House Goldmane was rich. Karth might be the richest city, surely, but no noble family had ruled for so long a stretch of time as theirs had. With that in mind, their estate was rather humble. Clean, well staffed, and well furnished – but not overly decorated. No wide expanse of tacky gold leaf covering the walls. No white marble and numerous fountains, it was warm and happy – the happiest place the young prince had ever seen.

Full of love.

Back when the world had color.

Everything was comfy, warm, and built from well planed stone or timber. The floors were all enameled basalt, glossy as if covered in a sheet of still water. Reflecting Tyr's face back at him, his snow white 'mop' hanging over his face, in wonder of how cozy it all was.

He'd never left the capital before, everyone always came to him. Even his best friend and fellow imperial prince Iscari. Traveling so far afield had left him dazed and silent, caught up in the awe of how different everything was beyond those gray, colorless walls.

“So!?” Gideon clapped his hands, practically shouting in that trademark energetic and booming voice. “What do you think? My home is exceptional, is it not!?”

“It surely is, father.” Tyr replied softly, still staring at his likeness in the reflective basalt floors. Lively earthen tones all around him, enough to stir something primal within Tyr. He wanted to stay here forever, if they'd allow it... He...

I hate the palace...

“Ha! I knew you'd like it. See, we here in Riven would like to think we're a humble people. Whether that's true or not, and I suppose it likely isn't, we don't dress everything up in finery as some of the other noble houses do. With that being said, I am sure you'll find your reception most welcoming!” Gideon always shouted, everything he said was so loud. And to match his words, a bevy of servants lining the carpeted lobby of the estate shouted their greeting to him. Again, they knelt, bending the knee.

“I don't like it when they do that. Why are you bending the knee?” Tyr mused, frowning. Gideon had met Tyr several times and considered how similar the boy was to his father the primus in a great many ways. No flare or drama to him, all action. Blunt with their words, which was strange too – considering how little Jartor had interacted with his son. A concern Asha had brought to his attention many times in the past. Laboring as best she could to commute Tyr into their care so he could get the parental attention he needed and not end up a stunted boy.

Rufus had done it, perhaps, making Tyr a bit more human – giving him as best a childhood as he could. Raising him like his own son, but they still had their fears. A primus should know what it's like to be human before they were made one... No?

Neither Empress Signe nor Primus Jartor seemed to care much for such a sweet and sensitive lad... Gideon loved his children. All of them, and that meant Tyr. Granted, Alexis and Tyr were not married just yet, but they might as well be. Nothing could stop their betrothal from happening, sworn over the hearth as it was. He just... Deserved more. More time, more attention, lest he grow up a monster. Thankfully, and again, he seemed to be in good care under the tutelage of uncle Rufus.

“Perish the thought.” Gideon waved his hand. Tyr was heir primus, prince, and his son. Gideon would leap onto a sword at a moments notice for any of his sired children. However... He was also quite stern and orderly. A stern, yet just man. With his people, with his children, even in his dealings with Jartor, he too was a man that did not kneel.

Men of Haran did not bend the knee, and Gideon for all his bright personality was a proud man. He was by any measure the epitome of what it meant to be a patriarch in the empire. Including the fact that he would obey his lady wife in all of her requests, immediately and to the letter, as all partners should when reason was involved. A healthy dose of fear, too, but that was all well and good – he could think of no finer woman than her, save the person their daughter would grow up to be.

“They know what they are doing. Never disrespect a man – or woman – for kneeling as a sign of reverence, it is your duty to accept this of them. They give their faith freely and without reservation, they'd never do it for me or mine. To say otherwise, or to chide them in displeasure, would be to dishonor them. Do you wish to do that?”

“No...” Tyr blushed, replying nervously. “Thank you all, I will endeavor to meet your expectations with all my heart in thanks for your faith.”

“Not faith.” Steven, the lead butler raised his head to stare the young prince directly in the eye. “Love, my prince. We love and cherish you.”

Tyr tilted his head, he had odd tics – habits that might indicate his unorthodox upbringing. Just blushing, but now he was ice cold and stony, the twin of his lord father. “I love you too, as I love all my people. And I will spend the rest of my life serving you, your sons, and your grandchildren – eternal. 10 generations will come to pass and I will never forget this solemn duty.”

Already so silver in the tongue – but it was more than that. Far more.

“Well, shit.” Gideon smirked. Tyr was so sincere and soft in the heart, his eyes communicating the truth and only that. Giving an oath in front of servants so freely, speaking to them as equals. It was altogether a good sign, arrogance had no place in leadership. A lords duty was to the protection and wellbeing of their people, regardless of stripe. Understanding that at the ripe age of five years old was a level of maturity that impressed him a great deal.

“...Language.” A feminine voice purred from the stairwell, and it was Gideon's chance to blush now. Asha was... Well, she was radiant. The most beautiful woman Freyja had ever shaped from the clay and loam, maybe ever. He was certain of that. Why she'd ever taken interest in him given her own impressive pedigree and freedom to choose a partner was beyond him. A question perhaps even the gods themselves couldn't answer.

She was dressed in a strapless red affair, putting all of her... Assets... On display. He didn't see her often, she'd given him three children, as was her duty, and between them all she would disappear for long periods of time.

Gone off to see to some college business, and yet they loved one another. Even if she didn't act it, a man just knew. Their romance was legendary, a source of jealousy to all of those noble families who took many wives for the benefits and none for the love of it. He'd only ever taken one, and would take no other for as long as he lived.

Even if Asha were to perish tomorrow, Gideon would never love another woman. She was the only one.

“Mother.” Tyr split his thoughts like a log chopped to kindling. Bowing even lower at the waist than he had for Gideon, which made the latter proud to call him son. Gideon was a count, and a born Goldmane to boot, the strongest house, one of the oldest families in the empire. But he'd never be Asha. Damn near an archmage now, the Red Witch of Riven. A curious name, considering she had raven hair and violet eyes. Named for the blood of her victims, Gideon supposed. But he loved her for that, too. Killing was not easy – it never could be for a sane individual. Levying proper justice was the greatest weight on the shoulders of a noble, doing what had to be done. Hearing them beg and refusing to listen even when your heart knew they'd done it for a reason, something anyone could relate to. But the law was the law. “It is a great honor and pleasure to be made a guest in this wonderful home of yours.”

“Hmm... Silver tongued, I see.” Asha Goldmane frowned, much of the same mind as her husband. Stalking around the prince like a beast, amused that he didn't flinch in the slightest. Word about him was rare, even for them, but she'd heard the rumors of his incredible power, perhaps destined to become the strongest primus of all time. So much so that Jartor himself had spent a mountain of gold on experts around the continent to regiment the 'perfect childhood'. All that money just to do the exact opposite, but the boy seemed well adjusted enough. Warm and friendly, unlike his frigid sire. “When dealing with a powerful woman, obsequiousness is largely the wrong approach. And I am a powerful woman. Instead, you should stand straight and puff your chest out a bit, but not too much. Look me directly in my eyes and say nothing. I hate these words, you know? I dislike all these politics and customs and discourse, they are a joke and of little benefit to anyone. Yet, always remember, we are required to be the best at them regardless of our wants and urges. A man, or woman, of true ability and might has absolutely no need for the duplicity of the rats nest we call a court. Understood?”

“Yes, mother.”

“My love...” Gideon groaned, but Tyr only smiled up at her. His eyes flicked toward the boys sharp smile. Like that of a predator himself, all of a sudden. Akin to a snake lining up on sleeping prey to see how much it could fit in its stomach. But he'd long abandoned the thought of trying to understand the primus'. If anything, it was good to see that Tyr considered it all fun and games rather than Jartor, who would have stared at her stony faced and cold – a man who never laughed. Outside of a battlefield, that is.

“That's better.” Asha smiled, patting Tyr's head. “That's a good boy. Welcome to our home, I hope that you'll all ensure my son has a pleasant stay?”

They were both, Asha and Gideon, kind to their servants and people alike in their own ways. But while Gideon was the soft handed shepherd, Asha was the sheepdog, always barking and growling to ensure they stayed in line. Naturally, the reaction from the maids and butlers was enthusiastic in the positivity of their response.

“Tyr!” Someone shouted suddenly, splitting the tension in the room like a knife through butter. A small, slender, dark figure darted from one of the side rooms and pounced on the prince, pinning him to the ground. Alex Goldmane, the only daughter of the family and their youngest child. The room fell silent as she slapped Tyr full in the face, declaring loudly... “Got you, just like I said I would!”

“...?” Tyr frowned, his face beet red and stinging. He had no idea what the girl was talking about, but he certainly knew who she was. His wife. Or future wife, and also his best friend if a person could have two of those. He hadn't seen her in some time, but it was unclear as to what exactly what going on. She straddled him to prevent him from moving, clothed in a lacy pastel lilac dress that seemed intent to match the hue of her eyes, not quite managing to capture the brightness. “Hello, Lady Alexis.”

“It's Alex!” She shouted, slapping him again. Violent, as she usually was, but she was always so cheery and sincere. A kind, sweet girl with a big heart. But... Well. A bit of a tomboy. And unfortunately due to Gideon's station she hadn't had much luck in finding many friends besides the prince. She'd been talking about this visit for weeks on end, never ceasing in her excited babbling. “I told you that all my friends should call me Alex! I missed you so much!!!”

Before Gideon could say much of anything, his eldest son Bel cleared his throat. “You have my deepest apologies, father. I had no idea Alex would translate our game into striking the prince.”

“You slapped my daughter?” Gideon's face warped into that of a storm cloud, squaring up against the teenage boy menacingly.

“It's uh... No, father.” Bel choked again, Gideon treated them all well enough – but the sons had become disappointments of a sort. Neither had 'what it took' to be a proper lord, or so Gideon claimed. “She is playing tag, I think. I'm sorry, she's just...”

Gideon half-nodded, before sighing – relaxing in the face. “She's just Alex.”

“As you say.”

Tyr moved in a way that would make all observers feel rather uncomfortable. Magic was a thing, surely, people saw it every day. But seeing such incredible might on display was disconcerting. It wasn't just the strength, but the mechanics of it.

Imagine a boy rising to his feet from a position with his back to the floor with no apparent effort. Standing up as straight as a board with Alex held by her shoulders and dangling, her feet inches from the ground. It wasn't human, but... 'Primus'. That had to be enough of an explanation to turn something so creepy into a joyous celebration of so great a feat from their future sovereign.

“Who are you?” Tyr recognized everyone in the room from the past, excluding the servant staff – obviously. However, he wasn't familiar the two young girls who were standing on the stairs behind Asha. Staring at him nervously, one of them hiding behind the hem of the woman's dress, the other staring down at Tyr with a raised eyebrow, not looking very impressed.

“Your second, and third wives.” Asha said. Standing stock still where a proper noble or herald might've waived their hands and gestured. “I present to you Astrid and Sigi Stalvarg, daughters of Primus Ragnar.”

“I am Sigi Mornstone.” The silver haired girl declared. She was much taller than the others around her, even some of the servants. Built well and beginning to bud as a young woman, a few years his senior. Tyr felt warm just looking at her, with a pouting, puffy cheeked Alex pinching his thigh jealously in response. Reminding him to let her down, at least, which was facilitated by dropping her roughly into a yelping pile of knobby limbs. “Of Trafalgar.” Sigi corrected haughtily.

“It's high time you realized there is no Trafalgar.” Asha chided her. “Do you wish to disrespect your adoptive father? Ragnar took you in, did he not? Fed you, clothed you, gave you a position in Clan Stalvarg?”

Sigi blushed, her lips curling up in an awareness of how her words might sound to another. Curtsying awkwardly and declaring herself to the prince as a proper lady should.

“No, Lady Asha.”

“Good.”

“You are from Trafalgar?” Tyr asked, head tilted, and she nodded. “I am sorry about what happened to your people. My tutors tell me it was quite the battle, your father committed himself well and saved thousands of his citizens. There is no more honorable a death than that, he is a hero.”

“There is no honor in death, boy.” Sigi replied flatly. “It's just death.”

“This is not true.” Tyr marched forward, far too aggressively for Rufus' liking. There was a pink haired girl next to her, a shy girl with a fringe of hair obscuring half her face. “I would die for my people, just as he did. And I would do it happily knowing that even one of them lived on through my actions. That is what heroes do, and my mother says I will be the greatest hero to ever live.”

“As you say.” Sigi said, finding him a bit bold and domineering for a five or six year old boy. “My... Prince.”

“What's this, then?” Tyr turned to look at Asha and Gideon both. There was a scathing tone in his voice to match to look in his eyes, speaking articulately for such a young boy. “I've sworn to take Alex as my only wife.” He looked back to the two girls. “As pleased as I am to meet the daughters of Primus Ragnar Stalvarg and King Bjorn Mornstone, was this your decision?”

“It was not.” Sigi said. “But I hope that you will accept my sincerest apologies for my behavior and take me in lawful marriage. It was not my decision, but I still wish to see it so.”

“It's already been discussed.” Asha was firm in a way her husband was not, enough to inspire anxiety in everyone in the room, except for the prince. But he listened to her, thankfully. They were all quite nervous at this plan of Signe's... To get Tyr out of the capital as inconspicuously as possible after what they'd heard...

“Already been discussed.” Tyr repeated, raising an eyebrow. Gideon noted the chemistry he had with Asha – how similar the two of them were. The boy seemed afraid of nothing, either naive or so absolutely confident in his ability that it didn't matter who he was speaking to. But not arrogant, arrogant was enforcement – projection, Tyr seemed intent to bait something out of her. “And what if I say no?”

“You won't.” Asha laughed happily. “Because you're a good lad and you'll obey me when I tell you to do something. Am I understood?”

“I suppose it's alright.” Tyr shrugged, relaxing. Surprisingly... “If it's what you want from me, I'll do it.”

–

“I'm gonna be real with you, chief.” Lina groaned. “Like, I get it. Riven must be a super awesome city and these wives of yours are just off the chain, incredibly amazing. You're the legendary harem man. Do you realize how long we've been sitting here? This entire time, I'm waiting for you to get to the point. And I know you told me it was a long story, but c'mon...”

“They are.” Tyr said with a chuckle. “Great, I mean. The best and brightest, far more talented than me. But back then, Sigi had knobby knees and buck teeth. Astrid had a big birthmark on her face that she tried – and failed to cover up. I told her that I liked it, that it looked cool, and she hit me in the head with a frying pan. I didn't speak to her after that for... Almost ten years, I think? Even during our wedding ceremony she said only what was requested by the priests and a rather nasty promise in front of court to cap it all off. Alex hated me the most though, and I came to understand why, later. As to the point...”

“Yes...”

“I was... Better as a child. Not just in behavior but I have the distinct understanding that I felt more human then. After what happened, I lost a significant piece of myself and I don't know how to get it back. Like I am half a man now. But, for the purposes of our conversation, I will begin to wrap things up.”

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He'd spent a week in Riven. And he'd loved his time there, now recalling it fondly, but it hadn't lasted forever.

Nothing ever did.

–

“What can you do...?” The Riven estate was in tatters. The Goldmane household struck low, the city was burning. All that remained in the hall were Tiber, Alex, and Tyr. The latter of which was weeping fiercely. Full of rage, loss, and sorrow. The former of which, both of them, were slumped and sagging. Alex was missing an entire arm, and Tiber looked to be dead at first inspection.

Even Tiber, who had awakened such power as to blow the roof of the building off with some incantation to a god Tyr had never heard of. He'd still been struck down with a single blow. And Rufus...

He had been so impressive. In any other situation this would have been a song sung by future generations for time to come. Standing there, tall and proud, facing off against a primus with his mace held high. Heroic.

But he was weak. Too weak and too human. His flashing mace and the glowing trails left behind as he warped around the keep were slow. Fallen now. Rufus Goldmane of the house of the same name was dead, and it was Tyr's fault. Not because Rufus was weak, no. Because Tyr was weak.

Dead and gone, erased from the world, and in that moment Tyr had felt the snapping of a string and a red pressure threatening to split his mind in twain.

On the seventh day of his trip, it had happened. People had started to... Change. Twisted beasts that tore at their former neighbors and family without care. And Hastur had descended, or at least that's what he called himself now. But Tyr knew, it was instinctual, he was not as dead as people said he was. Cortus the Black was still alive, and still very much a primus.

A titan in obsidian black armor, wrapped up in a thick cloak of the same color - glistening white. Deathly pale, with black streaks running down his face, almost like tears. He was twisted, heavy metal sabatons clacking against the floor, his chattering ghouls cavorting in his wake, Cortus - barely twitching with the act of murdering proven warriors. Smells had cracked against him, Asha throwing herself into the crow's beak in a vain attempt to stop him. Swatted away with enough force to shear an entire wall from the keep, a godly and unnatural strength that made anything they'd ever seen look so frail in comparison.

All Tyr could see were his eyes, bright silver and shining, staring at him with a vague flash of interest. Cortus was very made, the insane tics and jerks in his posture, just standing there, communicated nothing approaching sanity.

“I'll k-kill you...” Tyr was dragging himself along the floor now, bleeding from a score of wounds. Body torn asunder, his lower half missing, intestines cut to ribbons trailing out behind him. There was no advanced healing factor back then, no resistance to pain, but a dire need to take from Cortus as he'd taken from Tyr. Alex, Tiber, Rufus, who knew how many others... Dead. And he came to understand Sigi's words spoken so recently, there was no glory in death, it was simply death. “Cortus! I will kill you!”

Cortus cackled then, like a hyena, the man that was supposed to be gone from the world. "Please do. Give me your best shot, little brother."

The primus that was supposed to be defeated, yet he was here in this place. Jartor had let him live, Tyr could guess that much. For a primus to kill another of their kindred was the ultimate taboo. Never in history had such an upheaval occurred, supposedly. They were all brothers, despite their differences.

Back then...

Back then, in those days, Tyr was filled with fire. Love, compassion, all of these sincere emotions that he'd forget entirely in his later years. Torn away from him along with the memories that made him the person he'd been. But he did rise, and he erased Cortus. Clinging to the darkness within him and turning the man to dust with a horrifying screech, sucking the life out of him until there was nothing left but the wispy and malformed consciousness inside that glassy shard.

And then... He'd found Alex. Tiber was still alive, but the same could not be said for the girl. And Tyr... Even with his memory returned and most of his faculties following the same logic, he still didn't know what had happened exactly. Going somewhere else, reaching into the place, scouring a million souls in the process before he'd found her. Trading his soul for her own, but a soul such as his carried weight. The gods of death and purgatory could not claim him, another taboo, and he was cursed. A curse that would not come for him until many years later.

A blessing, though. Living damned was better than living without her. Even with their challenges and faults in their relationship, he'd always felt that way. Tyr had gone there, he'd found something he wasn't supposed to - and he'd brought it back with him. Nothing so mundane as the curse of the unliving, it was far worse, something he didn't understand yet. A waking nightmare, accepting that void to take so many pieces from his puzzle because it had allowed him to rise.

Rufus, however... Tyr was too weak to take the both of them, forced to make a choice.

Tyr needed these people, they were necessary, and if he hadn't been so worthless – the others would still be with them.

The aspect wasn't everything, every primus was a coin. An almost magnetic polarity between the two sides of them, love and hate. Tyr had grabbed onto something and throttled it until it gave him what he wanted.

Never again would he allow someone to take his lights away from him.

That's what he'd said, promised himself, but he'd been made to forget. Psycho-conditioned by his own parents to avoid reconnecting with that thing inside of him, but it hadn't worked. He'd found it, was beginning to grow it again, the same thing that he'd used to rise and break Cortus over his knee, consuming all the fuel within him until there was nothing left but a single cracked shard and a very tenuous thread on life.

Tyr, once, was pure - his aspect was the sun. But it had been tainted and eclipsed through experience, perhaps the gray bitterness of reality. What once had been loved became a pit, a void that needed to be filled, twisted by lust and obsession. Faith, belief... Those weren't aspects any living thing should have access to.

The power to destroy anything and everything, if only he had the will to properly grasp it. The key lay in the eyes, and the less human he became the closer he'd come to finding it again, whatever that thing was - his shard perhaps.

–

“The point being--”

“Ah, yes. That you sacrificed freely out of love and duty to your fellow man. That was your motivation, the source of your power – and now there is nothing left?” Lina asked, and Tyr nodded. That was exactly what it was – summarized as he'd been forced to. Which was unfortunate, because it was a phenomenal story albeit an unabashed tragedy. His aspect had been something akin to 'love', once, but not anymore. He'd seen the terminal end to love, something temporary, and been twisted by experience. “You killed Cortus? As in Primus Cortus, the Black Hand?”

“I... I know you doubt my tale – and believe me, so did I. I've heard it repeated a dozen times and each was wholly different. But it's the truth, that I killed Cortus the Black. 'Killed' being an... I don't know how to say it.” Tyr pursed his lips, there was no other way but to articulate it, primus' could not die – they were all literal immortals unless one figured out how Solomon had done it. “I devoured Cortus, I did not kill him in the way humans experience death. Even back then, I did not possess the power to destroy him permanently. I doubt even my own father could kill – let's say Alexandros as an example.

Tyr continued.

“Alexandros should be the weakest ruling primus, but they are all eternal. The best way I can describe it is that I destroyed Cortus' aspect. My father claimed the kill to defend me from the others, and thankfully the consequences weren't severe. Although I think all the others know it, nobody else seems intent to correct the history books, and since Cortus was never seen after Sinea it was fine. Octavian finds me sickening, I think Alexandros fears me, Ragnar thinks I'm something special, and my father... He's Jartor. I think that's why they act that way. You are correct in your observations. Back then, I was on the precipice of awakening my aspect before she died and I offered my own life to save it. But it wasn't my life to give, so they punished me, and they still are. Now, I am akin to a paladin of death, as close to it as one could get at least. Since the gods of darkness and death have no real paladins. I traded my aspect for her whole and unbroken soul, and was left an empty vessel in the process.”

“They have templars.” Lina offered, it was all a bit... Much. But Tyr didn't lie, he was honest to a fault and therefore she believed him. And contrary to his expectation, she didn't offer a single word of doubt to his proposition that he was the first paladin of death. “Inquisitors, too. I saw that god on your shoulders during the tournament. Others might not have, but I am attuned. Who was that?”

“I've already told you.” Tyr said. “She was Death. Not the goddess of, but the literal celestial personification of death. It dominates me, my whole mind, it's all I can think about in my waking hours. Death, death, and more death. It haunts me, might drive me mad one day, but I've learned to live with it. I see her every second of every day and I can't get her out of my head after that interaction, she's always there pointing me somewhere. I don't know, man... But that's not why I asked you for help.”

“Then why did you ask me for help?”

“To get stronger.”

“For what reason?” Lina asked. “That's part of your problem. You need a conviction. People don't just 'get strong' to 'get strong'. You need a true, real, motivating factor, agency, all the churches preach this well before they put swords in our hands. I keep saying this and all you do is spew bullshit. What is it?”

“You know, that story about the time I saved Riven was actually pretty exciting...” Tyr didn't exactly pout, but he was clearly disappointed that he'd have to wait in the telling of it.

“Just go ahead, tell it, and then be a good a little boy and answer my question. It's hard to believe that you're only slightly younger than I am, you know?”

“How so?”

“Tell it!” Lina groaned, he looked like a whipped dog after she'd interrupted him for the last time. “Please for the love of the gods just get it over with, your storytelling isn't half as compelling as you think it is...”

“That's fair.” Tyr nodded. “But... I already forgot what I was going to say. It was exciting though, anyways...” He cleared his throat, there was no real point in toying with her like that – and frankly he didn't even know why he liked it so much. Tyr wasn't that playful with many people, though it was worth noting that it was only entertaining to one of the two.

Most of it being rather low brow, like slapping her awake with a still living salmon struggling to hold onto life before beheading it right in front of her.

Wait...

Alright... Maybe that was a good motivator for Lina to act the way that she did.

“My motivation is nothing. Everything. I don't get it, like – I think it's all nonsense. There's no way that people just wake up in the morning burning with conviction, they can fake it and condition themselves to believe it, but life isn't like that. My motivation is to enjoy myself, and I could spin a tale about protecting my friends, but honestly I'm not all that good of a friend to think myself a protector in the first place. I'm kind of shit at that, actually, I leave randomly and never give them their due consideration. I'm only here because your father asked me to be, after all, otherwise I just would've run off and forgot about it.”

“You know we could just leave?” Lina said. “Whenever we want to. Alexandros cannot force people into doing his bidding, it's against his nature. He started spitting blood in a literal sense trying to convince me to return to the Republic after my mother passed away. It's for that reason that he believes he cannot be a father, and I've come to understand that.”

“We?” Tyr asked skeptically, looking toward the other members of their makeshift party. As usual, Farron was shaggy, dirty, and drowsy eyed. Yawning as he read a book nuzzled into Okami's fur. Neither of them cared much for the conversation, Tyr guessed. He couldn't blame them, he'd never been much for long conversations himself, especially not trying to explain his deeper self to someone.

“Yep.” Lina frowned, crossing her arms. “It's high time you treat me like an equal. We are friends, remember? You said so yourself, that I was part of your family, and now you're going to follow me and help me win the favor of my goddess back. You and I are partners, and you owe me more respect than you've given me thus far. I'm taking it, whether by force or not is up to you.”

“Alright, Lina.” Tyr offered no complaint, surprising the woman with a loose rolling of his shoulders. No attempts at a joke, no rude verbal backhand. “But I don't think you ever lost that. The divine mana coming off of you is... I'd say disgusting, but I don't want to be crass. It feels quite nice, but it makes me uncomfortable. I don't like gods.”

“Truly?” She asked. Tyr was an odd fellow, capable of strange things beyond the ken of mortals – she was sure that people just hadn't observed him closely enough. Where he walked, life... Became more energetic. Plants that hadn't seen enough sun would begin vibrating, their chloroform full of energy – and she was sure it was the same for humans in his vicinity. For a 'death paladin', it didn't make sense, and she genuinely believed Tyr was wrong about himself. Or, like the priests said, death wasn't some foul thing – it was a blessing and the great cycle of life couldn't exist without it.

When he relaxed, she felt stronger – imperceptibly. It was barely anything, but over time, years? Who knew what could happen. She felt that must be why people liked him so much, considering his unpleasant way of going about his business. But when they fought it was the complete opposite. His power ate away at things around him, devouring it as he'd said, even her own. Lina's mana would cringe back from his presence and her spells wouldn't work as they were supposed to.

But it was true that proximity to him was a massive benefit, and he made people feel better in the smallest ways. Just by being near her, the closer the contact, the more influence he had – which was one of her primary emotions for staying in the first place.

She believed he was aware of this, and that's why he was so averse to intimacy.

Tyr hummed, eyes contemplative and half-shut. “I think it's an arrogant church or knightly order that thinks they can speak for a god. I suppose it's only human. You lack confidence and falter too often in your thoughts to notice it, but your beloved divine has not abandoned you. I've only met one paladin in the past who tasted like you do.”

“...Tasted.” Lina repeated with a scowl. “That's... Disturbing.”

“It's the best way I can frame it.” Tyr said. “I taste and smell things, I can't see it like Okami can – that... Divine force, I guess, I've heard it called divine mana but that is not what it is. Spira, maybe, but it's different when it's come from a god. An old companion of mine tasted a way that reminded me of things, almost deja vu like. Hot bread and ale, pleasant things, his name was Brenn and he is a paladin of Vestia.”

“And what do...?” Lina raised an eyebrow, his vernacular was so inappropriate at times. Almost creepy, but she knew he didn't mean to come across that way. Tyr was very simple, the kind of man to accidentally create an eldritch horror, learn of this, and not care much – and she'd never blamed him for what happened to Willis. She just... Couldn't seem to wrap her head around the idea of disliking him, even if she should.

“Like mud.” Tyr said. “You taste like the black mud on the Sapphire. Full of life, nourishing everything around it. And water, but I suppose that would be obvious. It's not a literal taste, I don't feel like I'm eating literal mud, I know how weird it sounds.”

“Not as weird as you might think.” Lina posited. “Actually, there are stories of the old benders and speakers of the elements doing the same thing. They'd attune and know things that they shouldn't, but it wasn't so easy as something that could be written down. Without philosophizing over it for years on end, as it were. Just like the priests, these things are beyond men and all we can do is guess at their meaning.”

“Much good that did us in the tournament.” Tyr grunted, almost whiny.

She breathed, taking two jittery steps before landing a powerful slap on his face. Tyr barely moved, blinking in astonishment at the sudden act of violence.

“Man...”

“We were ranked 2nd-3rd place in a once in a decade international championship. You know that by complaining, your not only disparaging your own effort – but also mine? Sure, we could've done better – but don't make an ass out of yourself over it.”

“But we still lost. You're either first, or you're last. Alive, or dead.” Tyr rubbed his reddened cheek, not angry in the slightest. She was right, after all. As sudden and random as her rebuke had been – he'd figured it'd come eventually if not in that exact manner.

Especially after the salmon incident...

“That's true enough.” Lina mused. Her black hair wasn't so short anymore, and she bound only the crown of it with an azure band to contain the mass of ebony locks. If one stood her next to Daito, they might assume they were brother and sister if not father and daughter. Whereas Goroshi didn't look like his old man in the slightest. Less refined in the face, more masculine, and the burn very few people had ever seen marring his left eye might have something to do with that.

“If the various nations took that competition seriously, we wouldn't have made it so far. Not even close. The teams were good this year, but everyone hides their power. I'm sure Master Rafael and Master Daito did the same, only the latter making it--”

“Be quiet.” Tyr held up a finger, and she obeyed. There were moments like this where he would tell her to do something and she felt a compulsion to obey. To obey not out of domination, or so she thought, but to obey for the slight chance that he might praise her for it. It was embarrassing, but she also knew she wasn't the only one afflicted. He sniffed aggressively at the air and looked toward Okami, the wolf seemed to nod back at him, very alert for the same reason. Words that were not spoken, only felt. “How far are we from the city of Leygein?” He asked.

“Only three or four hours by carriage, far less on the great wolf.” Lina smiled at Okami, tail now pounding against the ground at the praise. Such a wise and majestic creature, yet so simple in the strangest of ways. Panting hard enough to jostle Farron and rouse him from his half fugue state of what he'd call 'studying'. Tyr was like some sort of drill instructor with the boy, even handed and kind but allowing no refusal to remaining consistent at his daily tasks. By all measures, he was less of a father figure and more of an educator to the young man. Or man, as Farron asserted. “Why? Do you want to go back early?”

“Not particularly.” Tyr frowned, squinting and bending his neck at alternating angles in his attempts to hear something. “But I'm quite certain the city is under attack.”

“How do you...?” Lina shook her head, it didn't matter, Tyr was simply strange and odd things happened around him on a consistent basis. “Go on ahead with Okami, I will take the boy and we will catch up.” He gave her a look that said he might try to argue. Lina didn't 'like' Tyr very much, but after how poorly he'd treated her in the past – it was nice to see a light of concern in his eyes.

Perhaps a positive change, but still arrogant. An unspoken assertion that he felt as if he'd needed to put everything on his back and do it all alone.

It was true that Okami would be much faster with only one passenger. Wolves weren't made as horses were, their backs were lower and longer. If not for his size, riding him would have been hard if not impossible.

“Go.” Lina repeated, more sternly this time. “Go protect our city.”

“I'm trusting you to keep him safe.” Tyr said in response. “And finish your homework, kid. Or I'll make you eat peppers again.”

“Shut up, you sick old man.”