[Translated from Arabic]

Nameless Twister,

I’ve taken his weapons and given him a firm warning. I believe we can continue our meetings in peace. It would fare poorly on your current legend if you were felled by a stray pistol shot. I would not allow such discourtesy.

Allow me to apologize and thank you, faceless charmer. You’ve been very patient with my former ward, and I appreciate your attempts to forestall him with your incomparable sleight of hand. I expected him to try to kill me. I didn’t expect that he’d keep trying after it failed the first time.

I am still new to this, raising children. Adam thoroughly discouraged me from the prospect in my youth. It was only in the days of Diocletian that I realized the potential I’d neglected. A rich man rarely bothers to raise his own children; even many rich women don’t bother with such matters; that’s left to wet nurses and governesses, hired tutors and trusted attendants. Children in the clutches of wealth may escape even when their parents could not. It’s trivial to arrange matters so that my favored student ends up with a sizeable inheritance when they are best prepared to use it altrustically. Lamentations is the 20th child I’ve raised, far more removed from greed than the others, and it’s never gone this poorly before. The last one understood everything I told him, at such a young age even. He’s set to claim his uncle’s shipping business within a decade, even without my assitance. I still write letters to him when I can get them past the Bean siblings. He wanted to name an orphanage after me, the silly goose.

I was hoping Lamentations would understand given enough time. I waited all this time, staying my hand against the wicked, so that he might return with the wisdom of age and education. Dear, bright Lamentations, it breaks my heart to see him like this, clinging to a spirit of violence that does not suit him. He has learned the wrong lesson from his uncle, whose heart was far too light, his spirit blithely cheerful so long as it was not dragged down by debt. He’s weighed himself down to suffer in his own guilt and fear, over a man who deserved his fate. He saw no evil in slavery, he didn’t believe that a slave would be happy if freed, and he gladly filled his house with them once he found his way to riches once more. If he talked to any of the men and women whom that man claimed to own, heard what he’ll ask of them without a second thought!

I am not sure what happens if he tries again. To let him continue like this would cause suffering to himself and others, but I cannot kill him. There is such doubt in his soul. To slay him when he may still change his ways would stain even me. Neither will I stay here to guard him against his own fury. There’s something poisonous brewing at the bottom of this already sick land. It calls me South to slay tyrants once more. You’ve had children in previous guises, shifter. Perhaps you can talk to him?