Gaël didn't understand those words. Not really.
But he understood one thing: that man, whatever he was, Fallen or not, was his path to power.
Every fiber of his being screamed it at him: Don't let him leave.
It was irrational, no doubt. Maybe even insane.
But it was there. A blazing, gut-deep certainty.
Because what he had just witnessed could never be erased from memory. That way of wielding a blade, that mastery of the Severance, so pure, so raw.
A warrior who fought like the heroes from the stories of his childhood, the legends whispered around the hearth… except this one wasn't a tale.
He was real.
Just like the swordbrother who had once saved his hometown.
He was real… and walking away.
Fear clutched at Gaël, not fear of death. No. Fear of missing this chance. Of staying weak. Of continuing to fumble in the dark without ever truly grasping what the path of the Severance meant.
He couldn't let this man disappear without showing him the way.
His frantic gaze shifted, and met Nyx's.
The black ermine stared back with crimson eyes, a glint of mischief gleaming within. Not mocking, not this time. More like a spectator watching a game finally become interesting.
Then, as if tugged by an invisible thread, Gaël turned to Astraéa.
She stood just a few steps away, rain cascading over her. Her black hair, weighed down by water, clung to her cheeks, with a few strands whipping across her face in the gusts of wind. Despite the fatigue and the tension of the moment, she stood tall, proud, painfully beautiful, with that unyielding fire still burning in her golden-shadowed eyes.
Gaël felt his heart pound harder. And his resolve, steel itself.
_ _ _
"Why is he looking at me like that?" Astraéa wondered.
There was something in his gaze she couldn't grasp, wavering between disarming naivety and a mad kind of resolve. From the very first moment, he'd seemed like a complete fool: soaked head to toe, trailing her with that misplaced stubbornness, acting like he cared, when they didn't even know each other. Utterly absurd.
And then… he'd ridden Nyx.
No one had ever managed that. No one, not even her.
Nyx, with those gleaming red eyes, as sly as a whisper in the night, rarely tolerated even a touch, let alone someone riding him.
But the boy had done it. Willingly. As if Nyx allowed it. As if he had seen something in that boy that even Astraéa hadn't.
A shiver ran down her spine.
A cool breeze rose, threading through the bare branches and carrying with it the earthy scent of the damp forest. Astraéa wiped her brow, brushing away beads of cold sweat despite the chill in the air. Nyx, as always, stood beside her, tail raised with that insufferable air of superiority. She scowled. He was enjoying this, that damned little traitor was actually enjoying this.
"Tch… You're such a smug little bastard," she muttered.
Nyx chuckled in her mind, his laughter echoing like a fractured bell.
Then, the air changed. The atmosphere pulsed. Trees bent beneath an invisible weight.
Suddenly, a massive column of light burst through the sky, majestic and terrifying, parting the clouds like a divine blade.
The rumble that followed made the earth tremble beneath her feet. Even Nyx halted, ears pinned back.
"The Grand Druid…" she whispered.
He'd finally unleashed his power. The hordes must already be in retreat, fleeing Ambrosius's wrath. It was only a matter of time before calm returned. She had to head back, even if it meant getting an earful from Cassandre.
She started to climb onto Eos's back, only to notice the boy hadn't moved to do the same with Nyx.
'What is he thinking? No… he's not actually planning to... He can't be that stupid.'
Chasing after a mad warrior corrupted by Umbra?
'He couldn't possibly believe Nyx's lies…! But then again, he is that stupid,' she remembered.
"We'll meet again!" the boy suddenly called out, breaking the silence like a stone dropped into a black lake.
He gave her a wide grin, sincere, radiant, and completely out of place, then darted off after the warrior without waiting for her reply.
She stood there, frozen. Unable to react.
"…Idiot." she whispered.
A fool, that's what he was.
No sane person would run after that shadow. Maybe that's why Nyx liked him.
The black ermine always did have a fondness for fools and those foolish enough not to see the noose tightening around their neck.
"Let him go," Eos said, her gentle voice weaving into Astraéa's mind like a comforting whisper. "Perhaps… it's a good thing, after all."
Astraéa turned to the white ermine. Unlike her brother, Eos never spoke lightly. Every word she spoke carried the weight of truth.
'But… how could that possibly be a good thing?'
"I don't understand anything you two are saying…" she muttered.
The boy was already vanishing into the forest's shadows.
Just before he disappeared completely, her eyes lingered on his form, slightly slender, though his shoulders hinted at strength yet to come.
She drew a deep breath and climbed onto Eos's back. The warmth of her white fur beneath her fingers was steadying, soothing.
"Let's go…" she whispered.
The beast leapt forward, gliding silently across the ground. Behind them, somewhere in the dark woods, a fool was chasing a shadow… with a smile bright enough to cut through the darkness itself.
And she… she still didn't understand why that smile refused to leave her thoughts.
_ _ _
The forest stretched far and wide, vast and silent, its ancient trees standing like forgotten sentinels.
In that frozen landscape, Brann moved forward.
His steps, eerily light for a man of his size, barely touched the soft earth, brushing over the fallen leaves without making a sound. His worn boots, caked in dried mud, glided with the caution of a seasoned hunter.
And yet, that night, he wasn't the predator. He was a man hunted by his own memories.
The voices that usually whispered from the corners of his mind had gone quiet. As if they, too, feared interrupting the thread of his thoughts. Or maybe, he thought bitterly, they'd simply lost all interest in him.
After all, what was left to whisper to a man who had already severed everything he once held dear?
Brann inhaled deeply, letting the cold air fill his tired lungs. The scent of damp earth mixed with the harsher odor of sweat and dried blood clinging to his leather coat. His calloused fingers brushed the hilt of Fenris, the massive blade strapped to his back, its black guard engraved with symbols worn away by time.
A dull pulse climbed up his arm. The blade was breathing. Or maybe he was still hallucinating.
He closed his eyes.
In the darkness behind his eyelids, other images surged.
Eyes. Those of a boy, no, a young man. Those eyes… Brann had seen them. Too bright. Too full of hope.
Like yours, back then.
He growled, one hand clenching against his scarred face. He didn't have the strength to hunt today.
Didn't even want to. But beneath the exhaustion, something else gnawed at him. That boy, with his admiring gaze… he had stirred something.
A fragment of the past Brann thought buried beneath layers of pain and darkness. A memory of a younger self, looking up at his elders with that same flame in his eyes.
The same flame he had extinguished himself, crushed under cruel truths and spilled blood.
He stopped by an old tree whose roots clawed out from the ground like the talons of some ancient beast. Leaning against its rough bark, he felt the scars in the wood beneath his fingers, scars not unlike his own.
His muscles taut, he let his head fall back, his breath mingling with the cool mist thickening around him.
Retreat. Find your stance again. Your center.
If he wanted to keep moving forward, he had to become the blade once more, cold, unyielding. Cut through false shadows. Ignore deceiving lights. Focus on the only thing that mattered: the truth.
Even if it sliced.
Even if it devoured him.
A laugh escaped him, rough, joyless.
"Tch… Ridiculous."
And yet he stayed there, motionless, listening to the breath of the world.
The wind. The forest. His own heart.
Beating. Slowly. Relentlessly. Like the edge of a blade suspended over a precipice.