Legs crossed, Tyr stared out over the vista of the kingdom that would have been his by birthright if not for his many faults and failures. It was his fault, he knew it, he was actualized to that fact and also the the fact that he had never wanted it in the first place. What was built by those before was not for him.
He did not feel regret, things were better this way too. The arcanum rex was a concept he did not fully grasp, but his right to rule through this fragment of his soul was irrelevant to him. He did not want it, dominion over all mankind – he and his were born in an era where competition simply wasn't possible. And what kind of nation was ruled by only one man? Frankly, after seeing the mess that was Lyra, Tyr understood the benefits of autocracy, but even so, the world should not be ruled by one 'god king', the concept was vile to him.
Time had given him clarity, reflecting to him how simple his wants and needs were. If given the reins of his own destiny he'd just... Walk about. To see all this world had to offer, alone or with companions, it didn't matter. The quiet pleased him a great deal and he did not feel lonely, just knowing that he'd done one good thing in his life was enough in this moment. He saw that old village, almost laughed seeing it, remembering his wanderings with Fennic and all the other things besides. The King of Amistad who had once, even if temporarily, been a lumberjack, how the world turned and people changed.
He wept. He was not afraid to admit that, and he smiled while he did so.
Riverwood was swiftly approaching the status of a proper city, no taxes needing to be paid and they prospered for it. That small village progressing all the way to this point, visible from the mountain. That same mountain he'd once sat with Varinn on, or 'Thomas', his choice of a place to begin this new adventure. It was incredibly sad though, old friends and memories, but to focus on what he'd lost in lieu of all they'd gained was a selfishness he didn't want, or need, not anymore. Still, he wished he could go down there, to embrace the other Micah, see what was going on, but it was not his place to do so.
“Why here?” She asked, Aram, and obtaining her loyalty was necessary for what was to come. To crush the enemy, and so they sat beside one another as he observed and wondered if this life of his was well lived. He hoped so.
“Because it is sacred to me. Sacred, holy, and yet corrupt and foul, a monument of error. I couldn't explain it.”
Aram joined him in his meditations, though unlike his own – her mind was shrouded. Her contemplation of whatever filled her thoughts so insular that he couldn't read it, for once, and only because he'd asked her to do so. She had followed him everywhere since their agreement, except to bed – even when he'd asked. A man's justice was to want to spoon an elf, a lesson from Mikhail who he loved. She took her own chambers but would always be there when he departed for his daily rounds like some kind of specter, night or day it didn't matter. Haunting him. Their 'trial' was soon and it was custom that this be so, a sign of solidarity and trust between the two consenting parties that she be allowed to observe any alterations to his character or capabilities before they undertook the endeavor.
“You are a very strange male,” She said quietly, thoughts remaining still. “When most seek to meditate, they clear their mind, but yours is more cluttered than ever. It is loud in there.”
“It's just my way,” Tyr replied, he'd always been like this, and Varinn had indicated that despite being the opposite of intent, it wasn't worthless. Taking time to organize his many strings of thought was worthy so long as the cultivation of his internal energies continued. Processing all of the data he'd gathered through eyes and ears to forge it into something useful. “Can I ask you a question? Without judgment, or obscured truths?”
“You may.”
“Do your people not marry for love?”
“Of course we do,” Aram replied. “The skydance is a hallowed bonding, we might take countless partners in life but only dance for one. My lot is not my own to decide, and that is something I can accept.”
“It's depressing is what it is,” Tyr inhaled the cold mountain air, so clean and unadulterated. Free of any smell that wasn't pleasant to him. These moments were so rare for him these days, but he hoped they'd be more common in the future. That much of it he had left, Tyr no longer feared the coming dark – it simply was. And there were people out there who were simple, who were not born and seen as gods, who could meet one woman and love them. Was that for him? He did not know, he loved them all, but simplicity has a charm.
“I will love you. Given time, all natural born things are worthy of love. My happiness or any consideration of romance is irrelevant, and you know full well why we do this.”
“For my blood, the blood of a primus,” Tyr suppressed a mocking snort, it was just so strange. “I am aware that there is power in it but had you asked I would have given you a basin full of it and more. For months I have been draining myself and giving to men who's names I do not know. Why would I restrict you from taking it as well?”
“It was not my decision,” She replied with a shrug. Aram had dark auburn hair, contrasting the light tones of the others she'd brought with her. Not black like Alex's, a more subdued natural brown, with cherry highlights shining through when the sun hit the strands. Her features were refined and hard, with healthy pink lips, smooth through with no design of any beauty enhancing compounds. She didn't need them either, quoting half-memories that were not his own he would have called her Slavic in appearance. Aram was beautiful, fae and still of face, not very expressive, but he didn't know her. There was no lust in him for this woman, and he pitied her for being forced into a contract like that, something she'd certainly never asked for. At least he had the choice. Problem was, he could not refuse, even when the offer was made he understood that it wasn't his decision after all. She had been commanded, and she would do as she always had, obey those who 'ruled' the alfen. He needed these people, something deep down inside of him ensured he was aware of how necessary they were.
“Your breasts can inflate...” Tyr commented absentmindedly, something he'd been thinking about for a while. He didn't normally fixate on the breasts, as a so-called 'ass man'. The ass was the justice of the working class, the breasts were the tool of the bourgeois. But... Well, they were still nice, you know, both of them. “Explain the mechanics of that, I am a pervert.”
“Alfen who have been trained to do so can manipulate our biology, at will and to a certain extent, through the spira. It is not a universal trait but a learned talent, no creation of mass but rather a change in state and density, unlike what you call transmutation. We can breathe through our skin for short periods of time, consume lipids to propagate or relocate our body fat where it is most useful, make our bones denser, or less so, doing the same to our muscles. It is normal. I am not of such mastery that I can change my facial structure, but I am well capable of insulating parts of my body to defend against foul weather, or magic. You favor larger breasts? You seem to think about them a lot...” In tandem with her question, even though his eyes were not open he could hear the leather armor she wore stretching and molding itself around her inflating chest. She laughed quietly as she did so, clearly aware that he was watching. “You people are so strange.”
Tyr smiled thinly, what an interesting people they were to be so honest and logical in so bizarre a topic. “Many humans say that it is important to love yourself, and that beauty or aesthetic charm is only skin deep. What matters is on the inside, they say. I have been too privileged and vain to truly appreciate this concept, but I would not ever ask you to change yourself for me, as a friend at least, since I doubt we will ever be lovers. With that being said, I think these people are wrong.”
“What does that have to do with my breasts?” Aram asked, brows raised. “It is very common for Alfen to change their entire appearance multiple times in their lives. And naturally when coupling in the physical sense, is it not important to offer concessions within reason to a partner? It would be very odd to define one's worth on the size of their bosom, I think. Or to refuse a fair ask at altering oneself to the carnal desires of a mate, as we are capable of.”
“Do what you want, my new and jarringly sudden in her arrival alfen mistress,” Tyr snorted. They sat there for a long while, taking in all the sights and sounds. Enjoying the cool air kissing their skin, the mountain song as it whispered through cairns and over the craggy peak. Both minds closed to one another after a brief period of fine tuning on Tyr's part, content to be there. It felt nice, if only to be seated next to a companion that wasn't constantly asking him what he was doing or thinking. She'd accepted what, to their culture, would be rudeness on his part, not complaining about his barred psyche. His experience with empathic connections and training after having multiple run-ins with Bergen had made his a vault inaccessible to the stranger, something useful.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Tyr thought about making for a good first step toward bringing some equity to their incumbent, and certainly temporary relationship. They wouldn't be together long, and he felt like allowing her a glimpse couldn't hurt now that an unbreakable vow had been made. Even if he was immune to it, apparently the alfen version of this promise lay not only on his shoulders, but both. Should he betray it, she would die – and only he would live courtesy of his bizarre constitution. The vow centric around the fact that they would perform the dance, he would offer the blood, and on all days after he would never deny her access to his person. Including his body, within reason... And that promise went vice-versa based on verbal request, sort of making the alfen seem a little nightmarish, really. Not that they'd explode should he not be in the mood, there was nuance to it – time frames involved or multiple opportunities by which to consummate. Weird world, but then again he was just projecting the idea that it had anything to do with sex, they very much wanted to harvest him for his blood and use it, though he didn't know why, exactly.
Alfen had long breeding cycles and denying an opportunity to contribute to their racial population was akin to sacrilege for their kind. But he supposed human marriages weren't so different, and he highly doubted she wanted to lay with him. This was clearly about something else, and he didn't think it was just about the blood either. More plots, perhaps a spot of trickery, he wasn't concerned at all, it was what it was, he just needed them to kill some humans. “Would you like to see?” He asked, after a time.
“Very much so.” Aram said. She did not trust him, and it was apparent with a glance that she didn't want this for herself. But it had been requested by these 'great ones' of theirs, and so she did it without regret or question. Tyr opened himself up and allowed her to dive inside, where she remained for many hours. During which, he organized his thoughts and began to meditate in earnest. Ensuring that her unconscious body was safe, though he was very aware that nothing around here could harm something like her.
You... He could hear Aram's voice bouncing around in his skull, as if she were speaking down a long hall with nothing to snuff out the echoes, it was not pleasant. With that, she fell silent – locking herself down, but Tyr felt the shock and awe of her finding something she couldn't have expected. A spark of understanding regarding why this sudden request had been made of her, to bond with a stranger – a half-human one at that. Harkon, her brother... he'd been right after all.
His dao were all weapons, that wasn't the grand purpose of the dao, but they could be used in any which way he pleased – and he had a lot of them. Unlike a primus, Tyr had come to a point where everything he'd done, of any significance, had loaded another inside of him – to the point where he'd become akin to a spiritual being rather than a physical one. Wotan had been clear that he should forge his own path, but that didn't mean he couldn't use the dao. He'd inventory them before pushing forward and trying anything else. There wasn't enough time to start from scratch, and these formless things inside had ruled him since the beginning. Since he was born, that being the dao of loyalty or trust that had been his original aspect. All aspects were dao, after all, just adulterated by the lower level forces that set the standard for how it might be accessed.
Some were blunt, like the origin flame being the dao of energy. Though he didn't know how to use it literally, he could simplify his access to this dao to use fire magic beyond the norm. The dao of command, or something like it, as these things were rarely given something so simple as a name. It's medium was the gjallarhorn, that 'skill' he'd picked up from the trial in the astral space. The dao of death, or a more subdued version of it, the boy sworn to death – that strange power that allowed him to generate a false arcanum and manifest things with the raw energy of his soul. Last of those, in context to the powers he'd received externally, Hofund. It was a vaguely shaped sword made of stars, and he'd never managed to make use of it. Valkyrja's power was indistinct and only came to his call when he was feeling strong emotion, gjallarhorn could be taken out whenever – and he could use it to split and share his power in a more literal fashion. Hofund was simply inaccessible, he'd spent hundreds of hours total trying to contemplate it and coming up short, he lacked the understanding necessary.
Before, his masters had all been insistent that he not be emotional in a fight. All of them had said this, that it was a bad thing to lose his composure. Thus Tyr had obeyed as best he could, cold and unyielding. Fighting against the urge to truly revel in the slaughter had... It hadn't necessarily held him back, that was a falsehood. But it took mental energy to keep pushing all of those emotions down, almost like training with weights. His aspect at the core of him was emotional, he needed to embrace that spectrum to find what he was looking for. Valkyrja's gift had come to him when he'd been caught in the whiplash of disappointment, losing a great deal of faith after feeling so much of it – just as an example.
Hofund was not a sword, on its part, it was the sword. Tyr had no idea what that meant, but he was certain that it was a pseudo dao like the others that lay at where the dao and the ways of the high ones connected. The penultimate power of the blade, but it wasn't that simple. Hofund was more than a sword, it was like a distilled concept of cutting, given a name, something hybridized not unlike Valkyrja's power. With it, hypothetically, he should be able to cut through anything – but until he knew how, it was worthless to him. The gjallarhorn would come when he felt concern for those perceived to be under his protection.
He possessed the pseudo dao of friendship, dao of faith, dao of sanctuary, various other emotional dao, and so many others that he couldn't put his finger on. They were just there, and most of them were dormant. But one thing he spotted inside one of the gates that made his soul look like a brick of Swiss cheese was the dao of hunger. Gluttony, more appropriately, a dao of sin that appeared rusted and corrupt compared to the others. There were other sins too but this one was so literal he knew it with but a glance.
Just looking at it made his head ache, so he didn't observe for long. He'd never been a glutton, not in the literal sense, Tyr ate what he needed to because of his heightened metabolism, and took normal meals for the most part otherwise. He didn't need to sleep, pass waste, or so many other things that humans did – but he needed to eat and that had never changed. Perhaps it had something to do with committing taboo, gluttony beyond the belly. There was also the dao of pride, which hurt as well but not as much. Pride was more natural to his kind than gluttony, perhaps.
As far as functional dao that could be utilized actively... Gjallarhorn was contextual, and it wouldn't help him much. So... It was down to Valkyrja's soul magic of a sort – the false arcanum and twin chain-blades, inability to properly die as a man should, and the origin flame which simply raised his ceiling for emissions. Everything else was passive, shaping him into a 'real' thing. Not much for a defined collection, but perhaps to was a good thing considering his lack of creativity. To punch real hard, lacking the need for finer control.
Hours he spent piecing all of these components of himself together, until he was bound to find his path. Near half the day passed when Aram finally walked her spira free of his own. Staring at him with deadly seriousness, a tear racing groundward from her aurora eye.
“I get it, kinda dark in there,” That's all Tyr could say. He'd visited that place many times, even with all its changes it was still the same. Lifelessness, all encompassing destruction and the husks of countless things made ash or stone through proximity to him. A vast forest of granite trees, an ocean of chains and black blood beneath the lonely mountain. A mountain that held the graves of more civilizations than the hands could count, of dead gods devoured. He wasn't cursed as he'd thought. Tyr was the curse. He was the ash on the mouths of everything that had ever failed in even the smallest design or ambition in their mortal lives. To exist, for him, was to live as the embodiment of all failure in a sense. The universal constant that everything is temporary.
He was the representation of mortality by any another name. A curse not on himself, but on everyone and everything he touched. Tyr was, quite literally, a fragment of the concept of an end to things. His terminus was destruction and that's all he'd ever know, to truly create something was impossible to him.
He understood and accepted that because he was not long for this world. His aspect was not compatible with it and the duality of his spirit would kill him eventually. Even after he'd fixed the problem of his warped mana core via proxy, this was something not even the gods could influence. He was, put simply, a thing that should not exist. Tyr, as in the god Tyr, of which he was a... Reincarnation of, one might say, was the faith killer. A celestial entity who had come to be the god eater, slayer of all things – even beyond the physical. One of the high ones, the four architects who lorded over the gray house, balance at any cost. As interesting as it was, he'd have hoped for something a little less... Dark.
“I surrender,” Aram said abruptly. “My given name is Eve, and I surrender the skydance, and accept you as the dominant partner.”
“...You don't say.”