Stalsgard, 23rd of Ýlir, 796 A.C.
It was the coldest month of the season.
Raiden was no stranger to cold, snow, or even frozen grounds. Having grown up in Iselvheim, he knew very well the coldness of the north, but he'd never experienced anything quite like the wintry climate of Stalsgard, in the most northern lands of Midgard. He was used to seeing frozen rivers and lakes, where Drakkars were stuck in the ice and he was accustomed to long, fur coats and capes to keep the weather out.
But nothing quite like what he was seeing now.
Snow had gathered on the ground, reaching the height of maybe his waist in the spots where it wasn't plowed and salted to be safe to walk on. The sun was nowhere in sight, the fog of winter so dense Raiden could barely see more than fifty feet around him. The wind bit into his exposed skin, seeming to cut the skin of his face and hands. He'd heard rain earlier in the day, but it'd stopped a few hours ago. It hadn't started snowing, though, and as his feet crunched over the salted, plowed snow beneath him, he could see that most of the snow in the outer fields of Stalsgard had started to freeze thanks to the cold.
He shook beneath his thin white, long-sleeved tunic.
He'd been dragged out of his bedchambers about thirty minutes before. Nikka had been waiting for him outside, dressed in her warmest button-closure long cloak, so black it was a stark contrast against the snow. Like most days, she'd chosen a mostly practical outfit, with tight-fitting black pants, a gray tunic, and a leather corset that hugged her frame quite endearingly.
She looked every bit the warrior that she was.
The soldiers kept the paths inside Stalsgard mostly plowed and salted to ease mobility. Usually, that meant three sets of pathways which all interlinked at the spot where they were, now, the training grounds. One came down from the fortress where the soldiers were housed, as well as the Kasdan, and the dining hall, where the meals were served. The other came up the west rear of the training grounds from the crop fields and the third came from the other side of the farmstead where the provisions and livestock were kept.
The training grounds were nothing more than a circle graded by a wooden fence where anything and everything related to the training of weaponry took place. Raiden had once heard the soldiers take out targets to practice their aim in archery for a full day, before putting all the equipment away at the fall of twilight. Most often, though, they brought out all sorts of weapons they possessed and each trained whatever skill they preferred.
He'd never participated in those training sessions.
He always had private ones.
With Kerim, usually.
He'd never enjoyed them.
Today wasn't any different.
Raiden couldn't see the man, but he knew he was around somewhere, watching. As of late, he'd been growing into the habit of having Nikka train Raiden while he merely watched and commented. He had wondered multiple times if he'd chosen so because of the last time they'd sparred, when Raiden had purposefully stabbed a bladed dart through his thigh. Maybe he guessed Raiden was less prone to violence if he was fighting Nikka. Or maybe he thought he'd be less invested in hurting her. Either way, Raiden felt both disappointed and glad Kerim stayed off combat.
He disliked the man enough to want him to keep his distance.
"It's your turn," Nikka taunted, her smile turning smug.
Raiden moved, his steps long and coordinated as he circled around Nikka. He could sense her attention on each of his movements as she stood still with her sword in her hand. Her grip was loose but he could see from the tension in her arm that every muscle in her body was ready to move at any moment, poised to both defend and strike with the swiftness of a breath.
He knew Nikka and had trained with her for long enough to know her fighting style. By heart, almost. He knew the way she thought and how she moved. Knew how she chose which attacks to use and which areas to strike. She was a mighty sword-fighter and had been for as long as he'd known her. But time had taught her to battle with more than her sword-fighting skills. She was, to put it simply, the most strategic person he'd ever met. She could read other people intelligently by their movements and the flow of their combat. She watched muscles twitching, noticed quick glances, weighted steps taken, listened to breaths taken, and counted heartbeats. Raiden knew her father had taught her how to fight, but the uniqueness of her mindfulness in combat was something she'd learned on her own. She used the knowledge she gained from her opponent to pave out her entire strategy by using what she saw and heard from them to her advantage. Most would probably call it a calculated approach to her combat and they'd probably be right to do so.
Raiden thought it was unbelievably smart.
Some days, he wished he could fight like that. Regrettably, as a novice in training, Raiden was very much still submitted to balancing his attack and defense, not so much his might in strategy — which, at this point, wasn't something to boast about.
Yet.
"If you think too much about it, smoke will come out of your ears, Leif."
Raiden rolled his eyes. "I'm weighing my options."
"Well, weigh them faster," she quipped, swiping her sword in a diagonal motion at the height of his chest so fast Raiden barely had time to lean back away from its blade.
Raiden nearly lost his balance, but kept his stability by whirling to the side. Bearing his weight on one leg, he lowered himself and swiveled his own blade to the side of her right ankle, hoping she'd jump and lose her balance.
She blocked it with her blade, then rolled her sword away and kicked his right shoulder with the heel of her foot — hard. "You can't waste time analyzing shit in a fight."
Raiden's sword fell from his hand, his balance shaken. He braced himself with one hand on the ground, just as Nikka stepped around his legs and stumped a foot on his chest. He hit the ground seconds after, breath strangled out of his lungs, heart beating fast in his chest.
Before he could think of a way to get her off him, her sword was at his throat.
The metal was cold against his skin, but the feel of metal calmed him, making his heart rate slow and his breaths grow quieter until a calm tranquility washed over him.
Nikka grinned. "But if you decide to do it, at least be quick enough to avoid getting your head cut clean off."
Arrogant smartass.
He raised his hands, feigning surrender. "Do I need to pat my hand on the ground?"
"No need," she smirked smugly. "At this point in any fight, you'd already be dead."
Sweat dotted his eyebrow despite the cold corroding his bones. "It's a good thing I'm not, then, isn't it?"
Raiden knew his sword had slipped a few good feet away from him, so there was no chance he'd be able to retrieve it, but Nikka's, however, was right there.
"Fighting is all about instinct," she told him, keeping her voice light even though the lecture was quite discernible in her tone. The wind lifted up her cloak a few times, making it float behind her. "Of course, there has to be some level of strategy behind it, most of which comes from knowing your opponent and experience, but the only thing that's certain in any fight is that whoever is on the other side of your blade will do whatever it takes to kill you, and you need to do the same thing. Strategy may look like a good way to go about winning a fight, but speed and instinct will keep you alive much more often." She smiled lazily and he could see her shoulders visibly relaxing at the prompted teasing. "The better policy is always to use those to your advantage."
"Come, now, don't be so tough on him, Nikka," Kerim's voice called out from somewhere behind Raiden's head, making his body grow tense. "It was a valiant effort. He's getting better."
Nikka's eyes lifted from Raiden a fraction of a second to her father —
Raiden moved as fast as he could, lifting his left knee hard enough to clock Nikka's sword hand and loosen her grip on the weapon. He felt the tip of the blade raze the skin of his collarbone — dangerously close to his jugular — as her arm slipped forward a few inches and the edge slipped from his neck to his chest, but he paid no mind to it. Lifting himself to one knee and rolling underneath the sword still aimed at his chest, he made a grab for the hilt of the sword with his right hand, clipping Nikka on the jaw with his left fist.
She stumbled to the side, grunting with the pain, the sword leaving her grasp.
Raiden then rose to his full height, holding the sword at his side. Nikka was quick to recover her stance, attacking with a hook kick that Raiden parred with his forearm, grabbing her wrist in a tight, almost painful grip, that he harshly pulled so she rolled around herself. He then kicked her behind the knee, forcing her to her knees.
Nikka began to throw her shoulders back —
Raiden had the point of Nikka's sword against the back of her neck before she could fight him off.
Raiden twisted her right arm behind her back, leaning forward to whisper in her ear mockingly, "Never allow yourself to be distracted."
She huffed and he could almost hear her rolling her eyes.
"Gods in the Heavens!" Kerim laughed, clapping his hands as he walked into the circle of salted snow where they sparred. "Well done, Leif."
Raiden's spine snapped straight —
And it happened.
Raiden's hands began to tremble.
Rushing back, he dropped the sword, hearing it clatter to the ground with a dull sound, hitting the snow like a stone. He could feel his entire body rumbling, the crow inside him riled up by the adrenalin coursing through his veins. It wasn't angry, but ecstatic, almost frenetic, as it moved about in its cell. It felt like it was almost… restless. Impatient at the fact that it was caged when the exhilaration of the fight still raced through Raiden's blood. It threatened to escape out into the world if he so much as moved a muscle, so he kept himself completely immobile, letting his heart accommodate the quietness that came after the thrill of the fight. Something balled into a knot in the back of his throat, making it hard to breathe. His breathing elaborated just as a wave of terrifyingly powerful electricity rose in him. He exhaled roughly to dissipate the tension coiled around his muscles, though it helped very little. He could feel the power growing, expanding, and blossoming inside of him, like the bud of a rose blooming in the summer. Burning extended all over his body, which he recognized as the sign of whatever power he had inside of it taking over his veins and eyes.
Gaining control of his body.
His skin glistened with a blue shimmer, and lines of fluorescent power enveloped his shoulders and exposed arms, circling his hands the most, moving like wandering threads of life, looking for a place to go. The energy cracked and sizzled, so powerful it was a wonder it didn't burn down the very air around him. He could feel the current slowly flowing through his bloodstream as well as he watched his veins ignite blue like lightning, the same way his entrails felt electrified. His entire body tingled and burned, though the sensation was one he'd grown accustomed to over the winters enough to ignore it, now.
Raiden's heaving breaths created puffs of white smoke in front of his lips.
He didn't know what to do.
Control had been something he'd been struggling with for the past few months.
Ever since the day he'd been taken away from Iselvheim and brought to Stalsgard, his battle had begun. Before that day with Nikka, he had only ever felt the electricity once when he'd been angry at his father, but it'd disappeared as quickly as it had came. He'd never felt it again. And he hadn't missed it. The burning was a different story, of course. It'd always been there before and even after he left, Raiden had always been able to feel it, but not the electricity. He'd only ever seen this blue glow on his skin and veins one other time before but he hadn't even had the chance to control it as it'd washed away as quickly as it'd come to him. But he hadn't missed how it made him hunger for violence, almost begging him to dip his hands in the blood of whoever stood in his path.
That thirst had been multiplied ever since he'd felt the crow inside of him.
And ever since, bursts of electricity had started to rush to the surface, uncontrolled and savage in every way. He rushed to contain it, but it proved hard when everything inside of him screamed that it needed to be free.
He wasn't sure how he would ever be able to contain something so great.
"Leif." Kerim's low voice crept in through the cracks of Raiden's mind. "Listen to me. Listen closely." He approached the young man slowly, being wise and calculated about each step or movement he made, almost like he knew any wrong movement could spring Raiden into attacking. "You can control this. It does not control you." He approached from Raiden's right side as he leaned forward, head falling down a few inches. "You can control it."
His chest was beginning to hurt, the cadence of his heartbeat nearly breaking his ribs. "How?" His voice sounded breathless to his own ears.
"Don't be scared. Do not fear it. Wield it, instead."
Raiden brows furrowed.
Was this man insane?
What in the hell was he talking about?
There was no wielding something like this. A power this strong. This potent. There was no controlling a wildfire and fool was the man who ever assumed he could try. Kerim was even more stupid than Raiden had thought him to be if he believed the power waging war inside Raiden could be put on a leash.
It couldn't.
Raiden could feel Nikka's eyes on him, as Kerim's undivided attention and the weight of both their gazes made his skin crawl, though he wasn't sure if the sensation was indeed due to it or more because of the crow's reaction to it.
"I don't know what that means," Raiden hissed through his clenched teeth, lashes dropping.
"Think of the desert in the savage lands in the south." Kerim's hand landed on Raiden's shoulder tentatively and when he didn't back away or grow tenser in aggression, Kerim's palm squeezed reassuringly, offering him assistance, which Raiden wouldn't have accepted any other day but sort of welcomed, now. "It's all scorching sand, with dunes undulating the horizon and an infinite blue sky drawn above where the stars sleep every night. The heat burns the air and the sand tastes like grains of grit in your mouth. You can smell the water as it evaporates. Your skin feels like the cracked surface of a stone, dry and dusty. There is absolutely nothing to destroy in sight. No plant, no animal, nothing," Kerim's voice was smooth, low, almost hypnotic as he spoke. "You feel drained as if all the energy has washed away from you. You close your eyes and a part of you wants to sleep eternally."
Raiden took in a deep breath, forcing his lungs to expand all the way before holding his breath for a few seconds.
"Can you picture it?"
Raiden could indeed see it.
And feel it.
Closing his eyes tightly, he let the picture solidify in his mind's eye.
An extension of bright, almost-white sand in front of him, going as far as his eyes could see, with the sun shining so bright and so hot it could almost peal his skin right off his bones. The air was dry, making his skin sweat, and dusty exactly like he thought an old room would smell when it wasn't aired for a while. The sky above him, so blue it could almost be drawn, had white stars visible in it even though the sun wasn't even at its highest peak. He felt exhausted as if he'd traveled days under the steaming sun with no drop of water but the ones he dripped from his own skin.
As his mouth dried up, the electricity died out as if someone had thrown dirt over it.
Or snow.
Or sand.
His heart rate slowed.
"Can you see it? The desert?"
"Yes." His voice sounded as dry as his throat felt. "Now, what?"
"Make yourself that desert. Become the desert for as long as you have to. And then, one day, you'll realize you are the desert yourself, and control will be yours."
Raiden's eyes popped open, lifting to the man's face under his lashes. "I don't feel in control of anything."
Kerim stepped back, a broad smile crossing his lips. "Look at you." He pointed at Raiden's body. "You're not in control yet, but you're on your way to getting there. Control requires effort and you will only acquire it by training it. It's much like training to use a muscle. First, you need to be aware of it. Then, you start using it and it'll be sore for a few days. As time goes by, you'll start using it without realizing it and without any soreness. This is the same thing," Kerim continued, voice gentle for the first time since Raiden knew him, except when he spoke to Nikka. "Today, you can only stop the electricity from consuming you. That's how you start. Then, you learn to be at peace with it, so it exists inside of you and neither hurts the other. And lastly, one day, you'll realize you've learned to wield it to your will."
Raiden mulled his words over.
Make yourself that desert. Become the desert for as long as you have to. And then, one day, you'll realize you are the desert yourself.
It was a smart metaphor.
Today, you can only stop the electricity from consuming you. That's how you start. Then, you learn to be at peace with it, so it exists inside of you and neither hurts the other. And lastly, one day, you'll realize you've learned to wield it to your will.
Raiden took a deep breath, raising his head and opening his eyes to see that his veins were still blazing blue and his skin still had a blueish glow, though he no longer felt the boiling electricity zapping across his bloodstream. "And what am I supposed to do with control?"
"Then, my boy," he clapped Raiden's shoulder twice amicably. "You let the lightning out."
Raiden's gaze met Kerim's, his head tipping to the side. "What do you mean?"
Kerim's lips formed a small smile before he deviated his eyes to Nikka, who was still watching, a few feet away, immobile, though Raiden didn't see an ounce of fear in her eyes. "I'm sure we'll both find out, sooner rather than later."
Raiden's hands fisted, nails biting into his skin and with the pain, a wave of clarity invaded his mind, making him see his entire predicament much clearer than he'd ever seen it before."Is this why you came here? Why the King deployed you to Stalsgard?"
Kerim blinked. "I came here for you, Leif."
"To train me? Or to control me?"
"To watch over you," Kerim answered truthfully and it was clear to Raiden that he was leaving no room for doubt in his words. His dark eyes were deep and truthful, no deceit lain there. "The King never ordered me to train you or control you. He simply told me to watch over you and keep you safe. It was my choice to train you and help you learn how to wield the power you have inside of you."
Raiden stumbled a step back, feeling weak all of a sudden. "Why?"
"Because everyone deserves to learn to use the weapons they're born with." Kerim's eyes turned softer, almost loving. "And I have a terrible feeling yours is the kind that will either save the world or burn it to the ground."
Maybe Raiden wasn't the only one who saw the brutality of the power inside him, after all.
Of course.
In the face of a power that great, any man would seek to see its flames from up close.
"So, you'd like a front-row seat to whatever outcome I bring about? Is that it?"
"No." Was the swift response.
Raiden waited, crossing his arms.
"I want to help you reach the one where you don't kill the people you love."
He assumed Raiden loved anyone.
He had.
He didn't anymore.
Raiden felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. His voice came out strangled from his throat. "So, you're doing this for me? Out of the kindness of your heart? Am I really supposed to believe that?"
Kerim shrugged. "You can believe whatever you want, Raiden. Either way, I am doing what I believe is right. Maybe one day you'll see that as clearly as I do."
Never.
Raiden nodded. "Sure. Whatever lets you sleep at night."
"I'd appreciate it if you kept your sarcasm to yourself, Leif."
"Who says I don't?" He countered. "If I contain all of my sarcasm, there's no telling what I might do instead, Kerim."
Kerim sighed with a shake of his head. "The sad part about that is I actually believe you."
Of course, he did.
He knew what lived inside Raiden's body. He was wise enough to fear it, even if he thought, for some reason, it could ultimately be used for good — or, at the very least, that it could be somehow controlled.
Raiden turned away from Kerim, feeling the weight of his own power and the responsibility it carried. He didn't trust anyone to control him or his abilities, but he couldn't deny the truth in Kerim's words.
He needed to learn to control himself.
For himself.
"Fine," Raiden muttered, turning back to Kerim. "I'll let you train me. But make no mistake, I'm not doing this for anyone else but myself."
Kerim nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you."
Raiden's head tilted. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"For one who's been so burned by the people around him, I wouldn't expect you to make any considerable effort on a personal level on their behalf."
Raiden scoffed, looking away as he changed his weight, suddenly uncomfortable about how accurate Kerim's words had been. "I'm not sure everyone would agree with you on that," he commented dryly. Many would, after all, say he'd been treated much too kindly. Upon further thought, however, Raiden found himself staring back with the same intensity at the old man, feeling the corners of his lips lift despite himself. "You're not scared of me, are you?"
Kerim met his gaze steadily, his expression serious. "I'm terrified of what you're capable of, Leif. But I'm more scared of what you'll do if you don't learn to control the power inside you."
Raiden grunted, turning to walk away. "I never asked for this."
Kerim's voice stopped him in his tracks. "No one ever does, Leif. But it's what we do with the power we're given that defines us."
Raiden's mouth furrowed in a smirk at Kerim's choice of words that reminded him of words one might find on a fortune cookie. He turned back to face the older man, his hands clenched at his sides. "And what if I don't want to be defined by this power?"
Kerim shrugged. "That's entirely up to you. But whether you like it or not, it's a part of you. You can either learn to control it or let it consume you." He shrugged. "It's your choice."
Raiden knew he was right, but that didn't make accepting it any easier. He had always felt like an outsider. Like he didn't belong anywhere. His entire life had been proof of it. And now, with this power raging inside him, he felt even more alone. But maybe Kerim was right. Maybe he could learn to control it, to use it for good. Maybe he could even find a place where he belonged. He didn't know what the future held, but at least he had a glimmer of hope.
And for now, that was enough.
Raiden watched as Kerim turned to leave, his last words echoing in the air. "I'll see you tomorrow, Leif. We have much work to do."
As he walked away, Raiden couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. He knew that Kerim was right, that he needed to learn how to control his power before it consumed him. But the thought of using it when he'd spent his entire life being ostracized for it irked him.
He turned to Nikka, who was still standing nearby, watching him with a mix of fascination and concern. "Do you honestly think I can learn to control it?" He asked her.
Nikka nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "I do. I think my father is right, that with enough training and practice, you can learn to wield your power."
He nodded, looking away.
Raiden wanted to believe her.
But as Kerim walked away from the training grounds, Raiden couldn't shake the feeling that they were all heading down a dangerous path. But he also couldn't deny the thrill of power that coursed through his veins.
For now, he would agree to train with Kerim, to learn how to control his power. But he couldn't help but wonder what would happen when the time came to let the lightning out. Would he use it for good, or would he let it consume him and everyone he loved?
Only time would tell.
Nikka stepped up and offered her arms gently, opening them widely to hug him. Despite being accustomed to her displays of affection, he still went motionless as she reached over and placed her small arms around his shoulders, pushing his chest against her firmly. He didn't move his hands to hug her back, but something about her embrace relaxed him. He could feel her heart beating against his through both their clothes and the regular rhythm steadied his breathing.
"I know you have problems trusting anyone at this point, but give him a chance, Leif," she whispered softly to his ear. "We want to help you, but we can only do that if you let us."
He nodded again, wordlessly.
She pulled back. "Will you?"
He nodded.
"Leif."
Raiden sighed. "Yes, I will."
She nodded, leaned on the tip of her toes, and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek, before turning on her heel. "Are you coming?"
Raiden only shook his head, but by the look she gave him, it seemed like she'd already known the answer.
She strode off to the fortress behind them without another word.
He stayed rooted in his spot, though, watching her leave, and was turning to take a long walk in the snow when a voice stopped him.
"Son."
Raiden turned.
Raiden had never seen him before, but a part of him seemed to recognize him straight away without any question.
Odin.
A man with a long, blonde beard and long hair, dressed in strange robes, stood before Raiden. His robes were a strange mix of colors, yet somehow seemed to blend seamlessly together in a myriad of goldens and blues. Tall and centuries old, the God's face was chiseled and his long hair, graying at spots, was tied back in a ponytail. His face was lined, but there was a softness in his features that Raiden guessed he reserved for very few people in the Cosmos. His arms were coiled with the runes binding of his power, his face weathered and wind-beaten. Despite carrying no weapon on himself that Raiden could see, his hands, like any warrior's hands, were callused and weathered, though golden like the sunlight. Oddly enough, he smelled of the sea, of the salty air and briny waters, of golden treasures and the spirit of the ocean itself. And the voice that'd spoken the one word he'd never heard in his life was a rumble deep in his chest, a warm boom of a beating heart.
He was just as magnificent as Raiden had imagined, towering over himself with an imposing presence. His eyes met his father's — the blue hue matching Raiden's perfectly, if not for the subtle golden shade in the boy's —, and he could feel the power radiating from him like a warm glow. But there was something else in his eyes, too — a sense of weariness and burden that weighed heavily on him.
"Raiden Thorden," he said, voice gruff. "My son."
Hearing his birth name on this God's lips made Raiden's blood boil. He hated to be treated by that name and, knowing the truth of his past made the name sound even more preposterous — like it made him an impostor.
He wasn't Raiden Thorden.
He had no name, no family, no king, and no religion.
He belonged to no one.
And after sixteen winters of fighting that truth, he'd finally learned to accept it.
His jaw clenched tight. "My name is Leif," he growled under his breath. "Not you nor anyone gets to call me by the name you just used, because that name has always been a lie."
The God's golden brows furrowed as if he didn't understand and his lips twisted. "Do you know who I am?"
Without hesitation, Raiden spoke the absolute truth. "Yes, I know who you are," he said. "I know what you did. I know what you expect of me." He shrugged. "I just don't care. If you came here looking for a son to claim as your own, you've wasted your journey. I am not any more your son than I am Demir Thorden's, so I owe you as much loyalty as I do him, which is about as much as the amount you've given me my entire life."
"I have knit you in your mother's womb."
"That doesn't make me your son."
The God's eyes flashed a deep blue of the oceans. "You don't know —"
"I know enough," Raiden interrupted harshly, voice sharp and clipped.
The God laughed. "You really don't know anything yet, my son."
"But I know what you've done," he accused belligerently, voice steady despite the anger corroding him from the inside. "That is beyond enough." His head tipped to the side, analyzing. "Although I suppose I also know what you haven't done. And that part is even more enlightening."
"You speak of what's transpired in the dungeons of the Clay King's castle? The atrocities he's committed against you?" His eyes narrowed and Raiden noticed that as he spoke, his voice rose the slightest, like the beginning of a thunderclap, his eyes growing sharper and lighter in color. "He will pay, my son, for all he did. My wrath shall meet no end. I will shed gallons of his blood in the name of your pain."
Any other child would've heard the promise of justice in those words.
Raiden heard nothing if not the unspoken oaths every parent takes upon its child's birth that this man had never bothered to uphold. For the man that'd stood by as Demir Thorden did the things he had done, deserved not the grace of seeing his promises taken seriously. Not when he'd had plenty of chances to prove them true before he ever needed to make them.
Odin had stood by as Demir tortured Raiden for pure pleasure.
Nothing would forgive that.
"I don't want you to make him pay for anything."
The God's eyelashes lifted in stupefaction. "You do not?"
"I've always wanted a father. My entire life, it was the only thing I've always dreamed of." Raiden's lashes fell swiftly closed as he felt a hitch in his chest, the burning increasing incessantly until he almost felt the need to scratch it. "Both you and he denied me that, so I want nothing from either of you."
The almighty God's eyes grew glassy.
Raiden might have mistaken that look for grief if not for the ice in his heart that didn't allow him to feel bad for the man — be it a God or otherwise — that'd stood by as another put him through what he'd survived.
It felt like a betrayal as much as his mother's inaction had been.
If he couldn't find in his heart a way to forgive his own mother for her lack of action to prevent the torture he'd endured, he couldn't any more easily find within himself the kindness to forgive a man he'd never met or known about.
"I am not to blame for the Clay King's actions —"
"Leave," Raiden interrupted curtly, voice hard like the edge of a sword. "And don't bother coming back."
That made it twice he'd said those words.
He'd meant them both times.
Odin stood there, stunned and speechless.
He'd never expected such a response from Raiden. The young boy had always been an obedient child in his eyes, one that would do anything to please him when the time came that he was freed of his human obligations.
But now, he realized how wrong he was.
As Odin turned to leave, Raiden's voice sounded once more, speaking words both recognized as a vow more so than Odin's had ever been. "Rest assured that the next time I see Demir Thorden, I will make sure he regrets what he did to me for the rest of his miserable life. If it ever comes to be my choice, he will meet his death by my hands and I will rejoice the day he meets Helheim for the horrors he made me endure." Raiden had to stop to take in a breath because his heart felt like it'd been shattered by a thousand blades. "But the day that happens, I hope you meet at the doors of Helheim, and he gets the chance to tell you just how much he hates you so you'll realize that this was all your fault."
Odin looked away, jaw clenching. "I warned him not to defy my will."
Raiden's brows arched. "But did he listen?"
The God's lashes lowered. "Any sensible fool would have."
Raiden laughed coldly. "Then, I would wager you are the fool, Great God," he mocked, but his voice lacked true amusement to be genuine, as there was only a frigid coldness seeping through his body. "You birthed a son that will never be yours because you delivered him to a monster like you expected such a creature to be able to accept a child not of his flesh and blood, and hoped it could eventually learn to love it as his own."
Odin would have staggered if he was human, for his heart felt as if it'd been pierced by a thousand knives.
The young man's words were like a blade in his heart. How could he have been so blind to the pain and suffering his son had endured all these years? To the resented anger and blind hatred that'd grown in his heart? He'd been such a gentle soul as an infant, how had he become this? He knew that he could never make it right, but he'd always thought that his lack of interference would grant him safety from such wrath.
He'd been wrong, it seemed.
"Do you hate me, then?"
The boy scoffed. "Offering you my hate seems like less than you deserve, right now."
Odin felt like someone had burned a lightning bolt through his chest. "Raiden," Odin began, his voice full of remorse and regret. "I'm sorry for everything. I should have been there, but it wasn't wise to interfere any more than I'd already had. There is a reason why I stayed away. It was best that I kept my distance until you came of age —"
Excuses.
But Raiden would have none of it.
"Really, save your apologies for someone who cares," Raiden spat back, venom lacing every word. "I don't need your pity or your empty promises. Just leave me alone."
"Raiden, I need you to believe me. I know your life has been hard and I know I have made mistakes, but there has always been something far greater than your life at stake. There is a reason I created you. Real Gods require blood and I knew your life wouldn't be easy from the moment you were born. But there is a reason why I gave you Godhood while you were still in your mother's womb and it is far greater than all things —"
"I am not a thing!" Raiden roared, the burning inside of him growing until he wasn't sure if the spots he saw in his vision were his own anger or the snow starting to fall again. "I'm not a possession!" He was breathing heavily, now, hands clenched. "And whatever reason you had for birthing me isn't strong enough to justify the cruelty of your decisions since."
With that, Raiden turned and walked away, leaving Odin standing alone in the falling snow.
The God of Gods wanted to go after the boy. To put his arms around him and make disappear the wounds he could see so raw on his heart. To take him somewhere far away from here, to a place where he'd be finally free of the demons in his mind. But he knew that he had a long way to go if he ever wanted to earn the forgiveness of his son.
And for now, the best he could do was to respect his wishes and stay away.
Raiden walked away, feet flying over plains and mountains, every leaf, root, and stone seeming to stifle his escape. He didn't know what he was running from or where he was going. He just had to keep moving. Everything inside of him felt wrong, and there was nothing more he could do right now but hurt, squeeze his eyes shut, and hope he'd slip into numbness with considerable speed before it manifested into something unfixable.
Before it awakened something far more dangerous.
He didn't know exactly how much distance had flown between him and the God who called him 'son' before he gave up his will to continue running away from the harrowing emotions searing him from the inside out, but blindly stumbling to a stop, Raiden dropped to his knees. His body shook with power as shivers wreaked havoc inside of him, his jaw opening impossibly wide in an attempt to breathe through the pressure building strain upon his chest — like someone was compressing the lock holding his ribs together until they snapped. His eyes were suddenly wet and filled with tears, fragile like glass before they released down his face like droplets of water flinging off one another.
He tipped his head up towards the sky.
Odin stayed as he watched the boy, still only human, fall to his knees, head bowing forward into the snow, his silhouette blanketed in the falling snowflakes turning his hair nearly white.
"Heavy is the head that wears a crown such as yours, my son," he whispered, before teleporting out, leaving his son to bear the weight of his wyrd and learn his strength by the burden of his weakness.
Raiden didn't know how long he stayed there, kneeling on the snow.
But his grief was unlike any other.
He didn't sob or wail. A tear escaped down the corner of his eyes, but no other sign of pain was seen. His body didn't shake. His breath didn't alter. His pain was horribly discreet but as persistent and almost as silent as bleeding from an unstitched wound. And like the world knew such pain and met it as its own, it seemed to sob with him in disheartened suffering, hurrying winds of aching sorrow through the trees' winding branches, lifting leaves off the ground and carrying them around the world to the song of his cracking heart.
The human who'd always been too godly to be loved by men and the god who'd always been too humane to be accepted among the gods.
Until the day he lifts his head with the crown of the world he was born in and decides to rule the one where his true throne awaits him.