From outside his window, the activity in the courtyard turned increasingly busy as they talked. But inside, they shared enough laughs to make them crease… felt some moments that had they not been resting atop a bed, their knees would’ve buckled and felt weak. They talked and talked about the mundane, the serious, and all that lay between. They’d been in each other’s company since the earliest glimpse of daybreak that Osias even asked Myra if she had any duties she needed to attend to, but all she replied with was that the other maids would understand when he announced his return.

Eventually, they did finish, albeit it was because Osias pushed her gently.

“Myra! I need to go to Mance and tell the others.”

“A little longer — it was a year, they’ll understand!”

Osias wanted nothing more than to stay, but they had things to do… and besides, word must’ve spread and it was already late into the day. Mance had likely been waiting for him for hours by now.

“I’m going!” He cried out, but his mind was too weak to force his hands to push her off of him any harder.

“I’m coming with you then.”

“Wha–fine…”

…Eventually, they went along toward the training yard covered in blankets of pure-white snow. The walk there wasn't long, but they had to take a detour for Myra to get appropiately dressed for the weather.

There, Ordinaries and First Ordeals alike trained outside regardless of the cold, and slowly as Myra and he continued closer to where he met Mance for the first time, he heard a piercingly loud voice that cut through the winter winds.

“Osias, boy!” A rough voice reminiscent of grating steel.

There in his dark mismatched armor stood Mance, armed to the teeth, standing stoically like a sentry of winter.

“It’s been a long time, Mance,” Osias said with a small smile as he came before Mance with Myra in tow.

Mance raised a small eyebrow at the thickly dressed Myra who donned a furlined brown coat — Osias thought she looked like a round bundle of warmth under the white sky as snow speckled the top of her head.

“You aren’t cold?” Mance asked at the lightly dressed Osias.

Osias didn’t change his attire despite Myra’s complaints, chalking it up to his disposition as a Path Finder… and he didn’t forget to tease her a little with his new status too.

“No… you know how resilient my body is.”

“Right, right, how could I forget,” Mance replied with a grin. “Well… the first I wish to know was why it took you so long. It’s rare to find someone undertaking an Ordeal for a year. How long was it inside?”

Wearing a pensive face, Osias replied:

“Three. Three long years.”

Mance’s brows raised in surprise at his answer bringing a hand to his chin in thought:

“Three? That’s… an oddity. But alas, you’ve returned. I won’t ask you about your Ordeal Ability, but still… that centipede around your eye must be new. I don’t recall such a wicked thing etched on your face.”

“That’s what I said too!” Myra interjected excitedly from behind the bristles of her fur-lined coat.

“It’s… another thing I’ve obtained from my Ordeal. I didn’t think my appearance would change, but here I am.”

“I see, but what brought you here to me?”

“I wanted to spar in a mock battle — with you. There’s no one else amongst the clansmen who I’d like to exchange with than you, even those atop the walls.” Osias said, eyeing far past Mance towards the Path Finders who observed and guarded the fortress.

Suddenly at his request, Mance’s lips curled into a proud smile.

“Confident?”

“Very much so… three years are nothing to scoff at.”

“Bah, let us get on with it. It’s been a while since I’ve fought anyway… I’ll accept. We’ll use Ordinary weapons… we don’t have many First Ordeals in spare anyway. Though, I don’t think those would be enough for you anyway.” Mance said, his lasting words accented with an odd and probing tone.

“And Myra… come with us. You don’t have to stand outside in the cold, me and Osias will be sparring inside the training hall.”

“Thank you, Mance.” She said through jittering teeth, already waddling towards the training hall under her heavy layers.

Eventually, Mance barked something towards the dozens in training, something somewhere between an order and a threat before he followed Myra and led Osias towards the grand training hall.

Their steps trudged through and left marks on the snow beneath their feet, following the smaller steps in front of them.

“I could be having them train inside… but you know that strength doesn’t arrive with comfort. Not now… the clan needs them to be strong.” Mance said as they watched Myra hopped and skipped merrily towards the indoors.

Osias hummed in agreeance, sighing at the display in front of them.

“The war?”

“Aye, did Myra, or Tsor, the guard overseeing those undergoing an Ordeal tell you?”

“Mm, it was Myra who did. I think the clan head decided right… it wouldn’t be right for these people to fight against others. I haven’t seen much of the company that harvests Path Beasts outside, but I can’t imagine they’re much different aside from strength and experience. The clan head wishes to spare them from the reaches of this grand war, correct?”

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Mance looked back at Osias, his armor creaking from the cold.

“...Aeron is a kind soul, something different from the previous heads of Clan Grimm from what I know. But it’s welcome — his choice on the matter as well. Had he not chosen to remain out here in these wastelands and chose to follow the attacks on the Crest Lands, I would’ve…”

But then his face turned a little distant and long before adding:

“I think it’s right to tell you more about Clan Grimm. You’re a Path Finder of our clan now as well…”

Osias’s ears perked up, noticing the odd change in tone from Mance.

“Myself, along with many of the older Second Ordeals fought alongside Aeron against a formidable foe… this was almost thirty years ago.”

‘Still in the Century of Blood…’ Osias noted.

“Aeron achieved his Third Ordeal one day, a great feat and boon for the clan had it been under better times. He finally reached the level of strength needed for the previous clan to hand down the mantle to a great vassal Clan in such turbulent times under the rule of the Tailed Brothers.”

‘A Great vassal, not a lesser vassal?’ Osias picked up the distinction but didn’t voice his curiosity.

“In this time… there was a certain mountain clan that rose to power, once a smaller independent faction that found employ under the Tailed Brothers. I believe they joined the tailed ones in attacking the South, against those blood fiends.”

Osias's face twitched ever so faintly at the mention of his people, but Mance didn’t notice.

“They were called Half-Moon Clan, headed by a particularly powerful Third Ordeal whose might could rival that of a Fourth Ordeal — an incredibly rare feat. Although this leader, Vorin of the Crescent Axe was in the great graces of the Tailed Brothers for his valor in the battles to the South, his people weren’t accepted… pushed to the very ends of the Tailed Brother’s territories, practically forced to live in the Outer Valleys upon their return from battling the blood fiends.”

“But dissent and defiance rose both in Vorin and his people. More deaths came from residing so far in the Outer Valleys than from the battles against the Red Sky. Believing in his strength, Vorin wagered his odds against the Tailed Brothers, threatening to aid the Red Sky. A fool he was, in my opinion… but a commendable one. He was too brash in his approach, especially considering his origins and their standing as simply a faction employed by the Tailed Brothers, not true vassals..”

Mance lingered for a few moments, and then he continued:

“They marked one of the many others whose deaths were called for upon Atlan’s and Arslan’s bloody clasps over their territories, ushering in their control as one of the Three Factions. The order came to us, the nearest great vassal under the Tailed Brothers, and a Third Tail proctor was sent to our mountain city’s gates that day. I remember it well… I just achieved my Second Ordeal and was to fight against a clan who rallied and united bandits and brigands alike.”

“Clan Grimm’s previous head was a Fourth Ordeal… and the Grand Elder you came to know was the same one that advised both the previous head and Aeron. Together the three of them undertook the order and led our great vassal clan and rode for the Half-Moon Clan. Followed by the Third Tail Procter… I’ll spare you the details, but many lives were lost. Mainly from those under Vorin, but enough from Clan Grimm died in the fighting enough to lose our status of being a great vassal clan despite our history.”

Slowly down to face Osias’s pensive face, Mance’s eyes lowered and his glare twisted to a deep scowl, lines of anger etched on his skin.

“As we beheaded Vorin… the Procter commanded us to kill them all as well — all the united tribes and mountain clans that banded under Vorin. Women, children, infants, all of them. We resisted, but the Third Tail Procter demanded it. But that was the line our previous head couldn’t cross, and when our disagreements turned violent, the Third Tail struck our previous head in anger. We butchered the Third Tail and harbored the remaining people in our mountain city.”

“...But the ire of several Fourth Ordeals, much less just a single one is much more frightening than you’d imagine. I myself was raised hearing the tales of the brothers born from fire. Atlan, the one who embraced the flames and scorched the mountains… and Arslan the one who snuffed the fire, never to be burned again.“

“However, they never came… it was only the Grand Warden of the Wall, an old friend of our Clan Grimm who came rather than the other Fourth Ordeals. But he came bearing unfortunate news… that Atlan and Arslan called for the death of our previous head along with every adult we harbored into shelter and safety, only leaving the infants too young to remember such a tragedy.”

“Since that day, Clan Grimm’s been much weaker, and I once thought Aeron decided to save you because of your appearance… an attempt at making things right.”

“Do I look like this… Vorin?”

“Aye, you do. Your stature and tattoos, but I’ve been told that your tattoos are different… they all seem the same to my eyes.” Mance chuckled, opening the gate to the training hall.

“But the reason I’m telling you this tale of old is to let you know that Clan Grimm abhors war against men… you’re well fit for our clan if you agree with Aeron’s sentiments and decision upon the Three Faction war.”

Shaking off the snow that blanketed his head and tunic, Osias traced Mance’s gaze towards Myra climbing the stairs to the second level of the training hall.

“Hey, Mance? What you get by being fit for the clan, you don’t mean…”

“Well, boy? Aren’t you going to wed her?”

Osias’s face twitched and he felt a thick lump welling behind his throat.

“I…Myra? We–”

“She’s smitten for you, boy. I don’t know how you’ve charmed her so, but anyone can see it. Her face pitifuly sad and disheartened over the last year, yet hopeful. You shouldn’t waste your chance with such a caring girl.”

“I… Thank you, Mance, you’re right.”

The way to the training hall wasn’t long, obviously because it wasn’t far from where the clansmen trained, and as they entered, Mance led him towards a familiar rack of spare weapons all cleanly hung up and organized.

Many weapons shone with menacing glares and glints under the bright torches that lined the training hall.

“You like heavier arms if I recall…” Mance said wistfully, his hands brushing along the rows of assorted weapons before clutching the hilt of a well-forged and balanced single-edged long sword.

“Mm. Though anything Ordinary wouldn’t be close to heavy as I am now. But you… I don’t mind if you use any of the weapons you have latched against your body and armor.”

“Worrying about me now, boy?” Mance laughed out, walking to one end of the great stoen training hall, his eye trailing the small figure of Myra who was lurching over the rails that overlooked the training hall.

…Osias decided on a great sword — though it wasn’t as monstrously oversized and broad as the one he was familiar with in the Ordeal.

“Unweildy choice regardless, Osias.”

Osias shrugged in response, walking to his end of the hall.

“Don’t worry about tearing up and breaking this hall… it was made long ago by the previous head of Clan Grimm when we were stronger and more plentiful. Made for Second Ordeals to fight and train without worry.”

Brandishing his great sword, Osias reared it to his side like he’d done so many times before.

“A part of getting older is living with regret, yet not allowing it to consume you. The older you are, the more mistakes you’ve made, opportunities you’ve missed, people you’ve disappointed… and disappoint yourself as well. And every day you’ll remind yourself to be better, and forgiving of yourself. Accept what you’ve done, and what’s been done. Move on, live your life proud, knowing now as old as you feel today, you’ll never be this young again.”

Mance let the silence linger between them and in the next moment, he whispered under his breath.

“She’ll never be this young again.”