“I'm fine, really.” Tyr waved away Alex's concerns. Despite her insistence that she'd 'be busy' during the festival, she didn't seem keen on keeping up with her team responsibilities. The blitzball team had over one hundred members, he wondered why they needed so many at a single stand? Naturally, he came to the conclusion that she'd been lying to him. If not lying, bending the truth. Because she feared him. And that was okay. He was afraid of himself these days, but all of a sudden, he felt good.

Or... Normal. Even if normal was definitely not preferable to the clarity of mind he'd experienced once he'd begun losing his grip on reality. A strange thing, contradictory and confusing unless he sat down and chipped away at it. Falling into the grip of insanity had almost been pleasant, Tyr had never felt more confident and clear of objective in his life. “I can do this.”

“Alright, alright.” Alex tutted, patting his head nervously and fussing about his uniform, which was really just... Well, a linen shirt, leather pants, and cardigan. Again, Tyr didn't obey the dress code and nobody had attempted to enforce it on him. She didn't need to think much past the fact that he hated formal wear. And she, for obvious reasons, felt terrible for having betrayed him like that. She'd known that he wouldn't like it, that trap, before finding out it really was just that – a trap. One set to kill or take him depending on his reaction. And then he was fine, leaving the place without ever mentioning it again. And he was clearer. More... More what she'd expect from him, again, like old times. That made her happy enough not to broach a subject that didn't need to be rehashed. “I just worry about you.”

“I love you too, but this is way too clingy.” Tyr shook her off gently, jokingly. She preferred him like this, whatever this was. That other person he'd become terrified her, she didn't want him to go away like he had. To scare her, to be so inherently different, Tyr was a good man deep down but there were times when that would vanish in a heartbeat. He was like her little brother, but also her lover, husband, and best friend. Just not a very good one sometimes, but she'd come to grips with that over time. “I already married you, what more could you want?”

“A courtship period and a standing in life that allowed me to be a girlfriend rather than a wife responsible for ensuring you eat regular meals, perhaps.” Alex chuckled, smiling up at him and brushing his face affectionately. He'd grown so tall, it was a strange feeling to stare at the man he'd become, in the most physical sense. Sometimes she really did feel like a sister after having known him for so long, incredibly happy to see him grow. Hoping he'd stay in that loop forever, wishing they had more time together, but wishes were worthless. “Do us proud.”

“I will.” Tyr replied. “Believe in me.”

“I do.” She smiled softly. “And I always will.”

“Don't make a boy a promise you can't keep.” Tyr laughed, his long legs carrying him from the room with an even gait.

–

The amphitheater was chilly despite all the bodies packed close together. Iscari nervously chewing at his fingernails while Ragnar and Vidarr sat on either side of him. It was all so abrupt, so sudden. One day, he'd been sipping tea and reading tomes in his cluttered chambers, and the next he'd been standing alongside his father and the others in an attempt to convince Tyr to 'surrender'. And just like that, despite all of the suspense and circumstances, Ragnar had waved them all off. What a strange man, the eldest primus was. But he was wise, and they all trusted his judgment, even the famously skeptic Octavian Longinus.

“Oh!” Vidarr called out, watching as the student began to show themselves. “My blood boils with anticipation! How exciting!”

“How loud.” Sigi protested from her seat behind them. Vidarr laughed, he saw her just as much a sister as Astrid was. Everyone liked that about him, how friendly and equitable he could be. Like some sort of smiling berserker that would call you his best friend even as he was caving in your skull. He had a bizarre personality, but Sigi liked him well enough for it. He was a good man, one she was happy to know, though she'd certainly never voice it aloud. Vidarr also had a massive ego and stroking that was not on her 'bucket list'.

Tyr and his class strode onto the stage. There was Micah in his armored braces, waddling forward to indicate they weren't working the way they were supposed to, another repair job pending. Astrid, Cirdan, Tythas. A few others Iscari had seen but never met officially. He was worried for his friend, knowing that the man didn't like facing such large crowds, but he didn't seem concerned by it. But Tyr was more than a friend, and he was far more than these people believed him to be, as hard as granite and yet as brittle as glass. One wrong move and he'd shatter, and Iscari didn't know what to do to help him.

Stalking forward like that wolf they'd call him with an instrument in his hand. Head low and forward, eyes as angry as ever. As if a curtain had been drawn, his expression suddenly brightened and he straightened tall and proud on the stage, smiling and bowing at the clapping audience. Flickering between personalities like that...

“HELLO!!!” Tyr said into the microphone, addressing the crowd. Startling many of them and drawing a fearsome laugh from Vidarr. Iscari thought he heard some flatulence to indicate a pair of breeches that needed changing in the back, but he didn't pay them much attention. Humans were as humans did, all sorts of disgusting things – but that's what made them what they were. Some contrast for the light to shine through, Octavian had once said. How man would always rise from squalor on the strengths of their own backs, one of the many things Iscari disagreed with that man on. Humans were nothing but sheep to be led by the crook, they needed guidance – not the apathetic approach.

“Sorry.” Tyr whispered. “Things a bit loud, eh? Oi, how many people are in here? Two... Damn. Oh, excuse me, the children.” Everyone laughed at this new and improved, charismatic Tyr Faeron. Many had come, the place was so full that people were standing even in the aisle, to see a bonafide primus perform. Iscari could scarcely believe it. The man Tyr had become was so... So ideal. So... Artificial. He didn't like that, but if it made the man happier, he'd support it with everything he had, wishing he could be on that stage with him. “Four thousand, seven hundred, and eleven. Sheesh. Don't you people have better things to do?”

They laughed again, those people, caught off guard by how unexpectedly charming the man was, making jokes like that. That White Wolf, one eye, Asmon's butcher. They'd come to see his violence, hoping for a spar or... Something, certainly not a comedy show, though they'd enjoy it for what it was. If a man told you that a primus was going to perform before a crowd, who wouldn't come? Regardless of the context.

“Anyways.” Tyr whispered, exaggerated and conspiratorial. They all saw him using the microphone dedicated for instruments, avoiding the podium meant for speaking, and thought him some kind of comic genius for it. Laughing again, though softer this time as if in tune with his attempt at a hushed voice.

Iscari could hear those claims not so far from him in the crowd. How hilarious it was. He hated that. These people didn't know Tyr. They pretended to know, to be familiar with a public figure. Iscari knew Tyr and loved him for what he truly was, something these people would never understand. Disdain welling up inside of him, he merely stared on in anticipation, resisting the urge to stand and berate them for their overly familiar approach with her friend.

His... Everything.

“My name is Tyr Faeron, and I'm an impossibly ancient eldritch entity, far beyond the gods. I get it, weird – right? Crazy how I just descended like this to destroy your world and correct the universal balance, defeating your primus' in tandem with the goal I was explicitly bred for. Please save your bowing and supplication for later though. By the way, I'm going to shove my fist up Hastur Casterling's rear end so far I'll make a hand puppet out of that little goblin. I'm going to kill him with one punch and save the world at the climax of his master plan unfolding, trust me.”

People laughed louder now. What was happening? Iscari frowned, brows lowered in confusion at why Tyr was acting this way. His self was so perfect, that thoughtless concern for nothing but cold justice. What was this? Iscari didn't like it one bit, but he was happy to see the face of his friend through whatever mask he wore. Repeating that time and time again to himself, trying to keep a grip on more positive thoughts. Could watch him about his business forever. Alone, preferably. And though he said this, at Tyr's last words, Iscari could feel an incredibly intense warmth in his belly. Pleasant. Almost...

'Trust me.'

Crudeness aside, it was orgasmic. His mention of Hastur had sent chills up Iscari's spine, a light show in his brain and electricity coursing through his body. Tyr said it, and Iscari believed it at a pass. Hope blossomed in the hearts of the fearful people and that affected him too. That made it real... Once again, Tyr was stomping all over popular convention and enforcing his aspect on another primus. Iscari didn't resist, and never would, but Ragnar beside him leaned forward with a soft smile and steel in his eyes.

“It's me, your boy, Tyr Faeron, strongest primus on the planet and willing to test that claim with my kin, and the uh... Honestly, we don't have like a... A band name, I guess? We are a bunch of men and women who are here to dance and make music for you. How strange, a song and dance. A bit mundane. Who thought of this sh... Sorry, the children. You'll never see a dance like this in your lives, believe me. Again, I am the most powerful man on this planet, Tyr Faeron, exceptionally mighty and possessive of infinite control over mana. Also, I am immortal and capable of destroying an entire city in a single blow. Trust me. Please enjoy our performance, and welcome to the Red Dragon Academy.”

“We love you, Tyr!”

“Ah, sorry guys.” Tyr stepped back to the microphone clearly dedicated to instruments again, bent over and whispering. “I love you too, man. This is going to be the best song you've ever heard. That's not a claim, that's the song's literal name. Also, I am very handsome and the most talented runesmith in known history. Buy my stuff, thank you.”

Tyr backed away, lifting the lute-esque instrument of three strings into his hands to a hail of cheers and wild laughter. Waving back and smiling brightly at the crowd. Iscari's heart melted at that. He hated it. He hated how much he loved it. Why didn't he smile at her like that?

What's wrong with me...?

“ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR.”

In the back, Micah clapped his sticks together and began beating a steady rhythm on the hide drums in front of him. Slamming his foot into the metallic floor to set a baseline. The cheers grew louder at the vivid melody slowly picking up the pace, Astrid joining the beat of the drums with her own sound, an instrument identical to Tyr's. Playing like she'd been practicing at it quite a bit. And finally, Tyr began moving, hitting a harsh chord and raising his hand as the string continued to thrum. Coming down with a thunderclap to herald a series of hard, steely noises, but they were bright and full of everything he felt in that moment. Iscari...

Wanted to march down there and insist that Tyr stop this ridiculous display.

“WE LOVE YOU MICAH! WAAAAA!”

At his sides, the other instrument-less students moved their feet in tandem to the music. It was passionate, so primal, Iscari swore he could feel rain falling on his skin in that moment. Punctuated by the hard and energetic playing of Tyr that burnt all the rain away with his violent, metallic clashes. Even while playing, at the center of it all, he danced alongside the others. Sweeping his feet in aggressive thrusts compared to their smooth movements.

This was no mundane song and dance played for the shouting crowd, a contrivance of youth – it was a ritual. Why that was the case, Iscari wasn't sure. Every element was represented, in the wind walk, the wave step, the earth and fire dances respectively. All together in a neatly composed ring of flailing bodies, the mana pouring off of them all filling the stadium gradually. All four natural elements represented here by various students who'd been drilled to perform them, though clumsily.

“Interesting.” Ragnar commented quietly. “I had no idea he was an empath, and through the Crimson Lotus no less.”

From a contemporary standpoint, there was no rhyme or reason to the music. Astrid's tune was so mellow and steady, almost mournful. While Tyr's was so violent and wild, and yet it worked – clashing together. That's why it worked, Iscari thought. He... She wanted to run through the ferns in the forest, howl at the moon, beat a man to death with her fists and feel the blood on her. Wanted to hug her father for the first time since the 'mistake' that was 'him' had been born.

Wanted to feel... Anything. To tell him the truth, to ask him to forgive her, and to ask him to protect her should she throw away the trappings of a male. This was Tyr, crying out for help himself, for someone to know him. Begging for something, anything, despite knowing that this thing would never come. That was the beauty of music, it said what words could not. Rain. Snow. Foul weather, but the kind that was pleasant to look upon or hear out the window as the hearth kept one warm, secured behind sturdy walls.

A sunset. The end of a day. Reaching the terminus of your journey and completing a goal you'd been laboring at for decades. Iscari felt like man headed toward the gallows as the song stilled and slowed, but no less passionate. Full of emotion. If he could put words to the song...

Iscari felt hot tears in his eyes and knew he was not the only one, Vidarr was sobbing genuinely at the incredibly mournful sound. Hot, yes. Passionate, of course. But in that sort of way a man might be when begging the gods to save his wife from a sure death, knowing perfectly well that his wish would fall on deaf ears, angered by their silence. Hopeless. Then full of hope again, up and down until all listeners were given whiplash as they tried to keep up with the peal.

Gods but the strings came together in just the right way to tug the audience between the two. All the while, Tyr stepped in line with the music, head down and joined by the others following him in a wide circle that began to scar the metal below his feet.

'Kill me.'

The fire dance, a communion with the subconscious heart. This was a ritual that wasn't so uncommon among the paladins and templars of Varia, but unlike them, Tyr's was so visceral, the heat of it throwing the comfort his song said had been denied him into the chilled hands audience. Yet none of them reached for that warmth, they were too dumbfounded by the sound. Too lost in the act of staring in wonder at the constructs of raw flame leaping from the stand.

Dancing wolves and fish that swam through the air in crimson bands. Strings of scarlet energy coalescing into words from a language none but Ragnar would understand. Little starbursts and indoor fireworks that displayed such an incredible control of the element that they wouldn't set anything aflame. Half music show, half evocation showcase, all enchantment. On a level that would turn make an archmage blush, but it wasn't magic – what the humans saw were just the ripples on the surface. When the primus' pushed their eyes deeper beyond, it was another thing entirely.

Twelve winged figures surrounding the one, all unique and staring up at their position in the stands. Watching, waiting.

'Help me.' Those words said, quite literally this time. 'Ragnar Stalvarg, I can feel you. Kill me. Set me free. I need to die.'

'They are in the walls.'

'Don't let them do this to me.'

'The hands are in my head.'

What disturbing messages those were, come from just one part of a Tyr that was twelve individuals. But as with everyone else in the crowd, Ragnar ignored them. He wanted to see. Had to see. What came next though...

'Does anyone have any tea in the western style? The mud water they serve in the east tastes like shit!'

'MEAT!'

'KILL!'

'I am so horny right now.'

Horny...? Ragnar raised an eyebrow at that last one, the colloquialisms of the youth always amused him so. What did having horns have to do with libido? In any case...

“Do you think he's going to be okay, Ragnar? Oh, sorry... High King...” Iscari asked, he didn't understand the words but he felt the intent. For all the excitement of the song, it was haunting enough to sent cold sweat down his back.

“Just Ragnar is fine. We, all of us, are family. As for your question, I'm afraid there is no 'him' anymore – young Iscari. Just as you will not be 'you'. That is the way of things, whether he'll be fine or not is impossible for me to divine. He'll do what the high ones demand of us, and that is all. That is our purpose. Large or small, to serve eternal.”

Iscari hated that too.