Chapter Text
“You know how the Citadel is - always caught up with damn ghosts. Just when we think we have them beat, they all come back again. It’s impossible to deal with on a normal day and a migraine on the worst. And nobody wants to see other priorities . . . isn’t that typical. Then again, I’m sure you’ve had a struggle with that as well. Getting people to believe in the threat the dragons pose is a pain in the neck. Thankfully, I have plenty of hands free in Blood Legion to put a dent into the Branded, and get some hints on Kralkatorrik.”
Rytlock Brimstone takes a sip of his ale across the table. He reaches down and scratches Garm behind the ears - and then he looks at me.
“-then again, it’s hard for them to get work done when I’m not there . Why’d you call me in, Stegalkin?”
“I needed some company, and Caithe told me you were running yourself dry again. Not to mention you’re the closest. I thought if anybody had the chance for a quick visit, maybe it’d be you.”
He snorts and sips his ale. “Well, this ‘chance’ of yours lasts about two days. You’re lucky I had to come into Hoelbrak on business. How’s life been?”
“The last eight months since we defeated Zhaitan have been surprisingly quiet. Hoelbrak’s been celebrating, but to be honest it’s gotten tiring, going to the same moots day in and day out. It feels a lot like before I started traveling. A part of me thinks to go out, but . . .”
I look to the window and sigh. Rytlock seems to know exactly what I mean.
“You haven’t heard from Alexei.”
“Have you heard from Logan?”
I eye him out the corner of my eye. I’d swear he’s blushing, if I’d ever known a charr to blush behind all that fur. “I thought you wouldn’t bring that up,” he mutters. I chuckle.
“You win some, you lose some, Rytlock.”
“Logan’s been busy back in Divinity’s Reach. Apparently Queen Jennah’s trying to start devoting some troops to fight the dragons, but the ministry isn’t allowing her much leeway. He’s doing his best to challenge it, but of course, they’re humans. Nothing ever gets done.”
“I’m sure they’re expecting Primordus to defeat himself,” I murmur into my mug of ale. Rytlock puts his down hard as he suppresses a snicker. I continue. “I’m sure Logan will have it figured out soon, though that Ministry is a pain in the gut. I wonder if he’d perhaps like some outside assistance . . .”
“I doubt even Destiny’s Edge can put a stop to whatever the Ministry’s doing,” Rytlock barks in response. He lifts his mug to his lips again. “What about you? Able to convince anybody up here?”
“I’ve been trying, but everybody’s just content to sit with the victory over Zhaitan and do nothing about the rest of it. It’s rather infuriating, I must admit. Every time I think I can convince Knut, too, something comes up. And then he goes back to focusing on other priorities,” I sigh. “And then there’s the Sons of Svanir, and they cause us about as much trouble as Jormag. At least Jormag has the decency to stay asleep, but the Sons damage property, attack civilians, steal children. I remember there was even a time they had a presence in Hoelbrak - before Alexei and I flushed them out.”
“Which brings us back to earlier. You haven’t heard from them.”
Eight months. That’s how long I have been waiting for them - when we’d originally spoken, shortly after the victory over Zhaitan, we’d agreed they’d only be gone for six. We’d sat and worked out the plans. There hadn’t been any weather, or any major event, that should’ve gotten in the way of them coming back. And heaven knows I’ve eager. Everybody ’s been eager. The Pact is rearing to go . . . but not without their commander.
And now they haven’t come back.
I resist asking the Spirits for anything , but . . .
I look out the window. It’s a sunny day in the Shiverpeaks, for once, but it feels like it should be raining. I grasp for the ring on my finger and twist it around nervously. I’m not sure how to alleviate my own panic.
“. . .they should be here.”
“Perhaps something called them away for longer. Wouldn’t be a surprise. I’ve gotten caught up on the field, too.”
“But this was a personal commitment, not a matter of war! It’s fair if they want more time, but I’m simply . . .”
I drop my hands. My nails tap against the counter. Finally, I turn back to my mug, and take a swig of ale.
“No. They’re safe, I’m sure they are. The Spirits are not unfair. They would tell me if something had happened, or send me a sign, or . . .
something
.”
“You know how I feel about those ‘spirits’ of yours.”
“They aren’t your old gods, Rytlock. They’ve never steered me wrong before.”
I hear Garm bark. He jumps up and rubs against my leg. I reach down and scratch him behind the ears, a subtle thanks. I appreciate the cuddly action, regardless of how out of character it seems for him.
No, I can’t think about that. I have to have faith. They’re still out there. Returning to me, and my bed, where they belong.
“Have you considered a rescue party?”
“They’ll make it back,” I say again. “I simply have to wait for them. Nothing worth it comes easily.”
“Not unless you’re in a position of command.”
“I prefer to work in partnerships, not commands. I can’t imagine how all of you do it.”
“Less compassion. Although maybe that doesn’t apply to some,” he takes another sip of ale. “It’ll be exciting to see Alex back. We’re all curious to see what their next action will be. For such a big player, they’ve been away from the action for a long time.”
A long time indeed. Too long, now.
Oh, Alexei. You’d promised only six months .
***
Three years ago, I met somebody. A young norn, just into their adulthood, who’d won the year’s Great Hunt by slaying the wurm Issormir. They were Alexei Wright, orphaned at a young age, sibling to a norn who’d become a Son of Svanir; still, regardless of their tumultuous background, they’d been charismatic, and strong. We fell in love, and fought for our connection as the world shifted around the eye of Zhaitan. It’d been complicated, a mess, a tearing of the heartstrings and more nerve-wrecking than anything I’d ever done, even fight a dragon . . .
And it’d been ridiculously worth it.
But after we’d defeated Zhaitan, they’d told me they wanted time to go out and think, so we planned for them to circle around in the Frostgorge Sound and be back in Hoelbrak six months later. And I had been so ready, prepared, to see them home - but now, two months past when they were due to be home, they aren’t. What am I supposed to think? I’ve wanted to go out and find them, but I’ve feared that then they would return while I’m gone. I’ve wanted to send a search party, but what if they were just on their way back anyway, and I called attention for nothing? I fear and fear and fear. I can’t shake it.
“Nobody would blame you,” Knut tells me, “If you wanted to call a watch for them.”
“It would humiliate them, to know they’ve caused such distress on such a wide scale. I have to keep it together. They’ll return home. I’m at least certain they’re alive, or else the Spirits would tell me Themselves.”
“The Spirits do work in mysterious ways,” Knut says. “Still, should you change your mind, you may always ask me, Eir. I’ll keep you both in my prayers.”
Knut has been supportive ever since he’s learned about our partnership. We’d told him privately, after the battle with Zhaitan was over, and thankfully, he’s never judged us. I worried, at first; our relationship wasn’t typical, given how much older than them I am, and that we’re both female. But he’s always been a shoulder to lean on when it’s come to my woes and worries about Alex.
Alex. What’s kept you so long?
If they were home, I’d be able to move forward. Convince everybody to rally . . . start a real assault against Jormag.
But no.
Instead, I’m left at home, trying to chat with my friend Rytlock, and my heart just hurts .
***
I’m reassured to find three letters from my friends when I look in the mail, shortly after Rytlock leaves. Letters from Caithe, Zojja, and Logan. Each of them pack a slice of jerky, which I toss to Garm as I step inside. He gobbles them up quickly, and then joins me at my side as I sit at the table and slowly rip open the letters.
The first is from Caithe:
It’s unfortunate to hear that you’ve made so little progress with the norn against Jormag. I’ve found similar problems within the Grove. Everybody has been focused on the success against Zhaitan, and entirely unable to see the real threats that still remain. I’ve bolstered a few to the cause, but nobody of note. Simply some researchers who are as curious as I am to find where Mordremoth lingers. We’ve been doing some research to suggest he may be lurking within the jungles, but where, exactly, is hard to pinpoint. It’s been a concern that none of us are able to shake. More research is definitely needed.
The only one of us who seems to be having real success seems to be Zojja, and even she’s only amassed a small sum of Rata Sum’s information. What are we to do, if we cannot convince anybody of the threat of the dragons? I hate to think of what that might mean for Tyria. But people have to see, now, that our cause is a worthy one. After all, the Pact has succeeded in defeating Zhaitan. It’ll only be a matter of time before they move onto their next target.
As for your beloved, I share in your concern. What could be keeping them, I wonder? I know little about your region, but I do know the Frostgorge Sound may be the most perilous, for as close as it is to Jormag. I truly hope they are not hurt - don’t think they would be, given their strengths - but then again, I don’t know them nearly as well as you do. Perhaps wait a bit longer, to see if they return, but if not, you must go after them. The world cannot lose a hero such as them.
Following her note, I’m sure Logan’s is meant to be happier. But his only brings me down further.
Nobody wants to believe in anything I have to say. Just when I’ve convinced Queen Jennah, the Ministry will do something to oppose all movement, and then I’ve lost her interest all over again. It’s maddening. The only thing that can keep me positive is all my correspondences with Rytlock. I swear, if I can’t make any more traction here, I’m just going to go to the Black Citadel and see him myself, the Six be damned. I can’t stand being here and being unable to do anything. How did we manage it before Zhaitan?
I’m sorry to hear about Alexei. They’re a bright one, if not frustrating. I’m sure it’s frustrating, too, that they haven’t come home. But if something’s kept them away, I’m sure it’s important. They wouldn’t leave you to worry, I’m sure. I certainly wouldn’t leave Rytlock to wonder. Not anymore. I still have time to make up for, so I’m meeting it as best as I can. Meanwhile, I work hard here, and with the ambassadors from the Pact. Slowly, but surely, we’re improving things. We’re going to do right by the world, Eir, I swear it.
Last is Zojja’s letter. Surprisingly, hers is the most positive I can tell.
If Alexei isn’t home by the time this reaches you, then I beg of you, Eir, go after them! Most certainly they’re being fickle, and it can’t be in their best interest to be away for so long. Go look for them before they end up doing something unimaginably foolish. What that would be, I can hardly imagine, but surely they’re not dead. Most likely off on some wild goose chase. Either way, the dragons are too important for them to be soul-searching. Already here we’re making great progress on researching the dragons. And many of my students are aiding in the task, as well; there is one apprentice of mine who shows a lot of promise. Perhaps I will bring her to meet you one day - she is rather brilliant - but until then, it is to our own work.
If you continue to struggle with progress in Hoelbrak, simply let me know. I can send scholars there to educate the norn, or else beat some sense into them.
The support of my friends is something I missed, back when we were in disarray. To have it now is an encouraging sign, especially with both the matters at hand. Zojja’s, especially. Though things had been so heated before, now it’s back to old times, where her and I were closer. I wonder if I should take her up on her offer to send scholars. They certainly would help educate the norn here . . . though I wonder if all asura are as quick with their fists as Zojja tends to be.
There’s a common theme to all the letters, though, which is that something has to be done for Alex. It’s just hard to tell what . And something needs to be done in Hoelbrak, as well . . . I’m not sure what to do about any of it. I sigh, and fold my letters up again. I can feel it in my tired legs: I need a walk, to somewhere or something. I get up and walk to the door to pull on my boots. I whistle to Garm.
“Up and at ‘em, Garm. Let’s go for a walk, old friend.”
***
Hoelbrak is quiet, and gets even quieter the longer we’re out. I hadn’t initially planned for us to be out so long, but first dusk and then nighttime starts descending as we walk, and I don’t have the mind to turn us back home. I’m concerned - it’s all I feel these days, is concern , and I can hardly stand it. Everybody else seems as lost as me, and if they aren’t, then they’re busy with their own work. It feels like there’s nobody I can turn to, and nobody to ask for wisdom.
But . . . there is one way. And I think of it as I go to pass by Wolf’s Lodge, and swiftly change my mind.
It’s dark inside, and quiet. The shrine is dimly lit. I add to the light, quietly lighting first one candle, then two. I extinguish the match in a little bowl of water in the center of the altar, and then I kneel and sit on my heels. Slowly, I bring my hands together, and pray.
Spirits of the Wild , I think, Please. My people cannot see past themselves to the threats that lie beyond the Shiverpeaks we reside. And my partner is absent, missing, gone from my hearth. I’m at a loss for what to do. I can’t think of if I should stay or go, or to where, and why. It seems all an impossibility. How do I lead myself out of this?
There’s silence in my mind. Nothing but the sound of my breathing, and the flickering of candles beyond my vision, and the weight of my body against my heels.
. . . slowly, softly, a set of voices speak into my mind.
Patience, Hunter.
I see visions of swirling snows. I see a figure walking through them, holding themselves around the waist. There is a swath of blood. The figure is screaming.
That image fades, and is replaced. Two figures, hand in hand, walking towards a horizon. Weapons out, one a bow, the other an axe. And behind them, gathering, is a crowd with weapons drawn. Somebody shouts. A war cry is brought up by all.
That image, too, begins to fade, and is finally replaced with one of peace. Two people sitting at a fire, leaning against one another. In one’s hand is a bottle; the other’s, a babe. The family huddles around one another. They are happy.
The visions fade, and with one last, ebbing sort of focus, I see an image of the Fang of Jormag in my mind.
My eyes fly open to the dim light of the altar, and my body goes tense.
Tomorrow .
The voices of before utter the final word, and then go silent.
I look around. The lodge is utterly vacant, except for me and Garm. Though the lodge is lit with fires to keep it warm, my body feels cold. I know only two things. One, I need to be in the Great Lodge tomorrow. And the other: the premonition of the first vision is truly, deeply, terrifying.
It’s Alex.
***
The lodge isn’t as busy as it usually is. It’s almost quiet as I sit down on a bench near the Fang the next day, my body tight from a night tossing and turning in bed. I wonder, for not the first time, what the Spirits mean to show me. They often guide me, true, but it’s rare that they’re so opaque. It’s hard to decide for what purpose that might be. All I can hope is that they’re leading me on the right path.
Garm’s back at the steading, keeping watch. It’s just me today, watching the entrance, praying for them to walk through the great doors. Bold and brave, or even weak and weary. Whichever version of my Alex comes home, I’ll take. I simply need for them to be home, and back in my arms.
I’m so taken with my thoughts that I barely sense it as somebody sits beside me.
“Quiet today,” I hear Knut say, breaking me from my mind. I nod slowly, but my eyes never leave the entrance. “Who are you looking for, Eir?”
“Alexei. The Spirits told me to be here.”
“Funny. They asked me to be here as well.”
I fist my hands in my greaves. If something doesn’t happen, I’m going to explode. I keep thinking of everything everyone said - to turn out a search party, or go looking for them myself. I’m nearly convinced, the longer and longer we wait. Ten minutes turn into thirty. Thirty into an hour, and yet Knut and I wait. The Lodge ebbs and flows. People gather in their groups around the Fang. Nobody today, yet, has tried to break it.
Finally, somebody appears in the doorway of the Lodge.
I tense up and immediately grab for Knut’s hand. I can’t see their face clearly - it’s covered by a cowl, blocking all by their eyes, which are too far to see. Their hair’s red, and their outfit’s the same: red and orange, some hints of green. But it’s not armour. It’s fabric, twisted and draped around their form, covering from their neck to their feet. The only armoured parts of them are their one shoulder, their forearms, and their shins. Their armour is black and pale gold; it shines like it’s new.
The stranger doesn’t try to attract attention, doesn’t try to make a scene. But they’re walking up to the fang.
I get up and take a few steps as I try to see better. They’re looking over the fang quietly, as if measuring it up. I can see them reaching for a weapon at their side, and my heart swells as I see that it’s - it’s a wrought axe . Two of them, one on their left hip, the other clenched in their covered hands.
I watch their body move as they take a breath in. I see a subtle glow begin, red, as if they’re beginning to spark-
And then they swing.
C R A C K.
I cry out in shock. The fang - it breaks . Cracks shone outward from where the axe is now lodged into the tooth, and pieces of tooth breaking and clattering to the floor. The whole lodge suddenly hushes. Knut jumps to his feet and joins me as I stare, in awe, at the stranger pulling their axe from the fang. I’m speechless.
“The fang . . . is broken!” Knit announces in shock. A cry rises from the crowd, and it suddenly swells into cheers as everybody in the lodge runs to see, to crowd around the figure.
The figure, themselves, seems just as shocked. Staring blankly at the fang, and it’s now-shorn marks. But I still can’t see their face well; my heart’s beating so hard it feels like it’ll burst, and I’m so taken that I don’t notice the man slipping from the crowd and lunging towards the breaker until it’s too late for me to scream-
The stranger turns and bursts into flames . Sparks everywhere, bursting from their body as they twist on their heel and slamming their axe into the neck of the Son of Svanir, wielding a knife in his hand. The Son gargles on his own blood, muttering something about “ -live Jormag ” before dropping to the floor. The cowl falls from the stranger’s face-
I cry out.
“ALEXEI!”
They turn around to look at me, and I can truly see the green of their eyes. I forget myself entirely: I run up the steps to the platform and throw myself at them, hugging them so tight I’m not sure they can breathe. They don’t react, stunned, before the crowd is screaming and their arms are coming up around my back. Their face buries into my neck, and their hands come to my hair.
“Eir...”
I pull back enough to see their face - their glossy eyes, the shaky smile of relief on their face - before leaning in and kissing them.
I can hear the cheers of the crowd as we hold each other, and I listen to them roar out their title.
“THE BREAKER OF JORMAG!”