“Oh! Mo, Mulazim, what a blessed day,” the guard called, pulling down the scarf to reveal her bare face, flashing a wide smile towards them. “How do you do?”

“Aryashukhur, well,” Mo Dunes admitted. “I am returning to Black Mountain.”

“Praise be,” the woman replied, signalling the guard beside her. “Shall I escort you to a shrine?”

“Shukhur,” Dunes replied, allowing her to escort them to the shrine, a smaller complex for the Lady, a few gahdun by a few gahdun, but the buildings within reached three stories, with the shrine proper, the Priest’s domain, underground. The complex reminded the half elf of the superblocs of the Iyr, with four walls, an archway in the centre of each, with a smaller courtyard within, a single shrine in the shape of a sword stuck out from the ground, engraved with prayers all across it, stopped halfway down.

Several acolytes eyed up the group as they approached, and they instantly noted the older Aswadian and Iyrman, each carrying upon them the stance of those who knew how to spill blood. 

‘Huh,’ Adam thought, glancing around the stone building. ‘I didn’t expect it to be so grey.’

Kitool held a silver coin from the guard, who had wished to refuse politely, but she couldn’t use the excuse that she couldn’t accept coin from a Priest, but Dunes had already prepared, for he was in the company of one who knew how to spend silver, and he, too, knew how to spend silver. 

“I’ll let you handle the donations, Mo Dunes,” Adam said, tapping the Aswadian’s shoulder, stepping back towards Jurot, causing the pair to glance at him in confusion. 

“Mo Dunes! Ka Anka!” called an older man, a wide smile across his face, the old man head as bald as a Xarot’s tummy, though far shinier from all the oils and lotions, his beard thick and long, falling down to his chest, dyed orange, though the white of venerability peeked through. He wore all grey, carrying a silver symbol, which lay just below the end of his beard, and though he had gained weighed in his later years, he still carried the build of a man who knew how to carry bodies through a war zone. 

“Mo Kasim,” Dunes replied, the pair greeting one another. 

“Mo Kasim,” Anka greeted, smiling warmly, before noting the curious look within his eyes. “Did Kal Isam pass through?”

“Shukhur, he said he was going to visit the Order,” Kasim said, his eyes darting around to the group, trying to gather which one of the group had…

It must have been him. 

The one who was casually speaking to an Iyrman, admiring the simple shrine complex, meanwhile not showing the proper deference to the Lady.

Maharan noted all the green plants, as well as the acolytes nearby, each of whom followed Lady Arya, and not the right and proper Lord Noor, not that the Aswadian Lord Noor was as good as their own Lord Noor, for their Lord Noor allowed them to defend themselves against the Aswadians for centuries. However, he could help but enjoy the sight of the lovely little shrine, feeling the tingling of Divine all throughout. 

A short while later, the rest of the Iyrmen appears, from Tanagek to Taygak, who had gone to stable their magical steeds and carriages to one side, causing the Malawi of the shrine to narrow his eyes slightly, finding that there were far too many Iyrmen within his humble shrine.

“We should enjoy our time here, for tomorrow we will head to another town, but it shall be the last until we reach the Order.”

“Aw, man. How many villages is there on the way?”

“Six, then the Order.”

Adam grumbled quietly. “So that means I’ll need to enjoy myself in my bath today and tomorrow.”

“Of… course.”

“Why did you say it like that?”

Dunes cleared his throat, sipping his milk. “Which soap do you intend to you?”

“I don’t know. I was thinking the brown one, so I can smell like kafa?” Adam shrugged his shoulders. “Although, I am a leaf ear, so maybe the one that makes me smell like roses?”

“Which did you buy for Vonda?”

“The pink one, the one that smells sweet, almost like a berry,” the half elf admitted, having spent quite some time picking out the soaps for all of his family, even more time than he spent picking out the uthur. Adam thought of his wife, slowly falling into a daze.

While Dunes so easily dealt with the half elf, a pair of Iyrmen had taken his brother aside, sipping their milk. 

“I did not expect to meet the Ebony Tiger,” Tanagek admitted, poking at the food before him, the desserts ready for devouring, though the Iyrman sliced each thinly, allowing the cakes to melt against his tongue. 

“He is as strong as I expected,” Chosen admitted, thinking back to the fight. He was fairly certain he would have struggled, and if the older man had chosen to utilise his blade to its full effects, he would have had little chance to claim victory, but that wouldn’t have been the point of their bout. 

“Yes,” Jurot said.

“If it was not he, we would have found ourselves in trouble, all thanks to the sloppy tongue of your brother,” Tanagek accused, holding Jurot’s gaze, taking another bite of his cake, allowing the shredded coconut to tickle his tongue with its texture and taste. 

“It would have been a good tale,” Jurot replied simply. 

“We are travelling with Taygak,” Tanagek reminded the Iyrman, still holding his gaze, the pair falling silent for a long moment. 

“Adam trusts you to protect her well,” Jurot finally said, reaching down to break apart a piece of the sweetbread, taking a bite, chewing it slowly, with a thought to ask for its recipe, so that his wife could make it for him and his sister. 

Tanagek narrowed his eyes. “You make it sound so romantic, your brother’s foolishness.”

Chosen chuckled, slapping Tanagek’s arm gently, before pushing the cakes he had yet to eat towards his companion. “Leave it, Tana. We knew of Adam’s peculiarity, especially with nobles, and so far, he has known when to step back, and when to step forward.”

“Some days it feels as though I am the only one taking my duty seriously,” Tanagek accused. 

“Perhaps, but you always have such feelings, no matter how many times I have cleaved necks clean,” Chosen replied, shrugging his shoulders casually. “You might be named Tanagek, but you are not that Tanagek.”

“I can only pray I am half as decent as he.”

“Half as decent is easy, I may be half as decent as him if I tried, but you cannot make the same mistake as your granduncle.”

Tanagek’s eyes darted towards Chosen, who had been judging the colour of his tea, before the pair’s eyes met, and Tanagek narrowed his eyes, while Chosen smirked. 

“Adam requires the time to continue mourning.”

“It has been a yea-,”

Jurot slammed the table with a hand, stopping Tanagek from finishing his words, and for once, the pair held one another’s eyes, but this time, it was Jurot who accused Tanagek, with a threatening glare. The acolytes nearby eyed them up, and those around the group eyed up the Iyrmen, and considering it was Jurot who had slammed the table, they assumed the topic of conversation.

“Should I beat him up again?” called a voice.

“No,” Jurot replied. 

The half elf nodded, and returned back to his tea and his thoughts. His thoughts had turn rather inappropriate for a man within the a holy shrine dedicated to the Lady of War, but he supposed it would have been fairly appropriate for a Temple of Life. 

‘Should I send a Sending?’

The half elf’s thoughts then floated about, recalling the journey to Aswadasad. His journey had not just taken him away from his son’s first birthdays. He thought of the date when he stepped into the capital. He had met Isam, the Poison Sword Dragon, on the day. 

Had it been Fate? He hadn’t tried to enter the capital on that date. He had not wanted to meet someone like Isam, he had who been grieving his own loss. The half elf shuddered. On that date, of all days, he had almost died. Upon the first anniversary. 

‘What a cursed day…’

Dunes hoped the next few days would pass by uneventfully, for he was uncertain of how the half elf would manage if something were to happen when his heart was so sensitive. 

It was the sixth month, and that group was making their way back home. 

‘Whoa!’ Adam thought as they approached the next town, where they found a large camp settled just outside, though the small fence of the camp seemed to grow taller than the walls of the town. There, the half elf had spotted it, something which caused his mouth to form a tiny circle, his eyes darting aside to Jurot. 

‘Do you see what I am seeing?’

Jurot wasn’t sure what the half elf was talking about, since he had already met-,

Oh.

Right.

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So we meet again, Cliffhangerkun.