FENRER

"You'll head straight to the Blackwater Pass to meet Lady Valarma to get an idea of the situation within the Goldwood before making your way to Sungrove, then Wolford," Reyn told him outside the gates of Sivaport, where several carriages full of supplies pulled by horse were carefully loaded by Reyn's housecarls, secured and fastened before shut closed and moving onto the next. Fenrer tensed, so far away from the safety of the fortress and Yuven's ability to manifest on an ethereal plane, comforted only by the blossoming silver lilies near him. A journey doubled back on through the storms. His fingers tapped on the hilt of the crescent blade on his hip, the dawnblade holstered on his back. "People will be more willing to talk to you as a Pyren. Ask them what it is they require and leave the rest to me. I would not push Lordship duties on you. You have a different duty to the world."

Fenrer gave another stiff nod at the heavy responsibility. "We will try not to take too long on this trip. As long as you understand you are to not leave the castle, as Yuven said." He stepped off to the side when Reyn sent a fist into his shoulder, heading to the front goers.

"Stay on the road, listen to Fenrer Pyren," he ordered before passing him once more with a nod and a wave, trailed by housecarls as he entered through the gatehouse again. Guards funneled out the crowd through the double portcullis, and Fenrer stood beside his particular carriage, supplies for Sungove specifically — to get the rebuilding efforts started. Horses huffed, and soon enough, wheels crunched the gravel path. With nowhere left to go but forward, he wandered beside the caravan with Adara at his side, until the taste of brine left his nose and the walls of Sivaport put distance between him and his greatest mistakes. Time. Time would fix it. A swallowed, stupid hope as he walked through the knolls which led to the coastline, and then the woods started to thicken. Gravel switched to rough stone to signal the start of the long dawnpath, which led through the Goldwood and the inland beyond.

A familiar path. His legs stumbled through the undergrowth, the screams of war echoing through his ears. Arrows whizzed through smoke, a sticky substance stuck to the fabric along his arm. Burnt to his heart, he jolted when Adara touched his elbow. "Fen?" she whispered. "You don't have to do this."

"I do. I walked into this the moment I declared the duel. Whether I like it or not... I'm the Lord of Sungrove — at least, until we can figure out what to do with the stewardship. I have no intent on being anything else but a Storm Warden." Fenrer tore himself away from the embers and wiped at his brow, the midday heat digging into the back of his neck until they were safely within the boughs of the gold-speckled trees. "I'll get some rest when we reach Blackwater Pass and meet with Lady Valarma." It crushed his brow, the weight of darkness too much in his soul. It rippled through the auras, intensifying the negative emotions and swallowing the positive ones. A soft argument up ahead spiked up the irritation in his own throat, but he tried to push it out, to take a breath and let it go.

They followed the river, far away from the delta which slipped past the cliffs into the ocean outside of the gulf. It eroded the world and revealed precious black iron in rocky outcrops and cascades. As the path became a bit muddy with the approach of the fens, he set his hand on his crescent blade and tried to focus on his duty. A couple other Wardens had been set to guard their caravan, staggered across the line, front and back, or taking their steps through the undergrowth, to drag the attention of Derelicts to their piercing light. To Blackwater Pass... then to Sungrove and then Wolford. Drop off supplies. Come back to Sivaport. He reiterated their schedule over and over again, to drag his thoughts away from the auric flecks shimmering in the world and creating icy headaches on his brow. Anything to get away from the maelstrom.

It took a day and a half to reach the pass, weary and worn. In his mind, Yuven chittered and huffed at the lackluster starts, but the black iron bridge awaited them, drawn down to welcome those into the fortress nestled on the raised plateau in the middle of the river, with the town of Ironwater on the other side, the thick tussocks from the fens creating a difficult traversement for intruders. Waterwheels delivered power to magitek generators, not disrupting the flow of the river as it passed through the fort. Adara's eyes grew wide in wonder, their previous trip not having them take this direction to Sivaport. His heart warmed at the continuous discoveries, where others took it for granted in a Derelict infested world, there was something to be said by the sensation as he looked upon the fortress of black stone and wrought iron pikes. An intimidating display with a practical purpose.

It slowed Derelicts down when they tried to climb walls.

Arrival horns blew, and their caravan clinked their way over the bridge and into the fortress proper. The carriages rolled close to the stables for the horses to be tended to, while a housecarl, a warhammer on their back, headed over to them from the wrought iron doors into the small fort. "Are you the contingent His Grace has sent for the rebuilding project of the Goldwood?" they sought to confirm, and Fenrer bit on his lip when Reyn's housecarls turned to look at him. He was the reigning authority. It had to be him to answer. He set his shoulders straight when Adara glanced at him with a frown, though no less supportive stance.

"Yes, Fenrer Pyren." Fenrer bowed again — a habitual response. "He said Lady Valarma would have information."

"Ah, Lord Pyren!" He was no lord. "Yes, the Lady has been expecting you. Please, come with me." Fenrer flinched when they bowed in turn, a respectful gesture, and Yuven's chittered huffs sounded out in his ears. To bow to none but the world and their duty. "We'll show the rest of the contingent their quarters of where they'll be staying."

He went to follow the housecarl, but stopped when Adara's footsteps echoed behind him. He held his hand out to her with a quick shake of his head. Her frown grew as the housecarl headed for the gatehouse. "I'll be right back. Just get some rest in a warm bed." His fingers drifted on her shoulder, but he tore himself away from silver blossomed comfort to see his duty through, to bow to none and everyone. Through the spiked gates, his knees shuddered when the housecarl took him up winding stone steps, into one of the towers which overlooked the immediate area. As they ascended, the space started to open up further.

On the peak of the tower, the housecarl knocked on the door with a stomp at attention, "Lady Valarma, His Grace's contingent arrived with Fenrer Pyren."

"Let him in," a calm voice said on the other side.

Fenrer remained stiff when the housecarl opened the door with a whisk of yellow magick, before waiting for him to enter before closing it behind him. Lamps hung above his head, and the largest window let ample light in through the stained glass. Weapons from axes to maces hung on the walls, all with the sigil of the Stewards who reigned the Blackwater River. The Kraken. Tentacles slipped through his dreams, but he came face to face with the current Steward. Lady Valarma wore her thick, black hair in a long braid, her own weapons sat closest to her, while her umber skin gave a warm glow in the setting sunlight. Her quill tapped a parchment, and without a look at him, she raised her hand. A misty blue glyph expanded from her fingers, a circular motion as he turned to the door. It echoed out her intent, the lock slipping closed before a muffled buzz filled the room, then disappeared with a hush outwards. "Don't be shy, Fenrer Pyren." Her eyes lifted to reveal the dark browns. "No one can hear us now."

Fenrer approached her desk. "Reyn—His Grace has sent supplies for the area. I'm going to need any news on what's been going on in the Goldwood," he tried to keep his tone even, respectful, to play the game Yuven deemed stupid and worthless. "Have there been any recent Derelict infestations that I should be aware of. We have also brought some Storm Wardens who would be willing to station here until—"

"The cult has been uprooted?"

Her candid statement made him jerk, and he whipped around, but she chuckled with a wave of her fingers. "No need to worry, Pyren. Silence glyph." She pointed at the door behind him. "His Grace was careful to appraise me of the development after the massacre at Azahama. You have your work cut out for you." Valarma ducked her arm underneath her desk and took out two scrolls, holding both out for him, one tied with a thick, sealing ribbon, reverberating with Reyn's aura, and Valarma's own misty one. "One has information you'll need to handle the Goldwood and any supplies the residents deem necessary to keep their area stable. In this one—" Valarma raised the black scroll. "Any suspicious reports, not necessarily about the cult, but Derelicts. Any shifts in their usual, depraved behaviour that might point towards dark magick."

Fenrer took both into his hands. "Thorough..."

Lady Valarma drew her arms back. "We've had to learn to be shrewd after the civil war. Us Hanekan's have always known how to drag ourselves through blood, viscera, and mud better than most."

Fenrer flinched and gave a slow nod. "Thank you for the assistance, Lady Valarma, and for taking care of the Stewardship of Sungrove on top of your own holding." Another bow to no one and everyone.

"Our families were always close, Pyren," she commented. "My late father would've wanted his friend's lands to not be left to wither away defenseless. We're in a good place, but I won't take that for granted. We have spotted a couple of Derelicts prowling on the other side of the bank, probably drawn to the uncertainty and despair in the region, only intensified by the Azahama Massacre and the death of the Dyrin sovereign." Back against the chair, Lady Valarma tilted her head. "As such, I only have a few supplies to spare for the reinforcement of Goldwood while keeping my own lands safe. A start, a stock of black iron to use as you see fit. Any lumber... you'll have to get from the Goldwood itself — Wolford kept their lumber mills running even after the civil war, they just weren't keen to share it understandably. King Reyn will need that lumber along with my black iron."

"Indeed... he's setting the shipmasters to work building icecarvers."

"Boats to pierce the North Sea," Lady Valarma said with a nod. "I'm aware of that too."

Fenrer peered at her. "He's shared quite a lot with you."

"Gustul and I work together to make sure King Reyn can focus on other matters," Lady Valarma commented. "Once everything has been settled with the Goldwood, I will be making a return journey to Sivaport to sit on the council once more. I will feel comforted by our people's safety knowing we have a stronger foothold on the Inland."

It spun in his mind. All the games. All the movements on a board. "Thank you."

Lady Valarma shook her head, then pointed at the crest hanging above the door. "Bound by the Flood," she echoed. "As we have suffered and toiled, we have only survived due to helping each other. King Reyn would see a return to that, and if we let the cult get their way... Haneka will struggle to pry itself out of the mud a second time even though it's been Turns since the civil war. Gustul has no interest in ruling, though he will if pressed... but it will not turn out well. He knows this. So he seeks to keep his brother on the throne to avoid the collapse we were previously threatened with. After all, he does bear a resemblance to their late father — in look alone, mind you, but the taste of blood remains in many Hanekans who suffered underneath Thormar's tyrannical rule. Gustul is a good man, and knows where his capabilities and gifts lie. It takes much to acknowledge where you fit best."

Shall some never be free of their blood? Fenrer drove his fingers into his palm as Yuven bled in a prison cell for the crime of his name. Emboldened by a memory not his own, he nodded. "Understood. I have no desire to make His Grace's job difficult... although I am a Storm Warden, I am still a Hanekan." Sea to sea... Pyren... I know not where you ended up in the end, whether in the Obscura or the nothingness, but I will carry on the legacy you created... even if it's a small gesture in raising Sungrove from the ashes... for the Storm Wardens to use as a more permanent fixture in Haneka.

"I am the blizzard," Neven told him with a smile. "I will never die."

Our people aren't so different even as we clash so much. Fenrer straightened himself out. "I plan to make Sungrove a sanctuary for Hanekans. It has natural defenses, being within a small valley with its only entrances a route through the natural outcrops. A place for the Storm Wardens to be more at ease and comfort strictly inland. WHich means we'll need to make a route to the southern wall."

Lady Valarma's brow quirked in interest. "Interesting goal, but don't get ahead of yourself too fast, Fenrer Pyren. You need to rebuild it first."

Jolted out of his quick steps, he nodded to her. "Of course."

"But," she added. "I will give you a foundation. We have an old road to the south border that isn't maintained well in favor of defending against the Derelicts who often slip past. If you can get the Storm Wardens settled in Sungrove... that road will have a stronger chance and... well, I won't say safe, but with Storm Wardens, it will sure be well-used, and Derelicts would struggle to get far if it is constantly trodden by your Order."

With a sense of confidence in his goal returned to him, he saw himself out when Lady Valarma released him from the bubble of silence. Outside, and down the stairs, he found strength in his knees again — if he had cast his father into the Obscura as he feared and dread, the least he could do was preserve his family's memory the only way he knew how to.

By making sure the Derelicts didn't finish the job.