Question of the day: Who's your waifu/husbando? (Though choice for me between Raven and Tiger (im not really a furry but i like her personality))
Expect for the amount of chapter to stay fixed at one for a while(forgot to stack)
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The golden sunlight filtered through the trees in the park, casting soft shadows across the paths and benches. Tyr stood near the edge of the park, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, scanning the familiar area. Despite the pleasant atmosphere, his thoughts churned with residual tension from his time in the Endless Prison.
Elizabeth was already there, sitting cross-legged on the same bench where they had first spoken. She waved as soon as she saw him, her smile bright and disarming.
"Hey, broody!" she called out, patting the spot next to her. "Glad you showed up."
Tyr chuckled softly, stepping toward her. "You make it sound like I was going to bail."
"Well," she said with a playful shrug, "you do have that 'man of mystery' vibe. Figured you might vanish into the night like some cliché action hero."
Tyr smirked, sliding onto the bench beside her. "I'll try to keep the vanishing act to a minimum."
For the next hour, the two of them talked. Well, Elizabeth did most of the talking. Tyr offered occasional remarks, but for the most part, he was content to listen. Her voice was light and energetic, a stark contrast to the weight he carried in his chest.
"So," she said, crossing one leg over the other, "what's with the thousand-yard stare? You've got this vibe like you've seen some serious stuff. Warzone? Bad breakup? Existential crisis?"
Tyr hesitated, his eyes flickering to the ground. "Something like that," he said vaguely.
Elizabeth tilted her head, clearly unsatisfied with his cryptic response. "You're not very good at this whole 'opening up' thing, are you?"
"Not really," Tyr admitted, his tone dry.
"Well, lucky for you, I'm persistent," she said, leaning back with a smirk. "We'll crack that brooding shell eventually."
As their conversation continued, Elizabeth began sharing pieces of her own life.
"I left home about a month ago," she said, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of tension. "Needed to get out, find my own way. Y'know, typical 'girl runs away from her overbearing family' story."
"Overbearing?" Tyr asked, tilting his head slightly.
She nodded, frowning. "Let's just say they had... expectations. Martial arts? Self-defense? Not exactly the path they had in mind for me."
Tyr's interest piqued. "Martial arts?"
Elizabeth grinned, her eyes lighting up. "Yeah. Started learning when I was a kid. Karate, some kickboxing, a little jiu-jitsu. I'm no expert, but I can handle myself if things get rough."
"Impressive," Tyr said with genuine admiration.
"What about you?" she asked, her tone casual but curious. "You seem like you'd know a thing or two about fighting."
Tyr hesitated, his mind flashing with memories of bloody battles, endless waves of shadow creatures, and the honed efficiency of his vigilante persona. "I've... picked up a few things," he said carefully.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, her curiosity deepening. "Mysterious and skilled. You're just full of surprises."
Tyr shrugged, shifting uncomfortably.
Noticing his unease, Elizabeth changed the subject, her tone light once more. "Anyway, I figure we could spar sometime. Y'know, if you're not afraid of getting your butt kicked."
Tyr let out a rare laugh. "I'll keep that in mind."
As the sun began to set, Elizabeth glanced at the horizon and stood, stretching her arms. "Well, it's getting late. Same time tomorrow?"
Tyr blinked, caught off guard. "You want to meet again?"
"Why not?" she said with a shrug. "You're good company, in a grumpy, brooding kind of way."
Tyr hesitated, but eventually nodded. "Yeah. Sure."
Elizabeth smiled, giving him a two-fingered salute as she walked away. "See you around, broody."
He watched her go, her confident stride cutting through the park's fading light. For the first time in a long while, Tyr felt a faint sense of normalcy—something he hadn't realized he'd been missing.
Later that evening, Tyr wandered through the streets of New York, letting the city's energy wash over him. The crowds, the honking cars, the chatter of passersby—it all felt surreal after two years in the suffocating silence of the Shadow Prison.
But as he turned a corner, something caught his eye.
Across the street, nestled inconspicuously between two larger buildings, was a structure that seemed... off. Its architecture was distinct, with intricate carvings and a large circular window etched with mystical designs.
The Sanctum Sanctorum.
Tyr's heart sank, his jaw tightening as anger bubbled to the surface.
I knew it.
The sight of the building confirmed his suspicions. The Ancient One—or whoever was in charge—had hidden the Sanctum from him. All the time he had spent searching, all the fruitless dead ends, and it had been here all along.
His fists clenched as he crossed the street, his steps heavy with frustration.
The door to the Sanctum opened before he could knock, a faint pulse of energy radiating outward. Tyr stepped inside, his eyes narrowing as he took in the dimly lit interior.
The air was thick with a strange energy, and the walls were lined with ancient artifacts and tomes. The faint hum of magic was everywhere, subtle but inescapable.
Standing in the center of the room was a sorcerer in deep green robes, their face calm but unreadable.
"You've been expected," the sorcerer said simply.
Tyr's expression darkened. "Good. Saves me the trouble of kicking the door down."
The sorcerer didn't react to his hostility. Instead, they gestured toward a doorway leading deeper into the Sanctum. "She is waiting for you."
Tyr's eyes narrowed. "She?"
The sorcerer inclined their head, stepping aside to let him pass.
Tyr's instincts flared as he moved forward, his muscles tense and his Force Sense scanning for threats. The hallway seemed impossibly long, the air growing heavier with each step.
When he entered the next room, his breath caught.
Standing at the center was a woman with long, silvery-gray hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Her robes were simple yet elegant, and her piercing gaze seemed to see straight through him.
This wasn't the Ancient One he'd been expecting—the bald, enigmatic figure from Theon's fragmented memories.
But there was no mistaking her presence.
"Tyr Sinclair," she said, her voice calm but commanding. "We have much to discuss."
Tyr's fists clenched, his anger bubbling to the surface once more.
"Yeah," he said, his voice low and sharp. "We do."