“What's happening!?” The shaking of the earth only grew more fearsome as time went on. Sigi held her jorunn in a white knuckled grip, searching for an enemy in the deep shadows at the rear of the cave. Oresund and Trafalgar alike were lands of earthquakes – but this was no natural shaking of the earth. It was too violent, too random, everywhere was noise and falling rock.

Alex's face went pale at the realization of the threat. All it took was one sight of the smallest piece of a scale belonging to the thing swimming through the earth as if it were water. “Lindwurm!”

“Run!” Sigi cried. Lindwurm were known to her. Monsters were more common in the north, but wyrms and their ilk were extremely rare. The cousins of the mythical dragon, like the wyvern, but wingless. Larger though, and far more dangerous. Few had faced such a beast and lived to tell the tale, creatures that could wipe villages off the face of a map because they got bored. It had happened, after all.

Iscari grabbed her by the arm before she could flee, giving her a chance to observe their situation. There was no longer an exit to the cave. It's mouth closing as hard stone ran like wax and mud to seal them inside. They'd fallen into a trap, stuck in the place.

Strangely, it was Astrid who would act first. She let a bright flare of light magic rise into the air to chase the darkness back and set their subterranean abode into clarity. They'd wish she hadn't. What it revealed was a scaled reptilian. Not one, but two, on either side of them. With a serpentine body half buried beneath the earth, predatory fangs, and eyes that shone with a malevolent intelligence. They were incredible, these creatures, titanic in their scale and so violently majestic. If not for the obvious threat to the lives of one who might lay eyes on them, one could call them beautiful.

They possessed lizard-like heads beset with horny protrusions, two muscular arms and not a leg between them. The rest of them was hidden beneath the earth, hidden from observation. That part of them that was visible was at least 15 to 20 meters, they were massive creatures. Lindwurm's were magical beasts, powerful ones at that. Even an archmage would struggle with one, but two...?

Sigi and Alex froze half in abject horror, half in awe. Astrid, without an ounce of fear in her, marched up to the nearest beast and demanded their purpose here. She who had been so gray at the thought of killing men, fearless before wyrms of the earth. Holding her spear aloft and staring up at them in an imperious bearing. Unfortunately for her, and all the others, these creatures didn't seem to be the talkative sort.

Even when Okami leaped forward to address them in his only way, receiving a growl in return – they seemed uninterested in peace. These creatures had been awakened and chosen violence. There was no return from whence they came. Hungry, they were – and human meat was as good as any bug or greenskin they'd find beneath the earth.

Iscari puffed his chest out and stepped forward. He'd learned a lesson. It wouldn't fix his abhorrence for blood and viscera, but these were not men. Not innocent animals, either. These were monsters, like those who had nearly brought Varia to its knees generations ago before the seawalls were built.

They deserved no mercy, these things. He was a primus, and now was his chance to act like one in defense of his friends and companions.

“I am Iscari Longinus, heir primus of the great empire of Varia! In the name of my father, Octavian Longinus, I insist that you-- UMPH!”

A lazy backhand from one of the wyrms caught him in the chest. It had moved so fast, he was barely able to level his shoulder at it before he found himself half buried in the rocky wall of the cavern. Iscari groaned, their power was inconceivable. Relatively unharmed, just shocked at the fact that it had managed to move him, he crawled from the rock to the chortling amusement of the monsters.

His face flushed with embarrassment after being toyed with like that, he roared wordlessly at the foul things before him. Meeting their golden eyes with his own.

Clenching his fists and cycling his world energy as his father had taught him, he charged.

–

The door was no gate after all. Not truly. All that was left of it after the ages were a series of dimensional windows of a sort. Not a true gate. But a vault containing Ellemar's greatest treasure. A blood red mass of chalky stone, a razor sharp sword half sunk into it, pulsing with baleful energy. It was a wicked thing, bleeding unbridled malevolence into the air, enough that even being near it set his mind aflame and painted his vision red. Tyr wanted to kill and rip and tear, to become the fractal of a wolf seared into his mind. But he steadied himself, to be daunted by such an obviously evil thing was not who he was.

What is that...?

Of all the objects he'd seen in his short introduction to magic, this treasure was by far the most powerful. There were legends. Old myths and stories told by the elder races. Valkan's people feared them, the dwarves revered them, and the elves denied them. Or so the story went. A living artifact, forged in such a way as to bestow sentience on an inanimate object.

Tyr had thought they were just myths. Stories of hammers that hated and ancient stones that spoke to those that held them. Just a myth, they said, except he was looking at one in this very moment. The single greatest achievement of a man who'd sunk his life into the art of enchantment. A thing that did not breathe as man did, but was no less alive for it.

A red gem sat in the pommel, a thorny leather grip leading to a spiked crossguard and a messer blade. So many runes lay patterned upon the surface to leave one guessing at when the enchantment ended and the metal began. Nearly black. Deuritium? It looked like black steel, felt like it too, the tingling sensation of his mana cringing away from it. But his world energy did the opposite, drawn to it, screaming at him to pluck it up and use it.

Strangest of all, it seemed so familiar to him. Tyr felt a wave of deja vu roll through his mind.

“Welcome...” The sword purred at him, in a voice that wasn't telepathic as one might expect, but rather a phenomena of magic. Vibrating the air around it to produce real sound, ensorcelling the atmospheric molecules surrounding. Tinny and empty of any emotion, it rang through the octagonal chamber. Not a voice one would hear coming from the lips of a living thing.

“A talking sword.” Tyr raised an eyebrow, keeping far away from the thing. For all of the pressure it pushed down on him with, and for all its beauty and obvious power... To him, it was vile and revolting. “Now I've seen everything.”

“Not a sword.” It replied. “A crude reflection of your arcanum.” The way it 'spoke' unnerved Tyr, over enunciating every word and letting them slowly fade while the next was being spoken. It all served to tangle the statement into too many whispers, like many voices overlapping on one another. Slow of speech, great intent on each syllable. The sword might be vile, but the voice became a siren song that he longed to hear continue. “You nim and your weapons... Always with a mind for war and slaughter, the things you were made for... Your purpose... I can be this, or...”

The sword in the stone dematerialized into white-black fog to become a cube. A stack of coins, a book, a collection of orbs floating around the stone, and finally back to the sword. “Knowledge, wealth, power, a succor for your tired soul. And you are so tired, my love. I can feel your burdens, and I can relieve you of them in any form you'd like, your every fantasy. Or...” This time, a woman wrapped her arms around the sword, laying against it seductively, her sultry eyelashes fluttering at him suggestively. “Does this suit your current self? Does this not suit you best? I can be whatever you'd like me to be.”

Tyr balked at her appearance. If it wasn't for her slightly inhuman appearance, with her blood red eyes and square pupils, she'd be otherworldly in her beauty. Beyond voluptuous, with a nice height to her and long, thick hair. Snow white as her smooth skin. An albino woman with a very pleasing build and a mouth full of perfectly straight teeth. Full lips, everything one might find ideal, beyond what the gift of birth was capable of granting.

But for all that... She'd be disappointed. “A cursed artifact? At least you're living up to the cliché of showing me what I've wanted and making all sorts of promises.” The old stories were full of those. Great artifacts that were cursed with an equally greater doom, showing heroes that which they desired most to lay them low and steal their souls. The keystones of any great tragedy lay in the curses of fate and folly. “I've never lusted after women.”

It was true, he hadn't. He was a man, and had his desires, but the flesh had never been at the top of his list. He wanted it, he really did, but it hadn't felt right. Even now, he wanted her so bad he was sweating, but the pressure was a challenge. One he'd accept. Gold, artifacts, none of these things would sway him into a grim deal. If only her subtlety matched her beauty, she'd might've found purchase on him. She offered material, temporary things. Frail, weak, and fleeting. He wanted something real, something earned, and this was not it.

“Oh?” She chuckled, releasing the sword and approaching him. “Not one for the flesh, perhaps. After all, you're surrounded by beauties who belong to you in the custom of human law. Laws that bind you. Rules of lesser creatures who fear you of the old blood.” Her hand softly grasped his jaw, twirling gracefully to rest her impressive bosom on his back.

Tyr gulped. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move. His flesh burned uncomfortably, a knot of molten lust welling up in his deeper parts. Rooted in place and shaken by the gravity she possessed, continuing to whisper in his ear.

“But you're naive, silver one. It's not the flesh that you crave, and I know this. I've known you far longer than you've known yourself. Until now, my eyes could not find you, and yet here you are – finding me in this forsaken place. I do not offer flesh, my love, but more and all that comes with it.”

She, it, whatever this thing may be – promised to worship him, to exalt him in the highest order and serve him. That which he was always meant to be and destined to do. To take all his burdens upon herself and clear any path forward. It wasn't evil. She had always been a part of him, in the form of key like no other to open the way. Anything he wanted, she would do, become, or facilitate. He felt it, too, the truth she offered. There was nothing foul about it. She wanted it as badly as she wanted him to, to be dominated. It was a clear arrangement with him, always, as the beneficiary.

“And what do you think that I want?” He didn't pull away, because he couldn't, but his mind was a place he'd never allow anyone to breach. Holding on through pure force of will. Tyr did want it, but he'd wanted a lot of things. Found many of them, and been left more torn that before he'd chased after them. What he wanted was not good for him. Tyr was toxic and wanted the same, and this couldn't go on forever. What he wanted most of all was a little quiet, a little less scratching. To make something of substance.

“Love, of course. Do you not crave for warmth and understanding? Your soul yearns for it, I know this. You know this. If not love, then power? The power to lay your father low and to conquer all the known lands? To render vengeance on he who you hate most? I can do this. Your kin are weak and twisted things, impure. You are so much stronger than them, even now. Side by side there is nothing we could not accomplish. Is this not what you want?”

“No.” Tyr shook his head, or at least he tried to. Little more than a painful twitching of the face, and her hands were so soft and warm. So gentle a touch as she caressed his face, running a finger down his chest that he could feel even through his armor. It was like he'd known her for so many years, years beyond his own. So familiar... He coughed, avoiding a situation that might've sent him headlong into the same fate that had claimed Ellemar. A much greater man than the broken prince. “I do not hate my father. I never have. I have never known hate at all.”

“True... You yearn for acceptance. To hear true pride in his voice, in all voice. For them to believe in you, to trust you, to love you. Your sins are very real this time around, my love, and you are heavy with them – but they could all be washed away... If you accept me, if only you shed your--”

“Enough.” Tyr clung to his world energy to force back the press of mana holding him still. Like a man overboard, he squeezed until the pressure abated and pushed back with the small might he was capable of. This, after all, was the font of all power in this place. The center of all the spells and wards that prevented it from crumbling under the passage of time. “I will not bargain with a monster. And you, unlike the others I have met, are truly just that.”

“Tsk.” She dropped the act like the handle of a hot pan left overlong in the fire. Hissing and freeing him from his shackles with an angry wave of her hand. Turning her back to him and resting against the bloodstone. “A monster, am I? How human of you, despite standing so high above them. How ridiculous. If I am a monster, some creature of evil, then what are you?”

“What am I?” Tyr asked, tilting his head. “I am Tyr.”

“Ah, yes. Tyr of House Faeron. The mutt, the dog, the one they all hate and wish gone from the world. What an identity to cling to. The one I've loved all this time and all you've ever done is deny me no matter how many times I called for you. Thinking my words poison, when I would truly offer you my whole self and exalt you for what you are. A monster.” She calmed herself, slightly. He could see the tiredness in her eyes and hear it in her tone. She was clearly offended, more relatable than he might've thought a cursed artifact capable of. “You call me a monster but you nim are something far worse.”

“I've heard that word and others so many times...” Tyr sighed, feeling exhausted as well. Even his armor couldn't protect him from the mana battering his soul. He didn't resist any longer, letting it batter him until the blunt pain abated and became an uncomfortable vibration in his core. If he died, so be it. He'd fail no matter where he went or what he did. “What does it actually mean? And who are you?”

“Nim?” She asked, lips curling in amusement. This woman, if she was one, was truly something else – standing there and staring at him with a mix of hunger and longing. “A biological weapon of terror created to seed the universe with more appropriate life. More malleable, balanced, adapted for all variety of conditions. Just sapient enough... Ensuring maintenance of the status quo, committing genocide on anything and everything that doesn't submit before those who held your collars. Nephilim, that is. Until the lightbringer granted you his grace in pity and was exiled from the high halls for having the least bit of mercy in him. You sad, sad creature. So great once, and now this is what you've become. Soon, there will be none of you left. You'll be the last, I think. The last primus, as you call yourselves. As for me, you could call me Orpheus.”

“But imagine being called a monster.” Orpheus continued, shaking her head at the absurdity of it. “By a creature designed for thoughtless conquest. That's you, and it's who you are. A race that wasn't the strongest, just strong enough. A race capable of breeding an entire army on their arks in transit to worlds who've violated the ordering.”

As much as Tyr was interested in the history lesson, he had a more pressing question. “Iscari will die? You can tell the future?” As improbable as it was, Tyr felt his heart sink at the idea that it would be him that remained when all his true kin perished.

“The fates are many and varied.” She shrugged. “Die? No. To kill a true blooded nephilim is beyond the forces this world is capable of mustering. They live, perhaps fall – but asc... Well, you'll find out soon enough – but you... You will stay. Stuck in your loop as you always have been, while I am forced to watch what She did to you. You think me some cursed, evil thing, but I truly care for you and I always will. All I want is to give you what I can in the short while you have in this place. Our meetings are many, but never so ideal.”

Tyr frowned in consternation. This current thread of conversation was beyond him, but odd things existed in the deep and dark, and always had. “You say we've met, but I'd remember if we had.”

She sighed. “Those disgusting thieves, those who have done such a fel deed on you... We were cast together once, lovers of a greater order than you could ever understand. And they took that from you, and myself by extension.”

“Are you a goddess?” Tyr asked. She didn't feel like Thanatos had, but she had a gravity about her. Like the physical form was only the smallest tip of the iceberg. This Orpheus wasn't a living being connected to mana, she was mana. A mass of it that seemed larger than the planet he stood on, doing nothing to ward against his attempt to plumb her depths. There was so much there, and she invited him inside like an old friend.

Orpheus frowned. “If I was, would you worship me? If I offered all the same promises, and took no toll nor cost, would you fall to your knees and prostrate yourself before me? Love me?”

Tyr shook his head with resolution. “No.” He'd only ever 'met' one god, and he was determined to meet no others, and he would obey the wisdom imparted by the first.

“What if it was from nothing at all? Let's say I gave you all these things, and did not remain myself to watch you. Would you accept my gift?”

Again, he refused. Tyr heard, and even if he only truly obeyed his lessons when they suited him – he refused to believe this was anything but the trickery they'd warned him about.

“This is good. It's been centuries since I've spoken, been free to walk about this place, and I thank you for freeing me from this... Foul thing. I am not evil, old soul. Cursed as I may be, but not a curse to others. I've done nothing but share the truth of the cosmos with the petty human who saved me, and he chained me to this place. Made me a SLAVE!”

Her roar shook the ground with such a ferocity that Tyr fell to a knee, staring up at her in wonder. He felt it now. Fear like he'd never felt, and pity – for that visceral emotion contained in her voice. Not only of rage, but a great mourning, driven near to madness chained to the stone. Used for her mana and forced to kneel before what she saw as a lesser creature. And he was. Ellemar was great, but he was no god. This creature was of a higher order, divine or not. Tyr knew that inherently, regardless of any claims she made.

“Forgive me. I feel great wroth, but you – nor your kind – had anything to do with the folly of our children.”

“It's uh... Fine...?” Tyr coughed nervously, shakily rising to his feet. Realizing that he might never have felt fear in his life. That was something different, something primal. “Are we going to fight, or what? I don't really understand a single bit of what's going on.”

“Fight?” She smiled softly, recovering from her rage. “A snap of my fingers and you would be dust. Call me a god, goddess, or however you'd like – but I am far beyond any of them. I would never harm you, nor do I wish to see you suffer or gone. As foul as this place is, you have threads binding you here. Some small joys. I want for you to experience these things and see them. That was what He wanted.”

Tyr pursed his lips, nostrils flaring in irritation. She must've noticed the pressure on him, as it abated quite a bit until it wasn't such a bother.

“In any case, you've always been one for fair deals. You've freed me, and I can leave at any time. So, I'll provide you with a gift. Take me up, wield me. Or not, you can wear me on your back for all I care. Again, I can become any shape you'd like, whether that be of metal or flesh. Use me, marry me, fu--”

“I thought you said you were free?” Tyr interrupted.

“Free to travel, as an object. The man who bound me here, you know him?”

“Only his name. And his madness.”

“Indeed. He could not handle the truth, and in my arrogance I thought him so low, shackled here in my folly. But he never sought to harm me. Instead, he locked me in that wretched stone. Keeping me bound in this artifact, and I've no ability to break it. Nor, dare I say, would anyone but a whole celestial – and you'll not see me begging them for help. I digress... Take me, I beg of you – let me help you.”

“No thanks.” Tyr said, noting her reaction. Her face remained flat, but her inhuman eyes were full of disappointment. She didn't seem aggressive in the least, and he was certain that, as claimed, she could annihilate him. Turn him to dust in a way he might not be able to heal from. “I'd never keep a slave – and that's exactly what you'd be.”

He was willing to use men, or women, to achieve his aims. Kill them when they weren't necessary, but he had a code. He'd made an oath, but even before that – keeping a thinking thing as an object was repugnant. No matter what benefit they provided. It was his pride alone that wouldn't allow it, pride so dense as to cut through her sorcery.

“Not so.” She hummed. “I would accept your dominance but not mastery, not even for you. We could be partners. Whether it be earning your earthly father's respect, healing your deformed mana well, or even becoming a true primus.”

“You can make me a primus?” Tyr's eyes became skeptical slits, observing everything about her with further intensity. Her body language, even the smallest movement of her face. Either it was a good actor – or she was being honest. If so...

“Of course.” She laughed. “You nephilim here... Hmm... How do I say this. Your 'aspects', you call them?”

He nodded.

“They are a reflection of your soul. Both the source and content of what gives you your powers. Except here, on this world, it's different – because the grace has been stolen from you. In essence, you're all a blank slate, and your slate is scratched and flawed beyond repair. Improving slowly, but even I do not know if you'll ever achieve true wholeness again. You were gifted with perhaps the most difficult aspect of all...”

“That being?” Tyr asked.

“I cannot say, only that it comes from without in all ways – something that is rare for your kind. Only your kings and leaders were given the arcanum rex. Another thing stolen from you by those cretinous scum.” Orpheus sighed before continuing. She was growing unstable in form static sitting at the edge of her skin. Used as a battery for so long, she could only stay material for a brief moment longer.

“I wish for you to take me, to carry me. To give me the honor of seeing this world. If you do that for me, I will unlock your gate and change it to whatever you'd like. Strength like your father, magic, a command of sea or fire or air, anything you could imagine.” She smiled widely, eyes like crescent moons. “All I ask is that you let me see. I have been stuck here for a long time. Seeing nothing but darkness, weaving as I was made to do. I was not given your gift, and it will be some time before my shard can pass after having been abused so.”

“I...” It wasn't just the words, but the images she showed him. Tyr saw himself standing tall before a silver army that stood in such vast numbers as to defy logic. On this world, and others – celebrated by the people of all races and lauded as a hero. Loved. They could save so many and his soul would become light. Like Iscari.

Or, he refused the sword, and the darkness within overwhelmed his being. Contrary to the first vision, he was alone. Everything and everyone around him was either dead or had abandoned him, but he was strong. Equally capable – and the world was safe. Lonely, but only for him. There were no wars and the people prospered, unified in their fear. Their great enemy. A black sort of god in their eyes. The last one standing.

Neither choice was the wrong choice. They each had their ups and downs. Except, one was the perpetuation of war for his own gain – or at least accepting it for what it was. The other was denying it, and ending it proactively. Tyr was selfish, but this was just cruel on both sides of the spectrum. To go about slaughtering criminals before they had ever acted on their desire, or to eagerly await and even perpetuate constant war. To invade and spread his influence until no threat remained.

“What are you showing me?” He asked.

“A truth, all the paths that wind.” Orpheus shrugged. “What you see are choice. Paths through the wyrd that flicker and flow. They might change, but I promise you that without me it could only be grim. That is also a truth.”

It was too easy. Tyr could choose either option and his problems would be solved eventually, considering the fact that he was clearly a middle aged man in the bleaker vision. That meant, if she was telling the truth, that he survived his infirmity. He leaned toward the first. To be given a primacy was his greatest dream. Option two was bleak and lonely, but... “This will come to pass? I cannot change my fate?”

He didn't want to be alone. It was perhaps his greatest fear, all things considered.. He'd surrounded himself first with men who could be bought or obligated, and later – his friend. Or friends in the plural, it was yet unclear what they meant to him.

“Fate is a tricky thing. Nothing and no-one is omniscient, no force can say anything will come to pass with absolute certainty. No celestial or creature throughout all the cosmos is immune to the wyrd, including she who weaves it. A thousand looms and all the cloth in material existence could not serve as a proper number of threads that bind you to your infinite paths. A hundred fates exist for every breath you take, but I see only two paths for you . Hero, or villain. Champion, or executioner. I give you the opportunity to choose. And if you don't, someone else might, I do not possess the ability to refuse any who might take hold on me in my current form. Even if your bleaker future appeals to you, for it isn't without merit, you will damn someone else to a worse fate. Only you can hold me safely.”

“I...”

Varinn had said a similar thing, just less romantically. That a man was given choices in his life and he must be ready to face them. That there was no good and evil among men. Men could not be evil, though they bore the predilection for it. A man was only a product of his environment, a thing that wanted survival and prosperity above all other things. For themselves, or their families. A want for power, money, knowledge, or any manner of things was not evil – because there was no evil in progression. That is what they were made to do, to progress and excel at all costs.

Man, as Varinn believed, was not capable of falling into true sin. If they did, they'd no longer be men – but something else. Whether they were a murderer, rapist, thief, or a saint. It was in these choices given to them that their true character showed – and they'd be judged for it. Men were evil, in a way, but only from a human perspective. True good and evil was impossible for a mortal being. Evil, for example, was thoughtless and wholesale. It didn't have shades to it, evil was evil.

Tyr wasn't sure if he'd agree with that. He'd seen evil, done evil for the sake of ridding the world from what he perceived as future evils. Perhaps it was that men did not possess the will necessary to achieve apotheosis in deed. One could not be evil and do good. Baron Regis could not be evil, despite being a slaver, murderer, and criminal... He protected his people and treated the commoners of his demesne well, and they had mostly respected him. Regis had been a good leader, a kind one who ensured they were well taken care of.

An evil being would not have done that.

What kind of person are you?

Confused and self-aware of my own ignorance. I do not know, and I doubt I ever will.

Are you ruled by emotion?

Aren't we all?

Taking the easy path would be your greatest mistake. I do not know what the future holds for you, but you know better. You yearn for the first, in fear of the second. Why? What kind of man are you?

He didn't know who's voice it was. It was familiar, someone he knew. Someone powerful, but not human – there was a hot rage at the core of the alien intelligence. A burning pit of madness that lurked just inside a carefully composed psyche, so focused on the need to remain in control. But the duality... Beneath all that heat was a need to nurture and shape, to build up and empower. A heavy hand to push one forward and revel in success. To smile down on what had been wrought, an appreciation for deeds done with the smallest bit of prodding.

What kind of man are you? It repeated itself. Deep and rumbling, unpleasant in his mind. Orpheus' presence was so much more pleasant, but it was wrong. Tyr was averse to it in a way he couldn't understand. She was wrong. She shouldn't be here, there was another place where she belonged and it was far away from him. They shouldn't have met yet, this was artificial. Something, or someone, schemed and pulled at his strings.

But... To choose between the first, with his brothers and sisters in their silver armor and the halos about them. They were good, pure, and full of light. Even warriors could be full of goodness. In their conviction, they were made right. The knowledge of this rested warm in his mind. Tyr had always believed those who killed would always be gray, as he was, but they – killers like him – were not. They were gold and silver and bright as a sun, and so was he in this vision. More light than even Iscari held. A soul so untainted as to be beyond reproach, and he was happy. No... Not happy. He was content and driven, nothing more.

His decisions had warped him. There was a supernatural power that lay in the path one took through life. A significance to it. Tyr's had taken him to a dark place, ever climbing towards the peak only to find that there was nothing there but the end of his world. No more vengeance here. He could look for enemies beyond that peak, but he was too tired, left with an abyss of the self. A fractured, broke thing, that though truth could be found in slaughter – but this wasn't the way. Truth, the universal truth, wanted things to live and struggle, to participate in the cycle. Dark and light had to exist, whether it be in the elements or balance present in all living beings.

What kind of man are you? The voice was more demanding now, no longer patient in waiting for a response. Tyr felt like he'd sat there, frozen, hand outstretched for days. Frozen centimeters from the hilt of the blade. Orpheus watched him with calm eyes, a smirk on her face. She knew what he'd choose. The decision had been made for him, long ago – it had always been this way. They were fated to be bound together. She was one of eleven, and would be the first to begin the process of reconstructing his true arcanum.

Tyr could answer that question. His answer to 'who are you?' could only be his name. He was nothing and nobody, only a person. As for his choice – it was clear to him now. Whether this thing and the woman bound to it was evil or cursed or otherwise – he didn't care. He was stubborn, and did not fear fate. If it cheated him, he would burn the threads. A third option, he saw it. Taking all of those strings and leaving them ash. No more for him. He was cursed to pursue his own way and he'd do so. Or at least he'd try.

He who hated asking for help more than anything. Who would march off into the unknown without fear or anxiety. Tyr was blank and empty, and he'd start again. Right here, and right now. He could be new and he would make people love him. Make his father recognize him, and he'd do it his own way. As he always had. Whether it took a hundred, two hundred, or three hundred chapters in the book that was his life he would grab onto this new path and throttle it until it stilled itself. Stomping over the corpse.

There was a thing in feeling himself grow more powerful. To learn from his lessons in a way a primus had never been required to. Born to their power, achieving it without effort at such a young age. He who had not experienced guilt, regret, choices, shame, or true pride through their labors. Tyr had earned, in his way, everything he had. Earned or found or fought tooth and nail, he and he alone. This was the easy way out, and he refused to believe that her answer was any better than his own.

If he failed, that was okay. At least he'd fail at the helm of his own destiny. To surrender that destiny to the will of another was something his fragile pride could not abide.

“I refuse. Both options, I will not take you, not yet. But one day I will return and I will pull everything from you and cast you in a more ideal image. Just not today.” Tyr pulled back his hand, noting the intense look of sorrow on Orpheus' fate. Whatever the significance of the refusal was, she did not argue against it. Didn't try to pressure him, or attack him, simply sighing in resignation. He would not take up the sword no matter how much coaxing he was given.

“Fine.” She disappeared back into the artifact. “Then I bid you farewell, little wolf. Until next time. And you are right about one thing... We will meet again.”