He could have teleported straight into the protection and comfort of the Citadel, it was true. But Hadama had a soft spot in his heart for the shrine on the shore of the Sea of Glass, perhaps his favorite outside of Torchline. The fragile ice bubbles appealed to him, as did the salten water of the inland sea, still half-frozen in Longheat. He stepped through moonlight, from pale sand to paler snow, and paused to take in the cold air and bright stars overhead. It was not the season for the auroras, but the display overhead was still breathtaking.
After several long minutes he turned his attention to the shrine, kneeling to show his respect for the deities it served and to make it easier for him to clean, brushing dust and snow from its surface. He placed candles at each of its corners: gold for Vi, silver for Mort, and green for Rae, with a pale blue candle at the last corner to honor the Eirachi. He lit each of them with reverence and then placed a fifth candle in the center, simple undyed beeswax. And then he bowed his head and sank into prayer. He was not heedless of the cold but he endured it, clad in his leather trousers stitched with silver stars and heavy brown jacket, his steely hair loose down his back to keep his neck and ears warm.
Open!
Wings cut through the cold, each beat sharp and deliberate. In his griffin form, Noah soared over the Sea of Glass, the frozen expanse gleaming below like shattered starlight. Wind howled past his feathers, but he flew steady, eyes fixed on the shrine ahead—once lonely, half-buried in snow and silence. But not now. A figure moved below, catching the demigod’s keen eye as he made a wide, arcing circle above the shrine.
His friend.
He landed with care, talons cracking the frost, breath misting in the air. For a moment, he simply stood there, wings folding in at his sides. Like the king that knelt before the shrine, he had prayers that needed to be heard. But he would do his best not to disturb his fellow demigod.
Laying down, Noah waited.
Hadama, Noah greeted across the attuned bond as the king finished his prayer. the forsaken
Noah.
Starlight shivered over the silver of his hair as he lifted his head. He let his eyes rest a few moments more upon the candle flames and then he flexed his thighs and rose to his feet, slow but smooth in spite of how long he had been kneeling. There were some benefits to demigodhood, he had to admit, and having joints that did not protest overly much was one of them.
He turned then, stepping away from the shrine to clear the way for the griffin. He took care not to break the ice bubbles as he crossed the shore to stand near to his friend, inclining his head in serene greeting. Praying at the shrine had brought him a measure of peace and renewal, and his thoughts were still and tranquil in the bond. Are you well? Healed, from their last venture. Whole once more in body and spirit.
The stillness here was sacred, impregnated with old power. The shrine looked as if it had gotten more activity recently, with the scattering of offerings bulky compared to the norm. It surprised him, with the Citadel being the safest place for them. Even safer, now. But Halovians would always be true to themselves, and the tundra held prizes that they would thrive from enduring its dangers.
Noah let his eyes move across the Sea of Glass as Hadama prayed, coming back to rest on him as he spoke his name. He would have smiled in his human form, but in this form he simply let his feathers puff around his shoulders and neck, a warm greeting. When the once-mer stood, so did the griffin. Impressive for his size, Noah moved with grace towards the shrine and placed his offering—he turned and plucked a few of his downy feathers from below his wing joint, and pulled with it the flowers Margot had been tending to in the Greenhouse for such an occasion as this.
Then, he prayed.
Opening his eyes, Noah returned to his friend. Yes, The griffin began, nodding his head, I was able to recuperate and spend time with my children. How is Torchline? He asked, lifting a feline brow towards his friend before he turned fully to him, taking the time to shift slowly back to his human form. the forsaken
Hadama felt the warmth of Noah's thoughts even without words, and the two demigods traded places in companionable silence that needed none. They both served the light of Caido, sworn to Life itself, but even if Hadama had not accepted Safrin's offer they still would have been friends. It was in their temperaments. Their strong senses of duty, and their connection to their homes; all things that each recognized and respected in the other. Here on the Halovian tundra Noah was in his element, strong and bright and comfortable in a way that Hadama was in the sea, and the Tidebreaker was glad to see his friend in his full strength.
His own prayers were finished but he turned his eyes to the heavens and the stars above, seeking their familiar patterns in a form of personal meditation that honored his goddess. It was a practice that was easy to set aside, however, when the voice of the griffin came into his thoughts once more.
Torchline is well. For now. In this moment, days before the ill-starred pool party would pop up on his beach like a violet tumor. Even before the fall of the Tower in Stormbreak sent a wave of refugees to seek safe harbor upon their shores. Thank you. We have completed our quest to bar the Family from Haulani. An implied invitation to Noah's family, though he did not expect the Olsons to leave Halo. Though the Port and Coast remain open to them. Not by any choice of the Tidebreaker, however. And with those words he admitted to the work that still needed doing.
I have heard that the healing springs have been rebuilt. Do they still cure the infected? Now that the Void creatures could no longer approach them, at least.
The demigod did not miss Hadama’s invitation, and while he appreciated it the idea of sending them away split his chest in two. Safety, or presence. Shelter, or the strength of a father’s hand nearby. There were no easy choices anymore. Halo was home—harsh, cold, but theirs. Torchline was warmer, safer—for now. They’d have the sea, soft nights, no frostbitten mornings. He bit the inside of his cheek, and decided to just keep it as an option. They were safe now from void creatures while staying in the Citadel, but if that changed…then they could be in Torchline.
No, unfortunately. I believe we will be questing soon for them to regain that power. Noah said, thoughts drifting to Halo’s new hot springs—still just water, warm and untouched by divine grace. They had the place, but not the power. Not yet. What they needed now was the blessing, a quest to turn warmth into healing. To make hope run deeper. the forsaken
Hadama took the news with a phlegmatic nod, knowing well the kind of price that such a blessing required. It was no easy thing, though having to redo work done once already... He sent a pulse of wordless support through the bond to the mighty griffin, and inclined his head in acknowledgment of the trials to come.
I would like to visit them, soon. Even without their healing powers, they were a place of power to his goddess. It was a pilgrimage he was looking forward to, perhaps in the near future. But in this moment and this place he turned his attention more fully on his friend, studying the soft feathers and fierce beak.
How are you? Not from the most recent foray into Starfall, but from what had come before. The loss of his wife. The shift in his world as he became a single parent. Time had passed since Cordelia's death, but that did not mean that she was forgotten, and neither were Noah's scars, for all that they were not visible on his skin.
The griffin lifted his head with pride, You should. They are beautiful. MAde by Safrin herself, the hot springs were a mirror to her. Then, the air shifted and so did Hadama. Noah’s eyes went to his and he hesitated.
The question hung there, low and quiet, like mist over the sea. Noah’s instinct was to deflect, to offer something neat and palatable. He was used to being the strong one, the steady one. But Hadama had asked with gentleness, not pity—in that, something opened, and made the truth rise, thick and bitter, behind his teeth.
He breathed. Then shifted. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, letting his glacier eyes fall to the snow and ice beneath his boots. He let the weariness show in his eyes, the grief in his voice.
“It’s been… hard,” he said. “I miss her. Every day. My kids are…struggling. Marcus doesn’t want me to be involved in anything regarding Starfall. Ravenna resents me for being gone so long hunting the dragon down. Margot…well, she seems to be the only one who understands.” His daughter shared with him the need for vengeance. He knew she did, because when he presented them with the dragon’s teeth she took them and placed them in a jar beneath her bed. the forsaken
An outing to the hot springs was cemented in Hadama's plans at hearing Noah's praise of them, but right now upon the Sea it was his friend that held the Tidebreaker's attention. An invitation to speak, if Noah needed the outlet. He held his silence, patient and willing to wait for as long as Noah needed to find the words to answer him, whether those were to deflect or accept his offer.
But he was honored when the other man chose to accept, returning to a shape that would allow him to give voice to how his life had changed in the past seasons.
And Hadama listened. He nodded in understanding of Noah's loss, and again at the difficulty of parenting three children, each with different needs and ways of grieving. "You are doing your best for them. It is all that any parent can do," he rumbled softly. "While healing from your own grief." Something, he hoped, that the young Olsons would come to understand some day when they were older. "How is Marcus's magic training going?"
Noah exhaled slowly, some of the weight in his shoulders easing as he nodded. “It’s going well, the girls’ too” he said, voice steadier now. “Marcus only has healing magic right now, but… it suits him. He’s careful with it. Focused.” Noah paused, his head tilting some, then added, “He’s got a healer’s heart. I see it in him every day. Like my mother.”
His gaze softened, a flicker of warmth beneath the tired, beneath the steely weight of his grief. “Evie’s been helping him. She’s a good teacher—clear, steady, and kind in all the ways I don’t always manage to be.” Noah had high standards for his children that he held them to in their archery training, before Cordelia’s death but especially now. ”He listens to her. Trusts her. And I trust her with him.”
He glanced toward the sea, the wind tugging at the edge of his coat and the blond locks of hair that poked out from under his hood. “I think it’s good for him, learning in a way that doesn’t feel like a burden or a weapon. Ravenna and Margot both have magics that can be much more offensively focused. Earth and water.” The girls could train with their magic in ways that Marcus couldn’t, holding and honing the elements as weapons and as supports. the forsaken
The stoic expression on the Tidebreaker's face grew softer as Noah spoke of his children with such pride and love. Hadama tilted his head in acknowledgment of Marcus's talents and his continuation of a family tradition, but it was mention of the Evergreen that brought a small smile to his face. "She is. I, too, have trained with her. At her side, and from her." Before he had become a demigod, when he had still been enrolled in the Academy to hone his control over wind and water. "There is no better teacher."
Hadama followed his friend's gaze out over the ice. There was open water now in Longheat, where once there would not have been. Icebergs bobbed in it, however, and floes still floated on its surface, a reminder of the continuing harshness of the northern clime. He missed his passive magics that had once protected him from the frigid temperatures...
"Mmh. They could," he agreed slowly, contemplating the star-strewn horizon in the distance. "But perhaps they will follow Marcus's path of peace. Ravenna, at least." He had little interaction with young Margot, too little to know where her heart would take her in the seasons ahead.
Noah sighed, and nodded. "I hope so."
It was good for them all to study in different ways, but he knew grief was holding each of them. He watched Marcus tread carefully around magic, Ravenna guard her heart like a blade, and Margot stare too long at the horizon, already hunting shadows. He wanted more for them—wanted mornings untouched by war, days filled with learning and laughter, not strategy and survival. He wanted them to grow up slow, with room to question, to dream. Not to carry the weight of gods and monsters before they were grown. If he could shield them forever, he would. Without hesitation.
But he couldn't.
Like his own parents couldn't shelter him and Zeke from Halo's atrocities and dangers, he couldn't shelter his own children.
But he would be at their sides, for as long as Vi granted him life.
Looking back to his friend, Noah reached out and took Hadama's forearm to shake, offering the once-mer a faint smile. "I am glad I ran into you today. I must get back to them now."
FIN the forsaken
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