Echoes of power
The air in the small village was heavy with smoke and screams, the flames of chaos licking through thatched roofs as guards stormed down the cobbled streets. Thalior stood silently in the centre of it all, surrounded by bodies—some groaning in pain, others too still to ever move again. The girl clung to his arm, pulling him through alleys toward the shattered remains of what had once been her home.
It was modest, barely a home by royal standards—just four stone walls and a roof of straw, now mostly collapsed. The interior was filled with broken pottery, scattered herbs, and a single mat where her mother lay, pale and unconscious. She'd taken the brunt of the falling ceiling when the guards had tried to tear the place apart.
Thal knelt beside her. The girl didn't speak, but her trembling hand found his wrist and held tight. He understood. He closed his eyes and reached inward—deep into the pool of magic that ran through his blood. Olympian. Asgardian. Ancient.
Water rose from the air, from the ground, from the moisture in the girl's tears. It formed a sphere in his palms, glowing with soft blue light. As he pressed the magic into the woman's chest, a low hum filled the room. Her breathing steadied. Her chest rose, then fell.
Her eyelids fluttered open.
Relief bloomed in the girl's expression.
"She's not dying anymore," Thalior said softly.
But the house was gone. The structure barely stood, its walls splintered from his earlier clash with the guards. He hadn't meant to destroy anything—but he had. And now, standing in the wreckage of someone else's life, that weight sat heavy in his chest.
He turned to the girl. She couldn't have been older than eight. Her wild brown hair was full of dust, her eyes large and unblinking. Despite it all, she wasn't crying.
She reminded him of Elias.
That same defiant bravery in the face of chaos. That same spark of mischief hidden behind wide eyes. Her presence pulled him back to another life—a different world, roaring engines, his little brother cackling behind the wheel, daring him to race one more time.
Thalior felt something deep in his soul stir.
He raised his hand again and pressed it to the girl's forehead. "I bless you," he said, voice low but filled with power. "From this day forward, five percent of my strength will live inside you. It will grow with you. Guide you. Protect you."
The girl blinked, but didn't flinch. She stood tall. Waiting.
Then, Thal unslung the labrys from his back—a beautiful, double-headed axe etched with ancient runes and forged from enchanted metal. With a thought, the weapon shrank in his hands until it was small enough for her to carry.
"This weapon is named Elias," he said. "It's tied to my soul. It won't accept just anyone. But one day, if you prove yourself worthy… if Elias chooses you… you'll receive ten percent more of my strength. That will make you nearly unstoppable by any mortal. Use it to protect. Never to conquer."
The weapon pulsed in her hands. Not acceptance—but not rejection either. That would come with time.
Behind them, her mother stirred and sat up, eyes wide in disbelief. "What… what have you done to me?"
"I healed you. And I've made sure no sickness, no blade, no wound will take you from your daughter—not unless it's nature's will. You'll live, and watch her grow."
Tears filled the woman's eyes. She tried to rise, but Thal gently helped her to her feet. "Leave this place. Go west. Find the forests. Live quietly. Hide Elias until the girl is ready."
The mother nodded, silent. She knew better than to question a god—especially one who looked like he'd already suffered too many losses.
The girl clutched Elias tight and looked up at him. "Will I see you again?"
Thalior's heart clenched. He smiled—but it was a distant, aching kind. "If fate allows it."
They walked out into the smoky streets together, the girl guiding her mother away from the ruins. He watched until they disappeared into the dark, two fragile figures carrying a sliver of divine might.
He stood there, in the ruins of the house he'd destroyed, shoulders heavy. But even as he mourned the chaos he'd brought, he found himself smiling—just a little. The girl's spirit, her fire… it reminded him of Elias in a way that hurt and healed all at once.
Looking up at the night sky, he murmured to the stars, "You'd have liked her, little brother. You'd have called her a menace and taught her how to shift gears before she could count to ten."
His voice faded into the quiet.
But the storm brewing in the distance did not.