Once that happened, the competition for a Fomor bride or groom would begin. The humans of Jiera did their best to curry the favor of the Fomors and get on equal footing with the Garleners.

A few people, however, had the fire of spite burning in their chests. They resented Garlen for taking the lion’s share of the glory in Ruugat’s defeat and the unfair advantage that Lith’s existence gave to the invading continent.

“You saw those wings. Verhen is at least at the level of a Fomor.” Words like these echoed in the human cities across Jiera and even Verendi. “With his children, that gives Garlen at least three stable evolved humans, whereas all other continents have none!”

A very small but vocal minority burned with so much envy that if their feelings could light a literal fire, it would have been visible from space.

“This is bullshit!” Many Upyrs snarled several times a day. “We are supposed to be as powerful as Tiamats. A Vurdalak is supposed to be the perfect fusion of human, Vampire, Dragon, and Phoenix. Then why do I feel nothing?”

Both Thralls and those who had already achieved a permanent Upyr form complained without care for who might listen to them.

“I’m a Jormungandr-Upyr hybrid!” Erion hissed. “I don’t care about a pathetic human form, but where are my Dragon and Phoenix aspects? I want Origin Flames of my own. I don’t trust those prisms Meln offers. Everyone who takes one ends up dead.”