The clash of elemenium echoed in Hirua’s skull, a discordant symphony against the darkness. Then, from nothingness, a hand emerged – withered as old parchment, its trembling fingers whispering a silent plea. Before he could grasp it, a haze of violet swallowed the hand, the discord fading into a silence as chilling as the void.

Hirua shot up in bed, a choked gasp escaping his lips. His sweaty hands clenched the damp sheets. The dream again…

He threw off the blankets and stood, gaze drawn to the renewed light of past-midnight filtering through the window. The traakan’s low-pitched trill was the only sound that dared to break the silence. Each sound pricked at his resolve, reminding him of the lives he'd vowed to protect.

A golden amulet clenched in his hand, its scarlet core gleaming in the faint light. He sought solace in the warmth of the stone, but it did little to quell the cold, restless energy that churned within him. He gripped the amulet so tightly, the scarlet stone digging into his palm like a suppressed scream. The dream gnawed in his mind, a chilling reminder of a past he couldn't outrun. But something else flickered in his grip – a new resolve battling with the weight of his vow.

- - - > xxx •D• xxx < - - -

Deynfif's hand hovered over the door of Hirua’s room. He hesitated, the aftermath of last night's tension lingering in the air. A sigh, soft as the settling dust, escaped his lips as he finally knocked. Three deliberate taps, each a silent plea for his brother to open the door.

Silence answered him. With a sinking heart, he grabbed the handle. As he opened the door, his gaze fell upon the motionless lump beneath the blankets. The kindling light of dawn slanted through the window, highlighting the distance that had grown between them overnight. A familiar tightness gripped his chest, a sensation like a fist clenching around his heart. What if this was their final goodbye?

"I'll leave now, brother." He adjusted his scarf, the familiar motion a useless comfort against the storm brewing both outside Eard's borders and in his own heart. With a final, determined step, he walked out, shoulders squared but heavy with the weight of a silent goodbye.

He stepped outside. The first rays of kindlight warmed his face as excited chatter of children followed him as he walked, their voices bouncing off the stone houses.

"Just like you, Deynfif, I'll fight when I'm big!" A skinny boy declared, pummeling the air with his fists. "Those bad guys...I'll make 'em bleed! They won't know what hit 'em!"

A chubby boy, missing a front tooth, puffed out his chest. "Twice as hard, that's me!" He stabbed a grubby finger towards the sky. "Just you wait, Deynfif! I'm gonna be super strong like Hirua.” He saw a fierce determination in the boy's stance, a mirror of Hirua’s younger self.

He stopped, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He chuckled, picturing himself, Hirua, and Einntyr as boys, sparring under his father's watchful eye. He could almost feel the clash of their energies again, hear their laughter echoing against the ancient oak. A sharp pang, a cold reminder of the years gone by, pierced his chest. A silent breath escaped him.

Simpler times.

A brief smile touched his lips as the children's laughter faded. He nodded at them, remembering his own youthful enthusiasm for games of pretend battle.

“Being brave isn't just about charging forward. It's like solving a puzzle – you need to think it through, consider your options, and make a plan." he placed a hand on the shoulder of a boy with a round face. "Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is step back and come up with a better strategy."

His smile deepened but didn't quite reach his eyes, which held a thoughtful intensity. "Remember," he tapped a finger to his temple. "even the best strategies need practice. Keep learning, stay adaptable, and you'll find strength you never knew you had.”

Their enthusiasm, while admirable, struck a discordant note. Was this their legacy? A perpetual cycle of conflict? The child's words, 'make them bleed,' echoed in his ears, leaving a metallic tang on his tongue. It wasn't the taste of victory, but of something bitter, something corrosive. Was violence ever truly the answer? Could a world built on force ever achieve lasting peace?

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

He reached the village edge, where a crowd had gathered. The faces turned towards him were a mix of youthful curiosity and the familiar lines of Eard's elders. A small hand tugged at his sleeve. "There! Hirua!" a voice squeaked.

His heart skipped a beat. He stopped, gaze drawn to the figure leaning casually against the entrance post with one hand in his breeches’ side pocket. Hirua stood, illuminated by Solus' kindling light, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Hirua?" The name resounded oddly in the kindlight stillness. "This... I didn't expect…" Hirua's presence was unexpected, a contradiction to last night's farewell. Hirua was supposed to be back home.

"Think you two could handle this alone?" Hirua grumbled. "This fight's got a bitter taste – best shared among brothers."

He stared at Hirua, his brow furrowed in confusion, as if he were trying to solve a geometric puzzle with a missing piece. "Hirua, last night, you seemed determined to stay here." He looked into Hirua's eyes, silently asking for an explanation. "This change of heart is...unexpected, given your resolve."

The kindling light cast long shadows that obscured Hirua’s expression. A child, with a gap-toothed grin tugged at his brother's vest. Hirua knelt, meeting the boy's gaze.

"You gonna fight the baddies, Hirua?" the boy asked.

Hirua's right hand delved into the pocket of his knee-length breeches. The set of Hirua's jaws, rigid as granite, spoke the words with a measured weight. "I'm going with Deynfif."

The villagers' trust, their hopeful faces, weighed heavily on him. Each decision felt like a delicate equation, with lives hanging in the balance. Was he capable of carrying such a burden?

His brother’s voice hitched. "This peace Pythair built..." Hirua gestured towards the village, not in a grand sweep, but with a cupped, protective hand, as if holding something fragile. "This sanctuary he carved for folks here..."

"Protecting this place," his brother declared, "burns hotter than any forge. Eard gave me a home, a family!" Hirua's voice boomed, startling a nearby beagwog, its fur bristling like moss on a disturbed stone, scrambling up a tree with a flurry of claws. "That's the kind of loyalty you can't buy, not for a thousand kingdoms."

"This time, I've got the will and the wit to shield what matters most – my family, Eard, all of it." Hirua's words hung in the air as the beagwog dug its claws into the bark and continued its climb.

His breath hitched, his shoulders eased, the angles less severe. The leaden weight that settled in his gut lightened. Yet, the weight of responsibility remained, a heavy stone in his gut. He offered his arm, a silent brother's promise, instead of words. His hand met Hirua's in a silent pact.

He glanced at Hirua, noticing his brother's gaze fixed on the beagwog above; pausing its frantic nest-building. Three tiny kits tumbled out, their squeaks reflecting the unexpected lightness in his heart. But as they scampered back to safety, one hesitated, clinging to the edge. A tiny image of his own anxieties – a fragile equation teetering on the brink of collapse.

"Thank you, brother." his hand instinctively went to his scarf. "It would be good to have you fighting alongside us to protect Craiddhol's future." A sliver of Solus' Light broke through the darkness, bringing Hirua's features into sharper focus.

His fingers tightened around his scarf. He watched the beagwog kit, a tiny ball of fur, inching its way along the delicate branch, swaying beneath the kit's weight.

He reached out, an instinctive urge to steady the branch, but held himself back. The kit must find its own footing, just as they must navigate this uncertain path. The equation of their survival had too many variables, and the margin for error was thin. A familiar pressure settled in his chest, a sensation as constant as the weight of granite, paralleling the kit's tentative steps. Each rustle of leaves was like a tremor along a fault line, reminding him of the precarious balance they sought to uphold.

He met Hirua's gaze, feeling their bond solidify like the foundations of a well-constructed fortress. Each beat of his own heart resonated the weight of their shared vow, a steady rhythm against the looming unknown.

The beagwog, their shared emblem of perseverance, continued its tireless work, weaving a haven for its young. An echo of their own task – fortifying bonds, building a sanctuary not just for themselves, but for Eard and perhaps all of Craiddhol. Yet, the delicate structure served as a stark reminder of the precarious nature of peace, how easily it could be destroyed, scattered like twigs by the winds of war.

A warmth, like Solus' Light on weathered stone, spread through his chest. Their path forward bristled with unknowns, a complex equation demanding a solution. Yet, together, they would face each challenge, each variable, with the steady resolve of brothers, defenders, and architects of a brighter future.

His mind, ever seeking order and completeness, snagged on a missing element. Einntyr. Late again…