Steel Kairo
I never wished to be a father.
Haunted by my father's abuse, fatherhood was never something I yearned for or even envied. Of course, every day, I wished that my life had been different and that the human father I'd met would have loved me the way I deserved to be loved, but recognizing my father's wrongs had in no way made me qualified to have children of my own — not in my eyes, at least. To the world, and through the centuries I'd lived, many women would've settled for me if I had given them the chance. During my first winters as the Slayer, before my reputation set in, it'd been a matter I'd been harshly dealt with when the court dames ran to have me take their hand in marriage, foolishly convinced I'd give them wealthy, safe, happy lives.
I'd rejected every single one of them as kindly as I could.
Not because I believed in true love. Or because I had hopes of finding it, one day. I did it simply because I could never bring myself to chain another human being to the existence I was about to shoulder or to the mountain of lies sealed away in the coffin where my body was never buried. My inability to bring someone into the fold of all the secrets piled around me like a fortress was always the one obstacle keeping me from taking up a wife and having a similarly normal life.
Despite my uncanny reluctance towards it, the truth was that I could've led a mostly normal life all this time.
I could've married, back when my brother took the throne, and I could've made myself comfortable in the hearth of a house of my own, with a wife to share my worries and heal my wounds with, so maybe one day I'd be blessed with a small life of my own to carry my name forward when death claimed me.
My rejection had never been about the impossibility of that future.
It had always been about the unfairness.
How could I bring someone into this world knowing the pain and suffering they would endure? Knowing the name they'd inherit was an invention? Knowing the father they would worship was a farce? Knowing the woman who'd vow to stand by my side at all times would be slaughtered when the truth came out?
I was no foolish man.
I knew the truth couldn't be forever hidden. No matter how many layers of lies and secrets were piled on top of it, the truth had a way of resurfacing and demanding to be acknowledged. And I knew that one day, my own truths would come to light. The fear of that day kept me from fully embracing any kind of normal life — and shying away from it. It was a constant shadow looming over me, reminding me that no matter how much I tried to hide it, the truth would eventually catch up with me. I'd seen it in my father's death and all the others I'd met after him, and while none of their sins had been my own, I knew that the day would come when my own sins would be exposed and the entire world would know who I truly was and what I'd done. Up until now, to the world who knew me as the Slayer, I was a man blessed with the gift of immortality and power above all Children of Clay's, devoted to hunting and killing the evil that hid in the shadows of this world.
Still, there would come a time when they'd finally have to know the truth.
I was a God born as a human, cursed with the burden of immortality, forced to outlive family, kings, and their kingdoms, doomed to walk the earth alone for centuries to be the guardian of this world while it bloomed and withered around me in endless cycles.
That's what I was.
The Slayer of the beasts. The hunter of the evil. The immortal guardian of the darkness.
Of course, there had been times, particularly before the Melig started to come into the picture, when I had considered letting go of my solitary existence, to invite someone into my world of shadows and secrets. There had been many nights when I'd dreamed of a woman's laughter echoing through the halls, and a child's small hand nestled trustingly within mine, eyes wide with innocent wonder as he asked me about the glowing runes on my arms and the scars all over my body. But the fear of loss was greater than the temptation of joy.
The fear that they would grow to pay the price for the choice I'd made long before either of them had met me or even been born.
Because all the truth I could give them — and the truth I could've given them for the past three centuries — was only a half-truth. If even that. My whole existence had been built on death and violence. As the Slayer, I lived for centuries watching as kingdoms rose and fell, wars were waged, and lives were lost. It was all I knew, all I had ever known. And my past was a frozen river, made solid by winter, so much so that you could walk on it and never know what remained frozen underneath. But once the thawing came, anyone who stood on it would fall, and the spears and axes hidden beneath would surely kill them.
And I couldn't bear the weight of any more deaths on my conscience.
I had trouble with the ones I already carried and the blood on my hands I'd never wash off.
How could I consciously ever make the decision of burdening myself with two more?
Of my own choosing, no less?
Not a chance.
So, despite all this longing deep within me that craved companionship and normalcy, despite all these dreams of having a joyful home filled with the laughter of children, I remained alone through all this time.
Alone with my secrets.
Just me and my frozen river.
But as I watched Maverick Halvorsen gently pat her hand on her son's shoulder and land a sweet kiss on his temple, I couldn't help wondering if maybe having all of those things wouldn't ease some of the aching weight on my chest, making my existence all the more bearable and meaningful. Despite her rough exterior, it was undeniable that the woman truly devoted her entire heart and soul to her son, who still sighed in her embrace as a toddler would have, and I was suddenly reminded of her words the night we'd arrived, saying that her boy's purpose was to live, because she'd already lost his brother and father.
Her words had struck a chord within me, echoing in the caverns of my mind like the tolling of a bell. It was the first time I had met a soul who was as scarred as I was, a woman who had lost everything yet still had the strength to keep going, not for herself but for her child. A woman who had endured loss and suffering, and yet she hadn't let those miseries take away her will to live.
And staring at her gentle gestures towards her boy, I found myself longing for something I never thought I could have. The gentle lullaby of home and family reverberated in my mind as I watched her tenderly brush a stray lock of hair out of her son's face. For the first time in centuries, I wished that perhaps there was someone waiting for me at my abode, ready to greet me with open arms and offer solace through affection and companionship.
A sigh escaped from my lips as I recalled all the past moments when a flicker of this feeling emerged, before my wyrd took my family from me the same way it took my humanity, my freedom, and my identity.
I realized then, that perhaps, it was not the fear of my own truth coming out that held me back from living a normal life. Perhaps, it was the fear of losing something as precious as what Maverick had — something to live for, something that would make all the suffering worth it.
The thought shook me to my core.
It was like a revelation from above, a truth I'd never considered before now. Was there more to my loneliness than just hiding my identity? Was there a fear of losing things I could barely allow myself to imagine having?
I stopped at the last step of the stairs, frozen as I watched the two figures on the most centered tavern table.
They were kneading dough to bake in the wood furnace I could hear kindling embers in the kitchen, their movements in perfect synchrony as they kneaded dough on the table. The light from the wood furnace cast warm, flickering shadows on the tavern walls, still shadowy from the lack of natural light from the still-rising sun. He was covered in flour from head to toe, with small patches of it sticking to his curly hair — clearly an experienced, but unruly worker —, and the older woman had remains of egg and more flour on her arms and old, beige apron, singed on several places around her waist. The smell of freshly baked bread filled the air, along with the smoky scent of wood burning. I could hear them bickering in a slow voice, speaking with words too rushed and in a familiar northern dialect that made it hard to make out what they were saying with my rustiness in the language.
But as I watched them, it was the feeling of warmth, of home, that struck me. The sight of them, content in their routine and seemingly oblivious to the world outside the tavern, added to the feeling that this was a snapshot of an ordinary life.
A life worlds away from my own existence.
The simplicity of it tugged at something deep within me. I had spent centuries dealing with supernatural beings and terrifying creatures, always on guard, always under stress. But watching them, their laughter hanging in the air like an exquisite melody, made me yearn for that ordinary life.
Watching Maverick and her son gave me a sense of longing, a longing for something I thought I could never have. Something as simple as kneading dough on an old wooden table in a cozy kitchen while teasing each other about who made better bread. These were things I had resigned myself to only observing but never experiencing.
Seeing but never having.
I stood there for what felt like centuries, though it was only mere seconds, letting the emotions rush over me like a tidal wave. A pang of sorrow crept into my heart as I realized how much I missed the mundane human life that I never got to live.
The life that was stolen from me the moment I was born.
Noticing my immobility, Jasiel stopped and turned to me, lifting his brow. "You coming?" He asked, his voice low. I gave him a quick stare, moving my gaze back to the family, and, when he followed my eyes and saw it, he nodded. "We'll wait outside."
Silently thanking him, I watched him leave the inn after the rest of the group, his steps quick and silent. I wasn't sure what I meant to accomplish by whatever I was about to do, but I just needed to somehow reassure this family and give them the peace they'd been stripped of when their loved ones were taken from them so brutally by the beasts.
A solace of sorts.
Taking quick strides, I crossed the room until I was standing before the table where they worked.
"We're leaving today," I announced in a slow, careful voice, my eyes catching Maverick's reaction as she whipped her head to look at me with wide eyes. "We slayed a pack of Hundar yesterday and a Mörk the day before, so I don't think you'll be bothered for some time, with winter approaching." I changed my weight, my discomfort made worse by Maverick's narrowed eyes. "If it does happen, though, I want you to send for me."
"Send for you?" The boy — Bodil, if I recalled correctly — repeated confusedly.
I stared at him. "Yes. Send for me in Iselvheim. Even if I'm not there, word will be sent out to warn me." I turned my attention to the woman, who was still looking at me like she was considering murdering me where I stood, which wouldn't be too far-fetched, come to think of it. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Her brow lifted. "Do you expect a thank you?"
"Mother!"
I shook my head, keeping my gaze steady on hers. "No," I answered quietly. "I don't expect a thank you."
"Good. Because you'll not get one."
I expected nothing less from her.
The look I gave her was the picture of serene tranquility, transpiring no anger or resentment or even bitterness for the harshness with which she treated me. "Despite whatever rumors may roam the younger ears —" My eyes deviated to Bodil, seeing as the boy turned beetroot red at the mention of the whispers he'd said a few days before. "I am not all-knowing. I don't know everything that happens around the world. But if you call for me, I will come, even if only to help set the match to burn the corpses of the dead, human and otherwise."
Maverick swallowed, her eyes filling with ghosts of memories that sang entire melodies of grief and sorrow. "We'll not waste our breath waiting on you, and we won't shower you with gold for coming, but you will have a warm bed and food waiting for you."
She drove a hard bargain.
But a fair one.
I nodded slowly. "I need no more."
She looked surprised at my words but quickly hid her emotions behind the hardened wall she'd erected over time. However, I understood her anger and mistrust, now. And despite it all, I respected her for it. She had every right to despise me, and the Melig, because the truth is we hadn't done right for her people in the past.
But that was about to change.
For a moment, we both fell silent.
Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a lifetime, she leaned back from the table and rubbed her forehead with hands covered in dough. "We owe you nothing," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Her words didn't convey as much, but I knew she was saying that my doing this didn't mean they'd owe me for it, nor were they obliged to give me anything in return. Though I doubted she would believe it, I didn't expect it any more than she thought I deserved it. If the village ever needed my help, I would come simply because they needed my help. Not for recognition, gold, or even for favors. I'd come because it was my duty. Because it was the sworn vow I'd made centuries ago.
"You're right," I agreed, nodding. "You owe me nothing."
She stared at me for a long moment before turning back to her son, her hand patting his hand in a gesture that was both protective and comforting. "Save your questions for later, Bodil, because the King's Slayer hasn't time for them," she serenely told the boy, seeming to read the questions he didn't voice. "He has work to do."
Bodil lifted dumbfounded eyes to me.
A smile formed on my lips. "My name is Steel, although I suppose Slayer works just as well."
I turned to leave, but the sound of a chair scraping the floor stopped me. Turning back, I was caught by surprise when the boy, Bodil, now stood before me with wide, eager eyes.
"Will you really come?" He asked earnestly.
I met his gaze squarely, my heart aching at the thought of what this boy had witnessed at such a young age. "If you need me," I promised.
He nodded solemnly, eyes still fixated on me. He then held out his hand, which was smeared with dough and flour. It was an invitation for a handshake — a pact of sorts. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I took his hand in mine and shook it firmly. The boy's grip was surprisingly strong, and I had to admit that it warmed my heart.
"Bodil." The woman's voice chided.
The boy shyly withdrew his hand from mine, but he leaned in close, opening a smile as bright as the first streak of sunlight on a brand-new morning. "I knew it was you when I saw you."
"I know." I chuckled, mimicking the conspiratorial tone of his voice as I leaned down to whisper the two words against his ear. "And you were absolutely right, Bodil."
His mouth dropped open in childish enthusiasm.
My eyes strayed back to the mother for only a second.
If he'd been mine, I'd do everything in my power to protect him, too.
Including accepting the help of the King's Slayer who'd never lent a hand to help kill the beasts that'd murdered her husband and son.
Smiling, I turned around, pulling my cloak tight around my shoulders to brave the frozen coldness of the still-growing sunrise.
Her voice bid me farewell in a whisper from the table. "Stay safe, Slayer. And may you return when the North needs you again."
I didn't turn back to acknowledge the words because I sensed they were more a prayer than an answer.
With that, I left them to their morning routine, Bodil looking back at his mother who gave him a small nod — one of approval — before turning his attention back to the dough resting on the table.
As I stepped out into the crisp morning air, wrapping my cape around myself and hiding my face and hair under it, Jasiel was leaning against the tavern wall waiting for me with an amused grin on his face. "Well?" He asked. "Did you say your goodbyes?"
You are growing soft.
I snorted as I felt Thora fly in from the north, though I didn't show any recognition of her approach. When was I not?
I shot Jasiel a sidelong glance but chose not to grace his teasing with a response. Instead, I let out a sigh, steam curling up into the frozen morning air. "I hope it's a goodbye," I said tonelessly before walking past him.
But I sensed it wouldn't be.
You were quite more rebellious in the beginning, though never ill-intended, but the past winters have truly softened your heart, she told me, voice strangely soft. You feel for these people. Feel their loss and their pain almost as if your own.
I surveyed the area, making a mental note of the village and committing it to memory for future remembrance if I ever needed it. You make it sound like a criticism.
Jasiel fell into step beside me, his lighthearted demeanor slightly curbed by my sober mood. "Well, I'd certainly take that as a success," he announced. "The northerners have a will of iron, so the fact that you managed to make one of them accept our help is surely a feat none of us could've achieved."
I nodded.
It was indeed a success.
These people have been through a lot since the dawn of time. Cornered in the northern lands, they were the hardest to access and the most secluded, less protected, and populated. More often than not, they were left to fend for themselves against the dangers that roamed their land. Through time, I could only imagine what kind of loss they'd endured, sending their own people into battle against the creatures they basically knew nothing about in order to fight fairly. Their losses must have been great, but still, they persevered, determined to protect their home and way of life.
How could I not feel for these people?
No. It's not a criticism, just an observation, she answered after a while, sounding like she'd been pondering over her answer for some time. It's just… it's hard to understand how you're able to sympathize with these people and worry yourself about what they've been through after all the time you've been alive and all the things you've seen.
As we walked ahead to the small stables at the edge of the settlement, the dawn light started to gently illuminate the cold landscape. The first glimmers of sunlight shimmered off the jagged stones of the outcrop surrounding the village, casting a mirrored spectrum of light across the frosted grounds.
"They're strong-willed, that's true, but it doesn't change the fact that we never knew this area was so affected by the beasts."
Thora was the only being in the world who understood me nearly to a fault, but at the end of the day, she was only just an animal. No matter how close to me she was and how deeply ingrained she was in my thoughts, needs, and wishes, there were aspects of the human character that she couldn't grasp. Not through any fault of her, of course, but simply because the intricate machinations of the human mind were far too vast to be shared completely with another being. I couldn't explain to her why it mattered to me that these people had spent centuries unprotected, or why I felt like the lives lost during that time were my cross to bear. She could probably sense that I did, but no matter what I did or said, she'd never fully grasp the notion of just how responsible for the entire world I truly felt.
Probably more so than I was obliged to.
My eyes tipped up as I watched Thora soar closer, diving until I could see her gold-tipped wings against the blue sky. My existence would be meaningless if the things I've seen and the hardships I've endured made me insensible to the chaos around me.
Jasiel nodded, his face solemn. "True. We should have known. But you were right, Steel. You're not omniscient. You don't everything and everyone and everywhere that danger lurks."
He was right, of course, but acknowledging that was giving away a part of my blame and guilt in the matter and I didn't want to go there.
I wanted this to serve as a lesson.
To remind me that every day I didn't reach a new village was another village that could be torn apart by beasts.
Thora crowed above me as she landed on the stables' wood-roofing. After all this time, I think I know you like the feathers on my wings, and yet, every day, you seem to make me see you in a new light.
I smiled. Don't be too disappointed in yourself, Thora, I commented softly, taken aback by her sweet comment when she rarely ever gave me those. Like you said, I've lived far too long to learn knowledge that no humans survive long enough to grasp.
We made our way to the stables in little time.
The smell of horses and hay filled my nostrils, a familiar and comforting scent. As we entered the eaves of the barn, soft whining greeted us.
As soon as I walked in, Onyx's snort as he approached the gate of his pen echoed loudly in my ears. Without thinking much about it, I directed myself to him, opening the gate and letting him out. His saddle rested on the side of the gate and he gently picked at it with his muzzle, before lounging his head back to me, poking me in the shoulder and neighing hoarsely, rubbing his nose gently up and down my chest.
I chuckled, rubbing his neck and spades. "Hi, Onyx."
Onyx and I shared, in some inexplicable way, a bond similar to the one I had with Thora, although also entirely different in some ways. He wasn't a Skera like Thora was, but he'd been graced by my father's touch when I'd Ascended, to be my faithful companion in the long journeys we both knew would come with my choice of occupation. He was a reliable horse, fast, capable and sturdy. With broad spades and slender legs, an all-black coat, and strong muscles that withstood long journeys made him an incredible horse. His long lifespan was also a gift that my father had awarded me, and although he couldn't speak to me the same way Thora did, sometimes it felt like we communicated fairly better than Thora and I did. He understood what I didn't say. Sensed what I needed. Reacted to everything I did.
It was the type of communication that needed no words.
Only companionship.
When I'd announced we were leaving, Jasiel had gone out to call our horses. We'd abandoned them when we were hunting the Mörk, but they hadn't strayed far, like they never did, already accustomed to our hunting expeditions. Like any regular horse, they were incredibly intelligent beings, and the fact that they had a tight bond with each of their riders made them docile and faithful to no end, which made them ride to meet us in Hargard yesterday when Jasiel called them.
Or when Onyx heard him call, most accurately.
Since he had better senses and a tighter connection to me, Onyx acted as the fastest way of communication with the horses, who, in turn, acted as any regular herd of wild horses whenever they were away from us, following Onyx as their leader. That meant that, when we needed to call them, Onyx was our link to make sure they heard us.
Usually, we just whistled and they came.
Sounded pretty disappointing, but it was really that simple.
Onyx strode out of his pen, stopping before me and lining his side with me so climb onto his back. He lifted his head but remained compliantly still, his head moving to the side when I gently placed a hand over his neck to caress the lustrous black hair and mane.
I checked his shoes — assuming Jasiel had already done shooed all our horses —, saddled him, and mounted, hearing the others do the same.
As I waited, I heard Theron and Jasiel bickering in the back as Kozun checked Theron's wounds one last time before the journey so he was sure they'd hold. Ahya, however, was already mounted on her mare, Fianna, with a distant look in her eyes as she barely blinked.
I drew in a long breath.
Ever since I'd announced we were leaving, she'd gone silent — which was unusual enough for her —, but her face hardened into a stoic expression I knew she only doned when she was seeing things she didn't want to share. I was dying to know what she was seeing, but I was partly scared of the answer.
I walked out into the middle of the awakening village, the streets now beginning to flood with the first people awake, their faces illuminated by the soft sunlight filtering through the clouds. Hargard boasted in its own rhythm, slowly waking up from the slumber of the night.
To my dismay, Ahya followed me.
I looked at her.
Groaning at myself and wanting to kick myself for being endlessly stupid because I felt like I was walking into a lion's den, I sighed before tightening Onyx's pace to ride beside Fianna.
Onyx neighed gently at her, nipping at her mane playfully. She sighed, visibly annoyed, before pushing him away even as she cantered in rhythm with him. She was an elegant, beautiful mare, with a glossy dapple gray coat, reflecting the warm sunlight that filtered through the trees. Her mane and tail were long and silky, both strangely half-black and half-silver. Her powerful muscles rippled under her sleek coat as she moved, exuding strength and grace. Her eyes were deep and intelligent, conveying a sense of serene gentleness and subtle pride.
Exactly like her rider.
"Do you feel like sharing anything?"
"Hmm?" Ahya looked up at me, startled.
She sounded aloof enough to make me wonder if I'd misread her silence and thoughtfulness.
But I knew Ahya almost as well as I knew myself.
"Do you want to share anything?" I repeated myself.
Her eyes sharpened on me like a hawk spotting its prey, the dark brown of her irises focusing on me sharply. "Do you?"
Huh.
So, I hadn't misread her.
"Not particularly, no."
Her lips curled upward. "But you do know what we're getting into, don't you?"
I'm thinking that means that she does.
As am I, I agreed.
"I'm assuming you do." I shrugged my shoulders, working a hand through my hair. "But until I get there and see what's been going on for myself, I can't be sure of anything. Not the way you are, now."
But she doesn't want to tell you. She sees it all, but she never wants to tell you, Thora grumbled. Why do humans have to make everything so hard?
Ahya's lips twisted as if tasting something bitter. Her gaze flicked away from mine, focusing instead on the cobblestone street under our feet. Her shoulders were taut, the muscles rigid beneath her dark clothes. "You always have to see it for yourself, don't you?" She muttered, more to herself than to me. "Even when you know what you'll find… even when you know what'll happen."
A knot tightened in my stomach. Some things are too hard to voice, Thora.
And even harder to listen.
Ahya was never one to shy away from the truth, keeping her thoughts locked behind her tongue. But this… this was different. This was not the fiery defiance I'd come to respect and, dare I say, admire in my companion.
This was something much different.
Why are you so calm? I felt Thora's anger rise as she dove down until she was nearly flying by my head. Onyx seemed to feel or hear her, because he also turned his muzzle up in the air as if searching for her, seeming to feel her agitation almost as clearly as I did. How can you be acting like there is nothing wrong with this?
"What are you afraid of?" I asked, speaking out loud with my eyes focused on Ahya, but fully aware the question applied itself to Thora as well.
Ahya urged Fianna into a trot, rushing away almost as if trying to outpace her fears. It was a futile attempt. Deep down, I think we both knew that, particularly me — something I'd learned from a fucking long experience.
Fear has a way of clinging tighter the farther we run from it.
I felt Thora rake her talons through my hair. Sometimes, I want to knock some sense into you.
I ignored her.
Suddenly, Ahya forced the mare to a stop and turned her reigns until she was in my way, turning back to face me. There was a fire in her eyes, a desperation that made my heart clench. "I'm not afraid for myself," she said slowly, weighing each word carefully before letting it escape her mouth. "I'm afraid of what this will do to you."
To you? Thora intoned, disgruntled.
That meant that she knew.
My suspicions were confirmed.
Before I could say anything else, before I could press her for answers she clearly wasn't ready to give me yet, she turned Fianna on her heels and trotted ahead of me, leaving me behind in the middle of the nearly deserted village street, staring at her back as she trotted ahead.
Clearly, she shares your worries for what might await us in the fortress, Thora.
Which is your death if you dare stand before her.
My eyes moved up to the cloudless sky above us, thinking back to the promise I'd heard a young girl whisper on her deathbed as she clung to the life I'd given her. Or maybe this is my chance to right the wrong that forced her to make that promise in the first place.
Thora didn't waste time answering me, simply taking flight into the sky.
Before I could help myself, my thoughts strayed to the past.
Everyone seemed to think — and openly affirm — that I was some form of savior.
Of this world. Of the Cosmos. Of the Nine Worlds.
I didn't believe that.
I had made my fair share of mistakes in life — far too many to ever be called such a thing. I wasn't the victim in my own story. Though there may have been moments where I felt wronged, those were long gone before the day I Ascended. In that single moment, when I'd been robbed of the deplorable life as a human I'd lived up to that point, instead of thanking the wyrd for giving me the blessing of the freedom I'd always wished for, I had rushed to blame others for the weight I carried for the choices I had made. It'd been cowardly of me, to hide from the darkness of my own shadow, racing to blame others for turning into something I shouldn't and didn't want to be. Some part of me knew, deep within, that I'd rolled the dice I'd been given, gambling my luck on the circumstances and options I'd been given, but that didn't give me the right to martyr myself.
The truth was as simple as this.
My life hadn't been fair.
My wyrd hadn't been fair.
But I'd been too selfish to see past that. And while blinded by my own selfishness, I'd done things I couldn't be forgiven for. I'd made bad choices and big mistakes. And though I spent winters trying to make amends and set things right, there were still some things that remained unresolved. Things I hadn't been able to change.
I lived with that guilt every day.
But then, when I Ascended, I chose to bear the mantle of my decisions. It was a choice made guided by the weight of all the secrets and shame I carried, brought on by desperation and a deep-rooted desire to protect whatever else I had left that I could still save. It'd been the reason I'd accepted the wyrd that was handed to me, that day, even if I knew that, had I not done it, it still would have been mine to bear. But afterward, when the dust had settled and silence filled the air, after battles were wages and more of the lives I'd sworn to protect were taken from me, I was left alone with the weight of my actions. The weight of my failure. The guilt mingled with self-recrimination and I found myself standing at the precipice of a great divide, one that I could never cross back over. The faces of those I had lost haunted my dreams — faces that'd once worn beautiful smiles and, when they left me, were marred with disappointment instead. Innocents who knew not what lay ahead but had placed all their hope and trust in me nonetheless, giving me their unwavering faith, only to be met with the despair of their end.
I'd failed them.
I'd failed them all.
With every passing day, their faces faded, yet the hole they left behind in this world grew ever wider, as did my sorrow. As the world forgot them and their existence, I held their memory close to my heart. They lived on in my mind, where I remembered with perfect clarity how I'd done them wrong and was to blame for many of the things that'd happened in this world.
It was all my fault.
Of course, under the hood of the Slayer, a savior to many, a monster lay, with words shaped like fangs and eyes carved into claws. Under the mask of the Slayer, I hid my guilt well from the world. Stood fiercely, unafraid, carrying my power and sporting my mask like a shield of pride and honor that no one could drill through. But the truth is, ever since the day I started to feel the bite of the guilt that I would never be able to wash off, I'd made my every decision painted by a desperate need to make amends, to somehow balance out the scales of justice in my favor.
A villain trying to earn his place in history as a hero.
A monster trying to pretend to be its prey.
And yet, everyone seemed to be very concerned about what my future would do to me, almost as if what awaited me was so brutal, so horrific, so unspeakable, it might actually mean I wasn't the villain of my own story but the hero of this world.
I wanted to laugh.
How could they worry for someone who'd already taken so much from this world?
Someone who'd done so much wrong he could never be forgiven?
Someone who'd told so many lies he no longer knew what was the truth?
With every step I took to the old fortress in Stalsgard, the knot within my stomach twisted further.
It was close to midday by the time we reached the rocky outcrop that surrounded Hargard, and near evening by the time we made the trek further north that led to Stalsgard. There was only one road to access in and out, over jagged and rough terrain, peppered with sparse vegetation and scattered boulders.
As I expected, only the fortress existed there, the terrain and weather far too harsh to withstand without the safety of high walls and thick walls. in the where the intimidating silhouette of the fortress stood further down the steep hill of the mountain, a silent sentinel against the starlit sky.
A biting wind whipped through my hair, carrying with it the chill of forgotten echoes and lost souls.
"So, just to clear, what are we expecting to find in that place?" Theron asked from behind me.
I directed my eyes at the small entourage, the four Melig and the human guard from the fortress that'd somehow made its way to us through a pack of Hundar.
"According to what Lorn told me, we're probably looking at at least one Själlös preying on the fortress, most likely nested nearby."
"I didn't see any tracks," Kozun intervened.
Neither did I, Thora cut in.
Jasiel tipped his head to the sky. "They usually don't nest in cold climates like this."
This cold is hellish. No sane creature would want to nest here, where it's more likely to freeze to death than die of hunger.
Thora was right.
Nestled in a valley, Hargard was sheltered by the towering outcrop of stone that surrounded it. It was dotted with patches of greenery but was mostly dominated by the towering outcrop of stone that encircled it. In contrast, the terrain leading to Stalsgard was uphill and dotted with rugged slopes and craggy peaks. The fortress sat at the feet of the Dødskalle Mountain Range and its grounds were permanently covered in snow during the colder seasons due to its high altitude. However, as winter had not yet fully set in, only a few patches of frozen ice could be seen along the smoother boulders, which made for mostly safe travel by horse to the fortress.
The sun now crested over the top of the trees above us, glinting off the rocky surfaces, casting shadows and creating a stark contrast against the deep blue sky above.
And above five miles up ahead with a completely unobstructed view scarce for a few trees from where we stood, nestled on the mountains, was Stalsgard.
The fortress was just as intimidating as I remembered it, though it now looked better cared for than I remembered it to be the last time I'd been here, with new and reinforced iron gates and raised walls, with every watchtower manned, unlit torches lining the large outline of the outer walls and courtyard, and guards dressed in full fighting gear. The blistering cold was a harsh contrast to the burning weight of the guilt inside me. It warmed my bones insolently, reminding me with every throbbing pulse of my heart that there was no running away from it anymore.
Ahya knew and Thora knew and I knew.
A reckoning was coming.
I clenched my fists at my sides and, shaking off the shivers running down my spine, I shifted my gaze back to the fortress. The stones seemed to glow eerily in the sunlight as though they bore witness to my turmoil and sought to illuminate my path toward atonement.
That would definitely not happen.
"Själlös don't particularly love the cold, but they will nest in the snow if it means they have a permanent source of food," Kozun countered, eyes scanning the horizon. "Winter hasn't settled in yet and since they have a good hunting ground, it's unlikely that they'll move away when the snow starts to stick to the ground."
Theron rubbed at his temples, releasing a heavy sigh. "So, what's the plan?"
I turned my gaze back toward the fortress, considering. "I would consider clearing out the Själlös first," I hesitated, the grit of truth hard to voice given the lump formed in my throat. "But since we don't know if there's actually a nest, we should probably consider heading to the fortress until we can find out how many there are around and if they're nested nearby, or if the attacks have been only occasioned by pure chance."
"So, we're heading to the fortress and we're staying there to deal with the Själlös, instead of going to hunt for them?" Ahya asked.
I gave her a sidelong glance, brows furrowing at her question since she'd resigned herself to silence for the entire trip. "Yes."
She nodded, looking away.
Theron gave me a look, chin pointing at her.
I shrugged. "If the Själlös have been attacking the fortress, it's our best bet."
"And do we know what to expect from whoever runs the fortress?" Jasiel wondered. "Or are we just going blind about this?"
I felt Ahya stiffen beside me, but she refused to look at me, leaving me to answer the question as truthfully as I could without giving away the total truth. "Lorn told me a woman who named herself 'Keiserinne' runs it, but I'm not sure how she'll receive us." I felt Ahya's accusing stare drill through my back, but I ignored her. "It's best to be prepared for all possibilities."
"So, you mean we should hold our weapons close, but not close enough to give off the impression we're throwing the first ax?" Theron joked, a twinkling glow illuminating his eyes.
"You just love this, don't you, you battle-hungry fool?" Jasiel poked, laughing at the younger boy. "You forget that a fortress that big will probably be heavily manned and it's safe to assume that the guards will also be heavily armed, given the fact that the fortress is so secluded. It'd be sheer stupidity to pick a fight in that place."
"It's true," I agreed serenely. "We're coming to help, Theron. Not to fight."
As if to underline my words, a gust of wind swept through our group, carrying with it flecks of snow and ice. The biting cold was a harsh reminder of the inhospitable climate we were heading towards, and the potential dangers that lay ahead.
And the very real threat of who might be waiting there.
I sighed heavily. "First, we help the people in the fortress. Then, we deal with the beasts and whoever is in charge."
No one argued.
I shifted my gaze back to the imposing silhouette of the fortress standing stark against the backdrop of a blue sky.
The sound of horses shifting uneasily on their hooves tore me from my contemplation. The rest of the group had started moving after Ahya, their forms growing dim with each passing second.
With a heavy heart and an even heavier sense of foreboding, I kicked at Onyx's flanks and followed suit.
The landscape around us blurred past in streaks of silvery grey and muted green as we made our way toward Stalsgard, growing closer until I could see the guards armed similarly to the one riding with us manning the watch towers on either side of the gates.
Theron rode up beside me, brow furrowed with worry. He looked as though he had questions on his lips but chose not to say them out loud. And perhaps it was for the best. Some questions could open doors better left shut.
We slowed our horses as we approached the fortress's large, iron gate. Two heavily armed guards stood on the watch tower a few feet above our heads, their gazes scrutinizing and suspicious as they scanned our group. Their presence confirmed Jasiel's words— heavily manned indeed.
There are two dozen guards on the wall. Two posted per watch tower. The courtyard had six more stationed on each wing of the fortress, Thora reported calmly, voice steady and vigilant. It doesn't look like they're used to seeing much violence, but they are well-armed.
"Who comes there?"
I opened my mouth —
"The BellaDonna isn't open for business yet." Another voice added in a suspicious tone.
BellaDonna?
What the hell?
"I am the King's Slayer," I said loudly, stepping down from Onyx's back and slowly closing the distance to the gate. "One of your men, Lorn Ethelson and his squad, were attacked by a pack of Hundar on their journey to Hargard. He told me the fortress needed my help to deal with the beasts feeding off your people."
"Where's our squad?"
"All dead."
The other guards took a pause, eyeing each other with surprise.
One of them grabbed the railing, leaning forward with an anxious expression contorting his face. "The Hundar killed them?"
I nodded. "Lorn was the only survivor," I confirmed, taking a glance at our small group. "He died after divulging this information to me on his deathbed and asking for my help. Our healer tried to help him, but his wounds were too severe."
"Then, come on in," another guard announced as the first disappeared out of our sight. "The Keiserinne awaits you."
With the creak and groan of ancient iron, the gates began to swing open, albeit quite more easily than the dilapidated and decrepit gates I remembered from the last time I'd been here.
One by one, our horses entered the fortress, their hooves clicking against the cobblestone. The courtyard was as Thora described — strategically positioned guards stationed at the entrance of each wing of the fortress, their armor glinting in the weak sunlight that filtered through the heavy cloud cover. Their eyes followed our every move but they said nothing as we passed them by. A guard directed us to the right side of the building, where I could see that a small hitching post had been built to accommodate the visitors' horses.
"You can leave the horses here," the guard said as he quickly fastened the closest horse's reigns to one of the several posts. "They'll be tended to shortly and taken to the stables to rest from the journey."
"Thank you," I replied with a sigh, rubbing my temples as an unwelcome headache began to form.
But it was more than that.
The cool wind now held an ominous chill, one that had nothing to do with the time of year. Even Jasiel and Kozun looked uneasy on their horses — something I'd never seen before. We were all seasoned warriors, yet this place, Stalsgard, felt like hostile territory.
Even to me.
Most especially to me.
The inner courtyard was imposing, its lofty stone walls covered with thick vines that somehow, despite the harsh weather, looked so green they almost glowed under the sun. From a distance, unlit torches glinted off the sunlight. Patches of melted snow still glowed under the shy sunlight and the occasional clink of armor or neigh of a horse could be heard, but otherwise, it was eerily quiet, along with the quiet sound of footsteps from the guards atop the wall.
Onyx huffed as I climbed down, but nipped on the fresh hay and water close by on the feeders.
A tingle started in the back of my neck —
The sound of wings flapping above us echoed around the courtyard, freezing everyone at once.
Själlös.
One? More?
The Melig all dismounted their horses and through the deathly silence that was suddenly installed within the courtyard, the sound of weapons being unsheathed echoed in my ears.
Another set of wings flew past.
That made two.
Shit.
There's another one, Thora informed, voice clipped. It's coming from the east.
I could hear the guards above us move and talk, but even as they sounded alarmed, they were extremely silent, careful to avoid as much attention from the beasts as possible.
They were well-trained.
Sadly for us, the first Själlös landed seconds after in the courtyard.
Magic of death and decay rolled around the beast's wandering body, skin a charcoal black, thoroughly infused with dead rot. As it walked, I could see that his flesh was covered by black scales that glinted off the moonlight, the flesh darkened at spots and the muscle flaying like an old cadaver in places where it'd already been wounded. The flopping portions of flesh swung as it walked and I noticed that the Själlös was wobbling a little, probably from a wound on its right leg. Its bat-shaped wings sprouted from its clavicles and abdomen on each side, the smaller ones on his abdomen trailing on the ground after it as the other two sat perfectly lifted upon its shoulders, ready to take flight. I also noticed that one of the smaller wings was torn, bleeding profusely, leaving a trail of black resin on the soil.
"It's wounded," Theron commented precisely as I had just noticed the detail.
I nodded.
The Själlös beast was long, around maybe six feet long and its tail ended with a crescent-moon-shaped scythe that it would most certainly use to mutilate its victims with at any given chance. From this distance, I couldn't see them, but I knew there were four reptilian eyes on its face, circled around its mouth shaped like a perfect dragon flower, with teeth all around its opening.
Själlös were remarkably known for their heightened eyesight and smell, which made them extremely good trackers, but they lacked the speed and agility to be good predators since they were originally designed sturdy and large for flight.
Sál glistened under the sunlight and I was suddenly remembered the first time I'd been poisoned by the substance.
It'd been a strange type of horror.
Sál was the name given to the substance that oozed out of the beasts' bodies whenever wounded. To most, it could be called their 'blood'. It was a dark liquid that glistened in the light, thick and viscous, like tar or oil, but mostly a mix between the two, resembling black resin, like the depths of night. It had an acrid, putrid scent, like sulfur and smoke intertwined. It was a thick, pungent smell that clung to the air and lingered long after the creature moved away. It was slimy to the touch, sticking to skin and mucous membranes, and seeping through clothing and armor. When it came into contact with skin, it usually felt as if it was burning its way in.
Though poisonous for all beings, the toxicity wasn't enough to kill me.
Unlike for the Children of Clay.
However, it was poisonous to me all the same. The longer it stayed in contact with my skin or mucous membranes, the more toxic it was and the more damage it created. I remembered painfully well how it glistened under the moonlight when it fell on my skin almost by accident in the middle of a fight just under my elbow, and how the pain pierced through me seconds after. It had felt like my arm was being torn from the inside out, as if someone was flaying his skin inch by inch. Then, the burning began — it literally burned my skin —, and intensified until I finally had the breach to kill the beast and then use the storm pelting rain down on me to wash off the sál from my skin.
But the black rash created by the burning corrosive effect of the venomous resin remained for a long time until it disappeared, though my arm bore still the curse of its touch, now.
I carried the scar.
Unlike the burn my father had healed the other day when he'd visited, that first one had remained with me for all this time. It looked like a patch of pale skin in the middle of my otherwise tanned arm. The outline was jagged and uneven, with lumps and bumps that showed the depth and severity of the wound — how deeply it'd corroded my skin before I got it off. It was still rough to the touch, slightly raised, although faded over time. Around it, the skin was discolored, with faint dark spots that were now barely visible, caused by the burning corrosive effect of the venomous resin.
It was a daily reminder of the lesson I'd learned that day.
Do not get struck by sál.
I raised a brow, focusing my eyesight across the yard.
"Why did it stop?" Jasiel asked, his eyes poised on the creature.
I narrowed my eyes when I saw the beast slowly lift its face and sniff the air.
As the beast stood, barely twenty yards away from us across the enormous courtyard, I didn't need any light, sound, or even smell to feel what my very bones were telling me to be within reach. As it breathed, the dying earth directed me to the spot where the creature slowly poisoning it stood, its demeanor slow and lazy as if it had no rush to get where it needed to go. It cared not, I knew, for whatever it killed in its path. It would trample plants, smother animals, and drench the air at any given time with no care for the death of the world around it. It paid no mind to the sál slowly dripping from its smooth skin on its back, the wound long forgotten. Where the black resin touched, spots of dead earth appeared, robbing the life of whatever creature dwelt in such length.
Could it not feel the scars of its own destruction?
The rot of its own touch?
The stench of its own presence?
I could only guess it wouldn't.
If time had taught me anything, it's that creatures such as this one were ignorant of their effect upon the lands, and, more importantly, they cared not for the havoc it created, no matter if it was known to them or not.
One would be foolishly stupid to spit in the face of such bold, tasteless savagery.
Very much so.
The Själlös took another step forward, tipping its head in our direction.
Could it smell —
His face lowered until its eyes centered on us.
Fuck.
"It spotted us," Kozun alerted.
Shadows rifted through the space separating us, darkening the yard to a near-pitch black.
The beast's wings rose in the air behind its body menacingly.
I squeezed the pommel of my sword, watching as a blueish glow flooded the space around me —
And then we were running at the monster.
As I charged toward the beast, I could feel the welcome electricity within me surge. Instead of repressing it or being scared of it, I allowed myself to become one with it. For what always felt like the first time in my life, I let myself unite with the power surging within me — the burning sensation on my chest that'd always been there and I'd always failed to understand as a human. I was one with the electricity, wielding it to my will. The steel blade of my sword glowed bright iridescent blue under the sunlight, shining just as evidently as my skin, turning my veins the color of thunder.
And nothing had ever felt as good as this.
Lightning broke through the skies.
As a flash of lightning fractured the sky in light, I only had the distinct sight of an enormous razor-clad mouth opening as wide as it would go, creating a perfect dragon flower that I knew would gladly swallow us all whole before the beast was charging at us.
Engulfed by the thunder crashing through my veins, I watched as the rest of the group scattered to the sides of the beast, sidestepping it completely as I kept my course straight into it. Above us, another two Själlös landed on the courtyard, shaking the ground beneath their feet.
I braced myself for the impact with the creature, catching it by the chest with my shoulder. The hit sent a rippling shock wave through the entire yard, shaking vines and upsetting plants, and the Själlös' claws swiped through my back, robbing a hiss from me at the pain before I could roll to the side.
I looked around the beast to the other two that the group was now engaging.
We're so fucked.
The Själlös I'd attacked turned with lightning speed, brandishing its tail with enough force to break me apart in one swift hit as it rolled its body expertly, ready to spear its scythe into my chest. I spun out to the side and dipped under a wing, pushing my sword up and slicing the underside of the upper right wing.
The runes on the sword shone brighter as my blade dripped black resin down onto the ground.
The Själlös' violent screech filled the yard, sending flocks of birds flying away. It stepped a few feet back, seeming fazed by the pain, moaning and screeching like an animal, with sál dripping from the wound I'd sliced open on its wing.
Serves you right, bastard of Helheim.
I didn't have time to see, but I heard the others flocking around to the other two Själlös, leaving me this one all to myself. I caught sight of Ahya punching one of them on the side of the neck, snapping its head to the side, while Theron put his sword through the base of a wing, nearly clipping it off. Kozun jumped over the beast as it charged, running his sword through the beast's body, making sál sputter out of its body and trail down the beast's sides. Taking advantage of the mayhem, the second beast started to brandish its tail around, smacking a wooden barn of sorts, sending pigs, chickens and sheep into a frenzy. Ahya ran up, though, gripping one of the beast's wings and unsettling its balance, sending it crashing on its side to the ground.
Seeing them dealing with the other two beasts so easily without my help made my heart take a fuller beat.
Then, my eyes met the Själlös before me as it shook its head and focused its attention back to me, recovering from the wound I'd inflicted.
A bloodthirsty smile brimmed on my lips.
In a sudden burst of movement, the Själlös flew forward again and I ducked once more, letting it fly over my head. Its claws scraped against one of my shoulders, slicing my cloak and the skin underneath.
I growled. "You are really starting to irritate me," I warned.
I snapped forward, kicking one of the beast's legs as it turned with the help of its wings channeling its long body and funneled toward me, and then caught hold of the monster's ankle with one hand. After, as swiftly as I'd held on, I let go, forcing the beast out of balance. Dirt and sulfur assaulted my senses instantly as its wings beat to keep it airborne. Reaching forward quickly, a new screech filled the trees and I watched as the Själlös' scales glowed blue as I stabbed my sword through the beast's side, though the slight deviation in its flight made it not strike anything vital. The Själlös growled in response, swinging one of its bigger wings, incorporated with talons at the ends, toward me. It was lashing out blindly in anger, but it was still effective in its strikes. I quickly pulled my sword back, gripping the steel in my hand strongly, and then flipped it to stab it through the thin layer of skin of its wing. The flash of its claws coming, bared, at my face from my left side gave me the yearning to clip them like one might do a baby's nails.
"Knock it off," I warned.
Rage poured off the Själlös as it aimed its smaller wing at me. Stabbing that one, too, I yanked the beast down so its feet were on the floor, and then dipped and kicked out, sweeping the flying creature's legs out from under it. Its wings naturally and instinctively folded in as it rolled and hit the floor on its back. It tried to scramble to its feet but I could see the sál pooling on the ground beneath it and the increased breathing pattern of the beast told me its wounds were grave.
Though not fatal.
Not yet, anyway.
I was on my feet before the Själlös could react, springing forward, my sword in my hand, and I placed the tip against the creature's neck, pinning it down with a foot on its chest, keeping those damn claws away from my face, legs and anything the beast could scratch. I pressed my foot down harder into its chest when it made a desperate attempt with one of its clawed-wings at my leg. Then, I lifted my sword, tip-down, and speared it across a healthy wing, effectively pinning it to the ground.
It'd have to tear off its wing to get free.
The Själlös shrieked an ear-splitting squeal —
Through the corner of my vision, I saw the scythe-tail coming my way, ready to sink its blade into me, and though I was ready to move the second I saw it, there was nothing I could do to deviate from it, not when it was so close and coming so quickly.
The tail struck me in the shoulder —
A bone broke.
I dropped to my knees, my sword slipping from my grasp and hitting the floor with a metallic clang, my arm immediately growing numb and my entire body shivering in pain.
Holy Gods.
The pain made me dizzy for a few seconds. My eyes fluttered and closed as the pain radiated through my shoulder, shooting through my arms and chest, and clouding my vision. My breathing grew shallow and I felt a wave of nausea rising in my stomach. For a few terrible seconds, the world around me spun and I was left with the taste of iron in his mouth.
It felt like I was slipping away into an abyss of pain and darkness.
All sense of control evaded me momentarily as my vision blurred and I felt myself slip away. It was like I was falling through a deep darkness and the only thing I could focus on was the intense pain in my shoulder.
Beside me, the Själlös took advantage of my momentary lapse of concentration and lurched forward, striking out with its front claws in a swift, downward arc —
I caught the Själlös arm against my chest and, using both my hands to hold it with enough strength to crack, I squeezed. The beast yelped and tried to free itself — but I was unyielding, even on my knees and without feeling on most of my right arm.
I smiled in clear defiance.
I tossed the creature like a toy into the ground hard enough to leave a crater in the earth that rumbled the forest grounds. The place was starting to smell like a mix between petroleum and smoke and sulfur… or maybe it was just the smell of the Själlös' sál gathering on the ground.
I didn't remember standing up, but I found myself getting to my feet.
The Själlös evaluated its situation from the crater in the ground and growled again, before lashing at me with its tail —
My hands caught the tail by its black, scythe-tipped tail and threw it into the stone wall on my right, tearing off the wing that was still speared to the ground with my sword, and I heard the stone groan and crack under the weight of the beast.
Screams from the guards rose in the air.
Sighing, I let the lightning flow through me —
The Själlös started to rise, but I was quicker, ripping my sword off the cobblestones and sending it soaring through the air straight into the beast's heart.
Sál immediately seeped from the wound, slipping through the blade —
The beast wailed so loud my ears rang, mixing a few strangled coughs in-between. Its torn wings beat furiously as it wailed deafeningly until finally the sound died off, the carcass going immobile as the life withered out of it.
I closed my eyes.
When I reopened them, the beast had turned to a pile of black ashes on the ground and my sword was pierced into the wall. Running gingerly to retrieve it, a wave of relief coursed through me before a wave of pain nearly toppled me to my back. I coughed and a clot of blood flew up my windpipe, spatting out of my mouth. My limbs started to hurt and I had a stain of gold ichor staining my shirt from my shoulder. A spot of black resin was burning through the skin on my right arm.
For someone unused to feeling any physical pain for dozens of winters, the pain was rather shattering.
I lifted my head to see what was going on with the rest of the —
I only saw a black shape careen toward me before I had lightning bursting out from my hands to meet it.
The Själlös turned to dust five feet away from me, its ashes floating with the wind to me, and I put up a hand to shield my face just as I heard whistling from above. My eyes flew up to the wall, where I saw that the group of guards manning the wall had all gathered, watching the show as we fought the beasts thatd come to attack them. Shaking my head, I ignored them as I charged toward the last Själlös, cornered by the Melig on the northwestern side of the courtyard.
"Good of you to show up," Theron complained. "Better late than ever, I guess."
I didn't even have the time to answer before the others jumped in.
"Shut up, Theron!" Jasiel yelled as he dove a tail swinging for his head, slicing his sword across the beast's side. "And watch your damn feet!"
"Yeah, this is not the time!" Ahya agreed from the beast's other side. "Get it together, Esteban!"
I felt my skin tingling so much that I wanted to scratch the burning sensation beginning in my chest, but I had no time as the beast seemed to turn its attention to me, its eyes locking me in its sight as it prowled forward. It growled in Ahya's face when Kozun put a spear through its tail and turned blindly around, swinging its two left wings at me and Theron, forcing us to duck out of the way.
"The other two are dead," I announced in a steely voice.
This Själlös was, by far, the largest of the three beasts, stronger and much more persistant. It had cuts all over its wings and legs, but it kept on fighting fiercely, standing up to all five of us. Still, it seemed to somehow sense that no matter how bravely it fought, it was no match for the five of us, so it started to prepare to fly away —
Lightning burned in my veins and I opened my palm out of instinct, feeling the surge of power gathering on the tips of my fingers. As the Själlös rolled and struck out against Ahya, who stabbed her sword through the side of its face, narrowly missing one of its eyes, I felt my power rising like I was being charged. Electricity jolted through the air, sizzling ominously, and the atmosphere grew heavy and thick, muffled by the intense power charging at an unmatched speed and strength.
Just as I let the electricity go, a clash of thunder reverberated from the skies.
The force of the crash of my lightning sent the beast flying through the courtyard, its form smashing through the door on the left wing of the fortress, revealing what I think was some sort of a large salon where I could see people standing and a blur of white dashing across the dark floor. As the doors sprung open, I saw the thunder that'd ignited the sky blast through the room on the other side of the door, breaking the skylight above and showering glass on the entire room, crashing into a figure standing in the middle of the room cloaked in darkness with one last howl before it shattered into ashes.
Another beast.
A Mörk? Or maybe a Skadlig?
The Själlös I'd hurled away landed seconds after with a boom that shook the ground, its large frame toppling to the ground shaking and trembling. It rose, though, roaring, stabbing its decrepit wings through the air as its neck extended forward, mouth opening —
I aimed my arm just as the flash of blinding light flew from my hand, and within seconds, with a nearly eardrum-rupturing screech, the Själlös was a pool of ash on the fortress floor.
And then, there was absolute silence.
And I saw her.
She looked just as she'd looked sixteen winters ago, with her long, wintry hair, bright royal-blue eyes and the type of attitude that would dare defy the Gods themselves if they ever had the audacity of showing themselves to her. Of course, time hadn't gone by her. It was clear in the lines of her sculpted silhouette that she'd grown, becoming the proud, confident, powerful woman I'd known she'd become. Her waist had slimmed, while her hips had grown rounder, fitting the simple, yet beautiful red dress she was wearing.
As my eyes met those eyes that I'd seen many times on other faces, I realized that here I was, showing up sixteen winters later to fulfill the promise I'd made to her on her dying day.
Would she keep hers and stab me where I stood?
I guess we would both need to just wait and see.
If time had healed the wounds I'd left or if it's made them fester, instead.