( And if he does, what of it? Children are sweet, docile, hopeful things, fertile ground for growth and opportunity. A new chance for an improved generation. Why is it so many find fault in wishing to protect the future?

He does not trouble himself to contradict Mo Ran, does not put him in place. Searches him with eyes cold and molten and lightly feverish, heat catching and alighting his flesh, as they sink underneath and finally, finally stumble before the quarters of the sleeper. Chains, rattling. Inscriptions. A storm of ashes and the stench of burning. )

If they allow it. Should I not? ( Head held high, chin arrogantly pointed. What little majesty the clan names his birthright, exhibited in increments. ) Would you not?

( Even a young man so... arrogant requires an heir. )