Likely taken aback by the abrupt shedding of leaves from the Odo tree, the Odoe, who had left the ceremony after the anticlimactic show, now rushed back in its direction, heading in the opposite direction of the carriage that brought the Rustler. Despite Men'ma's father voicing the desire to continue their discussion in the carriage, the journey back to Men'ma's family residence was marked by silence, with only the two of them present.

Soon the two arrived at the residence and with just a nod exchanged the two of them headed their own way. The Rustler, not knowing where else to go headed straight for his room, as he did he quickly realized how strangely silent the whole house was without its people, especially with how lively they tend to be. The silence was strange but it was also a nice change of pace, he thought to himself.

Upon entering his room, he let out a sigh before throwing himself onto his bed. He felt utterly exhausted, but not in a physical sense; physically, he was fine. In fact, he felt more energetic than ever, a vitality he hadn't experienced in a long time. If it were those days, with the amount of energy he felt reserves within him, he would be able to run across those dark woods, emerge onto the pasture, and cover five times the distance he did that day, if not more. So, no, physical exhaustion was not the issue. It was mental exhaustion.

Currently, thinking itself was killing him, metaphorically.

Rolling to face the other side of the bed, he wondered. Did losing that make me stupider, somehow?

"The worst part is actually knowing that it's literally possible. Wisdom, knowledge... He called it," he sighed once again. "As if I wasn't screwed enough. First, there's me having literal discussions with myself—though one could argue that this has always been my thing, albeit with much more grace in the past. Now, I'm realizing I'm getting dumber. What's next?" As he said so, his gaze ventured to the room's little terrace.

Picking himself up, he walked up to it, to be, as always, confronted with an opulent late afternoon view of the Odo tree. It cast its shadow over a part of the capital, but unlike any other day, today there was something different in the sky. Partially hidden by the golden leaves of the Odo tree, in an unobstructed corner of the sky, one could see three of the seven moons.

"Cythera, Atlas and Eira," he enumerated, and as he did he was brought down the memory to where he learned to recognize each of the seven moons and describe how the six others suns looked like, but soon that thought was cut—overshadowed by the sight of that one gigantic tree, that deflected his thought back to the interaction he had earlier with that person—if one could call that a person.

"Now, they’re after me, huh?" He mused. "At least she confirmed who I was thinking they were."

From the moment he interacted with the voice that greeted him on the day of his arrival to the capital, he had formed a theory about the identity of the person behind the voice. On their initial interaction, despite the voice introducing itself with a completely foreign name to him, the mention of the one referred to as "mother," made their identity quite evident. The only thing preventing him from fully acknowledging it as a hard fact was the lack of evidence, one which the second voice had provided him.

"To choose what I’ll become, was it?" he mused, repeating the girl’s own words.

Upon hearing those words coming out of his own mouth, he was reminded of when he had left the central continent after being asked a similar question by Men'ma. It had been months, and yet, just like the vague answer he formed in his mind back then that had led him to accept Men'ma's offer to bring him to the Southern Continent, he still did not have a clear answer to that question.

In fact, he was in the time he spent alongside Men’ma’s family and in fact even before that, during the whole journey, he’d been asking the same question.

He looked down at his hand, massaging his palm.

He was well aware of the danger that awaited someone like him in the southern region, especially in the capital, the birthland of the Odoe race and Odo itself, where the foremothers still resided. He knew that passing through the staves would strip away everything that defined him on the central continent. Despite this knowledge, he proceeded, not because he wanted to, he did not, but rather because he had no other alternative given to him.

"I guess that's what I get for being delusional," he self-derisively said, leaving the terrace and even his room. "I’m done seeing that tree."

Upon leaving his room, he proceeded up the stairs, feeling that there wasn't much to see downstairs. Besides, he had never really ventured beyond the floor his own room was in. Soon, he arrived at a single dome-roofed rooftop where sat a long table and several chairs.

The rooftop offered a captivating sight. Of course, he could not avoid the Odo tree, but from the rooftop, his view was not limited to the Odo tree; instead, it extended to the whole city. As he looked around, he noticed that only a handful of tall structures had golden dome-shaped roofs, resembling the one he was standing on. Most of the buildings, however, were simply roofed without any distinctive architectural features.

While scanning the horizon from the height of the rooftop, he witnessed the discrepancy that Men'ma's father had talked about. In the distance, he was able to make out the outlines of the seven staves.

Instinctively he went on to massage his palm, subtly scratching the surface of his skin—made of pure Odo, not that it did anything to it. The symbol was simply embedded in him.

"This…"

Aside from the initial reason, another reason that made it that he didn’t acknowledge the identity he formed as to who they were was the fact that the first voice appeared to him in a dream, something that they, if they really were the one he expected them to be, shouldn't be able to do, and yet here he was.

Glancing at the golden sign in his palm that Men’ma and her fellow valkyrie seem to call blessing, he felt like he had the beginning of an answer to that question. "Just as I thought, this mark—this sigil—cannot be a product of Odo-wielding... it has to be something like..." His thought was interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming from the door that led to the rooftop. They were Men’ma’s father’s.

"Oh, there you were," he said, approaching with two trays in his hands.

"Yes… I was enjoying the scenery, I hope this isn’t an issue."

"No, not at all. In fact I’m glad you enjoy our rooftops’s view. Besides, it's a nice spot that you've found. Perfect for this," he said, looking at the trail in his hands.

"This is?"

"It's a bit early, but... this is going to be dinner. Well, it's more of a remnant of breakfast, but I made sure to warm it up. So, let's dig in while it's still warm," he said, motioning at the nearby table.

The Rustler followed, taking a seat with him. "Unless you have an issue with just the two of us eating together."

"No," the Rustler replied, shaking his head.

With that established, he settled at the table, taking the seat where Men'ma's father had placed the second tray upon which the food was.

Once again, much like their previous trip back to the residence, the two of them sat in silence, their meal consumed without a word exchanged. The silence lingered even after their plates were cleared, until Men'ma's father finally shattered it.

"It's been a while since I've eaten like this, with just one person around. I hope you didn't find it weird—the silence. Dinners are usually so lively with everyone's chatter around," Men'ma's father reflected.

"No, I didn't," the Rustler reassured. "After all, I'm more than used to it."

"To a silent dinner?"

The Rustler nodded, and another bout of silence settled in. However, the quiet was soon broken by Men'ma's father, who suddenly asked, "Do you miss it?"

"Do I miss what?" the Rustler replied, a little confused by the abrupt question.

"The silent din—no, actually what I wanted to ask was, do you miss your home, the central continent?"

"Not particularly," the Rustler responded without much hesitation.

"I see," Men'ma's father mumbled, seemingly unsatisfied with the overly brief reply. He then ventured further, "What about your parents? Do you miss them?"

After pondering for a moment, the Rustler answered, "No."

"I s—" Men'ma's father began but was interrupted by the Rustler, who remembered how dissatisfied he was with his previous brief answer. "They're gone," the Rustler clarified, adding, "They're dead."

Hearing this, Men'ma's father looked sorry and expressed, "I'm sorry for your loss."

"There's no reason to. I never met my father... As for my mother, I only met her thrice. My Uncle was... no, nevermind. Even him was a stranger to me. There is no reason for you to feel sorry for their loss. They and I barely knew each other, if at all," the Rustler explained.

"That doesn't make sense. They're still your parents, right?" Men'ma's father said, his voice slightly louder than usual.

Men'ma's father almost immediately realized that he had raised his voice, so he quickly apologized, "Sorry for raising my voice like I did."

"No, it's nothing that I mind," the Rustler replied.

Men'ma's father, visibly embarrassed, continued, "Well, I do. It's only now when looking back that I realize that I don't know much about your circumstances. My daughter simply entrusted you to us without much explanation, all while expecting us to ask no questions."

"Sorry about that," the Rustler replied.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. If there's someone who should apologize, it's me. I know nothing, and I have no right to sound as judgmental as I did." Men'ma's father admitted.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

As the sun set on the horizon, painting the sky with a dark yet brilliantly star-filled canvas, a peculiar silence enveloped the table. This time, it was not Men'ma's father who broke the silence, but the Rustler himself.

"When I was younger, during dinner and lunch, I often ate like this. As an Arbian, we primarily dined at a table like we are now," the Rustler began, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "I had someone by my side, watching over me."

"Someone? Was it an uncle? Or perhaps an older brother?"

"An uncle? No, he was more than that," the Rustler replied, a hint of admiration in his voice. "He was old, but he wasn't an older brother."

"I see... Someone more than an uncle watching over you. Is it safe to assume that he was like a father figure of some sort?" Men'ma's father probed, trying to piece together the Rustler's story.

"A father figure," the Rustler mused, contemplating for a moment. Eventually, he nodded, realizing that compared to all the people he had ever known, "he" was the closest thing he had to a father. "I guess he was. He was someone who never knew when to stop talking. So, even when it was just the two of us, my meals were always filled with lively conversations."

"Sound like a fun person to be around," Men’ma’s father smiled

"I’m not so sure about that."

"But you sure do look like you miss that person."

"I do…"

Men’ma’s father nodded, mistaking the Rustler mumbling as a simple question.

"I see…" The Rustler chuckled derisively, admitting "Well, perhaps I do."

"I noticed you're talking about him in the past. Did something happen?"

"He broke ties—We parted ways," the Rustler replied. Sensing the gaze upon him, he looked at Men'ma's father and quickly clarified, "It has nothing to do with my departure from the central continent or Men'ma. It happened years before we even met."

"Ah, I understand," Men'ma's father replied, nodding attentively, showing his investment in the story. "Can I ask about the circumstances that led to your parting ways, if you're comfortable sharing?"

"Well, if it's just that, it's not like I particularly mind," the Rustler mused. It had been a long time since he had discussed "him" with someone other than Men'ma, and unlike with the latter, he was now doing so indirectly. "But why, huh? I suppose I fell short of his expectations."

Men'ma's father looked at him, as if anticipating more, but that was all there was to it.

"You parted ways simply because you fell short of his expectations?"

"Not just 'just.' Those expectations he had for me were very important to him. More than anything you can imagine," the Rustler explained.

"Perhaps, but that doesn't explain anything. Who would sever ties with someone simply because they didn't live up to expectations?" Men'ma's father challenged.

"Him, I suppose. But can we really blame him? Me falling short of his expectation didn't happen just once. I disappointed him more than a couple of times," the Rustler confessed.

"Still, my points firmly stand," Men'ma's father insisted, now greatly invested in the topic.

Realizing the intensity of the discussion, Men'ma's father immediately apologized, "Sorry for raising my voice once again. But you seem intent on believing that he isn't in the wrong. However, as little as I know about the full circumstances of this parting of ways, as a father, I know for a fact that this isn't how a parent should be."

He wasn’t my father though.

"Perhaps," the Rustler replied, "but he was a breed of a being."

Attempting to apply mortal logic and patterns of feeling to him was as futile a task as hoping to accurately count the stars.

"You and Men'ma's mother are very different from him," the Rustler remarked, hoping to steer the conversation away from the subject that he felt was becoming precarious.

"I sure do hope we aren't," Men'ma's father replied. "If that were the case, we would have long ago shunned our daughter," he retorted with a chuckle.

"Has she often let you down in the past?" The Rustler asked, curious.

"Not exactly let us down but she wasn’t really a child easy to raise," he explained, with a smile barely able to hide. "I’m sure you’ve noticed it. Our daughter is a very stubborn child."

With a nod, he confirmed.

"That stubbornness of hers isn’t particularly something new, it was something that had quite a heap of trouble in the past. I can’t deny having my part to play in its inception but my wife and I’ve been trying to fix that, but old habits die hard, as they say," Men’ma’s father explained.

Remembering that she chose to literally abandon everything, her family, her duty as a valkyrie, the Rustler commented, "It’s still following her to this day."

"I would be lying if I said it wasn't. You can't imagine how worried we were as she grew older and older, carrying that stubbornness of hers. Especially considering the fact that from a young age, despite her adventurous nature, she aspired to become a valkyrie. And she, just like her mother, had the potential to do so."

For a Dae Odoe, there were only two requirements to become a valkyrie. The first requirement was to be a woman qualified to be called young. The second requirement was to be a top-tier Odo wielder, which suggested two components: a good mastery of one's Odo and a large reserve of Odo. The latter component alone disqualified all the scaled, veined female Odoe, while the former component disqualified a large portion of the Winged-Odoe.

For Men'ma to have been perceived as a potential valkyrie, it meant that she had proven herself to be a part of this limited elite.

"She was appointed as a maiden-valkyrie, the youngest among them all no less, destined to become the eldest of the next generation of valkyries. Surprisingly, she changed the moment she received her duties as a valkyrie. For a time, she earnestly carried out her responsibilities at the side of the Eldest. She changed. Or at least, she seemed to have changed."

"Are you referring to her plan to embark on a journey to the central continent?"

"Yes," he nodded. "As she changed, she developed a peculiar obsession. She referred to it as an oracle from the Odo Tree itself, one that commanded her to sail to the other side of the sea. At that time, as her father, I would have loved to dismiss it as merely a product of her stubbornness. You see, she has always been an adventurous child, and I had always indulged her curiosity about what lay beyond the sea. I misjudged her true intention, assuming that since the Eldest opposed it, I should as well." He let out what sounded like a self-dersive chuckle. "Then it happened."

"She left."

"Without a word. Can you blame her?"

"Were you angry at her for what she did?"

"Angry, huh... Well, I can't deny that I was frustrated with the consequences that resulted from her decision, so yes, perhaps I was angry. But it was only for a time. If anything, my anger stemmed more from not being able to see my daughter for two years, rather than her being just herself," he explained, a genuine expression on his face.

"She is lucky to have a father like you," the Rustler voiced sincerely.

"Lucky? I wouldn't be so sure. Even now, I still feel like I failed as a father by not standing by her in her endeavors. She was my daughter, and I should have known that if she was pursuing something, it had to be for the right cause. I should have known that she wouldn't give up unless she had given her best. Had I, as a father, stood by her side, I feel like I would have felt less like we wasted those two years being apart," Men'ma's father confessed, a tinge of regret in his voice.

"I do not claim to know her more than you do, but I'm certain that she feels the same about the years she was separated from you," the Rustler assured him. "That night we arrived, she was anxious about coming back home, worried about how you would react."

"She was?" Men'ma's father questioned.

"Yes. I think she was expecting a scolding for what she had done, but at the same time, she was excited, practically restless with the idea of coming back to you. She regretted wasting time away from her parents' side," the Rustler explained.

"I see," Men'ma's father mumbled, clearly touched by the revelation. "So even as a valkyrie, scolding from her old parents still has some effect on her. Perhaps I should have never given up on that approach. Next time I see her, I'll make sure to properly scold her as soon as I get the opportunity," he commented jokingly.

"Please do so," the Rustler replied, joining in Men'ma's father's joking mood.

Men'ma's father then smiled, looking towards the Odo tree as if preparing to leave to return to Men'ma and the others. However, before he could do so, the Rustler asked, "May I ask something?"

"Yes, what is it?" Men'ma's father replied.

"Are you okay with it? With your daughter becoming a valkyrie? For now, she's still a maiden valkyrie, and yet you already struggle with occasional separations. But in four years, she'll become an Eldest, and seven years after that, you won't be able to see each other anymore. Are you okay with that?" the Rustler inquired.

"That..." Men'ma's father trailed off, unable to answer immediately. "Since you're not an Odoe, I'll tell you this in the hope that you won't repeat it to anyone. While a part of me is proud to have a daughter who became a maiden valkyrie, another part of me wishes she didn't. It's just as you said, I have reservations about the part where we will soon have to never see each other ever again, but that's the way it is. Besides, there are two aspects of her becoming a valkyrie that I simply can't argue against. First, despite having a father like me, she became a valkyrie through her own shedded tears and sweat," Men'ma's father expressed, acknowledging his daughter's accomplishment.

"A father like you?" the Rustler asked, seeking clarification. "What do you mean?"

Men'ma's father didn't directly respond to the Rustler's question. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves, revealing golden scales on his arm—just like were hers.

"I'm the living proof that the belief we, Odoe, hold—that being born close to the Odo tree guarantees that one's child is born with a great reserve of Odo—is untrue," Men'ma's father explained. The sight of the scales and the implications they carried answered the Rustler's question. Now, his interactions with the Eldest made much more sense in light of this understanding.

"I can barely consider myself an Odo-wielder. So, no, she didn't rise through the ranks simply because she was my daughter. Nor did she because she was my wife’s daughter. She did because she worked hard for this. What right did I have to oppose her wish to become what she had worked so hard to achieve?"

"I see… that makes sense. But may I ask, what’s the second reason?"

As if embarrassed by the mere mention of it, Men'ma's father scratched his face and hesitantly revealed, "The other reason is eternal life."

"Eternal life?"

The moment he made mention of these two words, the Rustler immediately understood to what he was referring to, to the Odoe race, there was only one thing they could perceive as Eternal life, it was the existence of the valkyrie who across the ages existed and forever exist with the sole duty of tending to their beloved Odo tree.

"Yes. Even as a scaled one, I suppose just Dae Odoe at the core. Just like my fellow Odoe, that would be what I would want for my daughter. After all, what kind of parents wouldn’t want immortality for their children?"

Rhetorical or not, the Rustler chose to not answer that question.

"While it would be a life of duty, it would also be a life free from the cycle of rebirth and decay. She and her Odo would live to witness the day of the return of both the goddess and the Matriarch," Men'ma's father expressed, with a hint of fanaticism that reminded the Rustler of his daughter.

Perhaps realizing the strange turn the discussion had taken, Men'ma's father stood up and stacked the two trays they had their dinner in. "It has been a pleasure talking, but I think I've taken up too much time. I need to head back to the others before the end of the ceremony."

"I understand. Please give my second regards to Men'ma."

"I will," Men'ma's father declared, preparing to take his leave. However, midway, he abruptly stopped. "We got heavily sidetracked from our initial topic, didn't we?"

"Who knows? I have to admit, I don't even remember what our initial topic was," the Rustler confessed.

"We were talking about... the person who was like a father to you. What is his name?"

"Actually, I think I'm going to disappoint him once again if I were to reveal his name to someone," the Rustler explained.

"Is that so..." Men'ma's father trailed off before adding, "He sounds like quite the intriguing character, which makes me even more curious about what kind of person he is. But that's a discussion for another time. For now, I just want you to know that if he—assuming he truly saw you as a son, as you saw him as a father figure—then I'm sure that wherever he is, if he's a reasonable living being, he would understand that if you fell short of his expectations, it is partly on him. We have a saying here that goes, 'The failing of a child is that of their parents,' " Men'ma's father said, visibly trying to uplift the Rustler's spirits.

"So, I think you should stop thinking that whatever happened was deserved because... how should I put it..."

"I wasn't the only one to have messed up?"

"That was a bit blunt, but yes, that's the spirit."

"That certainly is… Understood. I'll do my best to remember that."

"As long as you do. Anyway, I need to go. See you tomorrow for breakfast. Have a good night," Men'ma's father bid, before taking his leave, leaving the Rustler once again alone on the rooftop.