The figure stood up, his white scales illuminated for a moment by the flash of lightning, the opening of the sky and the return.

“I have kept my end of the deal, Iyrmen,” the white scaled drakken said, causing his watchers to approach.

“We will call for Elder Lykan,” one of his watchers informed, before swiftly leaving to retrieve the Front Iyr Elder.

The silver fox of a man wore his chiselled jaw as well as his long grey hair, which fell below the shoulders. He wore a flail at his side, but more impressively, the blueish silver of mithril hung around his neck, revealing his rank during his adventuring days.

“I hope you clear the debts quickly, Iyrman,” the white scaled figure stated calmly, still feeling the attention of the strange figures of the Iyr, those who wreaked with the stench of death.

“The debts have been cleared,” Elder Lykan assured, flashing a charming smile.

Grimraith turned and left, escorted by his watchers. He made no move to say goodbye to the other Lord here, for they were too busy drinking, watching from atop a nearby hill top.

‘I’m so glad he’s gone,’ the bronze scaled drakken thought. The snow had invaded the Front Iyr for well over a year, even burying the various effects of his own influence, as well as the influence of his companion. ‘Wingburg must be glad too.’

‘The old man is finally leaving?’ Wingburg, the black scaled drakken, thought. She could feel the presence of the old man make its way towards the gates of the Front Iyr, with various, strange figures following after him. She remained tense, just like Burgwing, the pair still on duty.

Even if it was perhaps the most foolish idea one could have, Grimraith could still attack the Iyr. Why Grimraith would do it now the Iyr had regained its two missing Great Elders, while also being watched over by the Lord of Earth, no one would ever be able to understand. However, the Iyr took such thoughts into consideration, for how else could they have survived this long?

‘If he attacks, we’ll have to act too…’ Burgwing let out a sigh. Even if the Lord of Earth would assist them, it was still a difficult task to beat the likes of someone who could claim the title of Lord of Ice.

Lykan approached Burgwing’s estate along with his own escorts, those tasked with assisting the Front Iyr Elder. “Your assistance has been appreciated.”

“Do you no longer require my service?” Burgwing asked, yawning as he leaned against the doorway casually. ‘It would be good to get back to the desert.’

“We wish to extend our request until the end of dawnval,” Lykan informed, while a group of Iyrmen brought large wooden cases and a crate, each made of Iyr oak. Lykan opened one of the crates, revealing the large number of books stacked neatly within, motioning a hand towards them.

Burgwing picked up one of the books, feeling its fresh pages, noting how recently it had been inked. He spoke the title, written in Old Aswadian, brushing a hand along the page’s edge tenderly, as though it was his own child. His eyes then darted to the other boxes.

“We believed you would have wanted to read the books without worry for destroying the original copies,” Lykan stated.

“Who, but the Iyr, care for me so?” Burgwing asked, his lips forming a wide grin. “Al Kaim’s stories may have fallen out of favour from most of Aswadasad over the last few centuries, but I cannot help but adore them.”

Lykan reached into his tunic, pulling out a smaller wooden box, no more than a finger long, and half as wide as his strong hand. “For the payment of staying until the end of dawnval.”

Burgwing opened the small wooden box carefully, eyeing up its contents, smelling its magic. “A quill?”

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

“One of the quills of Ibrahim.”

“Ibrahim?”

“The Chronicler.”

Burgwing’s brows shot up, unable to contain his surprise. “How did the Iyr come across one of Ibrahim’s quills?” The shock in his voice barely contained as Burgwing quickly closed the box, clutching it tight in his hand.

“He once made his way from Old Barad to Old Kimar, wishing to take notes of the old ceremonies which the peoples still practised. He almost perished due to a sandstorm which kept him pinned within a cave for a month. Kamwuk and Shamwuk found him and assisted him. He thanked them by-,”

“Acknowledging them in the ninth volume of The Histories of the Black Lions Dynasty, yes. They were written as Kumwook and Shumwook, but I do recall the names.”

“He gifted us a copy of each of the completed twenty seven volumes, and a quill he had used to write each volume. This is the quill of the ninth volume.”

“You would gift me a quill used by the hands of the Chronicler?” Burgwing whispered.

“Please remain until the end of dawnval,” Elder Lykan stated.

‘They possess the original copies of the The Histories of the Black Lion Dynasty?’ Burgwing thought. “Do you also possess the other pens and volumes?”

“Yes.”

Burgwing tilted his head, unable to contain his shock. He had heard the Iyr’s talons extended far and wide, but it was another thing for the Iyr to also possess so many cultural artefacts.

“In the future, should we need to count on your support, we will surely reward you well.”

“You may always call of me, Iyrmen,” Burgwing assured, feeling the electricity of excitement, and the taste of future rewards. He would never have left his lair behind for more than a year, but for the original copies of Al Kaim? How could he not? And a pen used by the one known as The Chronicler?

“To think I would be able to possess such grand items…” Burgwing let out a long, satisfied sigh. “The two were contemporaries of one another. Though the pair spent twenty years within the Grand Library, and mostly within the same section, it was so large and vast, neither met one another in all their days. If only I could have been born in such a time, drinking wine from while overlooking the Pearl River…”

Lykan left the bronze scaled drakken to wallow in his imagination, stepping away towards Wingburg’s small estate, which had been built nearby.

“You’ve brought my payment?” Wingburg, the black scaled woman asked, having noted they had visited her companion first. She was glad they had silenced each courtyard so she wouldn’t hear about that damn Al Kaim again.

“Ten weapons from the Fifty Red Blades,” Lykan confirmed, while the Iyrmen brought ten large cases, one larger than any other.

Wingburg’s lips twitched into a smile, checking each of the weapons. Though they had been well preserved, considering they were roughly a thousand years old, she would need to spend time restoring them. “If you ever come across any more, I am more than willing to lend my support to the Iyr.”

“We thank you again for your support,” Lykan replied, before motioning a hand for another aide to approach. “Please stay until the end of dawnval.”

“The end of dawnval?” Wingburg asked, frowning slightly. She had spent too long away from her swamp and could already feel the sleepiness set within her. “What is that?” She eyed up the blade, which was almost pure white, including the steel. The hilt at the tip of the blade was of an older drakken design, those seen in the north. However, the colour combination, or the lack thereof, was not like any other blade of the region. It had been well taken care of, considering it was much older than the other ten weapons she had been gifted, even though they had come several hundred years later.

“A blade which belonged to the White Dragon, or as he was more commonly known as, Lord Jorn, Third Grand Commander of the White Dragon Knights.”

“A Grand Commander who wielded a mundane blade?”

“It was a blade he wielded when he was still young, one which he gave up when he was defeated by Shikan, who became Chief of the Iyr during the Third Grand Commander’s time.”

Wingburg remained silent for a long while, staring at the blade. She had heard of the Third Grand Commander vaguely, a half spawn of one of the Talia family members. ‘What a sick turn of events, the order which once was commanded by a Talia would then turn their blades on Antalia the Silver, which eventually caused their demise.’ The blade’s significance did not just come from the fact it was wielded by a grand commander, but the fact that the Talia family would also be interested in it.

‘Goreburg will be so jealous,’ Wingburg thought, almost smiling at the thought of possessing the blade. “Very well, I can at least remain until the end of the season.”

“Thank you.” Lykan left the blade with her before the Iyrmen left the state, making their way back to his own estate. “Will Lord Stokmar remain within the Iyr?”

“The answer remains vague,” an aide replied.

Lykan sighed, expecting the answer. Lord Stokmar worked on their own time and had their own plans. Thankfully, they had not caused any trouble during the Year of Silence, and considering they were one of the very few figures in the world which could cause a mess within the Iyr and then leave without much trouble, Elder Lykan’s shoulders remained heavy with anxiety.

‘I would rather deal with the dragons,’ the Front Iyr Elder thought.