Arylos sat in silence at the bar, contemplating his new life. Seeing this, the barmade smiled and came over to him. "Woman issues?" she asked him in a kind voice.

“Tell me about it,” Arylos scoffed, “what do you have on tap?”

The barmaid set down a coaster for Arylos, “depends on what you’re trying to drown,” she told Arylos.

Arylos took out a single ornate gold coin and placed it on the counter. “Give me a Rough Shield, please,” he asked.

The barmaid almost laughed before she examined the coin; large and adorned with skulls and a red gem in the centre, ancient words carved on both faces and the sides. She lifted the coin and examined it closely, checking the authenticity. The words on the front face circling the red inlaid gem read “Kaert vaelr sat Khymr Nast”, an ancient incantation in a tongue not native to Kaiyumi.

She struck the coin against the counter by its rim, listening to the hum of the metal. While gold in colour, it was anything but; sturdy and resilient and rang with a pitch that could fit in any song.

The barmaid pocketed the coin and prepared a draft of the requested drink, a clear pint of a glistening silver drink was placed on the coaster.

“Let me know if you require anything else,” the barmaid said with a soft smile before leaving Arylos to his drink.

He lifted the pint and inhaled the aroma. Potent and earthy, like a fine musky scent rendered from freshly tilled soil, yet carried a sweetness to it, like a fine syrup freshly tapped from a tree. The drink was pleasant, and yet pungent. Arylos lifted the pint and took a drink as if he was drinking the oceans themselves. The flavour was intense, dizzying almost, and struck his nerves like a guitar string, his skin feeling numb and the hair on his arms raised. The bubbles of carbonation filling his gullet. In a single pass, the drink was devoured before Arylos gently rested the pint glass back on the coaster.

His vision swayed and his numb skin tingled, an imbalance in the ears as his gut bubbled. Yet before long, the dizziness passed as quickly as it came and the sensation in his stomach passed, leaving him feeling full and his skin numb.

Arylos chuckled. That lasted longer than it used to, Arylos told himself. Turns out, Titans don’t get drunk easily and a Rough Shield is an intense drink meant to strengthen pain resistance, or arrogance of pain specifically, and numb the senses. Most humans can’t stand a small glass of the stuff before they vomit it, but this was no ordinary inn and Arylos was no human. Some of the other men at the bar saw this act and knew that challenging Arylos to a drinking contest would only end in failure.

Arylos could then hear hurried footsteps coming down the stairs that he could only assume was Iris. He turned and she was right behind him, giddy as always, wearing her new blue casual wear, the colour and design suited her perfectly, the fit was loose and yet conformed to her shape and stature. Rather than her normal braid, she had her hair tied in a loose bun. Iris’s smile was wide and pure; Arylos could hardly believe that just the other day, this girl lost her village and family. He made a mental note of this just in case she becomes sad again.

“Don’t we have another stop to make?” Iris said with a giggle. Arylos almost cried internally; another two hours and more money blown awaits him. Arylos nodded; hopefully the steeled nerves the drink gave him will hold.

He stood up and headed out with a happy Iris in tow. As the two walked once again along the crowded streets. Arylos decided he needed to look for a specific vendor; relying on his personal wealth would reinforce bad habits in Iris. She wouldn't know how much he actually has but he did not want to make everything seem limitless, or else she'll start wanting things bought without consideration.

…

And there are those fatherly thoughts again. Arylos needed to be careful; Iris would probably kill him if he started treating her like a child. He had to take his responsibility seriously.

The two once again walked through the merchants district as Iris’s ears were filled with the sounds of more chatter this time, the shops bustling with the sounds of the midday shopping. The excitement in Iris’s heart made her happy, the sounds of the busy city, the people, the various cultures and goods; it was all the excitement this sheltered child could ask for. This was just like in those adventure books that she used to read about a party of friends preparing for adventure and a day’s good hunt.

She glanced up at Arylos. This really was like an adventure story, but real. But would she consider Arylos a friend? Does he consider her a friend? He is only doing this as a promise he made, so does that mean he doesn’t care? She tried to think about it from Arylos’s perspective but stopped herself. So far, a Titan has been different from what she anticipated on the inside, so what if they think differently?

It was like trying to understand a wild animal, or a being from another world. Well, in this case, it might as well be both of those.

The two continued their walk, walking past various vendors and smiths. Each armourer Arylos came across, he examined closely, examining the building and looking through the wares before deciding they were not worth the time. Iris didn’t know what he was looking for; all of their goods seemed decent.

The two came to a smaller shop with a mountain of goods out front and a tanned young man with black unkempt hair watching over the stalls, sorting through the wares for the stalls and as the two approached, the man ducked under the table to sort wares down below. Arylos once again began his search for something, his eyes running all through the piles of cloth and metal armour sets and all over the building.

Iris approached the young shopkeeper, hunched under the table. She was about to call to him when he stood up from under his prone position and regarded Iris with a nod and a warm smile. She noticed an odd tattoo on the inside of his forearm; an odd design of three circles that stretched out with long spiralling arms circled in runes of a foreign language.

Iris turned to Arylos to ask him about it, but he was examining it too with intense eyes.

He looked up at the young man. “Do you have the good stuff?” he asked.

The young man looked at the duo, unsure whether to answer. He then nodded. “My dad runs the backroom,” he told Arylos.

Arylos smiled. “Good lad,” he said before beckoning Iris in and the two entered the shop. Rustic would not do the shop justice; it was old, obviously handed down the generations and had gone into disuse at some point. Old, unassuming, and the air itself had a musty scent. The shop was even smaller on the inside than it was on the outside.

“Welcome,” called out a proud middle aged shopkeep at the counter on the far side of the small shop, his skin hardened, tanned, and scarred and his hair wilder than the boy’s with its salt and pepper colouring. Arylos approached the man and started conversing with him while Iris looked through the wares on offer. The cloth was rugged and the metal left something to be desired, it was as if all of it was simple wrought iron painted over to make it look better. The leather was rough, almost over-cured, and felt more like sheets of stiff hide than proper leather, borderline woodlike.

Iris felt almost offended and approached Arylos at the counter. “Are we really buying from here?” she asked quietly.

Arylos laughed and turned to the man and placed a single ornate gold coin on the counter. “We’d like to see the backroom,” he instructed the shopkeeper, “the good shit, if you catch my meaning.”

The man took the coin and inspected it. He took out a small spectacle and closely examined the red gem inlaid on the coin. Satisfied, he snapped his fingers and pocketed the coin and came out from behind the counter, an old key in his hand. “After me please,” he instructed the duo and they followed him to a door not far from the counter and a large squeak filled the room as the man opened the door with the key.

Inside was a room lined with finely polished wood panels and bright red carpet with doors deeper in the room. Racks displaying various ornate armours of different kinds filled the room like a small army. Opposite to the entryway stood three ornate mirrors with various tools like measuring tapes, template clothing, blades, threads, dyes, and the like on tables on both sides of the mirrors.

Within the army of armour was a young and beautiful woman, with blonde hair, a full curvy figure that made Iris jealous, wearing an elegant red dress. She was sewing adornments to one of the cloth armours on display, her hands graceful and manoeuvring the thread with the swiftness and grace of a swan.

“Who are we fitting today?” the shopkeeper asked, getting some tools from his station with the mirrors.

“The girl,” Arylos responded and beckoned Iris to meet with the shopkeeper, “her name is Iris.”

“Iris,” the man gave the name a try, “a pleasure, young lady. I am Jhullus. You will find my wife to be my helpful assistant named Nerva,” the man pointed to the blonde woman stitching the adornments. Nerva finished her work and came to Jhullus’s side.

The two pelted Iris with questions as Jhullus took measurements and Nerva kept putting different templates on Iris. Questions like what style she likes, what weapon she uses, comfort or function, athletic skill, what kinds of enemies she faces. It was all almost too much and made her head spin.

She would always look to Arylos for guidance but he was off in the corner, smiling as if amused. Was this payback for the clothing store incident? And what’s this about a secret backroom? Why do they hide all of the good stock when they have stock and skill like this back here? Why does Nerva get to have a bigger chest than Iris? Too many questions, too little time.

Eventually, Nerva took Iris by the hand and led her to one of the other doors and took her inside, Iris almost begging Arylos to stop the woman.

Arylos did wonder if this was all revenge, but it was necessary. The small town girl living the big city life; this is just one of those things you have to put up with.

“I’m afraid we can’t do a rush order at this time,” Jhullus lamented while taking a seat and smoking from a pipe, “but Nerva does have some stuff for Iris to try that should fit her. If not, Nerva will see that it all fits well.”

Arylos shook his head, “you’re doing a lot good either way,” Arylos assured, “if only your order would allow me to tip you. Every little bit helps, right?”

Jhullus chuckled. “Please, I get plenty of work here as it is. We want for nothing.”

Arylos raised his eyebrow. “Brothers of your order come through here?”

Jhullus gave a firm nod. “Of course they do,” he told Arylos, “there’s not much in the way of work for them, but they do come through here on their way to the capital if they’re sent out to the woods.”

Arylos thought for a moment. “So your order operates in the capital?” he asked.

Jhullus laughed for a moment. “Of course. It was declared a sanctuary by the good king himself. Many of our number flocked there for work and safe haven. I even hear that Wilson made himself at home there.”

Arylos could not be more surprised. “That old fart is still hanging around?”

Jhullus nodded. “Heard he took a liking to the name ‘Garris’. Operates heavily in the capital and the surrounding Holds.”

“Perhaps I should pay him a visit,” Arylos said, crossing his arms, “it’s been far too long. He’ll have a good laugh now that I’m living the quiet life.”

Iris and Nerva came out from their secluded room and Iris could not wait to show Arylos what she was wearing.

Iris was wearing a deep blue cloth armour with silver metal pauldrons and ornaments tied together with leather belts and straps. It came with a long padded blue cloak and silver greaves up to her thighs and black trousers underneath.

“They said it would be good since I have my father’s longsword,” Iris said with a nervous chuckle, “it’s actually surprisingly light, but I don’t think I can do my old bow hunting in this; too much noise.”

Arylos admired her new wares. The design on her seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he could not place it. The armour and Iris separate would elicit little such response but for some reason, it appeared very familiar when put together. However, she looked really good in it, lovely even.

“It looks great on you,” Arylos complimented a blushing Iris, “although you used a shortsword before. Are you sure you can use a longsword? It’s much heavier and will require two hands.”

“It’s not like I’ve never used one,” Iris snapped back, “I just prefer a shortsword because it’s nimble.”

Arylos shrugged. “Alright then, let’s head out.”

“Wait,” Iris called out, collecting the clothes she took off to try on the armour, “don’t you have to pay?”

Arylos turned back and smiled. “I already did.” He nodded to the two artisans to bid them a good day and headed out, Iris following in tow once more. On their way back to the inn, Arylos couldn’t help but glance at the smiling Iris, now happy and excited for tomorrow. Iris may be Arylos’s charge now, but seeing her smile like this all after losing everything she knew was just what Arylos wanted. She may never forget what happened, but so long as she is in his care, he will do what he can to not see her cry like she did before.

“But what if I forgave you?”

Iris’s words from the previous night ran through Arylos’s mind. What did she mean by that? Why would she forgive him for what happened? Who can forgive and forget that easily, especially when she only knows a small fraction of the truth? One day, he’ll have to tell her everything; what he is, his people, the body he’s trapped in, Jhullus and Nerva, everything.

Even his duty. The Cycles. The dreaded endless war that Arylos must carry out so people like Iris may live. How would she take to that? She’s seemingly accepted that Arylos is a killer, but would she accept that? The sheer number of secrets that she would one day have to know sent Arylos’s head swimming.

But that day does not have to be today. At the very least, she is happy now and mortals live for the here and now; the today. And today, she is happy, so Arylos did not want to ruin that.

“What was their deal?” Iris asked, trying to catch up to Arylos, “the secrecy, the secret backroom, it all seemed weird.”

Arylos pondered how to answer. “There is an organisation that operates here,” he started to explain, “a selective group of members who only provide such services if you are one of their number. Luckily for you, I am closely involved with their order so they provide the same services to me.”

“What are they called?” Iris asked.

“A name I cannot tell you today,” Arylos told Iris, “Today, we rest and prepare. Tomorrow, we hit the road. We’ll start with Sentoraya, the capital, on our eastward march.”

Iris perked up with excitement. “The capital?!” She was flushed with excitement. She had never set foot in the capital city. Apparently, it served as a stronghold during the Dragon Wars; surrounded in ancient stone spires and walls, streets wide as valleys and thick with buildings and people. All at the foot of a giant mountain called Dulsereik. Kajisho, with its own bustling population, was a village by comparison.

The concept itself excited her to no end. Why would it have to be tomorrow? She’ll never be able to sleep tonight.

The two returned to the inn and Iris rushed upstairs to prepare as Arylos went to the one of the barmaids to make arrangements for tonight.

Iris crashed through the door into their room and started packing properly. While gathering up, she found her old black leather armour laid out on the bed from where she took it off. In her excitement, she forgot why she was on the road. She took the armour in her hand. While heavily worn, it still brought memories of home; a home she could never forget. Was she really this willing to be on the road? Was she excited for the journey or just running away from it all?

She thought back to how she first met Arylos. She was terrified of him, part of her still is, but she can be herself around him. She was accepting of Arylos because he accepted her. She couldn’t shake a thought; he’s apparently a timeless, immortal, inhuman. Yet he was willing to humour her today, to buy her clothing and set off on an adventure despite his desires for a peaceful life. Her ancestors bound Arylos and even her father was afraid of him, yet he saw something in him enough to trust Iris with him.

Iris’s thoughts were dashed as Arylos came through the door, sighing as if his back hurt. He took a look at Iris, standing over the bed with her old armour in hand.

“Thinking of home?” he asked softly.

Iris nodded and turned to gather her old armour. She may not wear it now, but she would definitely clean and keep it.

“Do you have a home?” Iris asked sadly with her back still turned, partly afraid of Arylos’s answer.

Arylos sighed and thought for a moment before answering. “No, I do not,” he replied in a sombre tone before walking over to the other side of the bed where Gavan’s sword laid against the wall.

“But you came from somewhere, right?” Iris pushed forward, “a birth place?”

Arylos shook his head. “I came from somewhere, yes,” he replied, “but I struggle to call that place a home.”

Iris kept her thoughts to herself. Arylos was not telling her something, but she decided not to press any further. Arylos grabbed the sword from the wall and came towards Iris with it, almost reluctant to give it to her. He closed his eyes as a red aura emanated from the hilt of the blade and a hum of power before going dark and silent once more.

He held out the sword. “This blade is called the Blade of Helion,” he began, “It is a weapon of Templarian origin and it is unique. It is a living, breathing, sentient thing. It is not just a weapon; it is a partner, and it will not forsake you.”

Iris took the sword in her hand. “It’s alive?” she asked puzzled, “how can a sword be alive?”

“You heard it speak to you, yes?” he asked, “that was the voice of the sword itself. It obeys whoever the most recent surviving descendant of your family is. Since you are the sole survivor of your family, it will serve you.”

“So that’s why it rejected me originally?” she clarified, “because while I’m descended from my father, it still served my father since he still lived. Did he wield it?”

Arylos shook his head. “That sword was buried in my chest long before your father came into being, but he knew of it.”

“But why would a Templarian sword serve my family?” Iris asked.

“Unsheathe the sword and it will tell you.” Arylos responded, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

Iris complied and pulled the sword from its sheath and roared to life with a great hum of power.

Greetings, Mistress Iris. the sword greeted with a graceful and resonating voice in Iris’s mind.

“Uh, hi there,” Iris responded in voice.

You do not need to use your voice to speak with me, the sword replied, we speak using our thoughts.

“Um, right. That’s all still pretty new to me,” Iris replied to the sword, “so, you’re called Helion?”

That is the name of my first Master, the sword answered, however I may adopt that moniker if you like.

“Sure,” Iris responded, “better than calling you Blade of Helion. If you’re a living thing, I might as well treat you like one.”

Acknowledged. You may address me as Helion, the sword replied, taking a liking to the name of its former master.

“Why serve a mortal family if you come from Templarius?” Iris questioned the sword.

I have served your bloodline for over three millennia under the order of my first Master Helion. My Master surrendered his life so that others may have better use of his power and of me than he could dream of; an attempt to give mortals their own divinity, so to speak. I hope to serve well in this purpose. Father has instructed me to serve you well as your right hand as I have done for your ancestors and Master Helion himself.

“Father?” Iris asked aloud and turned to Arylos.

Arylos chuckled. “I was the one who created that sword,” he answered, “as well as the sword I bear, along with many others. The original Helion was a close friend of mine, a brother, you could say. He asked me for a partner to help him and so I created that sword fashioned by a feather from my wings and from my blood. Since it was born of my flesh and blood, quite literally, it and many others created in a similar fashion call me ‘Father’.”

“How can you create a sword from a feather and blood?” Iris asked, trying to imagine the scenario.

“You saw my wings,” Arylos replied, “they were not bird feathers nor those like Eir had. They were stone and metal, were they not? I simply removed a feather, shaped it into an ingot which became the blade, and while tempering the blade, quenched it in my blood.”

Iris was still trying to wrap her head around it all, but he was right; they didn’t look like any feathers she would expect.

“Where are your wings anyway?” Iris asked.

Arylos chuckled, he had a bit of explaining. “There’s a lot to explain first,” he replied, “but think of them as a manifestation of power. They’re not really a part of this body but when I gain enough power, I can make them real. Name a single one of your gods that do not have wings of some kind.”

Arylos had a point. The Kaiyumian pantheon of Templarian gods was vast with numerous gods. Not a single one was pictured without massive wings upon their backs.

“Those wings are a symbol of their evolved state,” Arylos explained, “a sign of the power that rushes through them with the size and number of wings indicating their strength. A sign of their ‘divinity’ as they call it. Same rule applies for me; my strength gives me wings as well.”

“Six wings in total,” Iris continued. The four on his back as well as another set comprised entirely of fire. All of the Templarians she knew had two wings. If size and number represents divine strength, Arylos must be several tiers up. “That means you’re much stronger than the other Templarians. Why did they come after you?”

Arylos bowed his head. “A foolish attempt to stave off the inevitable,” Arylos lamented, “and considering Odhinn was behind your village’s destruction, that senile old man has really lost it this time.”

“Odi–...Ojin…?” Iris struggled with the name.

Helion cut in to help Iris. Odhinn, often referred to as Odin, is the Templarian king ruling the Aesir house of Asgard. He is responsible for overseeing the nine realms under Asgardian control. He is also known as the Allfather, the Raven King and the Lord of the Hanged. The Kaiyumae often refer to him as Eorhin.

The information was a lot for Iris to process. So many names, so many titles, so much to remember.

“Good, I’m not the only one who has to explain things around here.” Arylos jokes, obviously hearing what Helion was saying.

“Huh? I thought that voice was in my head?!” Iris exclaimed, hoping Arylos can’t read minds.

“I am its creator,” Arylos explained, “so it shares some of its dialogue with me. No doubt in an attempt to tell me that it will help you.”

That is correct, Father. Helion confirmed.

“But why would Odin come after you?” Iris questioned.

“Because he thinks I’m responsible for the end of the world,” Arylos explained, mildly annoyed, “a prophecy he’s obsessed with. ‘Ragnarok’ they call it. While crazy, he’s not alone in his beliefs.”

Helion cut in again. Ragnarok is a prophecy that predicts the end of Asgard in a war between the gods. Odin primarily is trying to prevent it and has searched out every means of either stopping it entirely, or influencing its outcome.

“If anything would kill the Aesir,” Arylos continued, “it would be the Aesir themselves. They’re afraid of me because I’m stronger than them, the same reason your ancestors sealed me in that ruin. Fear drives even wise men like Odin to do strange things.”

Iris nodded and sheathed Helion. She had seen this not only in stories, but in person. People fear what’s different, what they don’t understand. Even Iris doesn’t understand Arylos, but she wants to; maybe that will allay any fears she has about him.

Arylos snapped himself out of his sombre mood. “Right then! Time to rest and relax; we’re headed for Sentoraya tomorrow, and it may take us a week to get there on foot.”

Arylos jumped from his on the bed and returned to his spot in the corner. Iris’s heart went from aching to excitement. This was a new and fresh beginning. Arylos may be forced to do this because he promised, but she wanted to shoulder his burdens too like he is with her. From what she learned, he is also homeless and alone. Her mood improved because of his presence so she would not have to mourn her losses alone, so the least she could do was be there for him as well, whatever losses he may be suffering.

She could not wait for dawn; she would have her own journey to write, maybe one she could put down on paper herself one day.