Ragnar looked away from his talking companions, speaking rumors of a roaming monster, a monster their duty to kill. Ragnar’s attention caught on something moving towards them, years of experience teaching him a thing or two about keeping an eye on his surroundings. What he saw both confused and intrigued him. He saw a kid, holding what looked like a toy, but most interestingly, a toy walking beside him, being very ugly. Ragnar looked on with renewed interest, the kid walking with a clue to his task, a task given to him by an outraged queen, a task seemingly impossible, now looking easy.

Ragnar walked towards the child, meeting his eyes, seeing a frightened little kid no older than six, seven years of age, maybe older. He had much hair, face hidden by it, too much hair, a mother and father probably not having the time to fix it, guessing a lonely child. The boy walked with shaky steps, but his face looked the opposite, looking determined. A kid that tried to be brave, but felt scared, holding his toy like a soldier holding their shield. Ragnar saw all this within the span of a few seconds, taking it in, processing it and spitting out a mental image of who and what this boy was as a person. A thing Ragnar hated doing, but was probably his reason for surviving this far.

Ragnar walked to meet the boy, the boy stopping as he saw Ragnar, turning around to look for, someone? Now that was interesting, probably friends pranking him, giving him a childish task as a test of will against a scary-looking soldier. Ragnar understood such things, he had been young himself. But he did not have the time for childish games, he had a mission to do, given to him by none other than the queen herself. And to top that off, the rumor about the monster left Ragnar with little time on his hands.

“Hey kid, where did you get those toys?”

He asked the kid, seeing his head practically fling back to stare at Ragnar, eyes big as if seeing a marching army on the horizon. Ragnar felt a brow raise, an interesting reaction, a reaction that said that the kid had been left behind by his friends. Ragnar wasn’t surprised, kids were dicks, but still felt bad for him. He knew himself to be larger than life, bigger than most, scary to small children. Being left alone against such a man wasn’t an easy task, nor pleasant.

The kid pulled his toy closer to his chest, a toy looking like a knight, a toy that seemed fully alive, pointing a wooden sword at Ragnar as if threatening him. Ragnar stared at it, the toy knight looking like a brave soldier facing off with a giant monster. Ragnar couldn’t help but smile, heart softening at the display.

But now that he’d seen two moving statues, exactly like the description for the moving princess doll, Ragnar knew that this kid had a connection to the mystery man. Ragnar looked up, looking for this kids’ dickish friends, but didn’t see any. Ragnar breathed out in dismay. He didn’t have the time for childish games, he just wanted to find the mystery man and go home, maybe kill a monster while he was on it. Bending down on his knee, he purposefully tried to talk carefully, calmly while looking as innocent as his scarred face allowed.

“You lost maybe? Did you find these somewhere? Did someone give them to you?”

Ragnar asked, each question agitating the kid more and more, his face contorting sadly, like a soldier watching his friends die on a battlefield. Ragnar feeling himself growing less and less confident. Ragnar would rather hold a sword in the midst of battle than trying to reassure a kid. Ragnar would rather talk to the queen herself than comfort a kid. Ragnar would rather face a dragon than question a kid. But sometimes, life gave you sour apples, and you just had to take a bite and deal with it.

Ragnar found himself thinking, overthinking, usually only dealing with rowdy adults, not with scared children. How would one get information out of a kid? How would one question a kid in obvious distress? How would one-

The kid sniffled. The kid actually sniffled. Ragnar felt himself hit by the biggest hammer, eyes growing wide, his companions standing just behind him looking down on him and seeing his failure as a human. Oh the shame, how would he live with this? This is exactly why he hated kids. This always seemed to happen.

But in the corner of Ragnar’s vision, a man jumped out from behind a building, easily spotted by Ragnar. He looked to be middle aged, a lot of hair and too much beard, still looking well kept and clean, a man with little time on his hands it would seem. He looked healthy, but skinny, a man either coming out of poverty or being on the poorer side. He stared at the kid, then up to Ragnar, his eyes clenched, looking both scared and angry.

Ragnar immediately understood that this man was this kid’s protector. The man had obviously been the one who had sent the kid towards Ragnar; The kids frantic looking around and the man’s dash as he heard the kid’s sniffles were obvious indications. But if he was the kid's dad or something else, Ragnar could only speculate. Ragnar took a second to ponder why the man had even hidden behind the building or why he had sent the kid. The memory of a miniscule detail surfacing, a detail said in passing that only now seemed important. The queen had said that the mystery man was awfully quiet, never uttering a word. Maybe he was deaf? Maybe he was mute? Or cursed, hopefully not, not a nice way to lose once voice.

All these thoughts passed like a flash through Ragnar’s head, the man and him staring at one another. Ragnar feeling the man's gaze pierce his very soul, as if looking at all of him, as if seeing his very childhood and judging it. The gaze turning softer, as if the gaze liked what it had seen, passing him on the test. And Ragnar realised, realised that this man was different, he felt different. How? Ragnar couldn’t say. But his intuition, his instincts, his gut feeling said that this man was the mystery man, that this man was the toymaker.

Ragnar looked down on the kid, seeing his face brighten at the mystery man’s entrance, then turning to confusion. The expressions telling him much. Still, it would be prudent to ask.

“Is he the one who made your toys?”

Ragnar looked at the kid when he asked, but realized that the man had frozen at his question. Ragnar turned his vision towards the man, seeing him looking absolutely petrified. A sight usually only seen on the battlefield or on his opponent's face during a duel. The man then suddenly turned around and fled, and Ragnar stared after him in deep confusion. That wasn’t what he had expected. The reaction almost surely telling Ragnar that he was the mystery man, the toymaker. But why would he flee? Ragnar had been sent by the very queen herself, he’d been sent out on an excellent task, an honorable task, a task reserved for a handful of people handpicked by the queen herself. Surely, no one else knew of their task?

The toymaker's reaction was interesting, puzzling and confusing at the same time. Ragnar stood up, pointing at two of his companions, ordering them to run after the toymaker and bring him back, gently if possible. The two companions saluting as they bolted off, running faster than any normal soldier, the elite of the elite.

Ragnar turned back to the kid, seeing him looking very confused, looking surprised that the toymaker had run away. Looking like a soldier seeing his first battle, like a soldier being tasked with an impossible mission, like a soldier contemplating a moral conundrum. He knew, for he had worn the same expression many a times.

Ragnar tried to speak with the kid, to get a positive if that was actually the toymaker, but it was like speaking to a soldier after getting their ears torn off, like a soldier dazed after a particularly harsh battle. Which is to say, it was impossible. The kid just wouldn’t listen, nor talk back. His expression thoughtful as he contemplated something far out of Ragnar’s scope of understanding. This was also one of the reasons why Ragnar hated dealing with kids, they were always so weird.

After what felt like an eternity standing next to the kid, probably just a few minutes, maybe half an hour. His companions came back to report, not bringing back the toymaker with them. Ragnar narrowed his eyes, the report merely stating how they couldn’t find him, nor did they have any idea of where he was. Ragnar frowned at the report, sending them out to look again, even turning back to send more men to search. The toymaker couldn’t have gone far, for god’s sake, wasn’t these men supposedly the elite of the elite?

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Ragnar sighed, looking down on the kid, knowing what this meant. For it meant more time speaking to this kid, his only lead on where the toymaker was, now under his protection. But looking at the kid, trying to speak with the kid, Ragnar knew it to be impossible, at least right now. And for something to be impossible right now meant more time on a mission that should have been completed the second he saw the toymaker. Ragnar just felt it, felt it in his guts that this situation was so much more complicated than it should have a right to be, all stemming from the fact that the toymaker ran away, and the kid not talking.

Thinking of the kid, Ragnar knew outside wasn’t the best place to get a kid to talk, or he assumed. So he led the kid through the small village and towards the barracks. He hoped the kid would talk eventually, that he just needed time to cool down, to reflect and get comfortable.

They walked into the barracks, Ragnar nodding at all the rising, saluting soldiers. Respect plastered on their faces, whispering amongst themselves, staring at Ragnar as if looking at a walking legend. Something Ragnar despised, a soldier recognized by many would also be a target for many. He quickly ushered the kid through, taking him to a backroom leading to a private room.

Inside, Ragnar guided the kid to a chair, seeing him sit down and stare out the only window in the room, then sat himself opposite him. Seated, he looked up at the kid, seeing him look awfully perturbed, a little angry even, like a soldier after a few too many drinks hearing his mother being called fat. Ragnar wondered where this, to his point of view, out of nowhere hostility came from. Ragnar glanced behind him, seeing that his body was blocking the kids’ view out of the window and felt himself smile. He dragged his chair to the side of the kid and saw the kid’s expression soften, turning back to the contemplative, and maybe a little calmer expression.

Ragnar stared at the kid, stared for a long while. The kid not seeming disturbed the slightest, his earlier freight gone like the wind. And Ragnar had to stop himself from smiling too much. The kid was weird, very weird, but he seemed interesting, and interesting was what Ragnar liked. Even if he despised kids, this kid seemed different.

So Ragnar imitated the kid, doing his own contemplations, doing his own thinking. Ragnar knew little about the toymaker, knowing only that he had killed a monster. And that one of the closest villages where he could have gone to was either this one, or two others. Now he knew he'd chosen the right village. He also knew the toymaker to be a beggar, or at least he assumed from the report. The queens contort who'd assumedly met the toymaker painted him as being, not so pleasant. Although hearing his escapades and the fact that he was capable of killing a monster, Ragnar doubted him an actual beggar.

Ragnar also knew the toymaker to be a creator of, you guessed it, toys. But the thing was, these toys wasn’t just mere toys, they seemed to contain the ability to live, to be alive. Which was impossible, very much impossible. Merely a trick made possible by runes, Ragnar assumed. The important word being trick, for no one had actually created life through runes.

But still, how did a supposed beggar know the workings of runes? The wooden princess toy that he had been informed about had an uruz rune on it, and only an uruz rune, nothing else. That should be theoretically impossible. At least that’s what the queen’s magicians, physicians and rune crafters had told Ragnar. Something about runes needing defining rules to work, otherwise the properties a rune had could, and would be, vastly different. The same rune on two identical swords could either make the sword razor sharp or explode in one’s face. This part Ragnar knew to be true, he had experienced one of these faulty blades himself. Though he didn’t understand how one made a rune “stable.” Nor could he, with a straight face, say that he understood the explanation completely as he was a soldier, not a mage.

Considering the information Ragnar had received from the queen, and the toymakers strange reaction to being exposed, Ragnar could only assume him to be a monster hunter, or a strong adventurer. That would explain why he was here. The rumor about the monster in the woods would attract many aspiring monster hunters or adventurers. But that didn’t explain why he had run. Nor why he made toys, or how he could battle and defeat monsters. A feat few can claim privilege off.

Too many questions with not enough answers, answers possibly answered by the kid, if the kid would talk. Ragnar tried, he really did. Each thought came with a question. Each question came with an apology, each apology came with an awkward silence. Ragnar did his best. He really did, it’s not his fault that kids were and are so hard to deal with.

Eventually, day had turned to night, and Ragnar had to count his lucky eggs empty. He sighed, taking a last look at the silent kid, surprised and quite impressed at how long he hadn’t spoken, even if it was to Ragnar, completely nonsensical. Then he walked out, silently bringing back a pillow and a blanket, a big blanket, easy enough to both sleep and cover oneself in. Ragnar knew the pains of not having a good night’s sleep.

Sitting in the barracks, few soldiers being awake, the few being Ragnar’s companions, Ragnar felt lost in his thoughts. He felt that he missed something, that he already had the piece of the puzzle necessary to solve this conundrum, but just didn’t know how. It was a difficult feeling, a feeling he thought he wouldn’t have to feel as a soldier. The thinking supposed to be done by his superiors. The kid was silent, but why? The toymaker had run, but why? He felt as if he had the answers but lacked the logical mind to piece them together. What did he miss? What didn’t he see?

Ragnar stared out the window, night long gone, sleep elusive amid his mystery. The moon big, this big once a month, bringing lustrous grey light onto the dark scenery that was the landscape. A perfect backdrop for thinking, contemplating. A little too perfect actually, his mind picking up every little sound, hearing a few random soldiers having a few too many drinks in the room next to him.

“You hear anything from Dick?”

One of the soldiers said, his fellow soldier answering no, that he hadn’t seen him for two whole days, saying that “Dick“ had been on a patrol to the northwest and that it should have been done by now. The two sounding anxious, nervous. Not surprising, a monster was lurking in the woods, few would want to stay out for this long. Ragnar prayed a silent blessing to the gods, not expecting much, aware how few survived such long patrols.

In the middle of his prayer, one of his companions crashed open the barracks doors, every soldier still awake turning towards him. Ragnar looked at him, seeing him sweaty and breathing hard, the two meeting eyes as his companion locked-on on Ragnar. He stomped up to Ragnar, breathing hard but still muttering out.

“I saw the kid running northwest from here, he seemed to be in a hurry.”

Ragnar felt his eyes opening wide, his chair flying back as he threw himself up on his feet, marching quickly towards the backroom, opening and seeing it empty, a window smattering open. Ragnar stared into the room, his companion standing behind him, multiple soldier woken by the loud sounds, his other companions being the first to wake. Ragnar took no note of them, immersed in his mind. An immersion like oil seeping closer and closer to an open fire. He knew he was close, so close to an explanation. Then the oil touched the fire, and it burst into flames. Ragnar’s mind opening like a soldier using a rune weapon for the first time, it clicked with him; He understood.

The toymaker was not just a toymaker, but a monster hunter, that part simple. The reason for running was that he had sighted the monster and needed time to prepare. The reason for leaving the kid was to force our hands, as soldiers, to take him in and protect him from the monster. It all made sense. The only thing lacking, the thing that would lead Ragnar to the toymaker, and presumably, hopefully, a dead monster, was just were they were fighting. But that was easy, even an idiot could see the connection between the missing patrol guard and the monster.

Ragnar ran to grab a light spear and shield, heading out onto the road and jogging at a fast pace. Ragnar couldn’t help but smile, for he was proud, happy that he had solved the annoying mystery. Happy that he would both get to fulfill the queen’s task and kill a monster terrorizing the village. Two birds with one stone, as they said.

Ragnar and two of his companions ran through the night, the two companions slowly being left behind. Ragnar was too excited, too eager that he hadn’t thought about his companions. They all knew that if they couldn’t bring the toymaker back, it would be their careers that wouldn’t come back. Yet Ragnar kept on increasing his speed, his two companions being left behind, desperately trying to catch up in vain.

Then Ragnar ground to a halt as the sky suddenly lit up as if day had dawned, lit up by a silver light as beautiful as the most shining silver coin. Ragnar felt creeping doubt at the sight, having never seen such a sight before. He quickly shook himself out of the daze, running a little faster this time.

The second time the sky lit up with silver light, Ragnar didn’t stop, instead speeding up, sprinting in the dead of night, running faster than he usually did. Ragnar feeling nervous, worried, his mind set to razor sharp focus. Whatever could make the sky that bright was not just a simple monster, none Ragnar had ever heard of at least.

Ragnar spotted something in the distance. He saw two human figures and a large looming monster, far bigger than Ragnar had assumed from the rumor. And lying on the ground behind what Ragnar believed to be the toymaker, was a child's body lying still on the ground. Ragnar could only stare in dismay as he ran desperately, knowing that the fight would be over before he came close enough to make a difference.

It hurt worse than any of his many physicall wounds.