vir asked once the laughter died down.

“Now? We get you registered.”

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