AFTER many rounds, Tūmbṃār was feeling bored. He had already drunk fifty mugs of mango juice and though his stomach was not that swollen, he was beginning to feel drowsy as his eyes drooped every so often. The men were playing dice together and with a small cup that Fālihaḥ had on person, they each placed bets on the value of the dice. Whoever was closest earned the money. And it seemed Sanyhaḥmān was playing quite well, with a hefty net gain which seemed unusual to Tūmbṃār for he was sure Sanyhaḥmān at the time of their meeting had lost his money through gambling.

Hirmān looked over at Tūmbṃār, and said, “Feeling bored, are we?”

Tūmbṃār broke from his daze and shook his head. Hirmān laughed and ruffled his hair through the hood. “Did you two see the army of soldiers that stood outside of the gate? I could have sworn that I saw a Drasūvayeznd, but perhaps the desert was playing tricks on me. There has been news of fugitives that escaped Trdsyḷūr into the desert with the King’s army unable to pursue them. I wonder why it is their army has come here. The fugitives have most likely perished by now.”

Tūmbṃār grew a little tense, but did his best to not show it as he drank another mug of mango juice and coughed from mugging it down too quickly.

Sanyhaḥmān responded, “Indeed, we did see it; I quite wonder if that pyramid-like form was indeed a Drasūvayeznd.”

“Yes, but in any case,” said Fālihaḥ, grinning, as he lifted the cup, “it looks like I win this time. Hand over the coins Sanyhaḥmān.”

“Ah! Just my luck,” said Sanyhaḥmān as he sighed. He had just lost all the coins he gained and a few of the Gazhigam coins. But he was fine with it, since it seemed people were aware of certain merchants bearing the coins.

“Well, I think we should call it a night,” said Zochañtam, standing. “It was quite the pleasure of having met you two. If you should ever find yourselves in the court of the lord, hesitate not to look to us. For help, advice, and friendship are welcome to you! Our gratitude for your patronage,” he said, shuffling the coins between his fingers.

Fālihaḥ then stood likewise and bowed, but Hirmān stayed and said farewell to his friends. When they left, he talked once more. “The two of them are also my cousins, though related by the tenth generation, which I suppose barely makes us related,” he said as he laughed.

“Does your heritage really matter?” said Tūmbṃār. “I’ve heard aristocrats cared a lot about that stuff, but I’m not sure why?”

Sanyhaḥmān quickly interjected by covering Tūmbṃār’s mouth, “Forgive the lad, he doesn’t know much about the aristocracy.”

Hirmān shook his head and held a gentle smile once more. “I would be happy to indulge you,” he said as he looked to the Moon that shined bright under the clear sky. “It is said that most of the aristocrats, barring few who rose from the lower castes, descend from two dynasties: The Solar of Samiztrahaḥ and the Lunar of Svyamhaḥ. Both considered the primordial Forefather and Foremother of each side’s descent, just below Ārhmanhaḥ—the Earth and Dyashuhaḥ—the Sky of whom all of us said to descend from, even the Gods. And above them, you surely know from the lectures that the Servants would tirelessly give us, that Ishvhaḥṃār is the primordial progenitor.”

He then swirled some Svyamhaḥ in his mug. “Well, you could say that the aristocrats in this city and perhaps many more are descended from this most delicious drink resting in this mug.” He downed the Svyamhaḥ and exhaled a hot breath of air. “I only know King Rṭyāshphaḥ’s line to be of the Solar lineage, but in either case, sometimes I wonder why godly descent matters all that much.

“Some hundreds of thousands of generations would have already passed since then. But even so, this heritage matters much to us, especially now because of that very link we have to the Gods. With them having abandoned us, their voices silent, I suppose one could say we stand as a greater remnant of that power that is now quickly deserting us: as a cultural reference that has kept to and administered the laws and histories from ancient times alongside the Servants. Though even now there are few aristocrats that can wield the powers; it seems to be deserting the Servants as well.” He sighed and drank down another mug brought to him. He then looked to Tūmbṃār and asked, “Does this satisfy you?”

“I guess,” said Tūmbṃār unsure. And Sanyhaḥmān apologized again, to which Hirmān dismissed. He wanted Tūmbṃār to speak his mind. “There’re many things I still don’t know, and while I understand what you’ve said, couldn’t a lot of it apply to the commoners? I know my family still has practices and ideas that’s specific to us that’s been passed down from some many generations. It’s not as if the history and practices only exist among the aristocrats.”

There was a time when he was much interested in their history and would ask Vādruhaḥ about them many times, only for his teacher to evade such questions, telling him to put his mind on training and learning the precepts of the religion. His interest only grew when he came to realize the link between them and the heroes and demi-gods of the older eras. But doubts crept in his mind since the events in Trdsyḷūr and he wondered if things should really stay as they were. And he, at that moment, seemed to understand the misgivings that Feyūnhaḥ had toward the aristocracy.

“You are sharp,” said Hirmān. “You are no doubt right, Tūmbṃār, there is no reason why the practices and history that we alone hold should be elevated above the others. But since the rigidity of the classes during the Era of Unification, the aristocrats have been the ones assigned to administer the five continents. So in as much as that is concerned, one cannot help but look at the system that now governs us, as what keeps order intact and with that, no wonder should come as to why the aristocrats would value themselves above the others. Though it is good that the Servants no longer adhere to such principles, surrendering themselves to the Gods and to the will of the people.”

This statement unnerved Sanyhaḥmān and Tūmbṃār. They hoped the incident in Viprūtaram would not occur elsewhere, though the corruption of institutions was not new. If it happened once, it would surely happen again.

“Yet whether this system is wholly good or bad is another debate, of which I think we should leave for another time. Best not to speak of such things further here,” he said, looking around himself. He then stood up and said, “What say I show you around this side of the city. The night is still young and I am not yet satisfied in spending my time with you!”

And so he grabbed both Tūmbṃār and Sanyhaḥmān and dropped some gold coins onto the table of which the waitress became even more enthusiastic over and bowed low to the three. They went there way into the lower parts of the city merry for a long time into the rest of the night.