Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The glass was in front of him, but he only fiddled with it. His gloved fingers were damp with sweat from the cold beer, but he didn't care. He knew that everyone in the room was looking at him, judging him, but he didn't care anymore. At least for that moment. 

God, he needed to stop drinking so much. Especially late at night. What time was it? Three in the morning? But the nightmares wouldn't leave him alone. What a novelty. 

“Bad night?” a voice sounded next to him. 

He raised his head a little, at least to be able to see and that the hood of his cloak did not reveal his face. 

It was one of his new coworkers. He only shrugged. Pretend you don’t care. Give them no reason to talk to you , he thought. 

What he didn't expect was for that to be a signal for the other to slap him on the back while laughing. The blow was so hard it almost got him to go over the counter. 

He must be drunk… , he thought, adjusting his hood. 

“Come on! It's no big deal! Come on, drink with us!” 

He glanced to the side at the others. They were minding their own business, chatting. But he didn't want to go. He couldn't trust them. He just shook his head. 

“At least you can pretend to like us. Tell us something about you. At least your name?” 

Once again, he shook his head and pointed to his throat. 

“Suit yourself,” was the last thing he said before he left. 

Once he was alone. He waited for him to get far enough away to check his reflection in the beer, to make sure the hit hadn't moved the bandages on his head. The last work had left him with some wounds, one on his arm and the other on his head. 

A glass of water appeared in front of him. He looked up to find the stare of the barman on him.

“I know you're not new at this kind of work, kid. But I recommend you get out of here. Go back to your room. The soldiers are hanging around and I don't think they'd like to see something like you.” 

Without another word, he walked away, leaving him with the word in his mouth. It wasn't as if he could have answered (after all, he never had a voice), though he was tempted. 

‘Something’, that’s what he had said. Not ‘someone’. 

Once again he lowered his gaze to his gloved hands. He knew he shouldn't, but he raised the sleeve of his shirt slightly. The red scales seemed to glow in the light. He couldn't help but notice that some appeared to be a dark gray color. A sight out of the ordinary… 

He felt disgusted . 

Quickly hiding his skin again, he downed the now warm beer in one gulp. He wanted to vomit, as he had so many times before, but restrained himself. 

“It's true! I've seen it!” a very loud voice was heard near him. For a moment he thought about ignoring it. “It can grant any wish.” 

His back tensed. He could feel even the scales on his back bristle. Did he...? , he thought. 

“I don't believe you... A lamp capable of granting you any wish? That sounds like something out of a fairy tale.” 

“But it's true! I swear! I was in the caravan of this nobleman from the next city. I was in that temple when it happened.” 

Coins fell on the table. He had the impulse to turn over, but restrained himself. By the weight and clinking of the coins on the table... That was easily over a million gold coins. 

“This was my payment. And all I needed to do was just be a bodyguard for a rich nobleman.” 

“... Shit... And you say it can grant any wish?” 

“Any wish.”

“How did you get that job?” 

“Just go to the guild in town. There are always nobles there who want a bodyguard.” 

The barman grumbled under his breath. He was also listening to the conversation. 

“That sounds like pure lies, don't you think so?” 

However, the seat was empty, the glass with water empty and three gold coins beside it. In an instant, the doors opened and closed, letting out a shadow hidden under a cloak. 

.

.

.

“Yes, but I would be careful... The roads are full of thieves and that temple is guarded by soldiers. Only those who can pay can have their wishes granted.” 

Chapter Text

Malim let out a long yawn from inside his lamp. This confinement had already become a kind of monotony. Every day it was the same: wake up, listen to the wish, grant it, repeat. 

Sometimes he didn't even have to listen to it. He already knew what they were going to ask for. After all, it was almost always the same wish: riches, power, death, love. It wasn't as if he could set any rules. If he tried, his lamp would be thrown up in the air. And because it was connected to this one, he could feel his stomach being churned as they played with it as if it were a dog toy. If they did not dare to throw his lamp against a wall, it was for fear that it would break and release the genie from the lamp. Or worse, kill him lose their source of income. 

Lying on the large divan for a while, Malim let his spirit out of the lamp. He had learned this after a moment of complete boredom and loneliness. If he concentrated, his spirit could come out of the lamp and, like a ghost, see around him. Even if he couldn't get away from the lamp, he could see what was going on outside. And this time was no exception: the usual soldiers, Idiot #1 and Idiot #2, were discussing the latest news. Apparently one of them had brought a book, and was commenting on the story to the other. 

Malim tried to get closer, but he could barely reach it. Luckily, Idiot #2 had dropped the book on the floor, wide open, which allowed Malim to lie on his stomach and start reading. 

“The Thousand and One Nights ... ah...,” Malim read the title. “I wonder how it will go...” 

Finishing the first page, Malim looked at the soldiers, who were still arguing. 

“Maybe if I do this...”

He knew he couldn't touch solid objects, but he could blow hard to turn the page. When he did, the page lifted a little. With a little more force, the page flipped. Proud of what he had accomplished, Malim kept reading. 

With each page he turned, the more excited he became. It was entertaining. But as he was turning the page, the book was lifted. 

“Hey!” 

The soldiers had stopped arguing, it seemed, and Idiot #2 had put his book away. Malim could only snort, unintentionally throwing sparks. This caused Idiot #1's pants to catch fire. Malim covered his mouth. In the blink of an eye, he was back inside his lamp. 

He could hear the chaos going on outside. 

Malim could only sigh and lay back down on the divan, this time closing his eyes. It wasn't as if he could sleep, but it was better than spending more time staring at the same walls. 

The images in the book flashed in front of his eyes as if it were a cartoon. That made everything more entertaining. I wish someone could rescue me.... 

He was stupid... So SO stupid. Such a goof... He should have known... 

He should have been more aware of the time and the surroundings. If only he had prevented... 

But no. He had to forget that his aromatic plants were running out. And that ended up causing what was happening at that moment: he, in the need to hide his natural rotten smell, had to steal a few aromatic herbs (lavender, marigold, some honeysuckle and peppermint), but he had not seen the soldiers who had been following him; a chase later and, because of being in an unknown city, ending up trapped and now hanging by his feet in a jail. 

Letting out a sigh, he clutched the small pouch hanging from his neck. This one had a peculiar shape. It was supposed to be a teddy bear, a memento of his father, but wear and tear and his inability to sew and mend had ended up turning it into what looked like a little mouse. There he kept his herbs to hide his scent. But now, without his scent, he now looked like a deflated stuffed animal. 

Now all the more reason they won't want to hire me... , he thought. 

But hey, it wasn't like he could wait any longer. Hiding the little pouch in his clothes, he looked out the window. It was starting to get dark again. Another day lost.

He knew they had taken his knives, even the ones hidden in his boots, but luckily they had not dared to look inside his clothes. It was a delicate process, but with great precision he tore one of the seams of his pants, where the small blade the size of his fingernail he was hiding (and with which he had often cut his hands) was hidden. Once in his fingers, he moved in such a way that his hands held the chain from which it hung. Working as fast as he could, he cut the ropes. Thanks to the fact that he was holding on, he was not afraid of falling like a sack of potatoes. Now with more command of his body, he hid the blade in another of the seams and let himself fall without making a sound. 

Ha! In your face, old man , he thought. The training he had undergone with one of his uncles had finally paid off. 

Now comes the hardest part: escape. Once again, he looked out the window standing on the tips of his toes. There was no one outside. Then he looked through the metal door. There was no one there either. This is weird..., he thought. But it wasn't as if he could think anymore. He had no time to waste. 

He looked around. There he noticed one of the rocks in the space. Perfect. He quickly picked up the rock and threw it against the door. He then hid in the darkest part of the cell, his hands hiding his eyes just enough so they wouldn't glow in the dark. 

A couple of minutes later, a pair of soldiers approached. 

“The hostage escaped!” he heard one shout. 

“Quick! Open the cell!”, he heard another. 

He chuckled under his breath. Fools... 

The cell was opened. He made no noise until he was sure the soldiers had fully entered. To make even more sure, he kicked the one closest to the one at the door, getting him to fall on top of the other, and closed the door behind him. 

He didn't care about the shouts of the other soldiers. His sensitive ears picked up their footsteps and, thanks to the teachings of his other uncle, he had learned to make himself almost imperceptible. While he couldn't hide his features since his cloak had been removed, his dark clothes went a long way in blending in with the space. What was becoming a problem was finding his things and hiding his scent. On several occasions they had almost managed to catch him. His hands struggled to show their claws, but he had to control himself. He must not give in to his impulses. 

After what seemed like an hour of running through those maze-like corridors, he made it to the entrance. Freedom, he thought. He could steal new knives and a new cloak later. What mattered now was to escape from that place and-- 

A strange odor flooded his nose. It was so strong and characteristic that it made him stop and cover his nose. It’s sulfur! But it was too late. He had taken a big breath and was now coughing like a madman. It hurt his already broken throat. His eyes filled with tears and his body fell to his knees. 

Footsteps approached him. But he couldn't see who it might be because of his watery eyes. This stranger ended up holding his hair and lifting his head up hard. The light bothered his eyes. He was pretty sure they were reptile-like on the light. 

“Yes, this one works for me. Take him to my office,” he heard a deep voice before he was thrown to the ground. 

He tried to struggle, but the smell of sulfur was too strong. A pair of chains ended up on his wrists and ankles and he was dragged away from the jail. He only deigned to try to take deep breaths and close his eyes tightly. I must... run away... I can't... go back home...  

Chapter Text

Malim felt himself being summoned, forcing him to open his eyes. He covered his face with the pillow under his head and began to kick. A part of him didn't want to. But he knew it was useless. He knew he was acting like a baby. But it wasn't like he could help it! He couldn't take the monotony anymore! 

After a couple of whimpers, he wiped his face and was summoned. 

“Welcome, stranger,” he said, making a bow. His jewels seemed to tinkle as he moved and even sparkled in the sunlight. “You may call me--”

“Yes, yes. Whatever you say,” said the one who had summoned him. This was an old man, one of those who spent a lot of time voluntarily shut away studying. “I wish for the love of a girl.” 

Malim could feel a revulsion running down his spine. But he had already learned to master his face, to turn it into a mask so that they would not know the truth since that time many years ago with a similar desire. 

“Ah, a girl's love is like a flower. You have to know how to cultivate it,” Malim tried to seize the moment to move behind the man. The tinkling of his jewelry could be a great distraction to those who came to see him. Malim placed one of his hands on the decrepit man's shoulders and the other placed it in front of the man. Flames appeared in his fingers that seemed to take the shape of a young woman. A generic one, it wasn't as if he could tell who it was. “A wish is a precious and delicate thing. It might be a big step, but it won't mean it's the final one, don't you think?”

“Malim!”

The young genie felt a shiver run down his spine. He turned around and made a vengeance again. It was about the chief of the elders. 

“My lord...” 

“Fulfill his wish. Now.”

Malim wanted to object, but he saw in the chief's hands a knife with lamb blood. The mere presence nearby was enough to feel its flames go out inside the genie. In a nod and a snap of fingers, he could feel a part of himself go out. Like blowing out a candle. The chief then led the old man out of the temple. Once out of sight, the chief glared at Malim. The latter froze. 

“You'd better fulfill the wishes of those who come today. If I see you trying to trick them, then I will show you no mercy.” 

“But, my lord...!”

“I wish you to be silent and obey me, Malim.” 

The force of those words was enough to shut the genie's mouth. Tears began to run down his cheeks, but he was alone once again. Disappearing from the human world and hiding in his lamp, Malim leaned back on the divan and began to cry. 

“Please...someone get me out of here...,” he whimpered hugging his pillow. “How I wish I could get out of here...” 

By the time he had regained consciousness, it had become daylight. But the problem was not that, once again, he was wasting time, but that he was chained up and sitting in what looked like a very elegant room. Perhaps too elegant. The couch where he had been sleeping was comfortable, maybe too comfortable. 

The doors behind him opened. In front of him appeared an elegant gentleman. Maybe too much. The fabrics he wore showed that they came from the northern lands of the desert, too modern for his taste. His black hair and white skin was a contrast that irritated his eyes. And more that he could perceive his perfume of cinnamon and coffee that only irritated his nose more. 

Why do the rich people love to show such opulence…? , he thought. 

“I'm glad to see you're awake,” said the gentlenman. A butler came in with a tray and prepared tea for the two of them, even if only one could drink it. 

“Let me introduce myself: my name is Reginald Gobi. I'm from the Gobi family, I'm sure you've heard of us.” 

Are you kidding? Who hasn't heard of the Gobi family. Their power went beyond trade routes. It was even said that they could have a black hand in the market itself. 

“Surely you must be wondering what you're doing here,” the gentleman continued. 

Don't tell me... , he thought, though with his shackled hands he could only look at the lord with boredom. 

“Please don't think badly. I was the one who got you out of that place.” 

He blinked twice. That's a lie, I freed myself. A hand grabbed his cheeks. He’s fast! He tried to shake him off, but the gentleman seemed stronger. How is he so strong?! The perfume just made her feel like throwing up. 

“You have your mother's eyes...”

At the mention of those words, he felt threatened. He couldn't help but let out a growl and bared his fangs. He wanted to break free of the chains, but they were too much for his strength. And the gentleman knew it. He was tempting him. 

“I knew your parents, especially your grandmother. I made a couple of deals with her. But that's not what I brought you to,” from his pocket he pulled out a yellowed piece of paper. There was his face. HIS own face, with his scars and his snake eyes and his name written in BIG letters, with a high number. “This bounty is a bit high for someone your age, don't you think?”

Unable to do anything, he just leaned back on the couch. 

“I'll make you a deal. The reason I got you out of jail is because I need your services.” 

He raised an eyebrow. My services? Better would have been to present something to those in the thieves' guild.  

“You sure have heard of a lamp that grants wishes, haven't you?” 

At those words, he rested his elbows on his legs and his head on his shackled hands. He had his full attention. 

“You see, that lamp rightfully belongs to my family. And what I need is for you to retrieve it.” 

He shook his head. She would have stood if her legs weren't chained as well. 

“I understand that sounds like a very difficult deal. But you have to understand what it's like to fight to get back what belongs to you by legacy. Don't you think so?” 

The man took another object out of his pocket: the bag of herbs. When he saw it, he almost lunged to retrieve it, but he didn't realize that there were other soldiers in the room. But he had not realized that there were other soldiers in the place, who pushed him to the sofa. When did they arrive? Is the smell clouding my senses?

“Don't worry. I'm not keeping this up. Here's the deal: you'll go to the next city, you'll get my lamp back in any way possible, no matter what. And in return, I will erase your bounty. No one will know about this. You will be protected by one of the most powerful families in the desert. And! To show you how good-hearted I am… I will let you have a wish to be granted. Sweet deal, isn’t it?” 

The pouch returned to his hands, which brought him some peace of mind. And now that he thought about it, the deal didn't sound so bad. But... all for a lamp that grants wishes? That was going to get him into more trouble. Would he be willing to do anything to clear his name? 

But he couldn’t deny what his heart was saying. He looked at his skin, his scars, his imperfections. A wish to be granted…

He glanced sideways at the stranger, who was just smiling. He knew he had him dancing in his hands. Once again he turned to look at his sachet of herbs and sighed, resting his head on it. What am I gonna do…? 

Chapter Text

What was he doing...? He had been forced to go to the neighboring city and go through a lot of embarrassment for not having his cloak and his empty herb sack... all for a lamp? 

When I see that man again I will charge him extra..., he thought while fanning himself with his hand. Who does he think he is? Making me pay for everything... At least he gave me back my knives... But still, that guy is rich, he could have at least given me a cloak... Old white-collar thief... 

“That would be five gold coins,” said the salesman, handing him his new cloak. 

His eyes widened that his eyebrows got lost in his hair. He quickly shook his head and held up three fingers. 

“Excuse me, young man, but I'm afraid I can't lower the price...,” the salesman lowered his head. “Prices are going up because of taxes. We can't afford to cover everything they're asking for.” 

He looked once more at the cape. Under his fingers he could feel the good quality of the fabric. It was sturdy, it would hold up to a long journey across the desert, not to mention it was double colored: cream on one side and dark on the other. 

With a sigh, he laid six gold coins on the table. 

“Oh, I couldn't...”

He shook his head and pushed the sixth coin. That done, he put on his cloak and walked out of the small store. 

Now that he had his new cloak, he headed to the market for the plants. He was tempted to steal them, but with his new mission he had to keep a low profile, if they weren't going to suspect him from the moment he crossed the guarded walls of the city. 

Several silver coins later, his sachet was filled with the soft scent of marigolds. It wasn't his favorite scent, but it did the trick. So he went to the nearest bar. At first glance, it looked like a normal place, there was a sense of familiarity about it that made his backside bristle. If he closed his eyes, he was sure he could picture four people sitting at one of the tables. A motley group that, at first glance, one would never understand how it was possible for them to work together. But for him that answer was easy: they were like family . 

At the memory, he swallowed hard and headed for the bar. With a golden coin, the man at the bar understood what he was looking for, handing him the tank of beer without saying a word. He stayed like that for several hours until it got dark. There he asked for a room and, making sure he wasn't being followed, locked himself in. Taking a parchment from his travel bag, he began to draw up his plan. 

With the information he had purchased, he had managed to discover certain details of relevance. The temple where the lamp was located was practically in the center of the city, where all the streets ended up leading. It had no walls or fences or bars, but it did have soldiers making nightly rounds. And he didn't blame them. It was something very precious. Only an idiot would try to steal something like that object. 

And now I'm that idiot... , he thought as he sighed. 

He had to be quick. It wouldn't be news. But the important thing would be to escape from the city. With just enough he could stay until dawn before everyone knew about the robbery. 

If I managed to steal a horse, I could at least get out quickly... But the stables are far away, they are closer to the city gates. It will be a matter of taking a chance. I'll have to make the hit right now, come back in an instant for my things and from there run for the horse. 

From his backpack he pulled out a white mask. This one had a specific shape, with small horns like protrusions and a crack on one side of it. He had “borrowed” it from one of his uncles when he wasn't paying attention. He didn't usually use it, it could tie him to his past, but he had to take every precaution possible. 

Please let it work... 

Malim no longer had the same energy as before. That day had been too demanding for him, as there were almost twice as many people making wishes as other days. 

“I'm tired...,” he complained, even though he knew he would get no response. “I don't want to do this anymore!” 

But his complaints were in vain. 

“I hope they brought that book back...”, he said to himself. 

When he felt the unfolding, he saw that Idiot #1 and Idiot #2 were in his position. Only this time, the book was in Idiot #2's pocket. Seeing that simple object, he felt that spark of mischief inside Malim. He got as close as he could and stretched out his arm as far as he could. His fingers brushed against the book. 

“Almost there...,” he said to himself in a whisper. “Almost there...” 

“Hey, have you heard the rumors?”

“What are you talking about, you idiot?”

“I'm talking about the killer from the southern desert lands. That one with the weird name.”

“Which one? The mercenary with the scales?”

Malim couldn't help but laugh at that strange nickname. I feel sorry for the poor guy who earned that name , he thought, as he kept trying to pick up the book. 

“That very one. They say it's in here.” 

“That weird one? I doubt it.” 

“I do think so. I was told by the guard at the western entrances that he saw someone with scales on his face enter the city.” 

“What kind of a jerk lets himself be seen in a city if he really is a mercenary?” 

“Do you think he's coming here?” 

“What for, the lamp? I'd like to see him try.” 

“I'm serious! That mercenary is to be feared. They say he went so far as to kill an entire caravan in broad daylight. Or that he was able to cross the entire desert in one night without resting just to manage to kill a thief who dared to take something valuable from him. And he did it with his own hands.”

Malim raised his eyes to look at Idiot #2. Really? 

“It's all bullshit. Please! How can anyone do such things?” 

“But... what if it's true what they say? That he's not alive? That he's really an undead... Or one of those monsters that inhabit the southern lands...”

“You've read too many stories. You're already going crazy with just a few rumors of market ladies.”

Almost as if invoking evil, a strong wind blew strongly, extinguishing the flames that illuminated the space. In addition, Malim's hand had managed to knock down the book which rang throughout the space in an echo that almost made the soldiers scream. Malim swallowed saliva and moved closer to his lamp. He didn't want to run away, but it was better to be safe. 

“Who's there?!” he heard Idiot #1 shout. 

He couldn't see anything. He was blind in the complete darkness. 

“Over there! I saw something over there!”, shouted Idiot #2. 

“Come on!”

The two soldiers walked away, their footsteps being the only indication of sound. Malim was curious, but it wasn't as if he could... 

A pair of hands held his lamp. Malim felt the call inside his lamp, not before having a glimpse of a pair of snake-like eyes glowing in the complete darkness. 

When he opened his eyes, he was inside his lamp, but everything was moving. It was like living in an earthquake. 

“What's going on!” he said to himself as he was being shaken all over the space. 

His body floated, trying to minimize the pounding against the wall. But it was impossible not to feel fear. He was being kidnapped! 

“I know I wished they would get me out of here, but not like this!” he said to himself, almost in a scream. “STOP RUNNING!”

At those words, he felt his body hover in the air before plummeting. His head hit the ground, though he didn't lose consciousness. But now he knew he had stopped. 

“Ow... my head...” he whimpered, adjusting his jewelry. 

And in the blink of an eye he was out of the lamp, meeting once again those yellow snake eyes and a strong scent of marigolds. 

Chapter Text

This is wrong... This is SO SO WRONG , he thought. The plan was simple: break in, steal the lamp, run away, leave no clues. 

Yeah... That was the plan... , he thought as he rubbed his forehead in an attempt to get rid of the growing headache. That was the plan... So... HOW DID I END UP LIKE THIS?! 

“Uhh..., everything okay?”

He raised his head. In front of him was a young man easily his age. Well, he would be a young man if he had legs. Instead, it was like he was made of smoke. And he was sure he had come out of the same lamp he had just stolen. 

A genie... he had to guess... There is no such thing as a wish-fulfilling lamp that isn't cursed or has a genie....  

With his sigh, he stood up and folded his arms in front of the genie. The genie blinked. He watched each of his jewels, in the flames that sprang from the mantle on his head. 

Hmm... he's good-looking for a genie... I thought they had a weird skin color. Or that they were less human. 

“Uhh... all well, my lord?” the genie asked. 

At this, he opened his eyes and stepped back, his hands and head making signs of denial. This caught the genie's attention. 

“All well? Aren't you going to make your wish?”

Of course... I inadvertently released him. But now how do I tell him...? 

He quickly pointed to his neck, where the bandages were. 

“Wait, can't you talk?” 

At least he's not dumb . He shook his head. 

“So...how am I going to grant your wish?” 

The door rang at that moment. He opened his eyes, turning to look at the genie. He quickly held the lamp, pointed at the genie and then at the lamp. 

“You want me to go inside?”

He nodded. 

The genie looked at the lamp. They stood like that for a few seconds before the genie looked back at him. 

“I... I can't! I can't go in!” 

This is bad...

The door rang again. Almost instinctively, he threw the lamp towards the bed and covered it with the pillow. Then he pointed at the genie to stand behind the door. He obeyed. 

Once that detail was covered, he shook out his hair, disarranging his clothes and hunched slightly, closing his eyes slightly. With slow steps, he opened the door slightly, covering his mouth to let out a yawn. 

In front of him stood the bar owner with a couple of soldiers. 

Shit...

“Sorry for the inconvenience. We need to do an inspection.”

He took that moment to lean against the door, creating a barrier. What am I going to do...? If they come in... 

A pair of arms wrapped around his neck. 

“Can we help you, gentlemen?” 

He turned to look at the genie, who was smiling over his shoulder. As soon as he did, the genie gave him a peck on his nose. This made the soldiers and the bar owner uncomfortable. 

“There was a robbery. We managed to detect that the thief came through here. We're looking to catch him,” said one of the soldiers. 

“Hmm... there's no way it could have been us. We were together all night long~ Isn't that right, you rascal?” 

The genie's slender fingers caressed each of his seams on his cheek. And to top it off, his lips landed on her cheek, a tender kiss. This managed to make him blush. He could even feel his chest fill with a pleasant warmth. 

Those present instantly pulled away. It was clear they were disgusted and uncomfortable. 

“Whatever,” said the other of the soldiers and they all walked away. “The lamp isn’t clearly here.”

The door was closed. He and the genie looked at each other for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. 

He couldn't believe it had worked. It was a spur of the moment idea, but it worked. 

Malim turned to look at the young man, who was still laughing and had ended up sitting on the bed while hugging his stomach. He looks weird... but he's cute , he thought. He had never seen someone with scars on their face before, or less so with different skin color. His eyes were strange too, one a strange red-pink color and the other gray, VERY different from what he had seen a few hours before that looked like those of a snake. His left eye was slightly droopy, as if he was having trouble opening it all the way. 

Almost in fear, he approached the bed and sat down. Or more like floated over the bed, but it was a good illusion of humanity. The other looked at him closely. Never before had anyone given him so much attention. It was uncomfortable... but pleasant at the same time. The stranger's hand came up to his face, almost stopping a few inches away. 

“Ah... I don't think you can touch me...”

The touch was the first thing he felt before he realized it. The other's hand was slightly cold, but someone is touching me ! His words were choked off. He found it hard to swallow. 

The young man opened his mouth, almost as if wanting to say something. It was as if he wanted to say 'Wow...' 

“Master...?”

This got the other to let go. His hands ended up in his lap, shaking his head. 

“Well... if I can't call you that... What should I call you? I'm Malim Cendari, by the way. I don't know if you can say my name, though.” 

Malim tried to laugh, though it was a bit sad. The other looked down at his hands before shaking his head. 

You don't have a name?” 

Another shake of his head. 

“Then...how about a nickname?” 

The other looked at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“You don't seem to like me calling you 'master', so I'll give you a nickname!”

The other crossed his legs on the bed and turned to look at him. He looked like he was interested. That made Malim get excited. A good nickname... A special one for him... 

The idea came easily. 

“Rosco!” 

The other blinked. 

“You're a rascal, aren't you? Rosco sounds similar. So that'll be your name! Rosco! What do you think?”

The young man raised his eyes to the ceiling, almost as if ruminating on the idea. Malim bit his lips. What if he doesn't like it...? 

After a while, the young man - Rosco - smiled and nodded. Malim stuck out his chest and floated across the space, sparks of fire floating around him. The other smiled as he watched him float, his fingers gripping the lamp he had pulled from its hiding place. 

Outside, the sun was shining brightly. Light struck the ground and Malim could see it all from the window as he held onto the upper frame of the door face down. 

I am... free... I am free... I am free!

Chapter Text

“Alright, pipsqueak,” he raised his head at the voice calling him. He was reading a book one of his uncle had lent him. And he was right at the best part! “Today you’ll learn a very important lesson: how to use your surroundings to your advantage.” 

He grimaced. He didn't like where that was going, but disobeying his father was enough to get him in more trouble. So he set the book down on the bar table, got off the chair that was almost his size and followed his father outside. The gazes of his uncles were on his back as he followed the adult almost running. 

Once outside, the light almost blinded him. But he quickly got used to it only to find an unexpected scene: outside there was a sandstorm! It was impossible to see anything! And the noise was unbearable! How had he not noticed it before? 

“All right,” his father's hand rested on his shoulder. A cold sweat ran down his back. “Across the street is a horse tied up. And at the end of the street, there's the house of the old man I want you to steal.”

Hearing that, he raised his head in fright. His father was smiling. 

“Relax! The old man owes us money. Now, what I want you to get is anything of value. It doesn't matter what it is. But if it's gold, the better. And to defend yourself, take this,” a knife appeared in front of him. He cringed at his reflection in the sharp blade, but his father grabbed his hands and forced them to hold it. “Don't lose it. And try not to kill anyone or be recognized, understand?” 

His hands trembled before that weapon. He quickly wanted to go back to the bar, to where it was safe. But his father held him by the collar of his clothes. 

“Oh, no. You're not going anywhere. That's part of life in these badlands, little one.” 

Without another word, his father pushed him into the storm, his face crashing to the ground. His eyes filled with sand and he struggled to wipe it away. He even had sand in his mouth! 

“Good luck! I'll see you when the storm is over!” 

The door sounded behind him. But he could no longer see anything. He was alone... What am I going to do…?

By the time the storm had ended, he hadn't moved an inch, his body hidden under a mound of sand as he shivered with cold. One of his uncles, finding him, picked him up in his arms and carried him inside the bar. 

“That wasn't right,” he heard his uncle talk to his father. 

“He has to learn... We all learn one way or another... That's the law of the desert...”

His eyes felt heavy and, without much effort, he fell asleep. He remained in bed with fever for ten days. Beside the bed was a chair, where his uncle came to sit. But at no time did he see his father sitting there. And all he could think of was: I have failed you, ama... Forgive me... 

“... Rosco!”

At that name, he raised his head. I still can't get used to that name.... 

Malim was watching him under the new cloak Rosco bought for him. It was long enough to hide his legs if he kept the cloak closed, even if he had to float and drag the fabric, but it was what he had on hand. 

“Everything okay?”, Malim asked, his hand peeking out. 

Rosco quickly grabbed his hand and pushed them inside the cloak. He waved his hands above his head. Too many memories , he thought. 

“Surely this plan will work?” 

It has to work... 

The idea was to get out of town. And the plan was simple: blend in among the travelers, squeeze if possible into one of the wagons and beg the soldiers to let them leave the city without investigating them. It was risky, TOO risky, but they had already spent three days in that city and it seemed that the situation was not going to calm down. If they didn't get out as soon as possible, then the news was going to spread throughout the desert and could attract other bounty hunters. Or even them... 

Rosco checked the little bag around his neck. This time he had kept lavender flowers, having to throw away the marigold. He couldn’t risk being recognized. He had even taken the trouble to wash his clothes with the little water the bar allowed him. All before the gaze of the genie, who was watching him carefully. 

He admitted the presence of someone else near him was strange. However, having Malim was... different. Maybe because he was a genie? But his presence was warm and pleasant. Plus, he was helpful and good company while they went out to reconnoiter the place. 

Sure, for a couple of moments he was distracted by his surroundings. Everything seemed new to him and sadly Rosco wasn't what you could call a great conversationalist... But at least they made themselves understood between the two of them. At least he wanted to think that. 

“EVERYONE IN A ROW!” a soldier shouted loudly. “NO ONE PUSH!”

All the travelers obeyed as best they could, though many complained that they were hitting each other. Malim chose that moment to be closer to Rosco, his hands clutching his shirt sleeve and hiding behind his back, almost trembling. 

Rosco looked around. This kind of situation was enough for thieves to take advantage of to steal. He held his bag tighter, where the lamp was hidden deep inside. 

This act caused one hand to recoil. I knew it! Rosco grabbed the hand and pulled it back. It was a boy, nearly six years old. He was frightened to see him. I'm sure I'm showing his reptile eyes… 

“HELP! HELP! A MONSTER”, the child began to scream. 

This put everyone on alert. Rosco let go of the frightened child, who went back to hiding among the people. Shit... If we don't sort this out.... 

“Hey! Don't push!”, Malim started pushing the one next to him. 

As if in a chain effect, everyone else started pushing each other. Someone even started yelling about a monster. The soldiers started shouting as well, trying to keep everyone calm. 

This is our chance... 

Next to Rosco was a horse. It seemed to be getting restless. So Rosco got as close as he could without drawing attention to himself and looked at the horse, showing the claws on his hands and even the scales on his arm. The horse became altered. The man on top of the man pulled on the reins, but the horse was out of control. The poor owner fell to the ground. 

Malim floated up and took the reins. This caught everyone's attention, seeing the genie rising into the air. 

IDIOT! 

Rosco jumped up and jumped on the horse. 

“HYAH!”, Malim shouted as Rosco shook the reins. 

The horse lunged toward the entrance. All the travelers stepped aside. But the soldiers did not. These raised their spears, while others tried to close the great gate. 

“MOVE!” shouted Malim waving his arm, hovering almost above Rosco. 

Almost like a command, flames shot out of the genie's hands and pushed the soldiers away. The horse instinctively took a great leap and burst through the great gates before they closed. 

“WE MADE IT! WOOHOO!”

Rosco knew he should get his new traveling companion's attention, but he couldn't help but smile. The plan had worked his way. 

.

.

.

“This is bad...”, unintentionally said the sniper looking out the window. 

His companions looked up from their card game. 

“What's wrong?” asked the raspy-voiced member of the group. 

“It looks like a sandstorm is coming...” 

“What's that got to do with anything? That's the norm around here,” the third member of the group shrugged. His elegant clothes seemed a contrast to those of his companions. 

“No, I'm afraid this is going to be a very big one... Like fifteen years ago...”

The doors of the bar opened. The leader of the group entered showing a piece of paper. 

“Guys! We have a new mission!”, the leader pressed the paper against the table, feeling the phantom pain of a scratch on his arm as soon as the impact hit him. “I hope you’re ready. We have a thief and a genie to catch!”

Chapter Text

The slamming of the door woke him with a start. Without control, his body fell off the couch that served as his bed. His shoulder began to ache, but he didn't want to show any sign of pain. Raising his head, he saw his father come in, leave his pistols on the table and lie down on the bed. The smell of gunpowder invaded the whole place. 

It was unusual to see his father in that rented room. He usually hung out at the bar with his uncles. Something must have gone wrong , he thought. 

He quickly ran to the cabinet where the water was kept, took out a glass and, once it was full, ran to leave it on the dresser next to the bed. His father said nothing. Only snored. 

Ama... 

Carefully, he took off his boots and even took off the blanket with holes in it that he used to cover his father. So he wouldn't be cold , he thought to himself. 

Once he had finished, he saw his hands dirty with blood as black as ink. He went hunting , he thought. He felt like cleaning them, but the last time that had happened, his father had given him a slap. So, like a good son, he just waited for his father to wake up. 

His eyes fixed on his father's serene face, on the scales on his cheeks, just like his own. Almost fearfully, he ran his fingers over them, feeling their roughness. Then he grasped the hand hanging from the bed. 

After making sure his dad was really asleep, he placed that big hand on his head. 

Good boy , he imagined his father telling him. You're a big boy already. I'm proud of you. 

Ama... , his lips moved, no sound came out of his silent throat. Tears ran down his cheeks. Am I a good son...? 

He hadn't realised he had fallen asleep. He only knew that, when he awoke hours later, his father was gone, the glass untouched, the blanket on the floor and the little room once again empty and cold as was his heart. 

By the time it was beginning to get dark, they had reached the outskirts of the town closest to the edge of the desert and forest. Once they were sure there was a good distance away between each, the two travelers got off the horse. Rosco, once he was sure that the horse would be safe, set it free. 

“Are you sure?” asked Malim. 

Rosco nodded. There was no way they could enter the city without their possessions being checked. They had to enter the city in the middle of the night without being detected. But in the meantime, they had to wait. 

So Rosco took advantage of the moment to build a fire, closer to the desert than to the forest, behind some dunes. Although there were not many branches, the ones he had found were enough. Everything under Malim's gaze, whose flames emitted a warm glow. 

Once satisfied, Rosco pointed at Malim, then at the branches, and then finished by clapping his hands together and then spreading his fingers apart. Malim smiled and nodded, obeying the young man. 

Once the campfire was made, Rosco sat as close as he could to the flames, almost curling up. Malim chuckled under his breath. Rosco turned to look at him and tilt his head to the side, only making the genie to chuckle even more. To the genie, Rosco was a fascinating being. And, in the face of that fire, he could see those scales on his cheeks, his eyes now looked more like those of a lizard, not to mention his hands looked more like claws. And, in spite of that, he looked very cute, like a little lizard. 

“We have to wait, how about we talk?”

Rosco shifted uncomfortably in place, but moved his hand, almost reaching out to the other. It was an invitation for conversation. 

“I know you can't talk, but you're very expressive with your hands. You learned that where?” 

Rosco raised his eyes to the sky and crossed his arms. Malim sat there, watching him, holding his ground. It was clear that neither was willing to budge. But it was Rosco who sighed. Holding a branch, he began to draw in the sand. 

The first drawing was clearly a family: a mom, a dad, and a little boy. The mom had a strange hairstyle, with what appeared to be a pair of circles on her head (and.. was a... sword on her head?), while the dad seemed to have a crown (and... a tail?). 

Malim wanted to say something about it, but quickly Rosco kept drawing: two female figures on the mom's side, three male figures on the dad's side. Once ready, Rosco moved the branch to point at one of the three male figures, the one who appeared to have a cape. 

“He's your… uncle?”

Rosco nodded, though from his reaction, it seemed he didn't have such good memories. Malim tried not to say anything. Rosco then cleaned the drawing and began to move his hands in a series of short, but precise movements. 

“How interesting! So... it's like... a language with your hands?”

Rosco nodded once again. 

“Great! Will you show me something?” 

Rosco folded his arms and looked up to the sky. Malim knew that meant Rosco was thinking hard. But that didn't matter. He was going to learn hand language! He was going to be able to communicate better with Rosco! 

Rosco clapped his hands to get his attention. Malim turned to give Rosco his full attention. Rosco began moving his hands and writing down the meaning. Malim imiteated it. They were like that for a long time, from which Malim ended up learning a little, but relevant information. 

“How does this... mean 'dog'?”

Rosco shrugged. After all, he hadn't created that language. 

“It's too confusing...”

Rosco chuckled and snapped his fingers in front of Malim's eyes. He looked up again to meet the other's eyes. They both froze. They were so close... Their lips could easily touch each other... At what point had they approached each other so much...? Rosco pulled away slightly. Without looking at him, he locked his thumbs with his forefingers together, then turned his hands so that their little fingers touched. 

Family 

Then he pointed at Malim. 

“... My... family?” 

Rosco nodded. 

“Ah... I... I... I don't know...”, Malim lowered his gaze. “When I became a genie... I lost all contact with them... I was a very naughty boy... I liked to play pranks... and for that I was punished... I had to fetch the water... and there...” 

Rosco's hand touched his cheek. He hadn't realized he had started to cry. With his other hand, he lightly pounded his chest into a fist and made a circle against his chest. 

Sorry 

“Ah... never mind... it was a long time ago... I don't remember them anymore. But... it must be great to have a big family. Don't you miss them... do you talk to them?”

At those words, the young man stood up, his gaze cold as night, to walk away. Malim went after him without saying a word. Rosco ignored him, approaching the top of the dune where they were hiding. From his pocket he took out a rifle scope, one of the souvenirs of another of his uncles. Looking through it, he saw the soldiers moving or falling asleep. The moon was covered by clouds, which was going to give them a great advantage to escape. 

Beside him, Malim was trying to make himself as small as he could. For a moment, Rosco's heart shrank. With some trepidation, he tried to bring his hand close to the genie's head. But the latter let out a whimper that forced him to cover his mouth. He was frightened, I could see it in the way he turned toward the bonfire. Rosco turned around to see a group of bandits holding his bag. 

And in the hand of one of them, was the lamp. 

Chapter Text

This is bad..., thought Rosco, watching the bandits. He lightly hid Malim behind him. There are only six of them... maybe more... But if my instincts tell me the truth, then they must know about the lamp... And it is very likely that whoever has the lamp can control Malim.... 

“Well, well, well... But what do we have here?” said one of the bandits. 

“They're just a couple of kids,” commented another, causing a group laugh. 

“Let's sell them. They sure will make good money.”

I must intimidate them. 

Rosco felt the scales appear on his cheeks, just as his eyes became snake-like. The claws on his hands grew, visible to everyone. Some bandits were impressed, but others licked their lips. 

“So a lizard man...” said the one who seemed to be the leader, the lamp on his big, greasy fingers, a large scar on his face making it partially paralyzed. 

“Who knew. I knew there were still a few of you left out there”, a bandit laughed. 

The group agreed. Rosco growled, baring his fangs. He felt Malim's hands on his shoulder, almost trembling. 

“I remember you, kid. I know who you are...,” the leader extended his saber. “I have a debt with your father...” 

“Rosco...,” Malim whispered. 

“But don't worry, we didn't come for you.” The leader raised the lamp. “We came for this. So we'll make a deal: let us take the lamp and the genie, and we might let you live.” 

Rosco shook his head.  

“We can pay you, you know. If you're anything like your father, you'll know how valuable gold is around these parts.”

With a snap, a heavy bag ended up at Rosco's feet. He didn't have to look inside to know how many coins it was. 

However, Rosco kicked the bag. 

Don't think you're going to buy me off when I already have a deal. 

The leader sighed. 

“Then it'll be the hard way... Finish off the lizard and bring me the genie!”

Let’s get it started… 

His small body fell to the ground. He couldn't move, which was worse because the sun was beating down on his face mercilessly. It was hard to breathe and he was sure he was sweating heavily. His hands and feet were already calloused, the latter from fighting with bare feet. 

A chuckle was heard. With much effort, he raised his little head to glare at his uncle. 

“Come on, little guy. Aren't you supposed to have your father's genes? Come on! Fight!” his uncle shouted at him in his raspy voice. 

But he could no longer. With great effort, he moved his hands. 

I can't do it anymore

“A bounty hunter never rests. Whether it's day or night, never stops. So get up!” 

If I pretend to be dead... will he leave me alone...? 

“Ugh... Hey, puppeteer! Give us a hand!”

Nooooooooo...! 

His body moved of its own accord, standing up and re-gripping the knife he had opted that day to practice with. Holding it in his fingers, he could tell that his fingers were bleeding and trembling. He had inadvertently hurt himself with his own weapon. 

“Let's go one more time. We won't stop until you've beaten me!” 

BUT THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!

“Okay, boys. Just leave him alone already. Remember he's still a kid,” he heard a third voice. 

He would have wanted to cry, but he stopped feeling those strings controlling him and went face first into the sand. 

I don't want to move... Why didn't I inherit mom's ability...? Why do I have to be half alive...? 

A pair of arms lifted him from the sand. He didn't need to open his eyes to know who it was, for his ear quickly hit the other's chest. 

Ba-dump

Ba-dump

Ba-dump

Ba-dump

Ba-dump

Ah... what a beautiful sound... 

“You should stop babying him and protecting him. If his father finds out...” his other uncle said. 

“I'll talk to him.” 

What a deep voice... and soft… and warm.... 

“Keep it like that and I’d believe you're his mother.” 

I am... tired... 

“Listen to me well, little one...”

He made a great effort to open his eyes and look up into those brown eyes. 

“You have to remember this. If you have any strength left and what you want is to win...”

... Then don't stop until you do. 

Rosco wiped the blood that had smeared his face. He had been right. There were more thieves in hiding. But no one could stand against him. After all, he was such a great mercenary. Whether he liked it or not… 

He looked around him. He looked like he had come out of a slaughterhouse. But he didn't care. No one would bother him anymore. Now all he had to do was-- 

“Don't move!” 

Rosco turned to look at the leader. The lamp had ended up on the floor, but now he had Malim trapped, the saber against his neck. But the smell emitting from that saber was not normal. It was covered in blood, but it wasn't human blood. He hadn't received any wounds, so it couldn't be his. 

So, what kind of blood...?

“Don't move or I'll kill it!” 

Malim was trembling. His eyes stared in terror at the weapon. In his hands a flaming sword disappeared. 

At what moment did that weapon appear? Malim... he was fighting beside me...? But... He's a genie, it's impossible to kill one... right? 

“Drop the weapon. Now!” 

I'd better obey him. The knife was thrown away from him and he raised his hands. 

“Very well... now I want you to turn around and never cross my path again.”

Rosco glared. I'm not going to lose my frie... Wait, what? 

“Rosco, please don't leave me!”, Malim shouted. 

The leader's hand squeezed Malim's cheeks, making Malim yelp. 

“Don't worry, little genie. I'm going to treat you very well...” 

Rosco growled, showing his claws. The leader clicked his tongue. 

“You're unbearable. They don't call you ‘the merciless mercenary’ for nothing.” 

I must attack... I must free Malim... I must...

The leader then smirked. 

“Too bad I have to spend my first wish like this...” 

Malim's eyes widened in fright. 

“No! Y-you can’t wish this…!” the genie shouted. 

The saber came to rest on the genie's neck. A drop of blood began to trickle from the cut. Rosco opened his eyes. Now he was really afraid. 

Malim... can bleed... Malim can die...! 

“Listen to me well, genie. This is my wish...”, the leader looked up at Rosco. “I want you to kill this… ‘Rosco’ in front of me.” 

Malim closed his eyes. No. He didn't want to see. He wanted to run away. But he could feel his body losing that inner warmth. He knew that desire, cruel and horrible, was being fulfilled. Tears ran down the genie's cheeks. 

Rosco... I'm sorry... Please forgive me... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... 

He felt the blade of the saber covered with sheep's blood before he realized it. When he opened his eyes, he saw a shadow that had lunged at the man who was twice his size and who, in surprise, had thrown the weapon away. As he turned around, he saw that shadow dig its claws into the man's face and clench them. 

CRACK

In an instant, there was nothing left but pure blood that had fallen upon him. His trembling hands passed over his face, only to see them covered in red. 

What had happened...? 

Malim looked again at that shadow that now stood up and looked at him with those snake eyes, without an emotion. 

“Rosco...?”

He didn't hear a single word. He only felt how his body lost its shape, felt how he became again like a beam of light and, in the blink of an eye, he was back inside his lamp. 

Terror covered his body. He couldn't even stand upright. He fell to his knees and hugged himself. 

“But... it's impossible...,” he said to himself in a whisper. “I... I'm sure I fulfilled it... The wish came true... Rosco should be dead... How is it possible that he's still alive...?”

Chapter Text

How long had it been? Days? Hours? Months maybe? Malim didn't know. Ever since he entered the lamp, Rosco had not rubbed the lamp. And just the thought of projecting his soul out of the lamp was something he tried to suppress. 

Every time he closed his eyes all he could see was red. He could see those bodies surrounding him. He could feel the weight of the flaming sword he had created in his hands in an attempt to protect himself and wield it against those bandits. He could remember clearly the way Rosco fought with his claws, as if he was in his natural territory. He could feel the thick calloused hands on his neck in a moment of distraction. He could feel the blade resting against his neck. He could feel his life being blown away like a flame in the wind when the lamb’s blood touched his skin. 

But what he could see the most... were those snake-like eyes staring at him coldly. 

The very memory of them was enough to make Malim recoil and hide in the depths of his lamp. He could feel shivers down his spine. He just wanted to hide and never come out again. 

“ This is my wish...I want you to kill this... 'Rosco' in front of me ,” those words were drilled into his head. 

There was no way Rosco was alive. He would know, he is the genie of the lamp. He knew the cold feeling that ran through his body when he fulfilled a wish. It was impossible for that wish... to fail. 

“Rosco... What are you?” he wondered lying on his divan, looking up at the ceiling. 

Malim spent time at his lamp, still on his divan, waiting for a sign, something from the outside world, while projecting small flames from his fingers and shaping it into some form. First he started with simple basic figures, trying to see how far he could go. Once this was achieved, he began to form more complex figures. Places. People. Animals. Somehow, bunnies were what he did best. Followed by little mice. It was always fun to watch them move around, scurrying around each other. 

But it always ended the same way. With the fire going out. Slipping through his fingers. Disappearing. 

And then it was always back to those memories. Memories that, deep down, hurt him the most. Not because of the terror, but because it made him remember that, once again, he was back at his lamp, locked up and alone. 

“Rosco...” he said once, looking at the ceiling. He swallowed saliva in fear. He didn't know if he could hear him, but... “If you're listening to me...” Covering his eyes with his arms, he tried to hold back the tears. “Please... Don't leave me here...”

Then he felt it. The call. Someone was rubbing his lamp. 

Malim wiped his eyes and stood up. He stepped out of the lamp... only to find himself in a darkened room. 

“Rosco...?” he said in a whisper. 

A barely tiny whimper made him turn around. What he saw, broke his heart: 

Rosco was lying on a bed that had easily seen better days. His clothes were completely disheveled, as was his hair. His cheeks were soaked, traces of tears visible. His legs were tucked up, as if he was afraid to even stretch out or take up much space on that bed. And in his now gloved hands he held the lamp as if it were his own life. 

Malim did not know what to do. Very carefully, he hovered close to Rosco and moved his shoulder slightly. 

“Rosco...? Wake up, Rosco…” 

He needed to be fast. The monsters were following him, but his tiny feet weren’t making any progress in the scolding sand. But he didn’t stop. He needed to run and get to his parents and-- 

A big wall blocked his way, making him fall. He even felt his hand get cut with a rock. It hurt. It really hurt. He looked up, only to see the eyes of his father and his mother looking down at him. 

He stood up and began pulling their pants. He wanted to scream, but they didn’t react. 

Since when were they so tall? I can’t reach their knees. 

A kick sent him back to the ground. It hurt. He couldn’t breathe. He looked up. They felt even taller. 

“Ama…! Ibu…!”, he moved his lips, calling to them. “Please help me! Those monsters…! Those monsters are after me!”

“You’re such a disgrace…”, he heard his father say. 

“I don’t even know why we had you…”, he heard his mother say.

“Ama… Ibu…” 

“ YoU aRe A MiStAkE! ” 

“ Do Us A fAvOr AnD dIsApPeAr! ”

He tried to say more, but the figure of his parents was too threatening. His mother's sword was in her hands, his father's hands had turned into claws. That was incentive enough to turn and run. But he instantly ran into the monsters. He couldn't measure his own strength and was struck against his own body made of putrid slime. He tried hard to fight his way out, but nothing. 

“Tio! Uncle! Tiyuhin!”, I try to shout. He looked around. But there were only those monsters who saw him through their bone masks. “Tio! Uncle! Tiyuhin! Ama! Ibu! SOMEONE!”

Almost as if summoned, his parents and uncles came to see him. He was relieved, but the bullet from his uncle's rifle almost hit him in the head. The big axe in his head was shaken, almost severing his neck. Luckily the monster had disappeared, but luck was not with him. His legs had been corrupted, almost melted, preventing him from standing up. With what strength he had left, he crawled to his loved ones. 

“Please...help...help me...” she said in a whisper, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“ It’S bEeN iNfEcTeD ”

“ He DoEsN’t DeSeRvE tO lIvE ” 

“ He MuSt Be KiLlEd ” 

Those words broke his heart. He looked at everyone. No… Please no… 

His father laughed. 

“Look everyone! It’s already dissolving! That fucking monster!” 

He felt it before he heard it.

Everyone started laughing. 

He looked down fearfully. His arm was melting. A part of it fell down, black slime falling from the missing part. He was terrified. He tried to touch the fallen part when the fingers fell as well. Then an ear fell down. Then his left eye. He tried to touch his face, but he had to be fast before his jaw dislocated and dissolved. 

He was breathing with difficulty. He screamed, looking as his body fell apart. The monsters behind him appeared once more and held him. He tried to fight, but it was futile. He couldn’t be stronger. He only felt his body turning and he couldn’t stop it. 

A new figure appeared and approached the group. A figure made out of fire, who was looking at him with disgust and fear. 

He couldn’t stop the tears from falling. He saw the figure before the black slime completely absorbed him. 

“ DiSaPpEaR… ”

He seems to be having a nightmare, Malim thought. He tried to move Rosco, this time with more force, but at the same time as gently as he could. 

In an instant, Rosco opened his eyes, terrified, and threw his arm at Malim's face, managing to “scratch” him. Malim held Rosco's hand, feeling the roughness of the glove between his fingers. Maybe that’s the reason he’s wearing gloves , Malim thought as he felt the fabric. Roso was breathing heavily, his eyes had once again become those of a snake, but this time they had a new feeling: fear . 

“Rosco... It was a nightmare...”, Malim told him, stroking the other's cheek. “It's just me...” 

Rosco's lips moved. It was clear what he wanted to say... 

Malim

“Yes, it's me...” the genie answered him, smiling. 

With difficulty, Rosco took the other's hand. Almost with fear, he put that hand on his cheek and closed his eyes. Malim didn't have the heart to remove it. With light pushes, Malim pulled Rosco to the center of the bed and lay down beside him. Rosco did not let go of his hand. His lips moved one more time. 

I am scared

“Try to sleep, Rosco... I'll be here when you wake up... I'm not going anywhere...”

Rosco nodded with his eyes closed and relaxed. Malim also closed his eyes. They both rest on the bed still side by side, the lamp in the middle of them both, until the next day. 

Chapter Text

By the time the sun had risen, Rosco had woken up, but he didn't dare move. He had learned to be too still to pay attention to his surroundings. And at that moment, what had him in that attitude was seeing the genie lying next to him. 

So it wasn't a dream..., he thought, remembering what had happened last night. 

A part of him felt ashamed. He didn't think the nightmares would come back after several peaceful nights. But since that night of the attack, after seeing Malim return to his lamp, he didn't dare call him. What's more, he just kept the lamp in his bag and went straight into the city on the sly. He managed to sneak in without anyone noticing, paid for his room at the usual bar and didn't sleep again for three days. He tried to occupy his mind with other things: buying a map, preparing his supplies (and maybe some extra), preparing escape routes, looking for a quick and safe form of transportation… 

But at some point the body wants to rest. And Rosco had to fulfill basic needs in order to exist, such as eating (although not as much as a normal person, he could survive with just one meal at least a week), drinking or, in this case, sleeping. 

And that is how I ended up in that situation. Although, deep down, he didn't care. 

It just so happened that he had shared a bed, even if it was with one of his uncles when he had nightmares and his father wasn't around, which was all the time. But he always longed for that. “It's like a sleepover,” he remembered one of his uncles saying to him with a chuckle. Despite his relationship with his dad, he always felt close to his uncles. 

But, when it came to his mom and aunts… 

Once again, his parents were arguing. That was nothing new. Whenever his mother came to visit, it was only a matter of time before it happened. 

However, the topic of discussion was him. Him, who was now sitting at his uncle's table as he finished stitching the wound on his arm. He felt squirming, his feet moving uncontrollably. He wanted to get out of there and…

“Hey, don't move,” his uncle told him, hitting his head softly with the blunt side of the needle, “If you keep this up you'll end up with more stitches than your mother.” 

The very idea made him feel disgusted. But he couldn't help but feel more uncomfortable than before. He tried to obey, he tried to even control his heartbeat and breathing… But his parents' shouting was too loud. 

“You're such a jerk,” his mother shouted. 

"Why am I the asshole?! It's you who doesn't even want to support us!" came his father's reply. 

“Don't blame me! It was you who decided to raise him!”

"How do you want me to take care of him if you don't even pay us for child support?! We have to live under a bridge while you live your life of luxury!“ 

”Well maybe I should take our son with me! At least I'll give him a better future than you!" his mother had switched to her native language. That just means...  

"Try it, you wretch! So maybe then you'll know how to be a mother for once!", her father shouted back in his native language. 

“Oh these two...,” his uncle sighed wearily. Putting the needle aside, he stood up and went to the door. 

He wanted to stand up and continue, but his uncle's gaze forced him to stay still. He had no choice but to obey, sitting at that cold table, surrounded by the heads of puppets that were somehow watching him. He knew that his uncle had a certain... fondness for puppets, but that cold atmosphere was enough to want to bolt out of there, even jump from the window. 

At least his uncle had plenty of interesting books, full of stories to sleep with. Or even to learn from. His eyes tried to focus on the books, on those titles. But the screaming was unbearable. And there was nothing he could do there. He needed to stop the fight between his parents before something bad happened, like a fight in the middle of a bar. I just want to leave... 

The door opened slowly, only to see a curly brown hair girl watching him with her dead-like violet eyes. On second thought... I guess I'd better stay here , he thought, moving as slowly as possible. But it was futile, holding a scream as he promptly ended up on the floor, having been tackled by what he could call a gremlin girl with hair that looked like a water fountain. 

“KEPONAKAN!” the girl shouted in his ear. 

The grip was very strong. He tried to pull her away from him. But that only helped in reopening the stitches. 

"Oh, don't worry, little one. You're going to have a great time with your dear aunts," another girl with a certain look of royalty told him. “We came to rescue you from this horrible place.”

NO! I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE! I WANT TO STAY! , he tried to speak quickly with his hands, but he had already fallen prey to his aunts, who lifted him over their shoulders and walked away. ANYTHING BUT GOING WITH MY AUNTS!

Just remembering was enough to send shivers down his spine. And that simple movement was enough for Malim to open his eyes. They both stood very still, almost afraid to interrupt that strange peace. 

“... hey...”, in the end it was Malim who broke the silence. 

Hello , Rosco answered him with his hand. 

They both chuckled under their breaths. Even Malim took the trouble to caress the other's cheek tenderly. 

Malim doesn't hate me, he's not afraid of me... , thought Rosco relieved. 

Rosco returned the gesture, seeing his gloved hand. This saddened him. He drew back his hand and looked down at this object. The fury he felt for something as innocuous as his gloved hands was getting bigger and bigger each moment. I’m not normal… I’m a monster… I could have hurt Malim… I nearly lost him… I-- 

“Rosco.” 

Rosco turned back to Malim. This one was serious, had sat down on the bed and folded his arms. Rosco felt like a small child about to receive some scolding. 

“We need to talk.”

Rosco nodded. It wasn't as if he could run away all his life. He sat up, crossing his legs, placing the lamp between his legs and leaned his back against the wall.

“Very well... I understand if you don't want to answer, but you have to tell me the truth: what are you?”

Rosco sighed tiredly. Sure, they all start with that question... 

"Because I'm sure that wish came true. I would know if that wasn't so. But if we're going to continue on this journey to wherever we're going, I have to know--"

Rosco quickly covered his mouth. Malim was startled by the other's high reflexes. He stood transfixed. The image of the last fight was still fresh in his mind. Rosco motioned him to be silent. Malim could only nod. 

Rosco took a big breath. It's now or never. With a trembling hand, he took Malim's hand and placed it against his chest. Malim said nothing. He only devoted himself to feeling.

Ba-dump

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Ba-dump

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.

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Ba-dump

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.

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.

Ba-dump

Malim's eyes widened, so wide that his eyebrows were lost in his hair. 

"H-how...? Your heartbeat... it's too slow..."

Thereupon, Rosco brought his hand to his arm, to where one of the scars was. Using that hand, he ran his fingers over the seams on it. 

“This is… the skin… one is literally different from the other…”

And to finish, he brought his hand to his face and closed his eyes. Concentrate, Rosco... Just let yourself be carried away by anger... The gasp was enough to know that, once again, the scales on his face had appeared. Opening his eyes, he saw Malim. Of course, with his lizard eyes, he could see the genie in more detail, in addition to the great wave of heat he emitted. He's like the sun... So warm....

“R-rosco…?” 

Very... warm... Maybe... he won't mind... 

Malim didn't know what to expect from the situation in front of him. Part of him suspected that Rosco wasn't going to tell him anything. But... incredibly, that was not the case. Rosco let him touch him, guiding him to where he should place his hand. 

What took him by surprise was, as soon as he showed those red scales on his face, his viperous eyes looked at him for a few seconds before closing again and falling asleep on top of the genie. 

Malim froze, feeling his heart pounding a mile a minute. 

"Rosco! Rosco, get off me! Wake up!", Malim tried to shake him off. But it was like fighting a dead weight.

A dead weight... His heartbeat is very slow... too slow... one would almost say he has no pulse...!

Malim mustered all his strength to push Rosco to his side. Barely far enough away, Rosco trembled slightly before opening his eyes. The scales slowly began to fade. 

“If you're still asleep, at least warn me before you lay on me, you fool...”

Rosco wiped his eyes for a moment before removing his gloves. Malim noticed those hands, the scales that had appeared on them and the long nails that looked like claws. He then gave a long yawn, allowing his fangs to show in all their morning splendor. 

No doubt... He is… , Malim thought. 

“Rosco... are you... a lizard man...?”

Rosco blinked at that. Almost as if thinking about his answer, he waved his hand.

More or less

"How is it ‘more or less’? Are you or are you not a lizard man? That's easy to answer."

More or less

"So... you're ‘more or less’ a lizard man... then what are you? Because I don't know a person who is half of anything! Or that even barely had a pulse! Are you even alive?“

No

Malim blinked. 

"... You're not alive“

More or less

Malim let out a frustrated grunt. 

"It's impossible to be ‘more or less’ dead OR ‘more or less’ a lizard man! Don't tell me you're a... I don't know! A mix of both or a mutation or something!"

Yes

Malim stopped his trail of thought. He gulped audibly. Rosco was looking at him steadily. 

“... You’re… more or less alive… and more or less a lizard man…” 

Rosco nodded. 

.

.

.

“Wow… Whoever was here, did a great number”, one of the four men said, looking at all the bloodstains in the sand. 

The guards had hired them to investigate the crime scene they were informed about a couple of days before. At first they didn’t feel like doing it, but a couple of bags of gold was enough for them to go. One of them was checking on all the bodies, checking the wounds. Other one was more likely to inspect the surroundings, as there have been some monsters roaming around in the area. The third one, the leader, was also checking the bodies, but he was more focused on things of value. 

“Yeah. Don't tell me... Whatever attacked them, it had to be pretty strong,” the one inspecting the bodies stood up, wiping his hands and picking up his axe. 

“What do you mean?”, the one acting as a lookout came closer. 

"The cuts. They were made with a sword." 

"Wow... One has to be stupidly strong to make a clean cut. What's strange to me isn't that... The wounds are cauterized. The only thing that could have caused that is if the sword was made of fire." 

“That only exists in fiction,” the lookout said. 

“So... a person with a flaming sword attacked a group of travelers?”

“No,” the leader stood up. “It was the other way around.”

The group turned to look at him. It was unusual to see him so serious. 

“What do you mean, leader?”

The leader said nothing, just held up in his hands a colorful little bag with a peculiar shape that gave off a soft lavender scent. 

The group gasped. 

“That's...”

“But she doesn't come here! There's no way that crazy woman could have caused this!”

“I don't think it was her...”

“Then... Do you think it's him...?” 

The fourth member looked around. Nearby was the remains of a campfire, but something caught his eye: a small red scale. Unnoticed, he used one of his strings and hid the scale in his pocket. 

Chapter Text

“So... Is that why you have to wear that little bag? To hide your scent?”, Malim asked as the two went to the market. 

Rosco nodded. His herbal sachet had been lost and, try as he might, he hadn't found it. He wanted to approach the scene of the attack, but hearing that they had already hired a group of bounty hunters for the case, he didn't want to risk it. Luckily, his scent was not yet showing, but it was only a matter of time. 

And now the two had to find a replacement for it along with new aromatic herbs. Once again wearing the cloak, Malim kept close to Rosco, watching everything around him. 

“But then... what would happen if they found out the truth?” 

Rosco ran his finger across his neck. 

“Oh... I assume it's not the first time...” 

Rosco shook his head. 

He could still remember one of the most traumatic moments.... 

The water was very hot, perhaps too hot for his taste. It was customary for him to have to bathe in cold water. But at his mother's house there were certain luxuries that his mother forced him to enjoy. 

That time his mother had taken him to a special place called “hot springs” with his aunts. So there he was, sitting in the water with a towel covering his private parts, looking at his hands, while his aunts came and went from the place, chatting happily, with only a towel covering his scars and deformities. He didn’t want anyone to see him without clothes. He wanted to get out of there! It didn't help that his gremlin cousin/auntie (he never understood the relationship between each other) wanted to play and was throwing water on everyone. 

At one point, he wanted to stand up, but his mother's arm held him in place. 

“This is much better, isn't it? Your father sure doesn't give you any of this,” his mother told him as she took a sip of her drink. 

Well...that's true...but.... 

“You should stay with us, little one,” his aunt, who looked like a princess, sat down next to him. “We'll take good care of you. Much better than that bunch of dirty men.”

“Yes! They're useless!” cried another of his aunts, though her eyesight was beginning to blur. 

I think...it's...too hot..... 

“You know the last thing his father said to me?!”

Too... hot... 

“... ugh! Something stinks in here!” 

“Hey, it's not me!” 

At that moment, the gremlin jumped out of the water in a great leap that inadvertently sent the towel flying out and landing almost on top of him. 

“KEPONAKAN!” 

BANG

We had to pay extra to clean up the blood... And then we have to explain the bad smell... How come my mother doesn't get told anything and I do! 

Rosco sighed wearily as he stuffed jasmine flowers into his new pouch. Nearby, Malim was savoring a piece of gingerbread that he had taken the opportunity to buy while he fiddled with his bag with a rabbit drawn on it where he had put some coins. It seemed tender to him that, deep down, Malim enjoyed little things like that. It made him feel his heart beat a little harder. 

“Did you get it?”

Rosco nodded, showing his little pouch hanging from his neck. 

“Very good! Now where are we going?”

Rosco motioned for Malim to follow him. The genie finished his bread, settled the satchel Rosco asked him to look after and went after the other. 

The two walked for a long time before reaching a building. Once inside, they noticed several groups of people talking to a lady sitting behind a counter. On one side of the wall, there was a large blackboard with several papers posted there. 

“What is this?” 

Rosco did not respond, trying to concentrate on reading. Malim looked again at those present. Each one was very different. The one that caught his attention the most was a team of four who were almost talking loudly to the receptionist. These four seemed to come from different parts of the desert, especially one of them wearing very fancy clothes for surviving the desert. And he suspected that wearing black clothes like another member of the group was not the advisable thing to do. 

In the end he shrugged and went back to reading the papers. It didn't take long before Rosco took one of them. 

“‘Delivery of the… Skull of Ravanis ’? What do we need this for?” 

Rosco guided Malim to a map that was nearby. First he pointed to one end of the desert, to one of the cities. Then he pointed to the two of them. 

“Ok...we are here...,” Malim said. 

Rosco then drew a line to the other end of the desert. 

“And we should get there.” 

Rosco nodded. As he pointed to the center, his hands moved in an attempt at a tornado. 

“... A sandstorm?” 

Rosco nodded. 

“Oh! Then to get there faster, we must go around the desert! And for that, we must do small jobs!”

Rosco nodded. Good to know Malim gets it fast . 

The previous group was already retreating, which allowed Rosco and Malim to approach. But as soon as they crossed paths, a shiver ran down Malim's back. 

“Hey, wait!”

Malim stopped and turned around. One of the group, with his green cloak and a large gun on his back picked up a small bag. It was his money pouch. But how...? I had kept it...

“I think you dropped this,” the stranger held out the pouch with a smile. 

Malim smiled and picked up the bag. As soon as their hands brushed, the shiver intensified. It's like... I'm being watched by a hunting animal, like... like a bird of prey... With a bow, he moved away as fast as he could and hid close to Rosco. Rosco saw him, but said nothing. 

“Good afternoon, how can I help you?”

Rosco handed over the paper. The secretary saw the paper and started looking through a book. 

“Your ID, sir.”

Rosco opened his bag to pull out his bounty hunter identification card. Reading it, the secretary raised an eyebrow. 

“And the boy?”

Rosco showed the contract with Mr. Gobi’s signature. It's another job, he needed to remind himself. The secretary only had to see the stamp to nod and start checking her papers. Quickly Rosco put the contract away, afraid that Malim would read it. 

“Everything okay?”

Rosco nodded. 

“Very well. Everything is in order. Wait a moment while I go get the object.”

The two were left alone for a while. A few minutes later, a black chest with a lock in the shape of a skull appeared in front of them. 

“Please deliver it within the next fifteen days to the southern city in the Badlands. Every day you are late will be a penalty that you will have to make up. I don't think it goes without saying that this will also affect your reputation, right?”

Rosco took the box, put it in Malim's backpack and nodded. Once with his ID card in hand, the two left. 

One less problem... Now let’s celebrate! 

The tavern was in full revelry, even before night fell completely. Rosco and Malim, however, were away from it all, watching what was going on around them as Rosco continued to teach Malim sign language while they drank from their glasses of beer. 

However, no one knew how, but Rosco ended up involved in a game of tag with other men. Malim, behind him, was placing bets in favor of his friend. It was incredible to see how Rosco at first pretended to lose until, with a look of complicity from Malim, the situation changed direction and it was Rosco who won. 

It's amazing... I didn't like this kind of game before... But... with Malim around... 

“You did amazing, Rosco! I knew you could!”, Malim hugged him and laughed beside him. 

Rosco couldn't stop feeling intoxicated with that joy. Much less when he felt the warmth of the genie on his back. He could feel his hands holding him tightly, not paying attention to the scales that could be felt under his clothes. 

Malim... 

Rosco took a moment to grab Malim's hand and pull him away, giving the space for someone else to continue the game. Rosco led Malim back to their table. The two sat down with goofy grins. 

“I've never had so much fun before!” said Malim, almost leaning back on the other. His cheeks were red, possibly from the alcohol. Rosco was also feeling giddy, possibly with his red cheeks. “Thanks for everything, Rosco. You're the best thing that could have happened to me in my life.” 

Rosco swallowed saliva nervously. Malim is too close... He's too close... I should take him to sleep... I should... Ah, he has such full lips... And he has eyes... they look like gold... Maybe... I can---. 

“WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?!”

That voice... It CANNOT BE!

Rosco felt a shiver run down his spine. He quickly pushed Malim under the table and hid with him. Malim yelped. 

“Ouch! What the hell, man?”

Rosco covered his mouth in fright. With that simple action, the alcohol left their minds. Rosco looked around. He even dared to stick out his tongue, now forked, to smell a distinctive aroma. One that, no matter how much he wanted to forget it, was impossible. 

That's why it was easy for him to locate four scents coming from the table where they were being made. Four figures that activated all of Rosco's survival instincts. 

“Rosco...?”

I must act now! 

He grabbed the leg of someone passing by the table and pulled it. The person, a mercenary easily, fell onto another table, taking with him everything he had on him and throwing his beer. Not happy with that, Rosco did the same with another person, this time their beer landing on top of one of that group. 

Chaos broke out all over the place. Everyone started pushing each other, hitting each other, throwing food or drinks at each other. And the musicians, almost encouraged, began to play louder. And in the safety under a table, Rosco and Malim saw everything. 

But they could not stay there. Rosco took Malim's hand and pulled him. Malim let go. Rosco pulled him almost close to the wall, avoiding every person. Malim was tempted to float above everyone, but Rosco's hand kept him close to him. 

Rosco, on the other hand, kept looking between the door and that group. Luckily, they had not moved from there, but one of them had chosen to climb on top of the table and hit anyone who approached with the back of his axe. Faster... Faster...! 

A few feet from the door, Rosco launched himself through the door, Malim almost being thrown through the air behind him. When the cold night greeted them, Rosco wasted no time and went to the stables. 

“Rosco, where are you going?”

The door to the stables opened, revealing what he had: that metal vehicle that held too many memories... 

“ROSCO!”

Malim's voice brought him back. Malim raised his hand, to see that his claws had grown back and his hand was now bleeding. Rosco tried to ignore the pain and grabbed the reins of a horse. 

We must leave right now…! 

Chapter Text

“I'm sorry, but there's no way you can get across the desert in these conditions without renting a sand boat. And all the drivers have suspended their activities for at least the next twenty days,” the lady at the front desk told him. 

Rosco could feel the veins in his forehead become more visible from all the pressure that was beginning to build in his head. The scars on his hands became even more marked with the force with which he had dug his claws in. And Malim couldn't help but worry beside him. 

In the end, Rosco obliged and moved away from the desk to sit on one of the empty benches. Malim sat next to him, watching him as he held his head as if it weighed a thousand pounds. 

“Rosco, what's wrong...? You know you can tell me...”, the genie took his hand. 

The young man looked at the genie again. He was really worried, but he didn't know how to show it. But how would he explain the situation? Luckily, two mercenaries nearby were talking to each other. 

“Have you heard? The sand giant's arm is very close to here...”. 

“Shit. How long do you think this storm will last? The last one lasted three months.”

“I have no idea. They say the heart of the storm is getting out of control.”

“And with how hard it is to find a sand boat driver around this area...”

“Forget it. If renting one of those is too expensive and difficult, imagine finding a driver stupid enough to drive through the storm.”

At this, Malim turned to look at Rosco. 

“Sand giant? Sand boat? What are those things?”

Rosco pointed to one of the posters on the wall. There was what appeared to be a boatship made of metal, with wheels underneath, almost straight out of a fiction book. Looking at it, Rosco could see Malim's eyes light up. 

“Wow! How amazing! So... it's like a boat... but instead of going through the water, it goes through the sand?”

Rosco nodded. 

“I didn't know that existed! Are there more things like those around the desert?” 

Rosco chuckled under his breath and shook his head. 

“So it's a local thing?”

Rosco nodded. But immediately, he lowered his head to his bag. Malim noticed instantly. 

“Rosco, everything okay? Is it because of what happened at the bar? You already told me it was because there were dangerous guys surrounding us. I got it. You don't have to get like that.”

But Rosco didn't want to say anything. I'm too close to home... 

I knew staying in this town was dangerous. Someone might recognize him. Or worse. THEY might come back. Having left earlier might have been an advantage, but they had the van, which was designed and prepared for desert travel. And it was even faster than a horse. 

It would only be a matter of time before they...

Rosco sighed. Then he stood up and left the mercenaries' office. Malim followed close behind. 

“Where are we going now?”

Rosco touched his fingertips on one hand to the tip of the thumb. Then he gently touched the corner of your mouth and then the top of your cheek near his ear.

Home

The first thing Malim noticed was that, while he knew the phrase “living under a bridge,” this was taking it literally. The two had walked for a long while under a small sand blizzard that, while unbearable, did not make it impossible to see. The two reached the outside of the town and kept talking until reaching a slightly rocky area, with a natural stone bridge connecting one area to another. And down the same walls, he saw what looked like a residential area INSIDE the walls. 

Rosco led him down a narrow path where they descended until they were almost at ground level until they stopped in front of a door. It looked no different from the others, with a door that seemed to have lived through many storms, with the holes of what could be called windows covered with glass and fabrics that made the idea of curtains. Rosco moved a few stones until he found an old key that allowed the two to enter. 

Once inside, Malim saw that the place looked like it hadn't been used in many, many years. A layer of dust covered the entire space. It was a single room, with a table with a stool and a chair as dining room and desk, a piece of furniture that served to place a bowl with cutlery and dishes, a closet with scratch marks, a night table and a bed with an old mattress and a very thin sheet. Almost leaning in one corner, an armchair that seemed to have been rescued from being destroyed, seemed to invite him to end its existence. 

Malim watched as Rosco left his things on the table, pulled a broom from behind the closet and began to gather dust in one corner. 

“This is where you grew up...?”

Rosco said nothing. He seemed very focused on his work. Malim took the moment to sit on the bed. On the nightstand, there was a half-open drawer. Almost in fear, the genie approached it and looked inside. From there he took out a couple of photos. In one he could recognize a boy dressed in very strange clothes next to a group of women. In the other, the same boy, now in desert clothes, was in the middle of a group of men sitting on the strange apparatus he had seen in the stables that night. 

It was obvious who the boy was. Although he no longer had that childish face, his hair was black, and the lizard-like features were more pronounced, it was clear who he was. 

“They... I remember them... Especially the green cape one… They were in the other city... They are your family...?”

Rosco stopped. For a moment, Malim felt afraid, but when he saw Rosco put the broom aside and sit down next to him, inadvertently raising a cloud of dust next to him, he felt calmer. Rosco, looking at the picture, showed a nostalgic smile. However, Malim noticed that Rosco had a sad look on his face. Rosco pointed to one of the women in the first photo and one of the men in the other photo. From there he pointed to himself. 

“They... are your parents...”

Rosco nodded. 

“Wow... I didn't think you looked like them... But... your hair...”

Rosco made a gesture of a bump on his head. 

“Oh...”

Rosco shrugged. It had really been more his decision to dye it after the hit on his head, even if it ended up being more pink for some reason. He didn't want to comment on that to Malim though. 

“Well... I assume we're here to spend the night. Tomorrow we'll continue looking for a way to complete this mission.” 

Rosco nodded, going for his bag. Malim looked at the pictures again, trying to further recognize that boy in the young man in front of him. 

“Wait...you had a tail?!”

Rosco almost dropped the box he had pulled out to turn to look at Malim. His eyes showed surprise and fear. Malim couldn't stop himself from laughing. Rosco dropped the box on the table and lunged at the genie. But Malim was faster, hovering above the bed. 

“I can't believe it! You had a little tail! How cute! And those scales!”, Malim laughed. 

Rosco just wished the earth would swallow him up. He had no better option than to use the bed to jump and hold Malim in his arms. They both fell on the bed that was almost destroyed by the fall of a heavy body and an ethereal one. Malim still kept the photos out of Rosco's reach, the photos above his head. Rosco turned his body and trapped Malim between his legs. One of his hands grasped the other's shoulder and reached out with his other hand. Once he succeeded, he looked triumphantly at the genie. 

It was at that moment they both realized how close they were to each other. 

Malim blushed. Looking closely... he has beautiful eyes. And his scales... look very well cared for... He has very nice lips...  

Rosco swallowed saliva. His lips moved. 

Malim

“Rosco...” 

Rosco's hand moved to his cheek. A shiver ran down the genie's back. 

Malim, I... 

Almost fearfully, their faces drew closer. Malim unconsciously closed his eyes. Almost as an invitation, Rosco moved a little closer. Malim could feel the other's breath on his lips. The smell of jasmine flowers was almost intoxicating and pleasant. 

CRACK

BANG

They both became alert. The door had been slammed open, the window had been cracked. And outside, the sandstorm had arrived. The force of the storm was so strong, sending the black box flying and hitting the wall. Malim went after the box, almost protecting it with his own body. Rosco stood up and ran to close the door. Malim stayed in place. He could see Rosco's arms filled with scales as he tried to close the door with force. Once he succeeded, he placed the broom nearby as a stopper. Then he ran and, with great effort, lifted the armchair to move the broom out of the way to change it for this one. 

It was clear that this was not his first time in this kind of situation. Malim was sure that, if it were a girl, he would already be blushing with that prowess of strength. And a part of him was glad he wasn't human… 

“Wow...”, was all he could say. 

Rosco shook his hair, trying not to look at him, his cheeks red. He didn't know if it was from the exercise or from what had happened earlier. 

“Ah, right! The box!”

That brought back Rosco, who ran to kneel next to Malim. 

The box had been knocked into a corner and appeared to have opened on impact. Malim and Rosco looked at each other. Malim wondered if this would affect pay, but that was the least of it. With shaking hands, Malim opened the box. 

The box had a padded, velvety interior. You could tell it was something stupidly expensive. But what caught both their attention was what appeared to be the skull of a small lizard and, embedded in one of its holes, a black stone, as black as night. 

Malim and Rosco looked at each other. It was clear that the stone was valuable and, if anything happened to it, they would have to pay for it. And there was no way they could do that in a million years. So they closed the box, used a piece of cloth to wrap it and put it inside Rosco's bag, and went to sleep. 

... But for Malim it was impossible. 

Why am I so nervous...? It's not like it's the first time we've shared a bed...

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Rosco had his back to him. He seemed to be sound asleep, if his calm breathing and closed eyes were indication enough. His fingers ran through the other's rough hair. He was sure he heard Rosco purred. 

Rosco is someone who belongs to the desert. Someone who had lived through many battles. Someone who knows how to defend himself and who clearly had blood on his hands. Someone… who has a human life, a short life. 

Malim looked at his hands. Rosco was not like him, a fantastic being, with a long life that even he did not know when its end would be. 

“Rosco... what am I to you...?” he said in a whisper. 

The only answer he got was the howl of the wind outside that room.

Chapter Text

When Rosco opened his eyes, he could only see complete darkness. He looked around in fear. Had he been captured? No, it was impossible. No one knew about his home. Only THEM. But they were far away from there. It was impossible that...

Malim! Malim is in danger!

Then he looked down, noticing his arms, his skin completely clean. Without any scales or scars. As soon as he noticed, he touched his face, feeling the purity of it.

I am... human...? Then...

A light appeared above him. It was so strong that it almost blinded him.

“At last you come,” he heard a voice as familiar as it was unfamiliar to him.

With great effort, he tried to wipe his eyes so that he could see... himself and himself. In front of him, also under two lights, were two versions of himself. The most striking thing was that one looked like it came straight from a graveyard, a decomposing body that he wondered how it appeared to be standing. And the other looked like its body was covered in scales, a long tail seemed to thrash the ground impatiently, while its snake eyes looked at him with disgust.

Rosco swallowed saliva. He was in a deep sleep. And he was facing his other counterparts.

“Took you long enough, human,” his reptilian part hissed.

Rosco folded his arms. While he had to remain calm. They could smell fear, and as much as it was a dream, they were still stronger than he was.

“I didn't know there was an arrival time.”

Lizard Rosco rolled his eyes, while Zombie Rosco watched them without saying a word.

“We need to talk.”

“We don't have anything to talk about.”

Zombie Rosco growled. With one of his crooked fingers, he pointed at the three present.

"Zombie is right. This is something that can't be ignored... Much less when you're the one in control here."

“And if I refuse?”

Lizard Rosco laughed.

“We'd better sit down.”

Almost instantly, a table with a chessboard appeared in the middle of the three of them. Rosco became alert.

“There are three of us... Chess is only for two players.”

"Well, you'd better win if you don't want one of us to end up winning. White or black? You go against the zombie first."

"... Black."

Once seated, the game began. Unlike what one would think, Zombie Rosco was a good player, with quick moves that Rosco himself had to stop to find out what had happened. All under the watchful eye of Lizard Rosco, who kept hovering around the table.

"... So a genius," was the first thing Lizard Rosco said.

Rosco said nothing, just moved his knight to take the white bishop's place.

“I assume you already have a wish in mind”.

The knight was taken by the white queen.

"You have to remember. You have a contract."

"Why do you say that? Of course I do."

"Really? Because it seems like... someone is invading your mind."

The white queen got too close to the black king. But he didn't get to checkmate. Rosco inadvertently started biting his nails.

"Dude, of course I have to worry about Malim. If anything should happen to him--"

“And since when do you care about his welfare?”

"We want to gain his trust, don't we? Then it'll be easier for him to grant our wish."

The zombie growled. Rosco had eaten his white queen with his rook.

"He's right...‘Our’ wish? Or yours?"

The pawn arrived at the other end of the board. Zombie Rosco exchanged it for a rook. Rosco felt sweat running down his forehead.

"Why do you care what I think? You’re never interested in what I did."

“Because this involves all three of us now.”

“If you wish me to make them disappear, then--”

“Then you thought about it.”

Rosco no longer wanted to continue the conversation. He quickly moved his black queen to the white king, his knight flanking.

“Checkmate.”

Zombie Rosco lowered his head. Lizard Rosco sighed and patted the other. The latter stood up, letting the other sit down.

“It's your turn to start.”

“I don't plan to play white.”

“Then it would be a defeat for you.”

“That's not fair!”

"Look who's talking. I let you choose. It's my turn to choose now. So it'll be the white pieces. Or do you want to keep talking?"

Rosco clenched his fists. With the new distribution on the board, Rosco began his offensive plan. He had to finish at all costs. And as quickly as possible. The problem was that Lizard Rosco knew what his plan was and was taking his time slowing the game down as much as possible. 

"Come on, the day is about to start! What if they arrive?!", he almost shouted when Lizard Rosco once again moved his horse, preventing him from taking it. 

"That's for me to ask, Rosco . Weren't we supposed to go back."

"There's a storm outside! What did you want me to do? Go to sleep outside?! In the middle of the storm?!"

"You could have rented a room at the Criminal's Cut. Use that money we worked so hard to get."

"Everyone knows us there. They're able to tell you we were there."

"You might as well have gone to the other city. But you had to come here..."

The black horse took to the tower. 

“You had to bring him to our house...”

The knight went after the pawn. 

“And you let him see our past...”

The knight took the bishop's place. Rosco gulped; he was running out of pieces. Has this been his plan all along?

"... What are you insinuating...?"

“What do you feel about the genie?”

Rosco raised an eyebrow. 

"... What...?"

"If I didn't know you... and I do, because I'm you... I'd say you care a lot. Maybe too much."

Rosco stood still, holding the queen between his fingers.  

“Maybe… you like him?”

Rosco opened his eyes. The black queen, flanked by the rook, stood in front of the white king.

“Checkmate”.

Without noticing, Rosco dropped the queen, his hands trembling. Lizard Rosco sighed. 

"It was a good game. This time... I'll be the one to-"

“NO!”

The other two stared at Rosco. He refused to look at them. He just stared at his fists as he towered over the table. 

"... I want a rematch..."

“What makes you think that--?”

“I WANT A REMATCH!”

The other two looked at each other. 

"... Very well... I will grant you this opportunity," Lizard Rosco said, arranging the pieces. Once again, he placed the white pieces in front of Rosco. “But... don't think I'm going to let you have it easy.” 

“I'm not planning to lose...”

Zombie Rosco bit his lips as he saw the game unfold. Neither seemed willing to lose. And now Rosco was more than focused. Lizard Rosco said nothing. They were just moving their pieces.

Almost instinctively, he moved away from there, back into the darkness. He didn't like this situation. He never liked it. Of the three of them, he was the most cowardly. He was the weakest. He was the one who had been the cause of this situation.

The human Rosco was the one who ruled, who knew what to do. He was the moral compass and the face of the group.

The Lizard Rosco had the battle instincts. He was the one who had the most purpose in that bounty hunter job. Something his father would be proud of. 

The zombie Rosco? He had no purpose. He was useless. He was only good for trouble. He was undesirable after all. He couldn't even talk! What was the point of having his mother's abilities if in the end he was never going to be able to be like her? If in the end he was still dependent on a heart?

Once he was close enough, he felt as if the storm was all around him. He could only fall to his knees as the wind wanted to blow him away. With tears in his eyes, he let out the silent cry he held inside. 

A pink glow peaked between his eyelids. When he opened them, he saw something unusual. It was as if it were a giant made of sand that also seemed to be screaming. And in its chest, there was what appeared to be a pink crystal heart. Almost in fear, he reached out his arm towards the stone, almost feeling its warmth. It was calling him…  

“... Rosco…! ROSCO!!”

Rosco opened his eyes. When he looked around, he saw that he was not at home, he was outside, in the middle of the storm! 

Turning around, he saw Malim hugging him tightly. He could see how the wind was moving him as if he were a piece of paper. Frightened, Rosco held Malim in a tight embrace and covered him as best he could. Sniffing the air, he caught the scent of home. It was not far away. So he quickly went diagonally, fighting the storm. At several moments he lost his balance, but he did not give up. He had to get there... He had to get there...

After much effort, the two returned to the house. Rosco once again locked the door, almost falling over the armchair. Malim hugged himself, shivering with cold. 

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, ROSCO? HOW DID YOU EVEN THINK OF GOING OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STORM," Malim shouted at him. 

Go out...? But I didn't go out at any time... The last thing I remember was that I was asleep... 

Rosco didn't know what to say. He only deigned to make a fist and lay it on your chest, right over your heart, and rub his fist in a circle.

I’m sorry

“An ‘I'm sorry’ is not enough of an excuse!”, Malim's eyes were filled with tears. 

Rosco, feeling his heart breaking, lightly pushed the genie back against the bed and covered him with the blanket. Slowly, Malim calmed down again, turning his back to him. Rosco just opted to kneel down and lay his head against the mattress, waiting for a reaction other than that. 

“Maybe… you like him?”

That phrase rang in his head. A phrase that made no sense. ...Right?

Chapter Text

Both Rosco and Malim refused to look each other in the eye. After what had happened the night before, it seemed as if they wanted to deny each other's presence. It was enough that their gazes met to turn it away, hiding their blushing faces. And it didn't help that the storm didn't seem to want to stop. 

Why won't the earth swallow me up... , thought both Malim and Rosco. 

By the third day, Rosco approached the window, looking through the cloth. With a sigh, he shook his head. We have little time left... If we don't get this delivery done as soon as possible, then I will end up with worse consequences.... 

Almost fearfully, he turned to look at Malim, who was amusing himself by reading one of the few books he kept in the closet. 

At least someone is being entertained...

Rosco leaned his head on his hand as he watched the genie. What had happened that night seemed strange to him. According to him, he was not a sleepwalker. If so, he would be in grave danger. 

Fearfully, he looked down at his arm, seeing the scales on it. In his mind, a memory began to resurface. It was that day...  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As he began to open his eyes, he felt an explosion of sensations that left him breathless. 

Trying to breathe, he tried to focus on something. Looking around, he saw that he was in the room of one of his uncles. He could see each of his weapons, his firearms, all well cared for and clean, on one side of the wall. He could feel the soft feel of the blankets that was like his uncle's embrace, something warm and reassuring. 

However, he could see the dust particles floating in the air by the light from the window. What's more, the light made his eyes water with pain. His nose was invaded by gunpowder, the strong smell of spices, of blood . His teeth ached , as if he had accidentally bitten into a stone. His ears picked up a high-pitched sound , like a whistle, which increased with the noise of the fabrics rubbing together against his skin. 

And his skin felt scratchy . 

With great fear, he tried to cover his ears, his eyes, but it was useless. He was having an overload of sensations that only made everything worse. With tears in his eyes, he tried to turn in bed, without getting a solution. 

And his skin was burning. It irritated him. 

He could not understand anything. He only knew that the day before he had accompanied his uncles and father on a hunt while staying in the jeep, when he felt tired. To tell the truth, he felt tired that week, and at times somewhat irritated. He went to sleep, but felt as if his mind was still working, taking in all the sounds around him, while his body refused to react. 

Almost irritated, he sat up in bed and began to scratch his wrists, his arms, his shoulders, his legs, his face. The sensation was a mixture of enjoyment and annoyance. Almost growling, biting his lips, he closed his eyes as he insisted on continuing to scratch his arms. 

What's happening to me, why does this hurt... and soothe me...? It's like having sand under my skin... It's like.... 

When he opened his eyes, seeing what was happening, he opened his mouth, as if wanting to scream, while his heart was beating fast. He tried to pull back, but his body fell off the bed. 

The door burst open. 

“What happened?!”, his uncles and her father came in. 

As soon as he saw them, he tried to stand up to hug his father's legs as he cried. He felt his father recoiled, but he never let go. Everyone could only see the dead skin falling down his cheeks and arms, the small red scales being visible to the world. 

“What the heck...?” she heard one of his uncles say in a whisper. 

“He's shedding skin...”, he heard his other uncle speak. 

“But… wasn’t he supposed to be… you know… a zombie?”, his third uncle asked. “So he also inherited his father’s side…?”

“He's only six years old! That shouldn't happen yet!” his father said. 

And all he could do is cry in silence, feeling an intruder on his own skin. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“... Rosco?”

Rosco raised his head. Malim had moved closer, his face very close to the other. This unintentionally made Rosco feel defensive. However, the strange scent of burning wood calmed him. Since when did Malim smell so good...?

“Are you all right? You've been staring at nothing for a while...”

Rosco shook his head. 

“Oh... okay... I... uhh… I wanted to ask you something...”, The genie raised the book in his hands, covering his face. Rosco raised an eyebrow. “Do you think you could teach me how to fight?”

If Rosco was drinking something, he would have choked for sure. 

“You see, you're always protecting me... and I only know the basics... You think... please?”

Rosco felt his heart leap against his chest. Very slowly, Rosco took Malim's hand and, without taking his eyes off him, pushed the table out of the way. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Malim wasn't going to deny that it was a little excuse, a little lie. He knew how to defend himself, but not how to fight. But he had another reason for asking…

All that time they were locked up, he had tried to concentrate his mind on reading the books that were there. But it was impossible, of course, because just a few meters away from him, Rosco had the idea of distracting himself by doing exercises. And with that, Malim would spend hours reading and rereading the same paragraph while he couldn't stop watching the other's muscles flex, while the scales glowed with the fire produced by the same genie. 

He had to concentrate! He couldn't let something so... so... whatever... distract him! But his flames betrayed him and reacted to every flex. 

Well, if I can't beat it... I must fight it...! 

That was why he had made that proposal to Rosco. Not so that he could be close to Rosco, but to prove that he was NOT starting to... 

Rosco's hands rested on her waist behind his back. Almost suddenly, Malim felt his body temperature rise. Rosco did not react. He just took his hands and, taking the broomstick, began to guide him. They both raised their hand and then moved it diagonally. Then they raised it again and repeated the same movement. The other hand, the one that was empty, was horizontally in front of his chest, as if it had an invisible shield. 

It looks like a dance... NO! CONCENTRATE, MALIM!

Rosco then released him and stood watching. Malim began to repeat everything he had taught him. Once Rosco was happy, they changed exercises. They did exercises like that for several hours. And with each new exercise, Rosco held his arms and guided him again. And each time, Malim couldn't help but feel the other's breath on his neck, feel his soft caresses on his arms, his warmth on his back. 

It was then that he let go of the broom. 

Rosco said nothing. Malim held the other's wrists and, almost fearfully, began to embrace himself with Rosco's arms. On his back, he could feel Rosco's heart beating. Malim closed his eyes and moved his head to the side. He could feel Rosco's nose against his neck, inhaling his scent. 

And he felt it. 

His lips... 

With great fear, Malim turned around to look at Rosco. The latter opened his eyes, staring at him. Malim wrapped his arms around Rosco. As if asking for an invitation, Rosco once again moved his head back to the other's neck, inhaling his scent. A shiver ran down the genie's back. 

BANG

The two quickly pulled apart. Somehow, the box that was in Rosco's bag, had fallen out and was now resting on the table. Rosco was the first to let go, putting the box back in his bag. He then looked out the window and... after a while, Rosco adjusted his coat. Still on his back, he moved his hands. 

We must get out of here 

Malim felt himself dimming his fire. 

He can't belong to me... He'll never belong to me... 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I told you, there is no sandboat driver available,” said the secretary at the front desk. 

Rosco felt like wanting to lose control. Almost screaming, he dropped his head on the desk, not caring about making a scene (not that it mattered either, there was only the secretary, Malim and him). He had to leave as soon as possible! He had to deliver that box and the genie as soon as possible! He didn't know if he was going to be able to stand being in that situation any longer. 

Beside him, Malim put his hand on his shoulder. 

“Take it easy... I'm sure we'll find a way out of this...”, he told the other, though his voice sounded broken. 

Rosco hated feeling this way. He wanted to get out of that situation! He wanted to run away! He wanted to hold the genie! He wanted to break every part of Malim! He wanted to kiss him! He wanted to bite him! He wanted to push him! I wanted to...! I wanted to...! 

Mine... 

A hand hit his back. A strange hand. Rosco turned around, letting out a growl and showing his fangs. 

Big mistake... 

“Need help?” the stranger said, flashing his white smile, his green cape almost vibrant in the middle of all the dull-colored space. This stranger pointed over his shoulder, a very recognizable group to Rosco. “My team and I can take you to the next city! We need two more to be allowed to rent the sandboat!” 

Chapter Text

His body felt heavy... but at the same time light... it was like floating... but at the same time sinking. 

He didn't like that feeling. And yet, here he was. Against his will. 

He had lost track of time a long time ago. All because of those... harmless monsters who thought they were gods. Beings who thought they were better than the oni. Humans who had had to learn to survive with cheap spells, deception and lies. 

They... who dared to call themselves superior just because they were more than the oni. 

They... who dared to hurt us because they thought they were superior to the oni. 

They... who dared to hurt Infra because they were capable...

Them taking advantage of a young oni like Infra was what made his heart ache the most. 

Infra... Infra was innocent... He was just a little oni! He had nothing to do with this war! 

But what hurt him the most was that... no matter how hard he tried... he ended up breaking his promise to protect him...

“Sir, the atmospheric levels are rising!”

“The storm is getting worse! If it keeps going like this, we're going to lose communication with the coast!” 

Infra... You really wanted to be a hero...? Did you really want to be accepted...? Or did you... 

“Increase shield capacity!” 

Infra... I'm so sorry... 

“I wonder what else we can get out of this stone...?” 

Infra... I miss you… 

The club seemed to vibrate with energy that night. People were coming in and out, each one more intoxicated than the last. 

And Zander loved every one of those moments. 

He loved watching each of his victims' pupils glaze over at the new sensations the Netherbrand Club brought them. He loved watching their hormones fill the place in a soft scent that only he could see, a scent that intoxicated and satisfied him. He loved kissing strangers’ lips, absorbing every one of those carnal desires he knew humans loved to taste as if he was a forbidden fruit. He loved destroying their bodies while rebuilding them with new sensations. He loved it when those inferior beings wanted to make themselves feel the strongest when all this time he was the one in control. 

As an incubus, he had sacred duties to fulfill. And more so now that in his hands he had that purple claw-like stone warming his pocket that made him more powerful, hungrier. 

He knew he should hate that stone. After all, it was the reason for a war between demons and incubi at home. He could no longer go home. His family had turned their backs on him. He had sacrificed so much. 

But... so what? Humans were more delicious. They were more interesting. 

Zander watched it all with great pleasure. He didn't want the party to end. He wanted the night to continue. But he had a mission to accomplish. 

“It's only a matter of time...”, he said to himself, taking a sip from his wine glass. “Soon, all the stones will come together... and Avallum will be closer than I thought...” 

But now... it was time to play. And I'm really hungry... 

The mission was simple: find the vault, find the jewels, “borrow” them, run away. 

Simple. But everything had already lost its value. 

Nayuta stood to the side, watching everything. According to the information he had been given, the main jewel was nothing but a trinket, the jewels of an oligarch lord for his wife. It was no big deal. 

Nayuta noticed something very interesting: a creature similar to him, but at the same time not. It was someone from the farthest galaxies and, therefore, one of the poorest. One of those that did not have the capacity or resources or the necessary ships to make space travels. 

I think they're called... humans.... 

Nayuta took a sip of his drink, watching as the... human... was led by a leash from its owner's hands. It was such a sight to see creatures like that. They were rare. They were not endemic to these parts of the galaxy. 

Surely it's a modified or mutated one... What does it matter? 

He shrugged and began his work. 

I just have to go and--

A hand stopped him abruptly. Nayuta tensed, turning around. The human was looking at him, his eyes full of terror. Nayuta tried to pull on this one, to free himself, but the smaller human began to tug at him. 

“Help me...!” the human cried. “Please help me...!” 

Everyone present turned to look at them. They were thousands of eyes, their gazes like blades, watching them. 

“Let go of me, boy!”, Nayuta insisted, struggling to be free. 

“HeLp Me! NaY uTa! ”, the boy held him tighter, as his body became someone else. “ HeLp Me! ” 

Nayuta felt a shiver run down her back, seeing those blue eyes, his long black hair, those blue marks on his body. And that horn ... 

His body felt an electric shock that brought him back to reality. Once again locked in that tube, in that laboratory. 

Again... that dream... 

The storm was strong. Stronger than he thought. Gale was doing his best to hold the mast ropes as tightly as his scrawny little arms would allow. 

“Make sure the sails are securely fastened!” the boatswain shouted. “You two! Hold the cannons! We can’t lose those!”

Gale could see everyone rushing to obey. Gale wiped raindrops from his eyes. It was getting harder to see in the storm. 

“You! Kid! Go up and secure the flag!”

“Aye, aye, captain!” shouted Gale at the top of his lungs. 

His heart was beating a mile a minute as he climbed the mast. He knew being a pirate wasn't easy. But he had run away from home for that very reason. The sea was calling him. And who would he be to refuse the call of the sea? 

Once at the crow's nest, his hands moved on automatic, doing what they told him. He couldn't let everyone down. He had to be quick and--

A flash of lightning illuminated the dark sky. A crack on wood was heard. Gale's heart stopped for a few seconds before he realized what had happened. His body felt light for a few seconds before it hit the hard surface of the sea. 

This is the end...? This is how I die...? This is how my adventure ends...? 

With great effort, he tried to open his eyes. What he saw was only the darkness of the sky reflected in the sea. His body no longer reacted. His mind felt faint. His lungs filled with water. 

At that moment, a light began to shine. 

And as soon as he fell into darkness, he felt the water being expelled from his lungs. 

“HE'S ALIVE!” he heard a voice. 

With much effort, Gale looked around. It was... another boat... It wasn't the one he had boarded when he escaped. 

“Hey, kid, are you okay?”

Gale nodded, as he clenched his hands, feeling something unusual. 

It was a yellow stone that glowed as if it were the sun itself. 

Was it normal to feel tired when one was not fully human? That was one of the many questions he asked himself the most as he tried to rest. 

He knew there was a storm outside. The way the walls shook on his tiny room was enough to tell him that. Perhaps what impressed him most was the force of it. That was not normal. 

But who was he to make decisions? 

He had a mission and he had to obey. 

“Project Nine, come in,” his superior's voice came over his transmitter. 

“Project Nine here,” he said almost automatically. 

“We have a mission for you. 

A new mission... 

“Rather, you're a lucky one. You have two missions.”

Two new missions...

“The first one is called Project Blazenfang. You have to go to the designated location to pick up a black box from a bounty hunter. Then Project Genie will proceed. You will go to the second designated place to pick up the object that will be in the hands of Overlord Gobi. You are allowed to use force in the second case. But you will have to hide your presence for the first one”. 

Retrieval... 

“Just make sure the black box is delivered without any problems.” 

“Yes...” 

“Head to the command bridge for further information.” 

Nix stood up and left the room. He ignored once again the pain in his body, in his mind. Of the stone that glowed in his chest, the one that drove him to live. 

One more mission… Let memory fade… In code, there is no pain... 

They say that life is full of surprises... But this seems ridiculous.... 

Once again, the night had returned. And once again, it was him, traveling alone, wherever the tear-shaped red crystal told him to go. However, he didn't know if it was the right direction. 

At least that place was nice. And the villagers were kind to a young musician. As long as they didn't know who he really was, WHAT he really was, anyone would reach out and give him some bread and water. 

As he looked up at the sky, he saw the storm forming in the distance. It was the unforgiving kind. It was the kind that only an imbecile could face. Luckily he had not taken that boat. 

But... to stay in that town any longer? He had already run out of songs. And people weren't stupid. Before long, someone would discover the relationship between the bloodless sick people and the strange traveling musician. 

He took the crystal out of his pocket, watching it reflect the moon. But what impressed him most was to see the faces of all the souls he had absorbed. And there was that face... Maybe it was his guilt-ridden mind playing tricks on him. But it was impossible not to remember and cry. He knew he could have saved him... He knew... But he didn't.... 

“I'm sorry... I'm sorry...”

Once again, I have to keep walking... 

Cassian took a long breath as he put the book back in his bag. She knew the story by heart, but she always hoped that with each reading, something new would resurface. A new clue. Something she had missed. 

Something...

But she never had any luck. It was always the same. It was the same old story. 

He looked around, watching all the humans passing by. No one was paying attention to him. Good. He hated being stalked by humans. 

He didn't like the idea of being with them. But he knew he needed their help. At least that was what the elders had told him. And they were the wise ones, though Cassian could stand up to them. After all, he was the elf sage. One of the youngest sages around. It was something to be proud of. 

The stone on his wrist still gave off that soft glow he had grown accustomed to. It hadn't reacted to anything. And there was nothing he could do to make it---.

Wait! The stone... it had begun to glow brighter... 

Cassian dared to pull the stone out of its place and take it between his fingers. It was reacting! At last there was a sign! He was close! He knew it! 

He picked up his things and, with new resolve, began to study the map. Now he knew where to go.

This time,  I will find Avallum  

“Project Blazenfang is still a mistake...” 

“We need that stone as soon as possible...” 

“Rosco…? Are you all right? You've been staring at nothing for a while...”

“It won't be long now...” 

“Are you sure it will work?”

“The stone of Ravanis...”

“Do you think you could teach me how to fight?”

“Do we have any sign of the assignment?” 

“A young man has accepted the job and is on his way to the delivery point. But...” 

“But what?” 

“The sandstorm is getting out of control...” 

“SHIT!”

“You see, you're always protecting me... and I only know the basics... You think... please?”

“If the storm keeps up like this, we will have lost another one of the experiments.” 

“Who cares! We can clone it again.”

“But... why did you have to shape him like that?” 

“They want the Apex Predator, don't they? What better than a dinosaur?” 

“There are many better options...” 

“The boss wanted this. So shut up and let's try again. We need to keep this one at least as stable as possible... I don't want to go back to having to teach him to read.” 

Too much noise... 

“Sir… I believe the subject is alive…”

Chapter Text

This is bad... too bad... I have to disappear... I have to go... I can't let them recognize me!

While Rosco's head was full of thoughts like these, his body moved on automatic as he sipped his beer. Around him, four strangers seemed to be watching him. Malim, on the other hand, was trying to calm him down while patting him on his back. 

“Your friend isn't much of a talker, is he?”, one of them said as he rested his head in his hands. His elegant clothes were a contrast to everyone present. His fingers wiggled, as if playing with the air. But he knew... 

He's moving his strings... 

“Excuse him. He can't talk,” was all Malim could say. 

“He can't? What, are you his translator or something?” another of the group, with his brown skin, folded his arms. 

Malim laughed uncomfortably. Rosco felt the urge to growl, but contented himself with biting the tankard. 

“Ok, don't bother them. We need them if we want to rent the sandboat,” the man in the green cloak sat down in the only available seat next to Rosco. “You know how hard it is to rent one of those things for just four people?”

All this time, the fourth member, recognizable by his dark clothes, hadn't said a word. He only deigned to look at him. 

It's so weird to see him so quiet... He's always been noisy... I hope he doesn't recognize me.... 

“Anyway... Can you at least tell us your names?” the brown-skinned one asked. 

“I’m Malim. And he’s Rosco”, said Malim. Rosco didn’t expect that name to give him butterflies in his stomach. “And you? What are your names?” 

“I'm-”

Rosco growled. They all fell silent. Even Malim recoiled slightly in his seat. After a couple of seconds, the one in green chuckled. 

“Ah, I get it...Bounty hunter code, right?” 

Malim turned to look at the green-cloaked one. 

“'Bounty... hunter… code'? What's that?”

“What, you don't know what it is?” the brown-skinned one snorted. 

“It's an ancient code between bounty hunters. It's to protect their identities.” 

“Ohh!”, Malim's eyes seemed to light up. 

“That's only done by those who have a price on their head,” the fourth member said, for the first time breaking his silence. 

Rosco glared at the back-clothed man. 

“... Really?”, Malim dared to ask in a whisper. 

“Not necessarily,” the one in the green cloak interjected. “Some people do it so as not to generate bonds.”

“In the end, it depends on each person. We don't mind saying our names. But...,” the one in fancy clothes looked at Rosco. “I think your dear friend does...”

Malim turned to look at Rosco. Rosco played it cool, sipping his beer. Though if Malim noticed, he would see that Rosco was digging his claws hard. 

“Well... since your friend doesn't want to know our names... I think it would be right for us to use nicknames,” the green-cloaked one said. “You can call me... ‘Eagle’.” 

“You can call me ‘Puppeteer’,” said the one in fancy clothes. 

“I'm ‘Crimson’,” said the brown-skinned one. 

They all turned to the missing one. But the one in black clothes said nothing. 

“Uhh... boss?”

“...” 

Rosco looked back at him. It was clear what was happening. 

He's studying me... Just like that time...  

It wasn't the first time he had to practice with his father. In fact, it has become commonplace in recent months. And yet, he knew it was useless to beat him. 

It was in those practices that his father kept quiet, his two pistols in each hand. He found it impressive the almost elegant way his father looked like a predator when he did that. Instead he, holding his knife, looked quite the opposite.... 

In the blink of an eye, his father was in front of him. And the next, he was gone. His instincts kicked in, managing to dodge one of the bullets in time. With the knife between his teeth, he lay on the sand on all fours, almost lizard-like, looking around. His father moved gracefully as he jumped and fired. He kept his distance, firing. And all he could do was dodge. 

At that, a burning sensation hit his leg and he knew he had been defeated. His father stopped and laughed. 

“I won again,” he said as he put away his pistols. 

As he looked down, he saw the blood stains in the sand. That would be hard to heal... 

Rosco sighed and stood up. He took Malim by the hand and led him away. 

“Where are you going?” asked ‘Crimson’. 

Rosco only dared to move his hand without turning to look at them. His hand rested on the side of his head, near his forehead, palm facing him, and then moved it to his chin, while closing your fingers. 

Sleep

Rosco went to the counter and, without a word, reached across to take the key to one of the rooms. 

“Hey!”, the voice of the one in black clothes was heard. 

But Rosco said nothing. He just walked out of there, up the stairs. Once he was sure he wasn't being followed, he entered the empty room and locked the door. 

“Rosco, what was that?”, Malim asked, crossing his hands. 

Clearly that one doesn't want me around.... 

“Who? The one in black?”

He knows what I am... He knows that I am half lizard... I am his enemy... 

Malim stared at him. Rosco just looked away, anywhere instead of the genie in front of him. 

Tomorrow we'll go down first thing in the morning to have breakfast and leave as soon as possible. Don't say anything about our mission

“But...”

Don't say anything

Malim took Rosco's hands. 

“Rosco... Why are you so afraid of them...?”

Rosco opened his eyes in astonishment. How...  

“You're running away from them... They're the ones in the photo... They're your family... Don't you want them to recognize you...?”

Rosco clenched his hands. 

He could remember that day. It was impossible not to remember. Those words are like knives on his back. And him, in that white room, hearing those words. 

He had waited for many hours. He was frightened. His scales stung when rubbed against his clothes. His hands felt heavy with his little claws poking out. He could even feel the discomfort in his gums with the growth of his fangs.

But what bothered him most was the heavy head alongside the cold sensation that ran through his body in that white space with hard chairs, that reeked of alcohol and blood. His uncle had gone to the trouble of lending him his green cape, but it wasn't enough. It was too big for him. It was too heavy. It reeked of gunpowder, something that was now too much for his little nose.

He could see his three uncles talking in whispers, he could even feel them glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes from time to time. All he could do was lower his head and look down at his little paws. He could still feel that mesmerizing scent... that sensation... that impulse... ThAt VoIcE ...

I just wanted to disappear...

“You're all the ones who brought the man...?”, the doctor's voice brought him back from his mind. He quickly got down from the chair, standing next to his father, but always keeping a distance from everyone.

“How bad is it?” one of his uncles asked. He didn't know which one; his eyes were fixed on the whitish body lying on the gurney behind the doctor. He looks like a puppet… So… dead…  

"Look, I don't intend to sugarcoat it. I'm afraid the injuries are very serious... The patient has lost a lot of blood and I'm afraid the attack has affected his nerves. He lost both of his arms and part of his left leg. He is also going to require surgery to see if the strange reaction on his limbs could be neutralized."

“SHIT!” his father's shout made him shrink.

A hand grabbed him by the neck and lifted him into the air. His fearful eyes met his father's lizard eyes.

“It's all your fault, you bastard!”

“WAIT!”

“Hey, calm down!”

“None of this would have happened if you’d obeyed!”

I... I just... I wanted to help... , he wanted to say as his eyes filled with tears.

"One mission! You had ONE mission! You had to hide that pink crystal and keep it away from every danger! What were you thinking!? Throwing the crystal away to the desert!"

Ama... Sorry... I didn't mean to... KiLl ... I didn't mean for this to happen... HuRt ... It hurts me… My head…

“You made us lose a lot of money with your stupid idea! You are such a mistake!”

Ama... it hurts... DiE ... I can't breathe… My head… It hurts… 

“I have no idea why you are still alive!”

AmA... DiE...

In the blink of an eye, his body moved instinctively. And once again, he felt that soft metallic scent hit his nose.

As he realized what had happened, he heard his father's shriek, his uncles' screams, and he was on the ground with his bloody hands. His father was holding his shoulder, from which blood was gushing.

What have I done...?

He tried to approach, but his uncles' axe and rifle rested on him. They were afraid. He could feel it, he could smell it .

Ama… I hAtE yOu …

" ... I knew it... ," the controlled anger mixed with the pain of his father's voice bounced in his ears. He looked at his father, who had his back turned away from him. “ I should have killed you when I knew about you... ”

AmA… I hAtE YoU… YoU ShOuLd Be DeAd…

He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to... He couldn't take it anymore... His head wanted to explode… 

So he did what he did best and ran away from there, leaving the hospital and getting lost in the desert.

Malim's hands rested on his cheeks, wiping away the tears. At what point did he start crying? But he couldn't stop... 

“What happened, Rosco...? Why are you running away from them...?”

Rosco felt sobs racking in his throat. His hands were shaking. 

Because they don't want me... They abandoned me when I needed them the most....  

.

.

.

“... Well, that was... interesting,” said the one in fancy clothes. 

“I didn't think that would happen...”, said the green-cloaked one. 

“Hey, leader, why didn't you say anything?” asked the dark-robed one. 

The one in black clothes said nothing. 

“He knew where the keys were. He knows where the rooms are. He knows this place...” 

The whole team looked at each other. 

“Besides, I can feel it… I can smell it… He has the same blood as me…”

Chapter Text

Malim opened his eyes the next day to an empty bed. This was unusual, as he expected to wake up with Rosco cuddling him. 

“Rosco...?” he asked in the air in a whisper. He obviously didn't get an answer. 

Malim let out a grunt as he covered his head with the pillow. He didn't understand... He didn't understand why Rosco was only pushing him away... Ever since those men had shown up at the office and almost forced them to accept the trip on the sandboat, Rosco had only kept Malim an arm's length away. But last night? Last night he had seen Rosco break, something that, while it worried him, filled him with emotion. It was something only he knew, that part of humanity, of weakness, in Rosco that was unique to him. 

It made him feel special. 

With great patience, he had put his hand on his shoulder. He remembered how he had let Rosco cry on his shoulder, slowly carrying him to bed. At no point did they let go of each other until the other ended up asleep. And even then, Malim kept his eyes closed, trying to go into meditation, in an attempt to sleep. 

He thought that, when it was daylight, the two of them would be together, like those nights in that room. Just the two of them together, sharing a bed. But no. Once again he was alone. 

I should be used to being alone by now... , he thought. This is normal... Yes... It should be normal... But... but then... Why do I feel more alone than before...? Why... it hurts more now...? 

Malim took the pillow and hugged it tightly, almost hiding his tears.

The pillow still had Rosco's scent on it. 

“Rosco...,” he said in a whisper.

Rosco didn't dare open the door. His sweaty hands were shaking as he listened to Malim's sobs inside the room. He knew he should have left a message, maybe wake Malim up, before he went to the market to get spices for his little bag. He knew, he knew very well. He was a fool.

In his head, he could hear those intrusive voices telling him, on the one hand, that he had done wrong, that he should have taken Malim, no matter that the sandstorm was still raging outside; on the other hand, that he should stay away from the genie. It was a debate in which he could not participate. I did not want to participate.

He did not know what to choose...

How much he would have liked to go with Malim... To take his hand and lead him through those alleys he knew so well, to show him each of their hiding places. Maybe treat him to something to eat, maybe something new he had never tried before. After all, he loved to see the excitement in the genie's eyes. It was as if stars were being born in his pupils.

But he couldn't stay there, in that room. All her instincts were screaming at her that she had to run away from there. And with that, get away from Malim. If the others suspected who he was, then they would suspect Malim's true nature, his motive for being on the move. He knew that news of the lamp theft had reached far and wide. He had heard it in the bars, from the merchants; he had seen the posters of his quest and his absurd reward.

Why did I accept your support...? This is, without a doubt, the worst decision I could have made in my entire life. Even worse than taking that deal with-- 

“Rosco?”

Almost instinctively, Rosco turned around, baring his fangs and growling. But upon discovering who it was, he pretended to cough. Eagle raised an eyebrow, but then shrugged. 

"Breakfast is ready now. Call your friend. We'll be going after breakfast." 

Rosco only dared to nod before knocking on the door. 

How strange... I'm shaking a lot… Am I cold? 

On the other side of the door, I could hear Malim's sobs quieting down. In an instant, Malim opened the door, his puffy red eyes staring at him, even if he wanted to hide it with a smile. 

Calm down, Rosco... You're acting weird... 

"Ah, Rosco! Is everything alright? Where did you go?"

I have to answer... I have to move my hands... Why can't I move...? Could it be him…? No… He’s not here… Then, what is it…?

"Hey, Malim! Let's go have breakfast," Eagle's voice echoed behind his back. 

"Oh, okay. Let's go, Rosco?"

No, he wasn't going to admit it. He wasn't going to do it. Because no, he wasn't excited to see the big ship made of metal and wheels in front of him. He wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of showing his sheltered ignorance and letting them make fun of him...

… But it was so hard!

Behind him, he could hear Rosco laughing while Malim seemed to float in front of their new mode of transportation. He quickly turned around and started hitting the other, pouting and telling him between fake sobs not to make fun of him. That only made Rosco laugh even more. 

Good, he's calmer now... He's more relaxed. 

To say that breakfast had been awkward would be an understatement. Rosco was sitting next to him, but he refused to even try anything in front of them. He didn't even dare to look up from his hands under the table. Even when Malim tried to give him some of his bread, he just turned away. The only background noise was the others talking. 

“Rosco…”, he tried to say a word, but the way his hands twitched at his voice was enough for him to not insist. 

The only time Rosco even reacted was when Eagle called him aside to talk with Crimson about the route they would take. Apparently, the two of them were going to take turns driving the contraption. The rest were useless, according to Crimson: Boss didn't have a license, Puppeteer was ‘a sickly victorian boy’ and couldn't have the strength to drive, while Crimson, although he could drive, was the best person to use the map, being a desert man like Rosco. 

No problem, at least for him. The problem was because he was alone with the other two. And he was bombarded with questions, especially from Boss. Malim had to bite his tongue many times while telling them about their adventures. He needed to hold his hand  from wanting to strangle the man because of his comments. But what kept him on edge wasn’t Bos… it was Puppeteer. The way he was looking at him felt like talking to those men, back at the temple, with the knife bathed in lamb’s blood being held behind their backs. 

But the last question was the one that gave him the shivers. 

“Alright! We’re ready! Get on in, everyone!”, Eagle nearly shouted from the back of the big sandboat. 

“Let’s get this travel started”, said Puppeteer, standing next to Eagle. Malim was sure he felt the eyes of the white haired guy on him for a moment. 

“Fucking finally! Here I thought we would lose more time in this bunker”, Boss said, nearly running inside the sandboat. 

“Even if we were ready, we would leave you behind”, Crimson snickered. That was enough for Boss to screech at him. 

Malim looked at Rosco. 

“Is he always like him…?”

Rosco nodded. 

“Now I’m glad you’re mute…”

Rosco pushed him a little, chuckled and went inside. Malim tried to compose himself, but couldn’t stop staring at the back of Rosco’s head. Puppeteer’s last question was still ringing in his head. 

“Tell me, Malim… Do you wish for the adventures to continue?” 

He didn’t answer, he didn’t have the opportunity. But would it be considered cheating to ask a genie about a wish? Would he be able to make it true? He had never thought about it. It felt contradictory to him. And, even if he could, it wasn’t as if he could test it. After all, Rosco was mute! 

Yeah… 

But… If I could have a wish… I think I… 

Chapter Text

“YOU SAID THIS WAS THE BEST PLACE TO REST!” 

“IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE!” 

“THEN HOW DID WE END UP IN THIS SITUATION?!” 

“SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU, AND KEEP FIGHTING!” 

Rosco, meanwhile, was trying to come up with a contingency plan. It had been his idea to rest in the cave, as he didn't want to spend any more time with his father and uncles. So now he had to take charge. But it was impossible to think of anything while trying to hide himself. There was only so much a cloak could hide, and with how perceptive they were, it would only be a matter of time before they discovered the truth. 

A whistle made him duck, a bullet firing at a monster approaching him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eagle change the position of his rifle and shoot another. Rosco looked over at Malim, who seemed more focused on hiding. The glow of his hair on his cloak, possibly remnants of his genie form, seemed to generate a soft heat and light that showed he was conflicted. 

Heat... fire... That's it! 

Quickly, Rosco took Malim's hand and they went to the top of the sand ship. From there, the two could see the scene of action: Boss and Crimson seemed to be fighting back to back, one with his pistols while the other used his large axe; a little further away from the group, Puppeteer used his invisible strings to take control of the monsters and use them as cannon fodder or even save his companions from an imminent attack; from an elevation, Eagle lived up to his title as a sniper. 

But there was no time to waste. Rosco made Malim sit down. 

“Rosco, what do you want? What are we doing here?” asked the genius. 

Rosco took the bag and found what he was looking for: a bottle of scented oil. It was a gift he had bought to give to Malim when everything was over, to give him a day of celebration when everything was over. He had even taken the trouble to find the oil with his favorite scent, jasmine. He then bathed his hands and his knife in it. 

Then he turned to Malim, a smile on his lips, and wiggled his fingers while moving his hands in a vertical circle. Malim opened his eyes.

“You're crazy!”

Rosco shook his head and rested his forehead against the genie's. His lips moved, though he didn't know if the other could see him.

“Trust me...”

To say that his skin hurt was an understatement. Even though he was half zombie, that didn't mean he couldn't feel pain. And now, feeling his hands and knife burning in flames made all his instincts scream loudly. But that was the least of his worries.

Once he saw the flame burning, he took a big leap and started running. He knew his knife wouldn't do much damage, but the fire would deliver the blow he wanted. And indeed, his plan worked. With Eagle's gunfire finishing off the monsters, the group of monsters was dwindling. 

However, for every monster that fell, two others took its place. 

“It's useless! They're reproducing too fast!” he heard Crimson say nearby as he swung his axe at a monster. 

“We must find the queen and destroy her!” replied Puppeteer. 

“I can't find her anywhere! She must be hiding!” Eagle fired another shot. 

“How I wish she would show up right now so I could fill her with gunpowder!” Boss's shot echoed before he had to reload his pistols. 

Rosco saw Malim out of the corner of his eye. That counts as a wish... right?, he thought. 

The response was immediate, as the ground began to shake. He could feel as if a thread was holding him by the collar of his cloak and pulling him. His body felt light, almost rising into the sky, before ending up rolling. This caused the flames to go out, his knife far from him. Boss also fell beside him, while Crimson landed on his feet. He looked at Puppeteer, who seemed more focused on the ground that had just turned into a sinkhole. And from there, the large toothed mouth of what looked like a worm appeared, with pieces of skull-shaped bones sprouting from its body. 

“What the hell, gago!”, Boss screamed. 

“Well done, you fool! You summoned it!”, Crimson shouted. 

“Hey! I didn't know this could happen!”, Puppeteer replied. 

“Stop fighting and start attacking!”, was all Eagle said before firing more shots. 

Please, nothing has happened to Malim... was all Rosco could think before running back to grab his knife. 

The battle was becoming brutal. And all Rosco could do was run and make precise attacks. It wasn't as if he could rely on the rest. He wasn't part of them. And it wasn't as if he could give orders. He was used to being alone. He could only rely on what others told him. 

However... being with them... was like going back to the moment...  that day… 

With the small knife in his hand, he hacked at the colored pencils, his long hair falling over his eyes in messy tangles. He had no other tools, so he'd have to improvise. Nearby, he could hear his uncles talking (or arguing, he couldn't really tell anymore) about another of their jobs. 

A part of him buzzed with excitement. Could they possibly include him in one of their jobs? He was young, but maybe, just maybe, they could see he was useful. He was useful. He knew he could be.

Eight papers —bounties— were resting on the table in front of him. His father had placed them there, but he wasn't paying attention to him. His eyes flicked across the men’s faces. All different ages. All had absurdly high bounties. One of them, the youngest-looking, was the highest.

What did you do to get that kind of price on your head? , he wondered as he read the names. They all have such weird names. These two have even weirder ones... They must be from the land of the West… What’s that place called again? 

He picked up a colored pencil, a soft pink, and began to fill in the skin of the men on the paper. He wasn’t sure if they would even look like that. It didn’t matter. He didn’t have a skin tone like any of his uncles either, but that didn’t stop him. The voices around him were just background noise now. He was very entertained. And his little tail swished lazily back and forth, moving to a rhythm only he could hear. 

Now, for the hair. His instincts tugged at him—those colors.

“Hey, kid!” His father’s voice cut through the air, pulling him out of his focus. “Get your stuff. We’re leaving.”

His heart skipped. He was ready. The knife went into his boot, hidden but within easy reach. Once satisfied, colors and papers in hand, he bolted up the stairs. His father’s temporary room wasn’t far. He tossed the bounty papers and colors into his backpack,  before going to get his father's guns. Without wasting any time, he rushed back downstairs, smiling from ear to ear. 

However,  once he landed on the first floor, one foot ended up stepping on his tail. Pain shot through him as his body crashed to the floor. The guns slid to his father’s feet, and his jaw slammed hard against the ground. His little tongue stung. Ow, he thought, his hand going instinctively to his mouth. I hope I’m not bleeding… He couldn’t let them see. Tears blurred his vision, but he wiped them away quickly.

“Oh, did the little lizard hurt himself?”, a mocking voice from one of the mercenaries made his blood boil.

He tried not to look. His tail was pinned under someone’s boot. He tried not to look at him, not to focus on his boot, which was only stepping harder on his tail. He couldn’t even squirm to free it. 

“Let him go.” His uncle’s voice cut through the tension. He didn’t need to look up, he recognized the weight of his body with his large rifle close to him. 

He glanced up briefly to his father, who seemed preoccupied with his guns, now in his hands. Looking around, all the mercenaries and bounty hunters were watching. They were on edge, a few of them grinning, some ready to throw punches. Chaos loomed. His instincts screamed for him to get away from there. 

A large hand grabbed his hair, pulling him up. The world spun. Voices bounced around him like echoes in a canyon. He didn't know what was going on; he wasn't focusing on what they were saying. He only knew that his tail hurt a lot. He tried to move it, but that only made the other man step on it even harder. 

If only... I could break free... I must escape...! I must escape...! I MUST ESCAPE!

His fingers brushed the knife in his boot. Desperation surged through him. Without thinking, he jerked his arm back and swung the knife. His head felt light, but his body crashed to the floor with the force. The world blurred, his senses swimming. 

Ouch... what...?

His head throbbed, but something made him open his eyes. He saw the trail of his own hair on the floor... And his tail… Still twitching… under the mercenary's boot. 

He didn’t have time to fully react. He felt his body being lifted to then be thrown with brutal force onto a nearby table. The impact shook him, and his body slammed into the next. The men around him were laughing, tossing him around like some ragdoll.Those gruff men were using him like a piece of furniture to cause more problems! 

I can’t let this happen.

He didn't have time to lose. His instincts screamed at him to move. He crawled under the nearest table, keeping low, out of sight. He was far away from the door, but if he used his environment, he could get closer.Use the chaos. The sound of his uncles’ voice rang in his ears. He could hear the commotion. He was getting closer to the door. But it wasn’t enough. Not yet. He needed to be fast. 

So… there needed to be more chaos. 

There. The leg of a mercenary. He gripped it, pulling. The man fell hard onto another table, his weight toppling it. The chaos spread. Tables rocked, knocking everything around. 

Crawling deeper, under more furniture, he felt his heart race as his father called his name. My dad is calling for me! He raised his head enough to see his father and his uncles being pushed out of the door. 

NO!! Tio! Uncle! Tiyuhin! Ama! Don’t leave me!

He crawled as best as he could, avoiding everything and everyone. His body ached, his tail throbbed, but he wasn’t done yet. Finally, he was near the wall, out of immediate reach. But something caught his eye—a piece of paper on the floor. The highest bounty. Colored, too.He crawled over to pick it up. 

Blue hair… 

“LOOK OUT!”

His uncle’s shout ripped through the chaos, and in a flash, his reflexes kicked in. He dodged just in time, a knife flashing inches from his face. His foot lashed out, kicking the attacker in the face. Without missing a beat, he threw himself toward the door.

“Got you!” 

He could smell the gunpowder on him, but also feel the warmth of a hug. His uncle saved him! He didn't mind feeling like a ragdoll in his arms, being shaken while his uncle tried to hold him as best as he could. He didn’t care. The pain in his body, the ache in his head, even the blood dripping from his cut—none of it mattered. His hand still gripped the bounty paper and his uncle’s cape until he was sitting down on his lap in his jeep. 

The engine roared to life. The jeep bounced on the rough terrain, but all he could focus on was the small bundle of paper in his hand, and the four of them laughing, moving on to the next mission.

He could only smile. That was exciting. 

“You’re crazy, kid!” His uncle in green ruffled his hair, shaking loose strands, not letting go of the steering wheel. “Look at you—bleeding everywhere.”

“Let me”, his other uncle, the one in blue, leaned over and took out the first aid kit, gently wrapping bandages around his head. He noticed his eyes focusing on his paper, but didn’t say a word. He, instead, put a black box on his lap. “That’s our next mission. Take care of it, ok?”

He nodded, his eyes bright with excitement. The box was opened in front of him. It was a big pink heart-shaped precious stone. 

Chapter Text

No, Rosco! Don’t remember! Not now! Not that moment! 

Rosco nearly avoided a flying rock to his head. They weren’t making any progress. The queen was stronger. And from each skull, a new worm-like monster started to crawl, more vicious than the one before. It was disgusting. There were so much the bullets from Boss and Eagle could do before the next one could appear. If only they could hit the weak point… But to do that, they needed to jump inside the mouth of that monster and hit the eye inside. Because OF COURSE there is an eye inside the mouth. 

Rosco threw his knife to one of those worms before collecting it and placing himself back to back with Crimson. The other had enough stamina to move his big axe. 

“You better have a good idea, kid…”, Crimson said before swaying the axe and decapitating another monster. 

Rosco pointed to the mouth of the queen monster. 

“Oh, great… Don’t tell me you want me to be turned into food”. 

Rosco denied it with his head. He wanted to explain himself, but there was so much his uncle could understand sign language. So he pointed to himself and then to the mouth. 

“.. Are you nuts?!”

OK, there goes my plan… 

Rosco threw his knife to another monster before it bit Crimson’s leg. What he didn’t expect was for Crimson to throw him up. 

“Catch him!”

A couple of strings caught him and pulled him towards Puppeteer. His body rolled across the ground, unwillingly feeling the stones digging into his skin. That was going to leave marks. 

“All right, you have a plan, right?”

Rosco wasted no time. He knew Puppeteer knew sign language (after all, he was the one who taught him), so he described what he had in mind. Puppeteer just stared at him with his almost lifeless eyes and that almost inhuman smile. 

“Hmm... that plan is very risky... Do you know what you're asking for?”

Rosco nodded. 

“Are you willing to sacrifice yourself?”

Rosco rolled his eyes. This was no time for philosophical questions.

Puppeteer chuckled.

“Fine. But don’t blame me if your dad finds out you were being suicidal again.”

Rosco froze for just a second—just long enough for Puppeteer to notice.

“...Oops”,  The smile never left Puppeteer’s face, but his tone dropped an octave. “Still hiding, huh?”

A screech —a different from Boss’s ones— tore through the air before Rosco could answer. When he turned around, he felt his soul nearly escaped his body: one of the worms had grown wings. They’re evolving?! 

The flying worm threw itself towards Rosco. Crimson’s axe cleaved through the air, barely stopping it in time. Eagle shouted something from the ridge, reloading like a man possessed.

Puppeteer snapped his fingers, bringing Rosco back to reality. Puppeteer’s strings danced.

“Going puppet-mode then?” 

“Do it now!”, he ordered in sign language. 

“Hang on tight, lizard-boy.”

Rosco grimaced. He hated that nickname. But Puppeteer was already in motion, his threads swirling like living silk. They wrapped around Rosco’s arms and legs, tugging him into the air like a marionette. And he was thrown away once again. 

Below, the queen’s maw opened wide, its grotesque throat glistening, the hideous eye blinking inside. It knew what they were trying to do. Its roar sent a shockwave that cracked the ground. 

Rosco flipped in the air, dodging one the million tentacle-like tongues, then free fall. 

Many flying worms screeched and flew towards Rosco. And Boss saw it. Even through the chaos, he could always read a battlefield. “Cover him!” he shouted.

Bullets from a rifle and dual guns tore through the waves of worms, buying Rosco seconds, just enough. Puppeteer jerked his fingers, releasing Rosco from his strings in an arc. With a breath he didn’t have time to waste, Rosco used the strings to jump and threw the knife straight into the mouth and straight into the eye.

The queen screamed. The kind of scream that stopped hearts and bent steel. It recoiled and hid inside the giant hole in the cave. The worms followed it in desperation, now victims to Crismon’s axe. 

Rosco didn’t have time to brace. He was falling, falling… into the darkness of the pit. 

His mind was blank, watching the stone ceiling of the cave. And a memory crossed his mind…

The sun had no mercy.

It bled heat down from a cloudless sky, turning sand into knives and air into fire. His boots were cracking at the soles, blistering his feet with each step. His canteen he stole from a traveling merchant had been empty for over a day. His lips were cracked. The bandana he wore to keep the sand out of his mouth was soaked with dust and spit. And his scales were irritating his human skin. 

But he wouldn’t stop.

Not now. Not with the bounty clutched in his pocket, now half-torn, but still legible. A name. A face. The blue haired man with the highest bounty. He remembered the way his father had mentioned about him during that jeep trip. Like a ghost that slipped away just before justice could reach his throat.

Well… I’ll finish the job you couldn’t. I’ll prove to you I can do it… 

His fingers brushed the paper again, trembling. He was feverish. Had been for two weeks now. The coughing fits were getting worse, something rattled in his chest like coins in a tin can. There was so much he could survive at the cost of her mother's special condition. But he kept walking. 

Over the dunes.

Through the cracked stones.

Into the green haze rising in the distance.

The forest. Finally.

Shade hit him like a punch. It was cooler here, the air damp and filled with the smell of moss and wet bark. But his legs were too thin, too tired. He dropped to his knees with a cough that splattered red into his palm.

No… Not now… I can… keep going…, he dug his fingers into the dirt, dragging himself forward.

But it was difficult. The ground was shifting. The colors were merging into each other.  His knife slipped from his belt. His vision doubled, then spun. He collapsed face-first into a patch of damp ferns, breathing in rot and earth. 

Maybe… if I close my eyes… only for a moment… 

Then he heard something. Footsteps. 

“What the…? Oh my god”, it was a very grave voice. A pair of arms held his limp body. “Hey! Hey! Get the medic. Now! There’s a kid!”

He tried opening his eyes. What he saw was the silhouette of a man’s face, with black hair as coal in a high ponytail and blue eyes as the clearest water. He felt his hand on his face, caressing his skin as soft breeze. “He’s burned up like firewood… Who the hell leaves a kid out here alone?”

Ama… I’m sorry… I… couldn’t finish… my bounty… I… truly am… a mistake… 

“Rosco!” Crimson shouted, limping toward the center. 

Boss didn’t wait. He jumped into the hole. 

“BOSS!!”, screamed Eagle, now approaching the hole. 

“Puppeteer, where the hell are they?!”

“Bring them back!”

“I got him,” came a voice. Boss, walking with Rosco slumped over his shoulder. The kid was barely breathing, but his grip on the knife hadn't loosened. The hilt was slick with dark blood. And the bandages were coming off, the stitches on full display. 

“Who would have thought…? He actually did it…”, Crismon laughed softly. 

Eagle whistled low. “Oh my god! You’re crazy, kid!”

Rosco stirred, coughing, trying to move, but his body wasn’t working.

Boss looked at him over his shoulder, expression unreadable. “We’ll talk later.”

Rosco glared, then nodded once. I just hope… Malim is safe… 

As soon as that idea crossed his mind, he woke up. 

MALIM!

“Hey, hey! What the hell?!”

Rosco nearly fell down from Boss’s back and, limping, ran towards the sandboat. The group looked at him as he was possessed, but followed him. Rosco reached the sand boat and, using only his arms, climbed to the top of the big metal vehicle. There he saw the cape and the bag… but no Malim. 

MALIM! 

His legs weren’t working anymore. He could feel his legs’ sutures were already broken, but he didn’t care. He crawled towards the back to check. The black box was there and the lamp too. But one thing was missing… 

A squeak pulled his attention from the bag. Crawling away into the open was a tiny mouse, a natural desert rat with its natural golden really pinkish fur… with a red stone on its mouth. 

Chapter Text

“... lim... alim... Malim! Wake up already!”

Almost letting out a scream of fright, Malim opened his eyes. His body sat up quickly like a spring. His hand rested on the side of the bed. His strength overcame him and he accidentally rolled off the bed and fell to the floor. 

Ouch... What...? Why did that hurt...? 

“Oh, my little one... What am I going to do with you? Wake up! Breakfast is getting cold!”

That voice... It can't be...

That female voice was very familiar to him. It was a voice he hadn't heard in a very long time. Almost fearfully, he stood up and ran out of that room. He could feel his heart beating fast. He peeked his head through the fabric door frame, where he saw a familiar figure with her back to him, standing in front of a bowl in the kitchen, finishing washing his neighbor's clothes. When he saw her, Malim couldn't help but feel his eyes fill with tears. 

“...Mom...?”

The figure turned around. It was her. She looked just as big and imposing as when he was a child. But that smile was as warm as the sun itself. 

“You're awake. Come on! Have your breakfast! Today you have to continue collecting water. Today it's your turn to deliver it to Mr. Salim's house.”

The poor woman couldn't continue as she was almost tackled by Malim's strong embrace. Malim held her tightly, hiding his eyes in her hair. He couldn't hold back the tears rolling down his cheeks, and even a few sobs could be heard. 

“Mom... Mom... It's you... it's you...”

His mother tensed slightly; this wasn't something her son usually did. But she quickly hugged him. The hug felt real. So real that it hurt somehow. Malim closed his eyes, trembling against her.

“Are you okay, son? You don't have a fever, do you? That's not like you.”

Malim pulled away, wiping his tears. 

“I'm sorry... it's just... I feel like... like I haven't seen you in a long time...” 

His mother snorted. 

“What are you talking about? You came home yesterday after a day of work. Don't tell me you're looking for an excuse not to work.”

Malim laughed, shaking his hair. This only made his mother sigh wearily. 

“Well, if you're not going to work today, at least help me with the laundry! I have a lot of work to do today and I can't waste any time. Eat your breakfast!”

Malim nodded and sat down on the floor in front of the table. He broke the naan and began to eat it. It wasn't as if he could afford much more. His mother barely had enough money to buy bread, which is why it had hardly any taste. But Malim didn't care. He was home. He was with his mother, who had her back to him, cleaning the same shirt. 

Looking out the window, the sun was at the same place just as he remembered. The palm trees in the distance barely moved in the absence of a strong wind. Even the smell, that sweet aroma of soapy water mixed with warm earth, was identical.

His mother was talking, complaining about the neighbors and her customers. It was a pleasant noise. It was as if no time had ever passed. 

However... something felt strange. 

Malim looked at his hands. He looked at his clothes. Something wasn't right. He didn't remember wearing earth-colored clothes. He remembered fiery red. He remembered fabrics that seemed to dance in the wind. He remembered the light weight of a veil on her head, held in place by gold jewelry. 

He remembered pink hair. 

“Malim!”

Malim quickly turned to the wooden door that connected to the roof, where his mother hung clothes to dry. 

“... Will you come with me to deliver the dry clothes?” his mother asked him. At her feet were two large bundles of fabric. 

“Let's go!”

Malim took the two bundles in his hands, not letting his mother carry anything. Mother and son left that room and went out into the streets. Hours passed, walking through the village, entering the clay house where he had grown up, sitting on worn rugs, sharing freshly baked bread.

I remember all this... Malim thought. There's the old vendor who gives us free fruit... There's the lady who owes us a vase... And there's the man who punished me... Wait... why did he punish me...?

At his side, his mother told stories and rumors. She never stopped talking to each of her customers. Even when haggling over money. His mother was unstoppable. 

A glimmer in the distance made him turn around. An oil lamp with a specific shape. 

“That lamp...”

His mother stopped and turned to look at her son. 

“What are you talking about, Malim?” 

Malim blinked. A slight twinge in his chest forced him to look around. Malim glanced around. For a moment, he felt the walls closing in on him. The shadow of the palm tree did not move. 

“Malim, what's wrong?”

Malim turned to look at his mother, his breath seemingly unable to reach his lungs. His mother's voice sounded distant, as if coming from the end of a very long corridor. Her lips moved, but her words fell into the room with a soft, repetitive echo. 

A chill ran up his spine. 

He tried to concentrate: on the smell of freshly baked bread, on the warmth of the light falling on him, on the noise of the vendors around them. Everything was perfect. Too perfect.

“Mother...” His voice trembled. “What day is it today?”

She smiled, calm as always.

“It's today, my dear.”

Malim felt a knot in his stomach. 

He looked around again. The sky was frozen in a shade of gold, without the slightest variation. There was no wind in the palm trees. The shadows did not move. They did not lengthen. They did not shorten. They did not change. Time simply... did not move forward.

His heart began to beat very fast. His throat was dry and his lips trembled. 

“Mother... Can I go to the oasis? I… I want to see the water.”

“Malim, wait!”

Malim didn't wait for anyone. He just set off running toward where he knew the oasis was. Around him, he could only see the shadows of people frozen in the corner of his eye. The air outside was identical to the air inside. Same temperature. Same light. Nothing seemed to change. 

Malim tried to shake off that feeling of heaviness. He didn't plan to stop until he saw his destination. The oasis shone like a mirror. Almost sliding, he knelt down by the edge. There he could see himself, a completely normal version. He couldn't recognize himself. Almost fearfully, he dipped his hand in.

There was no ripple. Not a single one.

He withdrew his hand, trembling.

“No...”

He looked at his own fingers. The water reflected them... but the reflection was frozen, not moving, not keeping pace with his breathing.

“No.”

His hands pounded on his reflection. No change happened in the water. 

“No no no no no no no no no no—”

“Is something wrong, Malim?”

Malim clenched his fists under the water. He could see in his reflection how his eyes were becoming glassy. Almost fearfully, he turned to look at her. His mother's silhouette seemed perfect.  Exactly perfect. Too perfect.

His breath caught in his throat. A tremor ran through his chest, a tremor he hadn't felt in hundreds of years.

“Mother... What did we do yesterday?”

She looked at him without changing her expression.

“We were together, my dear.”

“And before that?”, Malim stood up. 

“We were together, my dear.”

“And what will we do tomorrow?”

“We will be together, my dear.”

The same words. The same intonation. Not a single mistake. Not a hint of humanity.

Malim took a step back. Then another. He could feel his feet getting wet, cold wet, but he was afraid to look down. His mother raised her hand, offering her warm smile, the same smile he had dreamed of for centuries.

“Malim, what's wrong?”

A sob escaped him without permission. It burned in his throat like fire.

“This... isn't real,” his voice broke, as if each syllable cut him. 

His mother opened her eyes... then nodded and lowered her hand. Malim couldn't hold back any longer, he let the tears fall. 

“Mother... I haven't seen you in so long... I've wanted this for so long... But... it's not real...”

The woman took a step toward him, and every fiber of Malim's body screamed for him to run to her, not to care if it was a dream, to hug her and stay there forever.

“Don't come any closer!”

The figure stopped. Malim hugged himself tightly, digging his nails into his arms. 

“You're not real... you're not... I... I became a genie... I touched that lamp and I… I was locked in that lamp for... Mom... you're...”

“Son...”

“... I don't want to wake up...” he said, choking back tears. "I don't want to lose you again. I... I can't. I can't do it again."

His mother touched his face, wiping away his tears. He didn't know when it had happened, but there they were, in the middle of the oasis. His mother looked at him with a tenderness that hurt. Her touch was warm. Perfect. So perfect that it hurt.

“Son... I'm sorry... I am what you desire. But not what is waiting for you.”

Malim inhaled with a sob. He closed his eyes tightly, taking her hand in his fingers. He wanted to stay. He wanted to stay so much that it hurt to breathe. And that thought pierced his soul like a knife. 

Because his mind filled in the gaps in his memory, between the false calm and the frozen time, something that made his heart leap:

A young man with scales on his face. A young man with pink hair. A young man, covered in sand, with his hand outstretched toward him.

A young man who always looked at him when he thought Malim wasn't noticing. A young man with a smile that could shine like a thousand suns and was waiting for him. 

And whose name felt different from everything else. Alive. Real. True.

Rosco.

The image was so strong that the oasis shook. The houses flickered. The sky darkened.

“Someone is waiting for me,” Malim whispered, wiping his tears with his sleeve. “Mom... you would have liked him so much. He's a wonderful person... There are so many things I want to tell you... But... he... he needs me right now. He’s breaking. He’s fighting outside with those monsters. I want to go back to him... Please. I want to go back to Rosco.”

His mother looked at him silently. And for the first time, her smile changed. It softened. It became... human.

“Then wake up, my darling,” she said, and her voice now seemed to come from a real place, not from the dream. “The memories are here. I am here, as long as you carry me with you. But he... he is out there, fighting for you.”

Malim's heart gave a painful beat.

“I'm scared,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I'm so scared.”

“That means you're alive,” his mother replied, and her figure began to glow with golden light. She held his son’s face with her hands, making him look into her eyes. "Remember, son... A genie can never grant his own wishes. Those are the rules of genies. But remember: a pure heart can achieve miracles, even fulfill wishes. It always requires sacrifice, but anything is possible." 

“Mom, what are you talking about...?”

“Go with him. He's waiting for you.”

With that, her image was lost in a dust of gold. Malim reached out his hand, but she was already fading away, like sand carried by the wind.

The oasis shattered like glass. The sky opened up in a crack of light. And he fell.

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the oasis. All he could see was the strong wind hitting him from all sides. There was nothing under his feet, only sand whipping him like a piece of cloth. He was no longer in the cave, he was in the middle of a sandstorm, in the middle of a sand tornado. 

But in front of him he saw pink. 

“... Rosco...”

He quickly felt a pair of arms holding him tightly. A strong, trembling embrace, as if afraid of losing him again. And Malim cried against his neck. 

Chapter Text

Malim rested beside him in the room they had rented. Rosco hadn't moved an inch away from the genie. He wasn't going to deny that he was afraid to look away and then realize that Malim had disappeared again.

He had had enough once, he didn't want to repeat it. 

After chasing that desert mouse to recover that damn red stone, Rosco realized too late that he was too close to a sandstorm. There was no way to escape. So all he could do was curl up into a ball and hug the lamp tightly while trying to put the stone back where it belonged. 

The joy he felt at seeing Malim in front of him again was nothing compared to the warmth he felt when the genie hugged him. He didn't care that the storm was hurting them, pulling them apart, trapping them. Rosco wasn't going to let go of Malim. He looked up, trying to hide his tears. Malim was already crying for both of them. 

Then he noticed a pink glow. And an urge to reach out and grab it. 

Malim stirred slightly, his fingers clutching Rosco's cape tightly. Rosco held his breath. Fortunately, Malim hadn't woken up, snuggling even closer to Rosco. Rosco breathed a sigh of relief, but looked down at his hand. 

A pink heart-shaped stone seemed to glow with every beat of his heart in his hand. 

Part of him knew what it was. It was impossible for there to be two stones with the same cut, the same shape. 

There's no doubt... it's the same stone I threw into the desert… That stone… 

Rosco looked outside. The sun was at its highest point. 

Rosco put the stone in his bag and shook Malim's shoulder. Malim groaned, but slowly opened his eyes.

“Rosco...? What's going on...?”

Rosco pointed outside.

“No... I don't want to go... I want to stay...” Malim turned away and hid his face in Rosco's stomach. Rosco felt his face turning red, his scales bristling. Almost fearfully, he pushed Malim away and stood up. 

That made Malim laugh. 

“What's wrong, Rosco? Don't you like... playing with me?” Malim asked seductively. 

Rosco felt a chill run down his spine. Malim had never behaved like that before. And the worst part was that part of him... didn't dislike it. 

He quickly took off his cape and threw it at Malim. And in the blink of an eye, he was out of the room. His heart was beating too fast. His hands were sweating. And he was absolutely sure his face was red.

“Rosco? Are you okay?”

Rosco froze. He slowly turned to look at Eagle. His instincts seemed to explode inside him. 

I need to get out of here! Out of here! Out! Out! OUT! OUT!

His body moved on automatic, feeling his feet run, unintentionally pushing Eagle's shoulder, almost jumping the steps and running across the tavern until he exited. Once he felt his body being buffeted by the wind, he sat in the doorway, feeling the panic attack only getting worse by the second. 

What's happening to me, I'm not supposed to act like this! Why are my emotions all over the place?! Why...? WHY...?! 

A hand grabbed his shoulder. Almost instinctively, he shook his arm, feeling the claws reaching out to attack. But what he brushed against was a gun. 

Shit… 

“Come with me.”

His fingers moved quickly. 

I have to make a delivery I don't have time to waste I—

“I don't care. Come with me.” 

A strong scent hit his nose. A scent he recognized. Almost instinctively, Rosco followed Boss's footsteps to an alleyway between buildings. Rosco looked around, searching for escape routes, elements he could use to his advantage. But there was nothing. He was at a disadvantage. 

Although... it wasn't like that time... 

The first thing he noticed was the cold cloth on his forehead. The second was that he was warm. Not sunburn-warm. Blanket-warm. Soft mattress. Low fire. Something that smelled like real soup. 

He woke up feeling as if his body were burning, as if he had slept under an endless summer sun. The fever climbed up the back of his neck, tickled behind his eyes, and made his chest feel heavy, as if the air had turned to sand. Pain lit through his ribs, his arms, even his face. The skin around the red scales burned like it had been scrubbed raw.

His eyes opened slowly. The ceiling above him was wooden, high-beamed, painted with stars. Not sky. Just… painted stars. Someone had taken the time to make the place feel like it belonged to someone. I didn't recognize it. I didn't recognize anything. 

But for the first time in days—maybe weeks—he wasn’t in pain.

Not completely, anyway.

He tried to sit up, but dizziness pushed him back against the pillow, soft, too soft to be his own. He took a deep breath, his breathing hoarse; his chest hurt. He tried to sit up once more. A gloved hand gently pushed him back down.

“Oi, no you don’t, mate. You nearly cooked yourself into a bloody sausage out there,” came a thick, gravelly voice with a lazy thick accent drawl.

He turned his head and saw a mountain of a man sitting in a wooden chair beside him, arms crossed over his black shirt under a black and orange jacket,  blonde hair with red tips, and blue eyes, watching uninterested. A chain was resting against his hip. 

“You tryin’ to kill yourself or just really hate sunscreen?”

He blinked.

A loud crash nearby made him jerk—nearly fall off the bed.

“AH! He’s up! He’s—uh—he’s up! Someone get leader!”

A gangly man in a jester-like tunic was fumbling with a tray of food he had dropped all over the floor. Bread and soup splattered like a failed painting. Somehow, his top hat was still sitting on his head even though he was nodding while apologizing. 

“Oi, what the fuck, man?!”, the man in orange said in his very thick accent. 

“S-sorry, sorry, I didn’t think— He, he was supposed to be sleeping for another three hours,” the man stammered, bending down to gather the mess with shaking hands.

He stared, tense, ready to bolt—until a heavy bootstep echoed from the hallway.

Then, across the room: a blur of blue hair.

A tall man stepped in, blue hair shining in the light coming from the window, white and blue clothes so comfy as well as a soft smile. His expression was calm but watchful, like someone who always knew who was armed in a room. There was something cool and calm about him. Leader. Obvious.

He tensed further.

The man gave a slow nod.

“You’re awake,” he said. “That’s good. We were worried.”

He glanced down at the jester. “Please, go mop that up.”

“Yes, sir! Right away, sir!” The jester stumbled out with a salute that nearly made him trip again.

The man with blue hair then went and sat down on the bed, close to him. Always that soft and warm smile. 

“We weren’t sure if you’d make it through the night. You had a nasty infection. Fever. Malnourished.”

He blinked slowly. He was trying to understand anything, but his head felt like he was hit with his tio’s vehicle. 

The blue-haired man rested his arms on his knees. “You were found half-dead in the middle of the forest. Our scout brought you in. Said you crossed the entire desert on foot.” He tilted his head. “Impressive. And stupid.”

He frowned, silent. His fingers moved slowly between the sheets, between his clothes. But then he realized something: he was wearing strange clothes.

My knife! Where—?!

“No one took your weapon,” he said calmly, nodding toward a nearby table. “It’s there. Along with the bounty paper.” 

Quickly, I glance over at the nightstand beside him. Sure enough, his knife is there next to the bounty paper. 

The leader’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Bold choice, going after such a big bounty all by yourself. Especially without backup. Or food. Or... basic health.”

He tensed, expecting anger. Blame. The usual.

Instead, the gladiator in orange laughed. “Gotta say, kid, got more balls than brains. Respect.”

The man's eyes drifted down to his arm, where the bandages had loosened. A patch of shimmering red scales reflected the lantern light—deep crimson, almost glowing. The scales seemed to have grown and started reaching his shoulder up to his cheek, almost like a rash. 

“...That,” the leader said slowly, “is something I’ve seen before. On an… old enemy.”

His instinct screamed to cover it, but he froze. Hiding would only make it worse.

The blue-haired man didn’t press. “You don’t have to talk. Or explain. You probably don’t want to.” A pause. “But I want you to know: you’re safe here. You’re in the care of our Adventurer’s Guild. We’re not warlords. We don’t hunt children.”

His eyes narrowed. He still didn’t believe it.

Another voice entered, talking in a familiar language. 

“Con permiso.”

A new man entered the room. He was smaller than everyone, but with a dark presence around him. He had his purple hair tied in a high ponytail, with strange clothes from the other side of the world mostly likely, and a black hand with claws. He had the same approachable energy like his tio. 

“I came to check his fever,” the man said. “Is that all right?”

The leader nodded. “He’s alert. Go ahead.”

The young man with purple hair moved to his side with a quiet bow. He lifted him slightly, just enough to accommodate the pillows so he was nearly sitting down. Then he unwrapped part of the bandages on his arm, inspecting the scales. His fingers were precise, respectful, never pressing too hard. He felt like pulling away, but his strength was failing. 

“These are not burns,” he murmured. “They are… natural.”

“Mutation?” the leader asked.

“No. I believe they were always there. Perhaps dormant.” The purple-haired man turned to him, still resting in bed. “Do they hurt?”

He shook his head. Even without talking, he felt like his voice would falter. His throat felt so dry…

The young man met his eyes, smiling. “You have nothing to fear here, child. We do not fear what we don’t understand.”

Then the leader gave him a cup that was resting on his night stand. 

“Drink this. It’s broth. Not poison, don’t worry. You’ll live longer.”

He stared at the mug. At all of them.

These were the people his father had told him to hate. Enemies. Criminals. Monsters, even. And yet… they had healed him. Fed him. Saved him.

His hand trembled as he took the cup. He didn’t drink, but held it tightly. His eyes narrowed. Suspicious. Confused.

The leader caressed his dirty hair. 

“You don’t have to trust us,” he said. “But you should know—your father’s war? That’s his. Not ours.”

His eyes locked with his, terrified.

The leader softened slightly. “You’re not him,” he said his name. His real name. 

He flinched.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. We know who you are. We knew the second we saw the scales.”

He looked down. The scales were glinting, almost like they were mocking him. He closed his eyes strongly, not wanting to see them. He could feel tears trying to fall down. 

Silence hung in the room like a held breath.

A pair of arms wrapped around him, feeling a soft warmth around him. Almost with fear, he held that body and did not let go. He inhaled the smell of incense and musk, recognizing only one person with that scent, the man who saved him. He made great efforts to concentrate on the other person's heartbeat. 

He heard that grave voice talking, his whole body vibrating with each syllable. “We’re not going to hurt you, kid. Not unless you try to kill one of us.”

“Even then,” the gladiator in orange added, “might just tie you to a tree instead.”

He heard a yelp, but he didn’t care to notice who it was. He was trembling, feeling weak and accepted for the first time in a long time. The blue-haired leader stood. “You’re not a prisoner. When you’re strong enough to walk, you’ll be free to move around the guild.”

When he looked at the leader, he was only smiling. “You’ve clearly come far. When you’re ready… we’d like to know why. But now, get some rest. You’re safe here. You’re more than welcome to stay.”

One by one, the group started to walk out of the room. The only one that remained was the scout, still holding him. He was humming a song, a strange one, but a nice one. 

He leaned onto the warm body. His arms still ached. His chest burned. But this place… it was clean. Warm. Full of people who didn’t seem afraid of him—or ready to turn him in.

He reached up slowly, fingers brushing the scale near his cheek.

They already knew who he was. They didn’t care who he was. 

And that… was maybe the first good thing that had happened in a very long time.

He didn’t understand any of it.

He felt… cared of. 

Rosco took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. Seeing Boss looking at him, he raised an eyebrow. 

Here I am... What do you want? 

Boss said nothing. He just took out one of his pistols and fired. One of the bullets hit the wall, right next to Rosco's head. It would have hurt him if he hadn't moved his head. But that was enough for a hand to grab him by the neck and slam him against the wall. Instantly, both their cheeks were covered in red scales and their eyes turned lizard-like.

“...We have a lot to talk about... Juned.”

Chapter Text

“So... you guys raised him?” Malim asked as he took another bite of his breakfast. 

“That's right. Pretty much since he was born,” Eagle said, puffing out his chest. 

“Although we weren't the best role models,” Puppeteer shrugged. 

"Ha! Speak for yourself. I think we did a better job than Boss," Crismon laughed as he took a sip from his tankard. 

Malim nodded as he drank from his own tankard. Part of him told him that what they were saying wasn't entirely true, but he didn't feel like arguing. Almost instinctively, he adjusted his cape to hide his missing legs, although it was useless in front of the three of them. It wasn't as if he could hide it when they had helped them out of that sandstorm with Puppeteer's threads. However, the four of them remained silent. And it had nothing to do with Rosco growling at them like an animal protecting something important to him as he stood in the middle. 

Rosco looked toward the door. 

“Are you worried about Juned?” Eagle asked. 

Malim quickly turned to look at him. Puppeteer laughed. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket: a bounty, one that said WANTED ALIVE. And on it was the face of a very young Rosco, almost a child, with a name he had never heard before: JUNED. 

Malim took the paper delicately, almost fearfully. 

“This... this is...”

“When he escaped, Boss had it made,” said Eagle. 

“After you insisted too many times,” added Crimson. 

“Hey! I was worried! Don't blame me!”

“Please, if Juned is like his father, he would have survived even the sand giant,” Puppeteer smiled. 

Malim placed the paper on the table, trying not to look at the paper they had taken out before, another bounty for Rosco, now an adult, very different from the first one, almost unrecognizable (at least to anyone but him), with the name DESERT ZOMBIE BOUNTY HUNTER in large letters. It was clear that one could not relate Juned to the Desert Zombie Bounty Hunter. 

“Anyway, you don't have to worry about Juned or Boss,” said Puppeteer. “If there's one thing I know about those two, it's that they must be getting along great. I'm sure they're talking and reminiscing about the good old days.”

The situation was far from balanced. Rosco could only see the eyes of Boss—his father—staring at him without a hint of emotion before dodging the next bullet. This was not the reunion he had hoped for. In fact, a reunion wasn't even on his list. 

After scratching his arm to free himself, Rosco barely had a window of time to get far enough away. He knew what he was up against. If he left the alley, the guards would be alerted. This had to be resolved right then and there, as soon as possible.

Rosco pulled the knife from his boot and lunged at the other man. He tried to stab him, but unlike him, the two pistols were used to block his attack and then shoot. It would only be a matter of time before he ended up with a bullet in his leg. 

The two jumped back. Both had their guns pointed at each other. 

“You've improved...” said Boss. 

Rosco growled. 

“But you're still very reckless...”

Rosco gripped the knife tighter. With his other hand, he began to sign. 

Look who's talking, it's not like he has a good role model. 

Boss smiled sarcastically. 

“This last mission? You leave clues everywhere. No wonder we found you so quickly.”

Rosco made a quick, sharp gesture. 

It took them a long time to find me... many years too late 

Boss fired. Rosco only deigned to dodge it. 

“It seems more like you want to be killed.” 

I don't care

“Sure,” Boss scoffed. “After all, no one cares if you're still alive, right?”

Rosco froze. The scales on his face bristled.

“That's what I taught you. Remember? But you're still here... I taught you too well. Always crawling out from under rocks to—”

The knife flew through the air. Once again, Boss dodged the attack with his gun. What he didn't expect was the punch that hit him square in the face. His body rolled. And as soon as he stopped, a pair of hands grabbed him by the neck. 

“Nobody cares about me...” Rosco's lips moved. Boss knew what he was saying, even without Rosco making a sound. He was close enough to read his lips. “That's what I always was to you, wasn't I? A mistake... just another problem...”

“Juned... You're... strangling me...”

“You never saw me... you never spoke to me... You were never there when I needed you most...”

“Juned...”

“And... the worst... is when you said... when you said...” Rosco's eyes filled with tears. Memories flooded his mind. 

He didn't understand... He really didn't understand... Why did they have to interrupt his game like that...?

That day some people had gone out on missions, so the purple-haired one and the one in red clothes had chosen to distract him by playing hide-and-seek. He was no fool. It was clear they were trying to distract him from something else. This trick was used by his tio far too many times. Either that of painting bounties. 

But… even so… it was fun to play with the two of them. Especially if they played a strange new variation where only one would hide and the others would find him. Once one of the seeker found the one hidden, he would hide alongside the first. And so and so until the last one found everyone. Then it would become a race to the base. The first to arrive would be the next one hiding. 

It was good for practicing reflexes. That was what he always repeated to himself. But no... that was not the reason... Not really actually. He liked playing it because, for the first time... he had someone to play with. To play with and not have to fight or train. To play with and not have to be afraid of what others would think.

To play with... and not live in the shadow of four bounty hunters.

But at that moment, as he was hiding near the base he saw the purple-haired man's head rearing its head. He already knew that his hiding place had been too easy to find, but he hadn't minded...

... But when he saw the other's worried face, all the joy left his face.

The purple-haired man put his finger to his lips, in a sign to be silent, before running away. His scales peeked out of his skin, almost in warning. In fear, he gulped and dug his claws into his palms. Little by little, he crawled in complete silent near the entrance, where the base was, trying to quiet the growl in his throat. Why was he feeling defensive…? 

"... Yes, I'm sure this would be enough."

A shiver ran down his back, his hand covering his mouth. That voice... It’s... 

“Then we'll be calling you when we need them again,” he heard the blue-haired leader say. 

Almost terrified, he pulled himself to ground level and poked his head out. The legs of the young man in red were in front of him, hiding him, as a shield. At what point had he put himself there...? He didn’t know nor did he care. It still gave him enough space to see those four people.

What are they doing here...? Weren't these two groups supposed to be enemies...? And ama... wasn't he hurt...?

“By the way,” he heard his father's voice, almost in a very soft tone of voice. The air felt heavy. “Have you seen...?”

He saw his father standing there uncomfortably. It was too unusual, why was he acting that way?

“Yes...?” the blue-haired leader said.

"... No, nothing."

"Have you ever seen a young child this tall? With dark hair and scales on their skin," his tio interrupted.

His heart almost leapt out of his chest. He was even tempted to walk out. But... Why was he afraid...? Why wasn’t he moving…? 

"Hmm... A child…?”, the young man in red asked in a saccharine voice. 

“I don’t know~! Leader’s sister hasn’t come to visit us in a long time~”, the purple haired man snickered. 

“Why? Is he someone important to you?", the blue-haired leader asked. 

"What?! What are you talking about? Of course not!", his father raised his voice.

“Sounds like a relative of yours.”

"Come on! Do you think someone like that would exist? HA! If I found something like that, it would be long gone!"

... What...?

“Hey, boss...” his tio said, putting a hand on his father's shoulder.

“Let go of me! I know what I said!”

No... It wasn't true... It wasn't true... He had to be lying... No... His father... He didn't....

Once again into the darkness, not caring where he was going, he dashed down the hallway he was hiding and into one of the rooms, which turned out to be the guild library. In the complete darkness, he could hear little critter noises. 

But that wasn't enough. No, he needed to… to… 

Once he made sure the door was locked, he went deep into the depths of the place, tears running down his cheeks. It wasn't until his body had hit the back wall that he stopped. There wasn’t anywhere to go. To get rid of those words. His small fists punched the wall as he fell to his knees. Not even the little creatures that inhabited that place, little furred bats, knew what to do... 

Why… why… WHY?!

The pain in his head was huge, the big hole in the stone wall was impressive, but the tears didn’t stop. Not even when the blood fell down his forehead. 

Ama… I will never be a son to you… right? 

No one could find him for the next three days.

Rosco rested his head against Boss's chest, his eyes filled with tears, his hands slowly loosening their grip, his fingers gesturing against Boss's chest. 

I just wanted a father... Was that too much to ask...? 

Boss said nothing. He just stood frozen in front of what was happening in front of him. 

“Juned... I...”

I was always there... I always waited for you... I always looked for you… I always cared about you… Always… 

“...I wasn’t good at this...”

I didn't want you to be good... I just wanted you to be there... 

Boss remained silent. Rosco could only sob, his fists pounding lightly against Boss’s chest. The midday sun beat down on them, but neither dared to move. The weapons lay to one side, but those words had done more damage than either of them. 

A hand rose and paused above the other's head, possibly the first gesture of affection one could remember.