A week had passed since the fall of Geffenia, and the Skuggulfr clan's camp was drowning in a heavy atmosphere. The pain of battle lingered in every breath, and a thick tension loomed like a storm cloud over the warriors. That evening, just as dusk settled, Dagrík returned from his three-day visit to the king of Rune-Midgard in Prontera. His arrival was marked by the sound of heavy boots stomping against the earth and the simmering aura of rage that surrounded him. The warriors nearby averted their eyes—none dared cross their leader in a moment like this.
Liv, noticing the fury etched into Dagrík's face, exchanged a worried glance with Kjetil. She stepped closer to the clan's alchemist and whispered, "What happened to him?"Kjetil, his face weary and lined with exhaustion, sighed before answering, "The king refused to see him, Liv. Three days he waited… and worse, the promise to name him a lord after the battle of Geffenia was completely ignored. To the crown, we're nothing—just tools to be used and discarded."
Dagrík's ambition went beyond mere leadership; he craved recognition. He had served the kingdom with unwavering devotion, dreaming of the day his loyalty and sacrifices would be rewarded with a noble title—something to mark the worth of a life devoted to the realm. But the path to that honor was riddled with betrayal and empty promises, and with every step, the weight of frustration grew heavier.
Staggering slightly, the signs of his drinking evident, Dagrík stopped at the center of the camp and began to mutter bitterly, his voice slicing through the silence."We lost good men in that battle. And they didn't even let us take the spoils—the royal guard seized everything! As usual, they treated us like scum!"His voice rose, fury flaring in his eyes. "Damn them! We give our lives for the kingdom, and they treat us like trash. Like third-rate mercenaries!"
Suddenly, his eyes locked onto Thanatos, a five-year-old boy curled in a corner, quietly chewing the last bit of bread he had. The child still wore the scars of all he had witnessed in Geffenia, but Dagrík, blinded by rage and resentment, saw none of that. In a flash, he stormed over, and before anyone could stop him, he seized the boy by the arms and yanked him off the ground.
"You, boy! It's time you learned to fight. When I was your age, I was already serving as a squire!"
Thanatos lowered his head, pain seeping through his small frame from Dagrík's iron grip. Still, he squirmed, trying to break free, his tiny arms flailing in desperation. Dagrík, infuriated, pulled him even harder.
"This world isn't made for the weak! You think Liv, Kjetil, or I will always be around to protect you? What will you do when someone you love needs you to protect them? Cry for help?"
Liv's heart clenched at the sight. She rushed forward."Dagrík, stop! He's just a child—this isn't his fault. Let him go!"But Dagrík, lost to drink and the fire of his own bitterness, ignored her. He pulled a dagger from his belt and shoved it into Thanatos' trembling hands.
"Go on! Use it. Stab me in the chest!"His voice thundered through the camp, cruel and challenging.
Thanatos stared at the weapon in his small hands, the cold metal biting into his fingers. He hesitated, eyes welling with tears, too overwhelmed to move. The silence that followed was deafening.
With a sudden, violent motion, Dagrík grabbed the blade still in the boy's hands and swept his legs out from under him. Thanatos hit the ground hard. Before he could rise, he felt the brutal force of Dagrík's boot slamming into his ribs—again and again. He curled up, arms over his head, trying to shield himself.
Finally, with one last kick, Dagrík stepped back, panting, his face red from drink and fury. He turned away without another word and stormed off to his tent, leaving behind a suffocating silence that blanketed the camp.
Liv rushed to Thanatos, her eyes brimming with tears she tried desperately to hold back. Gently, she lifted him into her arms, whispering words of comfort as the boy trembled against her chest. Kjetil joined them, kneeling beside her.
"Forget what Dagrík said, Thanatos," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing.
Amid the pain and fear, Thanatos felt the familiar warmth of Liv's embrace and the calming presence of Kjetil."We're here, little one," Liv whispered, brushing her fingers through his blue hair, trying to still the tremors in his small body. Kjetil, with a damp cloth, tended to his scrapes and bruises with tender care.
That night felt endless. Thanatos finally fell asleep in Liv's arms, still feeling the gentle touch of Kjetil's hands as he cared for him. The camp, once heavy with tension, now fell into a bitter silence, as the two protectors looked down at the boy in sorrow.
Over the next two years, the Skuggulfr clan faced constant missions and challenges. Yet, amidst all the hardships, the bond between Thanatos, Liv, and Kjetil grew stronger—forming ties that would shape the boy's entire childhood. Despite having witnessed horrors during the fall of Geffenia, Thanatos was still spared from combat training. His daily life revolved around simple chores in the camp and quiet moments of care and affection with those who had taken him in.
One afternoon, as the sun bathed the camp in golden light and the distant voices of warriors echoed across the hills, Liv called Thanatos to sit beside her near the fire. A basket of torn clothes and needles sat in her lap, ready for mending.
"Come here, little one. Let's do this together," she said, offering the warm smile that always managed to soothe Thanatos' heart.
He sat down hesitantly, his small fingers trembling as he picked up a needle. His first attempt at threading it was a failure, prompting a soft laugh from Liv.
"Don't worry. When I was younger, I didn't know how to do this either," she said with a nostalgic tone in her voice.
While she spoke, Thanatos tried again—this time succeeding. A shy smile appeared on his face, and Liv gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder.
"See? That's how we learn. What matters most is that we keep trying."
Days like that became common. Kjetil, who always carried a cheerful spirit despite his exhaustion, would often call Thanatos over to show him something new he had learned or created.
Once, he found the boy mesmerized by the flickering torches dancing in the wind, casting long shadows across the camp.
"Hey, kid, wanna see something magical?" Kjetil asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
Thanatos nodded eagerly, curiosity lighting up his face. Kjetil grabbed a vial containing a golden liquid that shimmered in the firelight. With a careful motion, he poured a few drops into the flames.
A soft green fire burst forth, twisting like an ethereal serpent. Thanatos gasped and let out a delighted laugh.
"It's beautiful!" he exclaimed, eyes wide with wonder.
Kjetil smiled, pleased. "Remember this, boy. Even in the darkest places, there's always a little bit of magic hidden away."
The nights held a special kind of warmth. After long days of missions, when the clan gathered around the campfire, Liv and Kjetil always made sure Thanatos was safe and comfortable. Liv, with her gentle and soothing voice, would sing old songs—tales of kings and warriors who faced dragons and monsters, but who also knew love and compassion.
One night, with his head resting in Liv's lap and the stars twinkling above them, Thanatos whispered, as if afraid to break the moment's enchantment, "Liv, do you think I can be a hero someday… like in the stories?"
She paused, her fingers brushing through his blue hair, and answered softly, "You don't need to be a hero to be important. Just being yourself is already more than enough."
Thanatos didn't quite understand—but he smiled, feeling deeply accepted and loved.
During the day, Kjetil would include Thanatos in his routines, teaching him about herbs and the secrets of nature.
"Look here," he once said, pointing to a thick green plant. "This is Aloe Vera. Crush the leaves and apply them to a wound—it helps it heal faster."
Thanatos watched attentively, mimicking Kjetil's gestures. A moment later, he accidentally splashed some of the plant's gel into Kjetil's face. The older man burst into a booming laugh, handing the boy a cloth to clean up.
"Careful, kid. This stuff might scare off even the shyest of enemies," he joked with a half-serious tone.
There were also moments of pure simplicity that would stay with Thanatos forever.
One spring morning, he awoke to the smell of freshly baked bread. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stepped out of his tent and saw Liv and Kjetil by the fire, laughing together as they prepared breakfast.
"Come on, try the coffee Kjetil made," Liv called out.
Thanatos ran toward them and sat between the two, feeling the warmth of the fire—and of their presence—envelop him like a shield.
Despite the constant dangers and the ever-present grief that surrounded the clan, Thanatos grew up in an atmosphere filled with kindness and gentle teachings. Liv and Kjetil were more than just protectors—they were his light in the darkness. Living proof that even in times of war and sorrow, love and peace could still bloom, laying roots stronger than any sword.