"Almost two hundred years ago, the Vanir and the Asís , the two founding families of Meaghdose, fell out definitively. They say that due to power issues; a rivalry that always existed but, for some reason that no one remembers, ended in war."

   Tthor listened very carefully to Darius. They were both sitting at a secluded table, far from the bustling bar of the ' Simply Clovers' bar, a large place with a dirt floor and filthy windows. Its owner served the tables at extraordinary speed.

   Tthor stopped his gaze on a couple of people sitting a few meters away from him. It seemed to him that they dressed rather strangely and smoked from strange pipes attached to transparent glass bottles, filled with a bubbling liquid. When the innkeeper approached them, Darius ordered two “mediums.”

   " What is a “medium”? "Tthor wanted to know.

   "Corma whipped with milk. You'll love it…"

   The innkeeper brought them two large earthenware vases filled to the brim with steaming liquid. Darius took a long drink of corma and continued with his story:

   "You only have to worry about one part of the story. Best said by one person: Ördel Domtrov. He was a cruel, selfish man and believed he had rights that he did not have. He took to heart what his ancestors proposed: the cleanliness of the town."

   "Cleaning?"

   "One hundred years ago, the Vanir proposed “cleanliness". They wanted to liquidate all the Asís. They killed most of them and only a few descendants remained. Thirteen years ago, Domtrov set out to finish the work his ancestors had started. He pursued and killed the last of the remaining pure Asís: Samej, your father."

   Tthor felt a chill run through his entire body. His heart raced and his mouth felt dry. He took a drink of corma and took a deep breath.

   " And now…this Domtrov is the king?"

   "By Saint Orffelios, of course not! For some reason, the stone of Faíl, which is the stone that roars when a rightful king sits on the throne, did not roar…"

   "Why not? Wasn't it “pure”?"

  "Yes it was. But he did not belong to the direct line of descent. When the stone did not roar, Domtrov knew that there was someone of a more direct line than him, who prevented him from being the monarch. That someone is you, Tthor. At least we think so..."

   "Do you think so...? But, it can't be me!" Said Tthor, feeling ridiculous. "I am... very clumsy and sick and, besides, my mother is not from here. She told me herself. I am not “pure”."

   "We know that. But, for some reason, Faíl's stone did not roar."

   " And...could it not be for another reason?"

   "There is only one reason why Faíl does not roar: there is someone with a more direct line than the one trying to sit on the throne."

   "So... that's why I'm here...," Tthor felt like his heart wanted to jump out of his chest.

   "Yes, upon turning thirteen, the heir to the throne assumes his first position. Another thing Domtrov failed at, so far: the position of guardian of Orffelios's paila."

   Tthor rubbed his eyes vigorously.

   "What is Orffelios' paila?" He was already beginning to get dizzy with so many details and names.

   " It is a small vessel that has special powers. Orffelios brought it with him when he arrived in town. It can feed hundreds of people, creating food almost from nothing, it can cure any sick person who drinks or eats it. And it makes heir to the throne anyone who pours a drop of royal blood into it and drinks from it. Whoever drinks that blood, which belongs to the true heir, becomes king..."

   "And where is the paila now?"

   "That's the problem. Orffelios hid it more than fifty years ago and no one knows where it is. We only know that he is here in Meaghdose. We have been without a king since then…"

  " But yeah...what's his name?"

   "Domtrov…"

   " If Domtrov doesn't know where he is, what's the problem?"

   "When the heir turns thirteen," Darius explained, lowering his voice a little as he saw a couple pass by him, "the paila emerges from its hiding place, looks for its guardian and begins to prepare him to assume the throne when he turns nineteen."

  "So... if he doesn't come to m...m..me... it means I'm not the he... heir." Tthor noticed that he had already started to stutter.

   Actually, it doesn't matter much if you are... - Darius took another drink of corma and was silent for a moment.

   He seemed to be searching for the right words. He looked at Tthor and added, in a soft voice:

   "The problem is that Domtrov seems to be convinced that the heir exists, he knows that he is between thirteen and fifteen years old, according to the calculations that many have arrived at. He doesn't know your name but he knows you exist. And he has already begun your search. In reality, every boy or girl who is the same age as you here in Meaghdose is under his sights. Those of us who know your bloodline think it is you. And except for a few in the village, no one is sure who the true heir is. But you are on Domtrov's blacklist…"

   "Great!" Said Tthor.

   His hands were shaking and, out of shame, he hid them under the table.

   "He couldn't have found a be… better opponent!" He said with a broken voice.

   "Calm down, Tthor, you will be prepared ..."

   "Could it be that another child has been born with direct blo… bloodline that you didn't know about?" Tthor harbored hope in his words.

   " As I told you before, when the Vanir carried out their “cleaning”, there were very few left with a direct bloodline to the throne."

   "Some le...left the town...maybe they are somewhere else..."

   "No, Tthor, I doubt it, that is unlikely. Genealogy research has already been done and the remaining Asís are here."

   A tense silence took hold of both of them for several minutes. Tthor felt like he was in the middle of a nightmare. He couldn't understand how he, of all the people in the world, could be heir to anything.

   "And where is Domtrov now?"

   "The night your father died, he lost his powers, because the throne did not recognize him. They say he has been hiding, waiting for the heir. He needs the pot and he needs you... But don't worry...," Darius quickly added when he saw the paleness on the child's face. "You will be safe here."

   "And when the a… am I going… back?" Tthor felt that his voice was breaking again.

   Darius drank the last drops of corma that remained at the bottom of his glass and said, "You'll be safe there too. He won't go looking for you in Albion. He weakens away from the source of his power."

   "What is his power source?"

   "This town. Away from him he becomes weak and sick..."

  "...like me..." Tthor replied. "That's why I feel so bad when I'm there..."

   Darius nodded and added:

   "But you are used to that..."

   " Yes, if you can... get... get used to..."

   "Domtrov is not. He did not know until that night what weakness or illness is. That's your advantage."

   Tthor repeated Darius's last words in his mind, several times. And as he did it, he felt better and better.