Saturday, July 30, 4 S.E.

  Leonidas approached Bardulf first, before anyone else, with his armor and sword intentionally desummoned.

  The Shadowblade met him halfway as he moved after murmuring something to Parnym, who nodded and simply held his staff loosely as the two men came to a halt halfway across the intervening distance.

  Neither of them spoke for several moments, meeting each other’s gazes in silence, before Leonidas finally took the initiative.

  “Bardulf, I want to—”

  “That trick you pulled with the [Psionic Force],” the Shadowblade interrupted before Leonidas could finish. “Can you do that any time you want?”

  Leonidas blinked in momentary confusion, but nodded after a second’s thought as he caught up. “I… yeah. As long as my [Psionic Focus] is attuned to the person I’m defending against.”

  “Hm. I wondered…” Bardulf said he trailed off, teasing a fang in thought with his tongue. “That is a very useful trick, Achilles. It protects your back well.”

  “I know,” Leonidas said with mild perplexity, “but look, Bardulf, I really wanted to just say—”

  “And the teleportation,” the Shadowblade interrupted again, this time with a more noticeable intention behind it, “you know how to replicate that?”

  Leonidas felt taken aback once more, but hesitated only a moment before answering.

  “I, uh, no. I haven’t even thought about it, honestly. I still remember what I did, but I couldn’t begin to replicate it. The knowledge alone isn’t enough, it’s like—wait, what are we even talking about? I came to talk to you because—”

  “And the way you split the arena, can you do that, too, or is it also beyond you?”

  “What? Bardulf, I—”

  “What about the way you threw lightning at Synthra? Do you know that one, yet?”

  “No! Bardulf, listen to—”

  “Or what about the pinions? Have you gotten enough practice to—”

  “God damn it, Bardulf,” Leonidas said as his voice cracked, “will you shut up and please just let me apologize?!”

  Leonidas’ voice echoed within the chamber when his patience snapped, and his eyes widened a second later after it did, embarrassment and shame filtering through him in a torrent as he immediately raised his hands in apology—only for the Shadowblade to bark a deep, mirthful laugh before he could say anything. Confusion and bewilderment replaced self-recrimination, and Leonidas abruptly found himself in a bear hug as the half-lycanus grabbed him.

  “You are too tense, Achilles,” the other man said mirthfully, while clapping him on the back and placing his hands on his shoulders as they parted. “The visions, they were only possibilities, yes? That means that they were warnings, not statements. They told us what might happen—but you forget, I have my instincts. My nose,” he tapped a nostril indicatively, “is never wrong. You smelled mad as a Farruk in a geyser field in the vision, but here? Here you are the same Achilles, a fool who thinks he can carry the world, but a fool I can trust.”

  The Shadowblade grinned and slapped his back a final time, stepping away with a chuckle.

  “You need not be so timid with me, brother,” Bardulf assured him further. “We are comrades, Party members! This is an important bond. We have created a great saga during this delve.”

  Leonidas stared at the other man with the same mix of confusion and uncertainty, and reached up to brush his hand through his hair unconsciously, shaking his head as he did.

  “What the hell is it with you and sagas lately?” Leonidas asked instead of answering immediately. “You sound like a Viking.”

  “Yes! A Viking! I have enjoyed reading of these people. How wonderful they are, Achilles! They remind me of my people on Altera! Brave raiders, storied conquerors! I enjoy this culture immensely. I should like to be a Viking, if I am able.”

  Leonidas stared at Bardulf for a moment longer and then abruptly burst into laughter.

  “Dude, you can’t be a Viking, you’re not even human!”

  “Ah, but what is a Viking if not an ideal, Achilles? I shall be a Viking, and you shall be my Jarl!”

  Bardulf laughed boisterously when he said it, and Leonidas couldn’t help but laugh in kind. He laughed until his sides hurt, until his breath came in gasps, and tears fell from his eyes. He laughed until something tightly coiled within him loosened, and he felt the guilt, the recrimination, the fault he had for what happened in the third trial slowly, blessedly fade from a persistent throb to a dull ache.

  When he finished and straightened, wiping his eyes with another soft chuckle, he found Bardulf smiling at him—with moisture in his own eyes in turn.

  “You see, Achilles?” the Shadowblade said more quietly, his gaze intent as he spoke. “It was never my forgiveness you needed, my friend. It was yours.”

  Leonidas blinked at the words and then smiled ruefully, shoving his hands into his pockets and shaking his head as Parnym approached them quietly.

  “You know, Bardulf,” Leonidas said thoughtfully, “you really might be far wiser than people give you credit for.”

  The half-lycanus grinned at him again and, once more, tapped his nose.

  “It’s all in the smell,” he said mysteriously, and drew another smirk from Leonidas, who turned to Parnym in kind.

  “Hello, Parnym.”

  “H-hello, Achilles,” the Mender said, and shifted awkwardly. “I, um, I just wanted to say—uh, you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself,” the Haelfar finished quickly, gripping his staff tightly, and then grounding it and visibly relaxing. “Not after everything you—I mean, with all the stuff you have going on, um, I think you should give yourself a break.”

  Leonidas blinked in surprise at the Mender’s words and felt his hands faintly tremble as they were delivered, so simple, but so insightful at the same time. Strangely, the relative lack of true intimacy between him and Parnym only enhanced the kindness implicit in the statement, resulting in Leonidas releasing a slow breath and then smiling gratefully at the Mender.

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  “Yeah,” he replied in a quieter voice, “I think you may be onto something, Parnym.”

  All three men exchanged wry looks as something primal and unspoken passed between them, perhaps limited to the male psyche, as Leonidas himself only barely understood it.

  A moment later, the sound of clicking heels and armored footfalls drew their attention.

  Leonidas turned to see Aylar and Synthra approaching, the Sorceress’ arms folded under her breasts, and the Princess-Royal’s hands half-clenched into fists, uncertainly at her side. He heard Bardulf murmur something to Parnym, and the pair withdrew slightly to give them some modicum of privacy as Leonidas focused fully on the two women who had enchanted different parts of his heart.

  He looked between them when they came to a halt and felt a mix of quiet hope and soft dread when neither spoke, leaving an awkward tension in the air. Leonidas opened his mouth, closed it, and then reached up to brush his fingers through his hair again unconsciously.

  “You always do that when you’re nervous,” Synthra observed, her voice surprisingly quiet and level in a way it rarely was. “Your hair, I mean. Every time I’ve seen you unsure, or shy, or nervous—it’s always your hair. Some people fidget, but you always default to the same thing.”

  Leonidas froze at her words and lowered his hand to look at it, his expression torn. “I… childhood habit, I guess.”

  “It’s very… human,” Synthra said finally, her arms tightening around herself. “It almost makes me forget the…” she trailed off and shook her head. “I don’t know, Achilles. This is weird. Aylar and I talked about it and—”

  “We came to a decision,” Aylar finished more deliberately, her fingers flexing at her sides. Leonidas could barely get a read on their mind glows as they spoke, and the uncertainty that came from not knowing only made his heart beat faster.

  “I see,” he said awkwardly, while swallowing back his fear. Whatever they decided, it was for them to choose. “What would, uh, what would that be?”

  Aylar peered at him when he asked it, and Synthra eyed him speculatively, before the pair glanced at one another, nodded, and turned back to him.

  “The trials showed us possibility,” Aylar said quietly, her musical voice soft despite the firmness in her tone. “Possibility of loss, of destruction, of pain. In every vision, every future, we found one thread of commonality: your sadness, your misery, your pain—culminating into the annihilation facing the world from your own grief.”

  Leonidas felt his heart thundering in his chest and his mouth go dry.

  “In every reality, Achilles,” Synthra continued, as if by pre-planned intention, “you were controlled by your fear. We knew that as ourselves, we had the knowledge of your pain; we remembered watching you be ruled by it, eroded by it, and eventually shattered by it. It never happened overnight, not even within a few years—but eventually, in every trial, it did happen.”

  “So we decided something between us,” Aylar said as she looked at him, and her hands balled into fists. “We decided we wouldn’t accept that. We can’t accept that. We can’t walk forward into a future where you’re ruled by your demons and controlled by your fears and worries. Neither of us can carry the burden of watching you unravel, Leonidas. Neither of us should have to.”

  Leonidas swallowed at her words, but found nothing to argue.

  He could tell her about his epiphany, or his realization, or the weight of his decision—but the words would seem like excuses. They had a right to their choice. He acknowledged that. It was their lives that would be impacted, and expecting them to be willing to carry his pains as their own was—

  “So we have chosen to defy that future and the others entirely,” Synthra said, and cut through his thoughts like a blade. “We’ve decided that we won’t be idle spectators, watching you doom yourself through your own bigheaded, stubborn idiocy.”

  Leonidas’ mouth fell open at Synthra’s words, and he saw satisfaction on her features as he goggled at her outburst. The woman was mad. She had to be absolutely mad!

  “You’re a flawed man, Leonidas,” Aylar said after Synthra finished and blushed at her own boldness, while the Princess peered up at him with warm blue eyes. “A flawed, deeply haunted man—but a noble one, as well. Even at your worst in those trials, even in your most terrible state, your motivation was heroism. Twisted horribly by the end, perhaps, by your pain and your grief—but still heroism. We loved you for that heroism, even as we destroyed you. In every trial, every vision, every future, that was the other constant: we loved you.”

  Leonidas felt his heart warm at her words, and he recovered some of his composure as he looked between them, his gaze darting from blue to gold and back again while he tried to understand what the hell was happening. It sounded… good, but that wasn’t what he’d expected—though, when had either of them ever done what he’d expected?

  Even in the trials, he recalled clearly that they’d always defied his predictions.

  Words built in his mind, but he forcefully restrained them. Something told him to wait. The girls seemed to need the moment to express themselves, and after everything, he owed them at least that much.

  “Which brings us to this,” Synthra said finally, her golden eyes glowing faintly as she eyed him, and her spine straightening where she stood. “With those visions, our opinions have become clearer. Our understanding of you has grown, as well. We—that is, none of us are in love. We know that. The trials are the trials, and we are, um, us. Yes. The point is—”

  “We think it’s worth trying, Leonidas,” Aylar finished, earning a relieved smile from Synthra. “We think you, the man you are here and now, is worth fighting for—even if you don’t entirely see it yourself. No matter what happens, no matter what the future brings, we—” she gestured between herself and Synthra “—have decided to support you. Not push you, not try to make you conform to what we think you should do; but to give you the patience and the empathy you need. Your pain is something we cannot truly understand, but we can help you to the best of our ability, as your friends, and your compatriots. So…”

  The Princess-Royal cleared her throat, and Leonidas felt his heart nearly beat out of his chest.

  “...when you are ready, Leonidas, and you reach your decision, I will be waiting, no matter what you decide. The visions did not scare me, they put things into a new viewpoint. I spent all this time trying to coerce your decision out of fear and need for certainty, but that would just lead us down the same path. Your future, Leonidas, is yours. Whatever you choose, I will accept it, and I will support you.”

  “Just don’t be a bonehead when it comes time to make the choice,” Synthra said with a grumble, scratching her cheek. “And whatever you choose, you'd better stick to it!”

  Aylar smiled ruefully at Synthra’s outburst and lightly set a hand on the other woman’s arm, diffusing her instinct toward defensiveness with the quiet gesture as she kept her gaze on Leonidas.

  “Take your time and think it over,” the Swordmaiden said to him gently, “I know you’ve been through a lot. I know your burdens eclipse our understanding. I can see, now, how unfair it was for us to push you as we have—even if the clock is ticking, as you Terrans say. I can wait, Leonidas, until you feel comfortable and ready; at least for a little while longer.”

  Leonidas felt the weight of her acceptance, of her gift of agency, settle on him like a cloak, and he felt a quiet part of himself sigh in relief. It was exactly what he’d wanted: choice. Aylar was giving him choice, even at the expense of herself. With that realization, of course, came the natural bridge: Braedon, Dawnhaven, and what would happen if he wasn’t at her side.

  On impulse, he simply asked the question.

  “Aylar, what about the Challenge? When you return, Braedon—”

  “I won’t have you base your decision on that, Leonidas,” Aylar said to him in a gentle but firm tone, cutting him off. “I understand why you would, and I admire you for the immediate leap to self-sacrifice, but these trials—they’ve given me some perspective. I can’t have you sacrificing yourself because you think you need to. You need to choose what you can genuinely live with, not what you think you have to live with. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve that.”

  Beside her, Synthra nodded firmly, clearly in complete agreement.

  Leonidas blinked at them in surprise, and his lips twitched upward thoughtfully.

  “That’s… quite the reversal,” he note quietly.

  “Perspective makes fools of us all, Leonidas,” Aylar answered with a faint smile, while Synthra blushed in embarrassed agreement. “I think you understand that better than any of us, now.”

  And, in truth, after what he witnessed in the Trials, he found that he did.

  He absolutely did.

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