Verk watched Mint ride away from the shadows of the forest, trailing the knights until he was certain they'd be safe. Though the fact none of her escorts noticed his presence, despite his proximity, was worrying. How deaf could they be? He wasn't going out of his way to be quiet. Perhaps this was the limit of human pact makers. Their divine blessing paled to his natural born gifts.
"This should be far enough." He was getting to the edge of his territory; any further and he wouldn't make it back home until night. "Come, Europa."
Upon returning home, he found Fauntheia waiting for him, much to his surprise. He expected her to have returned to the Nymph Spring with the others. They didn't exchange words, but he could see the disappointment in her eyes.
"You should have been bolder," she said, following him into the house. "She would have stayed if you'd waited."
"You were watching?"
"Of course."
Verk frowned, a bit embarrassed his older sister had been spying on him during his goodbye with Mint, but it wasn't unexpected, honestly. All his nymph sisters could freely travel the forest; perhaps all of them had come to watch.
"Perhaps she would have, but she would have fretted about not returning home; the guilt would have driven her mad." That was his excuse. He could have pressured her, perhaps driven off the knights, he'd wanted to for a moment. "I never wanted to kill anyone so viciously before."
Perhaps it was the voice of his mother, or more likely his grandmother, that stayed his hand. The longing he'd seen in Mint's amber eyes, the desire to stay with him, and his own desire drove his actions. He anticipated her hand in his, but it all vanished when that knight came riding up. The longing in her eyes vanished, replaced with guilt and shame. She turned away, thankfully missing his unvarnished rage at the knight. If he'd let his sanity slip for a second, the eye-patch knight's head would've been removed from his shoulders.
"I think that's the first time I've felt the influence of my father's blood." His father was a Yorgmen, a fabled son of Yor, the silver flame goddess and mother of giants. They had a reputation of being brutally barbaric, and his father boasted he was the pinnacle of those claims. Jovially retelling Verk the stories of his exploits and battles. How he'd won the hand of every maiden he fancied with blood and steel, Verk's mother being the ninth and final maiden he conquered. Of his eight siblings, only Verk was raised by their father.
I loved them all for their strength and beauty, but your mother, she truly stole my heart and soul. Don't tell your siblings, if you would son, they hate me enough already.
Verk loved and respected his father, but he understood his father wasn't what many would consider a good man. In fact, the only half-sibling he met from his father's escapades had come to kill him. That had been his half-brother, Acht: The Half Drin, born from the dragonkin shrine maiden his father had bedded before his mother.
The battle between his father and brother had been amazing; the scars of the fight have long since been hidden by the forest, but if one were to look from the sky, they would see the valley created by the two. His father won the fight and spared Acht, even forcing the half-Drin to stay with them until his injuries were healed.
I'm glad you came by before I was too old; you grew up strong, son.
Verk remembered the look on his brother's face upon hearing their father's praise. To say all grievances were gone would be a lie, but Acht would stop by every year around the same time until their father's death. His visits were more sporadic, but his elder sibling stopped by every half decade. Though Verk suspected his brother might have ulterior motives, given that he inquired about Fauntheia every time he came around.
"Perhaps you should have heeded it," Fauntheia said, taking her usual seat. "Maidens like it when men are a bit forceful—better than being meek, I say."
"I doubt courting her while drenched in the blood of her escorts would have tingled her spine." Verk scoffed.
"That would be a bit much," Fauntheia looked expectantly at him. "Are you not going to prepare me tea?"
"You're staying?"
"I figured you'd appreciate some company."
Verk twisted his mouth, but couldn't form a proper response; instead, he went about preparing tea. When he served it, neither he nor Fauntheia could hide their disappointment at the flavor. "Are you sure there are the same leaves?" His sister remarked, sticking out her tongue. He grimaced, practically choking down the brew. It never tasted this bad before, or perhaps Mint's was simply that much better?
Fauntheia took her leave at dusk, leaving him to enjoy Mint's leftover stew by himself. The soft clatter of his utensils seemed to echo through the house. His eyes would constantly dart to the vacant spot Mint used to occupy, expecting her ask how tonight's meal was or what they would do tomorrow.
What will I do tomorrow?
That was a first. He typically had a full schedule. His food stocks were overflowing because he'd been gathering for both him and Mint, and for the occasional visit from his sisters. It was spring now, so his sisters would resume their watch of the forest. If something needed doing, they'd contact him, but there was no need for him to be stomping about.
"I suppose I could start some projects," he thought about traveling north towards the mountains to gnome territory to gather ore for new equipment. Perhaps he could spend the entire spring there—it never hurt to have a large stock of equipment. "I bet she would have enjoyed seeing the mines."
The thought of making the trip north seemed less appealing the more Verk thought about it. What else could he do? He found no answer even after finishing his meal. To sort his mind, he sparred with the green knights and bathed afterword, his gloom lingering even as he poured a pint of ale for himself.
"Hmm," he stared at his reflection on the golden brew, drank it down, and went to bed. "Maybe I'll visit Dad tomorrow."
--break
Light reflected off the lingering snow and morning dew as Verk followed the familiar path to his father's grave. He was dressed light with a sword and bow slung over his back; he didn't expect any trouble along the way, but one could never be too careful. Even in a friendly forest.
I wish I would have shown her this place.
The clearing where his father was laid to rest was the third circle on the map—it was a beautiful grassy clearing bathed in eternal spring. A boulder with an emerald sheen was his father's headstone, embedded in a stump before the monument was his father's favorite sword. Eight other swords, four on each side of the grave, were sheathed tip down in stumps. Each blade was shined to a polish, their razor edges glittering in the sun. Even if the spirits and his sisters weren't maintaining the blades, these swords, each one renown around the world, would still shine.
This was his inheritance, the heavenly arsenal left to him by his father. Each sword on display was a treasure kingdoms would scorch the land to acquire. Some did. In a futile attempt to reclaim what Verk's father had stolen.
"This would have been a bit much," Verk lamented. He didn't want Mint to find out his linage, and showing her this place would have outed him instantly. It would have been cruel as well, given her circumstances. After all, anyone of these blades would have been enough to trade for three princesses at the minimum. Not that they were any use without a proper wielder who could bring out their potential.
Stepping onto the altar, Verk sat casually before the sword his father was buried beneath. "It's been a while, Father, has Acht come by recently? I think he fancies Fauntheia. I'm sure you'd find that amusing, perhaps mother would as well." The sword glistened, but there was no response, obviously. "I… a girl showed up at my house recently. I think Mother dropped her off, not sure what her intentions were, but she's a charming lass. Decent cook, a princess too, so…"
Verk rubbed his neck, imagining the broad grin on his father's face and the phantom pain of his shoulder being slapped. "I can imagine what you'd say. You'd probably say, what are you waiting for, son? An invitation? Go get her! I'm sure that's what'd you say, but it's not that simple. She, Mint, asked Grandmother and her sisters for help, it's apparently a bigger deal than she knows or could even imagine."
His mother's note revealed everything. What Mint had done, what Elfania wanted with her, and what the other Primary goddess wanted from her, and how he was supposed to protect her until spring. Elfania hoped during her season, Mint could travel the roads safety, until she arrived back in Elfanian territory, where the goddess's power was its greatest.
Despite her humble origins, Mint was a pure-blood Nacht—any offspring she produced was sure to be powerful. Her chosen mate was carefully curated, and he was not considered among the candidates.
"I've never pushed against Mother or Grandmother, but…" Verk clenched his hand. "Between you and me, Dad, I want her. I've never felt this way before, maybe it's a spring fever crush, but…"
He was over 100 years old, still young by nymph standards, and he's left the forest before. Verk was not unfamiliar with maidens—he met several in his travels, but not once had he felt so passionately that he'd slay dragons for them. And for Mint, he would have to do more than slay mere dragons.
Answers didn't flow from his father's sword, not that Verk was expecting any; he already knew what his father would say. He'd tell him to be bold, and to take what he wanted, no matter the cost. His father never had to worry about complicated divine politics. He was a Yorgmen, a child of the silver flame; they could align or defy any of the Primary goddesses because they were the children of Yor. The only divine being created by all three goddesses before the schism, and thus their equal.
He was different from his father because he was the grandson of Elfania; he was by birth an Elfanian. Verk wanted to aid his family in any way that he could, and yet he was constantly told he was free to do what he wanted, because he had the freewill to aid or defy his grandmother.
It was from my meddling that you were brought into this world; I do not reject you, nor can I accept you. For you are an existence that is both foreign and familiar to me and one that I cannot bend to my needs. To that end, I only ask you not turn your sword against me, or lend it to my enemies.
That was his first and only conversation he had with his grandmother, Elfania. Basically, telling him, help me if you want, but don't get in my way. Not the most loving conversation, but he wasn't expecting much from a being old as the earth and embroiled in a three-way holy war. His meeting with Yor was quiet different, jarring the point he questioned if the very nature of the gods.
"You should know mother does not mean to be harsh," a familiar soft voice said. Verk jumped to his feet in surprise at the radiant blonde woman standing before him; her eyes glittered like stardust, but her expression was hard as stone. To strangers her expression would appear dull and detached, but he knew better.
"I didn't expect to see you're here, Mother."
His mother, Alfa, the first daughter of Elfania and the first Nymph, was not someone who causally appeared before anyone. Every action she made was directed by the goddess Elfania. She was one of, if not the most important asset Elfania could deploy against Solaris and Minerva. She was not here without a purpose.
"I wish you would think better of me. Can't I visit my son and husband?" His mother's tone was dull and neutral, the effect of having incarnated herself into a new body to escape the pain of his father's death. She knew what emotions she should be feeling, but couldn't express them.
"No, you can't." He didn't mean to be harsh, but it was the truth. "You haven't visited in fifty years, and when you do, you drop Mint off at my home with a message to protect her. I've done what you asked, so why are you here?"
"I…" Alfa's lips trembled as she touched a hand to her heart, her face struggling to show some emotion Verk couldn't place. "I feel I've made a mistake. That I've hurt you without knowing why." His mother closed her eyes. "That girl will die."
"What?" Verk's blood froze.
"Yes," his mother whispered. "She has been taken by a terrible demon, but if you go…"
Verk didn't heed the rest of his mother's words; he was already atop Europa and rushing out of the forest. Alfa smiled genuinely as she stood alone at the altar of her husband's grave, gently brushing the hilt of the sword used to claim her heart.
"He's defiantly your son, my love. He didn't hesitate for a second." Her smile strained as her buried emotions rose to the surface. "He didn't even listen to my warning before setting out. A harsh path lies before him, but I know you will be at his side when I cannot."
-breakio
The forest blurred around him as he spurred Europa faster, cursing himself to allowing this situation to come to be. In record time he burst from the treeline onto the highway he'd left Mint. Europa halted, waiting for his instructions.
"West!" he barked, spurring the ent beast onward. With no forest to hinder its gallop, Europa galloped at full speed, her hoofbeats echoing like thunder. They followed the road, the trail of Mint's escorts easily visible. The group had barely traveled a day's worth before turning towards the old lake altar. Europa leaped over trees and landed in the clearing, where Mint's human guards were mucking about. "Where is she?"
"Who are you?" The eye patched knight gasped. Verk had no patience for the man—he let loose his divine flame, making it absolutely clear who held authority here. The knight and his companions fell to their knees in recognition of his divine might. "Forgive me, my lord."
"I need not your prattle." His voiced echoed like thunder as his rage got the better of him. He pointed towards the two paths of fallen trees. "Answer with haste or die, Pactmaker. Where has Mint been taken?"
"That way, milord," the knight pointed southeast. "The Demon of the East has taken her."
Though he had little time, Verk voiced his thoughts, "If that is so, why are you still alive?" The knight hung his head in shame, his eyes filled with frustration and hatred.
"It was by my lady's grace that we live. She offered herself so we could be spared, despite our protests."
Slaughtering them would be to spit on Mint's dignity; instead, Verk left them with one order. "Make preparations for her return."
The knight's eye sparkled with hope as he bowed, "Of course, my lord."
Spurring Europa onward, Verk dived into the forest with all haste. Mint's trail was easy to follow; it was practically a straight line. Whatever lumbering beast her kidnapper rode upon would never escape him, no matter the lead. Soon enough he could feel the Great Eastern Devil—Biwanari—it was as his brother described.
Be careful of her Verk, of all the demonesses walking the earth, she is the most devilish.
Acht fought her before, fully equipped and with the divine might of Solaris. Here he was about to do the same with nothing but a plain sword and a bow and half a quiver of arrows. To say he was under-equipped was an understatement. But that didn't matter; he would save Mint!
"Grand me strength this day in battle, Elfania, Yor," he prayed earnestly for both his grandmothers' favor. Instantly his blood boiled with a divine flame as the back of a towering black yeti came into view. "This is it!"
His heart thundering with power, he drew his sword and launched into the air!