[1801-1810] - Y08.001-010 – New Year, New Worries (Patreon)

01

The first rays of the year were yet to kiss the sky. The first winds of the year basked within the mountains. The first day brought with it a great fortune to those who awoke early, and so the old man’s eyes opened, and he was greeted by darkness, and gentle snoring. As he slowly peeled himself away from the triplets, he slowly stood, freezing as a huff filled the air. His rough, wrinkled hand brushed along the girl’s scar gently, the girl whose silver eyes accused him, her silver hair falling onto his hand, as the old man continued to brush her cheek, and with his gentle smile, the silver eyed, silver haired, silver scaled girl, with nubs of bone upon her forehead which menaced his sleep often, fell back to sleep.

‘To think my greatdaughter’s senses are greater than my own…’ The old man’s heart trembled at the thought, his pride, wounded, his pride, soaring. He thought of his greatdaughter, who, with her silver eyes, her silver hair, and silver scales, with her small horns which kept digging into his chest in the night, was an Iyrman like he. He crept away from the estate, the various buildings which joined a great many families together, and once he was fifty paces away, he clenched his fists, and stretched out his back.

It was the first run of the year.

What a year it would be.

Finally, the old man, as was his right, would soon be able to spill as much blood as he pleased. The wild grin upon his face threatened to swallow the world, reaching so far up his face, he almost blinded himself, his steps silent, even as he darted forward, and though his right leg was formed of living wood, it had been long enough that he had grown used to it, and it was much better than the leg his grandson had designed.

It was as he thought of his grandson, he came across a figure standing in front of the trees, a figure whose silhouette was familiar against it, but he hadn’t expected the young man this early. The fellows eyes were as leaf shaped as the triplets, and his large form panted, eyes upon the tree, but staring through them.

‘Am I prepared?’ Adam thought, still panting as he stared through the threes, towards the dark forms of the Reavers, those which flashed from his memories in front of his eyes, recalling the whispers of the lives they had taken, those with great names, such great names, one might have thought they would live forever.

Then, they flashed before his eyes. It was they, with their green skin, their amber eyes, and their leaf shaped ears.

Adam clasped his hands behind his back, and tensed up, the heat rushing through him, and as he clenched his fists, he prepared to strike the tree, but the moment passed, and he let out a soft breath, calming his heart, cooling his body, for today was that day.

The wooden step caused Adam to spin on his heel, eyes darting towards the noise, though his arms had already relaxed behind him, for the wooden step was not unfamiliar to his ears. There, standing before him, an elderly man, his forehead tattooed, a blue circle, flanked by three blue diamonds on either end. His left arm wooden, his right leg wooden, the smile on his face wild.

“Grandfather,” Adam called, the awkwardness in the formality striking him immediately.

“You are up so early…” Jarot called, and though his smile remained wild, a softness took it.

The two held one another’s gaze for a long moment, and though they did not speak of it, they understood.

“You too,” Adam replied.

“Once you reach my age, you will understand. You will sleep late, and awaken early, and with all the hours in the day, you will not know how to spend it, though, if you are fortunate as I, you will have as many greatchildren, whose affection reaches the heavens.”

“I can only hope,” Adam replied, almost bashfully, for certainly, his children, they were most affectionate of all.

“I should have expected the two of you to be speaking of the children,” a red skinned woman accused, horns curled backwards like a ram, a tattoo upon her forehead, a red x, flanked by yellow kites. Even in the early morning, before dawn greeted them, she wore chain, and carried a blade at her side.

“Speaking of chil-,” Jarot began.

“I am an Elder now,” Jaygak warned.

“You have not yet learnt the fear from Zijin.”

“What do I have to fear, when I have such a dependable aide?” Jaygak warned, causing the old man to narrow his eyes, and the young woman’s lips twitched, threatening to take form into a smirk.

“Why are you picking a fight with the Elder so early in the morning?” Adam asked.

“I have not drawn my axe in so long…” Jarot began, and his eyes trailed from the Elder to his grandson. “If you wish, the two of you ca-,”

“I’m going to tell Jirot,” Adam threatened.

“…” Jarot narrowed his eyes.

“It seems the Elder has come to speak with me, so I will leave you be to your training, grandfather,” Adam said, flashing a wide grin, patting his grandfather’s shoulder, and as the old man slipped into his rage, his hand shooting out towards him, the half elf leapt away, landing beside the Elder, who took the hint to speedwalk away from the raging old man. “Honestly, at his age, what’s he doing, riling himself up?”

Jaygak side eyed the fellow with his leaf shaped ears. Unlike his children, each with leaf shaped ears, he was no Iyrman, though he wore a tattoo on his forehead, a circle with a diamond within it, greyish blue.

The large wall of the Iyr accompanied their steps. It was once jagged, but had been cut away into shape, and now was sleek, clean, and as tall as one might expect from the Iyr.

“What plagued you this night?” Jaygak asked.

“A nightmare?” Adam joked. He had only dreamt once, and that was to meet with the various Divine. “I’m going to be stepping out soon, and I was just thinking, that’s all.”

Jaygak allowed the silence to keep them company. Her own mind wandered to her own worries, but if the half elf was this worried on the first day, she would need to speak with him another time of the matter, since it related to the half elf, and his children. Her eyes fell towards the east, in which the sun began to rise, the first rays of dawn beginning to greet them, and the various Iyrmen, and those who were not, who chose to awoke to greet the first rays of the year.

The rays of dawn had already greeted those far to the east earlier, those adorned in their light chain, and wielded spears tight in hand. They had gathered, by the hundreds, and thousands, and even tens of thousands, upon the land which had emerged from the sea, or fallen from the sky, depending on which soldier one spoke with.

“I don’t know, Barry,” a soldier whispered, staring out into the dim world, barely illuminated by the rays, the distant forests in which he swore he saw shadows.

“Yeah.”

“I thought I’d feel better, with all the Grand Commanders coming, but, if there are a bunch of ‘em coming, then, you know, doesn’t that mean the situation’s bad?”

“They probably didn’t expect it to be an issue for this many years.”

“Aye…”

“At least the First Hope’s here.”

“Aye,” Charles replied, nodding his head.

“Besides,” Barry began, motioning his head towards the sunlight. “The first rays of the year bring good luck, so we should soak ‘em up, without all this talk about Reavers, and all that.”

The soldiers tensed up lightly as the hundred or so shadows appeared, though they quickly relaxed, for the shadows wore tattoos on their foreheads and steel at their sides.

“Every time…” Barry whispered, patting his chest lightly.

"Bloody Iyrmen.”

“At least they’re strong.”

“Not as strong as the Orders, though.”

Barry considered the soldier’s words. He slowly turned his head towards the other guard, who stared ahead, towards the sky, basking in the sun’s rays. “Charles.”

“Whatever.”

“It’s a good thing you’re handsome.”

“I’ll be sure to visit your mo-,”

Barry raised his hand, and Charles glanced away, eyes trailing the Iyrmen, who were running laps around the earth walls of the town. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. They just have to be stronger than the Reavers.’

“Hey, Barry,” Charles whispered, finally working up the courage.

“What?”

They don’t really eat souls, do they?”

“The Iyrmen?”

Charles’ eyes snapped to Barry. “The Iyrmen too?”

“No-,” Barry began, but he stopped, and considered the rumours of the previous year, and as the Iyrmen began to pass by them once more, he was even more uncertain. ‘I suppose, they are a death cult…’

02

The rays of dawn greeted the Iyr’s land, basking the Front Iyr in a warm, gentle glow, which brought life to the walled village. It was these rays, and this life, which accompanied the half elf on his walk, walking around the perimeter. The Iyrman passed him by, with nods and waves, each unarmoured, but none unarmed, for this was the Iyr.

‘If it’s now, they should be done with their morning baths…’ Adam thought.

The pale grey stones welcomed him. The warm mists kissed his face. The half elf filled the wooden basin, staring at his reflection through the rippling water. His face was almost as pale as the stone, his eyes, dark, baggy. ‘Damn! I didn’t realize it was that bad…’

The bruises along his arms and legs wounded his heart, but as he clenched his fists, he buried the dark thoughts, deep within his heart.

Not yet.

The bath, warm. The soap, soft. The silence, appreciated.

‘I can’t really delay it any longer now…’ Adam inhaled sharply, and as he tugged on the cleanly cut clothes of the Iyr, he pressed along the collar, in which he felt the embroidered tattoo of the Rot family, that of the blue circle, with blue diamonds flanking the circle. Adam inhaled sharply again, and threw his fists into the air, his arms stiff as iron. Staring at his trembling fist, the half elf relaxed once more. As he stepped out, he almost walked into a grey wall, but the grey wall was too swift.

A giant grey hand fell upon the half elf, clasping his shoulder.

“Okay?” the Iyrman asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Old, grey skin, a thick beard, silvered by time, braided by hand, tusks which peeked from his lips, his hair falling beyond his shoulders. Upon his back, he wore a greatsword.

“Sorry, granduncle,” Adam replied with a flush. “Are you alright?”

“Okay,” Rajin replied simply, squeezing the half elf’s shoulder reassuringly. “You awoke early?”

“Yeah…” Adam smiled a guilty smile, feeling the older Iyrman’s gaze upon him, as though it could see right through him.

Thankfully, the Iyrman grunted, followed by a yawn, for he was who he was. Though the Iyrman made to speak, he paused, and pat the half elf’s shoulder. “I will see you soon.”

Adam waved towards his granduncle, who shambled his way through the Front Iyr. ‘I wonder what he’s up to…’

It would remain a mystery, for the wind accompanied the half elf back to the estate. It was formed of wood, the superblock home to a number of families. It was three stories tall, large enough to house multiple families, and within each wall, a separate family name claimed their homes. The courtyard within was formed of stone, with small patches of green, to allow the children to enjoy the verdant lands of the Iyr.

The scent of the food greeted him first, then the gentle words of company, as dozens of figures gathered, most of the men and women tattooed, and some of the children’s foreheads were painted, three in particular. It was they, with their silver eyes, their silver hair, and silver scales, their horns which peeked out from the corners of their temples, who were Iyrmen, like the pair of children near them, those with green skin, amber eyes, with double canines slipping out of their lips.

Adam’s shadow loomed.

“Papa!” called a particular girl, blue, built like a ball, one that only an Iyrman could lift, and even then, with great effort.

“Oh my, oh my, have you started to eat without me?” Adam asked, his lips beginning to form the gentlest of smiles, his eyes peeking down at his sister with such mischief. The blue skinned girl cackled lightly, and brought up a piece of fruit within her saliva covered hand, but Adam motioned to her lips, and the girl, who always listened to her brother when it came to matters of fruit, ate it without fuss.

Another girl, with her green skin and amber eyes, side eyed the woman beside her, and the two spoke with their eyes, but the girl relented.

After all, today was today.

“The first meal of the year, it must be so delicious, isn’t that right, my first, and eldest daughter, Jirot?” Adam teased, staring down at the little green skinned girl.

“Daddy only has one joke,” the girl whispered.

“You only have one joke too,” the woman, adorned in pure white from head to heel, replied. Only her face was revealed to the world, her skin tan, her eyes bright with delight, the lower half of her face marked by old burn marks. A silver amulet of a rose over a sun lay upon her chest.

“I have two at least, mummy,” the girl replied, and as her mother leaned in, she turned her head, keeping her words to herself.

“Are you eating well, Jarot?” Adam asked, eyes falling upon the boy with green skin and amber eyes, who had taken at least two bites of his potato, and then fell to sipping from his magical gourd. Adam’s neck tensed lightly, and his smile faltered a touch, but the boy’s smile disarmed him.

“Yes,” the boy replied, sitting up taller.

“My Jarot always eats so well, just like his greatfather, that’s why he is just as strong, isn’t that right?”

Little Jarot flushed.

Adam’s eyes fell upon the boy with red skin, red eyes, hornless, unlike many of his relatives, but he, too, was a child of the Iyr. The two held one another’s gazes, and though the boy glared towards his father, he had to relent, for today was today, after all. “Larot.”

“…”

“Milk, please, mummy,” the little girl, with tan skin, hair like burnt copper, and leaf shaped ears, called, reaching out to the woman all in white, tugging on her sleeve.

“You must greet your father first.”

“Daddy,” the girl called, waving her hand, instantly causing the half elf to melt, for indeed, it was this daughter of his who was the most affectionate, and before he could respond, the girl held up her cup towards her mother, rubbing her eye sleepily.

“Virot!” Adam called, threatening to pick up his daughter, but he was kept at bay by the girl drinking her milk peacefully. His eyes then trailed to the side, towards the toddler, who glared out at the world sleepily, the boy, tan of skin, with burnt copper hair, and dark eyes full of resentment, suddenly jolted awake as his father lifted him up. “Xarot!”

“Daddy!” Xarot called, leaning in to almost headbutt his father, only for the pair to exchange kisses against their face.

“Indeed, it is such a lovely day today, the first day, in which I can spend with my family, all of my five children, and my beautiful wife, and it is simply just the first day of the year, that’s all,” Adam said, leaning in to kiss the woman’s cheek, her lips upon his cheek in return.

The silver eyed triplets exchanged glances.

Adam closed his eyes.

Jirot turned towards her mother with raised brows, her lips pulled taut, though she couldn’t help but be impressed by her father’s willpower. To think he had resisted the urge for this long. Her daddy, he was growing up…

The youngest of the triplets, the boy, turned his head towards his eldest sister, whose cheek was scarred. The girl bowed her head and stood, and she brushed her shoulders lightly as she prepared herself. However, it was she, who understand the board, who marched forward towards her mother, and placed a hand upon the woman’s knee. The girl turned, her eyes falling upon the half elf, but she slowly turned towards her mother.

“Happy birthday, mummy,” the girl said.

Adam’s eyes shot up with surprise. “What? You! You! You! If I knew who you were, you would be ins such big trouble! How can you bully I, your-,”

The silver eyed girl smirked.

To think her father had forgotten, she, too, was her sister’s sister.

“What’s this! The mischief in your eyes, the mischief in your smile, the mischief in your heart, could it be?” Adam gasped, picking the girl up with such ease. “Oh my! Oh my! You must be Konarot! You are so big now, I almost didn’t recognize you!”

“Daddy, stop it!” Konarot said, holding up her finger like a blade, though the flush on her cheeks, and the swaying of her silver tail spoke truer than her words.

Adam peppered kisses all over her face. “Oh my gosh! How big are you now? Five? Six?”

“Daddy, even if you are bad at maths…” Konarot grumbled.

“Oh my? Are you even bigger than six years old?”

“I am eight!” The girl threw up her entire hands.

“Isn’t that ten?”

“I am not including my thumbs.” The girl smirked once more, having tricked her father a second time. Indeed, today was the best birthday!

“Oho!” Adam was about to speak, but his throat tightened, and he leaned in to plant more kisses onto his eldest daughter, and seeing their father about to burst, Kirot and Karot both charged their father, showering him in their affection, and allowing their father to shower them in affection in return. “You! You silly boys and girls! Who told you to grow up?”

It was then another shadow loomed within the estate. It was an older man, carrying a set of large barrels on his back. His forehead tattooed, a blue circle, flanked by three blue diamonds on either end. His left arm was made of wood, his right leg, too, and upon his lips, a wild grin.

“Oh ho! I have brought the drinks for today, and such a normal day today is.”

Jirot turned to her mother. “Babo is not funny at all…”

“Ah? Who is this?” Old Jarot gasped, rushing up towards the birthday boy, and picking him up as though he was as light as a feather. “Karot! You have grown so big.”

Adam, floating in the air as his grandfather held him up, turned to look down at his son, little Karot, whose tail swayed behind him to form a question mark. The boy blinked.

‘Who corrupted my grandfather to be so-,’ Adam began to think, only to blink. ‘Oh.’

Jirot’s lips formed a tiny circle, mirroring her twin brother. “Babo is so funny?”

A cry pierced the air, as an old woman carried the babe within her arms. She was short, thin, wrinkled by time, and upon her forehead, she wore the same tattoos as the old wooden armed and legged man. She held a boy, barely three weeks old, who cried and hacked, wishing for milk. As the old woman handed the babe to his mother, a woman whose love for bread was not hidden, the old woman turned, her eyes upon the young men and women, and the children before her.

“Oh my, oh my,” the old woman began, picking up Karot. “Adam, you have grown so big.”

Jirot turned her head towards her mother once more, her amber eyes tearing up. “Nano is the funniest.”

The grey skinned Rajin stood at the entrance with another set of barrels. ‘I should have shown off first…’

The red skinned Jaygak stood within his shadow. The young Iyrman’s eyes were on the children who were cackling, the green skinned, amber eyed twins. The children, they should possess such easy hearts, to laugh so freely. She forced the guilt within her heart further down, and considered who she could speak with in order to deal with the matter which had plagued her, and the Chief of the Iyr for most of a year.

Jirot gasped, spotting the Elder, and she leapt to her feet, with such swiftness, she was certainly her nano’s greatdaughter, and she rushed up to the woman. “Elder Jaygak!”

Jaygak smiled, forcing away the darkness, and she raised a finger, causing the girl to skid to a halt. “Konarot, you must be careful running so quickly, since you are only four years old.”

Jirot side eyed the elder. A moment passed between them. The girl burst out into a mischievous cackle. “Elder Jaygak, you are so funny!”

Jaygak smiled wider, and for today, she placed the matter elsewhere, allowing this family, so full of troublemakers, a day without trouble, since so many of them would enjoy their birthdays today, save one.

It was this family, who possessed the first Iyrmen with such adorable leaf shaped ears.

It was at that time, within the Main Iyr, home to tens of thousands of bodies making their way to begin the first day of the year, a particular Iyrman sat within his gazebo. An older man, long hair dyed red, clean shaven to reveal his strong jaw. At his side, he wore a blade formed of bone and metal.

The piece of paper held only two pieces of information.

The fact the half elf still slept poorly in the night, and his twins remained plagued by nightmares.

Chief Iromin stared out towards the pathway, but stared beyond it towards the path he was required to take. ‘If only it was not the Reavers. If we were at war with the Aldish, the Florian, or even the Aswadians, it would be a simple matter, but the Reavers…’

Matters of blood and steel were simple, for they were Iyrmen, so Adam was not an issue, but, when it came to the hearts of the children of the Iyr, the Chief had thought of how to resolve the doubts within their hearts, but had found no way.

The gates swung open violently, revealing the singular presence who would dare to do such within the Chief’s domain. Short, long white hair, green eyes, a greatsword upon his back. Noting the Chief’s dourness, the short Iyrman paused. However, he had come all this way to trouble the fellow, so he couldn’t step back now, but if he was this dour, then it meant he was thinking of those twins.

“Is it that difficult?” Baztam asked.

“It is.” Chief Iromin let out a soft sigh. The problem was that, if the twins were sent out, their father would obviously go. However, if their father stepped out, there was a high chance he would die. Chief Iromin would sacrifice Adam a thousand times, but, for the children to see their father die, it wouldn’t fix the doubts in their heart. However, Adam hadn’t stepped out in over half a year, so he had not grown stronger since they had last stepped out.

Baztam poured the Chief a cup of tea, and as he sipped his own cup, he considered the twins, their father, and their mother. It was through their mother, they had a connection to one of the Orders. If she had not held such a title, they would not consider it.

“The First Hope has stepped onto the battlefield,” Baztam said.

Chief Iromin glared.

Baztam stood, with the understanding that if the fool was provoked by his words so easily, he was truly at his wit’s end. Baztam sauntered off, having confirmed the Chief’s heart, leaving the old man to his business.

‘I will have to work hard this year…’

03

The scent of baked potatoes, fish, and vegetables filled the air. A sprinkle of salt, a crack of pepper, a slathering of butter, that was all that was required that morning, for the desserts, of the small blocks of dense cakes, bathed in syrup, would provide them with the flavours they required.

The silver triplets enjoyed their fish, lightly salted and peppered as they were, even refusing the melted butter, for the fish, it was the star of their meal. The green twins cut into their soft potatoes, although one mostly cut into his in order to feed it to his aunt, who was half his age, yet twice as wide.

The darkness remained within the corners.

The boy sat quietly to one side. He was about the size of the twins, although much younger, and his hair had grown to his shoulders over the last few months. It was not entirely out of the ordinary, for his cousins, whom he called his brothers, were also quiet. A finger brushed along the boy’s round ear. It was a rough hand, now.

“Damrot, what’s wrong?” Adam asked, beaming down at the boy, whom he called his son, even if the boy adores his father more, by just a little bit.

“Daddy is not here…” Damrot replied, pouting.

“Your father, he’s working too hard, isn’t he?” Adam joked, and the boy nodded, not quite understanding the half elf’s joke. Seeing the boy’s pout, Adam smiled a little wider, leaning in, until the boy glanced up towards him, and as their eyes met, the boy flushed gently. “Pray hard for your daddy, for I’m sure he’ll accept your wishes in his heart.”

“Okay…”

‘How can you make my son so sad?’ Adam thought. ‘When you come back, we’ll see how much mercy Jirot shows you…’

“Damrot, have you given your papo his gift?” his mother, holding the three week old, asked.

“Ock!” The boy reached into his pocket, but as he did, his papo reached for his wrist, the two holding one another’s gazes. It was after the half elf wiped his hands, could the boy reach for within his shirt, and he plucked out a folded piece of paper.

“What is this?” Adam asked, unfurling the piece of paper to reveal a mess of colour, red, with a green curve, and jagged edges. “Oh my gosh. Is this drawing of a beautiful rose for me?”

Damrot flushed once more, the boy bowing his head, his shy eyes trailing upwards, only for the boy to retreat to his mother’s arm. Unfortunately, his papo was stronger than he, so the boy floated in the air, within Adam’s arms.

“That’s it. I’m stealing you away.”

“Stealing is bad, papo.”

“Gah! You are such a good boy, my Damrot!” Adam inhaled sharply, and as the two held one another’s gaze, the boy quickly buried his chest within his papo’s chest, all the while the half elf assaulted him in affection.

“Daddy, it is too early for this,” Jirot said, holding up a finger.

“What? Too early? To hold my little Damrot? Even though he was the only one to give me a gift?”

“You must wait for your gifts,” Jirot said, still holding up her finger. “First, kakas and papa must complete their rites.”

“I suppose so…” Adam replied, and with a heavy heart, he placed down his nephew, who he called his son, though snuck a kiss upon his cheek, winking at the boy, who smirked shyly in response. Adam ignored Virot’s glare, the girl reaching out to Damrot, who returned to her side once more.

Vonda, adorned in her white modesti from head to heel, stood. Her eyes fell upon the sky. “It would be best if there was light rain.”

“I can call Mork if you like,” Adam offered, but as he did, the clouds in the sky began to swirl over head, and as the clouds gathered, a gentle rain fell.

A cloak fluttered in the new winds, and a shadow fell upon the estate. The figure stood tall and proud, muscular, lean, his face pale, his horns curled upwards like scimitars of bone. His eyes, greyish blue, hair, dark, almost black, and his scales were, as one might suggest, azure. He carried no weapons, save the mischievous grin upon his lips.

“Papo!” a girl shouted, followed quickly by her siblings, as the half dragon, so he appeared, floated to the earth.

“It seems I returned on time,” the half dragon said, allowing the children to swarm him.

“Papo! You dare to return so late?” Jirot held out her hands, but her father’s hand fell in front of her face.

“It is mummy’s birthday,” Adam said, and the girl huffed, clenching her fists together, letting out a long sigh, and did not cast her Seventh Gate Fireball upon her papo, showing him mercy, just this once. “Your papo has returned healthy, and the first thing you do is to cast a Third Gate Fireball?”

“It was not Third Gate,” Jirot replied.

“Ninth?”

“No.”

“Tenth?”

“I know papo was sick, so I was moderate, only Seventh.”

“Ah, how magnanimous,” Adam joked, causing the girl to side eye him.

“You are lucky it is mummy’s birthday.”

“It is my birthday too.”

Jirot turned back to the half dragon, who was obviously a descendant of that figure, and she waddled over to him, clasping his hand within her own. “I am so glad you are back, papo. Daddy is so incorrigible these days.”

“Do I need to teach him a lesson?” the half dragon asked.

“You might have recovered, but…” Adam held the half dragon’s gaze with his own, the two unrelenting against one another, and Adam, in front of his own children, would not lose to the half dragon before him.

The half dragon smirked.

“Did you bring my mummy a gift?” Jirot asked, for the half dragon had spent far too much time glaring at his father, and though he was allowed to bully her father, he could not go too far in front of her.

“Ah.”

“I am glad you are healthy, Lord Bael,” Vonda said.

Bael’s eyes grew wide, and his hair stood on end. “It was I who brought the rain, Ray.”

“I will show you mercy today, since it is my childrens’ birthday.”

Bael made sure not to look at Adam, but if Vonda was going this far as to tease him, he understood the situation had grown dire. “If I may, I would like to watch the rites.”

“It would be our honour.”

Adam inhaled sharply, and though he made to fight, the look his wife, and his daughter, struck him with caused him to pause.

“Can I trust you to bring everyone?” Vonda asked, holding out a folded piece of paper to her daughter.

“I can do it, mummy! I am the best at reading, and I will bring everyone! We will see who dares to deny me!” Jirot assured.

“Make sure to bring ak’jiddo too! How can he do this to us? Even though I call him jiddo, and you call him ak’jiddo, he is not here to wish us a happy birthday with your babos and nanos?”

“I will teach him a lesson,” Jirot assured, and with that, she and her twin brother were off, and little Virot and Damrot also followed the pair.

“I will entrust their baths to you,” Vonda said, for in the same way Virot was the best at bossing people around, Adam was best at bathing.

“I can do it, darling! I am the best at bathing, and I will bathe everyone! We will see who dares to deny me!” Adam declared.

Konarot held up her hand. “You are too cri-,”

“It is my birthday too,” Adam stated.

Konarot blinked. She turned to look to her mother. She was defeated this easily? By her father?

“Stop it, daddy,” Kirot said, holding up her hand.

“Et tu, Kirot?”

Adam bathed his triplets, though they had already bathed lightly that morning already, and as he assisted them in applying the various oils upon their skins, he brushed along the scar against his eldest daughter’s cheek. It was only then, seeing how they were taller than even his navel now, he wondered just when it was they had grown so tall?

Adorned in their plain white attire, courtesy of the Iyr, the children led their father towards the large group awaiting for them, with a great many of their family, and their family’s friends, arrived to watch the rites of the eldest three. The rites were years too late, but there had been so much they needed to deal with, and with their father about to step out for the Reavers, it was best to complete it now. The triplets waved to their ak’jiddo, the short, bald, dark skinned man, whose deep blue eyes sparkled as he waved back. The man they had not yet known for a year, and yet they called him their greatfather, was well muscled, his physique showing through the Iyr’s attire. He did not wear his silversteel greatsword, which remained within one of the nearby houses, for he was no Iyrman. Their ahms and ailas, the men of dark skin, the women of red and purple, each hailing from Aswadasad, too, awaited for them, along with many more of the Iyrish kakos, papos, nanas, babos, nanos, and babos, for though they were named Rot, there were a great many they were related to. The demons stood awkwardly in the corner.

Their mother, who wore an amulet of Mother Soza’s silver rose over a silver sun, remained in her white modesti, and held within her hand a prayer book, and as the children approached, her radiant smile caused the triplets to flush, rushing up to their mother, though stopping a pair of steps short.

“Are you ready?” Vonda asked, reaching out to brush her triplets’ cheeks.

“Yes!” the triplets replied, tails swaying behind them.

Vonda inhaled deeply, and with the others awaiting for her to continue so they could start their days, she began to read from the book, one of the many prayers of Mother Soza. As she did, she placed her hand upon the children, and then, as the children’s grandmother brought a small bowl of holy oil, she dipped a finger into the bowl, and tapped each child upon their forehead. She handed the prayer book to their grandmother, for since she was a Ray of Life’s Rose, and the children’s mother, her Blessing of Peace would not be quite so simple as a Trick.

“The Mother’s Aid,” Vonda said, holding up her holy symbol with one hand, and as she waved her hand over the children, the light emanated from her holy symbol, and the wind picked up around her, and the light basked over the children, their silver eyes, hair, and scales glittering for a moment. The triplets formed tiny circles with their lips. “Your mother is a Ray, after all.”

“Woa,” the children replied, blinking, for had they ever felt such great magics upon them before?

‘Did she cast Aid at a higher Gate?’ Adam thought, as she ruffled the children’s hair.

“The rites had to be swift so you could go to school, but I cast Aid at Fourth Gate so you can feel reassured,” Vonda said.

‘Fourth Gate?’ Adam thought, his brows raising in surprise. ‘Since when did she kno-,’

Adam blinked. His eyes fell to his daughter, who raised a brow towards him, for certain her father hadn’t forgotten that his wife could cast Fourth Gate spells. Vonda could cast them since before Virot was birthed into the world.

“I will walk you to school,” Vonda said, although those who had watched the rites had already gathered to lift up the children, who were now under the rites of both the Iyr and Mother Soza.

“Okay!”

“Daddy, I will give your gift later, okay?” Jirot whispered. “It is the best gift.”

“It is?”

“Yes. Daddy, because it is your birthday, I can only give it to you today, so you cannot be too upset, okay?”

“If it’s a good gift, why would I be upset?” Adam asked, causing the girl to blink.

“I think mummy is calling me,” Virot said, rushing away from her father.

Adam narrowed his eyes. When did his daughter ever retreat from him?

“Will you take Virot and Damrot to the business?” Vonda asked.

“Of co-,” Adam began, only to see the look within his wife’s eyes. They were innocent. Too innocent. ‘What do they have planned?’

Something was wrong.

“Even though the Ray is of Mother Soza, and you are of Lord Sozain, are you not also close with Lady Arya?” Dunes, the children’s ahm from Aswadasad, asked.

“You can ask Vonda if you want to grant them the rites of Lady Arya.”

“Perhaps, once we deal with the Reavers, we can take them to Black Mountain, and ask the Mustashalur to grant them the rites of the Lady, or perhaps we should ask Ser Lani, the Sword of the Lady?”

“Perhaps,” Adam replied, though he winced at the thought of the children’s response to heading back to Aswadasad. It was within the Iyr, they felt safe.

Mostly.

It was that statement, mostly, which plagued their father’s heart, and the heart of the various Iyrmen.

“Let’s head to the business,” Adam said. “Since they’re still trapped in the Front Iyr, they must be feeling restless.”

“Without Jurot to beat them up, they are,” Dunes joked.

Adam glanced down to the pair who had greeted their elder siblings, and had exchanged kisses with them, and were now preparing to step out with their father to the nearby estates the business workers were currently staying within.

“Damrot, since your father is not here, you must beat the business members properly.”

Damrot blinked. The boy flushed, pouting slightly.

“If you do not wish to beat them up, you do not have to.”

Damrot smiled shyly.

‘Even though he’s the son of his father and his mother, he’s so sweet, this Damrot of ours…’

A thousand miles to the east, the company stared out from their newly made outpost, that which they had remained for the last month. The wooden walls, the wooden cabins, the wooden complexes, following the grids of designs from years of old. The soldiers, adorned in chain, wielding spears, crossbows, and courage.

The Sergeant, in full chain mail, rather than a chain shirt, also wielded a spear, although his spear was tipped with a gemsteel. As the wind picked up, it blew his cloak, fluttering behind him as he stretched his leg against the wooden wall. His eyes narrowed. He swore he could see shadows in the forest.

04

It was a complex of estates, each formed of wood, and the small blocks with their own small shared garden, but the estates formed the perimeter of the larger estate, with one of the largest gardens within the Iyr, along with a hundred or so each who would join to eat breakfast and prepare themselves for the day ahead.

As the storm of trouble approached, the workers let out relieved sighs, although some let out the relieved sighs with reluctance, as the pair of children rushed forward, one so full of viciousness, and the other with such delight, for the pair took after the twins.

“It’s good to see that you’re all looking so healthy,” Adam said, as though he hadn’t seen them the day before when he made his rounds around the Iyr. “The new year seems to have brought a vigour upon your faces.”

The workers stared at the half elf, whose smiled remained tinged by a darkness, the kind they had noticed, but none had yet to speak. Adam ignored the business’ children for now, letting them have their fun. He greeted the various adults, leaving be a particular set of half elf triplets, those his daughter and nephew were currently swarming with their affection, as the twins often would.

“Quickly!” Virot demanded of John, who understood what the girl was requesting, though she was too young to understand the nuances of subtlety.

Adam’s eyes fell to Korin, whose lips twitched slightly.

“Little Boss, you should make the other joke first,” John replied. He was almost a fresh faced youth. Short hair, face freshly shaved that morning, dark eyes, with hands as rough as the life he had led.

“Which joke?”

“Working hard.”

“Ock!” Virot gasped. “Working hard?”

“Hardly working.”

“This is why you are my favourite papo.” Virot turned her head, side eyeing John, before cackling with delight.

‘Jirot, you need to teach her more jokes…’ Adam thought, but he smiled towards John, and peeked down at the triplets, who peeked at him in return with such bright smiles. “Is daddy treating you nicely?”

“No!” Garaeth, the eldest of the triplets replied, cackling, clapping his hands.

“I’ll ask Nirot to deal with him,” Adam promised, sticking out his tongue, causing the triplets to continue to cackle with such delight. Adam ruffled their hair, but it was finally time for the triplets, and the other children of the business to bring their gifts, each threatening to drown him in their drawings, their beads, their bits of leather, all manner of trinkets they had managed to gain over the years of the adventures of the nearby adults, from those of the business, to those of the Iyr. For some of them, it had been over a lifetime ago when they did not possess even these trinkets, which could not feed their empty stomachs. Now, they freely handed away such treasures without a second thought, for though they may not have been rich as the children of the Iyr, they were as rich as the children of merchants, even without any parents.

The darkness upon Adam’s face retreated.

“I’ll bring the Ray and my triplets here later in the day so you can wish them a happy birthday too,” Adam said, beaming down at the children, and with that, the children were finally allowed to head to their schooling. It was Dunes who stepped away with the children, but as he did, Adam was about to call out to him. The half elf paused. He turned, towards Korin, who raised a brow.

Adam gathered the Leads, all seven who had claimed the title over the last few years, those who earned a little over a gold a day, a fairly low wage considering each were at least Experts, except their wealth came from the fact some wore magical weapons at their side, and were granted quite the power within the business. As Adam had gathered them, he realized what a terrible idea it had been, and there were other matters he should have focused on, especially with most of the children in school, and the others were a little too young to quite understand what he would be talking about.

‘I keep forgetting how difficult it is to be a decent Executive…’ Adam though, though those before him, the seven he trusted most, who had been born in the commoner ranks, and had risen to such a position, whereas the Managers, like Dunes and Korin, had been born within an Order, and had access to such a lifestyle, had been raised to the position of Managers, one rank above Leads. ‘Damn. There’s four from the same Order, one from another, and the only two who weren’t are literally a Demon Lord and her aide.’

The Leads read the half elf’s face, with the understanding he was thinking something ridiculous.

“Ah. Excuse me. I’ve got a lot on my mind. I just wanted to say that, uh, you’ve been doing a good job. This year, we’ll be stepping out soon, and I wanted to tell you first, it’s alright if you don’t want to come along. The Reavers are a grave threat, and I’m not sure if everyone will be able to make it back.”

The Leads remained silent.

‘Right, they probably don’t want to say they want to stay behind if everyone else is watching.’ Adam smiled awkwardly. “Actually, I’ll speak with Manager Vonda about it, and she’ll let you know.”

The Leads scattered. Adam reached up to his forehead. He should have thought a little more about the matter.

“Executive!” called a grey skinned fellow, a man who wore full plate, and carried a longsword at his side, though he preferred a slightly heavier weapon. His black hair fell to his shoulders, his tusks silvered, and his eyes full of bright life. “Morning!”

“Morning, Tork.”

“Any chance you had something to do with the weather?”

“It was Bael.”

“Ah!” Tork replied. “He’s all healed up, is he?”

“It seems to be that way.” Adam smiled, and the two clasped forearms. “I swung by mostly to check on the business, but did you have the schematics of the sword you wanted?”

"Aye! The Little Boss helped me design it. A few too many roses, but I couldn’t bear to say it to him.”

“What do you mean too many roses?”

“I mean, a perfect number of roses, which I appreciate, that’s for sure…” Tork replied, though his eyes darted up towards the clouds which had parted above them, and began to drift away. He supposed even if roses were mostly Mother Soza’s favourite symbol, Lady Tempest wouldn’t mind them, especially considering the lightning along the blade.

“Gather the rest too, please, and pass them along. The rest of the season, the Enchanter’s going to be busy…”

Tork grinned wide like a beast. “Perhaps I’ll be able to defeat Laygak.”

“Considering Laygak will probably also get himself a new sword…”

“Ah, well, I suppose that’s how it is.”

Adam winked, and pat Tork’s shoulder, and once his children had sufficiently adored the triplets, and bullied the workers, and with the various drawings in hand, he stepped away. As he did so, he had forgotten to speak to the business members broadly, but he had already begun to step away.

‘That works out since they’d probably feel better hearing from a Ray than me…’

As Korin approached the open garden of the nearby estate, in which the children trained lightly under Dunes’ guidance. Thankfully, the training was identical to the last few years, so the children could mostly follow the drills as Korin approached their teacher.

“You were right,” Korin said. “It’s that bad.”

“Ray Vonda will be able to deal with it,” Dunes said. “If Jurot was here, I doubt it would be this bad.”

“We’ll have to pray he returns soon.” Korin let out a soft sigh. “Can you speak with him?”

“Ray Vonda is enough, and he has handled much worse, but if it continues to grow worse, I will speak with him.”

Korin considered who else he could ask to speak with the half elf. However, certainly everyone who could help him already knew. Perhaps he was thinking too deeply on it, and he should entrust not only the others, but Adam himself.

‘Will the Iyr leave the Grand Malawi be?’

05

“Papa!” called a voice, of a girl so round and blue, charging towards the half elf. Thankfully, the half elf was no longer physically sick as he sometimes would appear to her, so he lifted her up as though she was as light as a toddler who was fed too often, barely grunting as he did so.

“Shouldn’t you be napping alongside your nephew?” Adam teased.

“No!” Amalrot cackled, for she was at that age, and Adam squeezed her cheeks, causing her to bury her head against his shoulder.

Thankfully, little Xarot was already fast asleep, and Amalrot yawned, allowing the half elf a moment to step away. He approached a particular district within the Iyr, home to a couple of thousand Iyrmen, quite a few elderly, and so many of the districts needed to deal with their free time, otherwise, with their hands too idle, they would reach for their steel.

Adam stepped into an unassuming room, that which was a simple study, with a beautiful rug, patterned with the famous patterns of a distant Aswadian town in the centre of the room. He pulled it aside, and opened the trap door, heading down to one of the underground storage rooms of the Iyr, in which he was accompanied by the vague darkness, the cold, and the piles of ingots, and other materials resting to the side. Adam reached over to the crystal, allowing it to claim some of his body temperature to allow it to glow, and he placed down scribble of red, with the green stem onto the crate, placing down the various ingots, and other materials down before him. His eyes fell onto the drawing of a rose.

The half elf smiled.

“Lord Sozain, accept my offering to you,” Adam began his prayer, and his mana surged through him, the heat from his heat flooding all through his body, the wind picking up around him as various threads of light flowed out from him onto the material around him.

Mana: 39 -> 35

Spell: Fabricate

The half elf yawned, walking through the Iyr, returning back to the estate, in which he found his chonky sister, and his waddling son, both of whom rushed up towards him, leading the pair of toddlers who were slightly older, to him.

“Working hard?” Vonda teased, holding her nephew within her arms, the little Borot, allowing his mother to watch over the four others, not that she needed to now that Adam had returned.

“Hardly working,” Adam assured, picking up each child, planting firm kisses on their cheeks. “I need you to speak with the workers, to make sure they’re at ease. Although, after that, I need you to speak to them about who wants to step out.”

Adam didn’t want them to feel obligated to step out, but, with how much needed to be enchanted, the half elf needed to know who wanted to step out in order to prepare the magical weapons. If they wanted to back out by the end, that was fine, but if they ended up joining after, and there was no time to enchant a suitable weapon, then, even if they were an Expert, they would have some trouble.

“Have you thought of which enchantments?” Vonda whispered, while the four children were swiftly taken away to other estates, to greet their extended families, and to mingle with the other children of the Iyr.

“Yeah. I was thinking about doing Mork’s. Tork’s, and jiddo’s. I wasn’t sure who else should have a weapon.”

“I believe Zabir wishes to go too.”

“Zabir?” Adam asked. “I thought he was going to enjoy his retirement here?”

“If Yasha is to leave to face the Reavers, Zabir will wish to watch over her.”

“Right…” Adam thought of the old guard, considering how much effort he had to endure in order to become an Expert, and now his granddaughter, less than half his age, was equally as skilled as he. ‘It’s a good thing I made the enchantments pretty universal.’

“Adam,” Vonda called.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

Adam held his wife’s gaze for a long moment. It was only upon seeing the worry glistening did he realize. “Ah. Sorry. I’m fine. I just need to clear my mind a little. I think, maybe, since I wasn’t doing much during Twilight, I let my mind wander.”

Vonda didn’t want to admit he had been descending since before that, but it was during Twilight in which the half elf, after having dealt with it the first time, had descended back to his depression once more.

Adam leaned over towards little Borot, soaking in the boy’s sight, and as he had for the last few weeks, had made sure to allow the boy to feel his warmth, and hear his words, so he could steal the boy away from his father from the very beginning.

Within an estate, Jaygak flipped through the pages of her journal, that which would be passed down the Iyr, so her successors, and those far in the future, could understand the thoughts behind her decisions, especially the strange decisions which may only make sense through the world she had experienced.

As Jaygak read over the decision, again and again, she let out a long sigh.

‘Thankfully, it’s not the hearts of the triplets, otherwise…’ Jaygak let out a long sigh.

Though the clouds dissipated over the Iyr, a storm rolled into the estate. The storm’s name was Jirot.

The girl’s eyes fell to her mother for a moment, who bowed her head gently, and as the girl rushed up to her mother, who would bathe her soon, for the girl had trained hard before lunch, she held onto her mother’s sleeve.

Adam narrowed his eyes, for even if Jurot was bullying him, she wouldn’t go so far as to ignore him on his birthday.

It was then the girl reminded the half elf who she was.

As the maelstrom of trouble swept through the Front Iyr, to the east, within a particular outpost, emerging from the shadows of the nearby wood, they emerged.

Tall.

Red.

Dark.

The figures numbered three dozen. The horns blared, the soldiers rallied, crossbows in hand, as the Reavers approached the outpost.

“There’s only forty of them?” a soldier mumbled.

“Conventional wisdom states you require at least three times as many to assault a position than to defend it,” the Sergeant said, raising a hand, and the crossbows on the walls pointed forward, towards the Reavers. ‘They are either foolish, or…’

The Sergeant threw down his hand, and the bolts loosened, flying through the air. Waves of bolts fell upon the Reavers, crashing onto them like a tidal wave of steel. Yet, even under such an assault, the Reavers, blades in hand, cut the bolts away with their steel, which did not yield even under the heavy bolts, not so much as a dent, and they charged forward with such a ferocity.

“Fire!” came the shout, and the second row of crossbows loosened, the soldiers scrambling back, reloading as the third rank took to the walls, and fired. It was upon the third wave, the Sergeant raised his fist. “Retreat!”

Not a single Reaver had fallen under the assault of crossbows.

The soldiers leapt away from the walls, and though confusion spread through their ranks, none were confused by the fact the Sergeant was fleeing, and so they followed their leader.

“Sir!” came the accusatory shout of his second in command.

“They are each Experts,” the Sergeant replied simply.

The news spread through the soldiers, and they barrelled out of the outpost, their heavy boots on the stone path, for they needed to send the news back. Except, the clashing of steel behind them, the screams, caused the soldiers to turn, in which they watched the sheer horror of the Reavers butchering the straggling soldiers as though they were pigs.

“Retreat!” came the shout of the sergeant, as the soldiers beside him shot their crossbows, trying to slow down the Reavers, but the bolts only lightly wounded a couple of the Reavers, as they charged forward, their grey steel now sanguine.

06

Jirot remained holding her mother’s sleeve. Her father stood, stunned. She took a half step behind her mother, hugging the woman from within her shadow.

“What was that?” Adam asked, his eyes wide.

“Father…” Jirot called.

Adam winced, stumbling back, falling into a chair. It was as though the girl had grabbed his heart and squeezed it. “What are you doing?”

“Do you understand?” Jirot asked, from behind her mother’s leg.

“You! How can you…” Adam sniffled, leaning his head back, eyes falling upon the girl.

“It is our gift to you.”

“Jirot!” Adam pointed at the girl, holding up a blade like finger, causing the girl to mirror him. “If you continue to do this, I will tell mummy.”

“Mother understands!”

“You punk! How can you do this?”

Old Jarot carried a bundle of logs over his shoulders, but seeing Adam and Jirot as they were, he slowly placed them down. As he made to speak, the breeze tickled the back of his neck, and he understood he had stepped onto a battlefield.

“Greatfather, you must tell father.”

Old Jarot’s eyes fell to his greatdaughter. His eyes then fell onto the triplets, and the greatson named after him. ‘I should have expected Jirot to pick the most vicious day to bully her father so…’

‘Of all the days, did she have to pick today?’ a figure thought, the red skinned woman’s eyes falling onto her greatdaughter, who had cleaved through her father’s heart so brutally. ‘Should I step in?’

Vonda remained silent, and it required all her willpower as a Ray not to laugh, or to admonish her daughter, since her husband needed this. Although the consequences would be dire, if the girl did not do it now…

“You brat!” Old Jarot finally exclaimed. “How dare you call me your greatfather! How can you do this?”

“Ba-,” Jirot began, but her finger tracked from her father to her greatfather, threatening him. “Greatfather! Do you think I will not?”

“Jirot, are you bullying your babo?” called a girl, who was so much older than her nieces and nephews, for though the triplets turned eight this year, she had turned eight the previous year. Lanarot, who held a slight chubbiness in her cheeks, for she was her sister’s sister, and she brought a piece of bread to her own lips, and the lips of her blue sister.

“I must call him greatfather now.”

Lanarot stepped back, as though the girl had struck her. Her eyes widened, her mouth formed a tiny circle, and her head snapped aside to her eldest brother, her mother, her grandfather, and she wrapped her arms around her little sister, as if to protect her from the scene.

“Do you see?” Adam called. “Even your kako thinks you have gone too far?”

“She is not my kako, she is my aunt.”

Lanarot gasped, her head snapping to her mother. “Mother!”

Sonarot closed her eyes, shaking her head lightly.

“Father, our gift to you today is to grow up!” Jirot declared.

“What kind of gift is that?” Adam replied, as his children quickly gathered together. “How can you betray me like this?”

“Father, do you understand how this is a gift?” Jirot asked.

“You!” Adam huffed, his chest tightening. “How can this be considered a gift?”

“We called you father, and uncle Jurot did not see it,” Jirot said cautiously.

Adam’s eyes filled with tears. The flashes of their faces came to him. When they were found, the boy still connected to the woman who had given birth to him. The mud. The way he had almost killed Dunes. It was before his triplets had come to him, the triplets who had not been born in this world, but, presumably, in an alternate timeline, and yet they had somehow managed to find him.

“Father,” Konarot called, staring up towards her father, her silver eyes full of gentleness, but they were firm, for it was she who had bitten even the Mad Dog as a babe.

Adam’s tears slipped down his face, his face tense. ‘God damn it. My daughter is so funny.’

Jirot, too, began to cry, and the children swarmed their father. “Even if I am a big girl now! I will always love you, daddy!”

“You! How can you call me father and then call me daddy again?”

Jirot gasped, pausing her tears, but her lips trembled once more, and she hugged her father tightly. Little Jarot embraced his father tightly too, and though he made to speak, the boy’s voice was drowned out by his crying. Konarot, Kirot, and Karot, too, each held onto their father, for though their father was a fool, he was a fool whose love was more boundless than even the sky.

The fool of a half elf drowned under their bodies.

Old Jarot slipped into his rage, not wishing to cry.

It was at that time, in which the children had battered their father at his lowest, did rivers of sanguine drench the mud. The trees did little to stop the Reaver’s steel, and, with the piles of dead behind them, the soldiers turned, and as spear met sword, the soldiers fell.

The Sergeants sword met the red eyed Reaver, and as the two clashed, sword against sword, he was barely able to fend off the brutality of such Reavers. In his heart, he understood what it meant to struggle against such creatures. He, who had yet to step into the realm of an Expert, would find his end here, and yet, with his pounding heart, the heat flooding through his body, he swung, and he swung, and he swung.

Without a doubt, he would die this day. However, one of his own had sent a bird, and their quickest runner barrelled their way through the wood, and would, hopefully be able to send word to let the army know. The Reaver cleaved through the Sergeant’s solid steel, and struck his helmet.

The Sergeant’s head rung. He opened his eyes. The Reaver was over him, and as he reached his hand over his face, the cracks of the sun’s rays peeked through. The sword fell upon him.

Steel rung against steel.

“Sarge!” shouted the dark cloaked Captain, sword gleaming through the air, managing to barely deflect the Reavers blow. “We will cover your retreat!”

The Reaver’s sword cleaved through the Captian’s arm, through the steel, leather, flesh, sinew, and bone. The Captain grunted, but cut through across the side of the Reaver’s neck, and as he spun, swinging his sword wildly, the Reaver’s sword cut through the Captain’s arm, and as he dropped to his knees, his head rolled to the side.

The Sergeant reached for his sword. “Lord Sozain will welcome me today! Can you say the same?”

The Reaver raised its sword.

A beam of light pierced through its shoulder.

The Reaver shimmered with a celestial glow.

“Mother Soza embraces all,” chanted a voice, and a sword cloaked in heavenly white cut through the tree, and as the figure clad in steel leapt forward, his sword cleaved through the Reaver’s body, causing the two halves to drop. The glowing white of the Reaver’s mortal wound glowed brightly, and as it turned to dust, the glowing white blooming into petals of light, searing through the dust.

The man stood tall and proud, in his heavy full plate, a white tabards with a rose emblazoned across it boldly. He wore an amulet in the shape of a rose over a golden sun. His sword glowed with radiance.

“Stand up, my son,” called the man, his hand glowing white, and as he placed it on the Sergeant’s shoulder, the light flowed out and filled the soldier with warmth. “The Mother has sent us.”

“Father Robert!” the Sergeant exclaimed, quickly standing to pay his respects. “There are too many of them…”

Robert held up his sword with both hands and stepped forward, leading the Sergeant, and several bolts of light followed after him, striking the Reavers, causing them to glow with a celestial glow.

07

Another, adorned in full plate, a white tabard with a rose, and an amulet of a silver rose over a golden sun, stepped forward, her bright white sword cleaving through a glowing Reaver. Beside her, a near identical figure cut down a Reaver with his, and behind them, twenty one stood, tall and proud, chanting. They wore full plate, white tabards with roses, and amulets of silver suns over silver roses. They pointed, their fingers almost like blades, and as they prayed, beams of light shot forward and pierced through the Reavers, filling them with a celestial glow, and once more, the swords of heavenly white cleaved through the Reavers.

The company of soldiers, half of whom lay dead, panted, steel in hand. They watched in awe as the three Hopes and twenty one Rays of Life’s Rose marched forward, their heavenly magic cutting down the vile Reavers. Though there had only been three dozen or so Reavers, they had almost entirely ravaged through the company. Yet, they still outnumbered those of Life’s Rose, even after slaughtering fifty soldiers. Though, even with Life’s Rose being outnumbered, the Sergeant was fairly certainly they could have slaughtered the entire band of Reavers themselves.

‘So this is the difference between those of Life’s Rose and we…’ The Sergeant let out a soft sigh, but he raised his sword. “Forward! Forward, you dogs! Forward!”

“You need not step forward,” Ser Robert of Life’s Rose, said, his glowing sword cleaving through another Reaver with red eyes, and as he threatened to slice through another, his blade flashing even brighter, his blade caught another. A Reaver stood before him, its bronze eyes glared at him with such delight. “Are you not led by one with silver eyes?”

The Reaver’s sword blurred through the air, but a glowing blade blurred and met its.

“What a shame,” Ser Robert mused. It was also a shame he had arrived so late, and with half the company dead, especially on the first day of the year, he understood the morale of the people would fall. Since it was finally the year in which the forces of so many nations would join together, he, too, would need to bring forth hope into the new year.

‘Is there not one with silver eyes?’ the woman, adorned in full plate, and a silver rose over a golden sun, thought, her sword cleaving through a glowing Reaver. Its body turned to dust along with the glowing white roses, the petals scattering into the air, burning away the sin within their souls.

“Mother Soza,” Ser Robert chanted, and the wind picked up around him, and as his glowing sword blurred through the sky, he pierced the earth between his feet, and the glowing white magic burst outward along with the thunderous force of his prayer, forcing the Reavers to fall around him, the bronze eyed Reaver almost kneeling, but its sword aimed for his neck.

Unfortunately for it, Ser Robert, First Hope of Life’s Rose, had revealed his strength.

The Sergeant stood, mouth agape. He raised his sword, turning his head to the soldier beside him, equally slack jawed. “Paragon! The First Hope is a Paragon!”

The soldiers roared the word, raising their steel. Though Ser Robert had allowed them to step back, the foolish mortals, standing upon the battlefield of gods, crashed against the Reavers, and though many fell in a single swing, the next soldier took their place, a fire lit within their heart. Even if they were slain by the Reavers, those of Life’s Rose would not allow their souls to be claimed.

‘To think you would reveal it now…’ Ser Ava, the Second Hope of Life’s Rose, thought, but she, too, spun her sword over the back of her fist, and as her glowing sword slashed through a Reaver. Her sword flashed bright white and cleaved through a Reaver, a creature which was an Expert, and to a typical commoner, a creature as powerful as five warriors, but to she, no greater than a child.

A Reaver stepped forward, clashing against her. Its bronze eyes gleamed brightly with delight, and the Reavers, the rest red eyed, understood this would be their last day, and such a fine last day it was. There were no more with bronze eyes among this band to deal with the last Hope, Ser Thomas, the Seventh Hope of Life’s Rose, who was twice as powerful as the red eyed Reavers.

As those worshipping the Mother of Life brought great death, it was confirmed. This year would be the climax of this sordid affair.

Though the soldiers fought with their lives on the line, and many of them fell, within the lands of the Iyr, in which blood was currency, a particular fool fell, his triplets pinning him beneath their forms. It was at that time a particular fellow, who had spilled so much currency, fell under the twins, who hugged him tightly as though he would escape from reality.

“Greatfather, you must forgive us,” Jirot said.

“Do you think because you are hugging me so tightly I will forgive you?” Old Jarot asked.

Jirot blinked.

“Since when did you become so wise, my Jirot?”

“I am the daughter of my mother, after all.”

‘To think she is able to speak the word so easily now…’ The old Iyrman let out a soft sigh, recalling back to the past, when the girl would bully him so viciously. Even the previous year, when she spoke words she should never speak to an Iyrman, especially not her greatfather, and yet it was today, by refusing to call him babo, did she bully him the most. The old Iyrman turned his head to the boy who was nestled within his bicep. As their eyes met, the old man leaned in. “It is you, my Jarot, who bullies me the most.”

Little Jarot blinked. The boy narrowed his eyes, and with a finger, like that of a blade, he warned the old man. “Greatfather.”

“Ack!”

“Greatfather.”

“Oo!”

“Greatfather!” The boy jabbed the old man in his neck. “You think, I am so nice to you, you can bully me like this?”

Old Jarot held his greatson’s gaze.

The boy grumbled quietly to himself. “Since when did you become so wise, greatfather?”

“I am the husband of my wife, after all.”

The pair cackled in delight, embracing one another with great affection, the boy’s small arms around his greatfather’s great neck, and the older man’s against his greatson’s entire great form, for this boy, he was great indeed.

As Adam had promised, he brought his triplets to the business that afternoon, carrying Karot upon his back, and his girls in each arm, the two flying through the air.

The business gathered, first to hear Vonda’s prayers, and though she was their Manager, it was her title as a Ray which eased their hearts. The business also began to shower the triplets in their favour, gifting small trinkets. The triplets accepted their favour with such eagerness, their tails swaying behind them, and they made sure to spoil the other set of triplets, those who were half elves, unlike they. Although, one day, the children would no longer be half elves, but children of the Iyr.

Dunes straightened up slightly, and as Jirot rushed off to her father, he drifted to Korin. “Jirot called Adam her father.”

Korin’s brows furrowed in response. “Yes. I would assume so.”

“No,” Dunes whispered urgently. “She called him father.”

Korin’s brows remained furrowed, before shooting up in alarm, his eyes darting between the girl and then her father, who lifted her up with ease, peppering kisses all over her face, before doing the same to Jarot, complaining about being called father instead of daddy. The stress shot up through his heart, to his forehead, reaching up to stop the pounding.

“Of all the days…” Dunes whispered.

“If she had done so on her previous birthday…”

“Could she do so when her elder siblings would not?”

“It is Jirot.”

“It is Jirot,” Dunes refuted.

Korin considered the words, bowing his head. “It seems we will have to entrust the matter to…”

“To think even they would spend the season training…” Dunes let out a soft sigh. ‘I will have to drink tea with him often.’

“Perhaps we could as-,” Korin began, not stopping because, as an Oathsworn, trusting in demons was something that was profane, but because even they stated their intention to train for the first season.

“I thought it was bad last year, but this year…” Dunes whispered. “What a shame we will not step out with the children this year.”

“The Reavers are too dangerous.”

Dunes let out another soft sigh, his eyes falling upon the triplets, and then to the twins, remembering how small they had been when they were born. Even now, the bile of shame tickled the back of his throat as he recalled how he had almost killed them.

“Even though you still call ahm Dunes ahm, you will not call me daddy?” Adam grumbled.

“Ahm means uncle in Aswadic,” Jirot replied.

“Since when could you speak Aswadic?”

Jirot side eyed her father.

“I was just joking.”

“I can never tell with you, father.”

“Gah!” Adam gasped, wounded by his daughter’s words once more.

‘If he is playing the fool in front of those of the business, perhaps he is not quite so sick…’

As the first winds of the year floated through the Iyr, the various Great Elders met, and as they discussed matters of the Iyr, the Chief brought to their attention the poison which had dared to seep into the children’s hearts.

“If you have brought the matter to us, when we have surrendered authority of that family to you, you must have your own thoughts,” the purple skinned Elder Peace, who rubbed along her beads, said. “if you cannot speak the words, then it must be…”

Chief Iromin’s eyes, dark from troubled sleep, glared at the Great Elder. It was a glare which said he was not ready to speak the words, and she shouldn’t dare to speak them either.

“As Elder Peace states, we shall leave the matter to you, and you may take the time required to consider,” Elder Teacher said, for he, too, was still struggling to form the festivals for this century, and, possibly, this millennia.

‘I should speak with Elder Wrath…’ Iromin thought.

Elder Forest and Elder Gold exchanged looks, glad their roles were far simpler. Thankfully, they had a prodigy to assist them, one who just so happened to be the grandson of a particular fellow, a young man who was red skinned, and would one day wear the tattoos of blue. However, considering the awkwardness of the situation, perhaps it would not be this year, though he was already much older than the typical Iyrman.

All because of one fool of a father.

It was later that evening, when a particular fool spoke with Vonda. The old man placed a hand atop her head, for though she was a Ray, wasn’t she his granddaughter, who married the fool that was his grandson, and, of course, the mother of his greatchildren, from the triplets, to the twins, to the hornless red skinned babe, and of course, those which she had given birth to herself.

“If you can send that bas-,” Old Jarot began, though he cleared his throat. “If you can send that… fellow, the Chief, word, please.”

Vonda stared at the old man, who had dared to bully his grandson so brutally that day. “I will do it.”

“I will inform Adam tomorrow morning,” Old Jarot assured, but as he spoke the words, the strength faded from his voice. A long moment passed between them. “I will do it.”

“Okay, grandfather.” Vonda smiled, allowing him to walk away with his heart intact, that old man who had somehow become the grandfather of a Ray of Life’s Rose. Even now, Vonda couldn’t help but think of Fate as a playful force.

‘When we step out, I will ease the heart of my grandson,’ Old Jarot thought, hands clasped behind his back. It was awkward now, for his granddaughter was a Ray of Life’s Rose, so he could no longer slaughter the Aldish as freely as he had done so almost fifty years ago. It was not just his granddaughter, but his greatson, the one named after him, and…

“Ba-,” Karot began, gasping slightly. “Greatfather, can we go to the warehouse, please?”

“Of course!”

“Of course!” came the shout from the children nearby.

As the group four, the triplets and their greatfather, made their way to the warehouse, they spotted a familiar face, the red skinned man who was the father of their aunts, and the father of the mischievous woman who eventually took the title of Elder.

“Grandfather!” the triplets exclaimed.

The red skinned Iyrman jolted out from his thoughts, his brows furrowed in utter bewilderment, before they rested upon the triplets, who charged him. “Oh? Konarot, Kirot, Karot…”

“Grandfather, we are heading to the warehouse with greatfather,” Konarot informed.

“We must pick up the books for school, and our play,” Kirot added.

“Grandfather, will you join us?” Karot asked, his silver eyes gleaming with such innocence.

The red skinned Iyrman flushed deeper. It had taken him a moment to understand what had struck him from their words, and as his lips formed the widest of smiles, he reached out and embraced them all. To think, when they had called him baba, they truly called him grandfather, rather than granduncle…

He couldn’t wait to tease the others!

Unfortunately for him, the children were too sweet, and so all those who had raised them with such affection were called grandfather and grandmother.

It had taken them eight years, instead of the typical five, to speak the words, and to the outsiders, they spoke the words wrong, but the Iyrmen here, those they called their grandfathers and grandmothers, they spoke right.

The Aldish soldiers they had slain the previous year had not been enough.

“We should not have shown so much mercy to the Aldish,” Jogak, the red skinned Iyrman, grumbled to himself.

“They are too distracted with the Reavers,” Sonarot replied, easing his heart as the Iyrman sipped away at his milk. It was she who the children called grandmother, along with a great many others, but it was she who was the only one who called their mother her daughter, and their father…

“Aunt…” Adam called, holding up Pamarot, for the girl glared at the world, and dared to glare to a great many, but within her grandmother’s arms, whose eyes seemed to glare in return, the girl flushed and turned her head to hide within the woman’s bosom.

Jogak sipped the rest of his milk. ‘Perhaps I should step out to deal with the Reavers…’

However, with his daughter now as the Elder, and though she would poke fun at him, it held a different cut. He turned his head from his sons and daughters to his niece, who had already stepped out, though she did not wear her tattoos. It was at this age she could receive them, and beyond that, with her skill, unmatched by any her age, she had earned the right.

Since when were the children all so… big?

Adam, too, thought such the next morning, but not quite so… quietly.

08

Chaos took the morning.

“How can you do this to me?” Adam stood, his entire body tense, ready to explode at a moment’s notice.

“We must go, father,” Jirot said, standing opposite him, tall and proud, firm like an oak.

“It’s already bad enough Churot has betrayed me like this, but-,”

“You brat!” Old Jarot growled. “Do you think I will allow you to bully my grandson like this?”

“What? How dare you say that!”

“My Churot is so sweet and tender! It is not he who has betrayed you, but you who has betrayed him!”

“I don’t like it when your greatfather is right, Jirot, so you must beat him up.”

Jirot closed her eyes. ‘I am surrounded by fools…’

“Do you see what you have done?” Old Jarot accused.

“This is all your fault!” Adam exclaimed in return, pointing at the old man, with the understanding he had done something. He wasn’t sure what the old man had done, but he was certainly responsible, since he was far too prepared to leave that morning.

“We must go, for Churot’s tattoo ceremony has been delayed for too long,” Mulrot said, placing a hand upon her grandson’s shoulder. “It will be small. Since Churot is closest to us, and Jirot and Jarot, we shall go see it. If Jurot had remained, we would have wished for you to go, but it would be best if you remained.”

Adam was certain it was because they understood he was too busy, but it would have been unfair if he had went and Jurot wouldn’t be able to. He swallowed the bitterness, wincing lightly, and he dropped to his knees, allowing his twins to swarm him, embracing them tightly.

“It seems you are ready to leave,” a red skinned Iyrman called, a fellow adorned in full plate, and at his side he wore a sword. His smile was bright, and as the twins charged him, he picked them up, spinning with them.

“Uncle Laygak!”

Laygak blinked. He stared down at the two. “Uncle?”

“You are not our uncle?” Jirot accused.

“I am, of course!”

“Of course!”

Laygak hadn’t understood why Old Jarot had delayed their secluded training, for though they had given their gifts in the morning, they had stepped away, and in that time, not even a whole day, so much had changed. Hearing the twins call him uncle, he turned, towards the half elf who seemed as though he was about to burst, and understood.

The Silver Fate Squad, as they were known, gathered to escort the children along with their greatparents. However, they understood it was because they needed to watch over the children while they were away from their parents, and it was Nirot and Laygak who could assist in this matter.

Laygak, however, turned to his younger sister, the young teen, and as he called out to her, Adam pointed at the young Iyrman, as though daring him to speak. “Taygak, come.”

“Okay,” Taygak replied, the young teen following them.

Adam’s mouth dropped. ‘You punk! Just wait until you’re back, Laygak!’

Once Adam was within the walls of the business, he stared at the weapons before him. The longsword, the spear, the pair of greatswords.

He knew which enchantments he should apply. He understood just how dangerous they were. He also understood the people required such enchantments. Although he couldn’t guarantee their survival against the Reavers, at the very least, he would not allow them to die so easily.

Vonda, too, had begun enchanting. She, alongside Sara, focused on simpler enchantments, for it was these simple enchantments which would protect the workers, and would, hopefully, allow them to fight as though they were one realm higher, or at the very least, closer to a realm higher.

Adam had stated it firmly.

Only Experts were allowed to go.

There was one who would buck such words, but only because the half elf wasn’t willing to draw his axe against his cousin, but the rest were all Experts. With the equipment, she would hope they could fight closer to the realm of Master, but that may very well be wishful thinking.

The Reavers were that dangerous.

Only the likes of the various Orders could perhaps fend themselves against the Reavers, but even they would struggle, for the Orders numbered a hundred or so each, and the number of Experts within the Orders were less, and whereas there were perhaps a couple dozen orders, the Reavers numbered in the tens of thousands.

‘Mother Soza, please…’ Vonda thought, her prayers falling away to the wind, to the Goddess who remained in slumber.

The wind flowed through the Iyr, caressing the cheeks of the figure driving the carriage. It was that afternoon when they finally came across the walls, six times as tall as the Iyrman, the gate a touch smaller, flanked by three statues on each side. The Main Iyr, or the Big Iyr as it was sometimes called, was built partly into the side of the mountain, with tunnels to the side leading elsewhere. There were a great many large square blocks built ahead of him, the walls blocking off the next layer of the Iyr.

A pair of Iyrmen stood tall on the walls, and a third within the room above the gate, and as the figure waved their hand, Laygak waved his hand in return, and the various Iyrmen within opened the gates, with their great might, rather than the various levers within.

The Iyr was built partly in the side of the mountain, a few tunnels leading elsewhere, small cliffs overlooking the Iyr and the houses, which were formed of large square blocks, and beyond them, a wall which blocked off much of the rest of the Iyr.

As the twins leapt out of the carriage, they paused, for before them was a figure. An older man, with long hair dyed red, clean shaven to reveal his strong jaw. At his side, he wore a blade formed of bone and metal.

“Chief!” the twins called in delight.

“I was sent ahead to make sure you did not cause trouble,” Chief Iromin joked.

The twins cackled.

“If you wish to stop my greatchil-,” Old Jarot began, but stopped as his greatdaughter raised a blade like finger towards him.

“Do not worry, Chief. My mother informed me to watch over greatfather so he cannot bully you.”

“Even your greatfather cannot bully me.”

“Chief, you are strong, but my greatfather is the strongest,” Jirot said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I see…” Iromin smiled warmly, reaching down to brush the girl’s hair, and then the little one, who was named after his greatfather, and yet was so much sweeter. The Chief escorted them through the Main Iyr. Even within the superblock which formed the shared estate of the four families, he waited, as the children swarmed their grandmother, Mirot, who lifted them up and allowed them to drown her in their affection.

The Chief waited. Then, seeing Old Jarot’s glare, he stepped away, with the understanding Jaygak had yet to inform the old man.

09

The days passed by.

A quietness filled the air.

“Kaka is coming back today?” Virot asked her mother. Vonda smiled, but shook her head lightly. “Oh…”

Damrot, too, pouted. It was one thing for his father to leave for so long, but for Jirot and Jarot to leave for so long…

Thankfully, a particular silver haired, silver eyed, silver scaled girl swarmed the two, wrapping them within her arms. “Let us go to the park!”

“Okay!” the two replied, following their eldest sister, though she was technically only the eldest sister for one of them.

It was this eldest sister who was the eldest daughter of a particular fool of a half elf. In the late afternoon, as Adam returned, he spoiled his children with his affection, playing with each of them. Konarot enjoyed sparring with her father. Kirot enjoyed walking with him. Karot enjoyed drawing with him. Virot enjoyed listening to various stories. Damrot, he enjoyed vaguely being around, but the half elf made sure to spoil him by feeding him. Monarot, at the age in which she liked to remain by herself, except with her mother, was not spoiled by him quite as much, and Pamarot slept within his arms. Borot, too, slept within his arms, not yet four weeks old.

Xarot cackled, refusing to play with his father, remaining with his mother.

‘Xarot is sister’s brother…’ Konarot thought, though was quickly distracted by her father’s hand, which brushed along her cheek. The girl flushed. She did not understand the darkness within her father’s heart.

Adam continued to brush the girl’s scar gently. The scar had formed from a time before she had entered the Iyr. The marks were certainly from the claws of a bear, beside her eye, along her cheek. That evening, Adam focused on punching the tree, continuing his training, for though his grandmother had stepped out, her elder brother watched over him.

‘My grandson is too talented,’ Mulrot had complained to her elder brother. ‘He knows how to punch and kick, so it is difficult to train him, this grandson of mine, who is so talented…’

‘He is my grandnephew too,’ Malfev had replied.

He was old. Tall and lean. His head, smooth, freshly shaved most mornings. A thick moustache, white as snow, hid his lips, while his beard fell down to his chest, neatly cut midway down his chest. Upon his back, he wore a spear, the tip lapped in leather, and he emanated an aura of gentleness.

‘However, it is not his body I need to watch for…’ Mulrot had said.

As Adam punched the tree, managing to finally break through it, for it was that kind of tree, he inhaled sharply. it was that face he had seen. The face of the previous Grand Commander of High Garden.

“My sister is right,” Malfev finally said, noting the way the half elf’s fists had tensed, though the young man suddenly jolted in surprise from his granduncle’s presence. “You are too talented.”

Adam flushed lightly, side eyeing his granduncle, who always appeared out of nowhere, even though Adam knew he had been around. “I must be talented, for I am grandmother’s grandson.”

Malfev narrowed his eyes, and his hand blurred through the air, and as Adam pulled back, he flicked the half elf’s nose. “Your daughter is no longer here to protect you from me.”

Malfev should not have said those words.

A shadow loomed over the old Iyrman.

“Do you understand?” Konarot asked, her silver eyes glaring up towards her greatuncle, her finger pointed towards him like a blade.

“I understand.”

“My father is weak, and you are so strong, and you are his el-,” Konarot began, but stopped as a shadow loomed over her, and she floated in the air, a pair of hands holding her up by her armpits. Her tail swayed lightly behind her.

“You are your sister’s sister,” Adam accused.

Konarot slowly turned her head, until she could bare see her father from the side. The girl smirked.

Kirot and Karot cackled.

“I see…” Adam was about to make a joke. It was a joke he should never utter. The half elf smiled, wrapping his arms around his eldest daughter, who flushed lightly, and retreated into her father’s chest, her tail swaying behind her gently. “It is my daughters who are most vicious?”

Konarot pursed her lips, flushing with embarrassment, but her eyes sparkled with mischief, confirming she was her sister’s sister.

That evening Tork appeared alongside his twin brother, Mork. Mork was pale, like snow, his chestnut hair flowing down his shoulders. He wore the attire of the Iyr, for the attire of the business, once more, was being remade. He wore a pair of blades at his side, one a half arm’s length. Upon his chest, an amulet, stamped with half a cloud and a lightning bolt. Though he was a northerner, and held such a roughness, he held the refinement of a Brother, that of Lady Tempest.

The children sat, listening to their tale, that which they had heard so many times before, to the point the brothers would ask the children to answer who it was they had met, and what had happened, allowing them their fun.

‘When should I give them their weapons?’ Adam thought, still enchanting them. His eyes fell to Afraz, who was holding little Xarot within his arms, the two glaring between one another, until Afraz blew raspberries into the boy’s neck, and Xarot cackled, doing the same to his greatjiddo’s neck.

It was upon the start of the weekend, when Adam still had work, he brought the children to the business to watch the workers train and spar.

However, though the young Aswadian woman prepared herself, the triplets approached another pair of Aswadians, twins. Their skin the colour of oak, their eyes the colour of leaves, their lips the colour of duty, each wearing steel sabres at their sides, for they were the Twin Steel Sabres.

Yasha pouted slightly, since the children had known her first, and yet they greeted the Twin Steel Sabres before her.

“Miss Yasha!” Konarot called, holding up her hand, and Yasha returned the high five. “Will you show us your spearplay today?”

“Yes!” Yasha assured, high fiving the triplets, whom eagerly awaited the young Aswadian woman’s spearplay. She was roughly the age of the children’s father and uncle, and was a genius, for she had reached the realm of an Expert years ago. However, unlike the two, she was not blessed by the Divine, nor the Iyr, so remained in such a realm. Even so, her spearplay was quick, clean, almost like that of the Gak family’s swordplay.

Zabir sipped his tea lightly, sitting opposite Afraz, who held little Xarot within his arms, the boy half asleep. The Aswadian was old, with a face worn by the sun and time, and he was still lean, even in his retirement, and still strongly built. He cut his curly hair short, but his beard was still thick, covering much of his lips.

“You raised your granddaughter well,” Afraz said, holding up the cup of tea, warm, which he drank half way leaned over to the side, not wishing to spill any onto his great grandson, so he could call the boy, through his relationship with their great grandmother, who he once adored, and had gifted him a fine grandson.

Zabir smiled. “It is only a shame I could not grant her more.”

“There are not many who could grant her more than you,” Afraz assured. Though Afraz was at least twice as powerful as the fellow before him, how many were as great as Zabir when it came to matters of honour and decency? There were so few in the world who would take those who did not possess the same blood and call that child their own child. Then there was the fact his own son had a child in the same manner, and yet Zabir had still taken the girl in as his own grandchild, even after his own son had died.

Little Xarot sneezed into his greatjiddo’s chest, and suddenly awoke. The boy blinked, staring out to the world. His face contorted and as the boy made to cry, Afraz wiped his face clean with a cloth, and brought a cup of milk to the boy’s lips, who pulled his head away from the cup for a moment, but surrendered a moment later, drinking the milk away.

“Xarot, how can you cry, you are such a big, strong boy?” Afraz teased.

Xarot turned his head to stare at Afraz for a long moment. “Mama.”

“I am your greatjiddo.”

Xarot narrowed his eyes. “Bye bye.”

Afraz kept the boy within his arms, even as he squirmed, until the boy finally surrendered. “Your father calls me his jiddo, and not in the same way he calls others his jiddo, so I am able to watch over you well.”

Xarot narrowed his eyes once more. The boy smirked, accepting his defeat.

Zabir smiled. The old man noted the callouses on his hands as he sipped his tea. He closed his eyes. Within his heart, he prayed to Lord Noor, forever grateful.

10

The wind brought in the rain. The cold rain brought in a cold wind. The cold brought a rush within the silver scaled triplets, each in the middle of their training, as they followed their father as they jogged the perimeter of the Front Iyr, the Iyrmen smiling and waving, the children returning waves and smiles. The bald and bearded Malfev, led their run, beaming towards the Iyrmen, showing off his grandnephew and the children.

The trees swayed. The fence around them only denoted the borders of the training yard. The earth beneath was hard, but soft enough to allow one to fall without trouble.

Malfev reached up to his beard, eyes scanning the faces of the four before him. “Now that we have finished our run, what must we do?”

Adam reached up to his chin, deep in thought.

Konarot and Kirot raised their hands.

“Karot,” Malfev asked, his eyes upon the meek boy.

“We must stretch?”

“We must stretch!” Malfev’s smile radiated from behind his beard, causing the boy to gently bow his head, his cheeks flushing. “I will allow you to lead the stretches, for you are so wise, being the son of your mother.”

Karot side eyed his father, who side eyed him in return. It was Karot who was the sweetest, so he did not speak the words, but their eyes shared the joke. Karot led the stretching, and once their sweat settled, the old Iyrman led the exercises.

“We will begin with ten squats, and then we will train Falcon Landing once more,” Malfev said, leading the squats, and once the squats were settled, the children leapt and landed upon a foot, repeating the action upon their other foot. “Why must we squat, Konarot?”

“Our legs must remain firm like oaks,” Konarot replied.

“Why must we train Falcon Landing?”

“Twisting our ankles hurt,” Kirot joked, the girl snickering lightly, and though Malfev smiled, he raised his brows. “It is important to land well so we do not hurt ourselves and…”

The triplets landed upon a foot in the matter of Falcon Landing, and drove the squat of the landing into their fist, punching outward.

“To fight!” the triplets declared.

‘My children are too cute,’ Adam thought.

Malfev picked up the children one by one, dropping them at a slight angle to see if they could right themselves. “Without your tail…”

Konarot’s tail spun behind her, and the girl peeked towards her greatuncle from the side, but did as he asked. He dropped her and the girl stamped her foot down, her tail springing backwards to help her balance, and she leapt into a punch. Kirot and Karot trained the same, their father focused on squatting, and once they had completed their light training, for it was the last day of the week, they made their way to bathe.

Breakfast wafted through the air, and since the children had trained all week long, the fish baked within the oven, covered in a streak of butter, salt, and pepper. The children sat near the ovens, to let their grandmother know when to take the fish out, all the while the potatoes were brought out, covered in butter, salt, and herbs.

‘I have so much work to do…’ Adam thought, as the flavours of the herbs danced on his tongue, eating the potato between bites of the eggs. His eyes fell to little Xarot, who ate the potato from his fingers, but only after Adam had cooled it with his magic. The boy chewed slowly, and ate as though he wished to swallow the air with each bite. “Xarot, close your mouth when you eat.”

Xarot swallowed, turning towards his father with a raised brow, only to find his father mirroring his expression. The boy narrowed his eyes. When his father returned the expression, he understood he may find himself in trouble, so he ate lightly, chewing with his mouth closed. His father poured him a cup of warm milk, and so the boy forgave his father, who was so sweet to him.

“Do you think I will not spoil you?” Adam asked, his nose pressing against his son’s cheek, menacingly.

“Daddy, so silly…” Xarot pouted, but as his father nuzzled his nose, the boy cackled with delight.

It was on that day Katool turned twelve. A heavy sigh left the half elf’s lips. He hugged her tight, handing her a quarterstaff. In exchange, the half elf picked up Jitool and Minool, threatening to leave with them. Katool closed her eyes, for she was no longer the four year old girl he had known. Now she was twelve, and she did not accept such cringe eagerly. However, she had to admit, deep within her heart, the fact he hadn’t broken from the joke was impressive, and that it had been a little bit funny.

The day off brought much play to the estate, with the half elf running a game of Wanderers and Warriors for the children, first for his children and for his sisters, though Amalrot enjoyed listening, being fed, and rolling the dice.

“I can fight the dwagon because I am a big girl,” Virot said, digging her face into her character sheet. “I, I, I…”

“Papo, I will use my spell, Fireball,” Damrot said, picking up a bunch of dice, tossing it out into the world.

The triplets snapped their heads towards an entrance of the estate, and quickly leapt onto their feet, rushing out to the entrance, in which a pair of figures stormed in. It was they, who cast long shadows, their amber eyes, and their green skin, and their leaf shaped ears.

“Hark!” Jirot exclaimed. “We have returned, and we-,”

Konarot half tackled the girl, who fell within the smothering of her eldest sister, and Jarot, too, fell into the smothering of his second eldest sister, as Karot beamed brightly, tail wagging behind him.

“Welcome back, Jirot!” Konarot planted a firm kiss on her sister’s forehead, but it was another girl who screamed, and charged, and Virot threatened to tackle both elder sisters to the ground, but Jirot was always prepared, especially when it came to Virot, and so the two hugged tightly.

Jarot embraced Damrot tightly, the two beaming towards one another, threatening to blind each other.

“How is uncle Churot?” Adam asked, allowing his children to exchange their affection first.

“Uncle Churot is well,” Jirot replied, and as she stormed her way to her aunt, she peeked down towards the one month old babe, leaning down to kiss his forehead gently. She reached into her tunic and brought out a silver chain necklace, that with a circle flanked by diamonds. “Uncle Churot has a gift for you, Borot, but you are too young to wear it, so I will give it to your mother, okay?”

The baby’s eyes stared at the green so peculiarly.

Though the girl had yet to greet her father, the half elf’s lips formed a small smile. He let out a sigh he had restrained into the air, and relieved his shoulders of the great burden, for he had taught his children well.

“Cousin Adam,” Laygak called, in the way of a youth, flashing a smile towards the half elf, clasping forearms. The young Iyrman’s eyes gleamed with good humour, the kind that suggested something only Adam could understand.

‘It’s her own fault for wanting to stay away for the entire week,’ Adam thought, his lips twitching slightly. ‘If she was going to cry…’

The half elf’s chest tightened. His eyes fell upon his grandfather, currently under assault by his greatchildren, who showed him no mercy, by showering their greatmother in affection, and ignoring their greatfather. The old man’s jaw remained tense, for he did not wish to laugh, just in case they thought perhaps he enjoyed the sensation. He didn’t, but it was hilarious.

“So…” Adam called. “Churot’s a man now?”

“His ceremony was delayed for too long,” Old Jarot replied, and for once, his voice held a complicated tone.

“Mother! I missed you so much!” Jirot declared, embracing her mother tightly, who lifted the twins up within her arms.

Adam continued to hold his grandfather’s gaze. The half elf’s jaw remained tense, for he did not wish to laugh, just in case they thought perhaps he enjoyed the sensation. He didn’t, but it was hilarious.

The two held one another’s gaze for a long while, until the girl finally relented, and showered her father in affection, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

“I missed you too, father, just a little bit,” the girl whispered into her father’s ear.

‘I thought Iyrmen weren’t allowed to lie?’ Adam thought, not speaking the words aloud, instead allowing his daughter to clutch at his neck tightly. His eyes fell to his son, who clutched at his father’s collar, and buried his head within his father’s bosom.

Faool, Katool’s elder cousin, brought out a staff from the Ool family vault, which caused the girl’s eyes to widen, and her lips to form the greediest of grins. Faool’s eyes darted to meet Adam’s. The two held one another’s gazes long and hard.

‘This guy…’ Adam thought, picking up Maool and Jazool. He would not surrender them to Fa-

Minool slipped out of his grasp and rushed away to her elder brother, her eyes beaming up towards Faool.

“Cousin Adam, I can play with brother?” Jazool asked, her eyes upon the half elf, so easily defeating him with her innocent gaze.

Adam let the girl down. Jazool smiled, sauntering up to her elder brother, and the two high fived one another.

Adam’s mouth dropped.

The corner’s of Faool’s lips twitched.

‘I can’t believe you’ve done this…’

Jirot’s eyes fell onto her father. She reached up and held his hand.

Taygak pat Adam’s shoulder gently.

Adam’s eyes scanned her forehead. He sniffled. “I knew I could trust in you, Taygak.”

Taygak did not wish to tell him that next year she may receive her tattoos. She allowed the half elf this small mercy.

That evening the wind brought in the rain, the cold rain brought in a cold wind, and a grandson poured his grandfather a cup of tea under the stars.

“Since Churot has become a man, I should celebrate by slaughtering a few Aldishmen,” Old Jarot said, basking in the chill night air, the gentle rain singing on the roof.

“As long as they’re not of Life’s Rose, it should be alright.”

“I suppose I should n-,” Old Jarot began, only to pause, his eyes falling upon his grandson, who did not invoke his wife’s name. The half elf stared out towards the edge of the tarp, that which kept away the rain from their tea. It was only when Adam’s eyes slowly trailed to the side to meet his gaze, and the shadow of a smile tugged on the corners of his lips, did the old man lean back and enjoy his tea.

Since when did his grandson make such scary jokes?

Interlude: Business of the Business

It was upon this morning, warm, the promise of gentle rain on the horizon, in which the shadows appeared within the estate. It was a particular estate, full of those whose foreheads were bare, while those who wore tattoos on their foreheads stepped within.

“Executive,” Tork called, reaching out to clasp forearms with the Iyrman, who was not an Executive.

“Lead,” Laygak replied, reaching out to clasp forearms with the northerner, who was not a Lead.

“It seems you have come to exchange steel.”

“Steel, and more,” Laygak promised, and he approached those of the business shortly after breakfast, in which the workers had awaited for he and the other Iyrmen, those who formed the Silver Fate Squad of the business. “We, of the Silver Fate Squad, will step away to train. We will be unable to assist you as we have. I am certain you understand why.”

The spectre fell upon the workers’ minds.

“You may entrust your various Executives, Managers, and Leads of the business for the matters of the business,” Laygak stated, and with that, he turned, along with the rest of the young Iyrmen, those who had greeted some of the business, and many of the children, but they stepped away, for it was required of them, by words of the business, their elders, and their hearts.

It was this short meeting, as quick and efficient as the Iyrman’s swordplay, which hammered into their hearts the severity of the situation.

‘To think even they would need to focus on their training…’ Tork thought, his thoughts flashing back to the tip of Laygak’s steel, which had threatened to take his life so many times. It was he, Laygak, considered the weakest of the Silver Fate Squad, who could even defeat him six times out of ten, on the best of days.

The silhouettes left a bitter taste on the back of their tongues, and within their hearts, but the workers began their own training. Thankfully, the workers still had their various Executives, Managers, Leads, and even a few others, and, of course, them too.

The half elf Manager cut through the air with his greatblade, as a particular old Aswadian watched. However, the swordplay he wielded was not exactly that old man’s, but it wasn’t the swordplay of the Thousand Hunts either, but a mix between the two. Jonn’s heart remained heavy at the thought of not inheriting Afraz’s swordplay entirely, but since Adam had told him not to worry, he would merely need to accept the good intentions.

‘It has been a few months now…’ Afraz thought, watching the young half elf swing his sword, in a manner that was certainly half his style, and half the style of the defunct Order of the Thousand Hunts. ‘It is… a sword born through betrayal.’

Korin, too, swung his sword. The swordplay was that of Black Mountain, a place known for its swordplay in particular, for it was home to the oldest temple to Lady Arya, the Lady of War, whose favoured weapon was the sword, and so, even if there were others of the business who were perhaps more powerful than Korin, there were so few whose swordplay matched his own.

‘I can only defeat Jonn two times out of ten…’ Korin thought, swinging his sword down, a sword which belonged to one who was an Expert at least, but not much greater, whereas Jonn was someone who half way to Master at least.

Fred swung his sword. It was clean, efficient, almost the same as the Gak family, though it had been forged through years of mercenary work. The tingle flowing through his fingertips betrayed the nature of the sword, which left a trail of cool wind with each swing. It was a sword worthy of a Grand Duchess, and a Lead of the United Kindom, born a farmer, Fred thought.

“Miss Haytam, do you wish to-,” Fred began, though as he turned his head, Haytam was not there, for she, too, had stepped away to train. ‘Should I call for Nobby? At this time, surely I can beat him…’

“Lead Fred,” called a voice, of a man with neatly trimmed hair, neatly trimmed beard, the flesh on his face not quite so neatly trimmed. “Would you care to spar?”

Fred nodded. He and his fellow Lead began their dance of steel, much to the delight of those around them, for though many of the workers in the business were Experts or greater, those who did not know how to wield a sword even at a basic level outnumbered them. Harriet watched her husband, once a mere farmer, turned a farmer adventurer, into a figure who had finally become an Expert, and the Lead of a business, fight against the young warrior who, too, had been a farmer once, but had worked harder as an adventurer, and even though he possessed a sword that was Greater Enhanced, even he struggled against the likes of her husband.

Rick could feel the gaze of his wife upon him, and the expectations, and worry, such a gaze held. She didn’t understand, and she never would, not unless she had stepped out with those they call their Executives. She heard the tales, impossible so they were, but she hadn’t lived them, and no matter how much he had explained to her the tale of what had happened all those years ago, she would continue to worry, as a wife would towards a foolish husband who wished to step out to die under the wicked steel of a Reaver.

It was not just Rick, but John, who was called Archer John, for there was Manager Jonn, Worker John, and himself, but he was the only one to wield a bow with such skill. Though his wife’s eyes were upon Rick, they held no less worry for him, who would also step out to face the Reavers, from the distance of his bow. Charley, tall that she was, strongly built, would go out, with quiet Ivy, and big Greg, each of whom had formed the farmer adventuring group under Rick.

Though worries bloomed within their hearts, there was something they all shared. They had seen it. It was a large number of tales, but it was not just the tales they had seen, no, for though the worry bloomed within their heart, it was under the shade of something else.

It was not expectation. It was something else. Perhaps, one might have called it hope, but it was not quite hope either. The excitement it brought was a different excitement.

Within those who had stepped out, those who understood the might of their Executives, from the likes of Adam, to his brother, Jurot, to Kitool, and even those who they may have outranked officially within the business, but could not dare to expect to win more than once from every ten bouts.

“I was wondering why there was a delicious scent in the air,” the woman said. She was more handsome than pretty, short hair cut at the side, brass scales falling from the sides of her neck, further into her shirt, the horns at her temples, sharp. “The smell of sweat and steel, is there a better scent?”

“The scent of a-,” called the companion beside her, with tan skin, and dark eyes, holding an awkward expression as he saw the little children nearby, so he could not speak the words freely.

Vasera, the brass scaled half dragon, glanced about the group. “It’s not like the Iyrmen to be late.”

“They have stepped away to train,” Korin explained, letting out an awkward sigh into the air.

“Are they that worried about the Reavers?” Vasera mused, her lips twitching slightly. “I suppose, since they’re barely better than Experts, they might be worried?”

Rook side eyed his leader, but if she was going so far as to poke fun at the Iyrmen, she’d have to accept the consequences.

“If they’re that worried, it must be worse for you,” Vasera teased, her lips forming an even wider grin, and a playful glint within her eyes began to glow more vibrant. “I suppose it’s time for us to earn our keep?”

Rook remained side eyeing the half dragon, but, as slow as a baby falling asleep, his lips formed a wide smile. He laughed, like that of a hyena.

As those of the Golden Savages began to bully their fellow workers of the United Kindom, it was at that time, when a pair of twins approached a particular estate, far too large for one figure, even with her various aides. The woman’s eyes fell upon the pair, who sauntered through the gate, holding a small sack within their arms.

“Hello, Elder Jaygak, who is our Elder, and who, like we, must eat, and so we have brought bread,” Jirot said, holding up the basket for the woman.

“Thank you, little Jirot.”

“Elder Jaygak, we are not little any more, because we are seven years old.”

“You are still little, because you are shorter than those who are seven years old, but since you have grown so mature, I shall no longer call you little.”

“I shall forgive you, Elder Jaygak, just this once, so you may call me little,” Jirot said, for it had taken a moment, but as she imagined Elder Jaygak no longer calling her little Jirot, she felt a squeeze at her heart.

“How may I assist you?” Jaygak asked.

“It is we, my brother and I, who have come to assist you with your work, Elder Jaygak.”

“If you have finished schooling for the day, should you not train with your siblings, and then enjoy your break before your father returns from his work?”

“Elder Jaygak, I want to help you…” Jirot, using her ultimate technique, her amber eyes gleaming with earnestness. Her greatest ultimate technique, however, was Little Jarot’s drooping ears and pout, which could defeat even the Mad Dog, and sometimes, even their own mother.

‘Did she notice?’ Jaygak thought, for even if the girl was a genius, did she know how much the Elder was currently struggling with her decision? Either it was accidental, or the girl was that much of a genius, and considering who she was, and whose daughter she was, either could be true.

“Elder Jaygak, even if I am not as good at maths as uncle Churot, I am only a bit behind him, just a little bit.”

“Very well.” Jaygak furrowed her brows at the girl’s expectant eyes. She smiled. “Thank you.”

“Such good manners, Elder Jaygak,” Jirot teased, smirking.

The twins cackled, but Jaygak did not think to regret her decision of accepting their company.