The storm still raged, howling like a beast desperate to consume everything in its path. Snow swirled violently around them, but Icarus didn't care. She clung to Eilífr's massive form, her sobs racking her body as the sheer weight of his silence crushed her chest.
Then… a shift.
At first, it was barely noticeable—a twitch, a faint movement beneath the ice that coated his armor like a death shroud. Then, his head turned, ever so slightly, the frozen metal groaning as he forced the motion.
A shallow breath, then a whisper so weak, so fragile, she almost didn't believe it was real.
"Engines… heat…"
Her breath hitched. For a moment, her mind refused to register the words, but then she realized. He was alive.
She jerked upright, her tears still streaming, but her expression shifting from anguish to determination. "Elfy—hold on! I got you!"
Scrambling to her feet, she bolted back toward the Thunderbird, her boots slipping on the ice as she sprinted up the ramp. Every second counted—every moment lost was another chance for his body to shut down for good.
Throwing herself into the pilot's seat, she flipped switches so fast she nearly cracked her fingers against the console. The engines flared, the ship lifting just a few feet off the ground. Her heart pounded as she reversed, carefully maneuvering the ship backward, her eyes locked on the snow-covered figure below.
She bit her lip, waiting. Waiting.
Then—there.
Beneath the roaring thrusters, the snow began to shift, swept away in powerful gusts as the heat from her engines blasted the ice from his form. Slowly but surely, his massive armor emerged, freed from its frozen tomb, steam rising in thick, ghostly tendrils around him.
"C'mon, Elfy…" she whispered, watching desperately as the warmth enveloped him. "Let this work."
Carefully, she set the ship back down, the landing gear groaning against the icy terrain. In an instant, she was out of the cockpit again, sprinting back down the ramp, her boots thudding against the metal.
Dropping to her knees beside him, she gripped his arm and shook him. "You're gonna be okay. I swear it. Just hold on."
His fingers twitched, the frost beginning to crack and fall away. His body was still locked in his armor, but the life support systems within it were starting to reignite.
And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she saw it—the faintest flicker of blue light in his visor.
She swallowed back her emotions and forced a smirk, desperate to keep him awake.
"See? Told ya I had you."
A flicker.
The faintest glow of lavender pulsed to life behind his visor, dim at first, then stronger, burning away the frost that had crept into its seams.
Icarus gasped, her heart leaping to her throat as she watched it—**him—**come back to her.
Then, the nails-on-chalkboard screech of frozen metal grinding against itself filled the air as his armor groaned under the pressure of movement. He forced himself up, the plates shifting, cracking apart as thick layers of ice flaked off and crumbled beneath him.
Icarus didn't move. She could only stare, eyes wide, breath caught between relief and awe as he slowly, agonizingly, sat up. His movements were sluggish, labored—but he was moving.
And then, his voice, distorted slightly from the frozen systems rebooting, but still unmistakably him.
"Let's go home."
The words weren't just a statement. They were a command. A promise.
Icarus let out a shaky laugh, wiping at her tear-streaked face. God, he was so damn stubborn. But all she saw in that moment wasn't the frostbitten, half-broken soldier pushing himself past his limits—it was her Elfy.
Alive.
Smiling through the lump in her throat, she tugged his arm, guiding him up. "C'mon, big guy. I made you a little something."
She gestured toward the Thunderbird, where her engines still flared at a low burn, creating a heated pocket of air near the bay doors. It wasn't much, but it was warm, safe, and right now, that was all that mattered.
His massive frame moved with a heavy sluggishness, but Icarus never let go, never stopped supporting him as they trudged through the snow toward the ship.
Each step he took was slow, deliberate, his body still fighting to function, but she didn't care.
He was here.
And she would never let him go alone again.
The Thunderbird's ramp hissed as it lowered, releasing a wave of warm air from the ship's interior into the cold hangar bay.
And then, he stepped out.
A towering mass of armor with the slow, deliberate stride of a man who had walked through Hell itself and come back alive.
His boots thudded heavily against the metal floor, the weight of him sending subtle tremors through the ground. The sound alone was enough to command silence from the personnel gathered to witness his return.
Whispers. Murmurs. They spread like wildfire.
"Is that really him?"
"Holy shit, he looks—"
"—thought he was dead."
"How the hell is he even standing?"
The soldiers lining the hangar stood at sharp attention, their movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine. In perfect unison, their right hands snapped to their brows, offering a crisp, uniform salute as he passed.
SABER-1 did not acknowledge them.
Not out of disrespect—but because his body refused to give even an ounce of unnecessary movement.
Icarus followed behind him, biting her lip, her fingers twitching at her sides as she watched him walk.
To anyone else, he looked as unshakable as ever, the same imposing figure of war and survival that defied every odd stacked against him. But she knew better.
She saw it—the slight drag in his step, the microscopic sway in his movements, how he shifted his weight ever so slightly with each stride to compensate for his exhausted muscles.
He was barely holding himself together.
She wanted to stop him. Tell him to lean on her. But she knew he wouldn't.
So she just walked, letting him have this.
Letting him reach his destination on his own terms.
The doors hissed open as he finally entered the medical wing, a team of doctors and scientists already waiting—tense, prepared.
And then, it happened.
The instant he crossed the threshold, his legs finally gave out.
The thunderous crash of his armor hitting the floor was so loud that a few personnel flinched in reflex.
Icarus rushed forward, but one of the head physicians beat her to it, stepping up to the motionless titan.
With zero hesitation, the doctor lightly punched his visor.
"Idiot."
The room went silent.
Then, as if on cue, a few of the medical staff let out exasperated sighs—a mix of relief and frustration.
"You pushed yourself too damn far—again."
"He wouldn't be him if he didn't," another muttered, shaking their head as they grabbed a set of scanning instruments.
Icarus let out a shaky breath, her adrenaline finally settling as she stepped forward.
She crouched beside his immobile form, resting a gloved hand against his massive armored shoulder.
"See, Elfy? Told you I'd get you home."
She didn't know if he was conscious enough to hear her.
But she hoped he did.
The hallways of the base were quieter than usual as they walked side by side, their destination clear.
Eilífr's footsteps were heavy, the sheer weight of his armor making each step resonate through the metal flooring. Even without the worst of his injuries, even with the best medical care available, his body was screaming for rest. But he ignored it. As he always did.
Icarus, helmet tucked under one arm, walked at his side with an occasional glance upward. Despite the weeks of recovery, she knew that he wasn't fully healed. But this?
This wasn't a mission.
This wasn't war.
This was his choice.
And for that, she wouldn't fight him on it.
"Are you sure about this, Elfy?" she asked, her tone lighter than it had been in weeks. "I mean, I love a surprise visit as much as the next girl, but those nuns? You do know they think you're some kind of divine retribution in armor, right?"
Eilífr didn't slow his pace, but his helmet tilted slightly toward her in acknowledgment.
"Their prayers kept me alive." His voice was as stoic as ever, but she caught something else beneath it. Something genuine.
Icarus bit her lip.
He'd said it so plainly, as if it were an undeniable fact.
And maybe… just maybe, it was.
She smirked, nudging his arm lightly.
"Well, I guess you do owe them a thank you," she teased. "Since, you know, they prayed hard enough to make sure you got home safely and all that."
Eilífr said nothing, but she swore she saw his helmet shift ever so slightly—a movement so small that most would've missed it.
A sigh left her lips.
"Alright, alright. I'll get us to Shirley Temple. But I'm gonna need you to do me a favor and not collapse in the cockpit, alright? I just got the Thunderbird rebalanced after the last time you decided to take a nap mid-flight."
Eilífr merely grunted, his version of reluctant agreement.
She couldn't help but grin.
As they reached the hangar, the familiar form of the Thunderbird stood waiting for them—a massive, battle-scarred beast that had been patched up too many times to count.
Icarus ran a gloved hand across the hull, muttering a small "Hey, girl, we're flying again."
She turned back toward Eilífr, watching as he stepped onto the ramp.
Even after all this time, even after everything he'd endured, his presence still demanded respect.
A walking legend.
A survivor against impossible odds.
And yet, as the engines roared to life, as the ramp sealed shut behind them, Icarus couldn't help but think—
Right now?
He was just a man returning to say thank you.