There was a small boy with scraped knees and a busted lip. Crying. His hands all curled up and rubbing at his eyes. Broad daylight. There were people all around, but nobody stopped to help this boy. Some gone so far as to cast him irritated glares, but none stooped down to offer him a hand. Why? Where was big sis? Mother, father? Why was he alone?
Disgusting.
Kill them.
Hang them.
They deserve three things, and three things only.
Two nails, and the cross we shall nail them on.
Make an example of these wretches.
KILL.
Alone, weeping, bereft of a friend or any of the safety and surety a young boy should feel. Until a figure materialized out of the crowd, kneeling down and reaching out a hand toward him with a bright smile. An angel, a man that burnt with the light of a thousand suns so vicious in their intensity that no shadow would remain should it properly kiss the world he stood on. “Must be pretty scary, huh? I don't like crowds either. Why don't you and I go look for your mama and papa together?”
“I'm not a baby!” The boy protested, trying to straighten his face and cease the quivering of his lip. Tyr wasn't convinced, shaking away the voices screaming at him to draw his sword and slaughter until they learned their lesson. The slithering thing, the shades flattening into one black line where lesser evil became no such thing at all – that all evil was simply the same. This boy was weak, everything about him was so weak. His mind, his body, his heart... But not his soul. That thing inside that made a person what they were. There was strength in that light. The light of youth, someone who still believed the whole world was good.
Untainted. Clean. Innocent. Protect. Spark.
SLAY WHAT SLITHERS.
Purity. A thing the gods stole from them as time went on, alongside experience and struggle. When the bitterness came, it would rust away into the tainted shell that sat around the weak of heart.
The struggle was sacred, but in it was a duality that was the end of all purity.
Tyr had lost his own, long ago, but he would not stomach the idea of watching it wither away in the others.
Protect.
To cup his hands and ward away the black winds that threatened to snuff out the candle at the core of the littlest things.
PUNISH.
“Who are you, mister?” The young boy repeated, looking up at Tyr with wide eyes. Amazed at how large the man was, a giant with a halo of sunlight kissing his snow hued hair. He felt safe under that wide back that split the crowd, calm settling over him in an instant. A virulent confidence that everything was going to be alright, if only he remained at the side of this titan.
Protection through fear, these people around them were terrified of this man. He must be very important to garner such a reaction, the boy could see that much at least.
“I'm your big brother.” Tyr smiled. The warmth radiating from this child, even in his depressed and lonely state, was incredible. Protect. That word repeated on and on in his head. Protect. Kill everyone here for ignoring the plight of a child. Rip and tear. Take their spines from them, what use for a spine would the spineless have? These cruel, disgusting, wretched cretins. He hated them for this. Sin. They could not see the light, but Tyr could. The light was the only thing he had left now, chasing it in a bid to bathe in the brilliance. The only thing that soothed the vicious pains that stabbed at his mind and begged him to let something free and loose. The ordering. Needed it. “Don't you recognize me?”
His smile grew even wider. Brighter. Tyr was tall, strong, handsome. A monument of beauty, a false guise worn over the monster he was inside. With deep eyes and an honest face. Even when it was all a mask, people loved him for no good reason other than how he looked. Vanity. Sin.
They should see, the fear necessary to enforce proper law.
“Oh!” The boy leaped up excitedly, tiny fists clenched and shaking with incredible excitement. He couldn't have been older than four or five, with stubby arms and the chubby frame natural to one so young. Hadn't been beaten raw yet. Forged into a vessel for sin. Soft, playful, trusting. Tyr loved that trust the little boy showed him so much, but he hated it too. People got hurt, trusting like that. Lost that trust and became monsters, creatures of vice and error, impure things.
A monster like us.
“Big brother!” The boy cried, leaping freely into Tyr's arm and giggling loudly. Those people. Gods, Tyr hated them, this couldn't be repeated enough. That word he'd used so sparingly seemed to dominate his mind at times like this, he would simply forget given time. Gods? What were gods? They'd let the little lamb weep in lonesome, silent to his unspoken plea for aid. Glaring down at the weak and never offering their hands. Tyr could feel it, their moods changing, those same people who had stared. Joy. They'd take pleasure from a thing they weren't willing to suffer an inconvenience for, laughing, 'how cute' they'd say before moving along. He wanted to beat them. Take from them. Bruise them. Gods were too kind, too giving. Too...
Obsessed with the feeding, allowing all of this to exist. This gray.
I'm getting worse.
No. The voice answered, a hoarse rasp and the chuckle of yet another. We are getting better.
Tyr was taken aback by the enthusiasm. Why? Why did these people love him, least of all the little boy? Could they not see it was all a mask? His mouth was full of fangs, his hands were dripping and crimson. But what had once been a bright and warm blaze became a sun. It overcame his anxieties and warmed him, lifting him up. Made him feel whole again.
I want to have a son... Tyr almost choked. Could've cried then. Divines above he was so twisted and cold inside, but he felt that warmth. Unconditional love from a boy he did not know. What a blessing. A blessing a thing like him did not deserve. Anything he'd ever made was broken, more times than stars in the night sky. No legacy but failure and rotting corpses. He could hear the worms in their flesh even now. Waiting for their time to stand again, patient and in anticipation of the great coming.
Burn them.
The boy laughed even louder as Tyr squeezed him in a tight and steady embrace. Feeling like he fed off the boy, but he didn't feed, he just felt. The frail body in his arms was so incredibly warm, all the colors bursting around his tiny frame like so many flowers. Watercolor again, a new world, something better.
Tyr's ice melted, that wasteland in his soul bursting into bloom, and his mind calming. The dark and violent thoughts fading as if they'd never been there at all. He'd wonder why, but he was too thankful to question it. Of all the children, this one was the brightest.
“Mmm... Mmm... Mmm...” The boy hummed happily, rubbing his head into Tyr's chest. Making a nest of sorts in his thin linen shirt beneath the cardigan. Everyone here was bundled up in the winter, but Tyr did not feel the cold. At first it had been a blessing, until he realized just how cursed he was, not to feel anymore, he could barely remember the times when he could.
It felt like an eternity ago.
Call me, we thirst.
Primus.
Pass the reins and let us be about the culling.
“You smell good!” The boy giggled happily.
“Do I?” Tyr asked with a wide smile.
“Mmm!” The little one replied enthusiastically, scrabbling out of Tyr's arm and standing at his side. Clutching with all his might as Tyr's thumb. People weren't usually so familiar, and Tyr did not recognize this boy, even children usually had their reservations at first. Not a good sign, this one was far too trusting of a complete stranger.
Tyr was conflicted by this, naturally he was thankful. And of course he'd never harm a child under any circumstances – but others were not so benevolent to the weak and naive.
It was clear by his outfit that the kid was a foreigner, in context, Harani based on the utilitarian cut of his shirt. Dressed like a sailor, for whatever reason, with enchanted shorts cinched by a belt to ward away the frigid air. Expensive. Must've been the son of a higher noble somewhere – and despite that there was no vice in him. Which led Tyr to believe that the boy must've had good parents, all that privilege with none of the entitlement that came along with it. Old enough to know to call for and demand a servant, and yet the boy hadn't.
In his gut, Tyr felt like he was in the midst of a trap. Almost wishing the snake would snap its jaws and give him a target for the punishment he wished to inflict on the heathenish swine surrounding him. This was his religion, following those threads of faith, bowing to his aspect because nothing could offer him succor quite so real as that. To serve and defend, a dire need to complete some grand mission that he didn't yet understand.
“I'm hungry, big brother.” The boy said. “Are you hungry?”
“I'm always hungry.” Tyr replied honestly, hunched over so as to allow the tiny figure purchase on his hand. “Do you want to go look for some food?”
“Mmm!” Happily humming along, Tyr lifted the boy again to keep him safe from the dense crowd. He saw their looks. 'How cute', they'd say again. What a lovely pair, smiling at him brightly – but never having the integrity to help the boy themselves.
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He wanted to take away those eyes, those eyes that didn't deserve to look.
–
This kind of event attracted all kinds. Westerners, even, as in 'foreigners' like Daito and Goroshi. Tyr liked their food quite a bit, and their society had developed in a place that must've been cold. Most of their dishes were served in hot broth or well spiced sauce. Children didn't like spice, so Tyr had opted for a rich soup of noodles, vegetables, and thinly cut pieces of meat layered atop it. The boy insisted he eat whatever Tyr did, there was nothing to it but to ignore his love of spice and opt for the mild.
They called it udon, a member of the 'ramen' family. Daito had introduced him to it and it was very good, a diverse classification of dish with near limitless options for customization. He liked it, but it wasn't his favorite, Daito claimed he'd been 'eating it wrong'. Not slurping enough, he'd said – as if that was supposed to change how a meal tasted.
“Is it good?” He asked the boy.
“So good!” The boy hiccuped, and Tyr chuckled at that. Gently patting at his tiny back, sitting together before a food cart bearing the heraldry of Lyra. Westerners weren't so uncommon, and a few even went to the academy. Tyr had never given much thought to them until he'd been introduced to that society via Daito and Goroshi. They'd immigrated to the western edge of the continent, and most tended to live near the sea. Thus, he hadn't interacted with them since adulthood, and their insular society wasn't open to random visits. Even common students typically avoided others, clan born and very secretive, keeping to themselves. “I wish big sis was here. She would like this.”
The little man was bobbing his head back and forth, dancing in his seat. Legs kicking up a handsome pair of black leather boots, privy to music only he could hear. Slurping at his soup and getting it all over his face and shirt. Gray of hair and green of eyes, a bit small for his age but Tyr was confident he'd grow up to be a handsome young man. Tyr hoped he'd be a good one, too, if it were even possible.
“I'm sure she would.” Tyr nodded energetically. “Take your time and finish up. No rush. I'm a professor here at this academy and you can have all the food you want until we find your parents.”
“But I want to stay with you, big bro! Forever, they're boring but you're fun!” The boy whined. A drop. A drop of boiling water in the frigid core at his interior, hissing against the ice and refusing to cool and join the swarm. That's what it felt like. The kind of relief one felt when dipping cold toes into a hot spring. Sitting down and resting after a long day of work. Tyr was so happy to hear that, but he wasn't some freak or abductor. Ripples in his soul. He wanted to keep this boy for all time, but kidnapping a child was not of much interest to him. Perhaps this big sister of his was of an appropriate age for marriage. He didn't care if she was twenty years, or forty, he'd easily break his oath to the women for that – he had to know what made this one so great.
Henny, Farron, Isabella, all of the others had seen things they weren't supposed to. They weren't stained, but they'd not been sheltered either. Forced to grow up quick, all of them, and this left little marks on them. It added to their realness, if there was such a word to describe how he'd consider it – but this small boy was brighter than any of them by quite a margin.
If it meant Tyr could interact and perhaps even save this bright young spirit... One good thing in the mass of crimes he'd committed, all the lives he'd ruined...
A legacy. This boy could be his legacy, there wasn't enough time to make a child unless by some divine providence he was made lucky. But he could find one, he could try to be good, fight against his nature. He was good at fighting, and the voices liked this boy as much as he did. He was special, this one, bound in blood to them – that feeling like he'd known the child for his entire life and yet they'd never once met. As if they were already family.
“What's your name, kiddo?” Tyr asked.
“Big bro...” The boy groaned in exasperation, looking incredibly disappointed at that for whatever reason. “My name is Uriel! Yurr-ee-ul! You don't remember?”
Why would I remember the name of a boy I haven't even met? Did he tell me? Tyr racked his thoughts but he was sure he hadn't. His memory was foggy these days, but not that foggy. Not yet.
“Of course, of course. My little brother Uriel, how could I forget!” Tyr smacked his head in exaggeration and the boy giggled happily again. Every bursting chuckle was like a choir in the midst of the only congregation Tyr would ever seat himself at a pew for.
Beautiful.
SLAY WHAT SLITHERS.
Silence yourself and let me have this moment, or I shall end us both.
This was a beautiful boy and he'd make an incredibly talented mage one day, someone of means and talent beyond the mongrel nim of this era. If not the big sister, then the mother. Tyr had to have him. He would gladly bind himself to both husband and wife to see it so, grateful for the one component of a lifestyle Haran was considered liberal in.
It wasn't just the fact that he was a child, it was this boy. This was the one, someone special – again and again Tyr could see it. Blessed by whatever force it was that gave them that fire within them. Winged and white, this Uriel.
His thoughts were interrupted by a breath exhaled in both relief and agitation behind him. Tyr sighed, not opting to turn just yet. All good things had to come to an end. But he was a prince! Gold ranked adventurer! A professor! He had clout and influence, he could use it to woo her and make her his. If not that, then a disciple – what better tutor was a professor at the most prestigious academy in the world? Tyr could make this boy into everything he was originally supposed to be, to lift him up as Uriel had done for him, on wings of broken glass.
“Big sis!” Uriel cried, leaping up from his seat and jumping into her arms. Tyr almost hated her for that, that feeling he knew a normal person could never appreciate. That stillness in his storm.
“And you, troublesome one.” A gentle hand chopped the crown of his head. “You should have told us you'd taken him off on a man's adventure. We were incredibly worried. Have you seen my mother? She is supposed to be watching him, it's not like her to lose sight of anyone...”
“Your mo--” Tyr turned, freezing in place. Alexis Goldmane stood behind him with the boy in her arms. Had he seen Asha? No. But he could smell her. Asha had been following Tyr about the festival, and he hadn't cared to speak with such a violent and willful woman while his mind was all mixed up. Intent to enjoy his brief jaunt with the child even though he was fully aware it was incredibly problematic, but people would just smile at him and praise him for his behavior. Like they always did. Because he was tall, handsome, and gallant – a prince and professor. The way they'd perceive a lesser man with far more concern, but for someone like him – everything was easy if only he had the patience to smile and make contact with their eyes.
'Oh, thank the gods, he was with the primus!' Or whatever they'd call him in that moment, irreproachable to the common people. All the stories of his heroism and valor filling their minds until he could scarcely visit an alehouse without a bard singing his saga. They'd often leave out the corpses he'd hung from the walls, the aftermath of the carnage he'd carved into the history books of Lyra. 'How fortunate!'
Granted, he wasn't a cretin, but if he'd described how he felt, they'd definitely accuse him of something.
“How do you know this boy?” Tyr asked of her.
“How do I know Uriel?” Alex glared at him. “How do I know my youngest brother? Your brother? Gods but if you weren't so handsome I'd clobber you for having a rock where your brain should be. Mr. 'I can smell prey from a thousand yards away', and you didn't take a moment to maybe think about why, or how Uri recognized you?”
“Ah...” Connecting the dots. Tyr hadn't taken the time to learn much about Alex's family because she'd always been... A possession. But she had two older brothers, and a younger brother too. Four children of Gideon and Asha, there was a fifth one too, Tyr thought. The family tree was easily read. But he hadn't felt her on the boy. He couldn't see things as he once had these days, it wasn't so strange, adjusting to the new. Couldn't see... Nephilim. Those who were so in tune with the world that the static in the background made them almost invisible to his sight. Only their light, being so much stronger than the rest, and only in close proximity.
“I'm sorry.” He managed to sigh.
“Well it's good that he was found.” Alex cradled the boy on her hip with an expression of plain relief. Flicking his forehead gently and smiling back at the pouting look Uriel gave her. “So many contraband magical artifacts are present here that even Astrid couldn't track him down, I was so worried. I'll let them know that he's safe, though I should've known there was some mischief afoot. You should keep that in mind Uri, don't take after your big brother...”
She flipped open her 'new age' communications amulet and began working her thumb over its surface as Uriel protested to being bounced 'like a baby'. Tyr had never loved anything more in his life than in that moment. A 'eureka' of sorts. He wanted a son. He wanted a son with her, but he'd promised one to Sigi. Could a man control such a thing? When had she been this way? Had she always been so... Nurturing?
Tyr could see the affection in that grasp and felt a bit of jealousy in the observance of it. How odd.
It was about the little things. To find humanity in the strangest of places.
“I'm in love with you.” He said honestly, standing up and grabbing her face. She hesitated out of pure shock for a bit before leaning into the kiss with a giggle. All the while, Uriel protested even more adamantly, insisting it was 'gross' and beating his tiny fists into Tyr's shoulder.
“There's a time and place for conjugality.” Gideon's voice came, but he wasn't angered by the display of affection. Quite the opposite, truth be told. Tyr was a cold and hard man in his eyes, just like his father before him. He'd had reservations regarding that. Fears that like Jartor's other past wives, Alex would be unhappy and unfulfilled. But the way she looked at the man was pleasant enough for the time being. Tyr seemed to be making an effort, Alex was a willful woman just like her mother and not so easy to please.
“Ah, but the romance of youth.” Gideon added with a happy chuckle. Before stopping and glaring at his youngest son, that is. “As for you, Uriel...”
“I'm sorry!” Uriel cried, abandoning Alex's hold to leap into Tyr's arm. A pair more than willing to take him. “Save me big brother!”
“I will defend this child with my life.” Tyr warned Gideon, the older man accepting that claim as truth and backing away with hands raised in surrender. Eyebrows raised similar at the jagged aura of violence linking them – a wholly inappropriate reaction. To anyone but a fellow Harani, who would see the challenge between father and son as a game, a source of pride.
“What are my boys up to, then?” Gideon asked.
“Eating!” Uriel laughed loudly, clinging to Tyr like a little monkey.
“Ah, ah...” Gideon wagged his finger at the pair. “We were supposed to dine as a family. But all is well that ends well, eh? Thank you for treating Uriel.” He bowed respectfully.
“It's nothing.” Tyr nodded with a smile in the face of Gideon's earnest thanks. A smile that made Gideon frown, not because it was psychotic or impure, but because it was genuine for perhaps the first time, at least from his perspective. Nobody was better at sniffing out a liar than an arbiter, and Tyr was all honesty now. Gentle and familiar. “I'm his big brother, aren't I?”
There had to be a way to feel the way he did now, except all of the time. Tyr felt invincible, indomitable, dauntless. Like the gods themselves couldn't stand before him if they were foolish enough to try to take this moment from him.
This was the way. The only way. Tyr's way.
Gideon nodded happily before clapping Tyr on the shoulder and squeezing him affectionately with a hand, would've shook him about, but the young prince seemed built of a ton of bricks. That was good, too, someone who could watch over them when Gideon was old and gray. Steel in a man. “It's good to hear that. So? You'll treat your old man as well to these foreign dishes, no? Rumor has it that you're quite wealthy these days...”
Tyr laughed. He felt so good! Radiant, even. Here... Among family, what an odd word that was – settling in his mind until Gideon too became a target of this dire need to save them all. The chains that bound them that seemed forged of the everything and more. “Of course. Please, take a seat, I'm always up for seconds.”
All the while, Asha observed the prince. Opening her communication amulet to report her findings.
“Sorry, Uri.” She whispered softly. But she was not offended in the slightest by what she'd found. He had already divined it. This was just proof that Tyr wasn't the monster they feared he might be. He was a man with unclear motives, of course, but she believed she'd finally found them. A man most likely obsessed with the idea of preventing harm to come to those he held dear, and that wasn't so bad a thing – though it could be. Obsessive compliance to duty had its place.
“Continue your observation and remain ready to act. Regardless of current events, we may not have a choice if Ragnar's plan to neutralize him fails.”
“Yes, primus.”