Sometime around midnight in a small town called Valhalla, an old warhund stirred. He was slightly shorter than a human, bipedal, and had distinctly canine facial features.

His fur had gone from black to mostly gray and his skin held loosely to his wiry frame, but there was still a sense of power to him. Perhaps it was his cropped ears.

Most hunds had ears that flopped and flipped with the wind but his stood as proud and sharp as the day they had been cut. Occasionally someone would helpfully suggest that he should have them repaired, that marking himself as a former Döbian soldier wasn't wise given the history of his country. That people might think the wrong thing.

His answer was always the same. "I'm a Döbian, I hide no shame."

This would usually elicit confused responses about the history of his people and the genocide they perpetrated. Then once they were done implying that he might be a hund supremacist he would elaborate.

"I said that I hide no shame, not that I feel no shame. We learn nothing by hiding the past." He would rasp, his voice ruined by too many cigarettes and a lifetime of violence.

The old warhund took a moment to stretch as he got up from his leather recliner and walked over to the kitchen. Stretching was important at his age. Joints popped and ached but still managed to function as he went about reheating some broth. Just as he was pouring it into a mug there was a knocking at the door.

"It's not locked." He rasped. "Come on in."

There was a moment of hesitation then the door opened and a human woman holding a basket cautiously entered the dwelling. "Are you Kerner Braverhund?" She asked.

"Ja." Replied the warhund, apparently not the slightest bit surprised at having a random stranger come to his home in the middle of the night. He handed over the cup of broth. "How may I help you, Warden?"

The human stiffened. "So you know who I am."

"No." Replied Braverhund.

"But you know that I'm the warden." She pressed.

"Correct." The old hund gestured at the cup of broth. "You know, if you're not going to drink that, I'd rather not see it go to waste."

The Warden took a sip of the broth. "This is very good, thank you." Then she looked down at the basket in her hand. "I need your help finding a home for this child."

"May I?" Braverhund asked, reaching towards the lid of the basket. The Warden stiffened but allowed him to proceed. With care that would have surprised those that didn't know him, the old warhund cradled the newborn in the crook of his arm.

"She is precious." He said, a very human smile gracing his canine facial features. "I will see that she is taken care of."

"Just like that?" The Warden asked, visible surprise showing on her perfect face. "You aren't going to try and negotiate?"

"No." Braverhund replied. "I will do my best to raise her with what little time I have left, regardless of who her mother is."

The Warden pursed her lips. "I'm not her mother."

"Would you like to be?" Braverhund asked.

"No. I don't think so." The Warden took another sip of her broth. "I'm not cut out for it."

"Fair enough." The old hund sat back down in his chair, still cradling the infant. "I'm going to name her Eden."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"That's a good name." Admitted the Warden, realizing now that she didn't actually want to leave, even though she had to.

"I know that look." Said Braverhund.

"What look?"

"You don't want to go." He laughed, causing the infant to stir. "You're suddenly realizing how little time you really have, children can inspire that feeling in you, if you let them."

The Warden sat down. "I don't trust you or this pleasant facade."

Braverhund shrugged. "I could hate you for all you've done, but what good would that do me? What good would it do for my world? Nothing. So instead I hold out hope that you might still be saved. But I don't always get what I want."

"Do you really believe that? Do you think you can save me?" The Warden asked.

"No." Replied the old warhund wearily. "Some of us would rather die than change or let go of the past. But I still can hope."

"Even though you know it's pointless?" Pressed the Warden.

"No, to hope is never pointless. To believe things could be better is never pointless. To work towards a better future for yourself and your children is never pointless, even if you fail. I understand that is a large part of what has made your people successful."

"Do you really think that you can win this war between us?" The Warden asked. "We've danced around the question since I got here, but knowing what I do, I don't think it's possible."

"Then this world will be our tomb." Braverhund began to rock back and forth in his chair, continuing to lul the infant to sleep. "However my faith tells me that will not be the end. Perhaps you are right and I am deluded, after all I am just an old warhund who's days are numbered. But I am still a warhund."

The Warden considered this. "You know, I think I will stay for a little while longer."

"Good." Braverhund beamed. "We will have a naming ceremony for Eden at sunrise. It won't matter much to her now, but when she's older it may be some small comfort that you cared enough to do that one kindness for her."

"I'm still not her mother and I'm not trying to be." Cautioned the Warden.

"Perish the thought." Laughed the old warhund. Then to her surprise he began to sing a lullaby. Not in human common, not in Döbian, but in old German. A language that he should not have even known existed.

His rough voice seemed to smooth out as he sang, like the sweetness of the words soothed his throat.

"Guten Abend, gut' Nacht,

mit Rosen bedacht,

mit Näglein besteckt,

schlupf' unter die Deck':

Morgen früh, wenn Gott will,

wirst du wieder geweckt."

The Warden gave him a look of curiosity. He was showing his cards here, giving up a tactical advantage by letting her know that he had somehow gained access to this forbidden information.

The old warhund acknowledged her questioning look but only gave the faintest of shrugs as he sang the next verse of the lullaby.

"Guten Abend, gut' Nacht,

von Englein bewacht,

die zeigen im Traum

dir Christkindleins Baum:

schlaf nun selig und süß,

schau im Traum 's Paradies."

The Warden waited for the child to fall asleep again before she spoke. "That was reckless of you."

"No." Braverhund shook his head. "It was beautiful and I wanted her to hear it, so I sang it."

"I should kill you for that."

"Perhaps." Said Braverhund. "Or maybe… sing her one of your own. Surely you remember at least one lullaby from when you were little."

There was a song that came to mind. It was deeply buried. But it was still there. Her voice felt rusty as she sang in the language of her parents, a language forbidden in this world without stars.

"Un elefante se balanceaba

sobre la tela de una araña,

como veía que resistía

fue a llamar a otro elefante."

Braverhund handed over the sleeping child and encouraged the Warden to continue, so she did, rocking the infant as she sang.

"Dos elefantes se balanceaban,

sobre la tela de una araña,

como veían que resistía

fueron a llamar a otro elefante.

Tres elefantes…"

It was wrong of her to do this and she understood that it was breaking the rules. But it wasn't like it mattered. None of it mattered. They were going to execute her when she returned to Haven anyway.

Braverhund and the Warden sat in silence for a while, just listening to the child's breathing.

Then with almost a sly smile he started singing another song, this time in his own language.

"Oh little pup sleep, sleep, sleep.

Your eyes, they are so heavy…

With paws that kick and tail that flicks,

I wonder, are you dreaming?

How precious you are, my little star.

Though soon I must be leaving…

I'm bound for war to fight once more,

But this promise I'll be keeping.

My love for you is strong and true.

So little pup, rest easy…

When the war is done and the battle won,

To you I'll be returning."

The Warden smiled sadly. It truly was a shame that this world was going to be destroyed along with everyone in it. But it was too late to stop now.

Things had been set in motion long ago and their momentum was immense. To stand in the way of it now was just asking to be crushed.

But still. It seemed like a waste.