The children’s eyes beamed towards the figures who sat within their estate, from Bearded Dragon Rajin, to Falling Swallow Malfev, and Bloodblade Shasen. The trio were around Mad Dog’s age, and though they had not caused as many messed, they were considered at the very least around the same tier. Tonagek was there too, Sonarot’s brother who had retired recently, but was ranked among the strongest in his generation. Even in his retirement, it was only last year he had almost slain a Vice Commander of an Order within a single round.

Tonagek held his finger curled over his lip, mirroring his grandniece, who stared at the board with a focused intensity. His eyes took in the sight of her face, falling to the scar across her cheek, then to her horns, and finally her leaf shaped ears peeking through her silver hair.

“I cannot,” Konarot said.

“Do you surrender?”

“Mmm…” Konarot replied with a hum, but she thought of what her greatfather would always say. She moved her knight forward.

The pair continued to play until Konarot finally lost the game, but she had at least taken an arm, before they made their way to the side, coaxed by the smell of pizza. The half elf focused intently on the pizza, making sure it was cooked perfectly to how he liked it, before cutting it into pieces.

“Wait for it to cool first,” Adam said, helping his twins wash their hands, even though Jirot complained. “When pizza burns your mouth, the betrayal hurts too deep.”

“How can pizza betray?” Jirot gasped.

“I know, I know.”

While Vonda continued to cook the other pizzas, she glanced aside towards her daughter and son, watching with the others as Jirot held the pizza to her brother’s lips. The boy pulled away at first, causing his father to let out a pained gasp, the half elf quickly stifling it before smiling at his son. Jarot blinked, leaning in slightly, before nibbling on the tip of the pizza. Like a rabbit, he nibbled on the tip of the pizza, before finally pulling away, but it was there, the unmistakeable sight of a nibble sized hole at the tip.

“How is it? Is daddy’s pizza good?” Adam asked, taking a bite of his own slice.

“Is good.”

“Let’s have a small bite, just a little bit, of mummy’s pizza, and then you have to tell us which is better okay?”

Little Jarot shook his head, causing his father to laugh and pick him up, the pair embracing one another tenderly. The boy felt his father’s lips against the top of his head, so soft and tender, as his father’s affection always was.

“You already know mummy’s pizza is better, that’s why you don’t want to compare, isn’t that right? My son is so sweet and so well behaved.” Adam brushed the boy’s cheek, his fingers brushing as soft as a feather, winking at the boy. Little Jarot smiled shyly and hid his face against his father’s chest.

“Abababa!” Virot cried aloud, pointing at the pizza, before glaring at her mother. “Mama!”

“Yes?” Vonda asked.

Virot pointed to the pizza and continued to babble. “Hoo!”

“Your father will feed you.”

Virot glanced towards Adam, before tossing her head to the side, babbling away at her mother again. She huffed, sucking on her thumb and resting her head against her mother’s bosom.

While Adam’s children continued to bully him, the older Iyrmen relaxed to one side, having noted just how much of the pizza their little Jarot ate.

“Do you see? My greatson eats so well.” The old man grinned wide, though they could see it in his eyes, the unbridled rage he kept at bay, but only because he would be allowed to unleash it soon.

“They should have named him Tarot since he is so well behaved,” Zirot joked.

“Your jokes are no better than his!”

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Rajin poured them all wine, though Jarot stuck to his milk. The sour wine that he was known for caused them to wince, but they continued to sip away at it.

“Who will fight?” Malfev finally asked.

“Do you wish to fight?” Jarot replied.

“I am a Family Elder.”

Jarot’s eyes then darted towards Rajin. “Do you wish to fight?”

“Yes.”

“Will you take it from me?”

“Can you beat him?”

“With one arm and one leg, it will be difficult,” Jarot mused, as though he truly had a chance to defeat the Grand Commander.

“I will do it,” Bloodblade Shasen said. “I was unable to fight last time.”

“You? What does the Sen family have to do with it?”

“Sonarot is my niece.”

“Niece? She is my daughter.”

“She may have married your son, but she was my niece first.”

“Tarukan has a greater right than you!” Jarot growled.

“He may wish to go,” Rajin said. “He was refused last time.”

“It should be me,” Jarot said. “I refused him once, but he wishes to bring his neck for my axe? I will take it!”

“Can you do it?” Rajin asked.

Jarot narrowed his eyes towards Rajin. His eyes then met the others around him, each holding the question within their eyes. His arm pulsed, the nub at his forearm flashing with pain. He could feel the phantom leg, though when he placed his hand upon it, the cool metal pinched at his wrinkled, scarred hand.

“Impossible,” Jarot said, reminiscing the days of his youth. “When I fought Seasword, they said it was impossible. They called me The Kid, back then. Seasword was vicious when he beat me. When we met, only a few years later, that is what they said. Impossible. It was what they said when I killed their great warriors. Their great nobles. Impossible. If I cannot kill him, I will take one arm at least.”

“Will you use Phantom?” Rajin asked, seeing the bulging vein as the Mad Dog tried to keep his anger in check.

“It is a good axe…” Jarot sighed, flexing his muscles, allowing his rage to pass through him.

Malfev decided to remain silent, certain that no matter what he said, he would end up angering the old man to the point he would have to flee from the estate. He sipped his sour wine, wincing at the taste. The old man eventually slipped away, greeting his greatnieces and greatnephews. His eyes fell upon the twins to the side.

Jirot read to her twin brother, as well as her youngest sister, Virot, who listened so eagerly to her sister. “Look. Is nana’s name. Sonarot. Nana has name, but it is not your name, your name is Virot. Mummy has name too! Her name is Vonda, but you must call her mummy, and all other people, they call mummy Ray Vonda, because she is a Ray.”

Virot giggled up towards her sister. “Mama?”

“Yes! Mummy is Ray, and daddy, daddy is a Priest! Daddy is also Executive, and I am Demon Lord.” Jirot blinked, feeling a chill within her. She closed the book and shuffled over to her sister, hugging her tight, before kissing her cheek, brushing the girl’s hair to the side. “You are my little sister, so I will protect you, okay?”

“Eee!” Virot confirmed, sucking on her thumb as she cuddled up to her elder sister’s chest.

“I protect you too!” little Jarot promised, reaching out to pet his youngest sister’s head gently. His lips quivered slightly, the boy feeling a wave of darkness flood through him. Fortunately for him, Malfev poked his cheek.

“I have caught you,” Malfev said, smiling down towards the boy. “Since I have caught you, you must-,” Malfev’s eyes darted to the side, though there were many other Iyrmen who glanced to the side, and after taking in the sight of the shorter Iyrman, they returned back to their task.

“There are so many here?” Baztam mused, sauntering his way towards the triplets, reaching down to pinch their noses and cheeks. “You keep them from me for so long, they must have forgotten my face!”

“You met them last week, Black Shark,” Jarot replied, grinning wildly towards the aide.

Baztam growled slightly. “Do you think I will not beat you now that you are crippled, Mad Dog?”

“Black Shark, will you draw your blade, Black Shark?”

Baztam winced each time Jarot said his epithet, for the crippled old man was one of a handful the Iyrman disliked saying his name, another also among his company. For years he had slaughtered his way through Aldland, and while his peers gathered names like the Drakebane, Deathhand, Bearded Dragon, and even Jarot had managed to collect several, Undying, Mad Dog, Crimson Shield, Bloody Jarot. Yet, he had earned the title of Black Shark? Even though he had killed more drakes than Iromin?

“Konarot, should I draw my blade?” Baztam asked, lifting the girl up, pressing their foreheads together, doing the same for her younger siblings.

“Babo…” Konarot blinked towards the old man, and then to Jarot. She pouted, her eyes darting to her mother.

Vonda smiled warmly, offering out her hand, and the triplets rushed towards her, swarming their father, who sat beside her. They climbed onto their parents’ laps, Konarot taking a moment to check if her mother was pregnant, before embracing the woman tight.

“Jirot, babo is bullying your sister,” Adam said, noting where his daughter was looking. “Your other babo, Baztam.”

Jirot’s eyes met Baztam’s, which sparkled with life and mischief, before she turned to look towards her grandmother for support.

“I am not,” Baztam said, reaching into his tunic, within the large pocket, revealing three silver discs, larger than the typical coin, flatter, with inscriptions upon them in the drakken tongue. “I have brought gifts.”

“She Who Rules Silver, Immortal in Memory?” Adam read the words aloud, noting each disc has the same inscription, but on the other side, each held a different engraving, one of a mountain, another of a tower, and the last a sword.

“These discs were once part of Antalia’s hoard.”

‘…’ Adam wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but seeing the old man’s gleaming eyes as the children accepted the discs, he decided against saying anything.

“Black Shark, prepare your neck,” Jarot snarled, hoisting himself up, reaching for his axe.