FENRER

Boxes of black iron filled the carriage which had given Lady Valarma the supplies she needed to upkeep her own lands. Supply and demand. He took note of the working relationship between Reyn and Valarma as the other crates were latched down and moved by cart over the other bridge, to the town proper. Horses latched onto their traveling carriages, he worried at the hilt of his crescent blade, though beside him, Adara continued to examine the architecture of the high, spiked walls. "I hope you had a good sleep," he told her, fighting to keep a smile on his face. It drifted at the supplies marked down for Sungrove and Wolford, the lumber Reyn could spare. And I have no means to repay his kindness... except strengthening his hold on the Inland. He dug his grip into the crescent blade.

"I did, but I don't believe you had a good rest from the way you were tossing and turning." Adara bumped against him at the light drizzle in the air. It cooled down his brow when he tilted his head back to the overcast sky. As the stones grew damp, the noon would bring the warm humidity. It was enough to whisper along the breeze, but he sighed at her comment when it processed in his mind. Arrows of war. Burnt wood and flesh. Fabric torn.

"Sorry if I kept you up," he disrupted the thoughts swirling in the muck. "I can see if there's not room in one of the carriages for you to catch up on some sleep."

"The only person who needs to catch up on sleep the most is you," Adara threw back, moving her shoulder-length brown hair with her hand before reaching up to press underneath his eyes. "You look exhausted."

"I'm fine." Fenrer sank into her touch and aura, but jolted out of the sense of serenity when the carriage wheels tugged against the roughwork foundation beneath them to head over the bridge they arrived on. "Let's get going. It'll be another day's trip to Sungrove... at least Wolford won't be as long a trip. We set the supplies in Sungrove, then we go to Wolford to see what needs to be done in the other townships..." A game with a board. He twisted on his heel to follow the caravan with Adara moving at a steady pace behind him. Sungrove. Onto the pathways which kept the caravan away from the muddy bank, they returned to the unmaintained dawnpath. He had to be strong, decisive, but he wasn't Yuven. He never would be. Fists clenched as the wheels bumped against the stones, with posts directed down paths, but they headed straight. Sungrove. They descended upon us from what felt like all sides. A memory recalled. Arrows whizzed through smoke to smash into the roofs of houses and the mills.

Into flames.

But though I saw the event... It was Reyn who saw the aftermath. Bile boiled his stomach at his ferocious imagination, the empty blanket in the air of auras lost to death. Colors bled. Father's rattle sounded through his ears with each step they took, his necrotic snarl perverting the man he had been when alive. Death pulled and sunk in his cheeks, but he brought his hands up to his own to squish it out of his head. It was over, he had sent him to the Obscura to feed the Derelicts. He dug his fingers into his bones, pleading for the salvation of what had been left of his soul. Instead, he kept his attention on Adara when she shifted her magick through the primordial elements, though ice remained her weakest one. Fire. Wind. Water, which then shuddered then dropped to the ground. Vexed, Adara folded her arms with a huff. She's improving fast though. I just hope the Elder Convocation doesn't make another move. Finger to the bridge of his nose, he brushed it and tried to keep moving.

As they walked, the arrows cracked against bucklers, and he gave a short gasp when he face-planted into the ground, causing the housecarls around him to pull out their weapons, ready for an attack. It had gone quiet in the auras, and it burned his cheeks when he got on his knees with Adara at his side without hesitation to offer him a hand — the same hand he offered her when the Derelict venom tore through her system and made her comment on his eyes. Pretty, though dangerous. On his feet, he dipped his head as their carriage moved on to catch up with the lead, who slowed down their pace. He brushed the smudged dirt off his leather armor, trying to smooth out his gambison as others walked past him without comment.

"You okay?" Adara whispered, not moving with the flow.

"I'm fine, just my dignity was hurt." Fenrer ran from his embarrassing display of balance, the heat from the rising sun making it worse on his skin. Just get this over with and bring the report straight to Reyn... and keep an eye out on anything suspicious, but it's been quiet... though maybe that in itself is suspicious. I thought we would've at least seen signs of Derelicts but there's nothing... Fenrer scuffed his boot against the dirt, but it came out normal instead of dead crimson. Anything to drag his mind off it, off the maelstrom. Their path diverged, and he bit on his tongue when they wound through familiar knolls and thick trunks. Until the first, burnt arch signaled the start of the descent into the grove, the sun ascending on their heels.

Back to where it began.

Adara stopped at his side as the carriages went first down the slope into Sungrove, one at a time, headed by a housecarl to prevent mishaps. Someone who stumbled into his memory due to his misstep and experienced his pain as an observer. He followed once all the carriages were through the burnt gate, half of it flung off to the side, cracked through the wood. Shadows shrunk underneath the might of the sun when they began their own descent, and he forced himself to look upon the destruction again. Nature reclaimed what war ruined, and he sucked in his lips at the sight. Screams echoed, but it washed out when Adara whispered, "I can't imagine what this palace was like when it was bustling."

"It wasn't so different from Prunal," he told her. "It was active, but also quiet. A peaceful life." Ruined by war, brought to the torch so none would survive... but I did, with me to carry the burden. Fenrer looked up at the wind against his face, the boughs rustling with it and Sungrove at its heart. At the broken gate, the end of the Dawn Path, the gate had collapsed since they were last here. And... I didn't bring anything to write all of this down. We'll need a proper gate here... don't want a repeat. He had to rely on his memory, though Yuven would've done the smart thing and whipped out a notebook when the need arose.

The carriages managed past the broken posts and headed deeper into the grove, onto the smaller gravel path. In a couple minutes, the ruins of Sungrove came into view, with its high, but no less broken stone walls with scorch marks crawling up the guard towers. Torn banners hung on wood spikes meant to deter climbers, and he came to a slow stop at the entrance, though he nodded for the carriages to continue on. There was not a recognizable building in the immediate area as he dragged himself forward, past the destroyed forges, whose flames sputtered out of their life. Into the small plots of farmland which rested in the middle ring of Sungrove, until they reached the heart of the town itself. Mud splashed against the old stones as the carriages rolled to a stop, with the Pyren manor on the plateau overlooking it all, with its burial mound far below.

"Pyren," one of Reyn's housecarls called as they unloaded some of the supplies. "Is there any place to store the supplies? Do you think a storage house would still be standing?" Boxes piled on boxes, with the horses given treats for their hard work.

Fenrer gave a slow shake of his head. "Last time we were here everything was in ruins," he explained to the gathering housecarls. "The manor is in relatively good condition, and the cellar might need to be emptied out temporarily for storage." He led the housecarls and Adara back to the manor, past the mead hall. His gaze drifted on what was once his home. Days when he bothered Father for weapons training. Days where he watched Mother train younger fighters to protect Sungrove. At the doors, guarded by broken stone wolves, he opened them into the stale air of the manor. Empty of colors and aura, even undead ones. I don't want a repeat of that... we need to make sure none of the tombs were desecrated. It was a small comfort that Pyren's body wasn't in good enough condition to become a draugr — nor was his spirit tethered to the world.

As housecarls carried in their burden, he got out of their way to stand beside Adara, who looked around anxiously. "Nothing is here anymore," he answered her fuzzy silver bloom. "We destroyed it." I killed him a second time. He sighed and motioned at her to follow him to the farthest wing with Father's old carpenter workshops, nodding to another loitering housecarl when they stepped forward to follow. "There might be some structurally sound lumber left," he said as he opened the door to the workshop, slipping inside. "Or at the very least... some sort of plans for Sungrove..."

The housecarl stood at the door as Fenrer turned to Adara. "It was here somewhere..." he mumbled, running his hand along the stone wall, pushing his fingers into the sections of cupboards full of different wood blocks. He opened up the lower cabinets, frowning at the moss-eaten pieces of lumber. He grabbed one, putting the slightest bit of pressure on it as it cracked with ease. Once he had found all the suspect pieces of lumber, he put it in a pile near the door. At least it can still be firewood... He put his hands on his hips. "Adara, are you able to take this pile to the mead hall? There's a small area for firewood. Just place all those ones in there." He motioned at her, and helped her lift the largest ones into her hands. The housecarl came forward to take the rest, and he was all alone.

Fenrer headed to the carpenter bench to sort through Father's old tools, rusted from lack of maintenance. Each piece of measuring paper he tied together with twine in his thick scrawl. Embers against his heart, the screech of the draugr echoing his ears, he grabbed the worst off tools and put them in a small box. With it underneath his arm, he rushed out of the abandoned place of someone else's art, out of the manor and back to the carriages. He hopped into the now empty carriage, placing the toolbox inside before jumping out. Turns of rain washed away any trace of blood upon the stones and houses closest to the center. Back straight, he curled his lip then headed back up the largest hill. He had one task left to do — one task to set his mistakes right.

Into the manor, he rushed to the Ancient's shrine of false faith. Into the smaller prayer room, he kicked supplies out of his way to reach his goal. A woven spirit staff, decorated with small stones, the wood smoothed to perfection and carved with the sigil of his family. He stomped out of the lies, heading to the backyard. In the sunlight, Father's ashes burned from his power, but the grass remained unaffected, swaying with the breeze. Over the dead gardens, he headed straight for the entrance to the tombs, where the gate swung lazily, rusted on its hinges. Enough to release any manner of undead creature buried within.

He closed the door behind him.

Broken pottery cracked underneath his boot, worthless to the dead — more a comfort for the living. Statues hid the mausoleums which held the coffins, and he slowed to a stop in front of Father's likeness. Two torches hung on either side of his head, down to their last flickers of light with no one to see to the tombs. His grip tightened on the staff as he descended further and a chill hung in the air. Wolven shaped gargoyles sat on small perches along the walls. On the last floor, which held the oldest of the Pyren's, he stood on the other side of the sun door.

Hello again, Pyren.

Into his massive tomb, Fenrer sent sparks of fire into the lamps. Each one sputtered to life, and he stood in the middle, in his giant shadow. I have to close whatever rift opened here. Fenrer allowed his senses to fill with the stench of aura, and he held the staff in front of him. Bodies laid out in front of him, but his only company were the bones of his ancestor. "Walk through the twilight sea," he began, doing a slow spin on his heel as he pulled back the twine and it snapped through the room.

Magick filled the twine of the staff, the little bells on the circumference ringing. It pushed through his bloodstream, but with no direction to point them, he frowned when the mist coalesced across the glyph beneath his feet. He continued to throw the dead into the Obscura as he had before. The mist caught on the webbing of the staff. One by one, the lamps hushed out, but as he made to slam the staff downwards, he gasped when it seared his fingers. It clattered to the ground, and he shook out his palm.

The mist slithered back into the ground.

Silent as the grave.

Empty of his belief, frustration replaced the pressure as he kicked the staff and it snapped in half against the wall when it crashed against it. Hands wrapped around his skull. His own as he tried to pry the growing migraine out of them. Figments of his imagination. He raised his head to Pyren's massive likeness, where a wolf wound between his legs and he held a stone visage of the dawnblade in his hand, where a sunstone embedded into the hilt.

Fenrer turned his back on him and left.

Whatever still lays here... evidently doesn't want to leave. But I don't sense the hate he had for the living... Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Father, I'm so sorry for whatever existence you're in. He cowered in the shadow of the haugbui when it shambled closer with a dislocated crack of its bones, its jaw unhinged, but its strength impressive as it dragged a warhammer along.

"That's not your father!" Yuven snapped in his ears. "It will never be your father again!"

But it had been, don't you see? That creature, that thing you see as a monster to be eradicated... was my father once. Fenrer stopped at the stone staircase which led upwards, and sank to his knees to sit on the first step, pressing his brow into his tented fingers. And still... what existence did I subject him to after this one?

He sat there and cried, for the little boy who didn't get a chance to.