Adam’s eyes snapped around, noting how empty the roads felt. Last duskval the roads had been busy, but this year there were far fewer Iyrmen around. However, the number of stalls were similar, and it allowed them to take their time to examine each one.

The group travelled from stall to stall, picking up small portions of food from each, with Adam handing over the first lot of samples he received to his children. Sonarot slipped into a shared estate with the other children, letting them meet with the Iyrmen within.

“Half Dragons?” an Iyrman asked while Adam was at a nearby stall.

“That they are,” Adam said, before pausing at the Iyrman’s sight.

She was older than time, her face wrinkles like ripples within a lake. She wore thick clothing, black as the starless sky, and wore a medallion which was made of a black wood, shaped in the symbol of Baktu, the God of Death. She wielded a staff made of the same wood as her medallion too, but that was not the most notable thing about her.

Her tattoos were small, hollow circles, also a deep black. They were notable because an Iyrman’s tattoos were usually filled or hollow, and the central shape was usually the largest. However, her tattoos were all uniform, and were smaller than any other tattoos Adam had seen before, and the central circle held the symbol of Baktu too.

Her entire presence caused Adam’s hair to stand on edge, and his children also clutched at the back of his trousers, dropping their food.

The old woman held the face of a tender grandmother, and she reached down towards the children. Adam reached for her wrist, but she pulled her hand back from the frightened children. “What a great boon to the Iyr.”

“Right…” Adam replied.

“You must be Lord Hadda,” the old woman said, greeting Strom, who was wiping Lanarot’s mouth clean.

Strom glanced towards the woman, who held the hint of death upon her. “I am.”

“It is my honour to meet you.” She bowed her head towards Strom.

“It is mine,” Strom replied, wondering who this new figure was. No doubt she was an Iyrman, but she was unlike any of the Iyrmen he had seen.

The old Iyrman reached up to tickle Lanarot’s cheek, causing her to pull back and hide against Strom.

“I didn’t expect to see you carrying a child,” a familiar voice called.

Adam’s head snapped to the side, where he saw Shama, flanked by Shaool and another Iyrman. Walking into the scene came Lucy and Mara, who had walked from the centre of an estate, and appearing from nowhere came the Chief.

‘Well…’ Adam thought, realising quickly that the good time at the festival had ended.

Shama’s eyes fell to the new Iyrman who reeked of death, wondering where she had appeared from. She was unlike any other Iyrman he had met, though she was like the pair who accompanied him in the sense that she was at least a Paragon.

“She is not a child, but the child,” Strom said, holding the girl up to Shama, though she squirmed and pulled away from the old man.

“The child?” Shama asked. “The one you believe will grow up to be a nuisance to me?”

“The very same.”

The old man’s eyes remained on the little one, wondering what Hadda saw within her.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you formally,” Mara called, her hands crossed over her navel, with a bow at a particular angle. “I am Mara, Lucy’s maid.”

Shama stared at the Demon, who he had seen once before back when she arrived at the Front Iyr. “What need I of your name.”

“It would be a shame if you did not hear my name before I returned the favour I owe,” Mara said, smiling politely.

Shama could feel it, the intense killing intent which flowed out from the maid. She was weak, so he thought little of it. She would need to train for at least a century to try and face him, though he was certain she would need at least several more for him to remember her when he eventually killed her.

“I would have left you be, but I signed a treaty to deal with the Demons,” Shama said, his blade appearing in hand. It was a long blade, the handle made of gold and ruby which intertwined together, the blade of which was long, slightly thinner than one may have expected, though not quite a rapier, silver.

“This is why I was always the most wise between the pair of us,” Strom said, holding Lanarot up still, though swaying her from side to side. “Even at the height of my strength, I wouldn’t cause trouble within the Iyr.”

“Does the Iyr intend to break the treaty?” Shama asked, still holding his blade in hand.

“The Iyr always keeps its word, and has followed the treaty to the letter,” the Chief replied, smiling warmly at the Lord of Flames. Strom, Hadda, stressed the Chief for he was difficult to deal with. However, Shama, was far less stressful to deal with. Though he was the Emperor of another nation, he was in the Iyr’s lands, and had not been granted the right to spill blood on its soil.

“Are you telling me I cannot kill her?” Shama asked, gripping his blade tighter. He stared down at the Chief, who may have been a great warrior in the Iyr, and perhaps could have fought with Strom’s current form evenly, but Shama was on a different tier entirely.

“That is correct,” Iromin replied, simply.

“A Chief dares to command an Emperor?”

“No,” Iromin replied. “It is a threat.”

Shama looked around, noting the number of Paragons nearby. He could rampage for some time without being dealt with, he was certain of it.

Though, if he were to ask Hadda, the dying old man would have informed him of how foolish that thought was.

Yet, there was one thing that Shama knew above all else. It was something which he had heard only happening once before, and it was something which even Hadda knew, something which gave even their kind pause to think.

Lanarot giggled, clapping her hands. “Baba.”

Surrounding the Emperor were a large number of children, all of whom were enjoying the festival, and some of whom were staring up at the Emperor excitedly. If he rampaged at another time, the Iyrmen may have been able to beat him down eventually, but they would not have dared to kill him. However, if he rampaged now, and if a child was wounded in the fray, no one would be able to find even a pinky finger of the Emperor.

“It would be no good for you to die here,” the old Iyrman with the black staff stated.

The Chief’s stress level increased from the old woman’s words. ‘Elder Story, please.’ She, who had appeared from nowhere, as though she had born from the shadows, and had caused great alarm to the Chief, seemingly was here to aggravate the Emperor rather than to watch over him as she had promised.

Shama’s eyes fell across the old woman’s form. The stench of death had clung into the air the entire time, and he had kept it within the back of his mind. She was one of a few Iyrmen that would have been able to clash with him with some level of success. Then his thoughts went to the oppressive pressure he felt when he had arrived within the Iyr, the constant reminder that she was always watching him.

Hello.

The visitors glanced towards the new arrival, another Half Elf, who was currently tapping her book.

“Tariel?” Adam asked, staring at the woman.

She tapped the word once more, looking up at all the figures, from Strom to Shama.

The festival is really nice!

“Right,” Adam replied, awkwardly.

Lucy and Mara approached Adam and his children, stepping away from the Lord of Flames. He seemed to pay them no attention any longer, relenting to the Iyr’s wishes. Lucy was torn about the matter. If Shama had struck Mara down, then no doubt he would have been dealt with, and Mara would have been brought up by Adam. However, it would have also meant that Mara would have been wounded at best, and killed at worst.

“You’re still here?” Adam asked, half paying attention to Shama still, who had put away his blade.

Yes!

“Sorry, that was rude.” Adam sighed, feeling the weight of his stress up against his shoulders. “Are you well?”

Yes!

“I’m glad to hear it.”

The dark skinned Half Elf continued to smile at Adam. She wore the clothing of the Iyrmen, and carried at her back her long staff with a gem at the top. She began to write something in her book, but as she did, she stood in shock as Adam swung his axe towards the Lord of Flames.