Steel rang against steel, accompanying the gentle music nearby, of those who played the oud, the flute, the drum. A woman, clothed to the point one could not even see her eyes, played her voice even finer than those playing their instruments. However, it was the symphony the young men created together which filled them guests with delight.

Vadim’s eyes remained upon the fight, narrowed as they were to completely focusing on the blurring storm of steel. He could see it.

Chosen could feel the heaviness within the young man’s blade. Though it was a spar, the young man did not hold back in the slightest, his blade ringing clearly in the air with his desperation. Chosen, out of respect, also fought without holding back, his body red hot with rage, his blade flashing white hot with holy fury as the pair clashed, though his opponent was not any young fool, but an Expert.

Still, he could feel it.

What was it?

Chosen wondered, and as the pair danced the dance of steel, the three blades singing together, Chosen’s heart and mind grew burdened.

As the young man attacked, Chosen could feel something beyond each strike, the young man’s feints remaining as feints, but as he attacked, Chosen could sense something within those feints.

What was it?

The two blades felt like more, but not quite three blades.

The young man’s blade cut across Chosen’s cheek, the Iyrman returning a receipt with his blade, and the Aswadian finally toppled over, his entire body pouring sweat as he panted for air, clutching his blades tightly in hand still. Chosen ignored the blood dripping down his cheek, looming over the young man, his entire body still red, though his rage faded, his shoulders still burdened, his heart equally so.

“What do you think?” Vadim asked.

“It was different than I expected.”

“I try to fix its flaws, but more time is needed,” Vadim replied, letting out a sigh burdened by pride.

“I could still feel the ghostly touch of the Chimera,” Chosen admitted, smiling brightly. “I can see how you made a name for yourself, Kal Vadim.”

“How can I call myself Kal? I do not draw my sword.” The old man smiled, though it was that kind of smile, the one that had accepted his place in the world, and he snapped his fingers at his grandson, who climbed up onto his feet. “Betta, thank the Iyrman.”

“Thank you, Kal Chosen,” Hakam called, the young man sheathing his blades, crossing his arms over his chest and bowing his head lightly.

“Thank you, Kal Hakam,” Chosen replied, mirroring the gesture, while his heart filled with excitement. If Hakam could figure out the path forward, he would certainly carve his name into Aswadian history, if the nobles do not do to him what they did to his grandfather.

Vadim invited Chosen to sit near him as they all ate together, allowing Chosen to speak the various tales of his family to them all, causing the Iyrman to smile brightly as he showed off his family’s name.

‘The Iyrmen live such different lives,’ the guests thought as the young man spoke his family’s tales, speaking of near impossible stories as though they were true.

While Chosen enjoyed his time at the party, celebrating the old man’s birthday, Brittany stared down at the girl, who was apparently only a year old, but looked as though she was three. She held the cup firmly within her hands as she sipped from it, drinking down the entirety of the juice with a thirst that was almost Kizwolima like. They filled her cup with more juice and the girl continued to drink away, the girl letting out satisfied sighs with each sip.

‘Is she meant to drink so much juice at her age?’ Brittany thought, recalling how much milk the newborns at the business drunk, and for how long.

Dunes cracked his neck lightly to the side as he stepped back into the inn’s courtyard, rolling a shoulder as the woman pat his back. She stood slightly taller than Dunes, almost twice as wide, with her curly dark hair trimmed at one side.

“She is really just a year old?” Anka asked, staring at the babe.

“She is.”

“I think I may require assistance from another,” Anka admitted, her eyes darting around, catching the monster’s eyes.

“Oh?” Adam called, blinking towards her innocently, as though he hadn’t entirely shattered her world view. “Ka Anka, how do you fare?”

“I fare well, and yourself, Mo Adam?”

“Oh, you know me, just trying to keep out of trouble,” the half elf joked, though the joke was dripping with the annoyance of truth. “How may we help you?”

“I am to help you,” Anka said, lifting the girl up, causing her to jolt lightly within the woman’s grasp, who then embraced her tenderly, brushing her cheek and hair, and brought the babe’s head to her bosom, instantly causing her to relax. “Amal, my dear Amal, have they been feeding you juice?”

The babe blinked up at the woman, but her eyes then dropped to the woman’s chest, causing the girl to blink in shock.

Adam tensed up, trying his absolute best not to burst out in laughter, with so much effort, his heart throbbed, his face turned red, and tears flowed down from the pain of the effort.

‘You cried so much when I tried to hold you,’ Nirot thought, though she supposed she did not hold the gentleness of a mother. Her eyes darted to John, who stared up at the sky, with a look within his eyes that was reminiscent of a particular fool of a father when he thought of his children.

As Anka took duties over the child, Adam thought about what kind of magical item he should gift her, only to catch Dunes’ eyes.

“I have already promised her a gift.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Please leave it to me.”

“What is it?”

“A magical sword.”

“What kind of magical sword?”

“Whatever the United Kindom is willing for Barak.”

Adam’s lips slowly twitched to a smirk. “How you know my heart so well, Mo Dunes.”

Kizwolima yawned, staring up at the sky, so blue, though too bright, unlike the depths of the sea. “Mister Bael, why is the sky blue?”

“The sky reflects the ocean’s heart,” Bael replied.

“Hmm,” the girl replied, enjoying that reasoning, for of course, as the ocean was the reason for why everything was good. “Can you fly, mister Bael?”

“I can.”

“You can swim through the sky, but I can swim in the water.”

“I can swim in the water.”

“I am a very good swimmer,” Kizwolima replied, displaying a grave audacity to someone like Bael.

“I can swim, though perhaps not as good as you?”

“It’s okay, since you try so well,” the girl said, reaching out to pat his knee.

It was then, with his heart thundering in his chest, his face turning slightly red, the half dragon tensing, he understood the genius of a particular fool of a father. It was no wonder, then, that the half elf had managed to defeat him, even if he did hold back.

Though they were about to leave, Yasha continued to practise her spearplay in the evening, showing John the various forms of her fighting style. They were simple enough, though the girl also practised more complex forms, those of the great figures she had seen, including the one known as Ashuk the Spear. However, she found it difficult to emulate his abilities as well as him, since the pair fought so differently, even on a more fundamental path of their martial way, where he fought unburdened by steel, and within the depths of the sea, while she fought within armour, and upon the land, where the sea did not press upon her spear.

Ashmir sipped at his wine, watching the girl complete her forms, watching over John too as the young man practised the simple forms, a hundred times every evening, spending so many hours to catch up to Yasha. He closed his eyes, recalling how his mentor had taught him, the memory flashing by in an instant as he then recalled the same techniques, which he had learned as a child, allowing him to stand over the unconscious form of a Great Elder of the Iyr, almost dying in exchange for the privilege.

“His blade was that good?” Tanagek asked, listening intently to Chosen’s words.

“The potential of his blade was that good,” Chosen replied excitedly, his eyes sparkling as he shared the news with Tanagek.

Tanagek nodded his head, sharing in the mood Chosen had formed, for how many times could they find someone who was still on the rise, and would one day carve their name into history? Sure, he had met the Dragon of the Dunes, but to meet someone before they had managed to form a name for themselves, with a new and improved technique?

“Who are you talking about?” Adam asked, and Chosen shared the tale of the young man he met. “Oh? We should invite-,”

Tanagek and Chosen placed a hand upon each of his shoulders, the pair’s eyes full of judgement.

Adam remained silent, basking in the shame.

Zabir smiled, standing as the purple hues of evening basked the capital with a beautiful glow, taking a walk around the block. He glanced aside, to a young Faool who followed him out dutifully, as though it was natural to follow the old man. As he returned back to the inn, his eyes fell upon the Lion King, who directed both an excited Yasha and John in their spearplay.

Zabir stepped out once more, Faool following him, feeling the complicated aura emanating from the old man, which disappeared once he lightened his pouch at the night market.

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This story really is about old monsters raising such adorable children.