440. Duskval Festival I

440. Duskval Festival I

Omen: 7, 15

“Who is this handsome young man?” Adam asked, noting the young boy who had been returned to the shared family estate in the morning.

Asoyah looked to Sonarot, thinking about how to respond, before he gave Adam a suspicious look. “I am Asoyah.”

“I heard you went out to go do stuff. Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” the boy replied, snorting with satisfaction. He understood he wasn’t allowed to tell Adam, but he smiled thinking about the fun he had.

They were all adorned in the attire of the Iyr, with the Rot family wearing identical outfits, grey with the Rot family symbol embroidered along the shoulders where the outer shirt cut off, and a deep blue sash around their waists. Asoyah also wore their outfit, and his shirt, like the other childrens’ shirts, were not cut off at the shoulders, but rather towards their forearm.

Adam stared down at his triplets, who were wearing clothes which were too big for them. “Jurot.”

“Yes, they are,” Jurot replied, also staring down at the triplets, who were shyly standing behind Adam.

Adam threw Jurot a look, before smiling. “Yeah.”

“Who is this cute little girl?” Jarot asked, hoisting Lanarot up with one arm, before showering her with affection. Lanarot replied with a smiled, and pointed up at her baba, poking his cheek, before twitching with laughter.

Mirot glanced between her father and Nephew, wondering if they were related by blood.

“Will you watch my fight?” Nirot asked, looking to her older cousins.

“Of course,” Adam replied, with Jurot nodding his head. “We’ll make our way there around noon.”

“I will definitely win.”

“I hope so, otherwise I’ll be losing a gold coin,” Adam said.

The other teens were also preparing themselves to fight in the afternoon, with Tizgak carrying his son’s chain mail so he could be fresh for the fight.

“Good luck to you all, but no pressure. However, if you lose in front of my children, they won’t be able to trust you to protect them and then what am I going to do?” Adam asked.

“You can already protect them well,” Naqokan replied.

“I would feel reassured if you all could protect them too.”

“If there is someone who can...” Laygak began, before realising what he was saying. “We will do our best.”

“Alright.” Adam nodded towards the teen, noting the awkwardness on his face.

“Good morning,” Strom said, approaching from the archway. He carried a pack over his shoulder, and a bottle in one hand. He was still so thin, though his face did not lose any of the warmth it held.

“Strom,” Adam greeted, nodding his head.

“I have brought some drinks,” the old man said, placing down down the sack, which was full of small casks of ale. His eyes then fell to the three Half Dragons, who cowered away behind their father. “I see you’re all well.”

Adam hoisted the three up into his arms, with Konarot wrapped around his shoulders, hiding her face against his chest. “What did you do to my children to make them so afraid?”

“I helped them take hybrid form, though I suppose it must have been quite scary for the little ones,” Strom said, before he lifted Lanarot up. The girl squealed and reached up to his face, grabbing at it.

“Have you come to cause trouble?” Adam asked.

“The Goblins?” Jarot raised a brow. “Do you mean my greatchildren?”

“Have you accepted them already.”

“Have you not?” Jarot’s voice became clearer.

Mirot did not reply.

“My grandsons have named one after me, and another after my own grandmother, and you would expect me not to accept them?”

“Why have you not returned back to the main estate?”

Jarot sneered. “If it does not want Jarot, then Jarot will not return there.”

Mirot wondered if she could soothe her father’s anger, but when it came to something like this, she was certain she’d be unable to deal with him. “Did you accept them because you wanted to or because you had to?”

“Can it not be both?”

“How can it be both?”

“I accepted them because I am an Iyrman,” Jarot replied, simply.

“Mother is not?”

“Her actions decide whether she is or not an Iyrman.”

Mirot sighed, picking up her son, and gently rocked him. He stared up at her, his eyes blank. “Do not forget you have another grandchild.”

“A grandchild who has the support of the rest of the family,” Jarot replied. “I will not ignore him, but my attention will be for those children who have none.”

“Not even Adam gives them so much attention,” Mirot noted.

“Has he placed too much faith in you?” Jarot asked. Adam spent far more time with his Half Dragon children and his sister than he did the Goblins.

“Who do you think will feed them while my sister is gone?” Mirot’s words were firm, daring to reprimand her father.

“It is these two who were first accepted by your nephews,” Jarot stated. “The Half Dragons were adopted after.”

“They were not adopted, they were his children,” Mirot stated.

“You are right,” Jarot said. “These five children were not adopted, they were his children.”

Mirot sighed, looking down at her son, brushing his head tenderly. Her father was too stubborn to deal with, even for someone like her.

Jarot remained silent, looking down at the Goblins. He had already accepted them into his heart, but there was already a coldness inside his heart and mind, that of anxiety. These children would live a tough life. At least Half Dragons were treated as people, Goblins were nothing more than vermin in the eyes of many.

‘I would like to see who dares to harm my greatchildren,’ Jarot thought.

The women noted the pulsing in his brow, and the tension in the Iyrman’s neck, who was riling himself up.

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Jarot is truly the best greatfather.