An Honorable Death

As far as interesting and uneasy jobs went, this had to be one of the ones on the highest totem.

Mythal stood outside a rather impressive house, his arms crossed over his chest. His normal stern gaze wasn’t its usual self today; in fact, there was a slight tinge of abnormality to his stare. His eyes scanned over the two-story home, his gaze catching the barest of movements in the upstairs window. He knew who it was, of course; it was the owner of the home. His shadow moved with a slow, if not methodical way that betrayed his age. Eighty years old was a long time to live and survive as he had.

Ior Valiir had been a noble warrior in his time; a soldier through and through. He was well known throughout Fiore; it hadn’t taken Mythal very long to research a bit about him to understand the point of his job. His glory had come and gone like the sunset, rising in his early twenties and setting nearly five years ago. Spending three quarters of a century as a working soldier was worth quite the payout when he was finally urged to retire. But he was a man that didn’t find honor in jewel or wealth – he lived for combat and truly felt alive in the thick of it. He was quite the opposite of Mythal.

And yet he was just like his father. Gren Ragnos was a warrior and would never have traded it for anything else… almost. When Mythal had come along, Gren had put aside his life of protecting the realm and became a father to the boy who needed it more than anything in the world. The God Slayer had always admired that about the old man, even if it was foolhardy and idiotic.

The front door opened, revealing the elderly man. He was shorter now than he used to be, his back hunched slightly and his arms already beginning to lose much of its muscle mass. Yet that didn’t keep him from bringing out both his sword and shield, gripping them with whatever strength he could summon. As he closed the door, the lights inside flickered off and left the home in complete darkness. He turned to look at Mythal and nodded gently. Then he set down the path that would lead him out of town, with the God Slayer trailing behind him.

"Are you sure about this? Seems… odd,” Mythal spoke up, his hands unnaturally remaining at his sides.

The old warrior chuckled. “Son, once you get to my age, the idea of dying like a vegetable sounds less and less appealing.  I appreciate the concern but I have thought long and hard about this. It’s time.”

"Never said anything about concern…” Mythal deflected, turning his gaze away.

“Have you ever lost anyone, young man?” The warrior asked, turning his head to look at Mythal.

Mythal didn’t answer outright. He kept his gaze away for a few moments before he finally broke the tension with a slight shrug.

It was all the answer the man needed. “I see. So you understand a bit about death. I felt it when I first saw you standing at my doorstep. There is a darkness about you that is almost breathtaking.”

It wasn’t the first time he had heard such things so it was easy to let slough off. The next part though was not. “But there is something hopeful there. Perhaps a fragment of a light not yet snuffed out. There must be – there has to be a reason you’ve kept on living, isn’t there?”

Mythal didn’t answer again, unwilling to face that deep moral dilemma one bit. Luckily they had made it to the spot the man had designated. A small plot of green grass outside the town’s limits with a single willow tree. The hole had already been pre-dug.

Ior looked down at it and let out a small breath before he turned and faced Mythal. As he did, his hand whipped forward and sent something shiny at him. The God Slayer caught it with a single hand and then turned it up so he could look at it. A pair of keys. "What?”

“I have no family to speak of – Lady War was my mistress and no one else. I have given my riches away to several different affiliations but my home is the last thing I have. I wish you to have it.”

"That’s… insane,” Mythal scoffed. "You just met me today. How do you know I’ll even keep it? I could sell it to make some jewel.”

“You are welcome to do with it as you like. My opinion on the matter shan’t be important once I have reached Valhalla,” he replied, banging his sword against his shield. “Now come; one final battle for my sake.”

Mythal glanced between the pair of keys and the old warrior, frowning as he did so. Eventually he pocketed the keys, leaving them dangling from the back of his back pocket. Then, rather than his usual lazy stance, he slid into a formed and solid battle stance.

Ior chuckled once more. “Midian monk. I have been blessed with a true warrior.” It was the last thing he said before he charged, bellowing out his final war cry. He ran with a surprising speed for his age, as if the ghost of his former self had come to aid him one last time.

The battle was not long; Ior fought with the spirit of a caged tiger but he had lost more than a step in his old age. The final blow came as his shield was knocked away and Mythal slammed his palm into his chest, right over his heart. He gasped slightly, the sword slipping from his fingers and falling to the ground. As he fell back, Mythal stepped forward and took hold of him, leading him downwards gently rather than in a hard fall. The aged warrior smiled at him and gave his arm a squeeze before his last breath escaped him and melted into the sky.

Mythal lay him down completely and rose to his feet. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, the grave diggers approaching to bury the old man. As he stood there, he reached back and took the keys from his pocket, holding them up to his face once more. It would be better if he sold the house, wouldn’t it?

Bury the past so he could move forward into the future. Right?

Oshibana	Fairy Tail
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