Kadar's eyes were alight with passion when he spoke of his adventures in the South. His hands moved fluidly through the air with each description; stories punctuated by laughter or a grin too wide to speak through.
Altaïr watched as the tension drained from Malik's shoulders. He took in the sudden appearance of his brother first with surprise, then relief, and now a calm that seemed to lull him into speechlessness. They sat on the floor in the center of the room, leaving Altaïr to his bed in the corner, all but forgotten.
"Our letter from Masyaf arrived only a day after the first attack," Kadar explained when pressed for details. "But we were in Acre by then, and still loaded down with books to be delivered to the Jerusalem bureau." He jumped abruptly. "I nearly forgot! I brought you something… Rauf as well."
Malik spared a quick look to Altaïr while his brother fished around inside a bulky cloth sac. It was the only new item to have appeared since Altaïr was last inside the room, and he reassessed his surroundings more carefully; the mess, the piles of books, the discarded weapons. Rauf had never been eager to bury his head in written words, and he certainly would never think to clean up after someone else. Altaïr realized uneasily that this was now more Rauf and Kadar's room than it was his and Malik's.
"Here it is," Kadar said, tugging a large, leather-bound book into view and proffering it to his brother. "The Historia Regum BritanniaebyGeoffrey of Monmouth."
Altaïr made a face, and he caught the puzzled look that Malik quickly hid behind a smile. He was not the only one, and Kadar laughed it off easily. "It is not so boring as it sounds. I translated one of them already." He slid a finger along the edge of the pages until it caught on a protruding piece of cloth, slipping the pad of his thumb inside to pull the book open to the right place. "The legend of King Arthur. I thought it would be one you might like."
"I have never heard of it," Malik said, intent on the pieces of loose parchment in which his brother's carefully translated words stood in lopsided lines.
"He was once King of Britain, touched by magic and the love of a most beautiful woman." Kadar waggled his eyebrows at Malik's huff. "My description does not do it justice. There is tragedy towards the end, though I will not reveal any more before you've had a chance to read the text for yourself."
"Good of you. What of the magic?"
"He keeps a wizard as councilor, and a magic sword at his side always. Excalibur which he pulled out of stone to prove himself a King and was later thrown into the water upon his death."
Altaïr felt a stab of annoyance at the unencumbered curiosity taking root in Malik's eyes. The brothers were bent towards each other, as though to hatch some conspiracy. A single word of swords from the lips of his brother and I am worth less than a feather molted off a dying eagle, he thought bitterly.
"Why into the water?" Malik asked, oblivious to the dark thoughts of his friend.
"His knights feared it would fall into the wrong hands, so they gave it to a witch who hid it beneath the waves. Lost forever."
Altaïr snorted, and both brothers turned to him sharply. Malik fixed him with a glare, and Altaïr met the look with a challenge of his own. You cannot ask me to leave you alone. Not until we have properly spoken. Kadar at least had the decency to look embarrassed. "My apologies, Altaïr. We should turn the subject onto more common areas of interest. What of Adha?"
"Departed with Saladin," Altaïr replied. "To give word on his movements and warn us should he seek to return for more blood."
Kadar frowned. "That is… unsettling. Will she be all right?"
"Yes," Altaïr snapped, and he saw Malik grimace at his tone. "Her task is only to spy and report," he continued more calmly. "She is well equipped for such. Mentally and physically."
Kadar seemed to chew on his words, fingers twisting anxiously on his lap. "If I had known, I might have taken a detour to see her. Just to be sure."
"Tell me of the bureaus," Malik cut in abruptly, turning away from Altaïr. His shoulders were back to their original stiffness, though Altaïr doubted it had anything to do with him this time.
Kadar seized upon the distraction with a rush of breath. "There were many and more. Some were quiet and barely standing, others had walls thick as the fortress and enough Brothers to overrun a city. In Acre I had only a hour's rest each night before a new problem would require my attention. An Informant would arrive with fresh news from the harbor, or else a Brother would stumble inside near-death. Jabal was the bureau leader there, and he was like a man possessed. I complain of lack of sleep, but I don't think he gets any at all.
The bureaus were all hidden in plain sight and invisible to the common people. Men would walk in front of our door at night and speak in whispers, thinking themselves in an abandoned alley or deadened street corner. I heard such scandals of debauchery that would have you laughing just to hint at them." Kadar gripped his brother's arm tightly. "And we had nearly reached Haifa, Malik. Do you remember it?" His gaze turned wistful.
Malik's mouth twitched in annoyance. "I remember it as it was eight years ago."
"We must return there some time soon," Kadar urged giddily. "I wonder if our old home still stands. The graves–"
Malik shot a quick glance to Altaïr, expression stricken. "No. Yosef took us away from that place." There was something urgent about his tone that Altaïr could not decipher. "Our father wanted to bring us here because nothing of our old life remains."
Kadar seemed to pick up on it as well, and he backtracked quickly. "I only meant that… we could revisit the city, and the old markets," he fumbled, and an awkward silence gripped the room. Altaïr looked between them skeptically. "I wonder if they still sell smoked fish by the docks," Kadar finished lamely.
"That was always your favorite," Malik said softly, and some of the tension drained away.
There was a loud knock at the door, startling the three of them shamefully. "Altaïr!" barked a voice from right outside. Altaïr made no answer, and there were three swift kicks to the base of their door. "Altaïr!" they insisted.
Malik and Kadar were staring at him expectantly, though Kadar's look was more curious where Malik's was stubbornly accusing. How was I to know a banshee would come calling? Altaïr was sorely tempted to ignore the summons, but he doubted their old wooded door would survive much more abuse, and he could see Malik's patience wearing dangerously thin. Never a good sign.
Altaïr opened the door just as a fist came careening towards the frame. Jamal stood in their doorway, looking sour. "I heard you the first time," Altaïr snarled, taking care to block Jamal's view into the room. "What do you want?"
The skinny boy set his shoulders. "I have a message."
"From who?"
"From Abbas."
Altaïr paused, unsure of how to react. Abbas had been locked inside his cell for nearly a week since the incident in the courtyard, and there was no word yet on how long Abbas' sentence in the dungeons would last. Attacking a Brother was a serious crime, in direct violation of the Three Tenants, and Altaïr did not relish the punishments it entailed. Masters who betrayed their Brothers out of cowardice or greed were sometimes put to death. Or worse. Altaïr did not wish to have this conversation in front of his friends, and he exited the room completely, shutting the door behind him. He gave Jamal what he hoped was his most threatening glare. "Well? Spit it out."
Jamal smirked. He's caught sight of my curiosity and now he'll want to bargain, Altaïr thought scathingly. And I'll break his fingers when he tries."Your lip is healing well, Altaïr," Jamal said. "The scar is a definite improvement to the mule's face you used to have."
Altaïr stared at him. Or maybe he's just too stupid to realize the opportunity."What does the traitor want?" Altaïr pressed, willing to let the insult slide if it meant hearing the message without getting his hands dirty.
"Abbas wishes for several things," Jamal said, his voice dropping to a more business-like tone. "First, he wishes for your health. Second, your happiness." Jamal paused, and Altaïr knew from the look of pained concentration on his face, Jamal was quoting Abbas' words precisely. "And third, Abbas wants you to know that at the moment your happiness reaches its peak, when you have everything a man could desire and everything to lose, he will be waiting to take it all from you. As you did him."
XxXxX
The Christian knights had moved further North.
They'd crept up some time during the night and set up camp outside the outer walls of Masyaf. To the dismay of the many villagers living under the protection of the Assassins, this could only mean one thing. The Christians were closing in on the Fortress, spurned by the growing threat of Saladin's Muslim army and the seemingly unpredictable will of the Order.
Despite rumors of heated arguments in the Grand Master's private library, Al Mualim would not consent to taking bold action against the invaders. Instead he had organized a small rotating cell of scouts and watches around the village's borders to keep abreast of any further developments.
It made sense, Malik reasoned, to use these bumbling fools as a source for information on the capital. Birds baring news from Jerusalem were few and far between, and with the threat of war looming on the horizon once again, fresh information was vital.
Altaïr, Malik, Abbas and Adha would have made up the first group of scouts. They were the most advanced trainees for their age and had already taken on such assignments in the past. However, Abbas was still confined to his cell, and Adha had been sent away from them. Malik had cornered the Master in charge of dispatching the scouts with a single-minded efficiency. Kadar should come with them as a replacement; it would be a good opportunity for him to see the enemy first hand, and he would learn plenty in the presence of two Apprentice Assassins. The Master had agreed so long as an Instructor went along as well.
And so late the next day, as their group took a meandering route towards their target position, Kadar led the way with optimistic chatter, with Malik at his side and Rauf just behind. Altaïr took up the rear, a silent, brooding presence ever since his conversation with Jamal the day before.
They reached the outskirts of the village and relieved the Brothers already on duty, exchanging a few bits of advice in passing.
"Watch out for the smell," one of them warned. "Be sure to hold your breath should an easterly wind blow in."
It turned out to be fairly uneventful. For the first hour they were stubbornly vigilant, keeping to their positions and hardly speaking a word. The second hour was filled with stifled complaints and Kadar's endless fidgeting. By the third hour they had given up their rigid discipline, opting instead to elect a member of the team as watch for fifteen minutes at a time while the others huddled in the shade of a leaning tree.
The grass was dry and prickly, but it felt good to sit down, and Malik basked in the boundless contentment at seeing his brother so nearby. Kadar sat with his back to the rough bark, eyes watching the slow current of clouds across the sky. Rauf was sprawled out between them, and if it weren't for his occasional snickering, Malik might have believed him to be asleep. Altaïr had volunteered to take the first watch. He stood stock-still against the tiny puffs of breeze that drifted past, rustling his robes and the stray hairs peaking out from beneath his cowl.
Malik knew things were still dangerously strained between them. He anticipated their stilted conversations and lingering, loaded looks; the awkward tension that had accumulated to near unbearable measures in the days leading up to the incident. He understood the consequences of his actions, and how his feelings could betray him at any time if he didn't squash them immediately.
He had fully expected for Altaïr to resist this. To continue to pursue their non-existent flirtation until somebody discovered them and gave them over to Al Mualim. Malik felt a cold horror grip him at the thought. They would be stoned on the street with commoners cursing their souls, and he would have to cut himself off from Altaïr completely in order to avoid such an inevitability.
But Altaïr hadn't spoken a word to him since the incident with Jamal, despite Malik's questioning gaze upon his return. Malik had bitten his tongue around the questions he immediately wished to ask, settling instead for the vague and dismissive answers that his brother's polite inquiries elicited. Altaïr had paced their room for a few minutes, radiating anger and frustration, then he'd fled, rejoining them only a few seconds before they'd left the main gates.
Malik's watch passed without occurrence, and he hardly noticed as the time trickled by. The knights and squires spent the day picking their teeth and spitting into the accumulating mud. Their horses whinnied and their laundry line collapsed. A thick-chinned knight and his tittering friend stole extra rations from the supply tent, while three stable-hands threw dice onto an overturned chest. If they were receiving any messages from their King in Jerusalem, it was certainly not announced to anyone in sight. The command tent remained securely closed, and no letters passed inside as far as Malik could tell.
When he returned to their shaded spot at the end of his shift, Altaïr strode past him without a glance. Rauf looked up lazily from his spot on the ground. "I thought it was my turn after yours," he said.
"It was," Malik confirmed, watching as Altaïr returned to his silent vigil.
Rauf dropped his head back onto the grass, clearly content to let Altaïr do his work for him.
"Do you think he will do mine as well?" Kadar asked.
Rauf scoffed. "Absolutely not. Why would he do that?"
"Well, why is he doing it for you?"
"Because he likes me." Rauf said. "And here I thought everyone knew. Worst kept secret in all of Masyaf."
Kadar pulled up a clump of grass and sprinkled it over Rauf's face. "Are you so sure of that, Brother? I would think you were a bit low on the ladder for the Great Eagle."
Rauf scowled, blowing blades of grass out of his mouth. "That just proves how long you've been away."
There was a rustle in the bushes to their right, and two older Brothers strode into their little clearing. Malik recognized one of them; Fahd or Faheem, he couldn't quite remember. "You are relieved of your duties here," Fah-something said, voice projecting enough to include Altaïr.
"We were told to stay in groups of four," Malik interjected.
"Then two of you will remain with us," the other Brother countered easily.
Malik nodded stiffly. "Rauf, would you mind staying here?" he asked. "I still have much to discuss with my brother."
"Go ahead. I am comfortable here anyway." Rauf shot a glare at Kadar. "Certainly more so without the threat of dirt falling into my eyes."
Kadar ignored him, turning to his brother with a pleading look that made Malik brace for what he knew immediately would be an unwanted request. "But Malik, this will be my first real mission since I left with Rashid. I would see it through."
Malik doubted his brother saw any real credibility in a simple scouting mission, and knew this was more likely a clever way for his brother to get out of answering more questions about his travels in the South. I'm his older brother, Malik thought defensively. My duty is to look after him and make sure he avoids trouble.
"You and Altaïr can go back," Kadar continued. "Unless the Great Eagle cannot bare to be parted from Rauf for even a moment."
"You would do better to spend less time thinking up nicknames and more time learning by example," Altaïr ground out, tramping back into view.
Kadar immediately clammed up, and Malik was left with no choice but to leave the clearing behind to follow Altaïr up the sloping path to the fortress. They were moving at an uncomfortably fast pace, and by the time the main gates came into view Malik's heart was pounding painfully inside his chest.
"Slow down," Malik demanded.
Altaïr's stride eased only fractionally, just enough to allow Malik to catch up before taking off again. They were past the gates and quickly covering the courtyard's quiet expanse.
"Where are you rushing off to?" Malik asked, unable to heed his own advice and subdue his desire for answers. His treacherous need to know what could possibly have Altaïr in such a state of unease was gripping his mind with a complete disregard for common sense. He could be in danger. He refuses to look me in the eye. . He could have put us all in danger…
"Nowhere. I just need to think."
Malik laughed breathlessly before he could catch himself. "Think? Have I died and gone to Heaven? For once, he thinks before he acts." Malik sobered at the idea. "Does this have anything to do with Jamal?"
"Yes. No. Jamal is an imbecile."
"Normally I would agree, except it seems he's managed to make you quite angry this time."
Altaïr stopped in his tracks, turning to face Malik in the deserted corridor. He rubbed anxiously at his face before speaking. "Can we go somewhere private?" he asked quietly, and Malik couldn't help the sudden knots tying themselves around his stomach. "Just to talk," Altaïr clarified quickly, as though he'd read Malik's thoughts.
"Where?" Malik asked, surprised at how steady his voice sounded.
Altaïr didn't reply, inclining his head instead towards a narrow set of steps to their left. They made their way up the stairs at a more reasonable pace, and Malik followed without comment as Altaïr led them through a complicated series of passageways Malik had never seen before. The South Tower, Malik guessed, once they'd passed a window that looked out across the mountains. I didn't know anyone still used this part of the Fortress.
Altaïr eventually came to a halt in front of an unmarked door, its unremarkable surface only slightly bent with age. Malik studied it carefully, though he knew at a glance that he'd never laid eyes on it before. Altaïr looked nervous as he placed a hand on the curved handle, and Malik stood fascinated and intrigued by this sudden shyness.
What lay beyond came as a slight disappointment. It was an old bedroom, abandoned, if the layer of dust were any indication, with an empty cabinet left partially open and a scabbard dotted with rust hanging from the wall. There was a stuffed bed against the far corner, the only window in the room casting shadows across the pillows.
"Whose room is this?" Malik asked, walking over to the scabbard to touch its faded engravings.
Altaïr stayed rooted to the spot, watching him. "I never knew."
"A Master's quarters," Malik judged, indicating the single bed.
"Yes, I suppose."
Malik turned back to his friend, determined to finish his inquiry despite the thrum of something else that pervaded the room. "What did Jamal say to you?"
Altaïr didn't answer right away, his gaze unwavering now as it followed the curve of Malik's mouth, then fell lower over his chest. And lower. "Nothing. He reminded me of my priorities."
Malik felt dizzy, wishing he had something in his hands with which to occupy himself. To distract from the growing look of hunger on Altaïr's face. "Your priorities?" Malik asked thickly.
"I want to talk about what happened." Altaïr's eyes were back on his, fierce and challenging as he took a deliberate step forward.
"What–? No, Altaïr. That is done."
"We cannot be done. We never even began."
Malik raised a hand between them, and immediately regretted the symmetry it drew to their last encounter. "There is nothing to begin," he insisted.
Altaïr grinned, and Malik could remember the feel of that smile as it pressed against his skin. "Nothing is true, everything is permitted."
Malik let out a frustrated sigh, curling his hand into a fist and bumping it against Altaïr's chest. "But it is true. What I feel for you is true, Altaïr, and it will never be permitted. Not by Allah, or Al Mualim, or anyone."
Altaïr's gaze was intense, searching Malik's face. There was a question there, but Malik did not wish to dwell on it any longer. He returned the stare, hoping his friend would see the sincerity in his eyes. And then, all of a sudden, Altaïr's lips were back, pushing firmly against his and sending dizzying heat straight to Malik's head. When they parted for breath it was by increments, eventually giving enough space to see into each other's eyes.
"If you want me to stop, push me aside," Altaïr whispered. "We will forget what passed between us, then and now." When Malik said nothing, he brushed his mouth against the hollow of his temple. "Or now." He traced the line of Malik's cheekbone. "Or now." His lips returned to Malik's. "Or–"
Malik reached up and pulled him down, and the rest of his words were swallowed into Malik's mouth. Altaïr kissed him carefully, but it wasn't gentleness Malik wanted, not now, not after all this time, and Malik knotted his fists in Altaïr's robes, pulling him harder against his chest.
Malik felt a bump against his calf as they backed into the bed, and he spared a thought to wonder how they had maneuvered so quickly. "Please," Altaïr whispered into his mouth, and the thought was swept aside. "We can forgo words…Just for tonight–" They fell together onto the old mattress, and he was on top of Malik now, squeezing his wrists and nudging his legs apart with his knee. "Please, Malik."
It was rare enough to hear Altaïr ask for anything, and Malik knew that should he refuse, the request would not be put to him again. But he could not fathom any words of protest, even false ones, and he buried shaking fingers into light brown hair, tugging the body above him closer and gripping Altaïr's legs between his own.
A soft sound of pleasure vibrated from his lips, and he found himself surrendering to the hot wet heat of Altaïr's mouth once again. It was as though a dam had broken, and every bit of anger and desperation Altaïr kept locked tightly inside was poured forth, pushing his tongue into Malik's open mouth, teeth biting ruthlessly at his lower lip.
"I've wanted you so much," Altaïr panted, thumb tracing his jaw. "So much…"
They shed their robes with hasty inelegance, falling against one another and laughing breathlessly. Malik caught Altaïr's hand as it smoothed over his shoulder, now bare, turning it to face the palm inwards and pressing soft open-mouthed kisses down his wrist. Heat flared through his body as Altaïr moaned at the simple gesture, shifting closer until they were melded together once again. Altaïr's face descended to his throat, teeth biting at his skin, making its way down to his chest as Malik heaved, panting.
The heat that had begun as a slow simmer was now burning its way through Malik's body, set alight wherever Altaïr touched. Malik moaned as a rough tongue ran over one stiffened nipple. There was nothing in the world that could render him so helpless. He was writhing and shaking.
Altaïr looked up then, eyes intent. His face was flushed, hair wild and lips bruised. He was panting, staring down at Malik in fascination. Malik bit at his lower lip to keep from speaking, holding the gaze in silent command.
Altaïr yielded, lowing his head and biting into Malik's shoulder sharply. He moved further down, as though spurned by the noises each graze of teeth enticed. "Every day I think of doing this…" he growled against Malik's stomach. "And every night." He slid back up, meeting Malik's half lidded gaze with his own. "Do you see what you do to me?" Altaïr ground their hips together. "Do you?"
One of Malik's hands tightened against Altaïr's hip while the other slid to his jaw; pulling their faces together and kissing him harder than ever, tongues tangling, teeth clicking. He was pushing them both further into the bed, sliding their hips in a frantic pace, breaths coming out quick and uneven.
The heat grew unbearable as they clung on to each other, kissing fiercely, until finally the world evaporated and a glorious sensation washed over them, leaving them shaking against one another and gripping at skin hard enough to bruise.
They collapsed together, slick and panting, the air around them humming with the aftermath of what had happened.
"Malik," Altaïr breathed, resting his head against Malik's chest, their bodies still entwined and yet perfectly comfortable.
Malik watched as Altaïr's eyes drifted closed, a deep sleep taking hold. He was clinging to Malik as though he were afraid he might flee. Why would I wish to escape, Altaïr, when I finally have you? Malik thought dazedly. His fingers tangled back into Altaïr's hair, cut short for convenience but still clinging to sweat. Malik hesitated for a moment, unsure, then leaned in to kiss him; his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, anywhere he could reach.
Malik breathed deeply, and watched as Altaïr's head rose and fell with each fill of his lungs. He felt sated on heat and pleasure and a foreign sense of contentment he hadn't known himself capable of feeling. He tightened his arms around Altaïr's waist, drifting into a dreamless sleep.
XxXxX
Jamal's steady breaths at his back irked him, and it was with no small measure of relief that they finally reached the entrance to the dungeon. Jamal swayed from foot to foot at the door, hesitating for a moment before fitting a rust-incrusted key into the lock. The door produced an earsplitting shriek as its hinges rotated and slid in place, allowing for a small gap large enough to enter. Jamal touched his torch to the standing lamp inside, flooding their immediate area with a weak, flickering light. Altaïr stepped aside to allow Jamal his quick retreat back up the steps, not once looking back. Altaïr couldn't blame him for his eager flight. The short, tight corridors of the lower levels made his mind turn to desperate places, and the urge to get out and back into the fresh air was overwhelming.
He forced himself to step forward. There was barely enough light to see his own hands in front of him, but he knew he was close. Just a few more paces and he would see the fires outside the cells.
There were sounds coming from up ahead; a hacking cough which echoed across the walls, and the faint slap of wet clothes on stone.
"Who is it? Who's there?" The voice coming from the cell nearest him was strained and rough, the words provoking another cough. "Is that you, Altaïr? Come closer."
Altaïr took a tentative step closer, automatically adjusting his pace so as to make as little noise as possible. He aligned his body with the row of lamps along the wall, putting the fire's glare between himself and the cells beyond.
"Jamal told me he would deliver you to me. It took him days. Three days. But here you are at last. Step into the light so that I can see your face."
Altaïr drew himself up. "I have come only to deliver a message."
There was clamoring from somewhere inside, and Abbas appeared at the bars of his cell, knuckles white against the old steel and eyes searching blindly for what lay beyond his little fire. "Come closer, coward! Or did my blade disfigure you so terribly as to shame you forever!"
Altaïr advanced, closing the distance in one quick stride and startling its only inhabitant badly. Abbas chocked and withdrew his hands.
"I have come only to deliver a message," he repeated, quietly this time. "Know this, Abbas. I have only three wishes." Abbas' eyes widened as he recognized his own words. "First, for your health. Second, for your happiness. And third," he paused, delighting in the way Abbas' breath hitched. "I wish for you to understand that if at any time your health or happiness should interfere with my own, I will take them away from you.
"And you will have nothing."
XxXxX
A/N: Feels so good to be pulling all the plot strings together. This is a fucking Persian rug of a story, guys. I didn't think it would get this crazy when I set out, but I made myself a road map during the hiatus (which is actually less a map now and more a bible). Wish I could share all the juicy bits right away. But then no one would put up with the actual story. Kudos to the readers who've already picked up on one of the (hopefully not too subtle) sub-plots.
Reviews:
Blahdeedah: I accept your proposal under one condition; that we have matching gowns of pale green silk and a weeping willow as our officiator. We will make sweet sweet fanfic under the stars and drink a sip of wine each anniversary, fermenting as each year goes by and culminating to perfection on our shared death bed. Good Lord. Okay. Miyazaki is brilliant! I love his slow descriptive style; it's really compelling and magical. And yes, yes, yes, I think it's silly when stories like this don't confront homophobia. It's an easy/obvious plot device that is both realistic and expected LOL. I hope you liked this chapter, my love! Simply Anonymous: Irfan is a tricky bastard. His motivations are complicated and as of yet undisclosed! Thanks for the review. Zino: Haha Kadar's not so much a cockblock anymore after this chapter :) You're right to be suspicious of Irfan; he's generally up to no good. Thanks for the review! Galen Hithwen: I love writing the dialogue, I find it's the best way to describe their relationships and emotions. Definitely gets the point across without having to over-analyze or explain each thought. My readers are smart enough to read between the lines, tyvm! Irfan gets his just deserts, maybe not right away, but eventually. Scouts honor! Arielsabik101: YES, KADAR IS BACK. Hopefully this chapter showed him in satisfactory amounts. I find him tricky to write because he approaches Malik and Altair at completely different angles than they do each other o_O But I enjoyed the challenge, and you can look forward to more Kadar in the future! Thanks for the review :) Azurenaddou: I'm really glad you decided to review as well :) It's great to hear from readers who've been with me since the beginning. I thought maybe I'd lost you guys during the hiatus D: I hope you liked this chapter just as much as the others! Nekokoa: Thank you for the compliments :) I love adding those little details because I want you guys to see exactly what I'm seeing. Sometimes it takes forever though, and when I can't get it just right I tend to leave it alone for a couple days –shot-. Right now Alty, Malik, Rauf and co. are 17, Kadar is 14. Hope that helps! Iserial: Oh yikes, I hope this chapter makes you feel better! You can hold Kadar and Rauf all you want, but I don't think Alty and Malik would agree to being manhandled (unless by each other). Thanks for the review! jpgFury: Haha you asked for homoerotic, and here it is :) The research is definitely my favorite part, though it tends to be the most time consuming. Thanks for the review! EliteEspada: *tips hat* Thank you and I hope this chapter lived up to your praise :)