Jorma had clearly had too much to drink. His flushed face hovered far too close for comfort, one arm draped heavily over Alek's shoulder while the other clutched a nearly empty mug of ale. The stench of alcohol wafted from him, sharp and unavoidable. Alek leaned away slightly, his back pressed awkwardly against the corner of the booth. Across from them, Freya sat rigid, arms crossed, watching Jorma with a look that screamed not again.
"Y'know, prince," Jorma slurred, his voice overly loud and philosophical in the way only drunk logic could manage, "I wasn't sure about you before."
Alek frowned. "What?"
Jorma squinted at him, one eye closing entirely as his smirk widened. He looked like he'd just uncovered the secrets of the universe. "Yeah, yeah," he continued, nodding to himself. "Before, you seemed real stuck up. All that stiff posture, those fancy Nytherion manners, and your scythe obsession..."
Alek blinked, unsure whether to be offended or confused. "Uh... thank you? I guess?" he said hesitantly, his lips quirking into a small, awkward smile.
Jorma grinned wider, leaning in so close Alek had to turn his head to avoid a direct collision. "But now? You got... layers, man," Jorma said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, though it was still loud enough to carry across the diner. "Layers. So, I guess... I guess I'll give you a pass."
Jorma suddenly sat up straighter, his grin turning sharper, more mischievous. Alek's stomach sank; he'd seen that look before. "You know what?" Jorma said, his words spilling out faster now, "I was gonna give you some shitty sword to replace that scythe you had, just to see you suffer."
Alek's polite expression dropped, his brow furrowing as his tone turned flat. "Gee, thanks."
"Nah, nah," Jorma said, waving his free hand dismissively. "I like you, princey. I like you." His grin widened again, this time with a wild, unpredictable energy.
Alek tensed as Jorma raised his free hand, the faint glow of dark purple mist curling around his fingertips. The shift in energy was immediate, sharp and unsettling. Alek sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing. "What... are you doing?" he asked cautiously.
Jorma didn't answer. His hand extended, fingers splayed as though gripping something invisible. The air beside him shimmered, a swirling portal of green winds and sparks forming in the space. The winds grew louder, snapping and whirling like a miniature storm.
WHHHHHRRRRRRRR.
Freya's head turned sharply toward the commotion. Around them, several patrons bolted from their tables, the clatter of chairs and hurried footsteps adding to the chaos. Alek glanced at the retreating diners, feeling a mix of embarrassment and unease.
Jorma leaned back, his grin feral now. "I'm feeling generous today," he said, his voice slurred. "Let's make things... interesting."
The portal pulsed as Jorma reached inside, his arm disappearing into the swirling winds. Small bursts of air pressure popped like thunder, causing the table to vibrate slightly.
Alek watched in tense silence as Jorma pulled free not one but two blades. The weapons emerged slowly, their forms distinct, each humming faintly with energy.
The first blade—sleek and curved—gleamed with cyan etchings, its lines flowin. It felt fast, relentless, wild.
The second blade was its opposite. Rigid and practical, with blocky, geometric etchings, its aura was calm and unyielding.
SHHHHK.
Jorma set the blades down on the table in front of Alek, resting the blunt edges against the wood. His grin stretched ear to ear, clearly proud of himself.
"Here you go, Prince of Nytherion," Jorma said. "Two blades. One to strike first..." He lifted the curved blade slightly, letting it catch the light.
"And one to end it," he added, tapping the straight-edged blade on the table with a sharp thunk.
Alek stared down at the weapons, his brows furrowed.
"...Are they cursed?" Alek asked finally, his voice flat.
Jorma tilted his head back and laughed, the sound loud and unapologetic. His mug tilted dangerously close to spilling as he waved a hand in mock disbelief. "Cursed?! Pfft. No, they're not cursed. They're blessed."
Jorma's drunken laughter filled the corner of the diner. His flushed face leaned far too close, one arm slung lazily around Alek's shoulders while the other swirled a mug of ale, its contents dangerously close to spilling. Alek sat stiffly, leaning away as much as he could without falling off the bench. Across from them, Freya sat like a statue, her arms crossed and her sharp green eye fixed on Jorma.
"Careful," Freya said. "Jorma's idea of a 'gift' usually comes with baggage."
Alek's grip on the two blades tightened instinctively. He flipped them once, testing their weight. The movements came easily, as fluid and precise as breathing. They felt... right, balanced in a way that surprised him.
"Yeah," Alek said, his tone dry as he glanced at Freya. "I figured that much."
Jorma grinned wider. He leaned back against the booth, swirling his mug like he'd just discovered a grand secret. "The Blade of Dominance moves like a storm on a bad day," he said, pointing to the curved blade in Alek's hand.
Then he gestured lazily to the second blade. "But the Blade of Restraint? That one holds the whole storm in place."
Alek turned his attention back to the blades. The Blade of Dominance flickered with cyan energy, its glow erratic and wild. The Blade of Restraint, by contrast, was quiet, its stillness almost unnerving.
They feel... balanced, Alek thought, gripping them tighter.
Jorma shifted closer, his grin growing mischievous. He clasped his hands together, leaning forward as his voice dropped into a sing-songy cadence. "Now don't think I gave you these for free, princey."
Alek blinked, his focus snapping to Jorma. "Huh? What do you mean by that?"
Freya let out a quiet sigh but didn't interrupt as Jorma pressed a finger into Alek's chest. "Think of it as an investment," Jorma said. "If you want those blades, you're gonna be my student for a while."
Freya's sharp voice cut in before Alek could respond. "Really, Jorma?" she said. "That's low. You're trying to claim my student?"
"Wait," Alek said, his eyes darting between Freya and Jorma. "What is happening right now??"
Jorma leaned back. "What's wrong with a little good karma, huh?" he said, his voice full of exaggerated sincerity.
Freya groaned quietly and dragged a hand down her face. "He's trying to bind you as a student with magic, Alek," she explained. "Contracts and karma. I'm not about to explain all of it right now, but basically..." She turned to him, pointing with sharp finality. "The stronger you get under Jorma as your 'teacher,' the more he benefits from it. You get power, he gets power. It's a win-win for him."
Jorma tilted his head, resting his chin on his palm with a smirk. "Well, that's a real dumbed-down way of putting it," he said lazily. "But yeah. What she said."
Alek stared at them both, his face blank. "I'm so confused," he said flatly.
Freya waved a hand dismissively, not even looking at him. "Don't worry about it."
Jorma's grin sharpened as he leaned forward again, his voice light but laced with intent. "C'mon, princey. Ain't like it's a bad deal. Power for power, you win, I win. I can't even use them—I don't have an affinity for wind magic. They're just sitting there, wasted on me."
Freya shrugged, leaning back in her chair with a resigned expression. "Whatever. Just so we're clear—it's his decision."
Alek's gaze dropped to the blades in his hands. The Blade of Dominance thrummed faintly in his palm, its cyan glow like a restless breeze. The Blade of Restraint, meanwhile, seemed to steady everything around it, the air unnaturally still.
For a moment, his reflection flickered across the polished surface of Dominance. His grip tightened.
"I'll do it," he said finally, his voice calm and resolute. "I see nothing wrong with it."
Jorma's laugh boomed through the diner as he threw his arm around Alek's back, pulling him forward with an almost bone-crushing enthusiasm. "HAHA! You made the right choice, kid!"
Alek jolted slightly, caught off guard, but he didn't pull away. Across the table, Freya let out a deep sigh, leaning back and rubbing her temple. Her tired muttering barely reached Alek's ears.
"Kids these days..." she grumbled, taking a long sip of her drink.
As Jorma celebrated, Freya's gaze wandered to the smaller table. Her lips twitched into the faintest smile as she watched Arbor talking quietly with Eva, the two of them lost in their own world.