John ran along the wall, carrying a pack as he did so, sweat seeping into his clothing. He was thankful for the half elf, who dried off their clothing in an instant as they travelled, and even more thankful the half elf allowed them to bathe daily, while also dealing with their laundry. Taking a dip in the freezing rivers and trying to dry off one’s clothing during their journey had always caused great difficulties, and training while only wearing one’s underwear was quite a sight, and though he could do so around people of his class, the mont noblefolk were part of the group, it would be seen as uncouth, or worse, it may be seen as permission for sothing else, and the mont a nobleman wanted such, it was difficult to survive after a refusal, and sotis, even after.
‘He was certainly about to fight two Paragons,’ John thought, thrusting his spear forward, Zabir and Yasha watching him from one side. John hadn’t t anyone who could dare to fight two Paragons, back to back. Indeed, perhaps Lady Jaeryael could, but she was Lady Jaeryael, if she even existed. Lord Asa, perhaps? He was real, wasn’t he? He must have been, how else did Floria manage to break off from Aldland? He had ntioned Adam speak of him too, so he must have been real?
John stopped, a hundred thrusts from each side, and he stared up towards the dark sky, no longer purple, but black, speckled with gold. Adam had always spoken with a playful arrogance, the kind that ca from knowing one’s strength, but he had seen it, the chains around the half elf, the shackles on his wrists and ankles, and the chain around his neck like a noose. John, too, held such shackles and chains, though they were heavier, and he could barely move with them. Yet, sohow, Adam was so strong to behave so aggressively even with those heavy chains, with those shackles.
John stared towards the sky, which moved outward, and as he pointed the spear towards the stars, he could see the massive gulf between how high his spear could reach and the sky above, then the one known as Adam above it.
Zabir blinked, staring towards the young man, though looking through him, to a mory that had just ford. ‘How can one man be that strong?’
Yasha blinked, staring towards the young man, though looking through him, to a mory that had just ford. ‘How can one man be that strong?’
Brittany sat to one side, nursing her bread with one hand, a cup of milk with the other. She sipped her milk, her eyes darting between all the beautiful woman, spotting a few glancing her way, each bowing their heads as their eyes t, and the young woman returned a bow of her head. She could feel it, the intense pressure from all of these won, those who had been forged through adversity within the Order. How could she even compare?
She closed her eyes and saw the sight. She saw the unconscious Full Moon on the floor, the half elf focused on the New Moon, each apparently Paragons, powerful warriors, the number of which could be perhaps counted on their hands upon each land. At first, the struggle against Ashuk had wounded her heart, and though she still carried such a wound within her heart, it eased at the thought that Adam was greater than she surmised. Except, she couldn’t reach such a height, could she? She, born within a village, destined to die obscure.
Kitool eyed up the young woman, who retreated into the corner, as though she were Ivy. Brittany, who had taken a step forward and demanded the half elf take her, and had been at his side for years now, now finally an Expert, and yet she shrunk away from this Order? This Order whose warriors averaged roughly Brittany’s might, the sa as the Iyr?
Tork continued to drink his milk, staring at the twinkling stars. His heart ached for he could no longer flirt with the won here, though he supposed he was flying too close to the sun anyway. He saw it, the sight of Adam completely ignoring the Full Moon so he could beat the New Moon. In his heart, he knew the half elf would win, because there was no way he would lose in front of Taygak or Kizwolima. The horc’s heart stirred, realising that sohow he had managed to fight alongside a legend like Adam, whose na would certainly go down in the history books.
The horc’s eyes fell to Nobby, who certainly wasn’t spending his ti thinking about the half elf. The horc continued to stare at the boyish man, whose thin beard continued to grow as they travelled along Aswadasad, with an understated might. He called just how much his arms had ached for days after their friendly spar. He had been almost brought to his knees, and the young man seed eager to continue. Then, his thoughts fell to the knowledge that Nobby had almost died to a Reaver, or…
‘The North’s gonn’ struggle against the Reavers,’ Tork thought, wondering if he should send word back to the temple.
“What foolishness are you thinking now?” Mork asked, patting his brother on the back, settling himself beside the large horc.
“Ah was just thinkin’.”
“Thinkin’?” Mork replied, noting how serious Tork remained, staring at the sky. “What were you thinking?”
“The world’s… so big.”
“Aye.”
“You sent word back to the temple about the Reavers, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“You need to let ‘em know that they’re stronger than we thought,” Tork said. “That you and I together couldn’t beat one.”
“We could beat one of the weaker ones, I’d say, but they know about the stronger kind, we don’t have to worry about that.”
“I don’t know, Mork. I’m worryin’, I’m worryin’, and…”
“Listen, Tee, we can’t be worrying about that sort of thing any more.” Mork pat his brother upon the back, grabbing his shoulder and half hugged him. “What you should be thinking about is how lucky we are that we joined the business in its infancy.”
“You can think about the politics, ah don’t want tah.”
“You’re letting your Northerner slip into your words now.”
“It’s hard!”
“I know,” Mork replied, understanding why his brother spoke that way, and why it was difficult to get rid of it. “This flaming sword at my side, the flaming sword at your side, apparently not as useful in these parts, but…”
Tork glanced aside to his brother, peering at him with a curious raised brow, as the young man glanced around towards the half elves around them.
“Listen, Tork. I think…” Mork raised his brows.
“What?”
“I think the sword’s not important.”
“You feeling a little warm there?”
“Shut up,” Mork grumbled, almost elbowing his brother. “Listen to , Tork. I think this blade, it’s good and all, but we’re focused on the wrong thing. This business, I don’t think it’s about the magical items. I think it’s about politics.”
“What do you an?”
“I’m talking about our handso Executives, and the Iyrn, and now, us.”
Tork shook his head lightly, dismissing his brother, but it was not his shaking head that dismissed his brother, but the careful glare within Tork’s eyes, which caused his brother to pull away slightly, the pair returning to the milk.
‘How stupid do ya think ah am, you gotta ntion all that?’ Tork thought, almost grunting in annoyance.
Jonn eyed up the walls, the half elf’s eyes taking in the sight, for he could feel a sense of familiarity in this place, the sa he had spotted throughout the Orders, where the young n and won had trained. He could sense the eyes upon him, and as he soaked in the sight of the won training and chatting away, he ignored the gazes and returned to another ti.
“Mister Bael,” Kizwolima called, staring at her milk, before glancing aside towards the azure scaled half dragon. “Why’s mister Adam so strong?”
“He’s… blessed by the Divine?” Bael replied, unsure how the half elf was so strong himself, though he was certain there was sothing else to it, sothing more foreign. He supposed it was because Adam, like Lucy and Mara, were Anomalies, though not quite like most who slipped between Realms.
“Wow. I’m blessed by the Divine too, ain’t I?”
“You are?”
“Mhmm. Lady Arya spoke to in my heart.”
“What did she say?”
“She said I had to stay with Mister Adam in Aswadasad.”
“Then you should,” Bael replied, growing slightly annoyed by his words. ‘I suppose she is right, this ti.’
While Bael dared to think about fighting the Divine, a pair of Iyrn approached the other, each nodding their heads towards the nearby dark skinned beauties, who eyed up the Iyrn, wondering if perhaps they should seduce the pair. Chosen winked at the pair, while Tanagek ignored them, settling himself beside his cousin.
Jurot poured Tanagek a cup of milk, the pair sipping it lightly, nibbling on the flatbread, slathered with butter and herbs, with spices sprinkled lightly upon one half.
“You need to speak with your brother,” Tanagek said.
“I know,” Jurot replied.
“Jurot,” Tanagek stated.
“I will,” Jurot replied.
Tanagek could hear the tone in Jurot’s voice, both a promise and a threat, and so he dropped the topic. Tanagek thought to assign himself to one of the few who would kill Adam if he got out of hand, but he decided to leave it to the Elders, for now.
“Chosen,” the young Iyrman greeted one of the won.
“Maya,” the young woman replied. “Are you an Expert?”
“Stronger.”
Maya smiled. “You are of the Sen family?”
“I am.”
“Who are you related to?”
“My granduncle is Bloodblade,”
“Ey! Bloodblade?” Maya’s brows raised, and quickly, the other woman stepped forward, offering her hand to Chosen.
“Naya,” Naya said. “Not related.”
“I would have thought so, since you are both so beautiful,” Chosen replied, flashing a wide smile.
“Who is more beautiful?” Maya asked.
Chosen’s smile dropped, his eyes darting between the pair. “I, as an Iyrman, cannot lie, so I must say that my mother is most beautiful.”
The pair smiled at the young Iyrman, who certainly was good with those pretty lips of his.
Chosen smiled, enjoying the attention, though he could already feel it, the impending sense of doom. Behind him sat a child who was descended, and held the sa na, as Hadi Tanagek.
“Ey! Hadi Tanagek!” the pair called a short while later after Tanagek decided to steal them away.
Chosen sighed, closing his eyes, and for a mont he realised perhaps he had lied, for certainly it was Chisen who was the most beautiful wasn’t she?
Thus ends the mass release of the chapters I owe!
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