The little girl sauntered about the Front Iyr, holding a small basket, reaching into it and offering the small flowers within to the various Iyrmen. 

“You are handing out poppies, little Poppy?” an Iyrman asked, accepting the flower from her tiny hand. 

“Yes,” the girl replied, her face neutral, but they could see the gleam of childish joy glistening upon the surface of her eyes. 

“Thank you,” the Iyrman said, reaching down to pet her head gently. 

“You cannot have the red one because it is for Captain Snake,” Poppy said, shaking her hair so it fell to either side once more, the top of the girl’s hair a mess, though the Iyrman fixed it with her fingers. “He is going to come back soon with Lead Jonn.”

“You should flatten it between the pages of a book to keep it safe.”

“Books are for writing,” the girl replied, raising her brow questioningly towards them. 

“They are useful for many things,” the Iyrman said. “You can write, yes, and you can read, yes, drawing, yes, but you can use them in many ways. Paper can be burnt, it can be used to keep water at bay for a moment, you can use a book to raise another item into the air by placing the item atop a book, and if you place a flower between the pages of a book and press it tightly shut under something heavy, you can dry the flower out and save it for later, for Captain Snake.”

The girl narrowed her eyes for a long while, taking in what the Iyrman said. “I will do that!” 

Poppy fled away before the other Iyrman could accept the a flower, the woman turning her head towards her sister. She blinked, clenching a fist to beat the elderly woman. 

“Widen your stance,” Fred called, causing George to shift his feet wider, the boy thrusting out his dagger in front of him, following Fred’s guidance. George’s skill with shorter blades was decent enough, the boy holding quite the talent, though that was to be expected since he had managed to stab their Executive in the gut. 

Once George was done with training, he ended up bathing, Fred doing so alongside him since the Executives stated they couldn’t bathe along until they were slightly older, just in case they accidentally drowned themselves. Once they were done, George rushed over towards Elsie, who was in the middle of drawing. 

“Elsie, what are you drawing?” George asked, his gem glowing as the jilted voice called out to Elsie. 

“I’m drawing a dragon,” the girl replied, revealing the large lizard which shot out blasts of lightning.

“Wow!” George replied, the young man having been able to separate his thoughts from the gem, though it required some effort. He wasn’t sure what the point of drawing was, though he supposed it was a little fun. He looked aside towards Fred, who was sitting and drinking tea, the exhaustion on his face evident. He still had a few more hours to go before he could turn in for the night. However, George, after spending a few minutes relaxing in the bath, was eager to train again. 

“George, do you want to draw too?” Elsie asked, carefully tearing the dragon using the wooden block with a sharp block that slide towards the end, perforating the paper to allow her to tear it with ease. 

“Sure…” George was glad that his tone of voice came out so stilted, otherwise he would have hurt her feelings. 

“Elsie,” called a terrifying voice, for she was not only that man’s granddaughter, but also those brothers’ sister. She stood tall and proud, adorned in the Iyr’s clothing, the loose short sleeved shirt, the shorts, the long boots, and of course, at her side she wore a small club, which she had to swear upon every morning that she would only use it to defend herself or her companions. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Elsie admitted. 

“If you have problems, you can speak to me, okay?” Lanarot called, reaching out a hand to rub the girl’s shoulder, as though she were Elsie’s older sister, though she was certainly not her sister, and not older than the girl. 

“Okay,” Elsie replied, before noting another figure smiling towards her, and the girl smiled back towards the Ray warmly.

“Sister, we have to look after Elsie, okay?” Lanarot called, staring up at Ray Vonda, as though informing her of an important task.

“We must,” Vonda replied, a small smile encroaching her lips. 

“Good!” Lanarot let out a satisfied sigh, glad she had been able to do what her brother had requested of her. She looked towards the sky, though quickly bowed her head as Vonda placed a hat upon her head to protect her eyes. “Are brothers coming home soon?”

“They will return when they return,” Vonda replied. 

“I am worried, since my brothers are so troublesome,” Lanarot said, letting out the sigh of a mother who had two mischievous kids. 

A group of Iyrmen approached the Front Iyr, and as those gate guards checked them, finally allowing them to enter, one approached the businessfolk. He was a young man, handsome that he was, with skin tanned from working under the sun, short hair which kept out of his eyes, and he carried a bow upon his back, and a pair of scimitars at his side. 

“I brought back a boar,” Zobaj called out, flashing a wide smile towards the businessfolk, nodding his head as he greeted Fred and Rick, before the children swarmed him. 

“Did you see any Reavers today?” the children asked excitedly.

“I did… not.”

The children had gasped, but quickly frowned at his words, grumbling between one another. 

Zobaj laughed, clapping his hands, causing the children to scatter to their seats so he could begin speaking the many tales of his family to them. As he did, he noted a particular little Iyrgirl gape at him, her amber eyes darting up towards her mother, the girl holding out her arms.

‘I was going to read, mummy!’

Vonda just smiled, ruffling her hair. “You can read later, Jirot.”

Jirot grumbled quietly, pouting, but she held her mother’s hand and remained at her side, with little Jarot taking his mother’s other hand tentatively. Vonda realised she was trapped, and would need to listen to the tales too. 

Miles away, however, there was another who spoke his tale, an older Aswadian man with a pair of blades, along with his apprentice. 

“I was still a young man with a name when I met him, your twice great grandfather,” Scholar Muh admitted, smiling warmly towards the young Tanagek. The man wore cream coloured attire, with a yellow scarf around his shoulders, his blades resting beside him, wrapped in scarves, untied to him, for no one could ever steal the curved blades of Scholar Muh. 

Tanagek raised his brow lightly, for he had never heard that Scholar Muh had ever met Hadi Tanagek.

“I met him when I was… ten? I was not a man, that much was certain. It was a time when we were travelling through the desert. I remember the heat searing my skin. We came across a man, adorned in full plate, with a particular set of tattoos.” Scholar Muh’s eyes fell upon Tanagek’s tattoos and he smiled, bowing his head lightly. “He was ten years my mentor’s junior.”

“The Painter?” Tanagek asked, taking a guess, for there were quite a few figures Hadi Tanagek had met within the desert, but that particular name stuck out to him.

“The Painter,” Scholar Muh confirmed, smiling even wider, recalling his mentor, the old woman who had viciously beaten the strength into him. Even now he was showing mercy to Yasmin, who must have hated all the days she had spent studying, along with the many hours of exercise she had to complete when she originally started her physical training. “I had never seen my mentor ever lose. She requested a spar and your twice great grandfather accepted. They exchanged blows for three rounds and my mentor stepped back, accepting her loss.”

Tanagek smiled slightly, for he had heard that Hadi Tanagek had fought the legendary figure known as The Painter. In the Iyr’s tales, they knew the exact time and date, but The Painter was a near anonymous figure, who preferred to keep her identity a secret, while Scholar Muh had taken a similar route, except it was with his family and his past. However, no one had known he had been taught by The Painter, but it was evident enough since he was so powerful. 

“It is said Hadi Tanagek was an Expert by eighteen, a Master by twenty four, a Grandmaster by thirty, and a Paragon by forty. He must have reached the peak by fifty, sixty at most.”

Tanagek remained silent, though he sipped the kafa, a gentle smile on his lips. 

“I have fought and fought, but even I did not reach the height he has, and even at my age, I am weaker than he was at fifty.” Scholar Muh smiled, pouring the young man more of the drink. “Would you allow me to hear your tales, young Tanagek?”

“It would be my honour, Scholar Muh.”

Yasmin stared at her mentor with wide eyes, her mouth almost agape. ‘Your mentor was The Painter?’

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Yasmin realises her martial heritage is crazy.