“Man, this is so cool.” Micah laughed in excitement. Strutting around with his arms held wide at his sides as Sigi watched on with a soft smile. Brenn's face rested firmly in his hands, wondering what kind of mischief Micah would get up to now that he could walk. They'd never found a way to help him heal after all of their effort, his legs and spine were too far gone. But Sigi was an incredible talent at engineering, and she had designed an alternative.

Micah grinned, on the verge of tears with how much this meant to him. She'd been at it, laboring over this project for years now – always promising. Showing what kind of person she was in the keeping of that oath. Even if it was just to try her best, she had, and now he was capable of standing tall alongside all of the others. 'Tall' being a relative term, considering Brenn was practically a giant.

Micah wasn't one to project self pity, and had accepted his lot after all the time that had passed. But he'd always been sad, feeling so small. Now... He didn't feel so pitiful anymore, full of pride in both himself and the friend who had done this for him.

“For the lower braces - Pneumatic Integrated Stepping System.” Sigi replied. “It's two components, the control harness is Braced Articulating Body Yoke.”

“...P.I.S.S.B.A.B.Y...?” Micah sounded it out, looking at her with skepticism in his eyes. “Piss... Baby? What the hell, Sigi?”

“You are my little piss baby.” Sigi laughed aloud, and Brenn couldn't hold it in either. Micah was always whining about something, or more appropriately – asking her to carry him to the bathroom with a dumb grin at he mashed his head into her breasts. She didn't mind, it was what it was.

There was also the several dozen confessions of love to her, but Micah did it with all the others, too – Sigi was just the most consistent target of his affections. The most present, at least. She would laugh, whereas Alex had pulled a weapon on him, and Astrid had smiled and professed her desire to skin him alive, all while grinning so daintily. He feared them both a great deal, whereas Sigi opted to politely say 'no'. That's what a normal woman should do... Right?

“I don't like that.” Micah pouted. “It's got to have a cool name. Like... Titan Harness Mk. V. Right?” He looked toward Brenn, but his oldest friend was still doubled over in wild laughter. “Please! Oh, Alex! Thank the gods... Wait, maybe not...” Micah thought to ask Alex for help, but among all their friends – she was by far the least friendly. They were on good enough terms, but... “Uh...?”

Brenn stood up with a thunderous expression and started marching over to her, caught by the arm and bodily tossed back into his chair by Sigi. The comedy completely gone from his countenance, staring at the man Alex was dragging through the doorway to their suite. She was covered in sweat and had clearly been laboring quite some time in bringing him here.

“I'm assuming there's a good reason for this...?” Sigi said with a raised eyebrow.

“Dear fuck, ten ducklings dancing on my sweaty ass!” Micah cried aloud, making a retching noise and doubling over. Testing those new braces to their fullest extent which managed to keep him upright. “What in the raw dogged and thrice dicked troll--”

“Micah!” Brenn snarled at him angrily. “Watch your language around the ladies.”

“Sorry...”

“Still...” Brenn sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose. “What is that awful smell. Sweet Vestia above I feel close to retching. Did you dig him out a sewer...?”

“What's wrong with him?” Sigi asked, prodding him with her boot. Tyr was weeping some foul black liquid and shaking in the clutches of some fever. He smelled like... She didn't know how to describe it, but it was acrid and vile in a way natural things shouldn't be. Like burnt mechanical grease and liquid ass mixed in a bottle and left in the sun for days on end. She waved her hand to cover him in the dust all around the rented workshop and get rid of some of that odor – frowning. “My magic won't work...?”

“Mine won't either.” Alex panted. “Every time I try to cast a spell it fails to initiate. Can you help me take him to his room? He's heavier than he looks, even with enchantment I can barely carry him.”

“Mmm...” Sigi nodded, lifting Tyr by the waist in a display of strength, violently shouldering him like a sack of potatoes. Alex had intended to help, but Sigi was the independent sort. Asking for no further directions as she began to stalk off and out of the room.

“What happened to Tyr?” Micah asked in concern. “Is he okay?”

“I...” Alex frowned. All of the girls had made a very public pact never to speak to him again, and then Astrid had sneaked back into their quarters with a mischievous smile on her face. And then... Tyr had showed up out of nowhere to pull her out of an unfortunate situation and she'd played along like a damn fool. Feeling sick and disgraceful in the process. Tyr had done more than just leave them, he'd done other – worse things. Irresponsible things, things Iscari had lied about, but Alex knew better.

He was a war criminal, a mass murderer, as evil a man as men could be. And even if he hadn't meant to, when faced with the truth, he didn't care.

“I'm going to go bathe. Bye.”

–

“...Ugh. You smell awful.” Sigi sighed, making sure to hit Tyr's aggravatingly attractive head off every corner and the frame of every door on the way. People looked on in interest, but quickly backed away from the odor. Tyr was not inconspicuous without a head covering, in any case. They knew exactly who he was, and Sigi was displeased at the idea that this would add even further 'clout' to what Micah called the idiots 'legend'. “I guess you're not awake though, so I've really just been talking to myself. You swine.”

She carried him without stopping through the door of his own suite, where she knew he'd been staying the entire time. Bouncing back and force on the idea of kicking the door down and bashing his skull in at one point or another.

No death or permanent injury, no question of legality.

It was his greatest asset to her over all others. There was nobody present currently, much to her chagrin. She would have liked to see the look on his new wife's eye when she saw her carrying Tyr like a child. Orcs were supposed to be strong, but Sigi had yet to test herself against them. She gravitated away from blind violence and toward more productive goals in her adulthood, but she still favored a good fight.

His room was spartan and lacking ornamentation. Something she could have expected. Tyr wasn't all negatives, he had a few good parts to him. He didn't like frills, wasting time, or filling the air with vapid chitchat, and that was to his benefit. Sigi thought to throw him on the bed and leave him there in his filth, but she felt the pain coming from him. Whatever happened... It had been bad.

She didn't think Alex had beaten him down, though. That was unexpected, Alex had been the one left the most disturbed and effected by his poor treatment of her. Not speaking for a month and barely eating, trying to hide the fact that she was constantly calling her father for news of his whereabouts.

Because she cared more than anyone Sigi had ever known. Only about him, most times, but Alex took care of their friends in her own way. Ensuring that they had all the supplies they needed for class, things Brenn and Micah couldn't afford without finding real jobs that would simultaneously distract them from excellence. Always so organized, even going so far as to ensure Tyr's business ventures were successful alongside that woman Tythas had been seeing. Ella... Something like that.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

By the time they'd learned of his adventures in the republic, the deed was done and it was already time to begin preparing for the ascendancy. Only Sigi participated this time, winning second place in the engineering challenge courtesy of Micah's braces, but they all had planned to attend the next. Together as a team for one nation or another.

Sigi was of a utilitarian mind. She didn't like waste, either in people or in spoiling a good pair of well folded sheets with his filth. Hoisting him up and drawing a bath. She was thinking about how she'd clean him through his armor, pondering on whether she should just soak him... But Tyr was afraid of drowning and that was unnecessarily cruel.

Instead, his armor acted of its own accord and retreated from his body, leaving him stark naked on the floor of the restroom. His skin was as red as a beet and he was writhing in discomfort on the marble tile, covered from head to toe in that viscous black oil.

Sigi undressed as well. Even if he had been awake, she would not have cared. Her people were of that mind, and this was her duty whether she liked it or not. Whether she regretted the choice to remain at Astrid's side and get roped into their matrimony in the process... Irrelevant.

Waste in thought was still waste. Despite her bravado, Tyr really was heavy, incredibly dense in a way his frame would not communicate to an observer. Thus, she dragged him into the bath with her and began scrubbing him down like a child. A bit intrigued at the fact that even the water purification system was unable to process the gunk on his skin with any real efficiency.

Alex... Alex had thrown clothes away in the past that had been stained with the stuff, trying to hide it from the others... Sigi had never really given much thought to that act, women had their ways and while she in particular was bolder than the rest – she'd never pressed. But there was be some reason for this... There had to be.

“You really are just an endless series of thorns in my ass.” Sigi frowned, but she felt happy to be in this situation. First, there was the observation of Tyr's naked body. He was hard, rigid, and well muscled – not much fat on him now. A bit wider and sturdier than before.

Second, and in relation to the first, it was the feeling of power that only someone who nurtured could feel. She had seen him bare and so weak he couldn't even wash himself. It was only unfortunate that he was not cognizant to observe how helpless he was. How she could pummel him and he couldn't stop her. She wouldn't, of course, but it felt good in any case.

Just knowing was enough. For now.

–

“He won't wake up.”

“Have you tried kissing him.”

“What!? What sense does that make?”

“Ah, I guess you guys haven't kissed then, huh? Sorry.”

“We've done a lot more than kiss!”

“Seriously? He's barely touched us. Maybe he's into monster girls... No offense.”

“Orcs are not monsters...”

Tyr's eyes were still closed, but he was somewhat aware of his surrounding now. It had taken a while, that paralysis that seizes one after a long sleep. “Why are you on top of me, and what are you talking about?”

“True loves kiss, obviously.” Astrid said with a fluttering laugh. There were others in the room. Tyr could smell her, Nala, Jura... “It seems our infatuation with one another is so wildly powerful that we need make no contact at all. How adorable. Turns out I'm the best, as expected.”

There was a heavy weight all around him, one in particular pressed against him, snugly cuddling him and squeezing him tightly. A nose rubbing against his neck affectionately, the hot breath of a mouth tickling his skin. Tyr opened his eyes to a bed full of women, which would excite most men... But the one pressing against him...

“Daito...” Tyr growled. “Get the hell off of me, man.”

“I am naught but a product of my environment. Monkey sees, monkey does. You're awfully cold for a man that woke up with no less than four stone cold beauties seated on your bed.” Daito frowned, crossing his arms in displeasure. All of this was a game to him, like anything else. Double disturbing when Tyr considered the fact that Daito had once referred to him 'like a son'. All of the others were seated, but the captain was rubbing his scratchy stubble against Tyr's own like some kind of cat...

“That doesn't mean you have to straddle me like a horse!” Tyr shouted, bucking his hips and finding them well locked under Daito's own. Positioned over his midriff and locking Tyr's arms in place while Astrid joined him, remaining far too close to his face for comfort. “Tiber! Kill this man!”

“I'm right here.” Tiber said, somewhere near the exit of the room. “I attempted to stop them, but the arrival of Lady Astrid...”

“Alright.” Tyr said. “You can all go do... Something else...”

“I'm quite busy at the moment, nephew.” Tiber replied with a wry smile, upright and standing, and aware of who was responsible for that. “Our fight with Varia is in less than five minutes.”

–

Lucian.

Lucian Pelegir. The sword saint, a near divine being in the skin of a man only inferior to four other humans on the surface of this planet. Five, really. Lucian was not one for the arrogance, and the storm primus Vidarr would always and forever be his superior even if a fight between them was no guarantee.

He was old, and he felt it now. In fact, he was older than most of those among the living that carried the title of primus. All but one.

Three centuries of existence. It was boring, if nothing else.

Existence was nothing than a collection of pains, discomforts, and worries. Duties... Three hundred years old, outliving his own two sons before swearing off the idea of having a third. It was too painful, a father was not meant to outlive his children like that.

But the primus' said, and Lucian did. Obeyed, like always. Sworn against teaching them the ways, the path to power he'd discovered in a life so long ago. He wouldn't have cursed his sons like that in any event, though he'd certainly considered it.

There were always rules, and he'd abide by them despite wanting nothing more than to be free. But they couldn't let him do that. He was a symbol, and he was powerless to stop them from forcing his obedience.

Well... Lucian sighed into a chalice of Varian red. It's not so bad.

He found himself caught in this cycle of thought at times – but he truly loved the people. Watching them grow and prosper, changing over the generations was a gift he didn't want to take for granted.

Growing old enough to watch the work of the primus' evolve and shape the world. Slowly, honestly. They didn't seem to do much, everything was subtle, half measure after half measure. All toward their mysterious goals, but they seemed content with it – so that was that. Lucian would never been a statesman and had never desired that power. Living as the master of arms in the imperial palace for three centuries now was well enough.

It was hard to separate that kind of memory from present day reality. He remembered when Octavian was born, watching him grow up and freeze in time just as he did. But Octavian was a true immortal in the way that others were not.

Lucian... Lucian was getting old. If there was a limit for the prowess of a normal man, he was sure that he'd reached it a long time ago. But he'd never regret those moments of training the primus', when they were children. Jartor and Octavian had changed so much, he missed their childhood mischief, but seeing them grow was a source of great pride. Now they were the best.

“I do not wish to do this.” Lucian spoke to Octavian as he always did when they were alone. He loved the primus' as all god fearing men did and far more beyond that, like a nephew. A son, even. But the emperor... Sometimes... “This is cruel, and you dishonor me in making such a task an order in lieu of a request. I might be your servant, and will always be so, but why?”

“Yet all the same, it is not wholly my wish. His younger brother may yet to turn out as well as Iscari has. But Jartor wants to see it, and I'd be lying if I was not interested.” Octavian respected Lucian a great deal, seeing him like an uncle himself, a teacher and mentor. Few knew how old the man truly was.

Taking five names in his lifetime and adopting new identities so as to not set a standard for human ambition. Disappearing for a year or two before continuing the legacy of the saint of Varia. As a 'new man'. Right now, in his current identity, Lucian looked exactly like the middle aged man Octavian remembered training with in his youth.

“It's not dishonorable.” Octavian concluded. “It is cruel, though. Jartor is that kind of person.”

“You speak--”

Octavian cut Lucian's rebuke off with a raised hand and slit eyes. Calming himself. He did not wish to engage in a conflict with such a close friend and mentor. Not ever. But recently, their bond had been strained by Iscari's sudden disdain for the man at times, during their training sessions. A sudden streak of rebellion... A phase... “He is my brother and always will be my dearest friend. But he adheres to the way so closely I can scarcely recognize him at times. Just see it done, crush the boy.”