“You worry too much, your Grace,” Master Whiteheart said. “The Iyrmen must be tired of war as well, and they won’t just give up the alliance for a single Iyrman.” Master Whiteheart held a small smile on his face. He had finally pressured the King into executing an Iyrman, something with the other Hearts hadn’t expected.

“It’s not just a single Iyrman,” the King said. “We broke the treaty, and had slain the Iyrman’s wife and child.”

“The child was yet born,” Whiteheart replied, simply. “She was granted the rank of Royal Guard when we heard she had died, and she was awarded her several honours. No Royal Guard is to marry and have a child, these are the oaths sworn, and she had broken them. It is reasonable to execute a traitor.”

“They were oaths she did not swear.” The King’s worry only increased. He believed himself to be a fair and just King, and yet, he had executed two great heroes of his Kingdom. There must have been other ways to deal with the situation. ‘If only you hadn’t drawn your blade, Iyrman.’

“Will the Iyrmen really go to war over a single Iyrman?” Master Blueheart asked. “You had the foresight to return the weapons, though was it really necessary to send the bow?”

“The bow had appeared after the girl was killed,” Solomon replied.

“Executed, your Grace,” Whiteheart said, smiling. “It was a hidden weapon, perhaps meant to assassinate you with?”

The King sighed. “The matter is done. The guard must be doubled.” The King returned to the matter at hand. “You had said it yourself, Master Whiteheart, she could have tried to assassinate me. Will you really deny such an increase of guard?” The King stared into Whiteheart’s eyes.

His slip of the tongue has cost him. “No, your Grace.” He bowed his head. It was a small price to pay in order to have exerted influence over the King, strengthening his position against the man.

Suns passed the land by, creating looming shadows.

The Chief remained silent for a long while, staring at the gaunt Shakrat and Kasomin. He had listened to the tale which Kasomin had returned with, alongside the various others who were permitted to listen. They sat within the small glade, which refreshed the Iyrmen around.

“Those bastards!” Tamin exclaimed, slamming his fists onto the ground. “After what Akrat had done for them! He wore his blades into a city, and they executed him?”

No one could blame the young man for his outburst. He had been so excited to hear the tale, but when he saw his brother return, he refused to allow the story to be told without him.

“Their laws are strange, but they are still their laws,” The Chief said. “We should obey them as best we could.” Yet, they could see it. The rage which built within their Chief. 

The Chief turned to face them, the Six Great Elders, each older than he. He was almost fifty, just a little older than the current King, and he was the weakest of all the leaders within the Iyr. 

Elder Wrath. Elder Teacher. Elder Gold. Elder Forest. Elder Peace. The last was Elder Story, who remained within their tiny cave, which the story had been spoken beside. No living Iyrman had seen Elder Story before, not even the Chief. 

Each of the Great Elders, save for Elder Peace and Elder Story, had their faces contorted in rage. Yet, none spoke, for none of them could speak on this matter, not even the Chief.

They stared at Elder Peace, who wore a long cloak made of white dragon scales, from his time up north, vanquishing a dragon the Kingdom had never heard the name of. At his sides were two blades, each made of the dragon’s fangs. 

The Great Elder hadn’t drawn them to kill for years, not since he became Elder Peace. Within his fingers were beads. One hundred beads, which were rounded, and two which were square. One white, which he was currently thumbing, and one red, which he did not touch purposefully, not since he had inherited the beads.

“The treaty is clear,” he called, in his raspy voice. “The Iyrmen are to assist the Kingdom in its time of need, providing a hundred soldiers of our choosing, and sending an adviser. For each war which had come to the land, the Iyrmen provided such soldiers. No less than fifty Iyrmen have died in these wars, their stories to be told for generations.”

The other Great Elders nodded their heads silently, agreeing with the statement, but waited with bated breath.

“In exchange, we will no longer spill blood as we had done, with the wars exhausting the lands of man outside our borders. Our lands are to be governed by ourselves, by we Iyrmen. The Kingdom will not encroach on our sovereignty. This is clear.”

The nods continued, and they continued to wait. Even as Tamin’s tears fell down his cheeks, he did not dare to interrupt Elder Peace with anything more than just silent sobs.

“An Iyrman who has broken the law of the Kingdom, will not escape punishment. However, they will be returned to the Iyr, to face a jury of our peers. It is the right of the Iyr to punish our own. This is clear.”

Shakrat trembled. He wanted to hear the words. He wanted to feel the sensation within his forehead burn. He had heard the tales, of the Iyr truly going to war.

Yes, the Iyrmen helped with the wars of the Kingdom, but these were not their wars. They would fight in the wars, and such wars would go down as wars they participated in, but they were not wars of the Iyrmen.

“The price of our unborn child must be paid in blood,” Elder Peace said. “This is clear.” His fingers rubbed the red bead.

Shakrat, Tamin, and Kasomin filled rage, able to finally unleash it. They roared, and the roar echoed throughout the Iyr. Iyrmen who slept awoke, their tattoos flashing with heat as war was called.

On the top of a mountain far to the north of the Kingdom, two figures played dragon chess. One of them was losing badly, though his companion was playing casually. 

He, who was losing, stood. “I must return,” he said, his voice cool and raspy.

“Return?” the other figure replied, staring up at the man who had saved his life countless times.

“There is war.” 

“Who is stupid enough to go to war with the Iyr?” He scoffed, shaking his head.  

“The Kingdom of Blackwater,” came the cold reply. 

The man dropped the piece within his hand. “What?” He stared up at his companion, knowing he wasn’t lying, for no Iyrman lied. “Solomon, you damn fool! What have you done?” He rubbed his forehead, shaking his head. He had paved the way for his descendants, and yet it had been ruined just like that. “Take me with you.” 

“I won’t allow you to ride on my back!” Gantalia growled from nearby, crossing his arms. He had been lazing around, but when he noticed the air changed, he had been paying keen attention to the pair.

“If he wishes to come, then he may come,” the Iyrman said, grabbing his axes, which seemed to be made out of ice. These were the very same axes which had almost cut Gantalia’s neck clean off decades ago.  

“Grr, fine,” the dragon replied, readying to shift into his dragon form in order to carry the pair back. “Don’t expect me to get involved in your squabbles! I won’t join unless it’s fun!”

Many miles away, in the capital of the Kingdom, the one hundred Iyrmen stationed in the army leapt out of their beds. 

“What are you doing?” a soldier asked them, rubbing his eyes. 

“We are leaving,” the Iyrman replied. 

“Leaving?” The soldier blinked. “You can’t just leave, not without permission from the King.”

“We do not follow the words of your King any longer,” the Iyrman replied, going to gather his equipment. 

“What madness do you speak?” The soldier stood up, reaching for the blade at the side of his bed. “That’s desertion!”

“Step aside,” the Iyrman said, not yet reaching for his blade, “or I’ll cut you down.” 

There was a tense moment as the Iyrman gathered his supplies. The one hundred Iyrmen were buddied with a hundred other soldiers from the Kingdom, but they doubted any of them could fight the Iyrmen one on one, or even two on one. 

They stepped aside, letting the Iyrmen leave.

“No longer allies?” The soldiers glanced between one another before they quickly sent word to their King. 

Back within the Iyr, Elder Peace stared at the trio of young men, who were raging. They screamed and wailed, howling. Shakrat’s father had remained outside the glade to listen to the story, and even he, who was almost always so stoic, covered his wet eyes. 

‘War had not been called in these children’s lifetime,’ Elder Peace thought. ‘To think, how young I had been when it had been called last.’  

Elder Peace was in charge of declaring war and peace, perhaps the hardest task within the Iyr, but now it was within Elder Wrath’s command to set the pace. 

“Send word to the surrounding villages in the morning,” Elder Wrath said, beginning to draw the map using a stick, moving along the dirt. He began with the Iyr first, before drawing in the river, the hills to the northeast, and the various villages and towns. 

Groups of ten were formed to pass on the message to the villages. An experienced Iyrman, at least in his forties, surrounded by those in their mid twenties or thirties.

“When we march, Chief, Elder Forest, you will take five hundred warriors to Westfall. If they do not surrender, you will slaughter them all and take the town. From there, you will cover the main army’s northern flank.”

“The King will be expecting to speak with me,” the Chief said. “He believes me to be the leader of the Iyr.”

“We of the Iyr do not care for their sensibilities any longer,” Elder Wrath said. “You are the only one capable enough to secure the northern hills.”

The Chief merely bowed his head. He was no longer the figure who held the highest powers, which were typically afforded to him, as the Iyr was in a time of war. 

Elder Wrath stared at the map, and his mind was full of what paths to take. “Elder Teacher, you will be required to head to the south to deal with Five Bends, and then to the east to deal with Red Oak. Elder Peace and I will form the main army. We will march east and destroy a town.”

“I will create a supply line to the north east, the east, and the south east,” Elder Gold said, taking on Elder Forest’s role since she would be needed to the north.

The other warriors of the Iyr were beginning to step out to meet at the centre of the Iyr. Warriors who had only just returned from war, ready to fight for the Iyr once again. Warriors with hair of white and silver, whose blades hadn’t been wet since the birth of their grandchildren. 

“Father, what are you doing?” Shindal asked, staring at her silver haired father.

“Preparing for war,” Candal grunted, wrapping his cloak around himself. He retrieved the necklace, a small black gem at the end of the chain. It would not be needed, but since he was planning on going to war, he may as well wear it on. 

“War? With your arm?” The woman grabbed onto her father’s arm, trying to stop him, but she knew just how stubborn he was when it came to a great fight. It was already a miracle he had remained here since he was crippled.

“Greatpapa, what are you doing?” came the voice of a young boy, who rubbed his eyes. He had heard the roars of the Iyr, something which had awoken him from his deep sleep. He had dreamt of mountains made of ivory, and a sword made of ruby.

“To war, my boy,” Candal said, brushing the boy’s hair with his singular hand. His face was a wide grin, full of excitement. 

“War?” The boy stared up at him, having only seen these smiles when his greatpapa had spoken about his old tales when he was half drunk on ale, insisting he wasn’t drunk at all. “Will you die?”

“I may.”

The boy’s face contorted into sadness, his lower lip quivering. “You may?” 

“I do not aim to die, Sumdal, but I may die to a great and powerful warrior.” He kissed the boy’s forehead. “If that comes to be the case, you will need to be strong for your grandmother, yes? You know how she worries.”

“Okay.” The boy sniffled as his grandmother poked his greatpapa’s shoulder repeatedly, annoyed at his painting of her.

There came a knock at the door, which Sumdal’s grandmother opened. Standing outside was Tova, short and stout, as she always was, with a pair of warhammers at her side. “Stop taking so long,” she said to Candal, ruffling Sumdal’s hair.

“It’s difficult to put on my attire with one arm.”

“Excuses.”

“Yes,” Candal replied, curtly. “How would you use your second warhammer if you had one arm?”

“My mouth, obviously.”

Candal laughed with her before heading up to the room above to grab his greataxe, which was silver and purple. He hadn’t held it for so many years, and it was still as light as ever. Even with one arm, he was able to wield it with ease.

Felwyn waited outside for the pair, unarmoured, since they wouldn’t be marching out that day. However, her trusty blade was at her side, and her shield at her back. “Come, they’re already gathering.”

The Iyrmen moved, each stepping up towards the centre of the Iyr, where the Great Elders and the Chief stood, waiting for the heads of the households to gather. Some had sent their heirs, due to their inability to fight. Very few had no will to fight for one reason or another, due to an injury, or due to wishing the best for the next generation. The Iyrmen stood in their friend groups, clusters of up to ten Iyrmen, each waiting for the Great Elders to speak, each of whom were roughly their age. Any one of the Iyrmen here could have become a Great Elder, but their tales ended different.

The story was told, though the Iyrmen remained deathly silent as they heard the tale. The Iyrmen around the centre stared at the gathering of hundreds of Iyrmen, having never seen such a mighty force in their lives. Once the tale was told, and the Iyrmen were full of bloodlust, they returned to speak of the tale. 

“I will go,” Shakrat said, speaking about joining the main army heading east. 

Even now, his family could see the rage on his face, understanding the mark which was left on his heart. They couldn’t deny him this right, the right to calm his heart. If they weren’t careful, he’d lose himself.

Ikrat, his mother brushed his hair. “We will fight as well,” she said, resting her head on his.

“I’m sorry,” Shakrat replied back, holding back his tears. He held onto her hand, squeezing it gently. “I should have fought.”

“You did the right thing,” Udarat, his father, said, coldly. 

Even so, Shakrat could see the depths of rage within his eyes. His mother stood, heading up to their storage, before returning with a short sword made of pure blackness. “Take it.”

Shakrat stared at the blade. “It’s too powerful for me.”

His mother placed the blade on the table between them. “Good. We will send you in the main army, and I will assist in a branch army with your father..”

Shakrat stared at the sword for a long moment, but he took it. “I will go with the main army,” he confirmed. 

The Iyr sent word to the nearby villages.

“You have three days to leave, or the Iyr will pave the streets red.” This was the message sent to each village nearby. Three days would be enough time for them to gather their things and leave.

As the days passed by, the Iyr was full of excitement. Various units formed. Those of the older generation each joined the main army, creating a small, but elite army made up of seven units of a hundred or so warriors. The youngest within the group was Shakrat, barely in his mid twenties, and the second youngest was nearly a decade older than him. 

There were many more units made of a hundred warriors, adorned in their gear. The younger groups were separated by weapon types, but the older generation could group up with their trusted companions.

On the third day, the promised day, the Iyr was full of warriors. There were thousands of them, each ready to slaughter whoever they could. Stories would be told of this war for generations.

“Why is there a boy with us?” Candal asked, staring at the youth with the shortsword. It was made of such a beautiful material, but he was definitely too young to be a part of the group.

Tova slapped him across the back of his head. “Why wouldn’t he be able to join us? If he is not to join, do you think we should be able to?”

Candal glanced at the boy’s forehead to see his tattoo, and noting his age, he nodded his head slowly. He placed his single hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I will clear the path for you, brother of Akrat.”

Chamin, Kasomin’s grandmother, placed a hand on Shakrat’s other shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. She had always been kind to him and his younger brother, and she was as much as his greataunt as Kasomin’s. “Remain with us,” she said. “When it comes to it, we will allow you to quell your rage.”

Shakrat nodded his head slowly, but he did not speak. None blamed him for keeping silent, for he had been going through the worst time. They all knew the sacrifice he made, and each Iyrman was surprised he hadn’t allowed the ragefever to take him. 

Soon the Iyrmen made their way out, the promised time having come. Units of roughly a hundred Iyrmen, plus another dozen or so, who were tasked with various miscellaneous roles, formed the core of the Iyrmen army. 

These were called a Company, the same as in the Kingdom, but they did not form any higher than this. Yes, each Company may come together to form a larger force, but the Iyrmen had no need for such things unless it came to pitched battles on the open fields. 

Most Companies were specialised, each forming their own role, but each was still capable of fighting, even if they weren’t necessarily formed to fight. 

Five of these Companies went north, to take over Westhall.

Ten of these Companies went to the nearby villages to slaughter whoever remained.

Another ten Companies went south east, to deal with the nearest town, half of which would siege Red Oak. 

Another ten Companies went east, the main army. Though they had the hardest task, none of the other armies even compared to the quality of this army. 

The Iyrmen who remained behind, waiting for their turn for war, bid them with the highest of honours. Children cried, unsure of whether they’ll be able to see their family members return.

The villages nearby had half emptied, with many of the people within not wishing to leave their homes. They were too close to the Iyr to leave be, however, and so the Iyrmen descended in the night. 

One hundred Iyrmen fell upon the villages, paving the streets red with blood. They did not roar, they did not howl. They slew each person, wordless.

The three closest villages were destroyed, just like that. 

Not a soul was able to escape, as each exit of the villages were blocked by a group of Iyrmen, who tore into the fleeing villagers. They were systematic in their slaughter.

No man or woman survived, no matter how much they begged. 

Three villages had completely fallen by midnight, and another three had fallen by dawn. The army of Iyrmen continued south, destroying each village they saw.

The villagers who had fled in the days before had tried to inform the local Lords of the matter of the war, but none had taken the villagers too seriously.

They were but yokels, staring issues with the Iyrmen. If they did cause bother with the Iyrmen, they weren’t going to assist them.

It was only until the Iyrmen were at spotted at their walls, did they understand the terror which awaited for them. 

In the capital, the King was holding court, taking in the problems of the various commonfolk. It was his duty to make sure they were heard, and he would dispense justice.

“Your Grace!” came the Arch Priest, the leader of all the Priests within the land. His eyes were wide, his face pale and thick with sweat.

“Father, what has you so worried?” The King could feel the knot within his gut tighten. It had been there since that day, and had yet to leave him in peace. 

“War, your Grace!” the Arch Priest gasped. 

“War?” The King paused for a moment, swallowing. He didn’t want to hear the next few words.

“The Iyrmen have already attacked Westhall and Goldvale, your Grace.”

“What?” The King stood from his seat, and the peasants quickly withdrew, understanding they had no business there. So what if Jim had stolen a chicken, this was something else entirely. “They’ve already attacked?”

“No more than a dozen survivors from each town managed to survive, and they were escorted to the next towns by the Iyrmen, who have called for the towns to surrender. We’ve been sent word only moments ago.”

The King blinked, unsure of what he was hearing. ‘What madness is this? Two towns have been attacked already?”

“Surrender, or die,” the Arch Priest said.

“What?”

“This is the message the Iyrmen have sent, your Grace. Surrender, or die.”

The King stared at the Arch Priest for a moment before he raised his hand. “Call for the Council at once!” Solomon declared, and the various servants set out to call forth for the various Hearts and military leaders. 

As the King stepped towards the Council Room, he fell into thought, before he quickly stopped. He recalled the tales his grandfather had told him all those years ago, and he thought about the times the Iyrmen had fought beside him for the past few wars. 

“Raise the banners!” Solomon exclaimed, not even waiting for the Hearts. “Arm whoever wishes to join, and promise pay and a half!”

The Council had quickly formed, and were discussing the matters at hand.

“Pay and a half? Your Grace, we’ve barely recovered from the previous war!” Whiteheart was unsure of what the King was doing. He had stepped all over the King’s authority, and yet the King still dared to put forth a policy without speaking to them.

“Going to war with the Iyrmen isn’t an easy task,” General William said. “I’ve seen how they fight. Each Iyrman is worth at least two of our soldiers, maybe three.”

“They’re savages who know only war, I know as much, but most of them go out in skirts.” Master Blueheart shook her head. “It should be simple enough to march our armies to their hills and deal with them.”

“Had it been so simple, my ancestors would have conquered them long ago,” Solomon said. 

“Whatever the case may be, we will need to send soldiers to Westfort,” Blackheart said. He didn’t want to suggest it, but it was the right thing to do. Westfort was the closest fort to the Iyr, and they would no doubt be attacked soon.

“Westfort should be fine,” King Solomon said. “The fort is great, and the Iyrmen will have to attack through sea, hill, mountain, and forest. Our dear capital, on the other hand…” The King motioned to the open plains which the Iyrmen could easily cross. 

“The Iyrmen will be surrounded by several thousand soldiers from all flanks if they try to march through the plains,” Whiteheart said. “They have already attacked Westhall and Goldvale, but there are still several more settlements. Westhall will manage to push back the Iyrmen. Five hundred Iyrmen against Westhall? Westhall has Sir Gord the Giant and hundreds of great warriors. They were forged by slaying a hundred savages each.”

“Goldvale has Sir Jori the Gold, who has her Golden Sons,” Master Redheart smiled. “One hundred warriors, each ready and willing to fight to the death. Even Kings of old dared not to march to Goldvale so easily.”

The King nodded his head slowly. The Iyrmen were impressive, but there were many within the Kingdom who were equally as impressive. “We will raise call forth the banners and raise as many arms as we can. The matter of pay will be discussed another time, but I will still urge for pay and a half.”

The Council had all agreed on the war, it was the smaller details which they fiddled with. 

However, as they reconvened the day after, in a heated discussion of pay, King’s Sword marched in. 

“King’s Sword, it isn’t appro-“

King’s Sword dropped to a knee, bowing his head. “Westhall has fallen, your Grace.”

The entire Council stared at the kneeling warrior, the greatest within the entire Kingdom. 

“Fallen?”

“Westhall has fallen, and-“

“Your Grace!” Commander Roger dropped to a knee towards the King. “Goldvale is lost.”

A chill took throughout the Council Room as the various members stared at the kneeling pair, their mouths agape.

The King blinked repeatedly, before looking to the other Hearts.

Whiteheart was still unsure of what King’s Sword said.

“Goldvale is lost?” Redheart whispered, unable to believe it. “What do you mean, lost?”

“The city is lost, Master Redheart. Word was sent that the Iyrmen had taken it.”

“What madness do you speak, Commander?” Redheart stood, slamming her hands onto the table. “Goldvale has stood for hundreds of years! No one has ever breached the walls of Goldvale! Even the Iyrmen avoided it when they were at war previously!” Her usual cunning demeanour had dropped.

“Westhall could not have fallen,” Whiteheart said, shaking his head. “It hasn’t even been a day.”

“Westhall and Goldvale are lost,” the King whispered.

He stared at the other Council members. Now, none would dare deny his words. 

When they had fought with the Iyr previously, they had never stepped out so eagerly out of their walls. When they went to war, they barely stepped past Five Bends.

“Send word to the other towns immediately! We are to march to-“ The King froze, his eyes wide. Within his mind came a voice, a familiar voice. He had heard the voice many times within his mind.

It was the voice of a young Iyrman, one who he had kicked out not long ago.

“Surrender, or die,” Shakrat whispered into the King’s ear from hundreds of miles away.

“Your Grace?” King’s Sword stared up at the King.

“Iyrman, you must understand why I executed Akrat,” the King said.

The Council members threw a glance between one another. 

“Your Grace?” King’s Sword called.

“Since you have declared war, we are willing to oblige,” the King said, finishing his reply to the Iyrman. He turned back to the council members. “The Iyr has sent their message, and I have sent a reply. We march to the Iyr!”

The King rode for war, with his Royal Guard and King’s Sword at his side, the Swordbearer Battalion, and as many men as they could muster within three days. It was rushed, for typically it would take longer than a week to gather the bulk of the soldiers, and a few more weeks to deal with logistics. 

Yet they had heard that another dozen villages were snuffed out, and that Red Oak was currently under siege. Red Oak was a huge loss, as it was such a powerful town, and was a key town against the Iyr.

“Deadwood too?” The King gasped, his head in his arms. “How is it that one of our greatest barriers against the Iyr has been destroyed, and the other two are under siege?”

“The Iyrmen will meet us on the field if they are not cowards, and we will slaughter them,” King’s Sword said. “We will teach them what it means to go against our Kingdom.”

“They should have been satisfied with the mercy shown to them a half century ago,” Commander Roger said. “They will soon fall under the heel of our great Kingdom.” 

“If only it were so easy,” the King replied. He stared down at the map, alarmed at how much ground the Iyrmen had made. It should have taken them weeks to get to Deadwood, and yet they had already put it under siege? ‘How is it possible?’

Already, the Iyrmen had set the pace of the war. Knowledge that the towns had been destroyed had already circulated, and the pay raise for soldiers had boosted the young men’s want for a fight. 

The King had left with a thousand soldiers, but it had become nearly four thousand as he went by the various towns and villages nearby, equipping most new recruits with helmets, spears and shields. 

As he marched his army west, his army was further emboldened by two Battalions, one from Eagle Wing, and another formed of mercenaries.  

Yet, as they marched, the King saw a shadow loom above them. Flying high above them, heading towards the west, was a dragon.

Iyrmen lay, covered in blankets which moulded them to the world. They wrote down what they saw in a book, appearing simultaneously on another hundred books. 

Each group of ten had someone with a book, who would inform the rest of what was written within the book. Ten towns were currently being spied upon, and they would send messages back and forth. The long stretches of plains were also being spied upon, in case there was anything trying to slip past the watchful gaze of the Iyrmen.

Sometimes, red would appear on the page, and all those with the books would speak of what appeared, for this was a message from Elder Wrath, telling them of new plans he had formed.

If a blue message appeared, the Iyrmen would retreat, returning back to the Iyr, but they so hoped that a blue message wouldn’t appear. Their blood lust was yet to be sated, even after the slaughter of thousands of people.

A message had been sent through the book not long ago, mentioning a certain being, one the Iyrmen had been familiar with. 

The very same being soon dropped, appearing at the end of a forest, where, no more than a few hours of flight, the Iyrmen lay siege to two large towns to the south and south east. 

One figure leapt off the back of the dragon, greeting the various Iyrmen. Some wore the very same white cloaks of dragon scales as he, and there was even one who had fought a dragon with him. 

Another shuffled off of it, grunting in pain. “I’m too old for dragon riding,” the older man said, before noting he was surrounded by hundreds of old men, each eager to battle. “Good afternoon.”

The Iyrmen nodded to him, whilst the old Iyrman with the pair of axes went to greet the Great Elders. Seeing as he was showing his respects, Elder Wrath sighed in relief. It would have been awkward if this old hero of the Iyr wished to cause trouble. He was glad to see the old hero was still an Iyrman at heart.

“I apologise for intruding,” Garld said to the Elders. He looked to Elder Peace, though it was no longer the Elder Peace he knew. ‘Well, it has been fifty years. No doubt she’s having fun slaughtering thousands of dragons in her next life.’

“You are always welcome, Garld Blackvatr,” Elder Peace said, brewing some tea for the older man. “It is a shame we must meet this way.”

“It is, truly,” Garld said. “I can only apologise for the trouble we have caused you.”

“Have you come to ask for peace?” Elder Peace asked, sipping on the tea.

“I’m just an old man now,” Garld said. “Can I truly as you for peace? I have no place in this war.” He sipped on the tea, which calmed him. “I have come to make a difficultly simple request. Please, I beg of you, do not take the life of my family.” The old man bowed his head deeply.

“It is a difficult request.”

“I know,” Garld said. “It is the only request I make. If it pleases you, if one of my blood must die, I will trade my life.”

Elder Peace sipped at the tea. “As long as we do not kill your family, we may do as we please?”

Garld nodded, understanding what a terrible request it was. He knew how many people would die in this war, and he knew which side would take the largest loss.

Elder Wrath stared at his fellow Great Elder, seeing the Iyrman deep in thought. He would have refused the request, but he supposed that was why he was Elder Wrath. ‘I don’t envy you one bit.’ 

“Very well,” Elder Peace said. “For the sake of our friendship. If it must be that a life of your family is needed, your life will be taken.”

“Thank you, Elder Peace,” Garld said, sipping his tea. “I have had to suffer from losing my children to war. If I were to lose my grandchildren too...”

Elder Peace nodded. “The Iyr understands the pain of losing its children.”

“I apologise once again,” Garld said. “I should have made it clearer to those damn brats. I told them hundreds of your stories, but it seems that I didn’t drill it hard enough into them.”

“The die has been cast,” Elder Peace said.

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Next chapter will also be thicc too, and it will be the last chapter of the Blackwater Crisis!

Also, I edited this chapter twice, and added in about 1000 words. There's so much happening!