“Myra, can you send for one of the clansmen after the feast? I’ve decided what I wanted to do.”

She was busy cleaning the courtyard after the warriors finished their training. Osias was helping her along with other Ordinaries, even a Path Finder who also wanted to pitch in.

Her ears perked up and she asked:

“So soon?”

“Mm. I cannot rely on the clan any more than I have already. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” He said.

“I would’ve leeched off the clan shamelessly longer.”

“I’m not you.”

It's been almost two months since he first awoke. Since then he's been eating well and sleeping well. And it feels like the seven years of inaction have worn off. In that time he’s been of help to the other Ordinaries, chatting and immersing himself among them. Though he did it with misleading intentions… it would be a lie to say he didn’t feel the warmth of the clan.

‘I’m a fool.’ He frowned to himself as he looked at Myra’s back.

It was a common thought that came many times in the past weeks. It felt as though he was deluding himself into thinking he was a part of the clan. However, through his conversations, he could tell that none of the clansmen had even come close to the southern border to aid in the battle against the Red Sky. And slowly… his reservedness towards Clan Grimm lessened.

Yet through generations of warring against the Tailed Brothers… he couldn’t help but feel as though he was an enemy to them — regardless that they were not the ones the Red Sky directly fought and killed.

Perhaps not the other way around.

Perhaps the fall of the Red Sky left a cold in his soul he so wanted to warm.

They were good people, better than he could’ve ever imagined nor deserved even. It was just a shame that he was a blood-born and that they were vassals of the Tailed Brothers.

Aeron was an honorable man. So Osias knew that his identity could not be revealed because of this honor. It was a precious trait — a boon that saved him, but a curse that separated him as well.

But he couldn’t disregard Kiran. His elder brother was still out there, perhaps in the mist. He didn’t know. He needed information. This bliss cannot last forever.

Osias sighed deeply.

So he came upon a decision, timing it to match just when the company led by Aeron returned once more.

“Then I’ll stay with you for this feast as well,” Myra said, dusting her apron, tired of cleaning.

“It’ll be the last time I can skip work.” She added with a smile.

‘She didn’t even ask me what I’m planning to do… does she think it's my last day here?’

Osias didn’t say anything, leaving her delusions free in the air as they walked back to the familiar room. He’ll break it to her soon.

“You can barely fit through the entrance now.” She noted abruptly.

Osias turned and looked at the opening into the hall that led to the many empty rooms for the wounded. These quarters were always used as a shortcut towards the courtyard if someone was in the far rear of the fortress. It was made to be quite large and passable, but he had to be careful with his head and sides if he didn’t want to brush them against the rugged stone.

“It's because of the cheese you brought me. It might have powers of the milked Path Beast in them.” He responded amusingly.

That earned a slight smile as they walked. But as they continued down the hall, they came upon a familiar man. He was donned in an odd mix of thick heavy armor, but his head was revealed.

‘Ah, it's that man… Henrik of the Second Ordeal.’

“Henrik!” Myra rushed ahead, cutting him to the chase.

“Myra! Still caring for this man?” He greeted her with a warm smile.

“His name is Osias. You’re getting old.” She said as Henrik patted her on the shoulder.

Henrik lifted his chin to face Osias, inspecting him from head to toe.

“Aye. You don’t look like a zealot… you’d make for a mountain brigand.” Henrik exclaimed, laughing to himself.

“I said the same thing!” Myra cut in.

Osias could only bashly smile and he brought a hand to scratch his head.

‘Is it really that bad?’ He wondered to himself before responding:

“Hello, Henrik. Did you just return from another outing? I haven’t seen you since that day you came with the Grand Elder and the clanhead.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Mm,” Henrik responded with a huff. “A few hours ago… I came with the advance party earlier than Aeron and the others in the company. It's good to see you’ve recovered wholly.”

Osias quietly thanked Henrik. It was probably odd for him to see that the once lanky bedridden person now standing taller than everyone else, and wider too.

“Say, do you want to fight for the clan? As a Path Finder?” Henrik abruptly said as he walked closer, once again grabbing his arm and lifting it.

“The Outer Valleys grow more and more treacherous for our clansmen despite not moving in any deeper. More valuable materials to send for the inland, but it’s getting harder. Though we haven’t seen any deaths since… ” Henrik added wistfully.

Osias didn’t need to push to understand what Henrik meant at the end, simply nodding as Henrik’s hand grasped just a little tighter on his arm.

“It was hard to believe you were alive back then. Myra, did anyone tell you what he looked like?”

Myra came to his side and shook her head. Alas, it was also something Osias didn’t like to talk about either… but it wasn’t a secret so he didn’t mind.

“He looked like a rotted corpse, blending into a tree with what little flesh remained. As though roots wrapped all over as the critters bit and gnawed even digging deep into his—”

In the next moment, Myra kicked Henrik in the leg before scolding him:

“Just because no one told me, doesn’t mean you have to! Sorry, Osias, you probably didn’t want to hear this old man babble.”

“I don’t really—”

“Yes, you do! You rub your side whenever you’re tense.” She said, pointing to his… free hand.

“Sorry boy, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“Ah, Henrik, it’s fine.”

Sensing the cumbersome air between them, Henrik quickly apologized to Myra before bidding them off as he continued down the hall towards the courtyard.

‘My sword and vial…’ Osias thought wistfully as he looked at where Myra pointed at.

“That old man!” She huffed grumpily.

“He doesn’t seem that old.” He responded with a small laugh.

“He’s already past his hundredth moon!” She cut back.

Osias raised an eyebrow at that fact, but he didn’t ask further.

“Careful, he’s a Second Ordeal, he could likely hear you.” He said in a whisper.

But Myra continued to voice her complaints even louder.

“Let him hear!”

“Your father and uncle might work harder because of you…” He pointed out as they reached where his room was.

She quickened her pace to sit atop the bed, but Osias didn’t feel like bickering with her as he pulled the polished wooden chair close.

“That’s my bed. Am I caring for you now?”

“If you want.” She said curtly. Osias looked down at her swinging legs.”

‘What does that mean? Is she a little saddened that I’m leaving?’

He smiled to himself. It was a sweet feeling, but he'll tell her before the suspense stretches on for any longer.

“I'm going to ask the clan head if he'll allow me to train and fight alongside the clan.”

Myra looked up at him and her long face stretched into a small smile.

“Really? Was it because of Henrik earlier?”

“No, I was planning it for a long while. I wanted… to pay back Clan Grimm. Help the others in a way. Help you too. I've been living off the clan for so long. Yet I've done nothing in return.”

Myra paused for a while in thought and silence hung in the air.

“I thought you were leaving.” She said quietly.

Suddenly loud joyous yells sounded through the open window — the main company seemed to return and the feast was beginning. Another feast they were missing from.

“I am in a way.” He said as he got up and looked at what little of the returning clansmen he could find from his tight view. Path Finders who fought outside the fortress, towing giant carcasses in the dozens to dismantle later…

Myra replied without turning her head:

“The expeditions! It'll take years for you to be ready for your First Ordeal! You want to start training now?”

Osias laughed amusingly at her worried tone.

“I thought you said I would make a good shieldman. Or a mountain brigand. They're plenty strong aren't they?”

She finally turned her head and Osias found that her face turned long once more. Was the initial worry of him leaving replaced with his well-being?

“But you were bedridden for weeks! Didn’t you say that you think you were… taken by that beast seven years ago?” She said concerningly.

“And? I’d still want to try.” Osias recalled something fitting that Kiran once said, and he showed a confident smile to her:

“I’m hard to kill.”

Silence hung between the two. Myra still hasn’t let go of her anxious face. The dampened sounds of the high-spirited crows and jeers outside that filled the room were dismally overtaken by Myra’s dismay.

“Is something wrong, Myra?” He asked reluctantly.

But all he received in return was a deafening silence. This continued for a long while as Myra looked down. Osias… didn’t know what to say — it felt as though he never did. What was he supposed to do in this situation?

“Do you ever wonder why I stay away from the returning clansmen?”

Osias narrowed his eyes slightly but didn’t say anything.

“I don’t like to see them without my father and uncle.”

“I thought you said they are—”

“They died two years ago.”

He raised his eyebrows as he stood there in silence.

‘Two years ago? Wasn’t that when…’

“Were they a part of that scouting party? The ones who got… enchained like me?”

But Myra shook her head sullenly.

“It wasn’t something like that. They died fighting another beast, a few days earlier than that. Too quick for the Path Finders to heal them. Luckily they didn’t have to… sorry, Osias, I don’t mean it like that.”

Osias understood what she was about to say — that her father and uncle didn’t have to suffer under the Fettered Bournewood as he did.

He sighed deeply before responding:

“It’s fine. I’m sorry I didn’t notice.” He paused briefly and added, “Is that another reason why you didn’t stay for the feasts with them?”

She nodded slowly. It seemed that the dusk had begun to fall as the moonlight melded with the faint lamp mounted in the corner of his room, and an impossibly faint tear sparkled as he looked at her closely.

“Are you worried about me?” He said with a small laugh.

“Don’t make me say it out loud.” She replied with her usual brazen tone.

Her small smile didn’t go unnoticed as well… Osias paused in thought. He didn’t know if what he wanted to say was right, or proper. But he did so anyway.

“I won’t die. I… promise.” He said earnestly.

With that, Myra stood to her feet and gently patted down and dusted her apron. Turning around in her familiar little caper she began to leave, seemingly satisfied with his promise. However, just as she was almost out, she said:

“I’ll go fetch Henrik or someone else. There is not much the clan head does after they return from an outing, so he’ll likely talk to you tomorrow. I’ll be there too.” Myra paused a little, before adding:

“And… thank you, Osias.”

And so she left.

Osias listened intently to the fading echoes of her steps down the hall, and when they were so quiet that they were flushed out by the noises outside he exhaled deeply — without his knowing, he was holding his breath as she left.

He shook his head and crawled to his bed feeling oddly weak.

While the others are working or enjoying the bustling feast he’ll slip into the blissful embrace of sleep early.

He closed his eyes, leaving behind the fleeting view of his window to rest… but something took him aback before he truly slept.

‘It… smells like her.’