Chương 1529: [1438] – Y06.338 – Training III

The stars illuminated the sky, basking the Iyr within a gentle glow. As the four met in the evening, Chosen poured them tea, taking the duty upon himself since he had requested them to meet together to drink and discuss. The conversation first started gentle and sweet, like the tea, though Tanagek eventually threatened his friend with his eyes, bringing forth the real conversation.

"Adam is breaking," Chosen finally said, holding Jurot's gaze with his eyes. A long moment passed between the pair. Jurot sat up a little taller, and after another long moment, his eyes fell away, the Iyrman falling in thought.

"You wish to discuss his behaviour?" Tanagek asked, narrowing his eyes slightly towards his companion, who was equally his best friend and his rival. Chosen smiled, sipping his tea lightly, turning to face Kitool for a moment, who considered his words, and knew he spoke truth. He ignored Tanagek, riling him up, though Tanagek remained silent.

"Adam requires more time," Kitool said.

"You must speak with him," Chosen said, his eyes falling between Kitool and Jurot, who ruminated on his words.

"He should be able to overcome this wall," Tanagek said, though his eyes fell to the pair who knew him best, each of whom were thinking so deeply.

"To think I am the only one to take this matter so seriously," Chosen accused, and though he smiled, his eyes held no light.

"It is too dangerous to allow Adam to break."

"He will not break," Jurot stated firmly.

"Even if the chances are slim, you must take it seriously, for he is Adam!" Chosen whispered, though it was a whisper so full of emotion.

"His abilities so numerous, his strength unfocused, unknown. He, who is Baktu's Chosen, yet is blessed by Forgeia. He, who wields the might of an Oathsworn, seemingly without Oath. He, who wields the great magics of a Scribe Mage, yet does not study, and can wield a blade as well as my granduncle. If he dances as well as Jurot, it would not surprise me, for he is Adam."

"He will not break," Jurot stated once more, holding Chosen's gaze hard.

"How can you be so sure?" Chosen whispered, leaning in towards Jurot, who narrowed his eyes.

"I will show you," Jurot replied simply.

"Okay," Chosen replied, standing, though he grabbed the magical blade resting upon the side of the table and walked off, to train under the starry sky. Tanagek followed the silhouette, though left him be, since he needed to work off some steam. It wasn't everyday Chosen of all people threatened them, and to think he would go so far to threaten Jurot about his own brother. As Chosen stepped out, towards a nearby training area, he found a figure standing under the open sky, staring up at it.

He was tall, strong, handsome, and the embodiment of Chaos, the same Chaos that raged within Chosen's heart. Though Adam hadn't noticed him yet, even if Chosen attacked, he was certain the half elf could still defeat him with ease.

"Oh, hey Chosen," Adam said, taking a wide step to the side, allowing the Iyrman to take the centre of the square, since he had chosen against drawing his blade.

"Were you deep in thought?"

"Yeah, I was."

"What consumed your thoughts?" Adam looked towards the sky once more, blinking lightly, his eyes scanning across the twinkling stars.

"I was thinking about a lot, but mostly that I haven't really paid much attention to Lanarot after having five kids in the span of about a week." The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

"…"

"Also, I have a second sister to disappoint, and I don't want Lanarot to feel lonely now that she's no longer the youngest." Adam let out a long sigh, his breath slipping into the air, carried away with the breeze. The half elf's eyes remained focused on those stars, which had replaced the stars of his first life.

"…"

"Also, I was so ready to have another child, such a chonky child, but I don't want to burden my beautiful wife with that kind of expectation, especially since we have so many children, and just two of them would be enough, but having eight children is more than enough for now."

"Which two?"

"You know which two, why are you pretending?" Adam replied, raising a brow towards the young Iyrman, letting out a huff of annoyance.

"What great fortune you have, to have such tender children, who are so affectionate, even when they are so wicked to your heart, save for perhaps two."

"Two?"

"Larot, who is too distant." Adam held Chosen's gaze for a long moment, before his lips formed a smirk, the kind of smirk that belonged to a fool who knew something that the other did not, a kind of smirk which confused Chosen.

"I am wrong?"

"Here I thought you were the smart one," Adam teased, tutting the Iyrman lightly, grinning wide.

"I can't blame you, since Tanagek is the more perceptive one." Chosen's fingers twitched towards his blade, but he let the half elf be, partly because he did not feel like sleeping with so many bruises.

"I should have expected, since you are the Crazy Father." Adam let out another sigh, but this time, the sigh was far more truthful, and his eyes returned back to the sky, the air growing cold with sombre. Chosen waited, for though he had come to train, he realised there was something else he needed to do here.

"You know, I was thinking about, you know, about that. About…" Adam inhaled deeply, letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

"This entire year, I've been thinking about whether I should reveal my strength, or whether I should hide it. Whether I should reveal my children, whether I should hide them. Whether I should reveal my connection to Baktu, whether I should hide it." Chosen waited for Adam to make a joke about his beautiful wife, but the moment of silence continued to pass, followed by another heavy sigh.

"I know I'm an idiot. I count my blessings every day, you know? I was adopted into the Rot family, and they protect me, against the Iyr itself. My children call Aunt Sonarot their grandmother, and they call uncle Tonagek their grandfather, especially my triplets, though I know all of them view him as their grandfather. I'm the grandson of the Mad Dog, the Rising Swallow, Flame Brand. Jurot, my brother, Lanarot, my sister, now Amal, too.

Even just one of these connections is a great fortune, but I have them all, and here I am, feeling so sorry for myself."

'His penchant for thinking too much is useful,' Chosen thought.

"Do you know what Vonda said to me, why I was so blessed to have a wife like her?" Adam asked, still staring at the stars above, which couldn't be called beautiful when he was speaking of his wife.

"She said that I had, have, a good heart."

"A reason I would have expected from the likes of Ray Vonda," Chosen replied.

"Do I?" Adam asked.

"Do you not believe so?" Adam turned to face Chosen, his brows furrowed, their eyes meeting for a moment, but Adam's eyes fell to the ground in deep contemplation.

"Why do you believe you do not?" Chosen prodded carefully.

"I've killed a lot of people."

"Did they not deserve it?"

"Some of them. Some didn't."

"Who?" Adam bit the inside of lower lip, chewing on his thoughts for a long moment.

"A lot of people, Cho. A lot of people."

'For someone who wears such an amulet to worry about killing…'

"I know I'm an idiot. I know in this land, killing is another way of life. I know that, because of my leaf shaped ears, because some other elves caused trouble, I'm going to be in trouble, my children, they're going to be in trouble, I know, I know, I know, but…" Adam shook his head, inhaling sharply, a breath so full of pain, so full of anxiety, the kind born from a great sin imposed upon his family.

Chosen waited for the half elf to continue, the half elf still cracking, slowly heading towards ruin, but there was little he could do other than to speak to Jurot.

'I will show you,' Jurot had said, and yet…

"Sorry about being such a downer, Cho. I appreciate you listening."

"We are no strangers, Adam. If you require strong shoulders for your burdens, I may not have as strong shoulders as your brother, but I am acceptable." It was that same evening, the old one armed, one legged Iyrman held the chonky boy within his arm, against his chest, feeling the way the boy's chest raised and fell with every breath. Gurot, so strongly built was he, yet he was so much like Lanarot, so unlike Jurot. He remembered how quiet and well behaved Jurot was, how quiet and well behaved he was even today.

Did he not shower Jurot in his affection enough? The old man felt the burn within his arm, flexing his muscles within his arms, recalling their clash. Even so, his grandson turned out just fine.