i lived two lives

called a problem child
cause i got too wild

 Snow glare stings even through my hood, and I’m pretty sure my bones have learned to speak fluent icicle. I’ve spent days mapping the Citadel by instinct and stubbornness—either getting lost on purpose, stealing hours with Damien, or “coincidentally” ending up wherever my mother has APPARENTLY decided to follow me. I pretend to hate the hovering…but after years of it being just us, I can’t deny the comfort of that thread tugging warm between us. I miss it.

From the outside, the Monster Hunters’ guildhall could pass for a nice, rustic inn—so normal I almost keep walking. Then I shoulder open the big doors and winter slams shut; heat rushes my face, and lanternlight settles everything into a soft, honey glow. The hearth roars like a living thing. Definitely not an inn.

No one’s in the main hall. My boots hush over wood worn deep by a thousand hunts. The place smells like smoke, oiled leather, and old steel—like stories stacked to the ceiling. Long tables wait like patient giants for the next briefing or feast. The walls are crowded with trophies: a hooked beak as long as my forearm, polished plates of chitin, a pelt with a bite mark the size of my palm.

I drift to the fire, tugging my oversized jacket tighter around me. The sleeves swallow my hands to the knuckles; melted snow freckles the shoulders and drips from the heavy hem. I hold my bundled fists to the heat until pins and needles spark back into my fingers.

Warm again, I wander, eyes drinking in everything like I’ve been starved. Maybe this could be a second home. I back up, craning to take in the vaulted beams shouldering the north—and—

I back into a wall.

A very solid, very warm, very breathing wall.

I yelp, hop forward on instinct, and spin, half-raising my hands like I might apologize to a load-bearing post. Not a post. Deimos. Of course it’s Deimos—quiet gravity and muscle, the kind of presence that makes a room feel smaller and safer at once.

I’m a little breathless, heat rushing my face for a different reason now. Fucking humiliating. ”Oh—Deimos! Sorry. The ceiling and I were having a moment and I lost the fight with basic spatial awareness.” I push my sleeves back enough to show actual hands. ”No injuries—unless we’re counting my pride.”

but now that's how i'm getting paid

Theea

Deimos

The Sword had spent most of the morning within the barracks, content with the clashing of metal and the crashing of shields, enforcing more skills and instruction into the soldiers, before hastening towards the guild with Erebos in tow. The youth’s walking, and simultaneously the running, had flourished, which meant he’d kept him only slightly caged and trapped within the section of the library, ensuring the fire within the hearth was alive and well, and checking over some of the notes in journals.

He'd kept him momentarily occupied with a gigantic crayon and some paper (from the corner of his eye he could see the chunky grasp going wide and there’d be more to clean off the table later), getting ready to sit nearby and fill out of his own paperwork.

Visitors, or guild members, going back and forth wasn’t out of the norm – so he thought nothing of it when footsteps lingered nearby, and only arched a brow, tilted his head vaguely, about to come up with some greeting when the figure seemed to back into him anyway. Unyielding, he glanced behind him to see it was Theea, snorting when the apology came forth. It was unusual when he wasn’t noticed, despite the fact that he often wished it. “Hope it meets your approval.” The ceiling, anyway – she’d have to contend with her spatial awareness another day.

Glancing upwards, Erebos was temporarily distracted from his rampant crayon movements, waving as he so often did with anyone nearby, already far more socially inclined. ”Hi!” came out loud and boisterous, while his father maneuvered around the surface, opening to the area on frost foxes. “Were you looking for something?”

we exhume our enemy's bones
we are battling, hungry beasts

called a problem child
cause i got too wild

 My laugh pops out a little too bright, nerves fizzing in my chest. ”Yes! Approval granted,” I announce, then wince at myself and add, ”—not that you need my approval or anything.”

Deimos looks away and I automatically track his gaze. The oversized sleeves of my jacket slip down over my hands as I follow it to the table—and my face softens. A little boy, chunky crayon clutched like a sword, a battlefield of paper spread under his campaign. The one he mentioned on the hunt, then. I lift both swallowed hands and wiggle my fingers in a wave. ”Hi!”

He gets a bright grin in return before Deimos’s question pulls me back. I straighten, trying to stack all five-foot-four of me into something that reads as taller in front of a man built like a fortress. The jacket shifts, heavy at my shoulders; I tuck one sleeve back to show an actual hand.

”I’m here to accept your invitation to join the Monster Hunters’ Guild,” I tell him, a thread of excitement pulling through the words. ”Officially. Paperwork, oaths, grueling trials, terrifying hazing rituals—whatever you’ve got. I’m ready.” Really, I’ve got no idea what it takes to join.

but now that's how i'm getting paid

Theea

Deimos

He'd only meant the statement in jest, though he could see it’d only done to increase some nervousness or apprehension. He gave a quick arch to his brow at her wincing – directing his attention to several more notes on the color-changing portions of the frost foxes out in the Greenwing – before Erebos seemed to have won over the appeal of focus. Delighted with Theea’s response, he waved again, before lifting his picture – streaks of green, red, and blue with a dash of brown and no visible order to the jumbled, chaotic tones and tints. ”I’m Erebos!” Pausing, realizing the introduction meant he hadn’t explained his latest artwork, he persisted. ”I made this!”

Ruffling the boy’s dark hair, he rumbled something in return, low and quiet, before the babe gasped and returned to the page, adding another dash of color. Thereafter though, the Accepted seemed to have found her courage again, and as he was turning over another document, he saw her hand shift towards him, the addition to her true reason for being here churned back above the surface.

Wondering if her mother had something to do with it, he kept that notion to himself, before extending his hand back to hers, giving it a solid shake. “Then consider yourself joined.” As for the paperwork, and hazing rituals, he didn’t often implore too many into cruel fixations – unless they irked him. And even then, he’d be more liable just to toss them aside and away. “I do have plans for a hunt with newer recruits in Deepfrost – but before then, would you like a tour?” That way she could become familiar with the guild hall itself – learn things in books and tomes at her own pace.

we exhume our enemy's bones
we are battling, hungry beasts

called a problem child
cause i got too wild

 Erebos holds up his masterpiece and my grin answers before my words do. The sleeves of my oversized jacket try to swallow my hands again (I really oughtta pick a smaller one of dad’s next time) as I wiggle my fingers at him. ”I’m Theea,” I tell the little warrior-artist, leaning conspiratorially in his direction. ”And your art is absolutely amazing. The colors? Perfect. Ten out of ten.”

Then Deimos’s words actually land and I snap my eyes up to him. ”Wait—really? It’s… that easy? I’m just… in?” I stare at his offered hand a beat too long, like it might sprout fangs, then realize I’m doing that and huff a crooked little laugh at myself. I shove a sleeve back to find a real hand and give him a firm shake; his grip swallows mine, steady as a mountain.

Then I nod enthusiastically. "Yes. I mean—yes, please, a tour. I’d love one," I add quickly, excitement clipping my words. I glance around the main hall again. "I’ve been refamiliarizing myself with Halo. Planning to visit often," I say, which is the tidy way of admitting I’ve been bouncing between visiting here and living in Torchline, and hoping to train with Damien again. I make a mental note to ask if he’ll join the guild with me—if he hasn’t already.

I hitch the jacket higher on my shoulders and look back up at Deimos. ”Who are the new recruits?”

but now that's how i'm getting paid

Theea

Deimos

Erebos, not understanding the meaning of perfection, glanced back and forth from Theea to his “masterpiece”, deciding that those notions were enough – marveling at his drawing again with a big grin. ”Put on the fridge?” he glanced back to Deimos, who, given who he was, had put multitudes of said artwork already there – and would continue to do so. “Of course.” The youth giggled, then contributed another few lines on a wider piece of paper, also including the table once again.

But it seemed the Sword’s methods of accepting others seemed to be a little too easy for some – his brow arched at the comment – but he shrugged. “I am not terribly judgmental when it comes to guild members,” (save until they were in battle and suddenly trying to lasso bears) and he wrinkled his nose – “Plus I have already seen some of your work.” Relinquishing her hand once the shake had been completed, he snagged at the toddler and the infinite papers, placing them in his back pocket while the boy squealed in delight, placed upon his father’s shoulders. “So I heard,” though it’d been from Ashetta. Why they both lingered rummaged through his mind, as it was likely associated with Kalt, but he didn’t dig much deeper – knowing what it was like to fend and contend with ghosts.

Starting with some portions, his eyes shifted back to where they already stood. “The main hall here is for gatherings and meetings,” gesturing to the tables, snagging at the journal he’d have to put back. The hearth alone made up for a good section of the area. “You likely noticed the bounties when you came in, but we typically post them near the entrance,” along with trophies and artifacts. At the notion of recruits, however, his brow arched, head tilting slightly as if trying to gauge the levels of intrigue and curiosity – tempered with his own. “So far you, Damien, and Koa, though I may have a couple more interested.”

we exhume our enemy's bones
we are battling, hungry beasts

called a problem child
cause i got too wild

 Erebos is cute as hell, and my grin answers his before my words do. The sleeves of my oversized jacket keep trying to eat my hands, and I let them as my attention snaps back to Deimos when our handshake ends. I feel like a shaken snow globe—everything in me glittering and vibrating—but I keep it reined in, chin up, shoulders back. He says he isn’t judgmental, but I’m not looking to make the wrong impression. Not here.

I fall in beside him for the walk-through, listening, looking, absorbing. The hearth hums at my back, the tables stretch out like a promise, and near the entrance—bounties. I drift closer and scan them, lips parting before I catch myself. This isn’t just a group; it’s a job. Real hunts, real pay. I hadn’t figured I’d make a living doing this, and the realization pops warm in my chest, a tiny, delighted spark I try (and fail) to hide.

When Deimos lists the recruits, my head snaps around. ”Damien and Koa?” It flies out brighter than I mean it to, and I can’t help the way my eyes light. ”I know both of them—Damien since I was a kid. And I just met Koa when I moved to Torchline.” Inwardly, I’m buzzing. Not only people I know—Damien is one of them. The thought settles like a hand between my shoulder blades, steadying and thrilling all at once.

but now that's how i'm getting paid

Theea

Deimos

While Erebos occasionally squirmed, and Deimos had to snag his hair out of the youth’s grasp, Theea seemed to be absorbing some portions around her – his brow arched at the brightness in his tone at the mention of other guild members. He sighed inwardly, wondering if this was going to be an upcoming issue of too many unknowns in one setting: if they’d be able to instill a working camaraderie, rather than the usual onslaught of so many trying to be the hero all at once. Another residual point crossed his mind, but he kept it to himself, arching a brow, meant to be a singular tease. “Good. Perhaps you can help me keep them in line.” Not that he worried so much about Damien, the woodcutter seemed to have a level head on his shoulders, but Koa was prone to feats of…lofty grandeur.

Then he moved onward, gesturing towards a cabinet closer to the hearth. “Pantry there,” and eyeing its contents, shrugged, listened to the babe giggle at the movements, before snagging at one of the jerky snacks contained within.

Thereafter though were more exciting portions, beginning to incline his way towards a hall further in the back, while Erebos squealed and beckoned, waving for Theea to follow. “We have an armory here – you can find weapons of your choosing,” all made and crafted by the Sword, so they weren’t going to be cheapened quality. Opening the room, he stepped out of the way, so she could explore the space, the well-organized portions of armaments and shields.

we exhume our enemy's bones
we are battling, hungry beasts

called a problem child
cause i got too wild

 I outright laugh at that. "Keep them in line? Sure—maybe I can whip Damien into shape," I say, deadpan for half a beat before I crack, "but Koa? Wildcard. You’re on your own."

I fall in beside Deimos, soaking in every detail like the place might disappear if I blink too slow. The hearth’s warmth, the scuff-worn floors, the quiet weight of the trophies—I drink it all. Erebos is just adorable, and I can’t help waggling my fingers back at him whenever he glances my way. When Deimos raids the pantry for jerky, I bite the inside of my cheek to hide a grin and pretend it’s the most normal briefing snack in the world.

Erebos beckons, commander of crayons and corridors, and I grin. "I’m coming, I’m coming," I assure him, following into the back hall—right into the armory.

Steel and oil wrap around me like a welcome. Racks and pegs gleam with bows and daggers, longswords and broadswords, crossbows lined up like they’re waiting to be chosen. I’m a kid in a very sharp candy shop.

"I can just pick a weapon? These are for anyone in the guild?" I ask, hovering a hand over a row of hilts. "I mean—not to keep, obviously. To use?"

My gaze snags on a shortsword built for my reach, not my father’s. Dad carried a longsword like it was part of his spine; the memory ghosts through me, warm and a little aching. I step in, lift the shorter blade from its place. The balance is clean. I give it a cautious spin—nothing fancy, just enough to feel how it moves—then settle it in my palm, testing the weight, the promise of it.

Carefully, I set it back where it belongs, aligning the guard the way I found it. "Whoever forged these knows what they’re doing," I say, unable to keep the admiration out of my voice. "They sit right in the hand. Beautiful work."

but now that's how i'm getting paid

Theea

Deimos

Already parsing the jerky into pieces, small ones for Erebos to munch on as he passed it above, he snorted at her impending laugh. “Great,” came in his own deadpan fixture, with a sigh to follow, fully aware of multitudes Koa had committed – though, at least, he’d had some capable weapons on the last hunt; far more dependable than some of the others.

While the infant ate, and waved in return with a massive grin, Deimos waited, watched, for reactions to the armory. She seemed content – taking after her mother yet again – and his brow arched. “Yes.” Nodding along at her enthusiasm, and keeping Erebos’ grasping fingers out of reach of anything nearby, his eyes flickered over to the shortsword, testing it, but not taking.

The compliment wasn’t expected, but he gave a slight smile just the same. “Thank you.” He took pride in the multitudes he’d created – from the barracks armory, to this one, and the hordes of other things crafted for friends and family in between. “You can take it,” granting her permission, if she felt inclined, before backing out of the room, lingering and loitering as she made a decision.

we exhume our enemy's bones
we are battling, hungry beasts

called a problem child
cause i got too wild

 I catch his deadpan'Great' and can’t help the smile that tugs at my mouth. To keep my hands from doing something stupid, I push my hair behind my ear and start rolling my sleeves—well, wrestling them—up my forearms. The oversized jacket fights back like a stubborn sea creature. I win on the second try. Barely.

When he thanks me for the compliment, it clicks. Oh. He made them. The thought tumbles around and comes out a little breathless. Warden of Halo. Guildmaster of the Monster Hunters. And he forges his own weapons. I blink at the racks like they’ve multiplied. Of course he does. Why wouldn’t the Resurrected Sword also be a blacksmith?

Then he says I can take it and my eyes go wide. "Seriously?" It pops out before I can sand it smooth. I clear my throat, trying not to clutch the air like a startled squirrel. "I mean—thank you. I’ve only fought with a shortsword a little. My parents were all daggers, so that’s mostly what I learned. I’ve always thought a sword would be smart to add, but anything bigger than a short one is…" I glance down at my arms, then up at his, then back at mine. "…ambitious."

I pick the blade up again. It’s simple and elegant, no swagger—just honest lines and balance that settles into my palm like it’s been waiting. My first sword that’s mine. The words fizz behind my teeth and I swallow them, scared they’ll come out as squeaking. I find the sheath, test the fit, and the quiet click as it seats makes something in my chest go warm and steady.

I sling the belt with all the grace of someone trying to look cool while buckling a seatbelt in front of royalty, then step out of the armory, the sword snug against my hip. I can feel the stupid beam spreading across my face and I let it. "Thank you," I say to Deimos, sincere enough that it blurs the edges of my usual sarcasm. "Maybe this Deepfrost—if you want—you could help me learn with it?"

but now that's how i'm getting paid

Theea

Deimos

By no means a blacksmith; Deimos and his creation invocations had made multitudes possible simply by designs oriented in his mind, and the magic pulsing through his veins. Faster, swifter, keener too by all accounts and purposes, though he’d always give credit to those who’d gone into the smithing profession. He just didn’t have the hours for it.

Snorting at her inquiry, he nodded, listening to Erebos squeal as he was momentarily jostled, then righted, with a few more giggles. As the youth opened his hand and made a grabbing gesture for more jerky, Deimos parted with another small portion, then listened to Theea’s description – hardly surprised by the notions of daggers. Ashetta seemed the type to keep many tucked along her person, ready to stab, lacerate, and pierce at the slightest provocation. He scarcely knew Kalt at all, but clearly her parents had passed down regards for blades.

Arching a brow at her implication, he withheld a snort, putting that inward as he tried not to laugh. “But necessary, for when you want a much longer range. Could always add some elements to it as well.” As he’d done for Sah, placing the lightning aspects within, or how several others embedded fire, ice, or poison – whatever suited their taste and predilections for battle.

The Sword had all the reverence for armaments as well, though his first ventures of one in his grasp had been as a child, and likely had the same gasp and awe. Amused, he turned, gesturing towards the stairs, starting the tour over again once she’d finagled her way with the new prized possession. “Up here we have the library, artifacts, a study, and spare rooms,” but as he began to wind his way in minor ascension, her question echoed, and he glanced back her way – holding onto Erebos' legs as he adjusted. “Sure, if you want.”

we exhume our enemy's bones
we are battling, hungry beasts

called a problem child
cause i got too wild

 Erebos is beyond cute. I swear my face forgets how to be anything but soft. It’s ridiculous—this burly mountain of a man steadying his son with one hand, feeding him tiny jerky pieces with the other, and still tracking the room like a commander. The gentleness sneaks up on me; it warms something I didn’t realize was cold.

I fall into step as we head upstairs, the sword settling against my hip with a quiet, satisfying tap each step. My oversized jacket tries to swallow my hands again; I wrestle a sleeve up and catch the rail before I can pretend I wasn’t about to trip. You’d like I’d never been trained by assassins.

It’s new body still, shut up.

”Thank you—for being willing to teach me,” I say, a little breathless from stairs and nerves. ”I’ve been meaning to get back into regular sparring. And…” I chew my lip, then let the grin out. ”I think it would be very fun to best Damien with a sword just once. Purely for scientific purposes. And bragging rights.”

The second floor opens into a quieter kind of space, the sort that makes me lower my voice without thinking. Open doors promise more—library, artifacts room, study, spare bedrooms—but I keep my hands politely to myself.

I angle toward Deimos instead of anything breakable. ”What kind of artifacts do you collect? Hunter trophies with stories… cursed trinkets we’re not supposed to touch… things that go boom?” I tip my head, wry. ”Asking so I can definitely not touch the wrong thing first.”

but now that's how i'm getting paid

Theea

Deimos

Once they were clear of the stairs, Deimos lifted Erebos from his shoulders and set the youth down – wayward toddler steps were suddenly bounding towards the artifact room, clearly a favorite, though everything was wholly out of reach for the youth, despite his already long legs. “You are welcome,” the Sword nodded; having taught multitudes throughout many a tenure and world – from either weaponry, defenses, or magic itself – always invested in ensuring others knew how to take care of themselves – how to guard, how to protect, how to stay safe.

Though the thought of competition made him laugh as they stepped within the threshold, shaking his head. Easily lured by the mere notion of contests, tournaments, matches, and fixtures, he gave her a boyish, juvenile grin. “Understandable. Is he adept with a blade?” Deimos had yet to see Damien with any sort of armament-laden skill; as all they’d done was cut and split wood within the tundra. But it’d also give him a rough idea of how many fundamentals were already pierced and instilled within the other Accepted, and how much more he could teach Theea in the interim. Nor would she need to sugarcoat the reasonings around him – the Warden would’ve been content to know it was for the basic minimum. Spite and bragging right were just a bonus.

As they unfurled into the other expanse though, the answer to her first question would be quite obvious: filled to the brim were additional trophies hanging along the walls – antlers, heads, horns, scales, claws, and all kinds of other assortments from a variety of hunts. Some had been embellished with details, not unlike some museum, noting specific hunts and dates, the implication of materials, the animal, and others simply hadn’t been gotten to yet – eternally a work in progress. Along tables and shelves, far too high for Erebos but the youth was eager to be raised to see (as Deimos did – picking him up for a few moments, permitting the child to hover and giggle and point to some intriguing iridescent feathers). “More of the former – though probably some of these could be given additional elements by heralds.” Pausing, tilting his head, he shrugged thereafter. “I do not think we have taken back anything cursed. Yet. But you are free to study and look at them.”

we exhume our enemy's bones
we are battling, hungry beasts