"So, how does it feel, Lord of Fartonia?" Whisker appeared beside him with a wide grin.
Atticus cringed at the name and blamed himself for not stopping it.
He stared at the people, eating, crying, hoarding food, arguing over who owned which loaf, even fighting over a random bone.
"It's crazy."
The better part of the morning was spent pacifying the babies. The title had been courtesy of Ozeroth, and Atticus hadn't seen any lies in it. They were babies.
Afterward, Anorah and the council members took over organizing them. They already had preset community roles. Some were soldiers, some chefs, some cleaners, and even absurd roles like children at play and emotional support weepers. The one who almost took him out was the village screamer.
He had to stop himself from cutting down the loud bastard.
