Gods but she was strong. She, whoever she was, striking with the force of a rock-slide and thrice as fast. Tyr had used his energy so liberally, banishing Lucian and swaggering out all arrogant and cocksure about his imminent victory, but she'd come and dashed any hope of having a normal day.

Ambushing him an hour south of the goblin village and laughing as she threw him about like a rag doll. At first, given the strength of her blows, Tyr had assumed it was Sigi. But he'd checked, it couldn't be her, and even with his blood Sigi wouldn't be this mighty, for those he didn't allow to, it would only be a sliver. And there was a capacity, the only one he'd given free rein on it was Alex – just to see what would happen and confident she wouldn't suffer. Already, she was nephilim, or so he hoped to be the case, he wasn't ready to lose her, too.

A masked, hooded figure with a massive greatsword, a tuft of fur in place of a crossguard, set with rings and the enchanted skull of a bird that dangled from the chains hanging from the pommel. Every sweep of the overlarge weapon, wielded in one hand, blew snow aside and shattered trees meters away from the arc of the thing. A hunk of steel near as tall as she was herself, and she was as tall as Tyr, little more than a bladed plank of gunmetal with no tip to it.

Inhuman, and Tyr could smell it given time to utilize his senses, slapping aside the flat of a more playful swing and bringing all his power to the fore in order to land a heavy fist on the mask she wore. It held up to the blow, but her body flew as he'd wanted it to, limp and spinning through the air. Not out of commission, though, never that.

It couldn't be that easy.

The world was wide and with each individual centimeter of it came yet another pain in his ass.

She recovered with a graceful twirl and alighted on a boulder some fifteen meters away. Not injured in the slightest. Even after all his recent steps, growing so rapidly, there was always a bigger fish and they always seemed to find him at the worst possible time.

But that didn't mean he was done, he had plenty of gas in the tank and the will to use it.

Tyr was ready for the second round, fire leaping from his limbs and immediately vaporizing the snow around him, turning slowly into the Crimson Lotus and dropping low to root himself. He'd lose, and what a piece of shit revelation that was, the knowledge that through all his pain and suffering he still had so long a ways to go.

“You're not bad, not bad at all.” She laughed heartily and from the chest. She, because her frame betrayed her even beneath all of that armor. Thick plates covering her whole body, the kind of weight a human couldn't stand, dwarven in make based on the runes, and clearly custom fit. Someone not only strong, but also of means, and not decidedly not human. “I can smell him on you, little wolf. Where is Onijo Benihara?”

“Benny?” Tyr asked, pausing in his prepared assault. Recovering his mind just long enough to stop himself from tearing off into a rage, wondering if he would have. His mind was finally, blissfully still, for the first time in so long. Which one was he? If they all shared memories, slowly bleeding into one another over time, could he even know? Maybe the original Tyr was dead, perhaps his true shard had been with him all along, just like Cortus he was a shade of a dead man. “How do you know Benny?”

She removed her mask. Pale skin, lilac hair that matched her eyes, and a single horn jutting from her forehead. Kijin, oni-kijin to be exact, what they called a 'cursed one'. Benny had said once that oni-kijin were exceptionally rare, and far rarer in their females. He'd been one – but he hadn't been single horned like she was. Tyr didn't know what the difference was, only that it was important in their culture to bear only one horn.

“You're his mother.” Tyr frowned, drawing a conclusion when the woman refused a reply. She had a nice, gentle face, quick to smile – all toothy like and out of place given her vicious ambush and clear intent to keep fighting. Strong of jaw, with fine features and high cheekbones, almond eyed like a westerner. A sharp predatory vigilance gleaming in her violet orbs to match the hue of her hair.

A bit more violent than one might expect of a smile due the sharp points of her upper and lower canines, but certainly not hard to gaze upon. In some ways, she looked very much like he did, at least in the mouth – those teeth he'd tried filing down so as not to appear as some kind of beast in the eyes of others, in his attempt to earn their trust. And they'd always grow back, so quickly he'd given up the prospect and learned to accept them after being informed that he had 'fangs'.

“I am.” She nodded. “I see your confusion. Mother kijin should care nothing for their child, and yet here I am. Tell me what happened, or we can continue this dance until you tire and I beat it out of you. I care not which you choose to do, I'll welcome the exercise, but I will have an answer. He was the best of us and I wish to know, your life hangs on the honesty of your explanation.”

More figures materialized from the undergrowth. Cleverly hidden, Tyr hadn't smelled them at all. More kijin based on their dress, all clad in culturally appropriate armor. Lamellar wafers of enchanted wood and metal, hard angles and helmets set with crescent moons of burnished metal over the forehead. Snarling visages carved in what might've been resin or leather, he couldn't tell. Curved swords belted to their waists. The famed 'katana'. A single edged blade of incredible sharpness and a fair amount of enchantment beaten into the folded steel. None of them drew their swords, some held spears and the rest were carrying long and spindly composite bows. The arrows they had nocked to those strings were nearly as long as Tyr's arm.

“You know I could kill you all?” He asked, this time to all of them – not just the woman. “Ambushing me was a mistake. You could not possible hope to defeat me, making threats is never going to get you anywhere with anyone. I am a primus, and I cannot die.”

“Human arrogance.” The woman laughed again, and her warriors joined her in the expression of amusement. Each of them was equipped with sword and bow, but the apparent subordinates didn't move in step with the insult he'd thrown at them, as a man might have. If anything, they didn't seem to care at all beyond the initial amusement. “Only your tiny race could think to bandy about an attempt to appeal to our fear in the middle of a conflict, isn't that right? Little man, perhaps you could. Perhaps you are as powerful as you smell, perhaps not. It is the law of the wild that the strong survive while the weak fade away. But I shall ask again... Where is the oni-oji?”

“Oni-oji?” Tyr asked. “Oni prince? Oni means demon, yes? Demon prince... That's fairly edgy, you know?”

She nodded. “You could read it that way, in your language, it was a word you gave us and it stuck because the idea we inspire fear in your kind is our pride. In our tongue, oni can mean evil, monster, cursed, or demon. However you'd like, but it carries the connotation of strength. Are you going to answer the question, or fight? I know that my son was with you for quite some time before disappearing, decide. I am a busy person.”

Tyr clenched his fists with a sad shake of his head. His blade remained sheathed and at the mention of Benny he didn't feel much like fighting at all. At the end of the day, this was a mother inquiring about the state of her lost son. Instead, he stepped over and flipped a snow covered log, plopping down atop it tiredly. He'd prefer not to relive that moment ever again, and the mourning in remembrance of his old friend was plain as day on his face.

Only exacerbated by the wondering if his own mother, even after all the faith he'd shown her, would care in the same way.

“Benny is dead.”

“I see.” She replied, eerily calm despite his words. “How?”

“Saving the whole world.” Tyr extended his arms. Not dramatically, but to literally indicating the entire plane they stood on, because it was true.

“Who was his witness?” She asked.

“I was.” Tyr answered. “And what better a witness? Brother, companion in battle, not a good friend – but he called me that though I'd never earned it. Once heir primus of Haran, the White Wolf and a capable companion, I was lucky to know him. He was a good man, and as far as deaths go – I can think of few worth more than that. I was weak at the time, and he was strong, well equipped to defeat our current enemy. He saved my life, everyone else on this continent and all those beyond.”

“A good death?” She asked, a sharp eyebrow raised. Her face was so... How to say it... Lacking in the sadness he'd expect from a mother who'd lost a son. Then again, Tyr's own mother was still in this world and had never come to see him, nor his father. Somewhere, as for his mother, showing no concern for either of them. Life wasn't a fairy tale, people lived by their own infinitely complex motivations. And sometimes children looked at their parents with a glimmer in their eye, even when those who'd sired them deserved no such thing. Delusions of grandeur in relationships, the confidence that your parents loved you, that they were the tallest beings in the world.

All he could content himself with was the fact that Signe was almost assuredly doing some good – he hoped the picture of her that dominated his perception of his mother wasn't flawed in any way. But it wasn't. It couldn't be, Tyr had seen enough loss and knew there'd be no more, his power ensured him of that.

“There is no good death, an end is an end, but it was a price paid for an objectively preferable result.” Tyr nodded. “I was proud to have known him, and one day I shall see him again. I'll pull him from the black myself if I have to. They will forget, but I never will. We will be together forever.”

“A bold claim, and it is heard.”

“HEARD!” The warriors around her repeated, their voices echoing throughout the silent forest in an emotion inspiring clamor. Slamming their boots into the ground, adding to all the noise.

Tyr... He didn't like noise. Something clicked when he'd hear it, regardless of the context.

Click. Click. Click.

He hated the noise, all noise, it didn't matter where it came from. He needed it to be still.

She smiled then, apparently pleased that Benny had found a worthy end. As if such a thing actually existed. Tyr didn't think it did in all truth. Sure, there was an obvious 'opportunity cost' sort of element relating to one's own demise. How influential you remained after your life was over, and he'd never met anyone who'd made the same or even remotely equivalent impact those three men had.

Not even a primus.

Never in history as far as he knew, and yet they'd be forgotten. But Tyr didn't think of it the way that men did. Death was death, an end, glory and honor had little interest to him unless it was his death. Tyr would love to die in an amazing way that people remembered for all eternity, but it wouldn't let him. Others? They were just gone. Made irrelevant by circumstance, lessons to people living in a future he'd never care about.

“We shall see, and you should let me know if ever such a thing takes place.” She added. “I would like to hear of this glorious death of his. But that's all I wish to know for now. Farewell, little wolf.”

“...That's it?” He asked, a bit confused.

“Of course.” She shrugged. “May the winds carry you to a pleasant destination, or something, I'm not one of the walkers but I wish you a wholesome life. Perhaps we'll see each other again, one day. My clan thanks you for your favor to us, you've done my kin a great honor by bearing witness. We are only ever memories, and a keeper of those is beloved by all our people.”

A whisper of wind, and they were all gone. Just as fast as they'd left, melting away into the wintry forest like phantoms. Tyr extended all of his senses beyond the norm in all direction, but there was nothing there...

“Well that was fucking weird.” He huffed, shaking his head and trotting off toward Amistad. Cursing as he realized he had no idea where he'd left his horse. Wait... Did he come with a horse in the first place?

He couldn't remember.

“Shit.”

He screams not for the pain, for he ceased to feel such a sensation eons ago. He screams from the knowing that he can never truly die. There is no joy in forever. A story with no ending is no story worth telling. He, they, it. How does one personify nothing?

The man that scales dauntless the path of bark cut from stars, in this life and millions more the tree stretches on.

Never to rest.

A legacy of ash.

Unto the valley of death.

The lone wolf rides.