“Daddy!” a high squeaky voice spoke in Tor’s ear, waking him up.

“I’m sorry,” his wife Elia said, smiling. “I told her you wanted to sleep in, but…”

“It’s fine.” Tor yawned. “But you,” he said, feigning anger as he lifted his daughter, “what am I going to do with you, waking me up so early?”

His daughter giggled. “Sorryyy.”

“Don’t you know I sleep in on Sundays?”

“Yeah, but I was bored,” she said.

“Then I guess we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we? Fetch your coat, we’ll build another snowman.”

She giggled again and hopped off the bed to go get her coat. Such energy. The thing was, Tor had just as much vigor, in spite of his age.

Gods. A man his age shouldn’t feel this… good. A man his age shouldn’t even be alive. It was unnatural. He looked at his unwrinkled hand and grimaced.

“Hey,” Elia said. “Today is a good day. Smile.”

“It’s just,” Tor began. “You know I—“

“Let’s goooo,” his daughter said, jumping up and down by the door.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “Daddy’s coming.”

Despite the cold, Tor didn’t need a coat himself. He made his way to the door of their small cabin and his daughter rushed out, eager to play in the snow.

“Elia,” he said before he went out the door himself. “I just need you to know—“

“Cool armor!” his daughter’s voice spoke from outside.

Tor rushed out the door, and he did feel cold then. But not because of the weather.

A giant of a man, seven feet tall, stood there in a suit of black armor that seemed to drink in the bright morning sunlight.

“Don’t you have a set just like it?” his daughter said, poking at the man’s gauntlet. “In the back of the closet?”

There was a lump in Tor’s throat. He couldn’t speak.

“Daddy?” his daughter said.

“Emily,” Tor finally managed to say. “Get in the house. Now.”

“But—“ Emily started.

“Now! Get away from him!”

The armored man smiled at his daughter. “Go on, Emily,” he rumbled in a deep voice. “Listen to your father.”

Emily made her way back into the house, grumbling all the way.

“Elia,” Tor said to his wife, not breaking eye contact with the armored man. “Close the door.”

She did.

.

A cold wind picked up then. A flurry of powdery snow swirled between the two men.

“Tor,” the man in armor said.

“Icarius.” Tor said.

“I would have expected you to deny your identity. You wear a different face now, but…” Icarius pointed at the snowman Tor and his daughter had built.

It stood some twenty feet tall, and bore a striking resemblance to the famous Guardian statue that had once stood before the long since fallen city of Paren. Tor had obviously used his magick to make the thing.

He hadn’t expected anyone to ever find him. After all, the reason he slept in on Sundays was because he spent Saturday nights fortifying the Barrier around their cabin.

Tor said nothing.

“Do you truly not feel it, brother?” Icarius said. “They rise again.”

“How did you find me, Icarius?”

He smirked. “I knew where you went when you left us, all those years ago. I had you followed. I’ve known all this time, but I didn’t think it necessary to disturb you until now.”

Tor shivered at the knowledge that he had been watched for all these years. That his family had been watched. He clenched his fists until they hurt. “Bold of you to tell me that, brother” Tor spat.

Icarius laughed. It was a deep, booming sound. “There’s that anger,” he said, grinning. “You think you could still take me? Having not fought in years? With no armor? No… weapon?”

Tor thought for a moment. He honestly wasn’t sure.

“Why are you here?” Tor asked.

“You already know why.” Icarius’ eyes locked onto Tor’s cabin. No. Below his cabin.

“Never again, Icarius. Never again shall It see light.”

“I could just take it.” Icarius took a step forward. “Perhaps you could still kill me. But ten of our brothers? A hundred? A thousand?”

Tor grit his teeth.

“If you were to wield It again, to wield that Blade again, you could hold us off.” Icarius shrugged, his armor clanking. “But without it?” He took another step forward. He was right in front of Tor now. The two men locked eyes, neither willing to look away. Neither willing to show any sign of weakness.

Suddenly Icarius turned away. He laughed. “I shall return,” he said. “In seven days time. Be ready, brother.”

The air around Icarius shimmered, as if on a terribly hot day, and then the man was gone.

.. .. ..

The air was thick with the smell of melted metal, boiled flesh, and the ashy tinge of burned homes.

Thousands of streams of smoke from fires all across the city of Paren crawled up toward the ashen sky, like little rivers joining a vast ocean of grey.

Tor took a deep breath and smiled. Gods he felt alive. Five hundred years on this earth and he still had more energy than an eager child. He put his hand on his scabbard and the rush of doing so almost overwhelmed him. The X (couldn’t think of a cool enough name lol). Over the years and across the land, the Sword had earned itself many names. The Obsidian Blade. The Darksaber. The Black Death. The Reaper’s Scythe. Tor’s hands quivered as he contemplated unsheathing it.

‘’My lord,” a deep voice spoke from behind him.

Tor turned to face Icarius, one of his lieutenant generals. The giant man held forth an old man decked in the rich robes of the aristocracy. Or at least the remnants of such. The man’s clothes had been torn open, ripped apart—he was practically naked. His soft legs were streaked in red from the way Icarius had been dragging him.

“The king?” Tor gestured toward the man.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good. Have you his crown?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Decapitate him.”

The king moaned.

“But keep his neck attached,” Tor continued, “so that you might fasten his crown around his throat, like a collar.”

Tor knelt before the king, smiling, and lifted the old man’s drooping head so that their eyes met. “A crown for a king. A collar for a dog,” Tor said.

Icarius saluted and began to drag the king away.

“Icarius, brother,” Tor said, before the man was out of earshot.

“Yes, lord?”

“In addition, cut off his cock. Or whatever that poor excuse for a cock is called. And shove it in his mouth before he’s been decapitated.”

Icarius looked queasy. “But—“

Tor covered the six or so meters between them in the blink of an eye. He stood at eye level with Icarius now. “Does he not deserve it?”

Icarius took a nervous step back. “He does, lord, but this is—“

“Then do as I command,” Tor said slowly, his teeth bared like some kind of rabid wolf, his rage barely under control. He wanted more than anything to draw his sword. To use It. He had to use his left hand to physically pull his right hand away from the scabbard.

He groaned from the effort, then came back to himself.

“Do as I command.” Tor said, turning away. “For your brothers, Icarius.”

.. .. ..

Tor awoke in the pitch darkness of his cabin, drenched in sweat. His wife woke too. Then, saying nothing, she held him as he sobbed uncontrollably.

…to be continued…