Churot was standing near his grandfather, who was guiding the three children through the Iyr. The distant music called for them, towards the fights, though they were enjoying the food on the way to the battles.

“Come, my little greatchildren,” Jarot called, before grabbing the slices of pizza, handing them to the triplets. “Your father brought these to the Iyr. Have you tried them?”

Konarot stared down at the pizza suspiciously, but she accepted a slice. She bit into it first, before her younger siblings started to eat the food. They bit through the dough, sauce, and cheese, which stretched as they pulled the pizza away.

Sonarot was nearby, with Lanarot in her arms, feeding the girl some pizza too. Lanarot opened her mouth for a bite of the crust, stealing it away from her mother, before she pointed towards the music.

“We will go see the fights soon, Lanarot,” Sonarot said.

Lanarot pointed towards the music again, though as her mother remained stationary, she groaned and whimpered, pointing towards it once more.

“Soon, Lanarot,” Sonarot said, and as the girl began to cry, she brought some more pizza to her lips. Lanarot stopped crying, and though her tears fell down her cheeks, she spent her attention on eating the food instead.

“Do you want to throw the bag?” Jarot asked. He led them to the nearby play stall, where there was a large basket. In front of the basket were a number of ellipses, each numbered, which fell back to a circle, with the largest number. Near the drawn marking were a pile of small bags which had been filled and tied. The one armed Iyrman picked up a small filled bag and tossed it into the basket with ease.

Konarot picked up a small bag and tossed it, though it landed halfway between her and the basket. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the bag, which did not go where it should have. Certainly it was not because she was standing in the far back, where Jarot had stood, and had tossed it into the air rather than towards the basket.

Kirot grabbed a bag and stood towards the edge of the ellipsis. She narrowed her eyes, falling into a deep concentration, before tossing the bag wildly. It struck the rim of the basket before dropping down inside of it. The girl gasped, shocked by how she had managed to land the bag. She turned to look at her siblings, who hugged her and purred affirmatively.

“Well done,” Jarot said, his brows raised.

Karot grabbed the bag and tossed it equally as wildly, though it veered off elsewhere rather than towards the basket. He looked at his hand, and then up at Konarot, frowning.

Konarot pet his head, understanding that it was certainly the bag’s fault and not the boy’s.

Lanarot also tossed a bag towards the basket, tossing it high in the air, before it dropped down in the basket cleanly. “Mama!” the girl said, pointing at the basket, a wide grin on her face.

“Well done,” Sonarot said, clapping her hands, causing her daughter to clap and giggle too.

“Rather than the basket, do you want to throw the bags towards the circles?” Jarot asked, leading the children to a similar game. There was a spot on the floor where one would stand, and ahead was a large circle, with smaller circles within, each worth a different amount of points. The outer circle held the least, and the crowseye held the most, though was also the smallest of all the circles. He easily tossed his bag towards the centre, missing the crowseye by a small amount.

Konarot inhaled deeply, grabbing a bag. Last time she had tossed too high, so this time she would aim lower. She threw the bag with great force, but it struck right between her feet, and the fillings, which were small wooden scraps and oats which were not good enough to eat, scattered across the floor. She stared at the mess in disbelief, before looking up at Jarot.

“What a strong throw it was!” Jarot praised. “Who else could destroy the bag with such ease other than my Konarot?” He ruffled the girl’s hair, though the girl remained pouting.

Kirot inhaled deeply before tossing the bag forward, striking near the crowseye, earning a great deal of points. Karot managed to land in the same circle, though to another side. Lanarot tossed her bag, and it landed right before the first circle. She looked at her mother and pointed to the bag, crying out her suspicions.

It was definitely the bag’s fault.

“These are your greatchildren?” an older Devilkin asked, taking a puff from her pipe.

The triplets looks up at her in shock, before they scampered behind their greatfather.

“They’re so cute, aren’t they?” Adam stated, holding Jarot up to Dunes.

“Yes,” Dunes replied, taking the Goblin boy from Adam, supporting his tiny head. This was the very same baby he had tried to kill not long ago, and yet here Adam was, handing the boy, his own son, over to the Aswadian.

Dunes glanced around between the other Iyrmen, noticing how awkward the air had been when he had first walked in.

Adam picked up Jirot, and though she could fit in but one hand, he held her with both, carefully. “They’re so small aren’t they?”

“They are,” Dunes replied, feeling how light Jarot was in his hands. The boy stared up at him, a curious look in his eyes.

“They’re so small and so light,” Adam said. “They’re like feathers, threatening to be whisked away by a gentle breeze.”

Dunes could hear the worry in Adam’s words. “They are not so easily to kill, Adam. I should know.”

Adam’s brows raised at Dunes’ joke, a small smile appearing on his face. “I suppose they are not.”

The Priest thought about Adam’s relationship with Baktu, wondering if that would affect their lives. “Even now, I still do not understand why you adopted the children.”

“I’m their father, so I adopted them,” Adam replied, simply.

“How can you explain things so that I have more answers?”

Adam smiled. “That’s the best way to explain things.”

“I’m sorry, Adam.”

“For?”

“Trying to kill your children.”

Adam stifled his laugh. “Yeah, well, as long as you don’t try to kill any more children in front of me, then I’ll forgive you.”

“It has been weighing on my mind for some time, especially now since they are yours.” Dunes bowed his head gently. “I would have never expected such a thing, but I should have remembered who you were.”

“Right, you shouldn’t ever forget that, Dunes,” Adam replied, chuckling. He lifted Jirot up, pressing his cheek against her forehead. “I didn’t expect to have as many children either, but I suppose I should have remembered who I was.”

“Is there something which brings such queerness to you?” Dunes joked.

“Yeah,” Adam said. “It’s a force which even the Gods do not dare to anger.” Adam looked up to the sky. “Whatever it is, the difference between Baktu and it is the same as the difference between me and the fire guy.”

“Have you forgotten I’m a Priest?” Dunes frowned, the blasphemy sending a shiver down his spine.

“You must have forgotten that I’ve met your good Lady last year,” Adam shot back. “She has done me many great favours, and I will not forget that, but I’ve seen the way the Gods treat such a being.”

“Why can you speak of such dangerous things?” Dunes asked, feeling Jarot twitch in his arms.

Adam closed his eyes, thinking back to his previous life. He thought about how powerful he was back then, and how the Gods had struggled against the Eldritch horror which had appeared. Lord Sozain had requested his assistance, and if it wasn’t for the second Brit who had appeared, it would have been difficult to deal with such a figure.

“If you’ve seen the things I’ve seen, felt the things I’ve felt, fought the things I’ve fought, you’d understand,” Adam said, simply. “Even if I became the strongest being in this world, even if I had the power to vanquish every God, I would just be a speck of dust to greater figures.”

Dunes sighed. “Let us not talk about this any longer, Adam.”

“This world is scary, Dunes,” Adam said, looking back down to the Priest. “It’s more terrifying than you could possibly imagine.”

Adam looked down to the tiny Goblin girl in his arms. She was less than half Gurot’s size, and Adam could barely feel her weight within his hands. There was almost no substance to her, as though she didn’t exist. Yet, he could feel her warmth in his hands, he could see her tiny breaths.

“I have heard that the young Iyrman boy said something to you last night,” Dune said, trying to shift the topic.

Adam rubbed his cheek against Jirot’s forehead for a moment. “Well…”

Dunes laughed so hard that Otkan had to take Jarot away from him. He almost awoke another baby, but the Iyrmen had taken them far enough away that Dunes’ laughter could barely reach them.

“Of course he would have asked you such a question!” Dunes rubbed his eyes.

“You should have seen his face when he heard he wouldn’t be an Iyrman any more.”

Dunes, who had almost finished with his laughter, fell into another fit, imagining the poor boy’s face.