Months had slipped by like days. Sigurd had helped them grow stronger. Their mission had no official deadline, but they knew the end was approaching. Yacha, more than the others, found himself growing deeply attached to Sigurd.
It was The New Year's celebration. The village was adorned with yellow lanterns. Each house had a tree inside, decorated with ornaments. Yacha and the others had been sent to kill, not to settle down.
"We never celebrated this... fuck, we never even knew what a celebration was," Speira muttered, her voice carrying a tinge of bitterness.
Yacha watched her from a distance, a special fondness for her growing in his heart. The time they had spent together had revealed new combinations of fire and wind attributes.
"You can't deny it's a wonderful thing to see," Ursang replied.
"To see? Can't you feel it? This place has felt more like home than Akkadia ever did, Ursang."
Eline, sensing the tension, quickly intervened. "Please, don't start a fight."
Speira's voice softened, sadness creeping in. "What are we going to do now?"
They all knew that the Orionis Guard would send a scout. No, they would *definitely* send one. And if that scout saw them acting like family with the enemy, it would be counted as a betrayal. Yacha quickened his pace, distancing himself from the group.
"I'll meet you there," he said, referring to Sigurd's house.
Inside Sigurd's home, the warmth welcomed them like always. Sigurd, his family, and Oscar greeted them. Oscar, a lonely warrior who had found solace in Sigurd's family, had no family of his own. Leonora offered them cake, a simple gesture, but something they had never experienced before. The round, sweet strawberry-flavored cake melted in their mouths, their eyes glowing in awe of its taste.
The night grew deeper. Sigurd gathered the four soldiers around him. "You've grown strong, all of you. Even in just few months, you've reached new levels," he said proudly, enveloping them in a fatherly embrace.
Leonora chimed in, "Sigurd, you forgot something."
"Oh yes..." Sigurd pulled out arm rings, thick bands of twisted silver with intricate patterns. Each of the three received a symbol of Odin, but Yacha's arm ring bore the head of a wolf. As he fastened the ring to their arms, Sigurd smiled.
"This is a symbol of honor, loyalty, and status of a Nordic warrior," Sigurd said, as Leonora and Oscar cheered.
For Yacha, the overwhelming emotions of regret, love, sadness, and joy. It was too much. Leonora presented each of them with weapons. Ursang received a double-edged sword, Eline another, Speira two daggers, and Yacha two axes. The weapons were purple, made of the orihalcon metal, enhanced with runes carved into the blades.
Yacha's tears began to fall, the floodgates of his memories bursting open all at once. The girl from his dream, his father, his village. All flashed before his eyes. He heard a voice in his mind, "Be proud, Yacha, survive." But it was too much. Yacha collapsed, screaming. Uncontrollable thunder erupted from his body.
Sigurd quickly reacted, forming a dome of earth around him and yacha to contain the chaos. Yacha, desperate and terrified, begged for forgiveness.
Sigurd, calm and composed, placed a hand on Yacha's head, channeling pure thunder mana into him, not the element itself, but the essence. Slowly, Yacha's mind quieted, and he collapsed, murmuring his apologies.
Speira, Ursang, and Eline stood in shock. Sigurd lifted the dome, assuring Speira that Yacha was all right. "He broke the curse. Something triggered his thunderous attribute," Sigurd explained.
Ursang and Eline left the room in silence, Speira stayed behind, her eyes filled with concern.
"This boy isn't just a comrade. He's something more to me," she confessed quietly.
Sigurd exchanged a knowing glance with Leonora, nodding his approval to let Speira stay by Yacha's side.
Hours later, while everyone else was asleep, Sigurd sat quietly as Yacha stirred back to consciousness.
"Yacha..." Sigurd's voice broke the silence.
"Yes, Sigurd?" Yacha's voice trembled, his guilt evident.
"I know... not everything, but you are the Orionis ," Sigurd said, his tone calm but firm.
Yacha's eyes widened, his heart racing. How? How long had Sigurd known? The ground beneath his feet seemed to vanish.
"How... how long?" Yacha stammered.
"From the moment I met you. The bracelet you wear, your special suit, the symbols. But what amazed me most was that first-year soldiers made it into Orionis."
Yacha's heart sank deeper. "We were sent to kill you."
Sigurd chuckled, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "A suicidal mission." He paused before continuing.
A heavy silence filled the room. The weight of the unspoken truth pressed on Yacha. He felt like a traitor. A man who welcomed me into his home, showing love and family. The guilt gnawed at him.
"I... I can't do it," Yacha whispered. "How can I kill you, Sigurd? How can I kill my father?"
Sigurd stood slowly, walking towards Yacha. He leaned down and wrapped Yacha in a tight, comforting embrace, smiling softly.
"I've lived long enough to know, son. You are not a bad person. I am proud to be called father by you, my boy."
Yacha broke down, sobbing into Sigurd's chest. After a long moment of shared emotion, the two warriors, bound not by blood but by honor, pulled apart. They nodded to each other, a silent understanding passing between them.
Yacha called his comrades. "It's time,"
They donned their dark blue armor and took up their weapons. But Yacha kept the axes. He wanted an honorable death match, as two Nordic warriors, even though he knew there was no chance.
Sigurd stood at the doorway, saying his final farewell to his wife, her sobs muffled by the grief she tried to contain. Yet, deep down, she had always known this day would come. Her hands trembled as she handed him a potion, its contents shimmering within a glass bottle—something. Yacha, standing by, couldn't bear to witness this heartbreaking scene. He turned away, his heart twisting inside him.
Sigurd moved silently through the house, pressing a gentle kiss to the foreheads of each of his five children as they slept, peaceful and unburdened by the realities of the world beyond their dreams. Outside, Oscar approached Yacha, his expression grave yet understanding, a look that would stay with Yacha for the rest of his life.
"He loved you, boy," Oscar said, his voice rough with emotion. "But I understand where you come from."
Yacha's face changed, his eyes wide with shock. "You knew?"
"From the beginning," Oscar replied.
"Sigurd told you?"
" he warned me. He told me, that one day, a kingdom far to the southeast side of Arctyra, would send men to come for him." Oscar's voice was steady, without judgment, though Yacha could feel the weight of his words press down on him.
Yacha looked down at the ground, unable to find the words.
"Cheer up, boy," Oscar continued, placing a reassuring hand on Yacha's shoulder.
They walked in silence toward a hill deep within the forest, where no trees stood to block the view of the night sky. Ursang, Eline, and Speira joined them, their faces marked with the same quiet resolution. Yacha gazed up at the stars, bright and clear, with the aurora dancing in waves of green and blue across the sky. The full moon cast a soft glow over everything. It was a night so peaceful it felt wrong to disturb it with bloodshed.