A/N: Yes, I know I should be working on my other things! Bite me!

This is an idea I've toyed with for a while now, and with blocks/hiatuses on all my other stories, I took advantage of having this idea...

So there, myeh!

Enjoy! Feedback is welcome!

OOOOooooOOOOooooOOOO

{Night 00}

Kadar seemed oblivious to the screaming, swearing and arguing inside the hut behind him, puffing idly on his pipe. He'd been told to wait outside every time he'd tried going in, and last time had gotten a cup of water splashed in his face.

Kadar's child was being born, and the healer and his wife had both kicked him out of the house.

With a bit of a 'harrumph,' the man tilted his head back to look at the sky, the sun falling to the horizon. This and the country's dusty, polluted air made the sky murky.

The country was small, a peninsula that was little more than a giant trash-heap with only four villages, nameless. The people who'd evolved and adapted to the country had a name— Rotters. Their skin ranged from fair to dark tan, their hair starting as a light color at the roots before fading into something darker at the tips. They had lithe, slender bodies and wiry muscles. Their legs were strong, as were their immune systems. They didn't need as much food or water to survive as other people, and were accustomed to the heat. Their long, thick eyelashes kept dust and debris from their eyes, and their senses of both smell and hearing were heightened compared to the normal human, but not completely on-par with the legendary Fanalis.

There were only four Rotter villages, and each was acquainted with the others. They were all very casual, language that would make a sailor blush considered normal. No one bore bodily shame, so skimpy clothing was also common. Violence, rough-and-tumble, and fights were something that were more friendly and playful, born from boredom, than genuine anger, the Rotters believing it bad to hold anger in. Honesty was a big virtue. Drinking and smoking were another common thing, and sex was considered a fact of life, like eating and sleeping. Very few Rotters above the age of sixteen were virgins, and many had multiple partners of both sexes even after marriage. Children learned about sex at an early age, and were encouraged to watch once or twice so they would understand the mechanics of it better— Though less common than the other behaviors of the Rotters, some were so shameless enough as to do it in the streets where everyone could see their kinks. Gay sex, group, flings, as long as it was consensual, not incest, and both parties were above sixteen years old it was good.

Kadar blew out another smoke ring as Zahara's screams faded into moans and softer swearing. That meant they were close, right? He didn't know, but Master Alban, the life-magician who served as this village's healer, was there for a reason.

"Boy! Get your sorry ass in here!"

Groaning, Kadar knocked out the flame in his pipe and stood up to go inside.

"Well, the sorry sonovabitch took his sweet time in pushing out, but now the little bugger's all popped out..." the older man huffed, wiping his brow.

Kadar's gaze traveled to his wife lying on the floor. Cradled to her chest in her arms was the still-bloody baby, suckling happily on her teat.

Smiling softly, he sat down next to his young family. "Alright, quack, scram, 'fore I kick that smarmy ass of yours into Reim, huh?" Kadar smirked, flicking his wrist at the magician. He was rewarded with a thump on the head from the staff the other man carried everywhere. "Sonovabitch, I'm gonna kill that mother-fucking bastard and send him so far to hell he comes out the other end...!"

"Oh, shush and meet your son. Look at his eyes. Have you ever seen a baby with eyes other than blue?"

Blinking in confusion, Kadar looked at the slimy baby. Zahara gently stopped the baby from feeding and held him up. The grumpy little gaze boring into Kadar's amber wasn't too far from blue, a brilliant shade of aquamarine that was just a tad heavier on the green than blue, giving them the look of crushed gemstones. But there was a startling intelligence in those eyes, determined to make sure everyone knew that he was a one-of-the-kind special baby.

Kadar smiled, reaching out to poke his son's squishy-soft cheek with a clawed fingertip.

It wasn't actually a claw, it was a silver ring that encased his entire finger, stylized to look like a dragon's claw. He'd found it, and, following the Rotter policy of 'if it's in the gutter-trash and no one's touching, go for it,' had claimed it as his own. Kadar didn't have any particular attachment to the ring, he just thought it looked cool.

And as the claw glinted in the light of the fire in the hut, it became apparent his son did too, grabbing it in a pudgy hand and gurgling.

Zahara laughed, a light, musical sound. "Well? What should we call him?"

Kadar paused in the process of wrestling with his son to reclaim his finger. Once again, his golden eyes met the aquamarine of the baby. He could see pride and determination there, as well as wit and intelligence.

"Malik." he said firmly.

"Oh? So insistent?"

Nodding, Kadar eased his son away from his wife. Standing up, he held the baby over his head. "I haven't a doubt in my mind that this kid is gonna grow up to become someone's king, even if it's only an affectionate title, and will be one of the greatest in history."

The next second, he was handing the newly-named Malik back to Zahara, spitting and wiping at his mouth and face.

"We know he either loves you or hates you!" Zahara laughed, cleaning up the residue spit-up on Malik's mouth and chin.