“What do you see?” Daito asked for what seemed like the ninetieth time. Tyr saw the same thing as he always did when the question was asked. Wolves, and there were a lot of them. Uncountable wolves filling a field of nothing, all colors – even unnatural hues of blues and purples. An vast aurora and blizzard above, the wolves running through it in a storm of furred flesh.
The mirror was just a bad translation of introspection of a core state. That thing that was apparently inside of everyone of a specific level of power necessary to glimpse upon their dao. A waking dream of sorts, a lucid glimpse of the self, looking through the gates within them.
In his worlds language, it was almost identical to the process people took to identify an arcanum before drawing it out – and the people capable of doing that were extremely rare. Daito was forcing Tyr to undergo a very unnecessary ritual, clouded in mystery and intrigue and superstition. Tyr would have said unnecessary, but he'd never seen nor felt his literal soul so intimately. Weak and calm enough under the water mana to be peered through, rather than just a wild mass of spira. There was something beneath akin to a window, and his...
“It's full of wolves. I don't know, they are just standing there now, staring at me.”
Daito pondered this information again. If there was a 'dao of wolves', he'd never heard of it – but he doubted that very highly. If anything, Tyr might have a dao of the pack or community. it wasn't the dao of the hunt or a predator dao. Not a beast or martial dao either, his was spiritual, linked to emotion specifically. “I don't know what it is, but we'll start the next step. Instead of asking you what you see, I'll begin by asking you what you feel.”
“A great burden. Deja vu, like I've been here before hundreds of times and I'm stuck in a loop of attempting to do the impossible.” Tyr said, it was foreboding and incredibly dark in there, all the space between those wolves was black, punctuated only be the lines that connected them all – and those were thin enough as to barely exist. “I don't want to do this, Daito, this is uncomfortable. All of those wolves are afraid of something, something else outside of the mirror. I can't see it, but it can see me.”
“Well it's not the dao of fear.” Daito replied calmly, bouncing some ideas around in his head. “That would be plenty obvious in the way that you act, which is many things but not with any sort of self preservation in mind. What element are your bonds to these reflections composed of?”
“Fire. Or light. It's hard to tell, maybe both?” Tyr said.
“All elements are natural parts of the balance, if you see both it can only be a good thing. Do you feel anything else?”
“Love. All of the wolves love one another and everything they do, a purely platonic solidarity... For the greater whole, but mostly for...”
“...For?”
“For me.” Tyr replied, feeling sick to his stomach. “Everything they do is for me. They are begging me to notice them, they are defined by their need to commune with me, they want to speak to me but I can't hear them.”
Daito felt fortunate that Tyr couldn't see his eyes widen, but it was enough for now. “That's enough. Go ahead and close it.”
“I can't.” Tyr said, he was shaking. He tried to withdraw from the space, but before he'd been able to, the wolves had turned to look off into the distance, snarling. Howling. More and more of them joining the chorus of voices until they'd sounded little different than the whipping winds of a hurricane. “There's something coming.” He whispered. “I can feel it.”
Daito sighed before letting his shamisen land on the boys temple. Pulling his limp body from the water and marching off with him over one shoulder. Despite the temperature of a water originating from a vein of frost enriched iron, he was incredible warm. Drying almost instantly, leaving no moisture behind, such was the heat of Tyr's body.
There were emotion specific dao but they were the rarest of them all. Man, and Daito doubted even the primus', could understand emotion so intimately as to actively control it. Emotion, like sentient thought, was exceptionally hard to truly understand, far too complex and nuanced.
They were also weak, which was why few people ever tried. No amount of emotion in the world could equal a dao of natural law, but some people still attempted to find them. Most of the time, they became corrupted, infected by the yao. Things of emotion were inherently sinful, the emotions of sentient creatures was a force powerful enough to create gods, and men couldn't handle that. It was power spiritual, not physical, the ultimate form of strength and yet impossible to use. The proverbial two ton sword, of sorts.
For the same reason that alterations to memory were restricted magic in all known kingdoms, so was the development of emotional dao is Daito's own clan. Erase one childhood memory, or remove one specific emotion from a person, and that person died – becoming something else. Oftentimes, something monstrous. Memories and emotions made thinking beings what they were and toying with them was extremely dangerous. Removing them was no different than suicide.
It would have to be enough for now, Tyr had obviously felt it – quite potently, too. Daito could feel the energy around him, the spira loved the primus' more than all races save one – and they manifested it in unique ways. Tyr had begun doing it, twice now. It was different than requesting a thing from the world, as the songs of reflection did. It was the world itself looming over an individual, watching them. The world was a playful thing, it would dance and sing along with all the living things that patterned its surface, but it could also be dark. Violent, even. Such was the balance, and Tyr was twisting its will to his own in the strangest of ways. If he ever got a grip on it... Well, that would certainly be interesting, but it couldn't possibly happen.
Thus far, Daito was still not sure what dao Tyr leaned toward – but he damn well wouldn't kill a boy simply for existing. Even if the elders had asked him to. If shardlings even used dao at all, there was some conjecture on this point. Varinn had taught Tyr its ways, if not bothering to explain fully, and the boy was following the path. But there were others paths out there, and Tyr was following them to, even if he didn't know it.
–
Tyr remained hard at work, and Valkan too. Things were better in this environment, among the anvils and bellows. The roaring forges with their maws burning white hot, scorching their skin with the heat. Things were simpler with focus. Tyr pondered on this concept, the concept of focus and how his mind felt quieter when he was making something. He operated on instinct, but it was cool instinct – not full of anger or any negativity, everything was given toward a very specific purpose. Bend and beat the steel, refine the steel, quench the steel. Beat it again, temper it, grind and polish, methodically working through the steps and smiling as he worked. The sparks no longer hurt him, he'd played with a cherry red bit of melted sizzling into his skin and felt no pain, until his shirt and apron was riddled with holes and he was unbothered. So lost in his work that he only heard the small voice yelling at him from the door after several repetitions of his name.
“I don't know how many times I have to tell you that you don't need to hit the metal so hard.” Valkan chided, catching the hammer as it fell and raising an eyebrow at the surprising amount of force. “It's already done up good enough. In any case... Are you going to answer the tiny human girl, or shall I?”
“Huh?”
“Big brother!” The voice cried loudly and quite happily from the sound of it. Stella, the little girl from before. There was a outfitters shop nary a block away that Tyr had owned for some time now – and that is where her family worked. Her mother and father joined her today, visiting him in the forge reluctantly at their daughters behest. “I was calling for you. Are you busy?”
Her father, Reginald – stared apologetically at Tyr. He no longer looked at the man with abject fear, but some was still a healthy amount present in his gaze. The mother, on the other hand, looked more agitated than anything. As if daring him to voice why he'd do something as cruel as ignore their beloved daughter. Strange attitudes for a pair of 'employees', but they were good parents and that was all he wanted from them.
Hanging it on the wall of his soul like a piece of artwork to stare at, if only to remind him of what a real family should look like. Something he'd never gotten, but he didn't envy them, it was a window to something else, some kind of wholeness.
Jura sat where she always did, cleaning her gear meticulously at a work station with her eyes where she could watch Tyr and ensure he was doing well. She was very protective, but also observant, lest other predators come to claim what was hers. A woman had almost been beaten flat at a local eatery when pushing too close to him, proving just how poorly adjusted Jura was in her freedom.
In any event...
Tyr marched across the forge, aggressively and dramatically. He had a stormy look on his face, enough to cause 'Reggie' to release his daughter and back away shaking – earning a punishing look from his wife, who's quick hand caught Stella's own before she could run amok. Only, Tyr didn't rebuke them, kneeling instead. His knee hit the ground with an audible thump, shocking them to their core. And more than just them, the others in observance more familiar with his character were taken aback by the display.
This incredibly proud man who constantly espoused Harani values, who claimed to have never kneeled to anyone in his life, 'not even a god', had just done so. No hesitation whatsoever, no nervousness, it seemed so natural again.
“My lady.” Tyr said to Stella, his eyes boring into her own with great intensity, and a sincerity to match. “Will you do me the greatest favor and forgive my rudeness.”
Stella held out her hand imperiously and waited for him to kiss it as if she was a queen. Jura laughed raucously as Tyr took the little girls hand in his own and did as was expected, pecking her on the hand. What a show it always was when the little girl arrived. “You are forgiven, Lord Tyr.” Stella said, holding back the giggles.
Tyr gave an exaggerated sigh of relief, looking like a man facing a death sentence before being suddenly and unexpectedly pardoned for his crimes. At that, she erupted into bright laughter. The laughter of a child, there was that light again, like a sun. Tyr had been stalking the barren north that were his insides for so long, and the heat he felt now was so alien to him, he needed that more than anything else. “How can I serve on this auspicious eve, my lady?”
Stella smiled brightly, offering him a wooden box which he took graciously. “You're very silly, big brother.”
“Only for you.” He winked. Jura always liked seeing their interactions. The man who seemed so ready and able to bash a persons skull in giving so much face to a child, becoming a goofy caricature of his normal self... He was gentle and kind. It made her wonder what he would be like when they had children of their own, some orc warriors were the same. Her chieftain had been a menacing, terrifying orc, a warrior with a thousand notches in his blade, but always he would be surrounded by the children. Spoiling them, teaching them, ensuring they were safe with a lunacy of his own.
“How are things at the shop going? Any troubles?” Tyr asked, his gaze remained relaxed. He liked Reggie and Beth, no reason not to – they were about as close to 'good people' as one could get. Honest, forthright, and kind to strangers. Performing as best they could at every request he made, and always looking after their daughter with a great deal of care. Which wasn't easy, given that Stella was an incredibly mischievous child. And unnervingly strong for a girl so young, Beth insisted that their daughter was gifted by the gods, whatever god that was – they'd never been particularly religious to earn such a blessing.
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“Yes sir!” Reggie stammered loudly. “Stella insisted that she see you to present a gift.”
“A gift?” Tyr frowned. Not his hard frown that indicated confusion or displeasure, but a silly frown of mock surprised, eyebrows raised dramatically. “I am so fortunate. I am ready to accept this gift of yours, Lady Stella.” He took the box from the little girls hands and opened it, brows furrowing in observation of the contents.
Inside were several uneven balls of mud, packed hard and tight. “I will treasure these for as long as I live...?” Tyr said anxiously. He wasn't sure what to say, or what the purpose of these things was. It wasn't what he'd expected, in any case, but then again what sort of gift could he expect of a young child barely out of her toddler years?
Stella's bottom lip began quivering and in response, Tyr felt a visceral doom grip his innermost parts – panicking at the grave error he'd just made. “You don't like it...?” She asked, looking like she might cry at any moment.
“I love it!” Tyr cried enthusiastically, and he was completely honest. Jura could always tell, Tyr was a terrible liar and had an easy tell, even when he tried to fib. “Nobody has ever given me a gift like this before!”
Perhaps a bit too easy to tell the truth in this case, he really never had been given... Six balls of mud...?
Stella's expression brightened at that, giggling and clapping in satisfaction. “I thought you might be hungry after working all day, so I've brought you supper! Father says a good wife must always be prepared to ensure the stomach of her man is full.”
“Stella...!” Reggie hissed.
Beth chuckled, waving her husband off. They were commoners, town folk and frontiersmen, whereas Tyr was a royal and a primus. Some might take offense to the insinuation, but Tyr had a very blunt personality, he wasn't like that. “You'll understand, a young girl like that is bound to take fancy to her hero.”
“Hmm.” Tyr raised an eyebrow at that, ignoring them.
A meal...? He stared at the balls of mud curiously, taking one in hand and biting into it. The texture wasn't anything to write home about. It was a ball of mud... Still, he managed to get through all six in short order before patting his stomach in contentment and smiling at Stella. It was surprisingly good, for mud, but it did leave an uncomfortable film around his mouth that he washed down with some tepid water from his canteen.
Stella... Who stared at him in abject wonder at the sight of what he'd just done.
“...You just ate dirt.” She said, blatantly mystified and obviously concerned for his well-being. “You're not supposed to eat the dirt...”
“Why not?” Tyr asked curiously. Genuine, too. “You made it for me, for my supper – remember? What else was I supposed to do?”
“You're supposed to pretend to eat it...” Stella said, finger raised and face all scrunched up in awe at the bizarre scene unfolding in front of her. “Like papa does...”
“Oh... Well...” Tyr cleared his throat, currently full of the same mud he'd just shoved into it all haphazardly. “You know what? This isn't weird, okay?” He wasn't addressed Stella in particular, but everyone else in the room. “If a kid makes me a meal out of mud, I'm going to eat the mud. And I'll be damned if that's not the best meal I've ever had! Stella.”
“...” It would've been hard to put to page the look on Jura's face, but Valkan's was even worse. Stretching his lips horizontally until they became a perfectly flat line, his eyes almost closed, squinted. Tyr was... Full of surprises, always, it was never dull around that boy.
Tyr looked toward the little girl, his gaze hard but sincere as always. “Thank you so much for your gift. If you make any more, I'll eat those too, all the mud and rock in the whole world. Forever, but just for you.”
Stella, still mystified, nodded slowly. “Um... I probably won't, but okay...” And then, her eyes brightened in realization of something. “You're going to play in the games!”
“I sure am.” He nodded calmly.
“Do you think you will win?” Stella asked, wide eyed. To her, Tyr was her greatest hero, a giant that towered above all others. Someone who made the bad things go away, saving her family. She wasn't so young as to not understand the concept of loss, and old enough to realize that he'd bled and struggled for them. What she didn't know, Beth and Reggie had told her, repeating the story of their 'rescue' every single night until she finally went to sleep.
Her uncles and aunts were all dead now, and she'd processed that in the way a child might. A child who'd been forced to grow, watching as her neighbors were slaughtered.
Tyr had arrived when she'd been half starved and had given them a life, fed them. Her mother and father, despite their reticence to address him directly, talked about him constantly – singing his praise to anyone who would listen. Tyr had even gone so far as to mentor Reginald personally, commissioning hundreds of items through their shop. In essence, making Reggie himself a minor celebrity in the city. And now, they had all the money, food and toys they could possibly wish for. Tyr was family to them, in her eyes, in all their eyes. Reggie feared him, but Beth loved him for what he'd done, he was not the monster others claimed. Just a bit different than a normal person might be, and what primus wasn't?
“What do you want me to do?” Tyr was hard again, hard like he was with the adults, but Stella didn't back away as they might. Steadfast and even, with steel in his gaze.
“I hope you win.” She said meekly. “Just don't get hurt, okay?”
“I will win.” Tyr nodded curtly. “I swear it. I might get hurt, but that's what adults do – Stella. We try and work real hard to make sure that bright ones like you don't have to. Just like your father who works so hard to make sure you're well cared for. Treasure him, and love him. Fathers like that are hard to come by. Like you, he is one of my closest friends.”
“My lord...” Reggie choked in emotion, feeling the warmth of brotherhood filling his heart, but Tyr ignored him. His focus was on the girl, and it wouldn't leave her until she was satisfied with her visit.
There was something else, too, but only Valkan could see it. Tyr's spira had begun to stoke itself until he'd begun burning like those forges, giving the Anu in the room the impression that he was a dense ball of chains slowly unraveling to connect with everyone else. He stared at the chain for a moment, it was a thing he could not resist, though he didn't need to. It was gentle, warm, and full of an equitable promise, something... Symbiotic?
Once again leaving him wonder what, exactly, Tyr was.
Stella nodded, back to that imperious facsimile of herself. “I command you to win, and I command you to tell everyone that Stella is the best and prettiest girl in the republic at the end of the games.”
Tyr's eyes were full of a conviction that neither Jura nor Valkan had ever seen before, not in him or in any man sans the few paladins they'd interacted with. More serious that they'd seen him even in life or death situations. He stared at Stella with unabashed devotion, nodding. “I swear on all the gods that I will not let you down.”
With that, the chains became real enough for Valkan to literally feel them, swarming around this girl. As grisly as the imagery conjured up by that word, 'chains', they were not shackles to those around him. It was one sided, as if this tiny human girl was casting a spell, and not the man kneeling in front of her, he was the one bound, not the reverse.
Stella was satisfied, back to giggling and doing some bizarre jig. The strange things that children did, her entire body vibrating in the energetic outburst. Beth and Reggie nodded in respect, aware that Tyr did not like to be bowed or knelt to – after many 'corrections' to their behavior.
I can feel it. Tyr was fit to bursting himself, but not in a bad way. Everything inside of him was filled with steel, a raw conviction to rip and tear at anything and everything that came within arms reach of that girl with violent intent. Was that love? Whatever the case, he'd never desired anything more than living for that promise he'd made. It faded ever so slightly when they'd left, but it did not leave him. It was almost like... Stella was his aspect. She was the root of it, at the very least, he'd never felt it so close to him than now. His flaws were smoothed, polished away until he was left shining on the inside. Any consideration of shame or regret paled in comparison to that feeling.
If this was his aspect, that thing lording over him and forcing him into submission, it didn't feel so wrong in the moment. Tyr was happy to serve... He'd do anything to obtain that sensation again.
Reggie and Beth their daughter home with bright smiles, swinging her between their arms and listening to her ramble on about how great her 'big brother' was. Feeling incredible blessed, especially in the case of the teary eyed Reggie who swore to work even harder at his craft to honor his patron. The one who had given him so much, even sending a master dwarf to aid in his education. Hogan was an unkind and irascible master, but he was wise and reliable.
Tyr felt a strong hand grip his arm and drag him from the forge. Valkan pursed his lips, shaking his head slowly before cracking a smile, dragging the still hot blade from the quenching oil to finish Tyr's latest project. Better to do it now than let it sit. Almost laughing at how much the boy had changed, even if that same boy didn't want to admit it. That constantly angry young man, naive and childish, full of misplaced wrath.
His violence had not cooled, but perhaps it had been given purpose. A warrior's duty was sacred, this could only be a good thing.
Mikhail and Fennic remained in the gathering space, every member of their 'team' was assembled there, rolling dice or relaxing. What they called 'training'. They bent low over their mugs with mischievous eyes as Jura dragged Tyr forcibly through the room. Two rooms and far too many eyes later, he found himself slammed against an armoire, staring into Jura's deep eyes. Before he could even speak, their mouths met and he could feel the heat of the emotion roiling in her. Coiled up like a cat, full of tension and warmth, but it was... Illusory, romantic, lustful and clouded by desire. Not impure, it was genuine, a truth, but it was murky and... Weak.
“I love you.” Jura said, irrefutably confident in the exclamation, unlike before. “I don't know if you love me, truly, and I don't care. I just wanted you to know that.”
In the strangest way, he reminded her so much of her own mother.
He smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face and behind her ear. “I know. And I know what you're about to ask... But I can't. Not yet.”
“I understand.” Jura whispered. Her eyes were filled with longing, but simple lust. She had changed so much in the time that he'd known her, revealing an incredibly sensitive, appreciative, and affectionate woman. Nurturing in all the right ways, if a bit possessive. Someone who brought him meals when he'd forgotten to eat and always asked toward his well being. Someone who made him sleep, sometimes – at least. And he genuinely enjoyed their nights – even when they weren't physical with one another. Which most times, they were. Violent, too, leaving his back aching for quite some time after despite his ability to heal. Every time, he felt a tiny spark of him disappearing into her, but couldn't understand the significance. Like she was devouring him, and he continued to give because it made him feel like he was a part of something greater, their bond meant far more to him than something as simple as lovers. “But I'd really like to, I think you'd be a good father.”
“There...” Tyr wanted to lecture her on how poor a father he would be, before exhaling in exhaustion. “One day. I will, one day. After we are officially married in full view of the church. And I'll try to be, for you and our daughters.”
That was the 'law', their expectations. A primus could not have a child unless they wanted one, wanted 'to accept the gift from the gods'. Tyr and Jura had slept together so many times, and yet she showed no sign of it, something Jartor had made him aware of. A primus wanted to want a successor, that's why so many of them only birthed daughters for so long. It was almost diabolical, that admission, considering Jartor now had two male children. Perhaps it was all a lie, Tyr didn't really care, he'd looked his only true brother in the eyes and seen the purity there. A worthy prince.
Perhaps Tyr was sterile, or perhaps their biology was not compatible, he'd believed in that rule of theirs and hadn't exactly been 'safe' with her. But on the reverse side, he'd spent a great deal of time focusing on eliminating the chance. It just couldn't be perfect, and more than a few times, out of raw curiosity, he hadn't.
Orcs were incredibly fertile, which was worth noting – and their breeding cycle was shorter than humans. It wasn't about love, or emotion, but some biological imperative. Even so, he was careful, not to want, at least. A bastard primus was a fel thing, and Jartor had been explicit in his instruction throughout Tyr's life. Without the blessing of the church, a thing could not be. Whether it was a power play or an actual omen, he didn't know. Didn't care, again, not in a situation like this, caught between his contradiction of thought and action.
It was better to be more safe than sorry, and he sincerely doubted the world was ready for any child raised by him with the kind of power their kind wielded.
Tyr didn't hate himself, not anymore, but he wasn't fixed. Soon he would overcome this infirmity of the spirit, and that was when he'd be ready.