Jarot held Larot to his bare chest, rising and falling with every breath. While his arm held the tiny boy, his hand covering the back of his head. He could feel the warmth of the boy’s cheek against his skin, the soft breath tickling his chest. The shade swallowed them both, so even as the late afternoon sun beat down onto the Iyr, the pair were still cool.

“It is time to feed him,” Mulrot’s voice called from nearby.

Jarot exhaled. He did not wish to surrender the boy, but since it was time for feeding, he couldn’t refuse. “You must eat well, Larot.” Jarot brushed the back of the boy’s head gently, before allowing his wife to take the boy from his arm, the woman carefully stealing him away.

While Jarot huffed and puffed in annoyance, Konarot played with her siblings nearby, with Jirot rushing around with the ball, little Jarot following after her. Kirot handed a small sack of lentils to her brother, who accepted the sack, walked to the next spot, before handing it back to his elder sister, who carried it to the next spot. Konarot acted as a third for both pairs, alternating between the twins and the triplets.

“Silly boy,” Lanarot said, kissing Gurot’s forehead before she pulled his head to her chest, brushing the boy’s hair. “No tripping when walking, okay?”

“Okay,” the boy replied, embracing his cousin.

“Good boy.” Lanarot pat the boy’s head, before letting him waddle away to his grandmother. She stood tall, clasping her hands behind her back, keeping an eye out on the younger children, before finally rushing off to one of her aunts who called the children to drink water.

“Not here, not here,” the bird tweeted to Konarot, who was sipping away at her water.

The young girl frowned. “Okay.”

“Okay, okay,” the bird said, before flying up away.

Konarot frowned deeper, her eyes narrowing slightly, her entire body growing chilly. ‘Daddy! You are not back!’

“Konarot,” called a familiar voice, before she turned to find Tonagek, who was carrying a large boy against his chest with one arm, carrying a basket with his free hand. “Would you like to play dragon chess?”

“Okay,” the girl replied.

“Dragon chess?” Jarot asked, watching the pair settle to one side. “What is the need of dragon chess? She should run to be healthy.”

“She must train her mind as well as her body,” Tonagek replied.

Jarot huffed, but upon seeing how Konarot was placing the pieces to their proper places, he relented. “I will allow it, but only because my greatdaughter is so smart.”

“…” Tonagek began to set up his own board, while his son remained by his side, clutching his shirt. Danagek stared up at Jarot, the old one armed and one legged man, before shyly hiding his face away at his father’s side.

“Danagek, you are growing well,” Jarot said, causing the boy to twitch slightly upon hearing his name. “He is as big as my Gurot.”

“He is bigger,” Tonagek replied.

Jarot inhaled deeply, narrowing his eyes at the young punk trying to pick a fight with him. ‘Since my greatdaughter is here, I will show him mercy.’

Tonagek wondered if he should mention his grandfather, but seeing as the old man was being nice to him, he decided against teasing him any more, instead allowing him to watch the young girl play dragon chess.

“The General’s opening?” Jarot asked.

“The General Asad opening,” Tonagek confirmed.

“The Slumbering Claw is best for Konarot,” Jarot said. “It is our way.”

“Yes,” Tonagek confirmed.

Jarot was fairly certain this was the opening Rajin liked to play, though the pair hadn’t played dragon chess for a long while. ‘I should invite him so we can drink.’ His eyes fell to the children all around him. ‘It is not good to drink so much around the children.’

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As though he was summoned, a familiar face appeared within the extended family estate. An older, orcish Iyrman, tall and thin, though well muscled, with a greatsword against his back. He pulled along a rickshaw full of gourds, each which had thin rope connecting the cork and base, with small casks laying beneath the gourds.

“Rajin,” Jarot called, surprised to see the old man. “You are growing your beard again?”

Rajin, who had begun growing a long goatee, bowed his head. He grabbed a gourd from the rickshaw before taking his place opposite the old man, with the pair of youngsters between them.

Konarot looked up at the old Iyrman, blinking towards him, slowly pulling back towards her greatfather.

“Do not shirk away from him, my greatdaughter,” Jarot said, placing a hand on the girl’s head, rubbing it gently. “It is your greatuncle, Rajin.”

Konarot stared up at him, blinking again.

“Hello,” Rajin said, his voice small, barely allowing them to hear him.

“Hello,” the girl replied.

“Rajin is the Family Elder of the Jin family,” Jarot explained. “You have met him a few times, but it has been some time.”

Konarot blinked at the older man, who seemed vaguely familiar. He seemed to give off a meek vibe, so she sat properly once more.

‘General Asad’s opening,’ Rajin thought, watching as the girl began to play against her granduncle.

“Have you come to admire my greatdaughter’s abilities?” Jarot asked, his eyes glued to Rajin.

Rajin held up the gourd for Jarot, who refused it, before noting the green base of the gourd, accepting it. “It has been some time.”

“It has,” Jarot confirmed, wearing the gourd around his neck like an amulet. “Have you been busy?”

“Mnn,” Rajin replied affirmatively. “Timojin is adventuring well.”

“Top ten is not so bad,” Jarot teased, causing Rajin’s eyes to fall against him once more.

“It was not his time,” Rajin replied simply. The older Iyrman stared down at the board once more, listening to the way Tonagek was teaching the young girl. Eventually, the girl lost, huffing quietly as she pouted up at her baba. Rajin placed a hand on her head, feeling how cold she was becoming. “You play well.”

Konarot twitched as she felt his hand on her head, her eyes snapping up towards him. She didn’t notice how furious her greatfather had become for the Family Elder to steal away his ability to dote on his greatdaughter.

While the extended family estate filled with more guests, another group were about to have their own fateful encounter.

Adam was hit by an earth sweet smell. It was flowery scent which permeated throughout the entire guild. The interior of the guild was also quite large, and there were a number of adventurers relaxing together, playing with cards and dice, or just eating together, or drinking tea.

The group made their way to the counter where an older man was currently sitting, reading a book. His hair was freshly shaved, a gentle beard dotting his face, no doubt having shaved it a week ago. He glanced their way as they made for the counter.

“Hey Barks,” Adam called. “How are you doing?”

“Well, and yourself?” Barks replied, eyeing the group up. If it wasn’t for the purple armour, he would have surely had some difficulty. He glanced at their tags, steel, which was certainly not what they wore previously, otherwise he would have recalled them.

It was then he recalled who they were.

“Not too bad,” Adam admitted. “Didn’t kill any gryphons this time, so we’re in the clear, I think.”

“The King might have had an issue with that if you did,” Barks stated, the memories flooding back into his mind. He remembered how the group had gone to meet the King before he was a King, but the retired King’s Blade.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think I want to go around spending so many diamonds to make it even,” Adam joked, glancing aside to Jurot, whose had turned and was staring at the figures in the corner. ‘Oh dear.’

One figure was a familiar face, an older man in his early fifties, wearing a breastplate and carrying a blade at his side. There was a sharp scar across his face, from the top of his eye to the bottom of his chin.

Jurot walked over to the group, his eyes taking in the sight of the other figures, before his shadow loomed over the old man.

“What are you-,” the older man said, before squinting his eyes at Jurot. “Iyrman, no, you’re not just any Iyrman. We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” Jurot replied. “You are Vandal, no relation to the Dal family.”

“Aren’t you a… Row?”

“Jurot, yes,” Jurot replied, shaking the adventurer’s forearm.

“Sorry about that,” Vandal said, his eyes falling down to the steel tag around the Iyrman’s neck. “Say… were you steel rank previously?”

“No.”

“I would have remembered you if that was the case,” the adventurer said. “When did we meet?”

“Three years ago.”

“What rank were you then?”

“Bronze,” Jurot stated.

“You must have been working hard to become steel so quickly,” Vandal said, unable to hide his surprise.

“You’re pretty young for a steel rank adventurer,” a figure from beside Vandal said. “Though, you Iyrmen were always queer like that.”

“Yes,” Jurot said, his eyes falling to the half elf sitting beside the older man.

She was a bronze skinned half elf, with long wavy red hair, deep green eyes, with a lean build. She wore a breastplate made of flamedarksteel and carried a blade at her side. She was no doubt a Sansant, but the four rings in her right ear gave away her true identity. She was not just any Sansant, but one who carried a particular title and role within the family.

An Executor.

“It is an honour to meet you,” Jurot said.

“It’s an honour to meet you too, Iyrman,” the half elf said, reaching out a hand to clasp his forearm, though she remained sitting casually.

Jurot held her gaze, wondering if she had come for Adam.