Chapter Text
Jamil's first clear memory as a child was seeing his parents bow before the Asim Family.
Even before a five-year-old Jamil fully understood what servant or slave meant, he instinctively knew: he was below these people.
It was a brutal realization. Only strengthened by the way the Asim Head didn't even look in the Viper Family's direction, keeping his head held high as him and his first wife were paraded around high above them on elephants and other extravagant animals.
Even if the Asim Family weren't directly royalty like the Sultan, they were untouchable rulers. Both of this place and in all of the Scalding Sands. There was nowhere their wealth could not touch and influence. They existed in a completely different tier of the universe from the lowly Viper Family down here in the dirt.
Which made the sight of the Asim Head, his wives, and their many children bowing low to an altar an even stranger view.
Jamil had never seen the untouchable masters lower themselves for anything. Yet it was undeniable as he watched their foreheads bowed to the ground of this sacred, inner sanctum (one that Jamil had never been allowed in before this).
It was a jarring, contradictory image that burned itself into Jamil's young mind.
The altar his masters were bowing before was a sickeningly opulent testament to the Asim wealth. It was sculpted from a single, seamless block of pure white desert marble, intricately inlaid with shimmering lapis lazuli and rivers of hammered gold that mimicked flowing water.
Stacked high across the polished tiers were the endless offerings that Jamil's hands had helped carry: heavy silver platters overflowing with rare delicacies, crystal bowls of pomegranate seeds glistening like gemstones, honey-glazed dates dusted with precious spices, and bottles of the most expensive priceless wines and perfumes. Bunches of fragrant, imported flowers also filled the altar, leaking a cloying scent into the air.
Above it all was a giant, silk-woven tapestry of a faceless deity. It had eyes made of bright red garnet and seemed to be commanding rain to come down with the way it looked to the sky. But the rain, for some reason, was gold in color? Maybe it was supposed to be rays of sunshine?
Honestly, Jamil really didn't care. His muscles ached with a dull, throbbing exhaustion. They had done a ton of work – literal days of back-breaking preparation to make this temple look pristine for the masters and whatever overindulgent holiday they were celebrating now.
But instead of finally being allowed to rest, the Viper Family were forced to drop to their knees, pray for hours, and listen to the droning sound of the religious elder going on and on about someone called the Oasis Maker.
Jamil wasn't really paying attention, only catching a word or two. He was far more focused on trying to suppress the grumbling in his stomach. The delicacies they'd placed on the altar had already gone cold by now, but smelled no less delicious.
Of course, despite being the ones to prepare and place the food here, the servants wouldn't be allowed to touch a morsel. Only the priests. And even then, Jamil knew they would throw a ridiculous amount away. Or even burn it – like it could somehow get to whoever they were praising that way.
The absolute, agonizing unfairness of it boiled in his gut.
"Keep your forehead to the stone, Jamil," his father whispered, voice dropping into a low, heavy rasp. "Do not look up at the tapestries until the offerings have been blessed. We are not only in the presence of the masters, but of the Oasis Maker."
Jamil did what he was told, but the burning curiosity of his five-year-old brain could not be silenced.
"Father," Jamil murmured softly when they were finally allowed to leave. The masters were currently having a grand banquet, but his parents were allowed to take a short break to take Jamil and Najima to bed along with the other servant children. "Who is the Oasis Maker? Why do we have to bow to him after working all day? Is he a king?"
"He is far greater than a king, my child," his mother answered instantly. Her voice carried a quiet, warning reverence that Jamil had never heard before. "He is the god of the Asim Family. The Lord of the Oasis. The Bringer of Storms and Wealth. The Maker of our Paradise, our Sanctuary, and the only reason all of us are able to exist in the inhospitable Scalding Sands today."
Jamil's brow furrowed. His parents could see that their son was even more confused, so they sat down and began to recite the story that every Viper servant was required to memorize as soon as they'd been told.
"Centuries ago, the Great Founder of the Asim Family was but a mere humble merchant," his father explained. "He was crossing the brutal expanse of the Scalding Sands to sell his wares, but a sudden sandstorm diverted his path. He was lost, his water skins completely parched, and his camels collapsing beneath the heat. The Great Founder was on the brink of a cruel, lonely death in the sand."
Jamil's wrinkled his nose. Obviously, the Founder of the Asim Family had survived, or else Jamil wouldn’t have had masters to complain about.
Or at least they'd be different ones.
But still, Jamil dutifully asked what was expected.
"How did he survive?"
"The God of the Oasis appeared," his mother answered, voice reverent once more as her hands tightened over her stained apron. "The clouds opened up and a deity came down from above. He did not demand sacrifices or ask for the Asim Founder's soul, though it would’ve been well within his divine right. Instead, he took pity on the Great Founder’s suffering. With a simple raising of his small hand, the god made the sky itself change. Before him, it had never once rained in the Scalding Sands, but that day a great, rejuvenating flood filled the land. Before the Founder's very eyes, a colossal fountain of water and vegetation burst straight through the lifeless sands themselves. An entire, pristine oasis of water and refuge materialized beneath the Founder's feet, saving his life when all had seemed lost."
"And then," his father whispered, voice cracking with awe, as if he had seen these sights with his own eyes, "to ensure the merchant would never have to suffer poverty and risk his life in such a way again, the god clapped his hands. The rain itself transformed, each drop becoming solid gold coins from the heavens. Soon, every inch of the sands themselves were covered with wealth for miles and miles to see."
His mother sighed, suddenly looking sad.
"Then, just as quickly as he appeared, the God of the Oasis vanished. But from that storm of rain and wealth, the Asim Founder built an empire –– forever changing the fate of every individual suffering in the Scalding Sands and making it possible to live comfortably even in these extreme deserts. The Asim Founder even built this very palace in that same spot where that first oasis rose up. It's said that the altar lies upon the exact place the Founder stood as he met his god."
Jamil frowned, processing this. "What does that have to do with us?"
Both of his parents shot him a scolding look.
"Generations ago, the Viper Family was one of the many starving and dying within the sands," the father said with heavy reproach. "There was nowhere to go, leaving our ancestors dying on the streets of the Silk Road. No hope. No future. Our bloodline should've ended there. But then, the Founder of the Asim Family took us in. He shared the boundless generosity of his savior – our savior – and allowed our ancestors to help him build this very palace."
Jamil frowned. Was he really so generous? Then why were they servants?
His parents shot him a look, growing familiar with his rebellious thought process by now.
"We are not just regular servants, Jamil," his mother said gently. "The Asim Family has had many bloodlines that have served them for generations, but is only the Viper Family that he gave the greatest honor of all: to personally serve the Oasis Maker."
Jamil secretly frowned. What did that mean? Maybe it meant that their family was also responsible for cleaning this temple on top of their other duties? And no one else could help?
I already have to serve the Asim Family, Jamil complained internally. Now I have to serve this so-called god I've never seen? It's so unfair.
"To prove our loyalty and devotion to repaying our eternal debt, our ancestors bound their very souls to an unbreakable magic contract," his father continued, making Jamil freeze. "One that every family member of the Viper Family is also bound to the moment they are born."
His mother smiled wistfully. "I only married into the Viper Family, so while I am given the privilege to serve alongside your father, only those of the bloodlines are blessed to have the chance to become true servants of the Oasis Maker. We pray for the Creator of Paradise to return every single morning and every single night. Even if he is never to come, we must diligently, perfectly, protect and uphold this sanctuary to the end of time."
His mother took Jamil's hands, squeezing them proudly.
"You and Najima will continue on this grand duty of the Vipers," his mother said warmly, her voice gentle – completely oblivious to the fact that the 'blessed' chains around Jamil's neck were already beginning to choke. "Along with your grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, and all of the Viper Bloodline. And in the future, your children and your children's children."
It's not fair! Jamil wanted to scream, a desperate, unvoiced panic rippling through his small chest. I'm only five, why is my life and everything about it already decided? And now even my soul is chained!? What right did my ancestors have to trap me in the prison they chose!? I didn't choose it!
However, Jamil remained quiet. He nodded dutifully, for that is how he knew his parents wanted him to respond. He forced the suffocating resentment to be held inside his small body until his parents had finally left, needing to go back to attend to the lavish, noisy festivities dedicated to The Oasis Maker in the main complex.
Jamil laid in the dark, fingers gripping his bedsheets.
Truthfully, he didn't believe a single word about the legend.
(He didn't want to.)
Jamil knew that gods existed. He wasn't ignorant of the world's greater, ancient powers. But the historical tales of the divine were almost always of cruel and capricious beings. In every story he'd ever heard or read, the intervention of the gods largely brought ruin or suffering to mortals. Using humans as amusing pawns in their vast, celestial games. Squabbling over them like favored toys until they broke. Even seducing them one moment only to toss them aside the next, often incurring the wrath of their celestial spouse upon the victim.
If a god had really appeared before the Asim Founder, who'd merely been a starving nobody merchant at the time, there was no way the god would've just selflessly offered to help.
Not without demanding for something in return.
What if the price was the souls of the Viper Family? Jamil thought with an uneasy grimace. But Father said that the Asim Founder met the Viper Family met afterwards, so hopefully not...? Not that I believe this stupid tale!
To Jamil's hyper-analytical five-year-old mind, all of the signs pointed to the legend being completely fabricated. A convenient myth manufactured by the Asim elders to lift the prestige of their family name. To make them sound even more superior and above everyone else because they had been "chosen" by a god. A neat little story to cover up the countless crimes and suffering they must have done to amass such a ridiculous fortune.
It was a lie. A lie that now required Jamil and his family to be stuck cleaning a dusty, fake shrine for their entire lives.
His entire life.
He swallowed, trembling as he wondered if this was really it. If he would spend all of his life trapped in this oppressive palace, running chores and acting as a subservient puppet for a completely fictional altar and a completely real but spoiled and egocentric Asim Family.
Jamil wanted a life of his own – free from manufactured myths and inherited debts.
But he was a Viper.
Which meant that his life had been decided since birth.
Not even running away would work if the Viper Family truly had a contract binding their souls to the Asim Family. The contract would just drag Jamil back, choke the very breath from his lungs if he tried to rebel. Or at least, that's how most slave contracts worked from what he'd heard and seen.
You, your children, and your children's children, his mother's voice echoed in his mind. You will continue on this grand duty of the Viper Family.
What grand duty? Jamil wanted to scream at the walls. What if I don't want to?
But what would've been the point?
At best, no one would listen.
At worst, he would be punished for his treacherous, ungrateful thoughts.
Stupid Oasis Maker, Jamil thought, burying his face into the pillow. At least, in his own head, he could complain. I'm glad you're not real. If you were, I'd hate you even more.
Jamil closed his eyes, trying to sleep and forget the weight of his entire miserable life being laid out in front of him.
(Entirely oblivious to the fact that, in four years, the god he claimed to hate would drop from the sky and claim Jamil as his own.)
o0o0o0o
Four years of meticulously polishing the white marble altar and scrubbing the gold and lapis lazuli rivers did nothing to dull the quiet, white-hot resentment brewing inside of Jamil's nine-year-old chest.
The boy had spent his childhood – if you could even call it that – growing sharper, smarter, and more cynical. He was even more certain that the Oasis Maker was a fairytale used to justify his family's bondage to a spoiled, wealthy bloodline.
Making it rain gold from the sky?
What a ridiculous notion.
"Real or not, it looks like I'll be cleaning you till the day I die," Jamil hissed bitterly to the altar. As usual, it did not answer back. "An endless routine of monotony and suffocation."
This was his life.
Day in and day out.
...until the day the palace fractured its own routine.
Jamil was profoundly confused when the entire estate suddenly threw itself into a frantic, chaotic uproar. It was even on par – or perhaps even worse – than when the Sultan, who was related to the Asim Family through the First Wife's bloodline, had come to visit.
The guards were tripled, the merchants quadrupled, and the servants were being worked harder than Jamil had ever experienced in his short life. It was even more infuriating because no one would even tell Jamil why everyone was so worked up. He knew that most of the servants didn't know either, looking as nervous and clueless as he felt.
However, his parents were not among them.
Despite the hours of back-breaking work preparing endless banquets and cleaning the temple of the Oasis Maker until it literally shined, his parents didn't look exhausted.
In fact, they looked ecstatic.
On multiple occasion, Jamil had caught his mother bursting into tears of pure joy on multiple occasions – even using her tears to shine the altar. His father would suddenly fall down to his knees at any given moment, seemingly struck with the urge to pray. As if he couldn’t wait for a second longer to give praise for some unknown reason.
Jamil had begged his parents to know what was going on, but they'd just tell him it was a secret. One that Jamil wouldn't be ready to know until he was older and could be fully trusted with the weight of whatever they were keeping hidden.
I'm old enough to work, Jamil thought bitterly. But not to be trusted with a simple answer.
But there was a tension building in the palace.
A thick, humming excitement that reminded Jamil of the feeling of an incoming desert storm.
Then, one morning, Jamil was forcefully dragged into his quarters and dressed in his finest ceremonial clothing. The embroidery felt suffocatingly tight around his throat, but he didn't complain as he was marched down the long marble corridors.
They entered a room where every single member of the Viper Family was currently assembling. Even the most distant of relatives that Jamil hadn't even greeted yet. His aunts, uncles, and cousins were lined up like cattle, their faces pales and knees visibly trembling as they all simultaneously bowed low to the floor.
Jamil kept his forehead against the floor, but his analytical dark eyes slithered upward through his bangs to try and observe his surroundings.
Standing in the front of the room was the untouchable Asim Head. His posture was uncharacteristically tense as he scanned the room before returning his gaze to the throne where he usually sat.
But today, there was someone else in the throne.
Not the Sultan.
Not a ruler from another land.
Not even another highly influential businessman.
It was... a child?
A boy that looked to be around Jamil's age. The stranger was wrapped in impossibly lavish silk wraps and heavy golden ornaments that clinked with every fidget of his arms and flutter of his legs. His hair was an untamed, wild pearl grey that seemed to glow even in the daylight. They almost matched the intricate white markings or tattoos on his upper arms and biceps.
But the boy's most striking feature was his eyes.
A pair of large, brilliant crimson eyes – ones that shined even brighter than the garnets on the Oasis Maker's altar.
Why is there some random little kid in the Asim Head's seat? Jamil wondered. Whoever he is, he has to be important. Important enough to make all of the fuss from the pass few days. I hope that, whatever's going on, it's over quickly.
However, despite having to be important in some way, the child casually swung his bare legs on and off the throne, not seeming to have a hint of decorum or restraint as he looked down at the rows of bowing servants with a wide, curious eyes.
For some reason, the child's gaze made the elder members of the Viper Family stiffen further.
"To you, the one who is the future of our Asim Family, I present the Viper Family," the Asim Head spoke, his voice carrying a bizarre, fluttering mix of intense excitement, caution, and something else Jamil couldn't quite decipher. "Every member has been carefully cultivated and trained since birth to obey every command. We offer only our finest servants to anchor you, manage your life, and serve you in any and every way."
The one who is the future of the Asim Family? Jamil wondered, eyes narrowing in thought. Then... is this kid a son who's been hidden until now? If this brat is the true heir of the family, maybe they've kept him out of the public eye to protect him from assassinations, poisonings, and kidnappings? You'd think that they'd wait until he could at least act properly in public, but what do I know?
Then, to Jamil's shock and bewilderment, the Asim Elders began to crowd around the throne and eagerly point at various members of the Viper Family.
"Look at this one closely, my Lord!" one elder urged frantically, gesturing to Jamil's second eldest cousin of his third uncle. "He possess a remarkably dense, iron-clad magical core and has consistently ranked at the top of the monthly combat matches. With his Unique Magic, he will be your sword and shield to ensure that you never lift a finger should not you not wish to!"
"A mere warrior is nothing compared to the needs of administration!" another elder barked, aggressively cutting him off to gesture to Jamil's Father. "This wise servant is a master of logistics and planning! He will ensure that you not only remain anchored, my Lord, but experience all that there is for you to enjoy in this world!"
"Consider this southern branch!" a third elder chimed in with a high-pitched, desperate tone, gesturing towards a different corner. "We have cultivated three separate prodigies trained extensively in camouflage and memory modification! They are the highest grade of assets to ensure your security and protection remains absolute!"
Jamil kept his forehead pressed to the cold marble floor, teeth grinding as a familiar toxic wave of resentment flared inside of him – stronger than he could ever recall.
They're treating us like merchandise, Jamil thought, sick from the spectacle. My family, my parents, my aunts, uncles, and cousins – we're all being bartered and picked apart like cattle or common commodities on an auction block. For what? This stupid spoiled heir that's probably been pampered every second of his life already?
(What was even worse was the barely contained looks of... excitement and desperation on the faces of Jamil's Father and other members of the Viper Family.)
(His mother also looked eager, but it was a mixed with a sorrow that almost looked... envious? Wistful?)
But even as the elders continue to fight and argue over who should be chosen as the unknown brat's bodyguard or personal servant or whatever was going on here, the grey-haired child continued to carelessly swing his legs and look around curiously from upon his comically big throne.
Then, the child's gaze abruptly stopped.
Jamil couldn't see clearly given his bow... but a sudden chilling sensation went down his spine.
Is he looking at me?
Jamil didn't dare look up to check, firmly placing his gaze on the ground. Hoping that the stare would pass by like it had for all the other members of his family.
It didn't.
The boy continued to stare at Jamil with those crimson red eyes.
The Asim Head seemed to notice the sudden change in attention as well. He raised a hand, silencing the elders. The room immediately quieted, the air itself seeming to still.
"My Young Lord...?" the Asim Head asked hesitantly.
But without a single care for palace protocol or the rigid boundaries of noble presentation, the child hopped straight off the throne. His small, sun-tanned feet padded across the polished stone, everyone too shocked by his actions to even breathe.
But the child only continued to walk, wordlessly marching past the lines of towering, seasoned guardians and other 'offerings' that the elders had been trying to present.
And then... he stopped directly in front of Jamil.
A moment passed.
Jamil felt himself trembling, trying to focus on the floor instead of the feet in front of him. Even though he couldn't see it, he could almost feel that red gaze boring into him.
(Maybe even peering into his very soul.)
Then, to the shock and horror of everyone around, the child dropped to his knees right in front of Jamil.
Jamil was so dumbfounded that he couldn't help but look up, staring incredulously at the suddenly brilliantly smiling boy.
"Hi!" the boy said cheerfully. He'd been smiling before, but now? His grin seemed to stretch for miles. "I'm Kalim! What's your name?"
Jamil's mouth opened, but no sound could come out.
He could see his parents glaring at him from the corner of his eyes, beseeching him to answer with fear and barely concealed confusion in their gazes, so he swallowed and forced himself to speak.
"My name is J-Jamil Viper... Young Master."
To so-called 'Kalim' frowned at that. He took Jamil's hand, a strange electric touch jolting through Jamil's entire body as his hand was rapidly swung up and down. Jamil would call it a handshake, but if that was what this kid was trying to do, it was clear that he had no clue a handshake was only supposed to shake your hand and not your entire body.
(Somewhere inside of him, Jamil felt like something clicking into place.)
(Intertwining with his soul itself, wrapping around and around like lightning twisting around a storm cloud. It felt like... a particularly clingy hug.)
(But with no intention of letting go.)
"Just Kalim!" the boy said with a pout, breaking Jamil out of his sudden, bizarre feeling stupor. "After all, we're going to be best friends now!"
When did I agree to that!? Jamil wondered, stuck between bewilderment and outrage as he was forced to his feet with Kalim's 'handshake'.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, Kalim turned to look at the Asim Head. His probable 'father' was extremely pale, but the child didn't seem to notice. Or care maybe.
"I want this one!" Kalim said cheerfully, refusing to let go of Jamil's hand even though the 'handshake' was done. "He's a boy my age! We can play games together all day! I can tell, if it's him, I'll always have fun!"
A collective, panicked gasp ripped through the entire room.
The Asim Head, Asim Elders, other Vipers, and even Jamil's parents were frozen in an absolute, pale-faced horror. Even without knowing exactly what was going on, Jamil could tell that he was not the choice that anyone would have picked.
(Jamil wouldn't have even picked himself! He'd preferred to be as far away from the 'picking' as possible, in fact!)
"M-Might we discuss this more, my Young Lord?" the Asim Head stammered frantically, making Jamil even confused.
How spoiled was this kid for the Asim Head to be acting like this? Maybe the boy's mother was even more powerful than the Asim Head? That would make sense to cause such a reaction.
"Please allow us to... direct you to better offerings," the Asim Head continued. "This particular Viper boy is entirely too young. Too inexperienced and... unaware of the great privilege it is to serve you."
I don't want to serve your secret bastard kid either, Jamil thought, barely hiding his scowl.
"His cousin is a master of making the delicious foods you were enjoying previously," the Asim Head continued, voice coaxing like trying to get a child throwing a tantrum to calm down and be reasonable. "Or perhaps this woman here? She has acted as my personal guard for years, and her loyalty and resolve cannot be questioned–"
"I don't want a boring old guardian!" Kalim whined loudly. He crossed his arms, jutting his lip out as he dramatically pouted. "I want Jamil! If I can't have him to play with... I'm going to leave and go back home!"
In the distance, Jamil thought he could hear the crackling of a storm, but he honestly didn't care what about the weather right now. Others, however, looked to the windows with fear.
When the Asim Head didn't immediately answer, his expression still hesitant, Kalim stomped his foot - looking entirely childish and like a spoiled brat.
Lightning flashed outside simultaneously, briefly lighting up the boy's face and bright red eyes. Jamil hadn't thought it was going to rain given how clear the skies had been today, but it wouldn't be the first time the weather had unpredictable.
But for some reason, the Asim Head and other members of the room paled even further. They instantly scrambled to pacify the boy, voices mixing together as they rapidly assured Kalim that of course he could have Jamil and that the servant boy would be happy to obey and that Jamil's parents would rapidly and rigorously prepare him to be a proper servant for the young heir.
All the while, Jamil sat frozen under the child's shadow – yet again a mere bystander as his life and future were decided for him. Once again, helpless with no say or choice in the matter.
His knuckles subtly tightened against the ground. It took everything to hide the burning rage becoming even a brighter blaze inside of him. He felt like a shiny new doll, or a prized dog that this wealthy, spoiled brat could just point his small finger at and claim because he felt like throwing a tantrum.
It didn't matter that Kalim was obviously inconveniencing his father and everyone here – just that this was what he wanted. And everyone seemed to consider it their top priority to ensure the brat got what he wanted.
This is even worse than being an unwilling devotee to a fake god and having my soul bound to the Asim Family before I was even born, Jamil thought numbly. Because, at least with those, there were routines and structures that, if unfair, made sense.
But now that Jamil was suddenly saddled with this brat?
The rest of his miserable life would likely be decided and randomly changed according to this rich kid's fickle whims.
But Jamil was a Viper.
Even if the Asim Elders and his own parents apparently thought Jamil was unworthy to be Kalim's servant, he'd still been subjected to years of rigorous, brutal training. A training that, with every moment, had instilled one unescapable fact.
Jamil's desires were completely irrelevant.
Forcing the deep anger down below the sands of his mind, Jamil maintained his smooth, blank mask. He carefully brought his hand out of Kalim's grasp, took a step back, and bowed low.
"I am honored to serve you, Young Master," Jamil said smoothly, his tiny voice hollowed out of any real warmth. Every eye in the room was upon them. "I may be lacking in comparison to my esteemed family members, but I will work hard to earn your approval."
Kalim laughed. It sounded like bells on the wind. He shook his head as if Jamil was just being silly (and not being forced to swallow down what little remained of his pride and dreams).
"You're not lacking at all!" Kalim said enthusiastically. "You're perfect!"
Jamil startled at that, unable to help looking directly at Kalim in bewilderment.
But before he could apologize for his embarassing slip in decorum, Kalim grabbed Jamil's hand. He tugged the other boy towards the exit, once again not seeming to care at all about all the adults staring at them.
In the corner of his eye, Jamil noticed that the sky was clear again outside.
Must've been a quick storm, Jamil thought before grimacing. If only this storm in front of me was the same.
"Let's go to the kitchen!" Kalim urged excitedly, somehow not retching or complaining about how dirty the servant's hand was like other noble kids that Jamil had been forced to interact with. "They have super tasty snacks I've never tried before! I know you'll love them! What kind of food do you like? I want to try every flavor this world has to offer–"
Jamil swallowed, barely able to keep up with his new master's tugging.
(A tugging that almost seemed to echo in his chest.)
As they made their way across the room, Jamil tried to ignore the cautious, displeased, and even envious eyes of the Asim Head, Elders, and his relatives. Inwardly he was screaming for someone to stop Kalim – to somehow convince the spoiled brat that Jamil wasn't a good fit for being his servant. He desperately wanted an adult to step forward – to put their foot down and remind Kalim that, even if he was the new Heir of the Asim Family, that he couldn't have everything he wanted.
But no one did.
Only Najima looked at her Big Brother in amazement. Then she smiled widely, her missing baby tooth showing a gap as she subtly waved goodbye – as if Jamil had just made a new friend and gone to play like she would do with her friends after her chores were done.
Jamil was unable to respond as he was pulled through the doorways, warding off a headache as he tried to process the young heir's non-stop nonsensical rambling. The Viper inwardly sighed, hoping that this... Kalim Al-Asim would grow tired of Jamil fast and dismiss him before long.
Until then, Jamil would have to dutifully follow.
(Completely unaware that his lifetime of denial and cosmic headaches had just begun...)