Momon's laughter lingered long after
Brenner and the boy had been dismissed.
It rolled low in his chest, rough and pleased, echoing faintly through the stone hall like distant thunder.
Turak did not laugh.
He stood beside the Spirit Stone, arms folded, silver markings dimming as his spirit circulation slowed. His eyes followed the great doors long after they had closed.
"You should have ended him," Turak said calmly.
Momon glanced sideways. "Hm?"
"He is unknown," Turak continued.
"There is weight in him — buried, but present. Those are not the kinds of men who live quiet lives."
Momon leaned back in his throne, broad fingers drumming lazily on the stone arm.
"And yet," he said, "he didn't fold."
Turak's gaze sharpened. "He has no training. No spirit circulation. No markings. He doesn't even know what he is."
"That's what makes it interesting."
Turak exhaled slowly. "What makes it dangerous."
Momon's grin returned — wide, unapologetic.
"I meant what I said," he replied. "If he becomes a threat, I will crush him myself."
He rolled his shoulder once, as if already imagining the weight of such a fight.
"But if he grows strong?" Momon continued, eyes brightening. "Then maybe I finally get a sparring partner who doesn't shatter after three exchanges."
Turak clicked his tongue softly. "You really are impossible."
"I wonder how best to go about his training so he can grow stronger," Momon said excitedly, a wide grin stretching across his face. "Should I allow him to train with the others his age in the Training Hall? I can't wait to see how strong he'll become."
Turak's expression darkened slightly.
"The village will tolerate a rescued stranger," he said slowly. "But training him? Letting him enter the Training Hall is different. Parents will ask questions. The elders will resist. And the shaman will not be pleased."
Momon leaned forward.
"That," he said, "is the real problem."
He stared toward the Spirit Stone, its faint light reflecting in his eyes.
"He is young. Untouched by spirit arts. That means he can be shaped — cleanly."
Turak frowned. "And if he refuses?"
Momon's smile thinned.
"Then he leaves," he said simply. "Or he dies."
Turak let out a slow sigh.
"I doubt the elders and the shaman will ever agree to his training."
Momon's grin did not fade. Instead, it widened.
"We'll see about that."
Silence settled between them.
After a moment, Momon chuckled again.
"But something tells me," he added, "that boy won't stay weak for long."