‘Will he adopt the child?’ Nirot thought, since she was exactly his type of child.

Chonky.

Adam certainly wanted his children big and chubby, and with the glare within the girl’s eyes as she fought against the world, it was certain that she could be a daughter of his. It was a thought, perhaps the half elf had already accepted her as his daughter?

Laygak continued to feed the girl, who should have still drunk a mother’s milk at her age, but all he could think about was how much Jirot would want to spoil her.

The grave aura Adam gave off seem to cause the girl to glance up at him, the half elf wanting to spoil her so terribly, his heart wounded since she seemed to prefer the company of those with horns within her company.

‘Jaygak was right!’

“Adam,” Dunes called.

“Yes, Mo Dunes?” the half elf replied, having turned from the entrance to glance Dunes’ way, thinking about how he wasn’t allowed to spoil her, but his body was far more honest.

“I understand,” Dunes admitted, his voice calm and sympathetic, “but we have plenty of gifts we have brought already. Perhaps we should spoil her here?”

“I see…” The half elf let out a soft sigh, allowing his anxiety about his heavy pouch leave with it, lightening the burdens upon his shoulders. “This is why we pay you the big bucks.”

Tagak was fairly certain the girl would be adopted into the Mir family, since the Lion King was asking, and because she was Sully the Mountain’s daughter. ‘If we could adopt her into the Gak family…’

The half elf placed all manner of hats upon the girl, who squirmed slightly, but upon seeing the mirror, stared at her form, blinking rapidly. Adam continued to switch the hats, from the colours, to patterns, even to the style of the hat, until the girl complained as Adam plucked a particular yellow turban off her head, reaching for it.

“Oh? You want this?” Adam held it out for her, and the girl placed it on her lap, gazing back at the mirror, wondering who the figure was that held her hat upon her lap.

Jurot’s eyes remained upon the half elf, noting how much pain he was in, the half elf certainly wanting to spoil the girl more. The hole within his heart from missing his children when he wished to remain with them was only growing even larger, even with all these adorable children to spoil around him. He had already burst out several times, only against the strongest, for that was the kind of person Adam felt no guilt fighting against, but the half elf’s heart seemed to wear heavier as the days passed.

“Brittany, I’m assigning you to watch over our little Amal too,” the half elf said.

“Yes!” Brittany stated, half in surprise. Her? Watch over a child to be adopted in the Iyr? Is that something she was even allowed to do?

Bael’s eyes fell upon the girl, staring intently upon her, as she continued to stare at herself within the mirror, something twitching in surprise as the girl opposite her moved, always in the same way she did, not that she realised.

‘She is really a big girl,’ Bael thought, wanting to toss her up, but realised she was too young for that, since mortal children were so fragile.

As the sky turned purple, Mork nursed a bottle of wine that was too expensive for his Northern taste, and too sweet, even for his priestly tongue. “Tork?”

“Aye?”

“You think I should be getting married soon?”

“Give me a few nieces and nephews already!” Tork snarled at him, chuckling immediately after, his grin wide. “Yer thinkin’ about thah sorta thing? The old man’s gonna be glad.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll find someone or another.”

“You never know what Fate has in store, perhaps you’ll meet someone in Aswadasad?”

“Hopefully from the Five Moons.”

“That ship has already sailed.”

“Aye,” Tork grumbled, though then again, someone as beautiful as those from the Five Moons wouldn’t go after a grey skinned tusked one, not even one especially as handsome and strong as he.

As the next morning came to the group, Adam remained at home, watching over Kizwolima and Amal, who had gotten used to Adam’s presence, the half elf reading a tale to her.

‘You really are so damn chonky!’ Adam thought, feeling just how heavy the girl was while she sat upon his lap. ‘What did they feed you?’

Tanagek could not deal with the vast cringe emanating from the half elf, so stepped out, Mork, Tork, and Chosen each following after him, since they all wished to explore Aswadasad too. Eventually the pair split into two groups, Tork deciding to follow Tanagek, who made his way to a nearby domed building, a theatre, which held several plays throughout the day. The young man paid the gold for himself and Tork, who had slipped a hand into his pouch to pay, but the Iyrman was too swift to pay, and so he paid for the snacks once they were within. The dome was made of heavy stone, though much of the building within was made of wood, especially the stage, which was disassembled and assembled throughout the show, with the two halves of the theatre blocked off, allowing two plays to run simultaneously.

As the pair sat within their personal booths, the world around them dampened by the thick cloth around, a figure emerged from the shadows, causing Tanagek and Tork to tense up, since they hadn’t noted her presence.

“Excuse me, may I join you?” the soft spoken woman asked, only a single slit for her eyes and the bridge of her nose revealed to the world, the rest of her body swallowed by a sea of cream. She was tall, slim, Tanagek assumed, considering the grace in which she moved, the way her clothing moved to reveal the lack of a form within. It was, however, the sword cradled within her arms which revealed her identity, and so the young man bowed his head, allowing her to sit with them.

‘If she speaks Aldish…’ Tork thought, but unfortunately for him, she was a much older woman, or so he assumed. He wasn’t sure why he thought so, but that was the aura the woman gave off, and as she settled down, the pair met eyes, and Tork began to sweat, feeling the depths of her power. ‘I wonder which place has more Hidden Dragons…’

‘I did not expect to meet the Dragon of the Dunes,’ Tanagek thought. ‘Chosen will cry.’

Meanwhile, Chosen narrowed his eyes towards a particular fellow, who was in the middle of carrying at least ten baskets upon his persons, but as he moved, Chosen noted his steps were stable, even as he rushed away. Mork also admired the form of the young fellow running, following along beside Chosen, who decided to stalk this random fellow.

“Grandfather, grandfather,” the young man panted, dropping down the baskets, wheezing for air. It had been one thing to run a mile in the morning, another to run half a mile while carrying ten baskets full of food, but what could he do? It wasn’t every year that his grandfather would turn sixty.

“Take a rest, betta,” the old man said, before his good eye darted over his grandson’s shoulder, noting the pair who had followed him, the others around also eyeing up those who stood outside the estate.

‘Half burned, one arm, one leg,’ Chosen thought, fairly certain he had heard of a figure who was such.

“Young man,” The old man narrowed his eye towards Chosen. “Shukhur, you know aila Kaysen?”

‘Ah,’ Chosen thought. “I am her greatson.”

“Greatson?” the old man said, his Aldish accented, slow, but he know it well, though he did not know of this particular term, for it was not an Aldish term.

“Great grandson,” Chosen stated.

“Ah! Come in, betta, come in! Who is that beside you? A Mo of Storms?”

“He is,” Chosen confirmed, stepping within. “You must be…”

“Vadim,” the old man said, shaking the young man’s forearm, his own hand wrinkled and coarse.

“The Chimera,” Chosen said, finally realising who he was, partly because there weren’t many called Vadim who had made a name for themselves, but he knew of a Vadim who met his greatmother before even his father was alive.

After the pair were welcomed within, Chosen quickly understood why so many people had gathered, and why so many flatbreads, naans, curry, rice, pastries, full of meat or cream, were handed out.

“Since I have come empty handed, may I spar against your grandson?”

“Shukhur, I am blessed this day, to see the Sen’s family sword once more,” Vadim said, motioning a head to his grandson. “Betta.”

“Yes!” the young man said, leaping onto his feet.

“Would you like to don your armour?”

“If you are to fight without yours, I will fight without mine,” the young man stated.

“I am a Rage Dancer.”

“Oh.”

“Betta, go get your armour,” Vadim said, for it was not every day that one could face an Iyrman in battle, especially not one who traced his heritage to Bloodblade.

‘When you find out, your tears will taste so sweet,’ Chosen thought.

----------------------------------------

----------------------------------------

I don't know, I think Tanagek wins this one, no offence to the Chimera.