Invitation to Dinner

Mythal had had plenty of awkward encounters recently. But this one... would probably be one of the strangest.

After everything that had happened in Era and with the Rune Knights, a lot of things had come at them all at once. Beyond just being promoted to high ranking positions within the newly reforming ranks, they'd been made privy to plenty of secrets and information that was known only to the highest of the Rune Knight brass. A lot of it was redacted or confidentially sealed while they waited for their clearance to go through but plenty of paperwork had started to build up on their desks. Serilda was far more forward acting in terms of clearing it away and offering insights and answers as best she could but... Mythal wasn't nearly as good as her. The idea of being stuck behind a desk was a daunting bore that he simply couldn't fathom. Everytime he tried to sit down and get to it, he found himself zoning out or finding something else to focus on. It was a challenge and a half.

Branwen had, incredibly, survived the attack on the Rune Knights -- despite being in the thicket of the danger. Tough old bastard didn't seem to know how to die but he did know when he had gone far enough. With the sheer numbers of dead and injured, it seemed the major had finally hit his limit of the military life. He'd resigned fairly quickly, save for a short time of continuing work while Serilda and Mythal had, quite literally, gone off planet. He'd asked for there to be no celebration or commemoration for his departure, given that the impact of the attack was still weighing heavily on everyone's minds. He had only made one request -- that Mythal and Serilda join him and his wife for a nice, sit down dinner at his home in Crocus. Given that the man had never opened up to the God Slayer before, it was a bit of an odd request. But who was he to say no?

Despite it sounded relatively casual, there was an insistence that they dress, at the very least, semi-fashionably. The Darkness King, who had only recently adjusted to wearing clean and kept-up clothing, had no other choice but to go and make some purchases. He'd done his best to find things similar to the outfit he had received for the ball, all those months ago. He got a top similar to the one he had gotten before his trip to Kingdom Darkness, just missing the tattered cape. It wasn't extravagant but it would do. He checked himself in the mirror and then headed down the stairs to the first floor. There waited Gren, his tail wagging wildly from side to side, as he looked up with a dopey grin at his master.

“You'd think we would have to give you a bowtie or somethin' to match," he quipped at the dog, smirking down at the wolf. The pup wuffed softly and danced around in a small circle, clearly excited for their excursion. Branwen had been more than welcoming to the Star Wolves, insisting that Serilda and Mythal bring them along.

Speaking of which, the Darkness King gestured gently to the side and snapped, releasing magic from his fingertips. The connection between his magic and the portal sparked immediately and a human-sized rift appeared in his living room, an oval-shaped portal made of an inky darkness mixed with purple light. He had already woven it together with the spot outside of Serilda's home, creating an instant passage to the woman's residence. Gren looked at it and then back at Mythal, his eyes wide with excitement as he stiffened up.

“Yeah, yeah... go on then," Mythal said, gesturing to the portal. The Star Wolf wuffed loudly and leapt into the portal, showing no fear in immersing himself in the fairly intimidating rift. The God Slayer rolled his eyes, despite his grin, and walked through after him, easily transporting from his home to the exterior of Serilda's. Gren was already running up to the door, barking louder than his usual self as he circled around the front of the door, waiting for his master. He knew better than to just rush in the doggy door without being permitted to.

Mythal rapped his knuckles against the door as he came up to it, glancing down at the patient wolf at his feet. “Seri, it's me," he called out to her. He wasn't sure if she was ready or not so he wasn't about to burst into the house without her inviting him in.

Serilda had made the smart choice and upgraded her living arrangements after her appointment to marshall of the Rune Knights. It made sense -- she needed a place near the headquarters and Ace of Spades wasn’t close to Era in the least bit. It also gave her the opportunity to invest in a home that was a bit more modernized rather than the quaint, cottage-like home she had back when she was in Sabertooth. The Darkness King had enjoyed her other home but arguably, this was better for the Voidwalker. Mythal, on the other hand, had decided to stick to his Oshibana home as traveling to Era wasn’t exactly a problem for him anymore. Now that he could morph darkness to creature near-instant traveling portals, getting from one place to another was near effortless. He could have lived on the other side of the world and still gotten to the Rune Knight headquarters far before some of the newest recruits dragged themselves out of bed.

He hadn’t gotten the key to Serilda’s new home yet, nor was he assuming she kept the door unlocked. Given everything that had happened to them lately, the last thing either one of them should be doing was keeping their guards down. Sure, a flimsy piece of wood wasn’t going to do much against the supernatural forces they had gone up against but any means of security was better than none. Gren was already pacing back and forth by the door, hearing Xiuhco on the other side just as excited as he was. When the door cracked open, the not-so-small pup pushed his way in enough to whack his tail against Serilda’s leg in greeting before charging into the house. Mythal chuckled, reaching down to scratch Xiuhco around the ear to greet her, before she was rushing off to play with her brother in the other room. “As long as his dumb ass doesn’t keep chargin’ into danger, they can do whatever they want. But I already know better than that,” he said with a sigh. Gren had not shirked away from danger once yet; in fact, he seemed fairly compelled to prove himself by going right at enemies.

He may have said more but her arms were around his waist and her lips were up on his before he could manage a thought. More than happy with that kind of welcome, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in tight, deepening the kiss a bit. He’d gone weeks without showing her any affection several months ago, as he struggled to get his emotions in check and figure out what it was he was feeling. He’d come to find out that he had been practically cursed by birth to hate humanity and the ‘light’ that they possessed so any loving feelings that he had started to feel had created an internal conflict within him. Eventually his spirit had won out over his genetics, through the trials for it had been hard and arduous. Despite all the time they had already passed to make up for it, that didn’t stop him from continuously trying to make reparations for his distance.

As they parted, he smiled back down at her. “Keep greetin’ me like that and we’ll be late for dinner,” he said mischievously, smirking. He took a moment to step back and look her over as she walked towards the stairs, explaining she would be done momentarily. “No rush; we’re already gonna be early as it is,” he called up to her as he walked into the other room and watched the two Star Wolves play. A double date dinner with his father’s friend hadn’t exactly been the evening he would normally partake in but, in a way, he owed Branwen for everything that had happened. Though it was also a way of finding a means to an end…

Gren was alive, or so all the evidence seemed to point to. He had met with Serilda under false pretenses and dropped enough hints to reveal he was, in fact, his long lost, supposedly dead father. And Branwen had always been one of Gren’s closest friends and confidantes, save for a time when they had a falling out. After that, Mythal hadn’t seen the former major around much. If that rift had been as bad as that, it was doubtful that Branwen would have known about the Gren faking his death but… he couldn’t help but wonder.

His thoughts were interrupted by Serilda coming down the stairs, stating herself as ready. As she called for Xiuhco with a click of her tongue, Mythal whistled through his teeth to get the younger Star Wolf’s attention. Gren came bustling over, his tail wagging furiously as he stared between the two humans. “Thanks,” he said with a genuine smile as he took the key from her. Now they each had keys to one another’s houses, which he was sure made them officially a couple -- or so his skewed sense of relationships seemed to hint towards. After pocketing it, he nodded back towards the front door and Gren wuffed and led the way. “It ain’t right at their doorstep so we’ll have to do some walkin’. Gives me time to admire your ass in those pants,” he said with a grin as he headed towards the door.

Once they were outside and the house was secured, Mythal snapped once more and reopened the portal he had used to get here. Only this time he had changed the location it would drop them off at; after passing through, they would find themselves standing just outside the main plaza of Crocus. An impressively large water fountain stood before them, with streams of the cool liquid rocketing into the sky and splashing down in the two tiered pool below. A few people looked their way at their sudden arrival but then moved on with their days, no strangers to sudden magical appearances as this. Once the four were all through, they could make their way through the crowded streets to the home of Branwen. It wasn’t a long trek, as Mythal had already mentioned, and they would probably be surprised by how quaint and quiet the home looked from the outside. It was a rather slim two level house, furnished to look far more dated than several of the other homes around the place.

The God Slayer walked up and knocked on the door and had barely gotten three raps out before the door was opened and the humble former major was standing there, smiling at the group. “Welcome, you all are early,” he said with a warm and hearty tone.

“How’s it goin’, Branwen? Injuries all healed up?” Mythal asked as they were waved in, the God Slayer heading in first.

“As best as they can be. Marshall Sinclair, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance finally,” he said, turning his singular attention to the noblewoman. “And I believe you already know my wife…” He said, gesturing towards the figure coming through the door.

“Promises, promises. Also I always behave.”

He didn’t always behave. In fact, he had been misbehaving a lot with Serilda lately. He’d gotten bold and he had convinced her quite a few times to get intimate with him in places that… well, for lack of a better phrase, probably shouldn’t have been used in such ways. There were times he had pressed their luck and she had been quick to reel him back in but that was their relationship wasn’t it? He pushed the lines and she found the way to get them back on track. It was a beautiful and ridiculous relationship but one that he coveted a lot. Despite his teasing, there was a genuine warmth to the Darkness King that hadn’t been there before. Serilda was the reason for that.

The walk to Branwen’s house was short but still rather sweet. Serilda’s hand inched its way into his and he gladly held it, glancing at her briefly before continuing along. Gren hopped along the side of his sister, wuffing and happily panting at all the new sights and sounds. In a way, it was a bit like they were a family off on a day trip. A thought that may have terrified the God Slayer not that long ago but one that he dove right into without pause or hesitation now. He looked over at Serilda as she mentioned that she should take some time to visit Aster while they were in town, casually mentioning that she lived here but the noblewoman hadn’t ever actually gone to her house.

“Sure, we got lots of time. Aster was… your teacher, right? The one that taught you when you were younger…?” Serilda had mentioned the woman once or twice during their time of bonding, having brought up the older woman and her lessons. She had seemed strict but not without merit -- she was intent on making sure that Serilda grew up proper and with respect. Given how the newest God Slayer was now, it seemed that lesson had stuck -- even if a few of her modesties had been slightly corrupted by Mythal himself. But he wasn’t about to go around bragging about that. It would absolutely mortify Serilda.

When they arrived, Branwen had let them all in practically at once. Serilda held her hand out to greet him with all the proper niceties and the major accepted the gesture in kind, giving her a firm and respectful shake before he idly mentioned their known acquaintance. And much like most of their times going… well, just about anywhere, their expectations were flipped on their heads. From the other room emerged a blonde woman who seemed to simmer with absolute power and control. To say she was a beacon of respect and dignity wasn’t giving her enough credit. And the sight of her caused Serilda to blurt out her name, giving familiarity to the face that now looked at the group.

“Wait… Aster Aster?” Mythal questioned, blinking in confusion. The The Voidwalker had gone from a more relaxed stance to one of absolute rigidness and poise. She was the Field Marshall of the Rune Knights and here she was, falling into line before the woman like she outranked her. Branwen had… invited Aster here? Mythal’s mind tried to put two and two together before it wapped him on the head, reminding him that Branwen had said ‘wife’.

“I don’t even know why I bother betting against you,” Branwen said with a chuckle as his wife grinned at her won bet.

Mythal glanced at Branwen, far more confused than shocked, before his eyes set on Aster as she approached him, a calm and even smile on her face. “It’s uh… nice to meet you, Aster. Branwen never mentioned you before,” the Darkness King said pointedly at former major.

“Well I don’t believe you’ve ever asked, Mythal. You’re the one that prefers to keep our conversations short and to the point,”[/color] Branwen threw it right back at the Darkness King, giving the tiniest of smirks. Meanwhile the older couple turned their attention to the Star Wolves sitting at the feet of their masters. If Xiuhco looked impatient, then Gren was about ready pounce out of his fur. Yet he remained in his spot, holding back whines as Xiuhco was allowed to step forward and greet the familiar woman as well as Branwen. The major chuckled and offered his hand, letting the hound get his scent before he happily pat her on the side and ran his hands through her fur.

When Aster turned her attention to the smaller hound, it took everything in Gren’s training to remain in his spot. There was a slight quiver of excitement in his bones and yet he remained in his spot long enough to look up at Mythal, his eyes practically pleading. Mythal rolled his eyes and shook his head yet his smirk was unavoidable. “You’d think you never met another person before. Knaad,” he finally relented and gave the code word. Gren’s lips peeled back in a wide, tongue-hanging grin as he lifted himself and walked over to Aster, sniffing all over her hand before forcibly rubbing his snout and face against her fingers. “This is Gren,” he introduced the hound.

Branwen raised an eyebrow. “Gren?” He asked, curiously.

Mythal rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, he’s a pain in the ass, too bold for his own good and refuses to lie down and lose. Stubborn as a mule.” Despite the harsh rundown of features, it was obvious that he was saying it out of love. Gren was someone Mythal could rely on and given how easily it was for him to compliment him, albeit a bit backhandedly, it was clear enough how connected they were.

Branwen smiled and snorted a small laugh. “Indeed. Aptly named,” the major agreed as he bent down and introduced himself to the smaller hound. After they had finished their introductions, Branwen stood up and clapped his hands together. “Now then; I hope you came hungry. We’ve got a lot to eat and, I’m sure, a lot to talk about.”

All the awkwardness of the introductions was over, at least for now. With that out of the way and the hounds properly acclimated to the new people, they journeyed into the dining room. It was a nice long room, set up with some showy mantlepieces on the table along with silverware, placements for the coming hot trays and a bowl of salad and bread rolls, complimented by set aside butter. Mythal very much felt like he was back at a formal dining area, his demeanor and standing putting him on the outside of comfortability. It was like being back at the Sinclair’s property, though not nearly as intimidating this time. At least, it wasn’t supposed to be until they discovered that Aster was there.

The aforementioned wife of Branwen offered some drinks, with Serilda turning down the offer of the alcohol. Considering how her last episode of drinking had turned her on her head, he wasn’t surprised by this. She probably was going to live a very dry life for some time; at least until she felt like her and booze could be friends again. She passed on the harder drinks and accepted champagne. “Uh… whiskey will be fine, thanks” the Darkness King said a bit hesitantly.

“Don’t let his uncertainty surprise you; Mythal there is probably the thirstiest man I’ve ever met. He could outdrink an entire bar and still have the wherewithal to fight, if needed,” Branwen said with a laugh, pouring himself a glass of brandy as well before placing it on the table.

“Hey thanks dad, anythin’ else you wanna go dumpin’ on the floor?” the God Slayer frowned at the former major, narrowing his eyes in annoyance.

“Oh and he’s extremely susceptive to insults about it, apparently,” Branwen went on with a smirk as he pat the younger man on the shoulder in passing. “Give me a second, just want to check on the food,” he excused himself, walking around the corner and supposedly to the kitchen. Gren, meanwhile, was moving in the opposite direction of Xiuhco, his tail a constant motion in the room as he sniffed around the outskirts. He carefully maneuvered between furniture placements, taking in all the new scents. He briefly passed by his older sister and then came upon the bowl of water too, taking a few laps at it before he continued his trek around.

Aster sat herself down and asked about the change over for the Rune Knights, earning an exhausted explanation from the Field Marshall herself. She spoke of the sheer amount of work they had to complete, practically each day. As she joked about their living in the office, he scoffed. “It’s unfortunately not exactly a joke. Durin’ the days we’re finishin’ up paperwork that had been misplaced, destroyed, all together disappeared. Filin’ papers ain’t pretty or quick. Then we gotta’ make sure the new recruits are properly getting’ trained by our new officers. Then at night… well, the city and the base are still on high alert afta’ the attack so one of us is usually there to make sure the guards are coverin’ their bases. The Knights didn’t exactly have the largest numbers before the attack…”

“Unfortunately a sad truth,” Branwen said as he returned, walking over and sitting down in the last remaining seat. “Wizards are less impressed with the trials, tribulations and overall professionalism of the Rune Knights. They want to go around fighting dark wizards and monsters at their leisure. They don’t want to wear uniforms and perform drills and go on scouting parties or ambassadorial missions. Protecting the innocent is second to earning some jewel and having an adventure,” the former major said with a sigh. “But, at least the numbers are increasing now, after the attack. People saw the devastation and it sort of clicked at just how much damage dark wizards can do, when brought together. Terrifying what they could do if they decided to knit themselves together in alliances. Now, more than ever, people are willing to step up and make themselves known as protectors of Fiore. It’s honorable… if a bit proudful.”

“If people weren’t willin’ to step up,  we’d be screwed right now,” Mythal agreed as he took a sip from his drink.

Branwen looked up, his face souring a bit in concern. “How’s Dakvid Bascom? I know he barely survived the attack…” Dakvid Bascom had been the Rune Knight Corporal that Mythal had met on his first time coming to Era. The snotty private had been one of those that had been more concerned with having an adventure but after a bit of a beating at the hands of the Darkness Slayer, his tune had changed. Mythal had run into him a few more times before the attack on the Rune Knights, having coordinated with him there to help the civilians escape. He’d faced down one of the stronger dark wizards and had managed to beat him, though he had suffered severe injuries during the battle – including losing his left arm.

Mythal sighed but nodded gently. “Good. He’s uh… understandably angry and vengeful but he’s alive. Healers said that if they hadn’t gotten to him in time, he would have bled out so he was a little worse for wear a couple days after. The Engineering Corp is synthesizin’ a prosthetic for him so he’ll, at least, have somethin’ as a replacement. We tried to tell him to take it easy but there he was, demandin’ to be added back to the active roster. Now that I’m officially part of the Rune Knights, he wanted to join the Spec Ops. He’s not as chipper as he used to be but he’s driven. Just gotta… get him out of his funk.”

Branwen nodded. “Give him time. Losing something like that causes extreme emotional stress, alongside the weight of all his comrades that unfortunately perished in the attack. I’m sure under your tutelage he’ll grow into a worthy Rune Knight. And with Ms. Sinclair here running the entire operation, I imagine the Knights will be even greater than they ever were before,” he said, looking over at Serilda with a smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe our dinner is ready. Darling, if you wouldn’t mind assisting me?”

Branwen looked a bit surprised at Serilda’s defense of Mythal’s drinking habits. Not so much that she was defending him but the simple fact that he wasn’t imbibing as much as he used to. Based on the very limited interactions the two had had in recent months, it had been easy to guess that Mythal enjoyed booze a lot. He always seemed to have some stored away, ready to be pulled out at any moment. Frustrations only seemed to egg him on further into patterns of heavy drinking, though the former major couldn’t recall a single time hearing of him being fully drunk. The truth of the matter was that Branwen understood why he took solace in it; after everything that had happened in his life, there was a safety in drowning his mind in liquor and forgetting the pain for awhile. It didn’t keep reality from coming back of course but then that was what a canteen full of whiskey was for.

But since coming back from Kingdom Darkness, his patterns had changed. Mythal had finally clawed his way out of the cesspool of self-destruction and solitude and into the light, metaphorically. He still drank on occasion and it was rare to see him without some kind of alcohol nearby. But one glass would remain before him and/or near him for an expansive amount of time as he nursed his drink rather than rip it down and get another. In truth, Serilda had never really experienced him drinking in excess… even now, Mythal wondered if there was something to that, that even they didn’t quite understand. He smiled softly as he looked over at Serilda. “Well… I guess I just don’t… feel the need to drink myself to oblivion anymore,” he said with a shrug, casually taking the complimentary defense.

In short time, it seemed that dinner was finally ready and both Branwen and Aster parted to go grab it, insistent that the two guests remain. Within minutes the entire meal had been brought and spread out on the table, along with two bowls for the guest hounds that had scouring the room. “Well, dig in! Family setting so grab what you want and fill up,” Branwen had insisted, waving at the multitude of plates and bowls before going in himself. Soon enough they were all scooping and plating their meals, the idea of filling their bellies weighing over their need to chat. Mythal was chewing through his first bite of steak when Serilda brought up the fact that they both had been surprised to find Aster and Branwen here. She inquired into how they had met and the answer surprised the two of them, with Serilda nearly choking and Mythal freezing, mid-moving his next forkful into his mouth.

Branwen was smiling like a goblin with gold, clearly entertained at the sight of the two guests being absolutely floored with the news. Without missing a beat, Aster continued, outlining their beginnings and how they had been more rivals than friends. It seemed the strict woman had been far more involved in the criminal element than either one of them had been prepared for. Aster quickly righted Serilda’s surprise and Mythal instinctively shoved the food on his fork into his mouth, as to avoid such a savage comment as well thrown his way. But Branwen chuckled as he observed the rapid movement of the Darkness King. “Not quite the story you were expecting, huh Ragnos?”

“Uh… no, not quite,” he admitted after he had thoroughly chewed and swallowed. “Given the track record Gren claimed you had by stickin’ to the law. Almost embarrassingly so.”

Branwen smiled, though it was a bit of a sad one. “Your father had it right. I was a very ‘by the law’ kind of officer. I didn’t see any reason to bend the rules or make exceptions, for anyone. It created a lot of friction with certain people – Gren included. Maybe it was because of everything that happened with you and the Sons of Faera that I developed… a conscious, I guess. Just in time too; I wouldn’t have found a way to woo this fierce woman if I were still running one hundred percent by the book,” he explained, glancing over at Aster and smiling.

But Mythal looked confused. “What do ya mean everythin’ that happened with me? You mean the whole conceivin’ me with an angel thing?”

Branwen shook his head slowly. “No, that was something you couldn’t control. Truthfully, my issues were based on things you couldn’t control either but I had my nose so far into the book that I refused to see reason.” He sighed gently. “When we had taken down the Sons, there was a matter of what to do with you. A large portion of the Knights and the Magic Council wanted you taken into the care of us, so that we could keep a stricter eye on you. The Council was very interested in what your existence would result in, after all the effort of having you merged with a goddess. But Gren refused – he said that no one deserved a life of living like an animal in a zoo. As much as I hate to admit it, that is probably what your life would have been. Emotionl detachment from specialists as they tested you and observed you. You were a byproduct of an otherworldly being and they would have treated you as such. Your father refused, fought against every argument his superiors pushed against him. Eventually it resulted in his honorable discharge from the Knights with the added stipulation that he had to care for you. That wasn’t a problem; he insisted it be that way from the beginning. He had been the one to find you and from the moment he took you in his arms, I could see there was something there.”

“But I tried to talk him out of it. Every time I would visit, I would talk a little more to convince him that the Knights and the Council having you was the best option. It eventually resulted in such an argument that he told me never to come around again. He insisted that no one would take his son away from him.” Branwen got very quiet for a moment, his smile having waned. “I was on a fast track to success within the Rune Knights. I saw nothing but the glory and responsibility of being an officer. I had never… taken time to think of a life outside of that. It was that day that it had struck me that I was trying to tear his family apart. It was a sobering experience, how blind I had been, how drunk I had been on righteousness. It was only a few months later that I finally caught up to Aster and… well, then I truly understood.” He managed another smile as he looked at his wife once more.

It was a story that perhaps should have made Mythal angry, all things considered. But rather than giving into the rage, he simply smiled. “Well… I’m glad he won out then,” he said softly.

Branwen returned the smile. “So am I.” And he meant it too. After a brief pause, the former major sighed and smiled a bit brighter. “Well then. That was quite intense, wasn’t it? I think that—“

“I know Gren’s alive, Branwen,” Mythal cut in suddenly, stopping the topic change before it could even be offered. The air in the former major’s words fell flat and his smile wavered even further as he looked at the Darkness King, his own smile fading. He looked at Aster and dropped his head in sympathy. “I hate to cause an issue durin’ a lovely dinner like this but I can’t… I can’t just keep quiet about it. He’s alive… and I think you know he is too.”

Truthfully, it was a terrible time to bring up such a… jarring subject. The dinner had been conversational, though the topics had been a bit harder to swallow than the meal. Mythal wanted to be angry with Branwen over his opinions of how he should be handled but frankly, he understood. He was a wild card, even as a child. He was a mixture of two different worlds that never should have met and because of that, his allegiance and dedication were up in the air. Plus there was no telling what kind of power would manifest in him when he got older. Would he inherit his father’s abilities or some horrid amalgamation of Faera’s blessing? Or would he gain some power that his mother had used for the good of her commitment to the Sons? In the end, he had found a sound balance between the two and utilized it for better purposes than intended.

But there was no telling that when he was born. Branwen had every right to be worried, if a bit drastic in his beliefs. It just made the Darkness King appreciate the life he had gotten under Gren’s care, as short a time as it had been. But that thought had sparked another and soon he was speaking his mind about his pseudo-father’s sudden rebirth. The words had come out practically on their own but he didn’t regret them either. It was bound to come out at some point, even if he wished he had maintained his poise for a little bit longer. He spoke calmly and quickly, like a building trying to stay grounded during a hurricane. He wanted answers but he didn’t want to accuse the former major of hiding the information from him, even if he felt exactly that.

Branwen was quite surprised by the sudden interjection of knowledge, though his shock was out of its swiftness and not its topic. There even seemed to be a tinge of guilt ridden in his frown as he looked solemnly at the God Slayer. Serilda spoke up, dignifying Mythal’s outburst with the events that had made him aware of Gren’s existence. The meeting between the Voidwalker and the mysterious man was read out carefully and tactfully, though Serilda didn’t attempt to hide the dissatisfaction in her tone. Rightfully, he had misled her and then surprised her with words that had put her on guard. Not only was it deceptive to her but the many years Mythal had spent roaming through life alone had made the revelation even more aggravating. The God Slayer reached over and placed his hand on Serilda’s knee, a silent gesture of solidarity and gratitude.

Branwen looked over at Aster, quiet as he read her gaze and exchanged unspoken words. She was his ally and friend in this but they both knew any information had to come from him. He had been Gren’s friend, he had been Mythal’s uncle in his own way and that meant he was the connection. He inhaled slowly through his nose and then gently placed his fork down on his plate, opting to pause the meal here rather than finish. He may have been able to convince the two new Rune Knights to wait until their feast was over but there was no point. This conversation needed to happen now, else the rest of the evening would be filled with awkward silence.

“You are correct, Mythal. Gren is alive,” He explained slowly and carefully, gauging the two across from him as he continued. “But I did not know that much sooner before Serilda did. And whether you believe me or not, my anger with him was just as palpable as I’m sure you two are experiencing right now.” There was a degree of sharpness to his words, clear evidence that he was speaking from a place of honesty. If anything, it seemed his ferocity over the matter had only been dulled, not quelled. He took another breath before he spoke once more. “Our reunion some months ago was mere happenstance, one that I was grateful to experience. As I’ve told you, I’ve only heard rumors and bits of information concerning your being alive but I was never able to track you down. In truth, I wasn’t sure how happy you would be to see me – finally seeing you confirmed just how upset you really were. But nonetheless, it was good to see you were doing well for yourself; you were part of a guild, you were working with people and you even managed to earn yourself an honorary title from the Magic Council.” He chuckled softly. “That day when you came stomping into Era and wound up teaching those recruits a thing or two, I almost asked you to join the order there and then. But I knew better than to push my luck; just having the opportunity to see you again was enough. You left and I went back about my business, with a brighter outlook on life.”

“It was two nights after that. I was working late in my office, finishing up some reports, when I heard something in the training yard. It sounded like one of the training dummies being hit, repeatedly. I figured it was probably one of the recruits, trying to get some late night training in without prying eyes. You’d sparked quite a drive in several of them and I wouldn’t have been surprised to walk out and find one of them out there, especially Bascom. But when I did glance around the doorway, I found a figure covered in a cloak, using some strange looking weapon on the dummy. But he wasn’t practicing – if anything, it looked like he was striking it like one might strike a bell to sound an alarm. I quickly realized he was making the noise to get my attention. I demanded he reveal himself and explain why he was in the courtyard. I expected the worst – you’d taken care of one assassin but that didn’t mean another wouldn’t try and get to me. I was on guard right up until he spoke. ‘Always burning the midnight oil. Old habits die hard,’ he said to me with a voice so familiar, it sent a chill down my spine.”

“I was even more ready for an attack when the hood fell back and revealed Gren. I knew the compound was guarded against illusion magic but I still felt like it was some kind of trick. Before I could even move, he blasted from where he was standing and moved several feet away, showing off the exact magic your father used. Leave it to your old man to do anything and everything to prove he was himself. I was speechless… then I was very angry. I nearly knocked his head off when I walked over to him, demanding to know where he had been. Nearly twenty years we’d thought he was dead and there he was, showing up in the middle of the night and showing off like we were recruits again. I wanted answers for myself, sure, but I needed to know why he let you believe he was dead for so long. Why had he made you go through life alone for years? I was so mad I could barely see straight.”

He had ramped himself up a little as he told the story, his hands curled into fists as he relived the night again. He had to force himself to calm down, closing his eyes for a moment and sighing through his nostrils. “The first thing he told me was that he hadn’t tricked anyone. That night that you thought he had died… he had actually perished.”

“What?” Mythal managed to find his voice, his words mixed in with a gasp.

“He woke up to hear a voice speaking – your voice. But he could hear someone else there, almost like a whisper. When he went to investigate, he saw you walk outside. Before he could reach the front door, the entire house was engulfed in flames. The last thing he remembered was a fiery beam falling from the ceiling and crushing his legs. He said the pain was…” He stopped, seeing how his words were affecting Mythal. It was one thing to understand what had happened; it was entirely something else to hear the vivid details of how the man had died. The old guilt that the God Slayer had buried was flaring up and he could barely look up past his lap. “I’m sorry. That was senseless of me.”

“It’s fine,” Mythal muttered quickly. “I just want to know what he said.”

“When he woke up, he was informed he had died. He didn’t want to go into too much more detail because he felt any explanation he had was owed to you and you first. He said he was going to find a way to let you know he was alive without directly telling you. My guess was that he did so by going to Serilda,” he said, gently nodding to the Voidwalker.

“But why?! Why not just come right to me?” the Darkness King demanded.

Gren shook his head. “I don’t know, son. He told me to trust him and then gave me this.”[/color] He turned slightly in his chair to reach into his pocket and withdrew from its confines a small marble. It was a mixture of gold and silver streaks, not unlike something one might find in a store. He turned it over between his fingers. “He said the next time we saw one another to throw it on the ground. It’s one of your father’s spells – he enchants his magic inside this lacrima and essentially uses it like a homing beacon. When it breaks, it creates a pulse he can sense and can head right for it. When we ran into each other during the siege on Era, I… opted not to disclose all of this then. Considering everything else, I felt it would have been inappropriate.”

“No, I get it,” Mythal said, nodding softly. “With all the shit hittin’ the fan that day, last thing we needed was more of it pilin’ on.” He stared at the rounded lacrima intently, like a hungry fish eyeing a waterlogged fly. “So I’m guessin’ part of invitin’ us over was…”

“To break this and see what your father has to say. I would have slipped it to you sooner and let you handle it but frankly, I deserve some answers too. Gren and I moved up the ranks of the Rune Knights together and he was my closest friend. Call it selfish but I deserve some honesty as well,” Branwen said softly.

Mythal snorted softly. “Nah, yer right. We both deserve to hear what he has to say.” With that conclusion made, the Darkness King sighed and collected himself. “Alright. How ‘bout we finish up eatin’ and then do what we gotta after. You guys put in a lot of work cookin’ for us and I don’t want to spoil it, anymore than I already have.”

Branwen smiled gently before looking at Aster. “Well, you heard the man. Let’s eat up and then we’ll tackle all of this drama after. The least we’ll be able to say is we had a good meal before.”

Despite the weighty topic that he himself had brought up, Mythal felt a lot better once it was out of the way. He’d had an inkling to what they had been invited here for so having Branwen come right out with it was beyond calming. They talked it over, they established what they were going to do and after that, they could honestly and earnestly enjoy themselves. They took their time eating their meal and discussing several other topics, finally able to focus on having a night out without anything behind it. Once every plate had been picked cleaned, they all took some time to wind down – talking and laughing amongst one another. The hounds were brought into play with the other knights, showcasing their many abilities and talents to the two parental figures.

But all it was doing was delaying what needed to come to pass. Granted, it was a lovely distraction but they all knew that moving forward was the only way anyone was going to truly find settlement. Branwen came over to Mythal and handed him the marble-shaped lacrima, wanting the God Slayer to have the honor of breaking it. He held the odd little crystal between his thumb and his index finger, turning it over in his head as Serilda turned and asked if he was truly ready for this. She knew as well as he did that they had to but she was concerned about the pain it was going to bring him. It was clearly she didn’t want him to feel like he had no choice in the matter. He smiled softly, taking a gentle hold of her cheek and leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.

“I ain’t ever gonna be ready for this,” he said honestly, in spite of his smile. “The fact that he was dead for at least some time helps with the feelin that he abandoned me but at the same time, not really. A part of me is frozen in place, starin’ at this lacrima like it’s an anchor threatenin’ to sink me down in the dark.” He raised his gaze slightly to look over at Branwen and Aster. “For years, I wasn’t a good person. I don’t think I was bad but I definitely wasn’t goin’ out of my way to help people. I held a lotta guilt for a long time that kept burnin’ its way back to anger. If I’d gotten this chance even just a little over a year ago… I don’t know how I’d act. Bad, probably. So I am takin’ comfort in the fact that with you guys here, where my life is now… I’m as prepared as I’m ever gonna be.”

He never claimed to be the best at motivational speaking but it was the best he could come up with in the midst of the emotional hurricane inside of him. Branwen nodded slowly, indicating that he was as ready as the younger man was. With a slow, deep breath, the Darkness King put a bit more force into his fingers and squeezed. The lacrima popped, with only the sound of breaking glass indicating it had been destroyed. There was no flash of light or spark of lightning to indicate it had even worked, as the fragments fell from his hand and fell onto the floor. A minute went by as they waited, an ominous silence settling inside the room as both men looked around for a sign of… anything, really.

Another minute. Mythal reached up and scratched his chin. “You think it’s uh… broken?”

Branwen wasn’t sure. All he could do was shrug softly. “Maybe it got damaged during the battle. I thought I had stowed it away but—”

Before he could finish his thought, a bolt of lightning came crashing down into the backyard of the house. The entire building shook from the impact, glassware and other tokens quivering on their stoops. As the smoke began to clear away from the yard, a figure rose up to a standing position. A hand reached forth and waved away strands of smoke in his face, revealing the elderly face of Gren standing there. His dark eyes flickered up from the grass and towards the window, where he could see the group sitting inside – awaiting him arrival. He didn’t delay any longer than he had to, flipping the cape from his cloak behind him and walking towards the back entryway. It was unlocked luckily and as it swung open, the sound of his footfalls approaching cut through the dense air of the room.

Mythal had been holding his breath since the bolt had hit, an invisible hand wrapped tight around his lungs. He watched in absolute shock as the man that raised him, the man that had given up his career to care for him, idly looked inside and made eye contact with him. Suddenly that anger he had talked about before came pouring through his veins, an unbridled rage simmering through his very being with such force that he was practically seeing double. He steadied his breathing as best he could, remembering everything the monks had taught him about controlling his emotions to best serve him. But it didn’t keep his hands from quivering and his heart from thumping loudly in his chest.

As Gren entered the room, he took a moment to look about its occupants. There was Branwen, of course, sitting in the chair right next to the door, staring up at him with a studious anger. The impact of this was easily softer given their previous encounter. His eyes trailed over to Aster slowly, his face unflinching despite his want to smile. Then there was Serilda Sinclair, who was resonating with a contained and professional aversion so palpable that it even made the air chillier. She was nearly as angry as the other two and he couldn’t blame her – he had used her in a fashion to send a message. Finally his gaze fell upon Mythal, seated directly across from him. He was sitting there, trying his hardest to keep his emotions in check without exploding. His eyes lingered for a long moment, taking in the sight of his adoptive son.

“So…” he finally said, pulling his attention away from the singular so he could scan the group once more. “Who would like the first swing?”

Branwen barely waited for the man to finish his sentence before he was up on his feet, his left fist cocked back. The punch hit with such force that it sent Gren stumbling backwards into the room he had come from, the sound of clattering objects showcasing just how much strength had been behind the strike. Branwen hissed between clenched teeth, nursing his fist as he stalked away from the doorway and over to Mythal’s side. Gren came back in, rubbing his jaw with his hand.

“I meant the rest of them, Bran. You already got your hits in,” the older man said, touching the side of his lip with his finger to check for blood.

“Twenty years of being gone and now you’re back, having stalked around for who knows how long behind our backs. Two punches isn’t nearly enough to payback all of that,” the former major snapped back.

Gren considered him for a moment and then let a small snort out. “I suppose that’s fair,” he said simply. He nodded to the small table that contained the alcohol and accompanying glasses. “Mind if I get a drink? It’s been a bit of a week.” He didn’t wait for much of an answer, already heading towards it.

“Has it?” Mythal whispered softly, the words nearly crumbling as they came from his lips. But it was enough to stop Gren in his tracks, his back practically to the younger man as Mythal glared up at him. “Has it been a week? Tough time? Because that has been the last nineteen years for some of us!” The words brought him to his feet, his tone sharp but trembling. Tears threatened to spill out of the sides of his eyes as he stared at the back of Gren’s head. “For years I thought… The last image of I had of you in my head was that night, sayin’ goodnight to me before I went to bed. ‘Goodnight son, sleep well’. ‘Sure whatever, old man’. The last thing I said to you before all of the shit hit the fan was that. Then that genocidal bitch forced herself into my head and tried to take control of me. She pulled me out the door and set fire to the house, cacklin’ inside my head at how weak I was. She was so much stronger than you could have ever known and all I could think of was… the last thing I said to you was sure whatever, old man. Playing like a broken record in my head, remindin’ me that the man that had taken me in when he had no place stickin’ his nose in was ‘bout to die if I didn’t do somethin’. That’s why I fought and clawed and pushed her out. Because if your stubborn ass wouldn’t put up with her shit, I wouldn’t either. And I won.”

Emotions stopped him there, his lips trembling as he fought back the levy threatening to break. He swallowed hard as he continued. “But I was too late. I got to come back and see my home, see where we lived, in flames. I tried to fight it but I was so weak and exhausted I could barely move. Everythin’ hurt but still I tried to get inside and get to you, to save you like you had saved me. But all I could do was watch as everythin’ burned to the ground. All that was left was ashes. You were gone. ‘Sure whatever, old man’. I had to live with that for years. No matter how many times I drank or fought or suffered, I could never get that out of my head. Knowin’ that I hadn’t ever given you back everythin’ you gave to me. Knowin’ that I was the one that killed you.”

That was when Gren turned around, abruptly. His palm was up, almost as if he was going to strike the God Slayer for saying such a thing. But it instantly slowed as he came to face the younger man, pressing against Mythal’s cheek. “No. You never did that. You were never to blame for what happened that night. I would never blame you for that.”

The tears began to fall. “A whole lot that does me now, Gren! I was sixteen and I went the next nineteen years havin’ to deal with that. You showin’ up now doesn’t just cure the guilt like it never happened. All it does is make it worse; knowin’ you came back and you never told me. You never reached out, not once, to try and assure me. To tell me you were alive. I’ve had a weight stuck to my back and you had the means to ease it and you let me suffer.” Mythal reached up and knocked the hand away on his cheek, seething through his teeth. “Go ahead and say you don’t blame me but from my place, it sure as shit looks like you wanted me to swallow that guilt down.”

“I couldn’t!” Gren snapped, his voice rising with emotion as well. There was anger, of course but it seemed more out of frustration than insult. At a closer glance, one could make out the tears forming in his eyes as well. “Gods and demons know that I wanted nothin’ more than to go to you and tell you I was alive. I wanted to tell you everythin’, take back everythin’ that had happened to you and make it my own. I was heavily watched for three years because they knew if I had a chance, I would slip away and go to you.” Gren paused as he inhaled slowly, reaching up and rubbing a tear that had began to fall. “And even then…” He centered his gaze on Mythal as he continued. “Lavanitir.”

The God Slayer’s brow knit in confusion. “What are you…?”

“Two years ago. You were in Lavanitir. Do you remember?”

It took the Darkness King a moment but he nodded softly. “I was just passin’ through. I’d done a small bounty job to get some jewel and was celebratin’.”

“It was the first time I was let off a leash. I was supposed to be halfway across Earthland but I went right to you. Drunk as a skunk in that hole in the wall, laughin’ at your own stupid self in the corner. I bought you a drink, sent that pretty waitress over to give it to you while I worked up the courage to talk to you. I watched you for an hour before you stumbled out into the night and then I followed you.”

“Back to my room? You watched as I drunkenly rented a room for myself?”

Gren chuckled softly. “No, you seemed much more at home in the alleyway next to the bar. Slouched over some barrels and lyin’ in stink. By the time I got to you, you were out cold. So I picked you up and brought you to the nearest tavern. Rented out the room myself for you. As I sat there in the room, watchin’ you snore into the pillow, the realization of what you had become hit me. I saw what… my passin’ had done to you. But the things I knew then – know now – if I took you away, I’d only be puttin’ a death sentence on you. Despite everythin’ I was feelin’, I knew I couldn’t tell you. If I did… well, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say we’d all be dead right now. So I left but I came back several times, takin’ time to make sure you got to a proper bed or doin’ things like… leavin’ you food. Any small thing I thought you would just figure away as somethin’ you’d done while drunk. I would wait until I could finally have a real moment like this.” Gren sighed softly through his nostrils as he turned his gaze over to Serilda. “I’m sorry for deceivin’ you, Miss Sinclair. I wish I could say my meetin’ with you was of great importance and I guess, in a way, it was. But truly I just wished to size up the woman my boy had taken a likin’ to. I know it’s not altruistic but I never claimed to be that anyways.” He turned his gaze back to Mythal, who looked absolutely stunned at everything he had heard. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. So if you let me get a drink, I’ll sit down and you all can ask as many questions as you want. I will answer what I can.”

Mythal didn’t know what he was feeling. It was a mixture of several different emotions at once, spinning around in a wild typhoon within his stomach and mind. The fact that Gren was standing there before him was almost an entirely different thing at this point – all the revelations that had come with his appearance had only stirred the pot worse. There had been a frame of time that Gren had desired to see him and wasn’t allowed? And then when he gained some freedom, he watched after him not only on Lavanitir but then he came back not just once but several times over the last two years. He’d been taking care of him without ever saying anything or leaving any indication that he had been alive. Why? It didn’t make sense. In a way it did but at the same time it didn’t. It was like his head was trapped in a vice and he couldn’t shake himself free.

Gren kept his gaze steady on Serilda as she treated him to a few words, her chilling anger tempered enough to give him the most steadfast attitude a true noblelady could give. He managed to keep himself from showing any amusement at the sight because, frankly, he was impressed. Even at this pressing of a time, she was still quick to act as she was brought up. Maybe it was because she knew that lashing out would be pointless. Though he had expected something for his lack of manners – better to approach that from a better angle. “As you wish, Your Grace,” he said with a simply, respectful bow. He wasn’t about to waste any more words when clearly there would be another discussion happening sooner rather than later.

Ironically it was Aster who brought any semblance of warmth to the room. He turned to her as she came up and passed him, smiling softly. “Scotch as always. Unless you have any Midian rice rum – I’ve gotten a fondness of that recently.” It felt odd to him to act normal, given the circumstances, but it was hard not to do it. Old habits died hard; almost as bad as old fools like himself. He found the closest chair that wasn’t directly near anybody and planted himself in it, placing him practically down the line from a shooting gallery. And bullets made of questions were surely awaiting to riddle his body more than once over. “So there is a lot to cover… where shall I start?”

“Where you’ve been would be nice. You mentioned three years being watched then mention seeing Mythal two years ago. That makes up for a total of five out of the nineteen. What about the rest?” Branwen was quick to jump in the lead, falling into his old routine of a former major. He could easily see how shaken Mythal was and wasn’t sure if the younger man would be able to hold a line of questioning at the moment. The Darkness King took a few steps back, sliding down into the chair he had originally occupied and simply stared forward, more of a listening post for information than a person at the moment.

Gren nodded softly as he accepted the drink from Aster, giving her a silent thanks for it. “As I told you when I came to see you. I was dead,” he said simply, taking a sip from the liquid. “At least, a version of dead.”

“A version of dead? What does that mean?”

Gren placed the drink down on the ground in front of him. “People like us, Bran – we get involved in a lot of things. Comes with the nature of being a Knight. Much like me, I’m sure there are several hundreds of people that have cursed your name and sworn some kind of divine punishment upon your head for your actions. Part of the job, right? Perhaps you remember our raid against the Sons, the same one where we discovered him as a newborn? Before he ran away, do you remember what he said? That masked fellow we thought was runnin’ the whole thing?”

Branwen’s brow furrowed as he attempted to bring the memory to the front of his mind. “Uh… something about their Dark Mistress enacting vengeance. Something like that.”

Gren snorted. “Well, when Faera unceremoniously took over Mythal’s body and burned my home to the ground, I discovered somethin’ very quickly; vengeance is best served personally.”

It took a split second but once it clicked, it was Mythal that spoke up. “You mean…?”

“Yup. I was dropped right into Kingdom Darkness.” He let that sink in for a moment as he reached down and took another hearty gulp from his drink. “You see, Kingdom Darkness is a place for souls that… don’t really have a place in the world. Limbo, as it were. But Faera has granted her followers the ability to mark those that they believe deserve to go there. I was unfortunate to be the first one to figure that out. I was cast into the darkness – body, mind and soul. It’s why there weren’t any remains after the house finished burnin’. She took it all – and I became her prisoner and whippin’ boy. As far as I knew, it was gonna be eternity. But it seemed destiny or whatever had different plans.”

“Kingdom Darkness works differently though,” Mythal said, his voice raw and strained. “Seri and I were only in there for a few hours and a week had passed by here. So how long…?”

“That’s the thing – it was only hours for you and probably only a few years for me. But once you’ve been in there for a certain amount of time, you lose track of it. There’s no days, no nights – just endless dark. Truthfully, most of my memories have been magically locked away of my time in there. What I saw and experienced would have driven me mad. I don’t know exact details of how long I was there but what I do know is I got help there.”

“Help? From who?”

Gren shrugged as he took another ship. “Hell if I know. I was in one of the deepest pits and I only ever heard their words in my head. Deep, resonatin’ voice. They didn’t explain much beyond that they was gonna break me free. I was needed for a higher purpose… or so they said.” He paused, as the memories played before his own eyes. “Next thing I remember, I’m back here in the livin’ world.”

“Who brought you back? Where were you?”

Gren paused before answering. “I don’t know.”

“What the hell do you mean ‘you don’t know’? You were talking about them keeping an eye on you and sending you out on… what, missions? The Gren I know would never help someone or somebodies without knowing full details to what they were going into.” Branwen had gotten himself a bit heated at the answer, a bit of color flaring up in his cheeks.

“It’s hard to explain without soundin’ like a moron,” Gren said, clearly frustrated that he couldn’t give a simple answer either. “I know certain things about what I’m s’posed to do and where I’m s’posed to go. But I don’t know who I work for… right now. They have a failsafe in case someone gets compromised; you don’t know who you work for until they want you to remember. A magical safe keeps all the info locked away in your head until they turn the key and open it up. It’s to keep them safe and to keep us that work for them protected from mind readin’ and such. It’s the reason practically no one knows they exist. I’m sorry… I wish I could tell you. But I can tell you what their mission is.”

“And what is that?”

“Stoppin’ gods and demons from goin’ rogue. You see Faera is just one goddess in a number of gods and demons that have been established since the beginnin’. Each one of them has a free will to decide how they feel about their own realms or how they feel about this realm.” He turned to look at Mythal and Serilda. “Ruzatz? He’s one of them on the demon side. Prime Sin of Lust. Seven of them on their side and ten on the divine side. Most of them are more than  happy just livin’ it up in their own kingdoms. But some of them get greedy and want more or get insulted and decide a country or two should burn for the act. At some point, the people I work with decided enough was enough. They formed a pact to keep the scales even and ensure that humanity continues to thrive without conflict with god or demon.” His gaze turned back to Branwen. “You remember the tip we got that led us to Mythal and the Sons in the first place? That was them.”

The former major sighed deeply, rubbing his temples with his fingers as he processed the information. “Yes, I recall the anonymous tip. But Gren, this all sounds… very farfetched. If this group of people is fighting for that cause, why not make themselves known, at least to the Rune Knights?

Gren shook his head. “That was my first question too. I still haven’t gotten an answer. I fear they think there’s corruption in the Knights that could lead back to the Sons or perhaps even another group of god-worshippers.”

“If there was…” Mythal spoke up, taking a deep breath. “It would explain a lot with what happened with the attack on Era. Those dark wizards knew every nook and cranny they had to get into to try and get what they wanted. They were practically on the Council before anyone knew what was happenin’.” He hadn’t voiced it to anyone beyond Serilda but the God Slayer had always been suspicious of the attack. The coordination was one thing but their ability to traverse the headquarters and the Council building was beyond just educated guessing.

“Let’s table that for the moment,” Branwen said, waving his hand. “Back to the point. These people brought you back from Kingdom Darkness for… what?”

“To help them fight Faera. To keep her at bay. Of course, all I cared about was getting’ to Mythal and while they knew where he was, I couldn’t see him. They believed the Sons were tracking him just as easily as they were and if I appeared, it would throw off the ruse.”

“Ruse?”

“That I wasn’t still locked in Kingdom Darkness.”

“Wouldn’t your being back here be a distinct and obvious hint to just that?” Branwen asked.

Gren frowned, his lips curling down heavily. “No. For me to come back, someone had to take my place.”

“Someone… who?”

Gren shook his head. “I don’t know. Someone I never met. One of them that offered to do it. I ain’t a fan of it either but I don’t got much choice. I insisted on just gettin’ to Mythal but they refused. Told me I could either help them or I could sit in a room until they needed me. When I finally agreed, they still didn’t trust me right away. Hence the whole watchin’ me for three years thing. But after three years, we made a startlin’ discovery.”

“What’s that?”

“The Sons had gone deep underground. We’d done more damage to them than we even understood. And their failure with Mythal drew a heavy price from Faera and her forces. One of her Trumpets came and slaughtered hundreds of them as punishment.”

One of her Trumpets. A chill ran down Mythal’s spine. “Which Trumpet?” he asked.

“The Trumpet of Hegemony I believe. We don’t know much about the Trumpets beyond their titles and their strengths. Victory, Hegemony, Punishment and Despair.” Gren let out another deep sigh as he took another swig of his drink. “So I worked for them for five years. And for two of them, I did my best to stay as close to you as possible, Mythal. But then I got a call from Ruzatz, tellin’ me that you and Lady Serilda had gone ahead and dove into Kingdom Darkness. The people I work with demanded that I not get involved but I ignored them, stole one of the keys they had acquired and opened the door for you. I remained at the entrance just long enough to ensure it was you two and your Star Wolves comin’ out before I left. I was sure that I was going to be punished but… apparently quite the opposite. Now I’ve been given full approval to interact with you to varying levels.” He scoffed softly. “I know how ridiculous that sounds but… such is life, apparently.”

Sitting down had helped Mythal focus up and regain his composure. The answers that Gren was giving them was still a lot to take in and handle but… the impact of first seeing him had started to wear off, if only slightly. He let the silence sit for a moment as he breathed quietly, forming the words in his head slowly and carefully. “I… understand you’ve been through a lot. It sounds like death just… complicated life more for you. I understand the need for secrecy and the need to be careful with things that could be dangerous. And in a way, I am thankful that you did what you did to protect me and others from… whatever. But that doesn’t make up for all those years. And no explanation is going to suddenly make it okay that you were alive and didn’t find some way to let me know. I am your son… I deserved that much.” He looked up at Gren, sharing his gaze evenly. “But thank you. If it weren’t for you, Seri and I would have been stuck in Kingdom Darkness. I’m still a long way from trustin’ you but—“

“No… no buts,” Gren said softly, a sad smile on his face. “You’re right. Words are pretty things but they don’t carry much weight – I told you that when you were a boy. It’s what we do that proves how trusthworthy we are. I didn’t come here expectin’ any forgiveness or thank you’s from anyone. I’m a fool but not that big of one. I just… wanted to finally see you with my own eyes and let you see me at the same time. I was ready for anythin’ so long as I could give you that.”

There were certainly more questions to come by Gren took solace in the quiet of the moment, just happy to be around a few of the people he had called family. Sure, most of them were angry or confused or not really sure what to make of him but they were still there. He had expected Branwen to continue down a different line of questioning but in fact, it was Aster that spoke up first. And her curiosity wasn’t towards him either – instead, she turned and faced Mythal and Serilda and directed her questions to them concerning Kingdom Darkness.

Even Mythal was a bit surprised by that, his brow line a show of confusion and a bit of shock. Out of all the things that had happened thus far, all they had heard and that was the woman’s question. He looked to Branwen, as if to appeal to him but he was met with a steely gaze. Clearly the subject had not been lost on the former major, simply stowed until it was right to bring it up again. Now that Aster was, he was right beside his wife’s side in wanting to know exactly that topic was meant to be broached.

Serilda was quick to, almost, dismiss the tone of the question with a simple answer but in fact it just caused the older woman to snap, which in turn caused the Voidwalker to snap. It was a quick tête-à-tête that carried a lot of emotion in the guise of professional courtesy. Mythal and Branwen could sense the ebbing anger from each of them but Gren simply just glanced between the two, remaining quiet for no other reason than to not get involved. Mythal met Serilda’s look and gave her a soft nod, assuring her that whatever she said was fine with him. After that, she delved into the story of how they wound up in Kingdom Darkness. It seemed the Trumpet of Despair had met with Mythal and found a way to convince him to go to the other realm, surely through some kind of ruse or threat.

She opted away from explaining anything about Ozorith; a fact that Mythal took note of. Details concerning the Prime Sin were important but the fact of the matter was, Gren was dealing with a lot of things surrounding that pantheon of gods and demons. By his own admission, the group he was working with sought to balance out mortals against the supernatural and the Voidwalker being Ozorith’s vassal… there was no telling what that could result in. She was wise to leave the information out, at least for now. But it was certainly interesting to see the visible reactions from the group, even including Gren.

“Why in the hell did you go there in the first place?” Branwen looked at Mythal.

“I wasn’t given much of a choice. And the impression I got was that I didn’t have a lot of time. I did what I thought was the best option… it wasn’t but I couldn’t afford to weigh my options. So I went to get in and I was confronted by… my sister.”

That was a bit of a shock for most in the room. Gren leaned forward slowly. “Sister? You mean… your mother had another child after you?”

“With the same bastard that made me, yeah. Your Trumpet of Despair there.”

Gren and Branwen looked to one another. “It was even worse than we imagined.”

“One of Faera’s archangels conceivin’ a child with a human woman. She certainly attempted to guarantee the ritual worked,’ Gren mumbled softly, stroking his beard with his hand. That gave him a lot to think about as Serilda finished her story, explaining how she had gotten to Kingdom Darkness and what had happened with Archimedes. Hearing that the Voidwalker here was capable of stripping a divine being of that selfsame divinity gave both Gren and Branwen another moment of pause, each one of them studying her in varying degrees.

“That is an impressive feat, even by several standards of miraculous,” Gren muttered as he nodded softly. And yet there was a sadness to his tone as he continued. “Unfortunately, the role of Trumpet of Despair is not one that can be easily extinguished. The angel behind it may be done for – and I certainly believe Faera will strike him down – but she will find another soul to fulfill the role. Though it may take some time and some searching…” He perused that thought for a moment as he turned his gaze to Mythal. “I am a bit torn. On the one hand, I’m proud of you for not strikin’ someone… or somethin’ down in anger. But another part of me believes that this Archimedes should have met his end at your hand. Call it… fatherly selfishness.”

“He wasn’t gonna be doin’ anymore damage after Serilda got through with him. And I figured that Faera herself would have some punishment to deal out to him for failin’ to get me back and failin’ to kill her. It weren’t courtesy or generosity – I wanted him to suffer a bit more for all the lives he ruined.” It was a dark thought, even he understood that. But after everything that Faera and Archimedes had done to his life, being able to give back some true justice was more than enough for him.

“And what of your sister?” Gren asked.

“Gone, as far as I can tell. Archimedes seemed to hint that he had her killed to finish whatever he had planned. He’d used her right until the end,” the God Slayer said, a tinge of sadness in his voice. Despite her faults, the woman hadn’t been evil by nature. She’d been brought up by his mother and Archimedes, raised into the Sons of Faera to believe she was some kind of scion for the future. They’d led her astray and she had paid for it with her life; never getting the chance to find out if there was more to her potential.

Serilda leveled her gaze on Gren and he with her as she fought through her emotions to properly thank him for his actions leading to their escape. It seemed by acting when he did, he had not only saved Serilda and Mythal but the two dogs that had accompanied them as well. He opted to nod respectfully, rather than to give a verbal thanks. He found in situations like that, he tended to talk a bit much and find a way to ruin the moment. But he did look over to Xiuhcoatl and give her a sincere smile.

But just like that, the moment passed and they were back onto business. Serilda finally got to voice her opinions and thoughts on everything she heard, finding questions in the movements and actions of the mysterious group he was employed for. He listened quietly as she listed them off, mulling them and preparing answers in his head for each one. As she concluded her thoughts on the wonderment of Ruzatz getting involved, he held up a single hand. “Think what you will of me and my actions but Ruzatz has no blame in this matter. In fact, he didn’t even know of any connection between myself and you two until you came to see him, asking to go into Kingdom Darkness. Trust me, he gave me quite an earful for my lack of informational sharing. The only reason he didn’t bring it up further is because I asked him specifically to leave it to me. He simply got caught up in my mess but please, feel free to check with him.” He was quick to shoulder the blame there. He owed the Prime Sin that much.

“As for my connection with him, his guild has a remarkable ability to gather information – as does Ruzatz and Agatha themselves. They may operate as a… love-in, kind of environment but they are a hub of knowledge that many use to learn more about the world. Admittedly, the people I work with don’t necessarily enjoy workin’ with a Prime Sin but we can’t pick and choose our allies when they offer us insight. And all Ruzatz asks in return is secrecy of his true nature. So long as he isn’t harmin’ people, we leave him be.” There were a lot of things that Ruzatz was and wasn’t but a bad person, he was not. It was still, to this day, an odd thing to think about a demon but the truth outshined opinions all the time.

But that was it’s own consideration. He continued. “I trust they have every intention of keepin’ the mortal world protected. I’ve handled enough jobs for them to know that their intentions aligned with that. Trust is…” Gren slowly looked over to Branwen, as if to confirm his own ironic amusement in the next thing he said. “Not an easy thing for me. I can’t say I trust them fully either. There is no such thing as innocent power and when pride goes to one’s head, especially those lookin’ to dethrone gods and demons, it can be dangerous. I am within their ranks because I want to ensure that kind of corruption doesn’t occur and, if I discover it has, then I will handle it. But you are right, Lady Sinclair… I do believe they are hidin’ several things. Whether it is for the good of the world or not, there are places I have not seen and things I have not been allowed to hear. I know they harbor a great many magical artifacts that could be dangerous. They are locked up and are impossible to get to but they are still there.”

He took a short breath, inhaling slowly through his nostrils. “I’ve made it through life semi-successfully on my gut feelin’s. I know how ridiculous that sounds but Branwen can tell you very many a time I followed my instincts and was right. That’s not a point of pride, it’s a simple fact. And right now, my gut is tellin’ me these people are reliable. Call it a… leap of faith.”

“You’re skipping over all the times your gut nearly got us killed,” Branwen chirped up.

“Even then, I was still right,” Gren said and, for the first time, flashed a trademark grin at the former major. “But I have a question; you speak about the situation on Era as if you were there. I had heard about it but none of us were near enough to come and give aid.” He looked between Mythal and Branwen. It had been the Darkness King that had brought it up in the first place, as he voiced his thoughts about corruptions and maliciousness in the ranks.

It was Branwen now that smiled, if only a little. “Part of an all knowing group of people and you don’t know?” As Gren simply blinked at him in response, the former major chuckled irritably. “A dark wizard guild attacked Era. Not just the Rune Knight headquarters but the city itself and the Magic Council building. We believe they were going after the Magic Council themselves, while also freeing several imprisoned wizards from the jails. The damage was… catastrophic. We lost nearly the entirety of the Rune Knights.”

“What?” Gren leaned forward, in utter shock. “How? What…?”

“The guild responsible has been crushed, so far as we know. But the reason that Mythal brings it up is because he was there. So was Serilda, as was I. The fallout was unthinkable – every officer that survived was either court martialed or outright fired. Though no such punishment seemed heading my way, I decided to take the initiative and retire. Clearly it was time to bring in a new batch of wizards to head up the Rune Knights, to take the order in a different, better direction. Our Lady Sinclair here is the new Field Marshall. And your son is the General of the Special Operations.”

It was oddly relieving to see the shock on Gren’s face for once, seeing the information floor him like he’d done to most of them all night. He was at a loss for words, looking over at Serilda and Mythal in silent wonder as he processed. Eventually he managed to find his voice, whistling softly. “Branwen… I’m sorry.”

The former major pondered that a moment and then shrugged. “It was about time as it was. I’d hit the peak of my promotions and frankly, the job had become a chore. Now I have the opportunity to spend my twilight years enjoying myself.” He looked over at Aster and smiled softly.

With that out of the way, Gren looked over at Serilda and Mythal. “I guess congratulations are in order. Field Marshall and General… you two deserve it.” His gaze lingered on the Darkness King for a moment longer. “You’re headin’ up my old division.”

“Technically with you alive again, it means you’re hella late for duty rosters.” It was the first joke Mythal had managed to crack since Gren had arrived. But despite everything, he couldn’t help himself. The barest hints of a smile touched his mouth as he met Gren’s eyes. “I can think of several chores my guys would love to give up for you to make up the difference.”

Gren snorted a low belly laugh, looking over at Branwen and waving at Mythal, as if to say ‘you hear this shit?’. “Sorry kid but the minute I went under, I was retired. Besides, this old bag of bones wouldn’t be much use in an official capacity. But I am damn proud to hear it. I just wish it came on the head of better news…”