Archive of Our Own

Therion still hates the Frostlands - but a little less.

He wakes up to a caring face during their stay in the city. His friends ask if he needs food or company, and if he needs space, they respect his wishes without question. Someone repaired the holes in his boots, yet they all deny themselves as the culprit. When Therion rests in front of the inn’s hearth, both weary and wary of dining in the tavern, the group joins him with hot stew. They maintain a steady eye on the city, ready to defend him against any threat. No threat but the evening chill arrives, but there’s always another blanket.

Therion notices H’aanit receives similar care. When she retires to bed, someone (aside from Linde) accompanies her. It’s unusual to see her sleep through the morning, and she lives her days with deep-set exhaustion. In spite of the fatigue, she gives a reassuring nod when their tired eyes meet, or a pat on the shoulder. Even a smile.

She’s done so much for him, and the guilt wracks his heart.

That night, Therion sits beside Primrose as a blanket drapes over their shoulders. He stares blankly ahead as the hearth’s flames reflect against dull, hollow eyes. It’s another check on the unfortunate list of traits they share.

Darius is gone, but he’ll never truly be gone. For someone who focuses on the present, the past traps Therion, holds him down with burly arms and a dagger above his eye. It threatened to take him from the greatest treasures in his life, and it’s a thought he cannot bear.

He tenses, and Primrose rubs his back in understanding. Therion lets out a soft, quiet sound and leans against her. He’s so needy, all take and no give, but she doesn’t push him away.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” she murmurs. Primrose knows the pain of repressed pain and the sting of betrayal, and her gentle words coax him from a mess of thoughts. Within Primrose’s name and spirit lies promise, and she always keeps her promises.

He’s enveloped in warmth, patience… kindness. He should be used to this, yet it’s still so much to take in, to know they’ll catch him when he falls.

Faith is his shield that night.

Heathcote meets the group as they prepare to leave the city. Therion returns the dragonstones in exchange for a long-sought freedom: removal of the fool’s bangle. And yet, he doesn’t feel quite free. With one weight gone, heavier ones take its place. With his part of the deal fulfilled, what purpose lies before him? Whatever wisdom Heathcote shares (and he truly does appreciate it), Therion cannot make out the words. He does know one thing, however.

“My journey isn't over yet.” The words sound nonchalant, yet hold meanings that Therion seeks to discover.

Nevertheless, Heathcote apologizes once again for placing him in this predicament. Therion glances toward his companions and shakes his head.

It was a blessing, really.

“Safe travels, and may you find what your heart seeks,” Heathcote says warmly.

Therion hopes he may find it, too, and bids the old butler farewell.

After days of snow, a relief washes over the travelers as they step onto wild grass and soil. H’aanit noticeably relaxes in the familiar setting, yet her eyes maintain a solemn look.

While the group rests, H’aanit gazes toward the mountains from the edge of the forest clearing. Deliberate footsteps signal Therion’s presence, and they share a silent moment. As she did upon leaving Northreach, H’aanit asks if he’s warm. He says he’s better.

Winds whistle and branches rustle. Snow flurries fall from a distance, yet the memories of their battle lie close to their hearts.

“I need more time,” they tell each other in their own ways, understanding yet uncertain of the conversation they need. When they’re well-rested, clearer of mind, then they can talk. They don’t wish to say the wrong things without thought, so they say nothing. That much, they agree upon. Just more time.

It sure feels like a long time.

H’aanit pats his shoulder before joining the others, and they embark once more. Stone pillars line the dirt path, and an ancient air permeates their senses.

“We hath been here afore,” he hears H’aanit comment in surprise.

“I assure you, we will accommodate the second visit,” Cyrus joins her side. “Though, I cannot deny my excitement over a deeper study of the tomes ahead.”

Therion watches on, feeling the strain of days past upon H’aanit. They all sense it, thus setting the course for their destination. How strange it is, to carry a heavy heart for this reason.

Alfyn lags behind the group to check in with Therion.

“Tomorrow mornin’, right?” he says in a low voice, looking toward H’aanit.

Therion stands among snow and forest, ice and green. He looks at Alfyn again, wondering if he may ever associate the two with something beyond Northreach, beyond the past.

“Yeah. Might have to wake me up though.”

The village headman greets the travelers when they enter Duskbarrow. As golden light streams through the leaves, the main order of business involves a quick meal and sleep after the long trek.

Night falls, and Therion sees a soft bed, thank god. He tosses his outer wear over a chair and promptly falls onto the mattress.

Alfyn sympathizes as he throws his coat onto the same chair. It snags against Therion’s clothes, and the whole pile slides onto the floor. That’s a problem for the morning.

“How do you thank someone who saved your life?” Therion mumbles against the bed after some time. He rolls over to face the ceiling, his mind in a state in half-fatigue, half-guilt. “You’d know.”

It takes a moment to process, but Alfyn understands.

“Stumble over your feet, fumble over your words - doesn’t matter. If the honesty’s there, she’ll get it.”

The words don't convince him, but when Alfyn sits beside him, his mind stills. Even in the darkness, Therion feels a warm gaze upon him.

“It’s H’aanit. She’ll understand.”

That’s his hope.

“Can’t sleep yet. You know the drill,” Alfyn reaches for his satchel.

Silence passes as Therion lets him redress his wounds. Blankets rustle, Alfyn yawns, and they settle in for the night. As with any attempt of restful sleep, Therion stares at the ceiling, forever pondering.

“This is gonna sound weird.”

“Not weird unless ya make it weird,” Alfyn doesn’t miss a beat.

One deep breath, and it’s the moment of truth.

“...Can you hold me?”

Therion expects rejection or judgment; the darker part of his mind expects a strike. None of that comes.

Alfyn murmurs something about avoiding injuries as they seek a comfortable position. Therion eventually rests his head upon his chest, and the unshackled arm lies lazily against the bed. The metal left a strip of irritated skin in its wake, but it’s nothing tonics and time can’t heal (or so Alfyn states).

He’s starting to shake again, and Therion wills himself to relax. It helps that Alfyn’s hands rest upon his back, rubbing it with soothing motions.

Needy, needy, his mind taunts. Maybe he is, yet knowing the others offer unwavering support, he can indulge, can’t he? It’s Alfyn, not Darius. He wouldn’t… he’d never.

“Aha, not my best, but when you’re all rested up, we could try again?” Alfyn’s bashful voice parts through the haze. His tone is soft. Safe.

“I’d like that.”

An affirming hum, and Alfyn silently holds him. Their breathing syncs, heartbeats slow, and everything’s calm. If this isn’t his best, then how would-

“Thanks, Therion.”

“What?” The statement catches him off-guard.

“Thank you” - Alfyn repeats tenderly - "um, for always havin’ my back, first of all, and also for tellin’ me what ya need. It must not be easy, with everythin’ goin’ on, but… shucks, what am I tryin’ to say?”

“You getting sappy on me?”

He feels several pats against his back.

“The sappiest.”

“Ugh.”

There’s no rejection, no judgment, no strike - only reassurance. Crickets chirp, leaves rustle, and he’s at peace.

“Hey… I owe you one.”

“Ya really don’t.”

“Not even a drink?”

“...Only one?”

“Two, three, ten. Whatever you want, I don’t care,” Therion says with care.

A gentle laugh. He’s grown to love that laugh.

“Mm… can’t wait...” Alfyn mumbles.

From snow to forest, forest to green, and green to grass, Therion sleeps well.

At morning’s light, Linde lazily follows a tiger cub around the village, sniffing and reacting to the cub’s curiosity. The owner of the cub, a young boy, watches with delight while his fearful mother doesn’t stray from the sight.

The leopard hasn’t pounced yet, she thinks, but remains cautious.

In a hidden corner of the village, sectioned off by trees and slabs of rock, dappled light falls upon a weary H’aanit as she whittles away a slender piece of wood. Her hair drapes over her shoulders and wood shavings speckle her clothes. Beside her lies a pile of arrow shafts beyond her quiver’s capacity. She thinks little of it. She wants to think as little as possible. And so she whittles away in a trance, her motions automatic among a sea of wood.

Crunches in the grass alert H’aanit of company, but she barely turns. She knows those footsteps.

“Uh,” Therion starts, stilted in his attempt. The weather’s pleasantly mild, and he wears his familiar shawl and scarf. Clasping the teapot in one hand and cups in the other, he carefully lowers himself onto the ground. “I brought you tea.”

The whittling halts, and H’aanit glances at the pot.

“Just have to heat it,” he sets the cups down while looking elsewhere. Holding the teapot above his palm, he breathes in the crisp morning air. A steady flame lights in his hand, and he continues along his train of thought.

“Alfyn and I went out earlier.” Early as hell, he wants to add, but he keeps that part in his head. “He showed me which herbs were your favorites.”

The words break H’aanit from her trance, and she manages a slight smile.

Then he sees her staring at his face.

“Alfyn hath keepeth his promise,” she says, setting her tools down.

Therion tracks the gaze toward his cheek. He makes the connection.

“Yeah. He always does,” Therion murmurs. Whatever Alfyn slathers against his face proves effective, and relief grows as the scar fades.

The fire ceases, and he offers a fresh cup of tea to H’aanit. There’s a special intimacy in sharing tea with good company, and Therion’s trying his best.

A floral fragrance wafts toward her nose, and H’aanit inhales the scent. When she takes a sip, the herbal taste brings fond memories of S’warkii. It’s lovely.

“Thou hast made the suggestion for Duskbarrow?”

“Not just me,” Therion says, pouring himself a cup. “We all knew you were feeling off. Figured it might help if the next place reminded you of home.”

He tries the tea himself - not bad. Impressive, even.

“This forest air healen mine heart,” H’aanit closes her eyes. “ ‘Tis a sensation I hath misseth.”

Therion’s relieved over their choice of direction. It’s short-lived, however, as the conversation they put aside rears its head. If H’aanit sees the conflicted emotions upon his face, she mentions nothing.

“You probably know why I’m here.”

H’aanit anticipates the moment, drinking the remains of her tea and breathing deeply.

“Aye… ‘tis time, is it not?”

Stoic and guarded, H’aanit’s been harder to read from facial expressions alone. Even so, he’s not the only who has grown soft with the passing of moons, and she’s grown vocal with him regarding this fact. More honest, trusting. When it appears that she wants to speak, he reassures her.

“I’m listening.”

The fatigue is clear on her face, and the guilt weighs upon him. Taking her lessons on patience to heart, however, he waits.

“One question hath plagued mine heart since that day,” H’aanit wastes little time. “When thou hath stoppen mine rage, what didst thou meaneth?”

Gusting winds, crackling stone, searing heat of a goddess’ rage - Therion remembers the sensations well. As with any quarry, H’aanit intended to slay him, or die trying. Her previous foes were beasts; was Darius no different? The wrath coursed through his body as he clutched her arm, yet the pain wouldn’t have compared to his own if she’d let the arrow fly.

“Not gonna lie… you scared the hell out of me back there.”

When H’aanit visibly frowns, he inwardly scolds himself. Why are feelings so hard?

“I putten thy life in danger, and for that, I am sorry,” H’aanit confesses, clutching the teacup with a white-knuckled grip. “How that man hath treateth thee… ‘twas all mine mind hath remembered before rage tooketh hold. Please, telleth me that thou dost not believen his words.”

“Why ain’t he pullin’ ‘is weight? Sittin’ all pretty while ya do the work for ‘im.”

Pretty. In the same breath, Darius called him pretty and useless. Pretty useless. Nothing but a damn fiddle broken by rough hands, and he found beauty in his pain. It hurt him then, and it still hurts now. Still, that pain pales in comparison to H’aanit’s attempt in breaking the fiddler herself.

“You always say you’ll carry our burdens... that’s the one burden I couldn’t let you carry.”

Therion meets her conflicted eyes, watching as she drops her gaze to the ground.

“If I hath done the deed, wouldst thou feelen anger toward me?”

“Ya wanna kill me, Therion?! Then come ‘ere! My arms are wide open!”

She didn’t have to do it for him; she didn’t, in the end. If he had dealt the final blow, he would’ve played into Darius’ hands - cold, rough against his skin, gripped around his neck. He always had to have the last word, even as he faced his end.

He sets his tea aside.

“...I don’t know.”

There’s a lull in conversation, more understandable than unsettling. From an angle, Therion spots Primrose resting beside a sprawled-out Alfyn against the grass. Completely subtle. As he observes the pair, H’aanit helps herself to a second cup of tea, throws it back like a flagon of mead, and pours a third.

“I oft dreameth of him… how he hoveren over thee and sinketh a dagger into thine…” she trails off. She can’t continue. She doesn’t want to continue.

Therion catches on. He knows the dreams well. Visions of falling over and over, landing upon jagged rocks, into raging torrents, or never landing at all. He would fall endlessly into darkness, away from the one who once kept his heart alight.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” H’aanit notes his somber expression.

“He’s haunting your memories, too.” Therion bunches a handful of his scarf, and he avoids eye contact.

“Therion,” H’aanit sets her cup aside and places a hand over his own. Therion doesn’t pull away, and fingers slowly unclench from the scarf.

“Thou knowest I wouldst doen it again with nary a thought… dost thou?”

He closes his eyes, inhales a shaky breath, and lets the sentiment sink into his core. It’s a lot to take in. After spending time with the others, he’s starting to understand.

“Yeah. I do.”

“Then thou needest not blamen thyself for his actions.”

We could’ve ‘ad somethin’ special, the voice taunts, repeating itself in his mind, insidious and mocking. For years, Therion would only blame himself. When he knew he deserved better, Darius decided he deserved nothing. Slowly, the others showed him that he deserves more than the bare minimum, that he deserves everything. Slowly, he learns. And yet, there’s something he needs to prove to himself.

“H’aanit… will you do something for me?” The tone’s soft, uncertain.

“Anything thou wishest.”

He releases the hand from his scarf as H’aanit backs away. With a shaky breath, Therion brushes his fringe aside.

He hears H’aanit hold her breath, but the hand’s steady as he bears the symbol of his betrayal. The deliberate scar trails from his brow to his cheek, ending just above his lips. A pale iris peeks from the half-lidded eye, which stares at nothing. The right eye avoids H’aanit’s gaze, and Therion feels the heat of her stare against his skin.

H’aanit has seen the mark in passing, but this is the first time she views it up close - and at Therion’s request.

“Tell me what you feel.”

Bearing the scar alone is no small matter, yet he wants her to feel it?

“Thou art certain?” H’aanit’s hesitant as she holds out a hand.

Therion confirms with a nod... and closes his eyes. Navigating the world half-blind, he places this blind faith in his dear friend.

Fingers brush against his hair, alerting him of their presence, and a gentle hand rests against his own. It trembles for a moment, then stills. A thumb rests upon his brow, and his breath hitches.

She’s not Darius. She won’t hurt you.

The thumb remains still, and only when he nods does H’aanit proceed. He feels her slowly trace the scar across his eye, treating this hidden part of him with utmost care. The touch lingers upon his skin, and he exhales a long-held breath.

Sensing the gap between them, Therion opens his eyes. The scar disappears behind white hair, and a burden lifts from his shoulders.

“Well?”

He’s unaware of how his hand shakes until H’aanit, once again, places her own over it.

“Pain, confusion. Anger,” she says solemnly, thinking of the first moon in Therion’s company. Among wary glances and drawn weapons, her keen eyes detected a latent sadness. “Primrose hath sharen how such feelings served as her shield. Presumen thou hast the same, I canst not, but...”

“No, you got it,” Therion confirms. “She had faith, and I had anger. It protected me when… when I didn’t want to be hurt again. Not saying it was right, but that’s how I felt.”

H’aanit squeezes his hand in silent support. She’s here, and she’s listening. There’s nothing to fear, right?

“For a long time, I blamed myself. If I changed, kept my head down, I thought things would work out,” Therion recalls Darius’ words after he slammed him onto stone.

“ ‘Twas a fate thine heart hath refusen.”

“Mm-hm. Always had a defiant spirit.” He picks at the ends of his shawl with his free hand, and pieces of thread scatter with the wind. “I saw him change for the worse, and when I questioned him, he’d answer with… with the back of his hand.”

A restrained sound leaves H’aanit’s throat, but she breathes deeply, just as Primrose taught her, and waits.

Where is he going with this? He’s always going, running away from his issues, running from himself. Not this time. He must have faith in order to heal… Heathcote shared that piece of wisdom back in Northreach. It’s a leap of faith Therion’s willing to take.

“Back there, I knew what he was saying was wrong, but... it still hurt.” His chuckle lacks humor. “I’ve gotten soft.”

“Thou knowest mine answer to thy words,” H’aanit responds tenderly.

A little humor returns.

“Soft heart in a cruel world?”

“Aye, the softest.”

Among their company, the world’s a little less cruel.

Nearby, Linde wags her tail as she ambles alongside her tiny tiger friend. The young boy runs after the playful pair (much to his mother’s concern), and Therion can’t help but reminisce about simpler times. Running free, playing, laughing in his mother’s embrace...

“Thou remindest me of something.”

The daydream ends and reality returns, but he’s here, and he listens.

“Enlighten me.”

H’aanit sits up straight and brushes her hair aside to face Therion. “ ‘Betrayst not the trust of others, lest thou betrayst thine own honor.’ ‘Twas the wisdom Master hath sharen many moons afore.”

Therion hums, processing the depth of her statement. From what he remembers, H’aanit described the man as reckless with leaves and rambling with words. Antics aside, however, she truly respects him and seeks nothing but his safe return.

“I recallen the words that hath provoken mine anger… how that man hath told thee to defendest thy pride.”

He looks away, somewhat aware of the mockery. Mentally, he wasn’t entirely there. His mind endured the insults as the rest of him wavered, weakened. He felt so weak.

“An irony lieth in the words… words that comen from a man who hath abandoned his honor long ago.”

A second hand rests upon his own, and H’aanit gently clasps it between her palms. The gesture grounds him, and he returns it in full.

“Never thought of it like that,” he admits. “Looking back now… it wouldn’t have mattered who dealt the final blow.”

“Oh?”

Therion observes H’aanit’s hands, rough and scarred from her own battles. He wonders what stories lie within them, but for now, they comfort one another in brief silence.

“Whether it was you, me, Linde, whoever - Darius wanted to reach the top no matter what, no matter who he stepped on to get there. In the end, he wasn’t going to change. I’d always be a tea leaf to him.”

“Tea bringeth the people together, they sayest,” H’aanit remarks. “A better man, that maketh thee.”

A soft chuckle. “You flatter me.”

“I speaketh only the truth,” she jests.

Her words give him courage, and Therion speaks his mind without regrets.

“Going back, I didn’t want you to carry that burden because… I knew it’d hurt you. I don’t want to hurt others anymore.” Some part of Therion feels relieved that Darius’ own men finished the deed. Betrayal came full circle, in the end.

They let go of each other’s hands. When they look up, there’s a shine in the other’s eyes.

“Amidst such cruelty, thou hast retained a kind heart. If thou choosen to taketh pride in the act, I believen nary a soul shall taketh it from thee.”

A voice breaks the silence. It’s quiet, even for Therion.

“You really mean that?”

“A poor liar, I am. Thou hath said this to mine face.”

Therion lets out a huff of a laugh.

“I’m not used to this.”

“Then getten used to it,” H’aanit chides. “Thou art a gift, and treasuren thee, we shall.”

He’s heard the message before, yet this time, it hits a soft spot. He has many of those now… and it’s worth placing his pride in them.

“So, do I burst into tears now?”

“The choice is thine,” H’aanit opens her arms. “But I welcomen thee, tears or none.”

Without hesitation, Therion leans forward to accept and return the embrace. As he rests his head against her shoulder, a tentative hand ghosts over his hair. He nods in consent while his mind settles, tranquil and calm. She gently smooths over his hair, moving her hand down to rub circles against his back, and everything’s safe, so safe.

“...Thank you.”

H’aanit holds him close, allowing Therion to shed his worries, to ease the burdens that his found family will help carry. To them, he is irreplaceable, and he is everything.

“We loveth thee, Therion. Never forgetten.”

The words hit him hard, yet there’s no pain. As he closes his eyes, something pangs in his chest. Warmth, compassion… love. The sentiment blooms within his heart, pushing past remnants of the walls his companions knocked down. It’s less foreign by the day, and it’s a feeling he can embrace, just as H’aanit embraces him now.

When the tears fall, there’s no shame in the act. Therion knows he’s safe… and loved. He’s at peace.

Peace, love… and fluff?

Therion receives a face full of leopard as Linde inserts herself into the moment, punctual as always. When they pull back in surprise, she sniffs the scar on his cheek and slowly backs away with a soft whine. She seems sad. Guilty.

Oh. Oh no.

“Hey, it’s all right, see?” he taps a finger against the scar and shows it to Linde. “All better now.”

Curious, Linde approaches and sniffs at his face again. It tickles.

“I could never be mad at you,” he scratches behind her ears. “Never.”

Reassured, Linde nuzzles Therion’s cheek and licks the faint scar (along with a stray tear). He wipes his face, yet understands the gesture. Feeling a tenderness bloom within his chest, he leans forward to embrace her.

“Dost thou needeth a moment?” H’aanit asks.

Therion shakes his head as he focuses his attention on Linde.

“Sorry you had to do that back there,” he murmurs against her fur. A low grumble sounds in Linde’s throat, but subsides as she leans into her friend’s embrace.

“I know, right? Nasty,” he gives a low chuckle. Gratitude flows through his fingers as he pets her. If she didn’t arrive in time, he would… no, best not to think about a future that wouldn’t come.

“Any treats you want, I’ll get ‘em just for you,” he tilts his head to whisper into her ear. “Don’t tell H’aanit.”

H’aanit rolls her eyes and joins the pair’s embrace, squishing Linde in between. She purrs and revels in the affection.

From the corner of his eye, Therion spots Alfyn’s dorky grin, and Primrose ushers him away by the satchel. He has a lot of thanking to do.

“I’ve been thinking,” he chimes in after some time, blowing a wisp of Linde’s fur from his lips.

“ ‘Tis a habit for thee,” H’aanit pulls away from the group hug, leaving Linde to look back and forth in search of snuggles.

“Been thinking about my next steps. Didn’t exactly plan this far, you know?”

“We oft followeth where the arrow flyen true,” H’aanit says. “I sensen thy words holdest a different meaning?”

Therion sought freedom from the shackles of his past. With burdens lifted, perhaps true freedom lies within the choices he makes in the present - on his own terms. The journey isn't over.

“All my life, I’ve wandered wherever my feet took me, for my will or against it. Maybe I could settle down. Start fresh, figure things out.”

“Thou seekest a humble living, then,” H’aanit respects his wisdom. “I knowest thou preferen the quiet, and if thou wishest, I wouldst welcomen thee in mine home.”

“Yeah?” Therion’s voice is light, hopeful. He glances around Duskbarrow’s lush trees, taking in the quaint atmosphere. A soft breeze blows past the leaves, and he breathes in the fresh air.

“I’ll think about it,” he shows an unguarded smile. “No rush, though.”

It’s a sight H’aanit will forever treasure.

The two envelop Linde in affection once more. They end their heart-to-heart with cold tea, yet they’ve never felt so warm.

Hanging lanterns accompany Duskbarrow’s evening sky, adding a festive flair to an otherwise humble way of life. The headman hosts a bonfire in the center of the village, beckoning visitors old and new with tall ales and good tales. While some stay for the company, others are lost in their books or lost in the stars. With full stomachs and calm hearts, the travelers enjoy the night in this quiet forest home.

Seated by the fire, H’aanit happily shares tips on feline care to the wary mother of the tiger cub. The mother professes how it’s like raising a second child, and H’aanit merely laughs.

A distance away, Therion converses with Linde’s new friend. Really, the boy sat beside him by choice. Most children ran away scared upon seeing the bangle that once encircled his wrist, and if they didn’t, they asked their parents about it. If they were bold, they’d call him some variation of “dirty thief” as they ushered their children away.

Now here’s this kid, treating him like a human being.

“You got a name for him?” Therion gestures toward the tiger cub napping in his mother’s arms.

“Not yet,” the boy admits. “Names are special, you know? I wanna pick somethin’ he’ll love!”

The honesty resonates with him.

“My friend over there - she’s good with animals. Don’t cause too much trouble and you’ll be fine,” Therion advises. Linde purrs contentedly beside him as he pats her head.

The boy’s about to respond when he notices the bandages around Therion’s limbs.

“You’re really hurt, mister.”

Therion follows the boy’s line of sight and suddenly feels self-conscious. He starts to hide his arms within the safety of his shawl, and Linde grumbles from the loss of contact.

“I’m sorry! Did I make you feel sad?”

He pauses, then slowly withdraws them. The kid’s so innocent, so genuine in his apology.

“Don’t worry. Just a bit scuffed from a fight, but I’ll be fine,” he tries to reassure, baring his bandaged arms in the open.

The boy’s attention switches between his arms and his face, gauging Therion’s expression. He’s not convinced.

“Sooo, you’re like a knight, then?”

“Do I look like a knight to you?”

“Dunno,” the boy points toward the bonfire. “They come to the village when they’re tired and don’t wanna fight, and then they feel better! Ma tells me it’s the air around here.”

He’s got a point. Maybe it’s the leisurely pace of village life compared to bustling markets and heavy pockets, but nature beckons his weary soul. Therion learned to survive, and he’s learned how to be kind. What does it mean to thrive?

It’s no time for philosophy. The kid asked about knights.

“What do you see in them? Knights, I mean.”

Beneath the lantern’s glow, the boy stares at the scars peeking through the bandages. There’s one on the man’s face, too. The elder always tells him stories about warriors who get knocked down fighting monsters, but stand up and keep fighting. Maybe he’ll grow up to be a warrior, too, and when his new tiger friend grows bigger and faster, they can travel the world together!

“Hmm, they’re strong and brave, and they keep people safe! Is that what you did?”

“Um,” Therion looks at his hands. The kid really has no idea. Still, he considers himself stronger than before, and as for keeping others safe, there are a few who he’d protect with his life.

“Oh wait, forgot something!”

“And that is?”

“They’re bigger,” the boy exaggerates the height difference with his arms.

“Ha, fair enough,” Therion accepts and gestures toward Olberic, whose back faces him as he listens to the headman’s tales.

“See that big guy over there? Now that’s a knight. Old man’s always tired, but he’d drop everything to answer all your questions.”

“Really?” the boy brightens at the possibility, though his gaze falls upon a new target. “What about him?”

A small finger points at a hunched-over figure with a scroll across his lap. A stack of books rests nearby, waiting for someone to uncover their knowledge.

“Gonna throw out his back any minute now, but let me tell you, I’ve never seen anyone use magic like he can.”

A gasp in wonder follows. “Magic?”

The intrigue in the boy’s eyes speaks to Therion’s younger self, one who lost his spark in a cold world. Maybe he can light it again.

“Yeah. I’ll show you.”

Therion gives a small smile and, meeting the boy’s eye level, holds out his right hand.

“Gonna bring it next to your ear - that all right?”

A moment passes, and the boy nods with innocent eyes. It melts Therion’s heart.

Pressing his thumb and index finger together, Therion brings them close to the boy’s ear. It’s a trick he watched Alfyn play with other children using the single leaf he owned.

“Aaaand...” He pulls out a flame upon his fingertips.

“Here you go.”

The boy touches his ear, gawks at the new flame, and touches his ear again. Eyes sparkle with pure astonishment and he clamors for Therion to do it again.

Therion obliges with his left hand, and the fire dances upon his fingers. Revisiting a skill from his youth, he lights a trail of flames from the left hand to the right, and back again. The boy observes closely as Therion breaks the pattern, and flames randomly appear upon his fingertips. They spend the next moments guessing where the fire may light next, and the boy asks if he can make his favorite sweets appear from thin air, too.

This earns him a genuine laugh.

“I wish,” Therion sympathizes with the boy’s pain. “Gotta get them the old-fashioned way.”

“Mm… I could ask Ma right now!”

“Wait, that’s-”

Therion watches as the boy darts off to his mother with news of the bandage man who likes magic and sweets. While the mother inquires of her son’s antics, H’aanit’s smile radiates warmth and a huntress’ pride toward his progress.

Shoulders light and heart full, he lies down on the grass with a content sigh. The stars know him well, yet tonight, they glimmer with newfound strength. Either it’s the ambience or Therion’s being sentimental again, but he breathes deeply and savors the moment. Linde rolls toward his side and rests a paw against his arm.

“Must’ve had a long day, huh… eating and playing,” he pats her fur. Linde yawns in response.

“You can rest now. I’ll watch over you.”

While Darius used his flames to bring pain, he can use his flames to bring joy.

Maybe he will heal, one soft laugh at a time.