Two pairs of hands dragged him to his feet and steadied him, dusting the snow off his tabard and slapping him awake. “That was... Uncomfortable. How long was I in there?”

“In where?” Daito asked in concern. Tyr's reflection this time had been far beyond what he was prepared for, capturing all of them. Even the other versions of him present in the place. But it worked, the fog had receded several miles in all directions and was now just at the horizon line. Calmer than before, though the jungle had turned to a frosty hellscape. To think that he could so easily and readily project a reflection of absolute despair and desolation was something that concerned Daito a great deal.

“I went to this place. I'm not sure how to describe it. I was kind of just... Floating around, it felt like forever. I saw my father, and Vidarr, even Octavian. And another man.” There were other things, flickering images of the the leaf strewn forest he'd seen in the past. Rustling through the leaves. Except this time, he wasn't the mouse running from the predator. Tyr had been the predator, endlessly chasing the mouse across entire worlds of monochromatic gray. For ages. There was no emotion there, just an instinct to chase, and that was all there ever had been. Something about that layer of leaves blanketing the ground rustling so ungodly loud made a shiver run down his back.

A man with a mouth and eyes full of moths walking through space. A titanic arachnid weaving a web of such scale as to blot out galaxies. So many odd... Dreams? But most real of all, he saw the serpent swallowing its tail. To stare upon inevitability had been... Certainly odd...

“It's only been a few minutes at most.” Girshan said. He'd already learned to just go with the flow, so to speak. To ignore the strange things that came out of the boys mouth. “Your plan worked, so there's that.”

“The gate is open!” Someone yelled in the back. Tyr was still dizzy, but he'd had the foresight to pack away all his belongings both old and new before the conflict. No need to stay longer than they had to, content to follow the others – none of which who wanted to stay. But the men there had just seen a terrible thing, and then experienced another. Even for the scant few moment that had passed in their minds, they didn't want to feel that cold anymore. Most were beyond the point of panic, making a mad dash in their thousands of the gate and bowling over those who got in their way. Tyr watched on impassively. Little mice in the forest, rustling leaves and the song they made, louder than worlds. Sprinting until they reached the astral gate, an unlucky few coming too close to the edge and being shred to pieces by the anomaly. That was enough to calm them in a way, make them smarter. Some of their bisected fellows howling in torment as they were sucked away and stretched into ribbons.

There were so safety redundancies on an astral gate, unlike dimensional magic that took care to provide a physical barrier around the aperture. You either went through the hole, or were sucked into the meat grinder of a dilation in space-time. What happened to them after... Nobody real knew. Definitely dead, though. Probably...

“Guess we should wait in line.” Benny frowned. “Is this really over, though?”

“No.” A voice came. A deep, gravely voice carrying a gravity of its own. “It's not over. Am I speaking with my son?” Jartor asked. The others all dropped to their knees unconsciously. All of them, except for Daito, and the two Tyr's standing beside him. Benny did his best to remain standing, failing in the attempt. But at least he tried, and that was something. Not to Jartor, but to the significantly more visceral force of the Varian emperor, the one who made men kneel.

“Jartor Faeron.” Tyr frowned, guessing it wasn't a dream after all. “And it's about time, Vidarr.”

Vidarr sauntered forward with wide open arms. Laughing all the while as he took Tyr into a crushing grip. Literally crushing, breaking his back in several places and sending his heart into rapid palpitations as it failed to compensate for the sudden pressure put on it.

“Oh, apologies. I forgot how soft you were.” Vidarr said apologetically, gently setting Tyr back on his feet. “There were... Complications. Gate was locked, you know. But we opened it.” He seemed impressed with himself, Tyr staring at him with a mirthful expression. “Who are your friends?”

“Is there really time for this?”

“Oh, shut up Octavian. Why must you always have a rod up your ass, eh? I haven't seen my little brother in years.”

“Fine.” Octavian pinched the bridge of his nose. Dealing with his recently rebellious son was easier than dealing with his peers, and that had always astonished him. They were no better than children even after living beyond the lifespan of normal men. “Tyr, good to see you again. I hope you'll forgive me for that rudeness on the phone earlier. Iscari has been difficult of late, I did not mean to snap at you.”

“It's fine...” Tyr bit his lip. “Is he...?”

“Healthy? Talented? The greatest primus of the current generation? All of the above.” Octavian couldn't help but gloat. Iscari had gotten a streak of rebellion in him ever since he'd reconnected with the boy, but it had made him better in many ways. Rapidly switching from his 'all business' attitude to one of a proud father all too ready to sing praises of his angelic son. “He misses you. I think you should contact him, but that's up to you. If it were me, I'd have him avoid you altogether. You're too... Unpredictable. You'll forgive me for my curtness.”

Tyr waved away his fake apology. Only saying it because Jartor was there, in all likelihood. It was quite obvious that Octavian thought he was a toxic influence and had said as much in the past. And that might not be entirely wrong. He'd fallen in with thieves, killers, and scoundrels at a very early age. Done things that scarred him. Whereas Iscari was pure, and hopefully yet untainted.

“Daito.” Jartor's gaze settled on the westerner standing at Tyr's side. What a coincidence that was, with Daito returning his nod with one of his own, a soft smile on his face. He exchanged a silent greeting with Tiber, no words necessary. Tiber remained knelt, but unlike the others with their faces pressed to the ground, he knelt as knights would do. Never letting both knees touch the surface of the earth. Tyr could tell that the old man was glad to see 'his' primus again, however afoul their relationship had run not so long ago.

“Custom would be to act as our herald in a situation like this.” Vidarr winked. “Please! Introduce us to your companions. Who has my brother been traveling and fighting beside? Having grand adventures while my father keeps me about discussions of commerce and industry!”

“They haven't exactly been grand...” Tyr coughed awkwardly. “But...”

Tyr went down the line. Girshan, Benny, Abe, Xavier, Rakkis, Camille, Kirk, Yana, and the others. “Tiber, Samson, Mikhail, and Fennic, of course. Astal and Absolon are still here somewhere, but with all this mess it's hard to tell.” He left out Lina, and her paladins. Not quite sure why they were here at all, but he also realized that this was just petty. He wouldn't change, though.

“And this is my wife.” Tyr smiled. Jartor didn't like that look and never had, it was the smile of a predator. Someone who enjoyed things they shouldn't a bit too much. Mischief, in this case, or bold faces rudeness. Tyr plucked Jura off the ground. She was too stunned to speak, facing all these transcendent powers. The greatest of all tribes of men, all of them save two. Or four, if Vidarr's child and Jartor's second son could be counted, or if the latter was even real and not some political ploy as some expected. “Jura of the Laughing Moon. Huh... You know what, I guess that'd make her Jura Faeron, right? Since you're calling me son again?” He looked at his father, baiting him.

Vidarr whistled. “Faeron men always had a good taste for women. Nice catch, real thick in all the right places.” He winked, Tyr didn't quite understand what that meant, but he felt uncomfortable regardless. As for Jura, her mouth was loose and open like a fish out of water. Making no noise except that of her rapid breathing.

No primus had ever married anything but a human before. There wasn't a law against it, he thought, but it just wasn't done. None had bred with them, either. This, to Tyr, in his arrogant vanity – was him using Jura to get a rise out of his father. He knew it was wrong, but didn't care. There were worse things he could do, or say.

“This is neither the time, nor the place.” Jartor frowned. “But in lieu of embarrassing you in front of your companions, I'll say this. I know what you're trying to do. Do you think you're the only one of our kindred that has lain with a demi before? Excuse my language, daughter, I use it only as a general term and not one of offense. I am happy that you've chosen to mature and take a proper wife, hopefully for the right reasons. But do not presume to bait an inappropriate reaction out of me. I've no quarrel with orcish kind, and at least she has an ounce of respect in her. This behavior is beneath you, and all of us, she is not some toy to be bandied about like an accessory, and I see none of the perceived shame you think to wag about in my face. It disgusts me more than anything that you'd disrespect your own taken wife like this.”

“You think you deserve respect?” Tyr snarled. He wasn't rough with her, allowing Jura to return to a seated position slowly. But then, he rounded on his father and drew the cleaver from its place on his hip. “After what you did to me!?”

This was an argument between father and son. Even Octavian wouldn't presume to become a part of it. They had quite a bit in terms of time. Their 'clock' would remain frozen as long as they remained near the tower, and the gate was stable enough to remain open for days by his estimate.

“You're right.” Jartor nodded calmly, not rising to aggression as would've been more characteristic of him. “I was confused, and I dishonored you. Killed you, and gods know I was given another chance when you were brought back. I regret that choice, but ultimately, did I not free you from a life and responsibility that you did not want? To allow you freedom to walk your own path. I left you with this, and the contents of your vault. Your estate in Amistad, and I'll even revoke your banishment if that is what you wish. I thought I said it as clearly as I could, but you are still my son and I am not above accepting my own faults or errors in judgment.”

“Your son...?” Tyr choked. There were tears in his eyes and he angrily wiped them away, but he couldn't remain angry for long. Jartor was right, in all ways. Tyr had been set free, and he'd struggled with the burden of agency, before finding contentment in his new life. Perhaps it hadn't led him down the best path, but it had been his to choose – and that was a gift. He didn't hate his father, all he wanted most of all the things in the world was to hear some pride in his voice. Just once, before one of them was gone from this world, to feel accepted – if not loved. By someone, or something, but most of all the man himself, that cold hearted bastard and his incessant looks of shame. “Fine.”

“As much as I love a good old fashioned family reunion.” Lady Tyr turned. There were figures approaching from all over, all in their masks and black armor. Looking about cautiously after experiencing what they all had. She removed her mask, letting her navel length hair fall in a cascade, as white as the wintry landscape. “Can we get this show on the road? We've--”

“Signe...” Jartor and Vidarr lost all strength in their arms or legs, standing limp in the snow with their arms dangling freely. Even Octavian was shocked, with the nervous Hastur eyeing Tyr warily and ensuring that he was always behind one or the other primus. Outside, he would be confident, but here...

“Empress...” Tiber had never seen her up close, but at the saying of the name, he looked upon her unmasked face for the first time. Unfortunately, the illusion magic she'd used wasn't enough to keep her presence shrouded after Tyr had shattered every spell not given a proper anchoring point in the vicinity around them. Before, she would've looked much different to them, but now...

“Yes, my love.” She turned to Jartor, with a sad look on her face. “I suppose the jig is up, so to speak.”