And fly to the skies from your land
The corners of my mouth curl as he speaks of Frey—not mockingly, not reverently either, but with a kind of grounded respect. He’s not wrong. Not about any of it.
“That’s a pretty good grip for someone who’s never met them,” I say softly, looking into my mug. “Frey’s… duality, yeah. Nature and pleasure, creation and undoing, all wrapped in one.” I glance at him, tone light but honest.
When he says it makes sense they’d take interest in me, no flattery, just fact, my ears go hot in the worst way. Somehow, a fact feels far more meaningful than a compliment. I take a bigger sip than I mean to, cocoa burning my throat just enough to make it look like the flush is from my drink and not the comment.
“I was really lucky,” I say instead, voice quieter, more careful now. “They answered a prayer I didn’t think they would hear. I asked to be old enough to go out and help people, to be on my own. Said I’d do it anyway, whether I was ready or not.”
When he mentions thinking about seeking Frey, something sparks in me immediately. I want to ask which Frey. I want to know what he’d ask for, what aches he’s carrying that led him to even consider it. But he doesn’t look at me when he says it, and I know that look. That shut door.
I don’t push.
Yet.
Instead, I shift when he brings up the void-luxere. I huff a dry little laugh. “Yeah, monster hunting wasn’t exactly on my to-do list either.” I turn my mug slowly between my hands. “But I think I could be good at it. I want to be.”
When he asks if I’m back for good, something flickers warm in me. It always does “Yeah,” I say, the word sure in my mouth. “I mean, I’ll still travel—I’m always going to be a bit restless—but I live in Torchline now. And since the guildhall’s here, I’m hoping Halo’ll feel like a second home. A place to return to, not just pass through.”
I glance at him again, a wry twist to my mouth. “That said… if the gods call, I’ll probably answer. I didn’t leave home just to play it safe.”
The firelight shifts, casting shadows across the planes of his face. It’s only been a couple years, but somehow he’s more than I remember. Broader, more grounded. The kind of strength that doesn’t announce itself, just exists in the quiet shape of him—the square of his shoulders, the thick cords of his forearms, the rugged sharpness of his jaw. Like the forest carved him a little rougher and kept him.
He fits here. More than I do, for sure.
I lean slightly toward him, my grin returning—brighter this time. “You ever want to come monster hunting with me?” I ask, chin tilting, teasing but not insincere. “You could bring an ax.”
The land that you love and all that you are
