FENRER

"This is a mistake, Molvisaliz."

By the time they passed Lady Valarma's seat of power, they were well on their way to Wolford once more. Forgive me. Forgive me. Fenrer tightened his grip on the reins, unable to look Yuven in the eye — to listen to his words of warning, when in his nightmares he found himself stuck watching Yuven drown in his own blood. It stained the essence crimson swirled with black, but he broke himself out of the falsehood memory at a click from in front. One of Reyn's housecarls, donned in hunting armor, tugged on the reins of their horse to halt their pace. "Wolford is ahead, Your Grace," they said with a point at the maintained wooden post, pointing in different directions along the path.

Reyn's horse stepped forward, but he kept his hood up. "I want one of you scouting between here and Sungrove. Keep an eye out for Derelicts. If there is some, we'll avoid it and hunt somewhere else. I want the rest of you with me heading to Wolford. Spread out among the populace there, listen well and learn and keep in mind these people are proud of the Goldwood, and listen to naught but a Pyren. Do not boast the colors of mine." Reyn looked over to him, and Fenrer nodded. "You spoke with the residents, did you not? How would you approach this?"

Questions posed, so far out of his reach and abilities. Fenrer shifted in the saddle, and his horse responded in turn. "If you want information, you want to find a place where people gather," he answered. "Something like a tavern, or a city square — but Wolford is a small town. They're aware I'm alive, so, I'll introduce you. Vouch for you once more now that they can put a name to a face." He nudged his horse forward, towards the gleaming lampposts, past the lumber mills as Reyn nodded at another housecarl, who disappeared down a more less-taken path into the wood. The boughs rustled the shadows cast by the sun when they entered through the wooden gate. Reyn dismounted first, and his housecarls followed suit. Fenrer climbed down, hitching his horse close to the stables for rest and care from their journey.

Reyn waited for him, nothing more than a fellow Hanekan donned in black leather armor, no longer wearing the sigil of the ember-eyed dragon. Housecarls dismissed among the populace, with one heading to the nearby guards at their posts, Fenrer took the place at Reyn's side. So long ago, though Reyn no longer hid behind him, cowering in the shadows. Faint, tickled memories behind the curtain of fiery war. Instead, the man beside him stepped forward with a measure of subdued confidence when they headed for the largest building within the confines of Wolford. Through the swinging doors, the tangy smell of meat struck his nose. Reyn stuck close to him, but he found his attention drifting to the table in the corner — where he once sat with Adara and Yuven, overhearing the unrest Reyn concerned himself over. "Shall we sit down?" Fenrer mused to Reyn, guiding him to the table which he once sat with his best friend and new friend turned more.

By the cooking spits he spotted familiar faces, one full of anger — moreso uncertainty. Mafor, the man who he ended up in a tavern brawl with, and his ring of spirited Inlanders, loyal to his name. Fenrer motioned with a finger, causing Reyn to glance from the shadows of his hood. "Those ones are the loud ones," he said under his breath.

A waiter bustled to them, a notepad in hand. "What can I do you for?" they asked with a smile, without the same fear Adara had back in Prunal — words measured and happiness false.

"I'll just have a drink of water," Fenrer replied. "We'll be hunting between here and Sungrove, if you've got any insights on that front. I'm aware Wolford's festival will be in full swing? We can return some of our game."

"Oh!" They tapped their feathered pen against the notepad. "That's very kind of you, though you might not have much luck between here and Sungrove if you're taking the duskpath. You'd have more luck going towards the river, the fishspawn have moved upriver, so it's prime time for it."

Fenrer considered Reyn, who raised an eyebrow. "Any reason for that?"

The waiter shook their head in response. "I'm afraid I don't know that. Some have whispered Derelicts, but, if that's the case, they haven't hassled travellers outside the walls. It's been quiet on that front." Their gaze flicked over his crescent blade instead of his name, and they nodded at him. "If its Derelicts you're hunting for though, Warden, that would be the place to check." Attention on Reyn, Fenrer smiled when he straightened himself out with the rumbling thunder of his aura. "And you, sir?"

"I'll have water as well."

"I'll be sure to keep you hydrated for your hunt ahead." With that, they whisked back into the crowds to collect dishes to place on the center tables.

"Is that common?" Reyn mused. "The quiet?"

"More than you'd think," Fenrer replied, trying not to shift his legs with Yuven in his peripheral, staring out the window with the tension of someone in a constant rush. "It can say a lot if prey and predator flee from a certain area. We'll just avoid it on the hunt to Sungrove. Once we're there, you can help me find some blueprints."

Reyn curled his fingers with a soft chuckle. "Have you thought any of what you'd want to do with Sungrove?" he asked, underneath the rowdy patrons and their momentary mirth. "You are the rightful Steward, I will not do anything to it in particular without your say so."

He opened his mouth to tell the king the truth, but stopped when Mafor clapped another man on the back and shambled towards their table. "Lord Pyren," he mumbled.

Fenrer raised his hands, a flicker of Yuven's sharp gaze towards those in power boring into his skull. "Ah! There's no need for that," he insisted as Reyn leaned back in his seat. "I'm just here with a small hunting party. I want to pay respects to Wolford." He pressed a hand against his chest and tilted his head forward. "It's almost harvest time, and you need to be stocked for storm season once more. I'd be happy to help."

Mafor tapped his cup between them. "When you were last here, you wanted us to enlighten you on something you experienced," he replied, his tone guarded. Fenrer straightened himself out. "It turned out you were enlightening us. I can't say I'll ever fully trust a Kolis on the throne again, but if you are truly so willing to give the current one a chance, Wolford will stick to the Pyren's as we always have." he gave a slight, respectful bow. "For Turns your family has protected the inlands, the heart of Haneka. I would like to know why the king needs our lumber."

Fenrer was ready to answer, to give and support the lands his father loved, but Reyn spoke first, "His Grace needs them for ship-builders. Black iron and gold wood have proven to be effective against Derelicts," he explained. "With storm season fast approaching, it may create a swell where the Gulf will have concurrent Derelicts rising from the sea. He wishes to fortify the defenses, along with making sure the southern citadel of the Storm Wardens holds fast against the encroaching desert spread." He set one arm over the other. "But he's well aware of the struggles the residents of the Goldwood face with the Desecration of Sungrove. He's willing to hear out the people who live here."

Fenrer smiled at Reyn, then nodded at Mafor, who stared at Reyn. "And you are?"

"A concerned Hanekan from Sivaport, nothing more," Reyn replied. "We all live within this land — ever were we warriors of sea and sand." He perked his head up, ever the young man war stole from him. Fenrer relaxed at his diction and authority, though he kept himself in Mafor's shadow, unassuming and on equal ground, and he intook the lessons and knowledge Yuven would've had him learn for diplomacy. "You've had to rely on yourselves, with the swamps and bogs full of Derelicts and Storm Wardens hard-pressed to station themselves at effective chokepoints, where the Pyren's once took up the mantle of protection."

"That is to say," Fenrer bounced off him to catch Mafor's attention. "I've thought long and hard... and I think rebuilding Sungrove might be possible." He raised a hand when Mafor narrowed his eyes. "You enlightened me... I didn't really understand the plight of those outside suffered, but neither did they understand mine. I don't seek to bury the bones of the Desecration. Far from it. Heiise Reyn doesn't wish that either. If we're on that same page, feel free to say anything you need, I am sure he'd find a way to see it through."

Mafor folded his arms with a scowl. "I have never seen the king."

"I have," Fenrer told him. "He's a good man—" Reyn's eyes widened aross from him. "He's a good man willing to do what it takes to protect his people, when his father once sought our ruin. He seeks our peace, our happiness — even if he must place himself in the flames. I daresay, for all the bluster we give kings... he is more a Storm Warden. He is not just a king who wears fancy robes and a gilded crown," Fenrer replied. "I knew him as a boy, too. He was my father's ward, and my father saw something in him too, and I wish others could see it." He pressed a finger against the bridge of his nose. "We're all in this together — the main threat of the Derelicts. What I want most of all is to never have another Desecration." Lost in the flames, he bounced his own hand off his chest. "Though non-Hanakens know him as the Dragon King of Haneka, we need to stop seeing him as this pedestal. Every man bleeds, and he's aware of this." Fenrer smiled when the waiter brought their waters to them. "But still, he's still willing to face our enemies himself..."

Never asking others what he won't do himself...

In the shadows of the bunkers within the fields of the King Summit. Ruined flags. Bloodied mud. Yuven shut the door on them, on those unable to fight, their tears sounding through his head — their ripped auras through his heart. Children who clung onto parents, siblings, all they had the Derelicts sought to take. Stop their advance! Yuven's voice sounded across a fold of stars. Bright against the coming of the night, Fenrer held on tight, sought its strength, and overflowed the auras until it was nothing but a buzz — nothing left for the Derelicts to sense, seek, and feast upon.

"You speak highly of him," Mafor remarked.

"Heiise Reyn wishes for nothing but the best. He is willing to be a liaison between Haneka's stewards. Sea to sea."

"Always home," Reyn whispered.

"For the dawn must always come," Mafor finished.

Fenrer beamed at the older Hanekan. "Would they be willing to listen?" he asked with a nod at the crowd, clinging onto their joyful days.

"I can't promise that," Mafor mumbled. "The king's never deigned to come into the Goldwood."

Fenrer nudged Reyn underneath the table. "Well, I suppose we can change that?"

Reyn gripped on his mug of water, taking a heavy drink before standing up, causing Mafor to edge out of the way. Hood down to reveal the dragon fangs tied into the small braids on either side of his head, he took in a breath and faced Mafor. "If they're willing to listen, I am all too willing to do the same." He stepped past Mafor, leaping onto the small round stage in the corner. People turned in their seats, ready for the entertainment. Fenrer got up as well, stepping forward to provide the support Yuven rejected time and time again.

"Lord Pyren, is that—"

Reyn stood on the edge of the stage, but then sat down. "My name is Reyn," he said, and though his voice remained quiet, it echoed all the same around the quickly quieting tavern. "I've come from Sivaport... on nothing more than a hunting trip, but also to see the rest of the Goldwood. I heard from some that you are seeing a festival, and I thought to pay my respects. I didn't see much outside of Sungrove before the Desecration. I knew barely anything of the inland, of our core." He kept himself on equal ground to those who bemoaned him, decried him for the sins of the father. "I wish to change that. First, I will ask solemn permission for a day's hunt on these lands, resting between here and Sungrove." Reyn's hand settled over his heart, and Fenrer smiled at the rising sun in the storm clouds when Reyn opened his eyes once more. "I will not ask for your trust, nor your faith. To you, I am just a man on a fancy seat... your loyalty remains ever on the Pyren's, who are survived by the son of Soren Pyren." Reyn glanced his way, but kept on going, and Fenrer relaxed, content in the sidelines, where Yuven, Reyn, all others, faced the front, to stop the advance. "I know I cannot undo the damage my father dealt, but what I can do... is entreat with you, listen to you." He dropped both hands onto the stage.

The tavern fell silent.

Auras blazed in uncertainty, defensiveness, but Reyn held himself strong when some stood up.

You won't undo the Desecration by creating a tyrant out of the ashes of the old.

Reyn gazed at them, his own aura nervous, full of fear and so bright. "I seek not forgiveness of my father's actions," he went on. "I seek not to beg. We are a proud people, and I would have you see me as I am." He got on his knees when some approached the stage.

Yuven towered over the Naveerans with rage and authority.

Reyn sat among the Hanakens, gaze set and sure.

Fenrer found his attention drifting to the table once more, abandoned by his faith, the starry connection pulsating in his ears.