The purple hue of dusk fell across the Iyr, blanketing the Iyr with a coolness from the dawnval sun. The Iyr’s festival continued, with the families enjoying the food of those who had chosen to cook, having cooked not just for their own shared family estate, but for hundreds of Iyrmen. The Iyrmen fought, the Iyrmen loved, the Iyrmen relaxed.

The one armed, one legged Iyrman sat in the corner of his estate, speaking with some of the older Iyrmen. He hadn’t spoken to them in some time and the festival was a perfect time to catch up, for though the Iyr made no sense to most of the world in many regards, in this regard they were perfectly normal, or so one might have thought.

“I should have slain Korbyn,” one older Iyrman said, letting out a soft sigh.

“You would have slain him if he had not run.”

“If you lament on slaying Korbyn, should I lament on slaying Skulldrinker?”

However, the group were soon stopped by the only beings who could dare to intrude in the conversation of such old monsters.

“Babo,” Konarot called, her tail dragging behind her, her leaf shaped ears falling.

“My Konarot,” the old Jarot called out, reaching out a hand for the girl to take, hoisting her up onto his lap. “What causes your lips to turn like the moon?”

“I cannot,” the girl said, pointing to the bird.

“You cannot?”

“Bird is not talking, only teeting.”

“Birds tweet,” Jarot confirmed.

“Is not talking?”

Jarot groaned quietly, unsure of how to explain it to Konarot. “You are special, my Konarot. Now you cannot speak to the bird, but in the future, you can try again.”

Konarot pouted, bowing her head lightly, before Jarot lifted her head up so he could kiss her forehead. Kirot and Karot waited beside their greatfather, waiting for his affection. The old man showered each of the triplets in his affection, grinning wildly towards his companions.

“It seems the Iyr has changed since I have been gone,” Tarukan said, sipping the peach wine the Rot family adored.

“You should have slain more for your greatniece,” Jarot stated, ruffling the girl’s hair.

“…” Tarukan sipped his peach wine again. He thought of his family’s words upon the matter of the six children, whose relationship was so firm with the Rot family, and yet so vague with the rest of the Iyr. The triplets, with their long silver hair which matched their eyes and their scales, with their tiny nubs which made up their horns, nestled against their greatfather, Mad Dog, the Mad Dog. “You are right.”

“Will they grow up in the way of the Iyr?” Yizys asked, the older woman sipping her peach wine slowly, her eyes cautiously taking in the gaze of the Mad Dog.

“They will grow up well within the Iyr,” Jarot replied, ruffling the children’s hair, before they spotted their grandmother and quickly rushed towards her. “Only my greatchildren dare to turn their backs to me so easily!”

Yizys remained silent, feeling the awkward glares of the Mad Dog and Steel Strike, as well as the other figure, who remained silent. Upon his forehead was a particular tattoo, that of the Kan family, except the colours were inverted.

“Should I speak with my cousin?” Shagek, Silver Sword of the Wastes, asked. Just like Yizys and Tarukan, he had returned recently, and though he was not as close as Tarukan when it came to the children, he was closer than Yizys.

“Can I stop you from speaking with the Family Elder?” Jarot asked. There was another question he wanted to ask the three Iyrmen, but even he wasn’t wild enough to ask them why three great figures had returned simultaneously back to the Iyr. It could have been coincidence, but they hadn’t been the only three who had returned.

In the same way the trio had more questions for Jarot, they each decided against speaking of the questions, for the only thing worse than an answer one didn’t want to hear was a vague answer, one which they did not wish to test.

Shagek’s eyes fell to the twins. Though the half dragons held a special relationship in the Iyr, it was the twins which had worried him, even more so than the demon. For though he had only known these children for what was considered a moment in his life, if the Mad Dog said they were his greatchildren, Shagek took that to mean they were his family too.

“Hoi hoi hoi,” Jirot said, rubbing her stomach as she lay beside her grandmother. “I eated so much!”

“Did you enjoy your potatoes?”

“Yes,” Jirot replied, unable to deny her love for potatoes, daring not to even joke about such, all the while she nursed her stomach. “Nano spinkle soht and is so yummy.”

Little Jarot continued to slowly nibble on his potato, having not eaten as much as his elder sister, but enough for him to feel like he’d regret another whole potato. He offered part of his potato to his sister, who hoisted herself with some difficulty, before brushing his hair, bringing the potato to his lips.

“You must eat, smelly boy, and grow up big and strong.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Yes,” the boy replied, flushing slightly as he began his skirmish with the potato, before the potato finally disappeared, soon to be gained as soils of war.

‘Are they goblins or are they Iyrmen?’ Shagek thought, an answer he didn’t want to confirm the answer to.

While the children caused little trouble within the Iyr, it was many miles away that the calm before the storm approached the dining hall of the Princess.

The walls of the hall reached up towards the heavens, the domed ceiling full of thousands upon thousands of tiny tiles which made up a pattern of hundreds of different colours, though to the eyes of the mermen, they formed thousands. The white marble bounced the light of the floating orbs into every crevice, and the warmth emanating from the floating orbs filled the entire room. Servants remained to one side, though some escorted the group towards their seats.

Adam noted the statues made of some kind of metal within the room, each with waves of colour within from the metal itself. ‘What kind of materials do they have?’

“Western faro oak,” Jurot said, eyeing up the large wooden tables within the hall, while the main dining table, longer than any other, was a slightly different wood. Western faro oak was full of small little specks of white, while the eastern faro oak of the main dining table was adorned with tiny specks of black. “Eastern faro oak…”

“You’re such a wood nerd,” Adam said, elbowing his brother gently. “You could at least figure out what the metal is while you’re at it.”

“It’s some kind of coral steel, but the armour has been treated in a specific way using flames and magic,” Jaygak said, her eyes taking in the sight of the armour. “They are magical statues.”

“Magical statues? It’s not like we’re armed…” Adam glanced towards Morkarai, who had taken his full height, roughly three times as tall as the half elf, and dozens of times heavier. ‘I didn’t realise you were so scary, Prince.’

At the entrance, several guards waited, each adorned in breastplate of scales, watching the figures as they took their place at the tables, with the Prince taking his seat two places down from the head of the table, while the others were led to a nearby table, which was already full of light snacks.

Lucy inhaled deeply, but she couldn’t show too much annoyance at being shirked. ‘What am I going to do? Demand they show me respect since I’m a Demon Lord?’

Mara held her annoyance in too, not liking the way her liege was being ignored like this, but her eyes snapped to her four companions who had come with them.

“These clothes are pretty nice, aren’t they?” Adam asked, rubbing along the soft silk of his attire, a shiny orange. “Not a fan of orange, would have preferred blue or pink, but they only brought a blue and orange.”

“Why didn’t you pick blue?” Lucy asked.

“I can’t go around in blue when my wife’s in orange,” Adam replied proudly. “If I can’t do this much for my wife, can I even be a husband?”

“You replaced being cringe as a father with being cringe as a husband.”

“Have I replaced it?”

“You’re right,” Lucy replied, rubbing the side of her head gently, almost rubbing against her large horns. “Just because you know you’re cringe, it doesn’t make it any better.”

“I won’t be that cringe in front of the Princess…” Adam felt the gazes of all of his companions upon him. “What?”

“Why?” Jaygak asked.

“I can’t show up Prince Morkarai in front of his betrothed, now can I?”

“Is this the wisdom of a married man?” Jaygak joked. “Shouldn’t you behave for your wife too?”

Adam flushed slightly. “Do you think I can think clearly when I’m next to my wife? Isn’t it her fault for being so pretty that I want to show off? It’s not my fault that I show off like an idiot.”

“Of course, it’s your wife’s fault.”

“What are you saying, obviously it’s my fault, Jaygak,” Adam stated, inhaling a sharp breath, threatening her to say otherwise.

Jaygak smirked, reaching out to the food, taking a bite of the local cuisine. She ignored Kitool’s look, understanding the food was a trap to make them look like savages, but what did she care of some underwater people thinking she was a savage?

“Ha!” called a voice from the entrance, with the large half dragon noting the appearance of the fire giant in his full height. She shifted her height with every step, until she was also about three Adam’s tall, except a hair’s breadth taller, before she dropped down opposite the Prince, ignoring the gazes of all the guards. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” Morkarai replied, certain she’d cause trouble if he asked her to leave him alone with his betrothed at the table. Being a dragon allowed her to sit at the table, though he would have preferred to speak with his betrothed alone.

The pair, though massive compared to their companions, were only slightly too large for the table, whereas their companions sat at tables which made them look like dwarves. The food was swiftly brought out for the smaller tables, that of clams and fish.

“This feels a little weird,” Adam said, looking down at the fresh food.

“Why?”

“Well… you know…” Adam flushed slightly. ‘Hold on… isn’t that kinda racist?’ As Jaygak smirked towards him, Adam reached over for the flat bread, which was more like a cracker which could bend slightly.

The soldiers slammed their tridents onto the floor, before letting out a shout, speaking in another tongue as a tall woman, about two and a half Adam’s tall, stepped into the dining hall, adorned in sea silk, wearing bits of scale armour to cover her shoulders and her upper torso, as well as her waist and thighs, like a skirt. She carried a blade at her side which dwarfed even the largest blades of the Kan family, though the blade was barely considered a longsword at the woman’s side. Her skin was the colour of the ocean, with small gills around her neck, her fingers slender and webbed, with long hair. curly, like silver kelp.

Several soldiers, each at least twice as tall as Adam, accompanied her, adorned in their scaled breastplate, wielding long spears in hand, wielding no shields.

“I can’t believe Prince Morkarai has betrayed us like this,” Adam whispered. “He’s smart, handsome, skillful, and has a beautiful wife. Even I only have three of those.”

“You also have something he does not,” Jurot said.

“Yeah?”

“Adorable children.”

Adam smiled. “I also have such an adorable brother too.” Adam reached out for a fist bump, and Jurot returned the fist bump, not necessarily because he agreed, but because he liked the sensation of fist bumping.

Morkarai stood, though Karza remained sitting. He bowed his head and held out his hand. “Princess Miza.”

“Prince Morkarai,” the woman replied, allowing the fire giant to take her hand, holding it for a moment, before she went to sit at the head of the table, with the Prince sitting a moment later. “If I had known of your arrival, I would have prepared a greater feast, and greater guests.”

“I had thought of sending word, but I had other matters to deal with,” Morkarai said, unable to admit the petty reason he had made it difficult to her. “Once I reveal my gift, I am certain you will forgive me.”

“Stop with the flirting and bring out the food,” Karza snarled, gritting her teeth slightly in annoyance.

“I did not expect the majesty of a Drunda,” Princess Miza admitted, her eyes catching the dragon’s eyes.

“Who did you expect? A Raith? A Wing? You’re lucky it wasn’t a-,”

“Karza,” Morkarai warned, understanding which figure she was about to invoke. ‘Are you trying to get yourself killed?’

Jaygak let out a sigh, pouring herself a drink, raising the drink, taking a moment to look towards Morkarai, before sipping it. She understood the pain that was to be a troublemaker with an idiot of a friend. ‘The Divine bless you, Prince Morkarai.’