Chương 1654: Interlude: An Iyrmanly Visit I

The bed was truly magnificent. It was a wood one could only find in the northern territories of Aswadasad, which made sense considering Faro Sabreen al-Yasin was the Faro of Northern Aswadasad. It was not like the wood found in the north eastward forests, but those near Arisa itself. Hadidwood, as hard as iron, and yet extremely flexible. It was one of the woods Jurot had wished to procure, and he would need to request the Faro send the wood over as part of their negotiations.

Jurot's eyes followed along the patterns within the wood, those carved ever so lightly, with such expertise, one might have thought the carver was working with clay.

'We could test its sturdiness…' Jurot thought, though he had to give up such a thought, as his eyes floated over to his wife.

"You have such pretty hair," Pam said, running her fingers through the girl's hair, she who was her sister by marriage. The girl's innocent smile almost disarmed her, but after the last few years, seeing how she had inherited the blood of her grandfather, Pam refused to allow the girl to trick her.

"It is not as pretty as yours, sister," Lanarot replied, reaching up to gently pat Pam's head.

"I think it is prettier." Lanarot blinked, flushing lightly, side eyeing her sister, narrowing her eyes slightly, but she smirked.

"Sister, you cannot flirt with me!"

"Why not?" Lanarot blinked, and she hid her head against the woman's neck shyly, who held the girl within her arms. She was seven years old, so much bigger than the first time they had met, and the girl was still the same Lanarot she knew, except more frightening, for she was beginning to understand what the word Iyr truly meant. Even so, the girl may have been the Mad Dog's granddaughter, she was also their sister, and so Pam was completely safe from the world of blood and steel.

As Lanarot yawned, Pam smiled, laying down onto the bed with the girl, who rested her head against the woman's bosom.

"Jurot?" Pam called.

"I will remain here," Jurot said, his back against the wall, waiting for the pair to sleep before he would fall into the void of slumber. The young Iyrman was first feasting for his heart, and as Pam relented to her husband, who wanted to seem powerful in this moment, she covered the magical lantern, which, over the minutes, glowed dimmer and dimmer, until finally, the room was no longer illuminated.

"Sister, are you asleep," Lanarot whispered.

"Not yet," Pam replied.

"Um…"

"Yes?"

"I can fight well too."

"I know," Pam whispered, brushing the girl's back gently. Lanarot smiled, and then closed her eyes, only for her to continue to start a different conversation, again and again, until she finally snoozed against Pam.

'I hope you remain this cute forever,' Pam thought. Jurot remained against the wall, barely able to hear their conversations. Once he heard the familiar breathing of his wife falling into slumber, the young man's mind raced. He cross legged, his hands upon his knees, and as he began his meditation, his mind fell into a calm clarity. His mind fought his heart, and though it managed to temper his heart, it was his heart which eventually claimed victory.

The fights replayed within his mind, of a figure who fought so desperately, full of a conviction. It was a conviction that was familiar, for though the young man was not an Iyrman, he seemed to fight as though he held as much conviction as an Iyrman. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. An exhale caused the thoughts to slip away.

'I must grow stronger,' the young Iyrman thought.

'I will need to-,'"Oh, another young one?" called a voice. Jurot tensed up, glaring at the stranger, who sat upon a log, surrounded by many others around a fire. She was a woman in her fifties or so. She was shorter, but widely built, like a bear, her dark hair fell down to her waist, kissed by the silver of age, and the gold of a time long past.

Her chestnut eyes seemed brighter than they should, her bronze skin barely creased by Father Time, only marked by the blue circle and diamonds, which was to be expected considering the axe at her si-'Hmm,' Jurot thought, for he recognised that axe.

"Haven't we already spoken?" the woman asked, hopping onto her feet with a swiftness one shouldn't have expected of her, as she charged in front of the young man, though stopped, cocking her head.

"No, you are not Surot."

"I am Jurot, son of Surot."

"Ah, little Jurot?" the woman called. Jurot's eyes remained focused upon the woman, who he was fairly certain was one of three figures. No, at her height, she could only be…

"You look so young, though even your father spoke to me in his thirties."

"I am twenty five." The woman blinked, though a wild grin appeared on her face, and certainly she was one of the Rot, grabbing onto his elbows.

"Twenty five? Brat, since when do Iyrmen lie?"

"I do not lie," Jurot stated firmly.

"Twenty five? Twenty five!" The woman began to howl with laughter, causing the others to glance her way, those settled around fires, each flickering lightly, and within the flames, shadows flashed.

"Has anyone so young passed our way? Ah, well, there was…" Jurot blinked, for the woman made a face that suggested she had met his grandfather. Certainly, at that time, he must have immediately drawn his axe. The young Iyrman glanced across the others, whose forms were not quite so solid as this woman's, their faces vague, but their presence was no less overwhelming.

As Jurot glanced down at the woman, who was perhaps a head and a half shorter, and yet her strength far surpassed his own, easily dragging him towards the camp, only to stop.

"Ah, no, there should be another who will step this way. From what I recall, your aunt hasn't stepped here yet. Will she come, or will one of hers?"

"Aunt Mirot may arrive later, but it is Nirot you should wait for."

"Then who is to come today?"

"Adam?" Jurot replied, uncertain.

"Adam?"

"He is my brother."

"Is he not Adamrot?"

"He is my brother, but he is not an Iyrman."

"Ah! Is he talented?"

"Yes."

"If he follows our path, then it is fine!" The woman laughed, though stopped, furrowing her brows, considering that those who were not Iyrmen would not step into this realm. No. Was that right? What was the Vow?

"Adam does not follow our path."

"Strange…" However, as the woman turned, as though hearing something on the wind, she turned back to the young Iyrman.

"Is there an Ool?"

"Kitool," Jurot confirmed.

"How old is she?"

"She is twenty five too." The older woman blinked.

"Is the Iyr in trouble?"

"No."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"Are you one of the Golden Children?"

"Yes."

"Is Kitool?"

"Yes."

"A Rot and an Ool?" The old woman wasn't sure if the Iyr would allow that, since weren't they part of the same family?

"This century requires it," Jurot informed.

"Why?"

"I do not know, but it is required."

"I was unsure if you required my advice since you were so talented, but if such a time has come…" The song of steel echoed in the realm. Meanwhile, a pair sipped tea, so close, and yet an entire world away. She was short, lean, with cropped hair, and green eyes, skin like copper, and she was missing an ear, but she was the picture of serenity as she sipped her tea. Kitool, too, sipped her tea, which held a flavour she would not remember.

"You gave up the family way?" Amool asked.

"Yes," Kitool replied.

"Okay." The pair continued to sip their tea, for what seemed to be an eternity, surrounded by dreamly fields, dreamly wind, and dreamly company. A long while passed before Amool finally asked Kitool to explain the situation to her, more so a general situation, for the Iyrmen should not trust even their dreams. It was only after the rough situation was explained to her, Amool stood, considering why the young woman had chosen to give up her family's path.

"Faool may visit, though my sisters and cousins will visit you, sooner than even I." Amool remained silent for a long while, considering the young woman's words. It was one thing to lose Kitool, however, if it meant there was another, no, multiple others, each of whom may, if not naturally, surpass her talent, then it was not a great loss to the Ool family.

"I trust your wisdom."

"Thank you," Kitool replied, but her hair stood on end, an overwhelming pressure fell upon her shoulders suddenly. Her arms suddenly blurred, meeting the older woman's, who seemed to so casually attack the young Iyrman, their arms like crashing waves.

The old woman's finger pressed against the centre of Kitool's tattoo, the young woman gagging lightly, her entire body convulsing, spitting up blood, blood pouring out of each of her eyes, nostrils, ears, for it was misfortune to allow her to leave without dying at least once. Then the old woman blinked, as the young woman disappeared.

'Hadn't she already died once to…'