There was something about all of this, the crunch of his boots in the snow, the soft groaning of trees in the gentle breeze. The air that fogged when he breathed, seeming to welcome and embrace him. The quiet stillness, and yet it was all just as lively as any human city. Without the noise, the vile smells, the sins and travesties of man. Tyr loved it openly, and all of these things... They seemed to love him back, from the ants to the bears to the birds in the sky. All part of one great cycle, the cycle that was meant to be – industrious in the natural way.

Winter finally came to the forest. The manual labor necessary on the road to Asmon had long been completed, but Tyr liked to tread the cobbles on his days off. They'd only seen to about a mile or so of a stretch, laying bricks and stones in the broken dirt – but it felt like it belonged to him in a way. He could look at it and honestly say...

'I did that.'

'I built that road that runs all the way to the horizon.'

His legacy, as small as it was.

A sense of wholesome pride in seeing the work of his own hands be used by a new stream of traffic coming through Amistad. Wagons, knights, carriages bearing government officials. Previously, this side of the border had largely been unused except for the sub-guilds that went about their business in the small dungeons located in the periphery. He didn't much like the concept of adding to the morass of corruption and wealth, but it'd make people happy. A good thing, a wholesome thing with no possibly consequences related.

Tyr had pointed to that road many times when Lina joined him on his walks. 'I helped build that!' Whether it be the road or way-stones, he had, but she'd gotten annoyed and asked him not to repeat himself anymore. It was nice having her around. She'd grown to trust him, and now she was one of his closest friends and a constant positive influence. Lina was always doing what she could for everyone but herself. A selfless person, one of the few Tyr had ever met in his life.

Rafael on the other hand... He'd changed too, in many ways for the worse, shifting rapidly from the picturesque knight kneeling to him in the astral space to a blatant womanizer, borderline obsessive over his physical health. He refused to eat bread and wouldn't put dressing on his salads... Eating raw lettuce and onions... Boiled chicken... The only thing the two men had in common was their daily physical exercise, but the 'Winter Knight' was religious in all ways regarding his body. Completely shaven from the neck down, something he'd shown Tyr unsolicited. 'For the ladies', of which there were many, a few atop the desk in Tyr's own office that he'd accidentally witnessed by walking in at the wrong time.

He'd once claimed to have sworn the pleasures of the flesh off, but something must've shaken a part of Rafael that made him lustful. Perhaps it was the easy environment, the lack of challenges, the old adage that idleness made a man sinful, finally losing his virginity...

In any case... Uh...

Snow blanketed the land, the soft powdery kind, it was very pleasant on the eye. To see in all the hues of oranges and yellows weeks before, one would've never believed they were staring at the same vista.

The dark mountains tor the north and a forest that stretched on for hundreds of miles toward the eastern sea. Tyr was sitting in the canopy of said forest carving little strips off a wedge of cheese. Cheese wasn't one of his favorite things, most of the time it was like eating bland wax with a creamy texture.

But Iscari had sent them all gifts and Tyr found the Varian varieties much to his tastes. It had a sharp tang to it, dry and very pleasant on the tongue. Suddenly, he was a big fan of the stuff, thanks to Iscari, the man who never missed. Tyr wished he was like that, like Iscari, but he wasn't and would never be – a wish that couldn't be fulfilled. Sometimes he even wished that his counterpart to the south had been born a woman, he was sure that Iscari would understand him better than any of his wives. A real partner, someone he could truly trust – who wouldn't arrive and attack him under any circumstances, fucking everything up.

Tyr had forgiven the women to their face but he had lied, he was still aggrieved at what they'd done – and how easily they come to that decision. Alex who claimed to 'love him'...

Wishes and wants. It was a thing that could not be, but Tyr would content himself to the veritable warehouse full of gifts Iscari kept sending.

It was about the little things in life and he had made a promise to himself to try to enjoy more of them. Before the end, whatever form it came in, but it was coming.

He could feel it. Tyr was going to 'die' soon – long before his plan could truly come to fruition.

And that... That was okay. He'd done enough, they'd be safe. Iscari would be the hero of the era and would rescue them all from the coming calamity. That was a man who could save them all – Tyr was a simple tool. He loved Iscari, and trusted him, and that cheese...

Tongue sticking out as he focused on stacking a piece of the aforementioned dairy product on a slice of summer sausage. Cramming it all between two crackers that were far too small it hold it, shoving it into his mouth. Repeated that about two dozen times and staring sadly down at the remains. All crumbs and sausage wrappings, no more left.

Tyr laughed, all by himself but for a moonsquirrel that had made itself at home at the back of his neck and in his hair. She liked cheese, too. A very talkative critter, providing her commentary on how the sausage had been overly seasoned, not enough salt in the cheese, but the crackers were just right. Chattering away animatedly in his ear, him nodding sagely and promising to keep her feedback in mind when he brought the next batch.

He loved this. He could do it forever. Wouldn't go out looking for fights, people wouldn't stare at him with fear, hatred, or love. To hurt nothing and nobody ever again. To be alone and at peace with himself, that was what he wanted. But he was stuck in this loop. Trapped in it. For now, but one day he would possess the power necessary to take those chains and... No. He'd be better, slip from them and be free, no breaking or screaming. That's all he wanted. To be free, quiet, and restful.

No more blood.

There would be a time where he was forced to confront his infirmity, Agni was no longer entertained and wasn't protecting him anymore. And Tyr would either die, or rise again as something with the capability of overcoming the hurdles that were sure to come. Either way, he'd enjoy the incoming terminus of his long journey and rest one way or another – ensured that they couldn't stop him from doing so.

But these quiet, restful moments weren't meant to last. Tyr had made a promise to Alex in the morning when he'd left. The caveat of him walking alone and without Okami was that he not get into any more conflicts.

Hence why he'd come to this side of the border to begin with.

The only fight he might get into in this region of the world was with the rare lesser monster, and most of those that had smelled him had run away in terror. Only the small ones came, the odd critter in the trees, birds who'd alight on his shoulder affectionately, a fox that had given a merry hello and he'd returned the greeting. Deer, a few packs of predatory canids, wolves and something wider in the chest that smelled like rotten meat – all offering their respects as if he were one of their own. Referring to him as 'spirit', at times adding the honorific of 'elder' before that.

Elder spirit Tyr, the two legged wolf – the animals of this forest knew his name and respected him. He did his best to return the favor, bringing them gifts or watching over their young while they hunted. Singing to them and laughing as pups scrabbled around one another playfully, ensuring they were safe and whole. It felt... More natural than anything he'd find in the city, and he couldn't possibly explain it. A sage wanderer, a monk of the forests and mountains, that didn't sound like a bad position to find in life. What an odd thing, truly, for a man like Tyr to find compassion at all. Children and animals.

It hadn't been humans that had shown him that he was capable of being good and pure, it was the squirrels and marmots. Stags and eagles, those who saw and never projected.

Raccoons didn't seem to like him much but they'd ceased insulting him after a while, some of their 'branch families' were very kind to him nowadays.

Telling him that he'd be 'spared when the great coming, came'. Whatever that meant. Raccoons were mighty and ancient, even their younglings were, if nothing else, absolutely confident they were the supreme beings on the planet. Some of their elders would rival Okami, who even now was snuffling about somewhere... Always the free spirit, having his own adventures while Tyr went about the boring work of wage labor.

Tyr's nose twitched, immediately knowing he was about to break that promise to Alex. The iron stench of blood, human blood, ripe on the wind. He deposited the knife and litter from his meal into his dimensional ring, taking in a deep breath, inhaling long and hard. It spoke to him, the world, he swore it did even if it sounded insane. The critters, predator animals rarely communicated so literally but he had the capacity to make contact with them if they were willing to answer. It was the trees, as impossible as it sounded, they would shift in a way to allow the air to reach him and the sounds along with it. Whether it was the trees or the earth, he didn't know, perhaps they were one in the same.

Perhaps Lady Freyja or King Bumi favored him, the latter would certainly find him interesting in the fact that Tyr profaned the gods. Bumi was of the earth and mountains, of men who did not kneel, arguably the prime patron of Haran. One who never gave beyond the strength men earned by their own hands or through birth.

Northeast, about three hundred meters, he could smell the perfumed oils on the skin of a woman. A beautiful woman, and a familiar one, his sister as odd as it sounded. Men and women had a very unique scent, for reasons obvious and less so. A man, no matter how diligently they washed themselves, would always have a salty, sweaty note. They smelled riper, sweeter, compared to the savory earthiness of a female.

A woman smelled like nature in most cases, whereas men smelled like meat almost universally.

Whatever implications that had or why it was like that, he didn't know. Conversely, children, all of them until roughly the age of seventeen didn't have much of a smell at all. He could pick them up in his nose but it was more of a feeling beyond the sense. Sunlight, if it had a smell. A clean, wholesome radiance, even the dirty ones with sticky hands and snot filled noses. Their absence of a smell was a scent of its own, similar to how water could be chemically the same but taste different based on all manner of factors, namely temperature.

There were nine figures in the forest, far from the main road, Tyr had been some miles deep before stopping for his afternoon snack. And they were clustered around an indeterminate number of dead bodies, fresh kills judging from the smell of death lingering about them. He moved quietly, but not silently, Tyr wasn't an assassin, they were just too focused on their quarry. Looming over them, ready to take them unawares.

Or that's what he'd thought, until the branch his feet rested on abruptly wriggled and wrapped around his foot like a vine. Tyr reacted instinctively, smashing both the branch and the crown of the tree apart with a gout of fire, carried head over heels into a dive toward the ground. Alighting at the last second to land on bowed legs. Tyr straightened himself, bowing sarcastically with a flourish.

Why...? He didn't know that either. Didn't know a lot of things, people made him... Worse. In every way conceivable. Just the smell of them, the thumping in their flesh that made his own crawl. Everything about them was so... Wrong. Their kind were designed to follow whatever path they'd chosen, and yet the humans of this era had still managed to find the wrong way out of all their diversity in options.

“Ten out of ten, little wolf. Stuck the landing.” One of the masked men commented dryly. “Best leave us to our own business.”

Tyr frowned, but made no apparent move of aggression – and neither did they. He recognized the mans voice instantly. “Thought I killed you.”

“Did you think killing me was enough to make me die?” Pattoli chuckled. Even through his mask, Tyr knew who he was. There was a vibe to him, one that all people had, and Tyr had cataloged his in the back of his mind for obvious reasons. The ability to take things that the eye could not see and the hand could not hold could be very useful in the future.

Tyr's head tilted to the side, very obviously confused. “I have no idea how to respond to that question.”

“We're the Five Fingers of Hastur.” Pattoli replied. “It'd be more surprising if we weren't bound to haemonculi. That's why he uses adepts, so much easier to make a proper vessel for. In all fairness, I did not know this during our first meeting. Never died before. Wasn't pleasant, won't happen again.”

“Looks like there's more than five, this time.” Tyr observed the group, nine people. All silent and eyeing him warily, hands never quite settling at their sides. Waiting, and so was Tyr. He might be dumb, but he'd learned a thing or two from his many mistakes. One of the men in particular was picking at his nerves something fierce, he wanted to take that man and bare his ribs to the sky so much it made him shake with excitement. Something about being out here... In the woods, where it's all quiet and no background interference could obscure that instinct he had for men who'd made their choices.

“Man's got two hands.” Pattoli said, wiggling his own. “Five Fivers is our unit, left and right. We are of the right hand, and these others fellows are on the left. Bergen's gone for now, so I guess you could call us the four fingers.”

“Pattoli.” Rommel warned. Tyr didn't like the fact that there were more people that he couldn't kill once and call it done. One should've been more than enough. “He is our--”

“Enemy.” Pattoli clucked. “That's valid, but he's also kin to the master. Primus. He deserves respect.”

“That's too bad.” Tyr pointed at the thin silver circlet on his head, a band of mithril alloy with indistinct runes all over. A fairly worthless thing, only good for forcefully keeping him awake at all times – even under the influence of magic. He took it off with a sigh and deposited it in his ring, never to be used again, probably. “I finally figured out how to make his magic useless, and he didn't even show up. It's a damn shame.”

“This is not your business, boy.” An unfamiliar voice growled. Raspy, uncomfortably so. “Leave now or fight, I don't care which. Do not prattle.”

Taste him.

Tear him.

Flay him.

“My territory, my business.” Tyr replied flatly. He could tell how angry the man became when Tyr opted not to look at him, still staring at Pattoli. “You pulled back your compounds and I did not follow. Now you're here, hunting in my domain again. I'd like to know why and if you give me a good answer, I might just let you go.”

“His domain.” Raspy snorted. “The young are so arrogant these days.”

“That's enough, Hans.” Rommel nudged the largest of the six corpses at her feet with the toe of her boot. “Call them deserters. Hastur trusts nobody but us to hunt them so close to your border.” There was a new sense of respect in her tone, but it was a forced one. “If it helps, we went north and around, not directly through Amistad.”

“Why don't you tell Cortus himself to stop on by. We can have a chat.” Tyr said casually. “I'd very much like to peel him like an orange and see what's on the inside.”

At the mention of 'Cortus', the 'new' Fingers grew stiff. It made sense. Hastur had likely told them that they were the only ones who knew who he really was. Had been, at least. Poor job the first five had done of keeping that secret, but they'd probably known that Tyr was already aware in any event.

“How do you--”

“If these were your men.” Tyr inclined his head at the bodies. He felt no passion or loss at them, there was something else. Too suspicious, too coincidental. “As you say. Why do they have implants buried in their flesh? Adventurer badges, too.” They weren't recent kills. He'd been wrong, these men had been transited here from somewhere via a dimensional amulet that would freeze their time. Their skin bore the marks of implements used for torture or surgery and the deed clearly hadn't been performed here in the woods.

But why bring them here instead of burying them in the Baccian sands? That... Didn't make any sense, unless this too was a trap. Designed to draw him in.

Well... Tyr knelt to the ground, turning a young woman over and running his fingers down her face to shut her eyes. That would actually make sense.

Beyond that, it was common sense to remove an implant immediately after death, those things were expensive and degraded fast in a dead body.

“For what reason, possibly, would you be dumping bodies east of Amistad?” Raspy, the man called Hans, moved as soon as Tyr reached to take a closer look at the bodies. Unfortunately for him, Tyr wasn't completely unaware. The toe of his plated boot caught Hans at the temple and sent him flying off into the undergrowth. Nobody else moved, some were calm and more than a few were looking toward Pattoli, who must've been the real leader here.

“In any case.” Tyr looked at the man, too. “You can remove my immortality, right? Can you do that permanently?”

“For what reason?” Pattoli asked, he'd removed his mask in anticipation of a fight, Hans had moved too soon but Tyr didn't seem all that bothered by it. The way his leg had snapped up like that to rag doll Hans was almost comical. He hadn't risen from his crouched posture at all, breaking his own leg and assuredly a bit of his pelvis with the unnatural movement.

“So that I can die.” Tyr replied softly. “Eventually, not today of course.”

“Maybe.” Pattoli shrugged. “But I doubt it, I took everything I could feel inside of you and you still came back. And you took it back from me, it wasn't your aspect. Maybe that helps you, I'm not sure.”

Tyr cursed inwardly, it had been a hope. Granted, he could just forcibly crack his own still damaged mana core, but there were complications. The endless pain, the risk to things around him. Who knew how big the explosion would be? And the fact that he could very well become an undead or spectral aberration.

“Wait a second, these are--”

“Fuck.” Rommel cursed, glaring at Pattoli angrily. “Put him in the box!”