Woden sighed as he tilted his head back in his tent, aggravated at the Elf named Lynn’s insistence that he sleep under shelter. The cloth distorted his view of the flames that dotted the night sky, making him huff in frustration. Standing, he grabbed his sword and ducked out of the tent into the biting cold of the night air.
He walked to the peak of a nearby hill, bathed in the light of the moon. He didn’t quite know where he was after waking up from the illusion placed on him, but he certainly wasn’t in the forest anymore. The area was similar to where he had left the Prophet’s group; sprawling grasslands stretching out for as far as the eye can see, only broken off by the mountain range on the horizon.
It was a calm night, the only disturbances being the occasional animal darting across the fields and racing back to their burrows at the sight of the old Pyromancer; and of course, another disturbance was the silver flame of Astrid who had been following him around day and night as she crept up the hill, ever persistent in talking with Woden.
He turned to face the elf and she took a surprised step back. “How did you know I was here,” she asked, staring up at the weary figure on the hill. Woden tilted his head as he gazed down at her. There was something familiar in her flame, and the memories it brought weren’t exactly pleasant. Memories of a naïve boy, hiding his nature. Memories of a doting elf, hiding her intentions. His past.
A bitter taste struck his tongue as he responded. “I may not see in the traditional sense, but your flame is what gives your presence away. Call it a Pyromancer’s intuition.” His tone was harsher than he intended, and even though Astrid didn’t show physical signs of offense, the wavering of her flame was enough to tell Woden she had noticed it.
“What are you here for,” he asked, the bitterness refusing to leave his voice as he spoke to her. “I simply want to talk, that’s all,” Astrid said, starting up the hill once again, coming to a stop in front of Woden. The maturity in her voice and walk reeked of royalty, further dousing Woden in a blanket of moroseness.
“And what would you wish to speak about,” the Pyromancer asked, biting back the memories raring in his mind. The Elf’s flame wavered as she pondered a question, clearly deep in thought. Whatever she intended on asking was something she had been holding in for a long while now. That meant it was likely long-winded, emotional, and personal; if there was a sentence to sum up everything Woden wasn’t, it would be that.
Woden waited patiently for her to speak as more memories from his past flickered into his mind. He remembered being forced to hide his Pyromancy, being scorned by everyone due to Pyromancy’s inherent ties to the Cult of Svarog. He remembered the only person who ever showed him any care, one of the old human King’s Elven daughters. Loretta.
Resentment flared in his gut as the name tore its way to the forefront of his mind, and he had to restrain the power of the Rune as it threatened to burst forth from his eye. He stumbled, his sword clattering to the ground and falling to his knees as the warring emotions in his chest overwhelmed him. A hand on his shoulder stabilized him, and a jolt of familiarity shot down his back.
He realized then that his feelings weren’t boiling over because the Elf reminded him of Loretta, it was because she reminded Woden of himself; the energy that radiated from her touch was all he needed to recognize the signs. “Are you alright?” the Elf asked, her expression one of guilty concern. “You’re still recovering from the drug, aren't you? You should be resting.”
Woden grit his teeth and stood, cursing himself for not noticing it already as he took off his blindfold. What he saw in Astrid’s flame made him scoff as he walked over to where his sword had fallen, picking it up from the ground and removing it from his sheath.
“You have your swords on you, yes?” Woden asked, resting his sword on his shoulder as he turned to look at Astrid. The Elf took a tentative step back. “I-uh, yes? Why do you ask,” she questioned, stuttering but holding her ground.
“Good. Draw them. We’re training.” Woden snapped his fingers, the simple action causing a spark that sent fire coiling up his arm, fanning out at his shoulder. Astrid looked at the flame in awe, transfixed for a moment before shaking her head and complying, sliding the two sabers at her sides out of their sheaths.
She took a deep breath and lowered her stance, surveying the man in front of her. His guard was deceptively lowered as he stood upright and still, his massive frame silhouetted by the light of the moon behind him, the flames on his arm lighting up only half of his body. His tired face was contorted into a scowl, and his right eye pulsed with flame.
Woden let his sword drop from his shoulder and it sank into the ground slightly as he widened his stance, lowering his center of gravity. “Attack me and don’t hold back. Go for my throat. Try to kill me.” Astrid blinked in bafflement at the old man's boldness, but her surprise quickly shifted to concentration as the Pyromancer kicked off the ground and sprinted towards her.
He was slower than Lynn by a significant degree, so Astrid had more than enough time to react to the strike he sent upwards at her, dodging out of the way and swinging for his back. Her attack connected and drew a large gash diagonally across his back. Blood flew from the wound and splattered the grass as he let out a hiss of pain.
“Please, Woden. Just rest,” Astrid pleaded, but as the words left her mouth, the Rune pulsed and Woden darted forward again. His movements were the same as before, and Astrid went to counter again only to feel her breath leave her lungs as a fist slammed into her chest right below her ribcage.
She fell backward, rolling before clambering to her knees hacking and coughing as Woden readied an overhead strike with his sword. Astrid had barely enough time to roll away and his sword sunk into the dirt. He turned to her and his scowl deepened.
“Stop holding back. Use it.”
Astrid’s breath caught in her throat as Woden spoke. Despite not knowing what he meant, she could feel a torrent of emotion building in her heart. She stood, taking a deep breath before settling into a stance once again. “Don’t talk to me like you’d understand.” She didn’t know where the words came from, all she knew was that she meant them.
Woden brought his sword to Astrid’s in a clash that sent the both of them stumbling back before they regained their footing and continued their attacks. Astrid swung from two directions at once, but somehow Woden managed to block most of the attacks, the few that made it through leaving nasty cuts on his body.
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Sparks fell around them as they clashed again. Woden snapped his fingers, and Astrid was filled with dread as she watched the sparks bulge and expand. They were going to explode. Astrid didn’t know how she knew, but she did. The old Pyromancer smirked as panic spread across Astrid’s face. Woden held his hand out and clenched it into a fist.
The blasts rattled Astrid and sent her sprawling, sliding across the ground and coming to a stop on her back, staring at the stars. Her vision was slowly polluted as a fireball grew in Woden’s palm; soon it was the size of Astrid’s tent. Her head was still spinning and she could hardly lift a hand.
“Use it. Control it.”
It was Woden speaking, but there was something in the back of her mind echoing his words exactly. The voice was hers, or at least hers from when she was a child. It brought back memories, the clearest of which were happy and cheerful, exactly as she remembered her childhood. But there was something else. Something foggy.
The fog cleared and what replaced it was agony. The feeling of being dunked in water colder than ice, complete and total scorn from her family, the sensation of her memories being overwritten by magic. Everything at once.
She screamed as Woden launched the attack at her. It collided with her torso and her screams got louder before the fire dissipated, but Woden hadn’t done it. The Elf lay on the ground, unconscious and exhausted, but the wounds from their battle had already healed.
Woden sighed as he sat in the grass adjacent to her, mulling over his discovery. He should’ve known from the moment he saw Astrid, but now there was no doubt in his mind. The Elf was a Pyromancer. Woden scoffed, no wonder he couldn’t tell what she was; if he had to suppress his nature to the extent that he did just for one deceitful Elven princess, he couldn’t imagine the length the royal family would go to keep their own child from realizing their potential.
He’d have to teach her how to control this power properly now that he’d awoken it in her. The minute the thought flitted through his head he laughed. How unlike him, even considering helping someone. Although, this one was personal. She carried an immense guilt and rage in her core.
She was almost exactly as Woden was when he was a child. Scared, confused, shunned; latching onto any semblance of warmth from any creature, be it beast or man. Woden fell into the former, in his mind. All he cared about was making sure another demon like himself wouldn’t be born into this world.
At least, that’s what he kept telling himself as he drifted off to sleep, finally able to relax as he gazed up into the endless expanse of space.
° ° °
“We’ve received word that the Prophet had been spotted nearby in a small settlement to the northeast. He was traveling alone and carried a massive spell tome with him. Reports are saying that he snuck into the town under the cover of night and broke into-”
“Bullshit.” Woden interrupted, causing the scout to sputter with indignation. Lynn’s gaze flickered to Woden and rage practically poured from him as he marched up to the Pyromancer. Woden stood taller than the Elf, but it didn’t seem to dissuade him.
“Every time someone speaks ill of this Prophet, you call them out. A part of me is beginning to believe you’re defending him, Pyromancer.” Woden leaned forward, coming so close to the Elf that their noses almost touched with a look of pure indifference on his face.
“No, Elf. I simply call them out when they’ve spoken a lie so blatant it’s laughable.” Woden spoke with such dominating authority that Lynn took an instinctive step back, but his scowl never fell.
“He travels with a monk. Their bond was too tight to be broken so quickly. My guess is they’ve gone out to do something about the overflowing bloodlust that pervaded the monk the last time I saw them,” Woden spoke overtly, gaining a raised brow from the Elven commander.
“Care to inform us how you know such intricate details of the Prophet’s life?” Lynn implored, a threatening tinge to his tone that almost made Woden chuckle. “Because I was traveling with them before you picked me up. He was with a mercenary commander then, I’m assuming they split. His name was Grayson Windfel, if my memory serves.” His casual manner of admitting this crucial information got a bewildered look out of Astrid and a furious glare from Lynn.
Lynn took over the scout's role of indignant sputtering as Woden gave him a wry smirk before ducking out of the tent, not caring for the earful that was certainly coming his way. Astrid followed suit, quickly matching Woden’s pace as questions started to pour from her; Woden did his damndest to ignore her, but the barrage quickly got the better of him.
After what felt like years Astrid seemed satisfied with Woden’s answers, stroking an imaginary beard, mimicking a habit Woden had when in deep thought as she mulled over what he had said. “Are you sure? The way Lynn talks about him makes him sound like some sort of monster that’s larger than life, but you just make him sound, I dunno… confused?”
Woden nodded. “An apt description. Confused or not, he's not an enemy you’d wish to have. Anyone who can make it out of the Cult with their sanity isn’t to be scoffed at. When the time to fight comes, all I can be sure of is that the casualties will be immense.” Astrid looked at the Pyromancer, a sense of dread bubbling inside of her.
“But we’ll win, right? I mean, there's no way we could lose! We have an army, he’s just one man,” Astrid said defiantly, and as Woden turned to her she was reminded of her conversation with Lynn after he broke down at the Inn. Woden gestured for her to follow as he walked away from the camp, stopping atop the hill he and Astrid had fought on.
He looked at her sternly, undoing his blindfold and making eye contact with her. The Rune sat still in his eye, somehow giving it an even more off-putting look. His left eye held dregs of blue, fogged over and milky with blindness.
“Listen to me when I say this, child. You need to evaluate your stance on this fight properly. Decide how much the Elven commander truly matters to you, how much these soldiers matter to you. Because when the time comes, you’ll have to make a choice: leave your group and carve a new path, or fight tooth and nail for the vain hope of keeping your life as it is.
“This will not be a simple battle of one against many, the Prophet knows those who are more than willing to help him cut down the royal army, and all of them are just as fearsome as him. If harm were to come to any of the people he cares for, no matter how slight, I fear for what the oppressor would face.”
Astrid opened her mouth to respond, but Woden didn’t give her the opportunity. “I’ve seen Hell, and there is no ease for those who have. I saw it when the Cult chained me down and forced me to bear witness to Svarog himself in his purest form. It’s how the Rune was embedded into my eye.
“In those eyes, I saw the one thing that had ever forced fear into my heart. I saw Svarog. That Prophet, whatever he is, is the closest thing to Hell walking the earth this planet has ever been cursed with.”
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