"Mar, my dear, it's always a joy to see you," Jocund said, his voice booming with affection.

  "Grandpa!" The little girl squealed, running to him with her arms wide. She launched herself into his embrace, and he effortlessly hoisted her into the air with his one powerful arm. Her laughter rang out as he spun her around before setting her back down gently.

  Mar planted a quick kiss on his cheek, grinning from ear to ear as she slipped her small hand into his. Jocund gave it a firm but gentle squeeze, and together, they started down the hall.

  Jocund guided his little girl through the estate, but when they passed their usual meeting spot without so much as a glance, she tilted her head in confusion. "Grandpa, why aren't we going to the guest room?"

  Her grandfather chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to resonate in her chest. "Well," he said, his tone warm and teasing, "you've been visiting so often, you're hardly a guest anymore, are you? Besides, I have a little secret to share with you."

  "A secret?" Mar tried to keep her voice steady, as her noble etiquette classes had taught, but her eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement.

  Jocund smiled knowingly. "Yes, a secret I've been keeping from you for a while now. I've been building something special—a whole new wing of the estate, just for you."

  "For me?" Mar gasped, her composure slipping entirely as she stared up at him with wide, astonished eyes.

  "Yes," Jocund said with a warm smile, "It's not entirely ready yet. But when it's all done, you'll be able to stay longer and more comfortably—if you wish to, of course."

  As they approached a towering set of double doors, two servants stepped forward and pulled them open with a synchronized sweep, revealing the new visiting room beyond.

  The space was vast, many times larger than the old guest room, with high ceilings and daylight streaming through tall, arched windows. An upper balcony with thick shadowed banisters overlooked the large gathering hall. Against the far wall, several smaller doors hinted at an even more elaborate construction hidden deeper within the extension.

  "But for now," Jocund continued, gently guiding Mar inside, "I've had your favourite treat prepared." He crouched slightly to meet her wide-eyed gaze and added with a soft chuckle, "Happy birthday, Mar."

  Mar's eyes welled with tears as she looked up at her grandfather. "It's amazing, Grandpa. Thank you!"

  She darted forward, throwing herself against his sturdy legs and squeezing as tightly as her small arms could manage. Jocund smiled warmly, his weathered face softening as he bent slightly to embrace her. His one arm wrapped around her with practiced tenderness, his large hand gently rubbing her back.

  "You're welcome, my little firefly," he murmured, his deep voice carrying a warmth that made her hug him even tighter. "How does it feel to turn six?"

  Her reply was muffled against the fabric of his pants, a jumble of sounds that he couldn't quite make out. Jocund chuckled, the rich timbre of his laugh filling the room, and gently guided the birthday girl to a pair of chairs at the center of the space.

  The chairs were grand, cushioned beasts—wide enough to comfortably seat two adults side by side yet inviting enough to feel like a personal throne. The chairs were so large that Mar couldn't simply climb into them, but its clever design included small steps built into the side. She grinned as she used them to hoist herself up, settling into the plush cushion with a contented sigh.

  Jocund approached his chair, his imposing frame making the oversized seat seem almost modest in comparison. He turned slightly, gripping the armrest with his single, powerful arm as he lowered himself. The chair groaned faintly under his weight before settling, the plush cushioning adjusting to accommodate his solid build. He leaned back, letting out a quiet, satisfied exhale as his shoulders relaxed, the deep lines of his face softening for a moment.

  Moments later, a servant entered, balancing a platter brimming with pastries, each delicately arranged and glistening under the soft light. Another followed close behind, carrying a steaming cup of tea and a dark, fragrant coffee.

  The tea was offered to Mar, who accepted it eagerly. She wrapped her small hands around the porcelain cup and took a careful sip. Her eyes lit up as the familiar, special blend filled her senses—a flavour she had only ever tasted in this place.

  After serving Mar, the servant moved over to Jocund and offered him the steaming cup of coffee. Jocund accepted the warm drink with a nod, "Thank you for the coffee, Helot."

  The servant bowed deeply, murmuring a deferential "My lord" before stepping back. Jocund lifted the cup to his lips, the rich aroma wafting upward as he prepared to take a sip.

  Just as the servant turned to leave the room, Jocund paused. His hand lowered the cup back onto its saucer with a soft clink, and his brow furrowed slightly. "Helot," he said, his deep voice cutting through the quiet air, "can you wait, please?"

  The servant froze mid-step and turned back, head slightly bowed. "Of course, my lord."

  Jocund glanced at Mar, who happily cradled her teacup, the steam curling upward like delicate ribbons. "Are you enjoying your tea, Mar?" he asked, his voice warm but expectant.

  She nodded enthusiastically, a cheerful grin lighting up her face. "It's delicious! There's so much more flavour in the tea here."

  Jocund smiled, but his gaze remained steady. "Then shouldn't you thank the person who gave it to you?"

  Mar blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. The concept always slipped her mind, but it wasn't something she typically thought about—thanking servants. Her father had once explained that this was one of her grandfather's peculiar rules, something rooted in his past before becoming a noble. Mar didn't entirely understand it, but she knew it mattered to Jocund. And she liked her grandfather enough to respect his strange way of doing things.

  She smiled at the help, her voice bright and earnest, "Thank you for the tea!"

  Her grandfather's expression softened at the honest response, but his voice took on a gentle tone as he prodded with another correction. "His name is Helot, Mar."

  Mar blinked, catching the slip-up. She quickly corrected herself, a bit sheepishly but still with her usual cheer. "Thank you for the tea, Helot."

  The servant, Helot, gave a respectful nod, his posture straightening as he bowed slightly to Mar. With the proper thanks now given, he quietly stepped back, retreating to the corner of the room where he waited for any further requests.

  Jocund raised his coffee and brought it to his eager lips but once again lowered it to add in, "Now, doesn't it feel so much better to be kind to the people who are kind to you?"

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Mar nodded; her voice was soft but obedient. "Yes, Grandpa."

  Though her words were affirming, her gaze lingered on the tea in her hands, a faint furrow in her brow betraying the fact that she didn't quite grasp the meaning behind his lesson. But she didn't argue, trusting her grandfather's wisdom even if she didn't understand it fully.

  Jocund gave a dismissive shrug, his grin widening. "One day you'll get it."

  He lifted his coffee again and took a slow, satisfying sip.

  A deep, contented sigh escaped him as he leaned back slightly in his chair. The coffee—rich, dark, and perfectly brewed—was worth every bit of the overly complex preparations. He swore that he must have accidentally stumbled across the best Barista in all of Trammel.

  He didn't have the time to properly savour every bit of the coffee if he wanted his share of the pastries. He glanced over at the platter of sweets, his eyes twinkling with humour. He couldn't have coconut often since his food tester was allergic, but it was a worthwhile sacrifice for a tester as trustworthy and with such a discerningly sensitive palette as she had.

  It did mean, though, that he had to race his granddaughter to the desserts. Even if his pastries had far less sugar in them, and even she agreed they didn't taste as good, but her love for coconut was legendary, and despite his best efforts, he knew she'd already been eyeing his half of the platter.

  Sure enough, as his hand hovered over one of the coconut pastries, he noticed a distinct absence. His eyes flicked up to Mar, who met his gaze with a sly smile, crumbs still on her lips.

  Jocund shifted in his seat, reaching for another of his special coconut pastries. As his fingers grazed the pastry, Mar's voice piped up, a note of longing in her words. "Grandpa, can I have a taste of your coffee?"

  He paused mid-reach, eyebrows raised in playful disapproval. "Coffee? Mar, children shouldn't drink coffee; it'll stunt your growth."

  Mar groaned in protest, her arms crossed with exaggerated exasperation. "But I'm not a child anymore, Grandpa! I'm already six!"

  Jocund's face broke into a hearty laugh, his chest shaking with the sound. The pure, untainted innocence of childhood—never failed to amuse. "Ah, six, is it? Well, you're still my little firefly, and fireflies don't drink coffee!"

  Mar clasped her hands together in a begging gesture, her eyes wide and pleading. "Please, Grandpa, I've always wanted to taste it, but no one lets me. Just a tiny sip for my birthday?"

  Jocund thought it over for a bit. He supposed just a little sip wouldn't hurt. She'd probably hate it as well and never ask again, so maybe it could even be a good idea. "Only a little sip?"

  Mar's eyes sparkled with hope. "The smallest sip."

  Jocund leaned forward to pass her the coffee. Just as her eager hands reached for the cup, he pulled it back out of her grasp with a smirk. "I'll let you have a sip when you thank every servant who has helped you without forgetting for five days."

  Mar's frustrated grumbling just made Jocund laugh as he leaned back and bit into his first coconut pastry. The pastry was really good. It tasted far better than it usually did; it was sweeter, richer. He looked at the partially eaten snack in his hands to confirm he hadn't accidentally grabbed the wrong confectionary. He hadn't, it was a perfectly normal treat.

  Curious, he took another bite, letting the sweetness linger on his tongue. It was strange. He could've sworn they didn't taste this good before. Maybe he'd just forgotten how perfect they were. He shrugged it off, deciding he didn't mind the delightful surprise. He finished off the rest of the pastry and went for another one with a grin.

  The hours slipped by unnoticed as they chatted about little things, enjoying the moment. By the time they'd finished their desserts and drinks, the atmosphere had turned quiet and content.

  Eventually, the time came for Mar to go home. She gave her grandfather a final hug, and the warm exchange came to a close, and that was it.

  "What?"

  Jocund's ears perked and he turned around, confusion crossing his face as he looked toward the servant. "Did you say something?"

  The servant quickly shook their head. "No, sir."

  Meanwhile, hidden in the dark corners of the bannister, the assassin cursed under his breath, hands cupped around his mouth to stifle any further noise. It was a slip-up—a moment of moronic surprise—but he couldn't help himself. Jocund, impossibly, seemed perfectly fine after devouring the tainted pastries. Well, almost everyone. The assassin had held his breath when Mar asked to taste the coffee after nibbling on some of the desserts, but that crisis had been avoided. He exhaled in relief, the tension still gnawing at him. What was going on?

  The assassin didn't know exactly what to do now. The smart move would probably be to leave, reassess, and come up with a new plan, but instead, he decided to stay and watch Jocund a little longer.

  Despite the carefully laid poison, Jocund seemed completely unaffected. The assassin's nerves twitched with confusion and frustration, but then, the moment he had been waiting for arrived. Jocund, usually an unflappable beast of a man, headed toward his bedroom far earlier than usual. Good news, at least.

  The big hulk of muscle was either stubborn or underplaying the ache in his chest. His heart was undoubtedly rebelling against him. Jocund probably thought it was just a brief lapse—a simple exhaustion that rest would fix.

  Jocund closed his eyes and settled into a deep sleep. The assassin hesitated. This was the moment to leave—Jocund would die in his sleep, and the assassin certainly didn't want to be anywhere near when it happened. But he didn't leave. Paranoia gnawed at him. He needed to stay, needed to see Jocund's final breath with his own eyes.

  And so, he watched.

  The hours dragged on. Jocund slept soundly, his breath deep and steady. There was the occasional shift, a bead of sweat forming on his brow, but nothing like the agony the assassin had anticipated. No signs of struggling. No gasps for air, no clutching of his chest. Jocund, that stubborn, unbreakable man, seemed... completely fine. The assassin's stomach twisted as he continued to wait, growing more anxious with every passing minute.

  Day had finally come. The soft light of the day star streamed through the large windows, its rays cutting through the shadows and telling the assassin that his watch was over. He couldn't stay any longer—he had to leave. He was shocked that his plan had failed so utterly, but such was life. Sometimes, things didn't go the way they were supposed to. It was time to leave the estate, think of another plan, and figure out how to fix this mess.

  But just as he turned to walk away, a sound sliced through the quiet. The light chime of a bell

  The assassin froze.

  He turned, heart hammering, to face the source of the sound.

  In front of Jocund a small pink rhombus grew out of thin air, or it was a rhombus, but its body would reject any stable state. It would shift and transform, shrink and grow, continuously morphing into other shapes. The pink shape finally locked into a form resembling that of a featureless human with only one limb. One arm was outstretched towards Jocund. The arm held onto a glowing parchment.

  Jocund didn't make any reaction to the sudden intruder. A great member of the Saviours, a man who fought against the Mokoi Khan and won was such a heavy sleeper that he wouldn't even wake to the sound of a ringing bell right next to his head? Anyone could have killed him in his sleep just like that?

  He stepped cautiously over to Jocund's body, ensuring to keep a careful eye on the strange pink entity. The odd creature did not react to his movement, so he knelt beside Jocund and checked his pulse. There was none. Jocund was dead. When did that happen!? Who dies of a heart attack that casually?

  His thoughts raced as he turned toward the glowing parchment still held by the outstretched arm. It shimmered with an otherworldly light, almost beckoning him. The assassin reached out and read the words on the page:

  "Well, he won't be needing this anymore," the assassin muttered to himself, pocketing the glowing parchment. The pink entity, as if recognizing its purpose had been fulfilled, began reversing its morphing process. It shrank down into a pinpoint of light, fading into nothingness with a soft, almost imperceptible whisper.

  Wasn't this the fabled invite to that legendary Tournament? The one where the winner was granted any wish they desired? Of course, "winning" only meant being the last one standing. A sick thrill buzzed through him. This wasn't just some average assassination job. No, this was something bigger, with a far greater payout and infinitely more intriguing marks than anything the Tabulate Syndicate could offer him.