“It gets that bad?” Rowan asked.

Petty things for now, but as time goes on, I would not be surprised to see, rape and murder among the disgruntled people. You would sometimes be surprised by the amount of darkness in the hearts of men.”

Circe broke open the new bottle of wine and began taking small sips, “Besides, you’re Erohim. Who am I to go against your wishes?” she looked at side eyed.

Rowan looked at her, as he slowly released the pressure he always kept inside, his Serpentine gaze became as sharp as razors and a formless aura arose from his body, something unknown and mysterious.

Circe felt goosebumps began rising on her skin, as a tingle ran down her spine, as if a long scaly tongue was running down her skin, the sensation was so unnerving that it was all she could do not to run.

Rowan began speaking in Medan, no longer using the native tongue of Jarkarr, his voice was deep, and it flowed like music, and any mortal that heard him would have been entranced before shortly dying as their meager Spirit burned out.

“I speak to you with no falsehood. You can have my word on this Circe Boreas. I have no quarrel with you and yours. My enemies are not yours, except if you wish to add yourself to their number.”

Circe shivered and seized his wine bottle, and now she held two bottles, eyeing him in provocation, “I would be a fool to act against you… at this time. I may not understand the reason you are taking some of your actions, but as long as I’m assured that you have no intent to cause harm to me and my people, then I seek no quarrel with you. Yet, I have to ask, how do you learn to speak Medan like that?”

This time, when she spoke, it was in a foreign language that he automatically understood due to his language mastery.

Rowan was surprised that this Trait—Language Mastery, was not lost along with his Soul. This ability to understand every language was always a source of deep confusion for him, how could he have acquired this trait?

Over time, as he acquired more experience about his powers and bloodlines, he began to refine his previous speculations and discard the ones that were now wrong with the present evidence he had on hand.

The first was his Language Mastery and the second was his unnatural healing and Constitution, that he had first assigned to his Ouroboros bloodline, well before he activated that technique.

For the Language Mastery, he knew that it was not linked to his Soul but his Bloodline, but the question was, whose?

Rowan had this trait even before he activated any bloodline, then it could only mean he was able to understand every language because he inherited this trait from either his father or mother, as they were the only source of bloodline in his body at the time.

But the Kuranes bloodline had nothing related to Language Mastery or Rapid healing and Constitution. What about his mother?

A mother he had no memory of but a face.

” . . .”

These words that came with the picture, must have its meaning.

Or his father, that fat spider waiting for his prey while sitting in the middle of his web.

Why have I never tried drawing you, what would you show me?

Yet Rowan had a fear that even if he drew him, his lack of a Soul would be a hindrance to truly understand what was hidden behind the facade of this man.

Rowan replied in the same language she used, “I spoke, so you would see the sincerity in my words. See, even the Aether here sees the truth in my words. I learned Medan the same way you did, but clearly that’s not what you are referring to.”

Circe gave a frustrated laugh, “I can sense the resonance in the Aether. But, forget it. I never told you about the rest of the Tales of Erohim.”

Rowan smiled, “Well, you are not a great storyteller, only a good one. I can allow certain discretion towards your failures, given your poor skills.”

Circe laughed and snorted, “yeah, I have always run from the excellence everyone else says I’m capable of, it always seemed like too much work. Too many responsibilities… Too many chances to fail…”

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Rowan grinned and brought out another wine and opened it, “I have never failed before.”

“Take that awful smirk off your face before I smack it off.” Circe growled before she began laughing, the look on her face was clearly surprised that she could become so calm when she began talking to him.

Strip away the Aura he gave off that he seemed not to be even aware of, the sheer power his every unconscious move dictated, and then he was just someone, who had an unhealthy love for alcohol.

Somehow this fact made her even more frightened. She did not fear the madman or psychopath who could kill and destroy with no emotions behind it. What she truly dreaded was a normal man who was capable of doing horrifying things when the situation called for it.

Rowan looked at her, “You are getting drunk, and with this in your present state, you may become a great storyteller if you don’t watch yourself.”

“Why is your wine always so good?”

“The company!”

“Bah! Anyway, where was I. Oh yes, the journey of a husband to save his wife from her conjugal distress because of extensive labor”

“if you put it that way…”

“hush now and let me finish.”

“The floor is yours, storyteller.”

“Good.” Circe settled and cleared her throat as she became serious, “It is said that the journey took ten thousand years for Orum to return to his wife, but by then it was already too late. He heard her cries from afar, and he burned his soul to return, his glory burning so bright that a part of the Universe did not see darkness for a long time after he had passed.”

“He was still too slow, and his journey was too long. For although Erohim had remained inside the womb of his mother, he was beloved by both the sun and the moon, and his strength was great, they had both given him the best parts of their Divinity.”

“Meanwhile in the world below, every man and beast on the surface of the earth began to perish, for Orum had taken away his light as he journeyed to find his father, and even if Ganesha gave all the light she could to the world below. It was simply not enough.”

“The last living beings in the world died, their passage heralded by the cries of a weeping moon.”

Circe paused, something about this part of the story seemed to resonate with her, nevertheless, she cleared her throat and continued.

“Erohim knew nothing of this. Every action of his was an endless struggle to escape his confinement, and his mother’s cries of pain could be heard all over the universe, as she tried to soothe the child, but Erohim was still young and did not understand restraint. In their joy of conceiving a child, they had made a mistake and given him too much of their strength, especially Ganesha.”

“With a massive heave from his hands, Erohim tore his mother apart from the inside, spilling her lifeblood upon the dead world. The ever cries of his mother who had been with him all this while faded, and It was at that moment that Erohim understood what he had done. He cried for a thousand years and his tears were like burning drops of diamonds and sprayed all over the world, bringing light.”