"Come."

Another command, stark and absolute. And with it, something primal stirred within us. Our bodies, as if acting on a will not entirely our own, responded with an unnerving obedience. We moved, walking towards him in a strange, almost perfect synchronization. My mind screamed in protest, but my legs continued to carry me forward.

“I sense it.”

Yes. I knew what he meant. He sensed our fear. He didn't need to see our trembling hands or hear our shallow breaths; it was simply there, a flavor in the air, a truth he seemed to absorb effortlessly.

“It is irrelevant. That is not why I summoned you. Shake it.”

Irrelevant? Was he truly so detached that our terror held no significance for him? Or was there a deeper layer to his words? Did he perhaps desire a different kind of interaction, one not predicated on intimidation? The command that followed, "Shake it," was equally perplexing. Shake what? Shake off our fear? Shake his hand?

"Come here. Stop acting like startled rabbits. I even went and hunted a good deer.”

Then he grunted, a sound that rumbled deep in his chest. One moment, cryptic pronouncements about irrelevant fear, the next, a gruff invitation to admire his kill. Rabbits? Was that how he saw us? Small, skittish prey? And was the deer a peace offering of sorts?

"T-Thanks," I stammered out, my voice still betraying a tremor. "We, uh, we brought some vegetables. And… mushrooms. Finn brought his… spatula." The offering felt pathetically inadequate in the face of the slain deer. I gestured weakly towards Finn, who held up his spatula like a bewildered knight displaying a butter knife.

“Indeed?”

His gaze shifting from the deer to the bag of vegetables Finn was holding, and then to the ridiculous spatula. His expression remained largely unreadable, but there was a flicker in his eyes, a subtle twitch at the corner of his lips that might have been… amusement? Or perhaps utter bewilderment. What the fuck was going on? Was there a hint of… pleasure in his gruff tone?

“Intriguing. Do you wish to make me a salad to sooth my savage heart?”

“No. It’s like your deer. For offering… truce?”

"Truce… Delivered by rabbits. A bold Cyrusian you are." His gaze lingered on me, a strange mixture of amusement and something sharper, perhaps a hint of respect for the sheer audacity of the offer.

"I think I am just… dumb," I admitted, the truth feeling surprisingly liberating in the face of his imposing presence. "But, yeah. Truce.”

"Truce, then. Come to the table. The deer will not butcher itself." He gestured with a massive hand towards the wooden table situated in front of the cabin. It was a sturdy thing, scarred and weathered, likely the site of countless meals taken under the open sky.

As I started to move towards him, a quick glance back at Finn and Levi confirmed my own internal chaos. Their faces were masks of utter confusion and bewildered disbelief. Finn’s mouth hung slightly open, the bag of vegetables clutched awkwardly in his hand. Levi, usually so composed, looked utterly thrown, his brow furrowed in a deep, unreadable expression. I could practically see the gears grinding in their minds, trying to reconcile the terrifying figure before them with this unexpected, almost… domestic invitation. To be honest, I was just as lost. This wasn't the brutal confrontation I had steeled myself for.

Standing beside him at the rough-hewn table, I felt dwarfed, utterly consumed by his imposing shadow. He was a colossus, a living monument of muscle and bone, and I was a mere stripling in his presence.

Then, with a sudden, brutal efficiency that stole my breath, he heaved the deer onto the table's scarred surface. Before I could fully register the weight of the carcass, his hand, thick as my thigh, flashed out. A massive cleaver appeared as if from nowhere. With a single, swift, sickening thwack, the deer's head was severed, the lifeless eyes staring blankly up at the afternoon sky.

"S-Shit…" I stammered, the word a choked gasp. Truce or no truce, this was a predator, and we were undeniably in his domain.

"Speak plainly," he commanded, the massive cleaver flashing as he began to expertly skin the deer. The rhythmic schick-schick of the blade against hide punctuated the air.

Was he truly trying to understand my reaction? Or was this merely a detached observation of my discomfort, perhaps even a subtle form of intimidation? His expression remained inscrutable, offering no clues to his intentions.

"Yeah," I managed, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "It's not exactly everyday you see someone hunt and butcher an animal up close. So, yes, I was shocked. But mostly… mostly I was shocked at your speed. You moved like… like a blur." It was a partial truth, focusing on the skill rather than the visceral nature of the act, hoping to steer the conversation away from my obvious unease.

“Do I look geriatric, to you, boy?”

“What, no! You are absolutely shredded.” My eyes flicked involuntarily back to the still-bleeding deer on the table. Impressive and terrifying.

His eyes narrowed, studying my face intently. "Are you merely telling me what you think I wish to hear? Flattery will avail you nothing."

"I mean…" I stammered, my voice a little higher than I intended, my hand gesturing vaguely between Finn, Levi, and myself. "Look at the three of us, who are decades younger than you. You don't exactly look like you need any… validation or flattery. It's just… an observation."

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Perhaps I intimidate you so much that the obvious becomes a revelation. Fear can sharpen the senses… or dull the mind. Which is it for you, boy?"

“I spent eight months with your boy, and frankly, my nerves are shot," I retorted, a defiant spark in my eyes, though my heart still hammered. "There's not much left that can scare me now. Other than you."

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his features at my words. Recognition? Curiosity? Perhaps even a hint of… something else? "Eight months with... my boy," he echoed. His intense gaze didn't waver. "Then you have seen a shadow of the storm. But the storm itself… is a different beast entirely. And you stand before it now. So, tell me, Cyrusian. Has your time in the shadow sharpened your senses… or dulled them further in anticipation of the true darkness?"

“Who knows?" My voice was surprisingly steady now, buoyed by a strange surge of audacity. "But I am a little less scared of you now. Even though you hold a gigantic cleaver in your hand and can basically kill us in seconds."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, a fleeting expression that didn't quite reach his icy eyes. "A little less scared. Progress, then. Or perhaps merely the bravado of one who has yet to truly feel the edge of the blade. The cleaver is a tool, boy. Like fear. It can be used to carve, or to destroy. Which do you believe is its purpose here?" He gestured with the massive blade, the sunlight glinting ominously off its honed edge. "Speak plainly. Your answer will tell me much."

“I mean you fractured my ribs." My gaze didn't waver from his, a quiet challenge in my tone. "And I am here. And I even dragged Levi and Finn here. I think… It is your choice now. To carve or to destroy."

A low rumble of something that might have been amusement resonated in his chest. "Indeed. I have broken more than ribs in my time, Cyrusian. And yet, here you stand. Dragging your companions into the lion's den, no less. A strange sort of courage, or perhaps a profound lack of self-preservation." His gaze intensified. "You are correct. The choice is mine. But tell me, boy, why should I choose to carve… and not simply cleave?" He held the massive cleaver aloft, the afternoon sun catching the polished steel. "Give me a reason. A reason beyond your apparent lack of fear and your… questionable judgment."

“You want honest?" I took a breath, letting the question hang in the air, a sudden resolve settling over me. "Brutal truth, nothing but the truth?"

His gaze remained fixed on me, unwavering. "After the dance of veiled words and nervous offerings, yes, Cyrusian. I want honesty. Brutal truth. Strip away the fear, the politeness, the games. Lay bare the core of your purpose here. Only then will I decide the fate of the blade."

“Because you are one lonely, isolated monster." The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, fueled by a strange mix of anger and the very pity I was about to confess. "And even though you are a sadistic abuser, I felt some twisted pity for you."

His massive hand, still gripping the cleaver, stilled. The icy intensity in his eyes didn't waver, but something flickered beneath the surface – a shadow of… something. Surprise? Fury? Pain? It was impossible to decipher.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound that vibrated more than it was spoken. "Lonely," he echoed, the word laced with a dangerous edge. "Isolated. Monster. And you… you felt pity?" A harsh, humorless laugh escaped him. "Pity from a rabbit who wandered into the wolf's den?" He leaned forward slightly, his gaze boring into mine. "Explain this… twisted pity, Cyrusian. Explain it before I decide that carving is far too gentle a fate."

“What is to explain?" I met his gaze head-on, my voice gaining a surprising confidence, convinced I had found his raw nerve. "You know I am right. Of course you do. You know better than anyone."

A muscle twitched in his jaw. His grip on the cleaver remained firm, but the blade lowered almost imperceptibly. "Knowing and acknowledging are two very different things," he stated, his voice a low growl. "And your… blunt assessment carries a certain audacity, even for a fool." He paused, his gaze still locked on mine. "But perhaps… perhaps there is a sliver of truth in your naive pronouncement. Isolation breeds its own kind of… darkness. And even the strongest warrior can tire of the endless battle against silence." He looked away for a fleeting moment, his gaze drifting towards the still lake. "So, this 'twisted pity'… what form does it take?"

“We are here. We came here. Because we knew deep down you were a lonely man who wanted to fish and drink with someone. I can only assume how much you wished for it."

His gaze snapped back to mine, the intensity returning, but with a subtle shift. The raw hostility seemed to have receded slightly, replaced by a sharp, almost searching quality. "You… you believe that a man like me yearns for such simple companionship? That beneath the blood and the battles, there is a longing for… fishing and drink?" A skeptical curl touched his lip. "Such sentimentality seems ill-fitting for one who claims to have witnessed my 'sadistic' nature." He paused, his gaze flicking towards Finn and Levi, who were still standing frozen a few feet away. "And they… they share this… fanciful notion?"

“Yeah," I glanced briefly at Finn and Levi, then back at the Conqueror, a defiant certainty in my voice. "I do. I do think you wish for company. Because why would you call Finn, then? And I cannot speak for them. It is their decision. But if you must know, ask them. Don’t scare them into obeying you."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound that held a hint of something that might have been genuine amusement, though it was difficult to be certain. "Indeed. Why would I call the 'grill boy'?" His gaze flickered towards Finn, who flinched slightly under the scrutiny. "A fair question. Perhaps even a clever one, for a 'dumb' Cyrusian." He turned his attention back to me. "As for their desires… you are right. It is their choice. Though I have found that most creatures, when faced with sufficient… persuasion, tend to choose self-preservation." His gaze sharpened again, the undercurrent of threat still present. "But for you, who claims to pity the 'monster'… you believe this yearning for companionship outweighs the fear I inspire?"

“Yeah," I met his gaze, my voice unwavering, a strange sense of conviction settling in. "It does. I mean… What else to say? Even though you are… you. You are still human. Warts and all."

A long silence hung in the air, broken only by the distant chirping of birds. Ragnar's gaze remained fixed on me, intense and unreadable. The massive cleaver in his hand remained still, no longer a threatening gesture, but simply an an extension of himself. Finally, a sigh, heavy with something I couldn't quite decipher – perhaps resignation, perhaps a flicker of something akin to understanding – escaped his lips.

"Human," he echoed, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. "Warts and all." He looked away, his gaze drifting towards the tranquil surface of the lake. "Perhaps… perhaps even a monster tires of its solitude. Perhaps even a storm seeks a temporary calm." He turned back to me, the intensity in his eyes softened ever so slightly. "The table is set for venison. If your companions are brave enough to join us, and if your vegetables are as… intriguing as you claim, then let us see if this fragile truce can withstand the breaking of bread." He gestured towards Finn and Levi with a nod. "Tell your rabbits they are welcome. The cleaver… can wait."

Finn, who had been standing frozen like a startled deer himself, blinked rapidly as Ragnar's gaze shifted towards him. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. He clutched the bag of vegetables tighter, as if it were a lifeline. "Uh… welcome?" he squeaked out, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced nervously at Levi, then back at Ragnar, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and utter bewilderment. "The… the vegetables are organic," he added weakly, as if that somehow justified their bizarre presence. "And… and the mushrooms are marinated in a special… blend." He offered a shaky, hesitant smile that didn't quite reach his wide, fearful eyes.

Levi clearly still processing the surreal turn of events, gave a curt nod to Ragnar. His gaze was steady, though a flicker of caution still danced in their depths. "If that is your offer," he said, his voice measured and calm, "then we will accept. We came here with a purpose, and if sharing a meal is the first step towards understanding, then so be it."

...

The Conqueror, his massive hands surprisingly deft despite their raw power, efficiently butchered the deer carcas. He then stretched the hide tautly onto a makeshift rack constructed from sturdy branches. Meanwhile, Finn and I, still somewhat shell-shocked by the abrupt shift in tone, fumbled with the grill Ragnar had indicated – a simple, stone-lined pit. The wood was damp, the kindling reluctant to catch, and our movements were jerky and uncoordinated. Levi remained a silent sentinel, his gaze fixed intently on the Conqueror, his expression unreadable, a careful observer cataloging every movement, every nuance of the man before him.

I leaned closer to Finn, my voice a low, shaky whisper, the adrenaline slowly beginning to recede. "Finn," I murmured, my breath catching slightly, "I… I can't really feel my legs. I think… I was so incredibly scared."

Finn, his face still pale despite the warmth of the growing fire, jumped slightly at my whisper. He looked at me, his wide eyes filled with a lingering fear that mirrored my own. "Tell me about it," he breathed, his voice barely audible above the crackling flames. "My hands are still shaking so badly, I almost dropped the spatula into the fire. I swear my heart hasn't beat this fast since… well, since that time I accidentally locked myself in that storage unit with all the taxidermied squirrels. But this… this was a whole other level of 'about to become venison'." He shivered despite the heat. "Just try to keep moving, Raph. Maybe the feeling will come back. And try not to make any sudden movements that might remind him we're basically walking bags of blood and questionable courage."

The aroma of grilled venison, expertly handled by Finn, mingled with the subtly charred scent of the vegetables, creating an unexpectedly domestic atmosphere around the rough-hewn table. The four of us – Ragnar, Finn, Levi, and myself – settled around it, an unlikely fellowship forged in fear and a bizarre offering of truce. Ragnar, despite his earlier gruffness, seemed… contemplative as he surveyed the spread. Finn, still a little wide-eyed, beamed with nervous pride at his culinary contribution. I tried to project an air of casual normalcy, though the memory of the cleaver made it a challenge. Throughout it all, Levi remained a silent presence, his gaze sweeping between Ragnar and the rest of us.

"An unlikely gathering. A warrior, a cook, a silent observer, and a bold fool. Tell me, what unspoken pact binds this strange fellowship?" Ragnar said as his gaze swept our the table.

From my perspective, standing between a potentially placated conqueror and my two very different companions, deciphering Levi's stillness was like trying to read the currents beneath a frozen lake. Was it fear? Certainly, the air crackled with a tension that could make even the bravest soul uneasy. But with Levi, fear rarely manifested as outward trembling or panicked words. Instead, it often presented as an intensified focus, a hyper-awareness of his surroundings.

Then again, "careful" felt like an intrinsic part of Levi's being. He was a strategist, a planner, a man who valued information above all else. His silence could just as easily be a deliberate act of observation, a calculated attempt to glean insights into Ragnar's true intentions, into the dynamics of this bizarre gathering.

The silence around the rough-hewn table had indeed become a palpable thing. The crackling fire was the only real sound.

I decided to break it, needing to inject some semblance of normalcy into this utterly bizarre scene. I rose from the bench, my legs still feeling a little unsteady, and reached for the bags we had brought. Inside were the chewing tobacco, a bottle of single malt scotch, and a box of expensive cigars.

Four men, gathered around a table fashioned from the wilderness, the remnants of a freshly hunted deer providing our meal. You know, in a strange, twisted way, there was a certain… undeniable masculinity to the scene. Stripped bare of societal niceties, it was just us, the fire, the meat, and the silent acknowledgment of a shared, albeit unusual, moment in the heart of the wild.

It was a man-cave, alright.

It even landed with a slightly shocking thud within me, a bottom gay man with, as some unfortunate souls had once described, an "angelic face”. Yet, here I was, offering scotch and cigars to a formidable conqueror over a shared kill. Life, it seemed, had a rather peculiar sense of humor.

With a ceremonial gesture, I placed the bag on the rough wooden surface of the table.

"Scotch and cigars, courtesy of Levi's… discerning tastes," I announced, gesturing towards the bag with a wry smile. "And the chewing tobacco… well, that is my contribution."

His gaze flicked from the bag to each of us. "Scotch, you say? And 'cigars'?" He picked up a cigar, its slender form dwarfed by his calloused fingers, and sniffed it cautiously. "These are not the rough-cut leaves my warriors sometimes favor around a battlefield fire. And chewing tobacco…" His eyes landed on me, a flicker of something unreadable within their icy depths. "A curious custom. What am I meant to understand by these… tokens?"

“I mean you know Cyrusia. War, tradition, race supremacism. But there was also one thing I always saw around the streets, vendors… Chewing tobacco. Since you don’t have to light it, so the enemy can’t see it. Also it is bitter but nicotine takes the jitter off. I heard soldiers also press them into the wound sometimes.”

"Yes," Ragnar rumbled, turning the cigar over in his fingers again, his gaze thoughtful. "Chewing tobacco. A grim comfort I've encountered in the camps of lesser men. Bitter, as you say, but the nic-o-tine… it dulls the edge of fear. And a poultice for wounds? Desperate measures for desperate times. Necessity often births strange remedies." He then picked up the scotch bottle, his massive hand dwarfing the glass. "But this… 'scotch'?”

Levi finally opened his mouth.

“I knew you liked that brand particularly.”

Ragnar's gaze remained fixed on Levi, his usual gruffness replaced by an unreadable intensity. The hand holding the scotch bottle stilled. "You… you know this brand?" Ragnar repeated, his voice lower now, a hint of something deeper rumbling beneath the surface. His piercing eyes seemed to bore into Levi, searching for something beyond mere recognition of a drink. "How is it that you know this… particular taste?"

“I watched you drink that scotch in my formative years.”

A stillness descended upon Ragnar. His massive hand, still clutching the scotch bottle, remained frozen in mid-air. A storm of unreadable emotions seemed to war behind the icy blue of his eyes.

“Indeed?” Ragnar asked, the single word a low rumble of disbelief.

"Indeed," Levi repeated, his voice calm and steady.

“Indeed?” Ragnar echoed again, but this time the word was a ragged whisper. His icy eyes widened fractionally.

I watched the exchange, a strange mix of shock and morbid fascination churning within me. This emotionally stunted family reunion, playing out under the flickering firelight in the heart of the wilderness, was far more dramatic than any carefully crafted play.

Finn beside me seemed to have physically shrunk.

“It was right after your northern campaign.” Levi said.

Ah, yes, Levi. Finally. You broke your self-imposed silence.

“Northern campaigns… That was a rather interesting campaign.” Ragnar's gaze drifted down to his right hand, his calloused fingers flexing almost unconsciously. “Our numbers were diminished. Food was scarce. Rain and storm raged. Two earth quakes happened in a week. Making our shelters and tents unusable… We won after 16 months.”

Wow… He was the Conqueror, alright. Stripped of the myth and the fear for a fleeting moment, he was just a man recounting a brutal chapter of his past. I could only watch him, listen to the low rumble of his voice, a strange sense of awe and a prickle of unease coexisting within me.

Beside me, Finn's initial terror seemed to have receded slightly, replaced by a hesitant curiosity. His wide eyes were fixed on Ragnar, and I could almost see the questions bubbling beneath the surface – the urge to bridge the chasm of fear and ask about the battles, the losses.

Then Finn… battled with himself a little longer and asked. “How did you win, sir?”

A flicker of something – perhaps surprise, perhaps a grudging respect for the boy's audacity – crossed Ragnar's weathered features. He turned his gaze from Levi to Finn, his piercing eyes assessing the younger man's hesitant curiosity. A low rumble emanated from his chest before he finally spoke, the crackling fire the only other sound in the clearing. "We won, 'grill boy,' through the oldest and most brutal of means. We endured. They broke." He paused, his gaze distant again, as if re-living those harsh months. "We bled slower. We clung to the frozen earth with a greater desperation. And when their will finally shattered, we were still standing." He looked back at Finn, a stark intensity in his eyes. "Victory is not always in the grand strategy or the heroic charge. Sometimes, it is simply the last breath drawn."

Finn nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. "So… it wasn't about being stronger, just… not giving up." A dawning understanding seemed to cross his face. He looked at Ragnar with a newfound, albeit still slightly fearful, respect.

"Strength, power, guns, information…" he rumbled, his gaze sweeping over each of us, lingering for a moment on Levi. "They are tools, instruments of intent. Useful, yes. Necessary, at times. But they are brittle things, prone to breaking, to being turned against you." He then tapped his chest with a calloused fist. "But this…" His voice deepened, imbued with a primal conviction. "The human will. The fire that burns within. To win, even when the odds scream defeat. To fight when every muscle screams for rest. To conquer not just land, but the weakness within oneself. To hunt not just prey, but purpose. To burn away the doubt and the fear. To own not just possessions, but destiny itself."

He paused, his gaze intense, unwavering. "The moment that fire dies, the moment that will falters… then you are right. The fight is already lost. The rest is merely the prolonging the inevitable."

Ah, fuck. There it was again. That familiar shadow lurking beneath the surface of powerful pronouncements. That edge of finality, that acceptance of eventual defeat.

Ugh… How do I navigate this? Do I call it out directly, risk triggering a volatile reaction? Do I try to steer the conversation towards a more… life-affirming topic? Do I pretend I didn't hear the undertones, and risk leaving that darkness unchallenged? Each option felt fraught with potential peril. This emotionally stunted family gathering was taking another sharp, unsettling turn. I needed to tread carefully, find a way to acknowledge the weight of his words without delving into the abyss they hinted at.

"The will to protect can sometimes outweigh the will to conquer." Levi said glancing at me and Finn.

Ah, this beautiful bastard. My heart did a little flutter-kick in my chest.

It was about us. It was about me and Finn. A warmth spread through me, chasing away some of the chill Ragnar's words had instilled. In that moment, under the harsh gaze of the Conqueror, Levi's quiet strength was a beacon. I loved him, fiercely and completely.

Ragnar's gaze lifted, drawn away from us and towards the vast expanse of the darkening sky above the wilderness. The firelight flickered on his weathered face, highlighting the deep lines etched by time and conflict. "Is that what you wish?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost contemplative, as if addressing the immense canvas of the cosmos rather than us directly.

Levi's gaze followed Ragnar's to the emerging tapestry of stars in the darkening sky. A moment passed, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the distant chirping of unseen insects. Then, Levi spoke, his voice quiet but carrying a sharp edge that cut through the stillness.

"It was for fun, wasn't it?"

“Yes.”

Ragnar didn't elaborate, didn't attempt to justify or rationalize. His gaze remained fixed on the stars, as if seeking absolution or perhaps simply acknowledging a fundamental truth about himself. The casual cruelty in that single syllable sent a fresh wave of unease through me.

Levi's gaze remained fixed on the starlit expanse. "Now it is boring," he stated, his voice carrying a flat, almost weary tone.

"Yes," Ragnar echoed, his agreement surprisingly swift and devoid of emotion. His gaze, too, remained fixed on the heavens.

“Why did you kill my father?”

Levi was still looking at the sky.

The air around the fire crackled, but this time not with tension, but with a sudden, profound stillness. The chirping of insects in the surrounding woods seemed to fall silent.

His gaze remained fixed on the indifferent stars, as if seeking an answer in their ancient light, or perhaps simply unable to bear witness to the reaction his words might provoke.

Ragnar’s gaze, which had been languidly tracing constellations moments before, snapped back to Levi as if an invisible fist had struck him. The firelight, a fickle storyteller, now danced with a frantic energy in the icy depths of his blue eyes. For the first time since we had stumbled into his brutal hospitality, a raw, visceral emotion flickered across his weathered features – a fleeting shadow of pain, perhaps a ghost of regret, quickly wrestled back into submission by something harder, more ingrained, a fortress of hardened will.

“It was an act of mercy. He was different than us.”

"Yes," Levi’s voice echoed, no longer directed at the indifferent stars, but imbued with a quiet sorrow that sliced through Ragnar’s detached justification. "He was different. He could have fled. But he stayed. And you, took him away from me."

“It is a burden we both will carry,” Ragnar rumbled, the words sounding hollow even to my ears.

“He would drink and fish with you,” Levi countered.

“He would,” Ragnar conceded.

Ah… fuck.

A cold dread coiled in my gut. Fuck this twisted, emotionally stunted family and their legacy of violence. I had been a fool, a naive idiot seduced by the novelty of this bizarre parley, completely blind to the festering wounds of their shared history. The strange camaraderie over grilled venison now felt like a grotesque mockery. Fuck. I had been the catalyst, the unwitting fool who dragged Levi back into the orbit of the man who murdered his father. My breath hitched. Fuck me.

“Just end this misery,” Ragnar’s voice was a low, guttural rasp, his gaze now fixed on the still, black water of the unseen lake. “Under the dark sky, next to still lake. Do not bury me. Leave my carcass to the crows. End it.”

Levi’s response was immediate, a quiet but lethal strike. “You do not deserve that ‘act of mercy’.”

Levi finally turned fully to face Ragnar, the firelight illuminating the planes of his face, devoid of any youthful softness. “The Creator,” he stated, the word dripping with bitter irony, “That is what you are. You and your broken genetics created a void that nothing can ever truly fill.”

“Is it the genetics?” Ragnar’s voice was a low growl.

“Yes,” Levi’s voice was a low, steady current of ice. “Our brains are wired different. That is why you are the sadistic, brutal, disgusting monster that you are. That is why my mother is the narcissistic, cruel woman whose memory haunts my waking hours. That is why I am the man that toppled a nation, a conqueror in my own right, echoing your destructive legacy. You are the void, the black hole at the center of our family, creating this utter lack of anything resembling human decency within our bloodline.” He paused, his gaze unwavering, a predator finally confronting its wounded prey. “I had many chances to end you. In the shadows, in the chaos, when you were vulnerable. But I did not. I allowed you to live, to breathe this tainted air, so that you could finally look up at those indifferent stars and perhaps, for the first time in your long, brutal life, truly see yourself. Understand the profound emptiness you embody. Three decades I have walked this earth, haunted by your shadow. And now,” he concluded, his voice resonating with a chilling certainty, “I finally do not fear you. I do not feel pity either. You do not even deserve that.”

"So, you see it too? The flaw? The… hunger? Perhaps that is the true inheritance."

“Of course I do. I battle with it every minute of my life. Do you have any idea how many times I got so close to succumbing? But unlike you, I did not have a gun in my hand to go and murder people. I wielded actual power. Information, connection, wealth. The King you bowed down to? I shipped children to him from an orphanage, right after I rendered him sterile. A quiet, bureaucratic cruelty, echoing your grander scale. I even tried to render myself sterile. But your daughter, in her childish malice, stole my sperm, and now I have twins. Do you have any idea about how utterly terrified I am? That they will be like us? That they will inherit this… nothingness? I spent fifteen years hunting you. But unlike you, I never once shed blood with my own hands. Because of you. Because of the monster you are, I am disgusted by the very sight of blood."

Ragnar’s gaze remained fixed on the flickering flames, his words a low, guttural murmur that seemed to carry the weight of generations of violence and despair. "Twins… a new generation cursed by this… this…" He trailed off. "Perhaps the crows will feast well in the years to come."

Levi’s response was a single, flat word, devoid of emotion. “Perhaps.” He, too, stared into the fire, the dancing flames reflecting in his dark eyes.

Right. Fuck. This isn't some theatrical performance; this is their blood, their pain, laid bare under a merciless sky. Where do I even begin to process this? The casual admission of bureaucratic cruelty from Levi, the chilling acceptance of a flawed lineage from Ragnar… it's a vortex of darkness I never anticipated.

Do I break the silence with a clumsy offer of more scotch, a pathetic attempt to dilute the intensity? Do I make some excuse and bolt into the wilderness, hoping the trees can somehow absorb this toxic atmosphere? Do I reach out to Levi, offer some inadequate physical comfort in the face of his profound anguish and terrifying inheritance? Do I just… weep? Let the sheer weight of their shared misery wash over me?

No. None of that feels right. It's too performative, too much about my own reaction. What hangs in the air isn't just despair, but a grim, shared understanding. Two generations, finally seeing the reflection of the same darkness within themselves and each other.

My own throat felt like it was filled with sand. What platitude could I possibly offer? What joke wouldn't fall flat in this atmosphere thick with confessed cruelty and the acceptance of a cursed bloodline? So we sat there, two outsiders trapped in the brutal intimacy of a family reckoning. The crackling flames were the only sound brave enough to break the heavy, unspoken understanding that had settled between the Conqueror and the nation-toppler.

“Boy. Why did you do all of that?”

“First,” Levi stated, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, “it was fun. A… game of rearranging the pieces. Second, because of my unwavering sense of justice. Rats like those nobles did not deserve their inherited titles, their unearned privilege. The King did not deserve the crown he wore through nothing but birthright. So I got rid of both of them. Uprooted the old rot. Now, I am instilling democracy. A true voice for the people, not the whispers of entitled parasites.”

Ragnar’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of something akin to understanding – albeit a deeply cynical one – crossing his weathered features. “You are even more of a predator than I am,” he rumbled, his voice laced with a strange mix of disdain and grudging recognition. “You stalk in the shadows, toppling kingdoms with whispers and ledgers, while I faced my enemies on the battlefield. But tell me, boy,” he leaned forward slightly, his piercing eyes boring into Levi’s, “did you enjoy it? That moment when the old order crumbled? When their power turned to dust?”

Levi met his gaze unflinchingly, the cold certainty in his eyes unwavering. “Yes,” he stated simply, devoid of any false remorse or justification. “I did. Then,” a flicker of something akin to boredom crossed his face, a weariness that mirrored Ragnar’s own earlier ennui, “I got bored.”

"So, what now bores you? The taste of power? The sound of the masses cheering your name? Or is there still a game to be played?" He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp and assessing, as if trying to decipher Levi's next move on this strange, familial chessboard.

"I spent my years learning the subtle art of power," Levi stated, his tone flat, almost weary. "Fifteen years of meticulous planning, of hunting in the shadows. And then… it was over in one day. One single day. Fifteen years of anticipation, of focused intent, extinguished in the blink of an eye." A ghost of frustration flickered across his face. "That monarch swine… he had to die early. My calculations were off. I thought he would last another six months, at least. I almost wish he had. So that I wouldn't feel this… this utter lack of anything right now."

"That hunger… it never truly goes away, does it? Even in victory, it gnaws."

"No," Levi confirmed, his voice flat, the earlier flicker of frustration replaced by a profound weariness. "It doesn't. So, what do I do now? Start a company? Earn money? Amass more meaningless trinkets? Nothing has any real meaning. There is no lasting satisfaction." He gestured vaguely at the surrounding wilderness, the vast night sky above. "It all feels… pointless."

Ragnar’s gaze remained fixed on Levi, a grim certainty in his icy blue eyes. “Purpose fades, obstruction follows,” he stated.

Levi met his gaze, a hint of a weary smile playing on his lips. “Nothing too obstructive, yet,” he countered, a subtle challenge in his tone.

“It will be,” Ragnar insisted, his voice firm, unyielding.

“I know,” Levi echoed.

Wait.

Was this… bonding? It echoed the strange reconciliation I had witnessed with Cybil, a coming together in the shared landscape of emptiness. Was that the common ground these seemingly disparate men had finally found?

A bond built on nihilism, a connection forged in the absence of meaning. Yet, there was an undeniable shift in the atmosphere, a lessening of the immediate tension. Perhaps in recognizing that shared darkness, a fragile bridge had been built across the chasm of their violent history. It wasn't reconciliation in the traditional sense, not forgiveness or warmth, but a cold understanding, a mutual awareness of the abyss.

I fumbled in my pocket, pulling out one of Ragnar’s thick, dark cigars. It felt alien in my hand. With a clumsy, almost violent motion, I sliced off the end with my knife and brought the open flame of my lighter to the dry tobacco. The first puff was acrid, bitter, utterly disgusting. A grimace twisted my face. I had never liked cigars. But right now, I needed something.

Finn mirrored my impulsive act. No hesitation, no flicker of distaste. He simply reached for another of Ragnar's cigars, clipped the end with a decisive snap, and lit it with a steady hand. The first plume of smoke he exhaled was just as awkward and involuntary-looking as mine. He, too, grimaced slightly.

Levi’s voice, cutting through the heavy silence and the acrid smell of our shared cigar misery, was a low, almost weary drawl. “Raphael. Will you fetch us scotch?”

The request was a lifeline, a sudden, practical task in the face of overwhelming emotional complexity. I didn’t hesitate. My chair scraped back against the rough ground as I practically bolted from the makeshift table, a frantic energy propelling me towards the supplies. The clinking of glass against glass was a jarring sound in the stillness as I fumbled with the bottles, my hands moving with a desperate urgency. I poured, not with any measure or care, but with a singular focus on filling the glasses.

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My hands trembled slightly as I offered the first glass of scotch to Levi. He took it with a quiet nod, his gaze still distant, as if the weight of their shared understanding hadn't fully lifted. The second glass I placed before Ragnar. He eyed it with a familiar glint, a flicker of something akin to his usual gruffness returning to his features.

Then came our turn. Finn reached for a glass with a jerky movement, his hand mirroring my own barely concealed tremor. Without a word, without even a glance at me, he tilted the glass back and downed the entire measure in one swift, desperate gulp. I followed suit, the amber liquid burning a fiery trail down my throat. Fuck. It was the kind of scotch you were supposed to savor, to sip slowly and appreciate the complex flavors. But right now, all I felt was the raw, searing burn. We stood there, two coughing, watery-eyed idiots under the alien sky, sharing a silent testament to the profoundly fucked-up family we had somehow stumbled into.

A low chuckle rumbled in Levi’s chest, a sound that was almost… normal. A faint smile touched the corners of his lips as he watched Finn and me.

“It was the sipping kind, dear,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

My throat still burned, and my eyes felt like they were watering uncontrollably. “Yeah…” I managed, my voice a raspy whisper. “It… was…” The understatement of the millennium. Finn beside me just nodded dumbly, clutching his empty glass as if it held some profound truth.

Ragnar took another deliberate sip of his scotch. "Impatient, skittish, foolish, naive…" he grunted.

A low chuckle rumbled in Levi's chest, and he exchanged a brief, knowing smirk with Ragnar. "Yes," Levi agreed. "He is a different breed of monster altogether."

I blinked, trying to clear the watering from my eyes as I looked at Levi, a bewildered question escaping my lips. “Was… that… a compliment?”

Levi took a slow, deliberate sip of his scotch, a genuine, if slightly sardonic, smile playing on his lips. The first rays of the sun were beginning to paint the sky with hues of orange and gold, casting a warm glow on his face. “Yes,” he confirmed, his gaze direct and holding a surprising hint of warmth. “It was.”

"Since when do you offer pleasantries, boy?" he rumbled, his voice carrying a hint of gruff curiosity. "Has this… quiet life… softened you?"

Levi’s gaze followed Ragnar’s towards the rising sun for a moment, a hint of a nostalgic sadness flickering across his features. Then, he turned back, his gaze meeting Ragnar’s with a surprising softness. “I met him before the hunt ended,” he explained, his voice quieter now, the sardonic edge softened. “And yes… it did soften me. Not the silence, not the lack of conflict… but him. He is truly a monster.”

“Are you… talking to me, Levi?” I asked, a flicker of confusion and a strange stirring of something else.

“Yes,” he confirmed, his voice direct, the earlier hint of sadness replaced by a steady, almost intense focus. “I am.”

My mind stuttered, trying to process that. Monster. Levi, the man who orchestrated the downfall of a nation with cold, calculated precision, was calling me a monster? The guy who just choked down a cigar he hated and nearly burned his throat with a shot of good scotch out of sheer awkwardness?

Monster.

Was that… respect? From Levi? What could he possibly see in me that warranted such a label, even with that ambiguous tone? Had my own clumsy attempts to navigate this insane family dynamic somehow revealed a monstrous quality I wasn't even aware of? The idea was both unsettling and, in a darkly twisted way, almost… validating?

"Oh, don't look so surprised," Levi said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You think surviving this little family gathering without completely losing your mind is the mark of a well-adjusted individual? No, dear Raphael. It takes a certain… resilience. A certain… monstrous adaptability."

His explanation, while still laced with that unsettling "monster" label, felt… almost genuine.

"I know you are trying to hide it," I said, my voice a little steadier now, "but I can sense it. It is… respect, Levi."

"It is," he admitted, his gaze holding mine with an unexpected sincerity. "But it truly offends me to think that you do not think that I respect you, Raphael."

I shook my head slightly, a small, disbelieving smile touching my lips. "What a bizarre, weird day," I murmured.

Beside me, Finn finally spoke, his voice a low murmur of agreement. "Yeah."

Levi, however, offered a wry smile, raising his glass of scotch in a sardonic toast. "Welcome to family, dear," he said, the words dripping with a dark humor.

Finn chuckled weakly, taking another hasty sip of his scotch. "Yeah, this family reunion is way more intense than my uncle's divorce party."

"Yeah," I agreed, raising my glass in a slightly unsteady toast. "It was even more intense than the day I said I would do my own stunts."

Finn chuckled again, a little less nervously this time, shaking his head at my comparison. "Nah, man. That was also intense. You nearly broke your spine in half. Remember the look on Maya's face?"

Levi, who had been observing our exchange with a detached amusement, finally raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from his scotch to me. "What was that about nearly breaking your spine?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“Bravado got the better of me, I said I’ll do my own stunts. Then I fell. Nothing happened but I was in an awkward position. If feel from a higher distance I could have possibly break my neck too.”

"Ah, the folly of youthful exuberance," Levi murmured, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he swirled the scotch in his glass. "A familiar ailment. Though I confess, my own youthful indiscretions rarely involved such… theatrical risks." He glanced at Ragnar, a subtle amusement in his eyes. "Our family prefers more subtle forms of self-destruction, wouldn't you agree?"

Ragnar grunted in response, taking a slow sip of his scotch, his gaze fixed on the lake.

Yes, Levi. Finally he was making fun of Ragnar or something.

“Ain’t no subtlety in your family, Levi.”

A genuine smile touched Levi's lips at my remark. "You have a point, dear Raphael," he conceded, his gaze flicking back to me, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Perhaps 'subtlety' is a relative term within our… unique familial context." He glanced towards Ragnar, who remained a silent, brooding presence by the lake, the early morning sun glinting off his silver-streaked hair. "Compared to some, shall we say, our methods might appear… nuanced."

"So you ended our five centuries of legacy… the Blake legacy," Ragnar stated, the words carrying a low rumble of something that might have been resignation or perhaps a lingering disapproval.

Levi took a slow sip of his scotch, his expression cool and matter-of-fact. "Yes," he confirmed, his voice devoid of any boastfulness. "In one day. It was not even challenging enough to push me to despair. It simply required being observant, meticulous, and foresighted."

"I turned our kitchen into a chemistry lab, started origami, started baking, even mixed chemistry and baking with… interesting results," Levi admitted, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I don't have anything truly grand planned at the moment. But…" his gaze flicked towards me, a sudden intensity in his eyes, "I do have one last trick up my sleeve, my dearest."

"What, you do?" I asked, a prickle of unease mixing with curiosity.

"Yes," Levi stated, his voice dropping slightly, a conspiratorial tone entering his voice. "The Aether Bloom."

At the mention of those words, Ragnar, who had been silently observing the lake, turned his head sharply.

“You found it?” Ragnar asked.

Levi’s smile widened, a touch of triumph in his eyes. "No, 'Your Excellency'," he corrected. "I did not find it. It is on the mountains of our inheritance. And since they live on the specific soil of those mountains, you cannot simply move or cultivate them elsewhere. They were always there. I simply… created an empire over those flowers." He gestured vaguely towards the unseen mountains in the distance, the sunlight glinting off his scotch glass. "A quiet, botanical conquest, if you will."

"Ah… shit… You told me that," I muttered, a wave of belated realization washing over me. The Aether Bloom. Of course. "It's the flower that you use for the opioids, right? Your entire lineage basically owes everything to that flower."

Levi inclined his head, a smug satisfaction evident in his expression. "Yes, my dear. You see, my grandfather was busy with war, my father was busy with celestial bodies, and I simply… researched chemistry. Then one day, while I was enduring a particularly tedious lecture about the Blake dukedom, I stumbled upon a reference to that flower. Naturally, I then delved into the fascinating world of botany. And now," he gestured expansively at the rugged landscape surrounding us, "we are, as it happens, on one of those very mountains. Which I own, 'Your Excellency'."

Finn’s eyes widened. "You own this mountain, Levi?" he asked.

Levi’s smugness seemed to amplify. "Yes, dear Finn. I own every mountain in Ascaria where the Aether Bloom grows. Every single one." He gestured expansively, encompassing the unseen peaks beyond our immediate view.

Ragnar, his gaze sweeping over the landscape, frowned. "I never saw them… Aether Bloom on this mountain…" he rumbled, a hint of disbelief in his tone.

"Because," Levi explained with a knowing smile, "you do not know what it looks like. It resembles orchids, but a more… regal one, if you will. They tend to bloom in secluded, higher elevations, away from the well-trodden paths of conquering armies."

Levi leaned back slightly, a triumphant glint in his eyes as he surveyed Ragnar. "Isn't the irony simply exquisite, gentlemen?" he purred, the word "exquisite" drawn out with a deliberate flourish. "The man who clung to his precious title, who defined himself by a lineage built upon the very essence of this land… doesn't even recognize the source of his supposed glory. The Aether Bloom, the silent benefactor of the Blake legacy, blooming unnoticed under his very nose for centuries." He chuckled softly. "Five centuries of pomp and circumstance, all thanks to a flower he wouldn't know if it slapped him in his royal face." He gestured towards the unseen blooms on the higher slopes, a flourish of his hand as if conducting an orchestra of botanical irony. "Oh, the delicious obliviousness of it all."

Levi smiled wider. "Perhaps if 'Your Excellency' had spent less time on battlefields and more time appreciating the local flora, he might have grasped the true nature of his inheritance."

The irony was rather beautiful in its subtle, almost poetic justice.

The smug satisfaction on Levi's face twisted into something colder, more calculating. With a swift movement, he produced a syringe from his jacket pocket. Before anyone could fully register his intent, he lunged forward, his grip surprisingly strong. There was a brief struggle, a muffled grunt from Ragnar, and then Levi swiftly plunged the needle into the Conqueror's arm. Ragnar recoiled, his icy eyes widening in shock and fury as Levi withdrew the now-empty syringe.

"Levi! What—"

Levi turned to me, a chillingly serene smile on his face, his eyes gleaming with a disturbing light. "Hush now, dearest," he said calmly. "Let him taste legacy. These sedatives were synthesized from the Aether Bloom, the very flower he so ignorantly dismissed. But," he added, his gaze returning to the visibly stiffening form of Ragnar, "since he is so massively large, he will only feel… 'nice' for a while. Just enough to appreciate the irony."

Ragnar’s massive frame swayed slightly, his brow furrowed in confusion as a strange softness seemed to wash over his usually harsh features. "Boy… I feel…" he grunted, his voice losing its characteristic edge, becoming thick and slurred.

Levi watched him with a predatory gleam in his eyes, a cruel satisfaction evident in his smirk. "Nice?" he prompted, his voice almost a purr.

A slow, almost blissful smile spread across Ragnar's face. "Yes…" he murmured, his eyelids fluttering.

Levi turned to me, his expression a bizarre mixture of triumph and faux-innocence. "See, dearest? Well. I basically made him an opioid addict, but I assume he will be grateful for this newfound… tranquility."

"What the fuck, Levi?" I exclaimed, my voice a mixture of outrage and disbelief.

Levi waved a dismissive hand, his serene smile unwavering. "Now, now. No need to be dramatic. If he had ever bothered to read a book for once, possibly," he gestured vaguely towards the sky, "none of this would have happened."

"Why did you even do that, Levi? To prove a point about the flower?" I demanded, the outrage still simmering beneath a layer of bewildered disbelief.

"No," he said quietly, his gaze drifting towards the now-slumped form of Ragnar. "Because it was utterly pitiful to see his lightless eyes, that endless, empty stare. And frankly, disgusting to hear him talk – that booming pronouncements of nothingness. This…" he gestured vaguely towards Ragnar, "is a kindness, in a twisted sort of way. He will only sleep for a little while. Perhaps in his dreams, he'll find something more interesting to contemplate than his faded glory."

"But... why, Levi? What was the point of all this? The flower, the history lesson, and now this?"

Levi simply shrugged. "I do not know," he said, his gaze drifting towards the tranquil surface of the nearby lake. "It was an impulse decision."

The casualness of his reply, the lack of any grand motive or justification, was perhaps the most unsettling thing of all.

Levi's gaze, previously distant and almost clinical as he observed the sedated Ragnar, now hardened with a bitter intensity. He looked down at the Conqueror's slumped form, a flicker of something akin to resentment in his eyes. "Now, looking at him like this… just another bag of meat and bones," he stated, his voice low and laced with a long-simmering frustration. "I was terrified of him for three decades. Thirty years spent living under the shadow of his reputation, his power. And now we are here. He resides on my mountain, oblivious to the very legacy he so carelessly trampled."

He gestured dismissively at Ragnar. "The Blake family was never truly about war, about being blood-sniffing hounds. They were physicians, chemists, healers. Not… this." His gaze sharpened, filled with a disdain that seemed to encompass not just Ragnar, but perhaps the very path their family had strayed down. "He embodied everything we were not meant to be."

"Maybe... maybe this is a way to finally break free from that shadow he cast. To redefine what the Blake family means." Finn said.

Levi's gaze flicked between Finn and me. "Well, I do not know you gentlemen particularly well," he began, a slight pause for emphasis, "but my finger is particularly itchy about ending this monster with another syringe." He gestured towards the still form of Ragnar with a barely perceptible twitch of his hand. "But I will not. I assume you can forgive me for drugging a murderer, but not for simply murdering a murderer."

His attention then shifted back to Ragnar, a cold finality in his voice. "Also, Finn. The Blake family is simply no more. I have my pharmaceutical company, a far more… profitable and less bloodstained legacy, dare I say? And," he swept his hand to encompass the surrounding mountains, the land stretching out under the sky, "Ascaria. This is my domain now."

"What the fuck has come over you, Levi?" I exclaimed, my voice laced with a bewildered frustration. "I don't understand any of this."

"I do not understand either," he admitted, his voice softer now, almost introspective. "I simply wished to do it, then did it. No restraint, no control. I just… did. It felt good. For a second. Now…" his eyes flickered back to the unconscious Conqueror, "it feels bitter."

"Maybe... maybe that's what being free from his fear feels like, at first? A rush, and then... emptiness?" Finn asked.

Levi considered Finn's words, his gaze still troubled. "Maybe," he conceded, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Maybe not. It was a blur. I wanted to do it. Then did it. I am glad we left the guns at the car."

"Gods, Levi. Fuck… Ugh…" I ran a hand through my hair, the events of the morning feeling increasingly surreal and disturbing. "What do we do now? What will happen to him?" I gestured towards the still-sedated Conqueror.

Levi glanced at Ragnar with a detached air. "To him? Nothing truly terrible. He is in utter bliss right now, floating on a cloud of synthesized Aether Bloom. Normal humans wake up after perhaps two hours from a dose like that. Given his… unique constitution, he will possibly wake up in half an hour. Refreshed, and hopefully, a little less… loud."

“What if he pukes or something? At least change his position, make him lay on his side.”

"Hmm, a valid point, dearest. Though I doubt his iron constitution is easily upset by a little botanical bliss, you are right. A prone position might be… less than ideal."

He gestured with a dismissive wave of his hand towards Finn. "Finn, be a dear and roll our sleeping giant onto his side. Wouldn't want him choking on his own… contentment."

"He is sedated, Levi," I stated firmly. "Neither Finn nor I can roll his dead weight. You come and help us. Right now."

Levi crossed his arms, a stubborn pout forming on his lips. "I don't want to."

My frustration reached its peak. "Shut up and help us, right now, Levi," I repeated, my voice sharper this time, brooking no argument.

Levi considered for a long, drawn-out moment, his gaze flicking between Ragnar's prone form and me. Finally, a sly smile touched his lips. "Only for you, Raphael," he conceded, a hint of a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And while we're at it, let's carry him to his bed. Wouldn't you be… curious to see the Conqueror's man-cave?"

"Ugh… whatever, just help us," I grumbled, the earlier frustration giving way to the immediate physical challenge.

...

The three of us, a mismatched trio of manpower, strained against the Conqueror's immense weight. Levi, with his surprising strength, took the lead at the shoulders. Finn and I, lean and decidedly less built, struggled with his legs, our muscles protesting with every step. Grunts and gasps for air filled the morning as we finally managed to heave him off the table. Just lifting him had been an ordeal.

Then the real challenge began. Carrying this titan, his weight now dead, was a herculean task. Each step was a labored effort, our feet dragging on the uneven ground as we navigated the path towards the cabin. Sweat beaded on our foreheads, and our breath came in ragged gasps. The Conqueror's sheer mass seemed to defy the laws of physics.

"How heavy… is this… motherfucker... Fuck… My ribs broke again," I gasped out, a sharp pain lancing through my chest with each strained step.

"I have… no… idea…" Finn wheezed in reply, his face red with exertion, every muscle in his arms trembling.

Levi, surprisingly, seemed to be handling the weight with less visible strain, though even he was breathing heavily. "You truly do not wish to know, gentlemen," he said, a grimace flickering across his face. "Let's just say he enjoyed… hearty meals."

"How much… he benches... Fuck…" I grunted.

"Yeah… how much…" Finn echoed, his voice strained to its limit, his face a mask of exertion.

Levi, his muscles bulging with the effort, offered a grim smile. "I sincerely hope you never learn the answer to that particular question, gentlemen. Some knowledge is best left… unacquired."

After what felt like an eternity of strained muscles and ragged breaths, we finally staggered through the cabin's doorway. As expected, there was no lock on the crude wooden door – why would a man like the Conqueror need one? The interior was exactly as imagined: a stark, unapologetic man-cave. Furniture crafted from logs, the rough texture of animal hides strewn across the floor, and several unsettlingly amateur taxidermy projects – a squirrel with mismatched eyes, a bird whose feathers stuck out at odd angles.

But midst this haphazard collection of the wilderness, something stood out with an almost jarring incongruity. Hung neatly on a simple wooden hanger next to a dusty, cracked mirror was a uniform. His uniform. The blue fabric was crisp, devoid of a single crease.

With a final, collective groan, the three of us managed to maneuver the Conqueror onto his bed – a surprisingly sturdy, if spartan, construction of logs. We wrestled his immense frame onto his side, a task akin to repositioning a fallen tree. His bedding was… rudimentary. Instead of pillows, there were misshapen lumps of animal hide, presumably filled with more of the same. They smelled faintly of the wild, a primal aroma that permeated the cabin. Nevertheless, we wedged these makeshift supports around him, hoping to prevent any… unfortunate incidents.

While the three of us stood there, chests heaving in unison, desperately trying to regulate our breathing after the monumental effort of moving the Conqueror, Finn's earlier terror seemed to have been temporarily eclipsed by a burgeoning curiosity about the man-cave. His gaze darted around the interior of the cabin, taking in the mismatched furniture, the unsettling taxidermy, and finally settling on the pristine blue uniform hanging by the mirror. His brow furrowed with a mixture of apprehension and intrigue.

Finn took a tentative step further into the cabin, his gaze lingering on the poorly stuffed squirrel. "Did he… did he do all this himself?" he murmured, more to himself than to either Levi or me. He reached out a hesitant hand towards a table made from a thick slab of wood, its surface scarred and etched with the marks of time and use.

Levi was already surveying the room with a more calculating eye. He ran a finger along the back of a chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Likely. It has the hallmarks of solitary labor. Crude, functional… and strangely personal."

I leaned against the door frame, my ribs protesting with a dull ache. The sheer incongruity of the Conqueror's life was starting to sink in. This brutal, imposing figure, living in a self-made wilderness, yet meticulously preserving a symbol of his former authority. "It's like two different people lived here," I observed, my voice still a little ragged. "The savage recluse and… someone else."

Finn began to explore the cabin more thoroughly. He cautiously circled a large wooden table, its surface etched with what looked like knife marks and the faint residue of dried blood. On it lay a collection of oddities: sharpened stones, pieces of intricately carved bone, and a worn leather-bound book filled with densely packed script in a language none of us recognized. He picked up one of the carved bones, its surface smooth and cool to the touch.

"Look at this," Finn murmured, holding it up for us to see. "He has... skills. Not just brute strength."

Levi, still focused on the uniform, barely glanced at the bone. "Everyone has skills, Finn. The question is what he chose to cultivate."

My gaze drifted towards the taxidermy attempts again. They were truly awful, almost comical in their ineptitude. Yet, there was a strange persistence in them, a sense that the Conqueror had spent a considerable amount of time trying, and failing, to capture some semblance of life in these dead creatures.

Finn's gaze now drawn to the leather-bound book on the table. He hesitated for a moment before gently picking it up, its pages brittle with age. He flipped through a few, the unfamiliar script looking almost like elaborate drawings. "Do you recognize this language?" he asked, turning to Levi.

Levi shook his head. "No. It's ancient, perhaps. Or from a region we haven't encountered." He moved closer to Finn, peering over his shoulder at the script. "Notice the symbols. Some of them resemble constellations."

I pushed myself away from the door frame, my curiosity piqued despite the lingering ache in my ribs. I joined them at the table, looking at the strange writing. "Constellations? Maybe it's some kind of astronomical text? Or… astrological?"

The idea of the Conqueror, this brutal force of nature, poring over star charts and astrological predictions was almost laughable, yet somehow… fitting with the other contradictions we had observed.

As Finn carefully turned another page, a small, dried flower fell out. It was delicate and a vibrant shade of purple, unlike any flower I had seen.

Levi's eyes widened slightly as he saw the flower. He reached out a hand, his usual detached demeanor momentarily forgotten. "The Aether Bloom," he murmured. "So, he knew."

Levi carefully picked up the flower, turning it over in his fingers with an almost reverent touch. "To find it pressed within a text like this… it suggests more than just knowledge of its existence," he mused, his gaze distant.

Finn leaned closer, examining the flower. "It doesn't look like it would knock someone out for hours," he commented, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

"The raw bloom, no," Levi explained, his attention returning to us. "But its properties can be… refined, concentrated. The sedatives I synthesized were far more potent." He then looked back at the ancient text Finn was holding. "This book… it might hold the key to understanding him. To understanding the Blake family before… him."

As if in response to our discussion, a low groan emanated from the corner of the room where we had laid the Conqueror on his makeshift bed. His massive frame shifted slightly, the animal hides rustling. The effects of the Aether Bloom were beginning to wear off. The sleeping giant was stirring.

Levi, still holding the flower, tensed, his earlier curiosity replaced by a guarded alertness. Finn instinctively took a step back, his eyes fixed on the stirring figure on the bed. My own ribs ached in anticipation of the Conqueror's awakening.

Ragnar groaned again, a deeper, more guttural sound this time. His large hand clenched on the animal hide beneath him. His eyelids fluttered, and then, slowly, heavily, they opened. His icy blue eyes, still slightly glazed, scanned the room, taking in Levi, Finn, and me.

"Boy…" he rasped, his voice thick and rough, laced with a dangerous undercurrent. He pushed himself up, a monumental effort even in his still-sedated state, his gaze locking onto Levi. "What… have you done?"

Despite the raw fury emanating from the towering figure on the bed, Levi remained unnervingly calm. He met Ragnar's icy glare with a cool, almost clinical detachment. "Aether Bloom," he stated matter-of-factly, gesturing to the discarded syringe. "I sedated you. How do you feel?"

A slow, almost blissful smile spread across Ragnar's face. "Nice," he murmured, his voice still thick.

Levi's lips curved into a small, unsettling smile. "Great. Now, 'Your Excellency', if you would be so kind as to read us this book," he held up the ancient text Finn had found, "or perhaps even teach us the alphabet of its language, I might even consider granting you a second dosage of this… delightful tranquility."

Shit.

Levi was not scared at all.

Finn and I exchanged bewildered glances. Levi's audacity was breathtaking, bordering on suicidal. Asking the Conqueror, a man who exuded raw power even in his drugged state, to read us bedtime stories in exchange for more narcotics? It was insane.

Ragnar blinked slowly, his brow furrowed in a mixture of the drug-induced haze and what might have been genuine confusion. He looked from Levi to the ancient book, then back to Levi, a slow comprehension dawning in his still-glazed eyes.

"Read… book?" he rumbled, the words slurring slightly.

"Indeed," Levi replied smoothly, holding the book out slightly. "Expand our minds, 'Your Excellency'. Share the wisdom contained within these ancient pages. In return… continued pleasantness." He even offered a small, almost encouraging smile.

A low chuckle rumbled in Ragnar's chest, a sound that was more confusing than threatening. "Alphabet…" he repeated, as if the concept were utterly foreign yet vaguely amusing. "Show… book," he mumbled, reaching out a massive hand, his movements still sluggish.

Levi, with a surprising lack of hesitation, carefully placed the ancient text in the Conqueror's outstretched palm. Ragnar's large fingers clumsily fumbled with the brittle pages for a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. He squinted at the unfamiliar script, his lips moving silently as he tried to decipher the strange symbols.

Finn and I watched the scene unfold in stunned silence. It was utterly surreal. The Conqueror, moments ago a figure of terrifying power, now looked like a confused giant trying to decipher a child's picture book.

After a long moment of silent contemplation, Ragnar looked up at Levi. "These… not letters I know," he rumbled. "But… look like stars." He pointed a thick finger at one of the symbols.

Levi beamed. "Precisely, 'Your Excellency'! As I suspected. An astronomical or perhaps astrological text." He then subtly reached into his pocket. "And as promised…" He produced another syringe, this one already filled with the clear liquid of the Aether Bloom derivative, holding it up enticingly.

Ragnar's gaze flickered from the strange symbols in the book to the offered syringe. He looked almost… docile.

"Stars…" he repeated softly, tracing the outline of a symbol with a thick finger. "Tell… more."

Ragnar continued to stare at the book, his brow furrowed in concentration. He pointed at another symbol, a series of interconnected dots. "These… mean… what?"

"That, 'Your Excellency', appears to represent the constellation of the Great Bear. A powerful celestial entity, associated in many cultures with strength and guidance." Levi leaned closer, pointing out other symbols. "And this… this is likely the North Star, a fixed point in the heavens, used for navigation."

Ragnar listened intently, his massive head tilted slightly. He even grunted in understanding at certain points, his thick finger tracing the patterns on the brittle pages.

Levi continued his impromptu astronomy lesson, pointing out different constellations and explaining their potential significance within the ancient text. Ragnar, surprisingly, proved to be an attentive student, his initial confusion slowly giving way to a rudimentary understanding.

"This one… looks like… hunter?" he mumbled, pointing to a depiction of what looked vaguely like Orion.

"Indeed!" Levi exclaimed, his enthusiasm growing. "A powerful figure in many myths, associated with strength and prowess. Perhaps your ancestors saw themselves reflected in these celestial patterns."

The situation was so utterly bizarre, so far removed from the tense standoff we had anticipated, that it was difficult to fully process. We had come to this remote cabin, expecting confrontation, perhaps even violence. Instead, we were witnessing a drugged warlord learning about constellations from his captor.

"Tired…" he mumbled, his gaze drifting back to Levi and the syringe still held in his hand.

Levi, sensing the shift, offered a small, knowing smile. "Indeed, 'Your Excellency'. Knowledge can be quite… exhausting. Perhaps a little more… celestial inspiration?"

Ragnar’s heavy eyelids fluttered, his gaze drifting longingly towards the syringe in Levi’s hand. The last vestiges of his drug-induced docility seemed to be clinging on, battling against the returning tide of his natural intensity.

“More…” he rumbled, his voice losing some of its earlier softness, a hint of his usual gruffness returning. “Tell… more stars… then… more… nice.”

Levi nodded slowly, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of triumph and a hint of caution. He had managed to subdue the Conqueror, at least temporarily, with a combination of chemistry and intellectual curiosity. But he knew this fragile truce wouldn’t last forever.

Ragnar’s heavy eyelids finally closed, the ancient book slipping from his loosened grip and landing with a soft thud on the animal hide bedding. His breathing deepened, a low rumble that echoed through the small cabin. The effects of the Aether Bloom had finally claimed him once more.

Levi sighed softly, a mixture of relief and perhaps a touch of disappointment on his face. "Well," he said, turning to Finn and me, "that was… unexpectedly educational."

Finn shook his head slowly, a look of utter disbelief on his face. "I… I don't even know what to say."

I leaned against the rough wooden wall, my ribs aching, my mind still trying to process the surreal events of the past few hours. "What now, Levi? He's going to wake up eventually. And when he does… the 'nice' feeling will be long gone."

“I need this book. The language is unlike anything I have ever seen. Maybe it is from the actual Blake nobles. The one that discovered Aether Bloom. The language itself is also a linguistic study. I will contact some people from the Academia.”

"But… him," Finn interjected, his voice laced with concern. "He's not going to stay asleep forever. What happens when he wakes up and finds his book gone?"

Levi's jaw tightened. "Then we will have to deal with it."

"Levi. You are not thinking in the moment. We are in his territory, he is far stronger than three of us combined, and he will be furious when he wakes up. We absolutely cannot just 'deal with him'. Maybe… maybe we try asking him for the book? Offer him something in return? More of your 'nice' serum? Information about the stars he seemed so interested in?"

"Stars are also interesting," Levi conceded, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "He certainly didn't strike me as the scholarly type. Perhaps… perhaps my father did share some of his knowledge with him." He glanced around the crude cabin, as if searching for clues to this unexpected connection.

"It's worth a try," Finn chimed in, his voice still laced with apprehension. "Anything is better than him waking up and finding we've stolen his book. Maybe that shared interest in the stars could be our way in."

Levi nodded slowly, a reluctant agreement in his eyes. "Alright, you have a point. Direct confrontation, especially now… it's foolish. We'll try to appeal to his… newfound intellectual curiosity. And the 'nice' serum."

“Shit. Levi…" I gasped. "Your father’s name was Orion. Maybe that’s why he held onto it.”

A jolt went through Levi, his grip on the ancient book tightening. His eyes widened, a sudden understanding dawning in them. "Orion…" he breathed, the name a soft whisper. He looked at the sleeping Conqueror, then back at the star-filled pages of the book, a profound realization washing over him. "He used to spend hours charting the constellations, telling me the old myths… This language… these star symbols… it's possible… it's actually possible that he learned some of this from my father."

"I think that book…" I began slowly, piecing together the fragments of the puzzle, "it doesn't belong to the 'Blakes' in some abstract familial sense. It belongs to your father. Since Ragnar didn't seem to know about the specific appearance of the Aether Bloom, but I assume your dad did… Fuck… that's why there's a dried flower pressed inside. Ragnar probably thought it was just a random, pretty flower. But your father… he knew."

Levi ran a trembling hand through his hair, his mind clearly reeling from this new information. "My father… and my grandfather? But… my father was a pacifist. What connection could he have possibly had with a ruthless conqueror?"

"It was obvious," I said softly, "that he regretted killing your father. Fuck… where do we even begin to uncover this mystery? I think your father… your father tried to connect with your grandfather somehow. What's the easiest way to connect with a warlord? You talk about tales, warriors, legends... Fuck. Your father possibly tried to offer him some type of kindness or something. Oh, god."

Levi stared at Ragnar, his expression a turbulent mix of grief, confusion, and a dawning sense of tragic irony. "Kindness…" he whispered. "My father… he always believed in the inherent good in people, no matter how buried it might be."

My own grief and rage, simmering beneath the surface since encountering Ragnar, now threatened to boil over. "Fuck… fuck… why would he do this?" I spat out, my voice raw with disbelief and fury in the cabin. "Someone… not even his own flesh and blood tried to connect with him, and what did he do? Killed him? Because of what? He was kind? He was gentle? He was weak? Fuck… yeah… I am so glad the guns are in the car. Because I wouldn't be as patient as you, Levi."

"I don't know, Raphael," Levi whispered. "Perhaps… perhaps my father's kindness was seen as a weakness. Perhaps his attempts at connection were interpreted as a threat to Ragnar's power. Or maybe…" his voice trailed off.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to block out the reality of his family's history. When he opened them again, a flicker of something cold and resolute had replaced the earlier shock. "But we can't dwell on the 'why' right now," he said, his voice firmer now, edged with a newfound determination. "We have a chance to understand."

“Fuck… Levi… Your family mansion. You need to go there and go to your father’s study. It is a book Levi. It is possible that he used that same language in other texts. Maybe… Ah… Your father maybe even created his own language so this thick skulled monster can understand.”

Levi's eyes widened, a spark of hope igniting within them. "The mansion," he breathed, the words catching in his throat. "He had countless books, journals… it's possible he documented his linguistic studies there. He was meticulous about his research."

He looked at the ancient book in Finn's hands, then back at the sleeping Ragnar, a new sense of urgency propelling him. "And you're right about the language. My father was incredibly patient. He might have even devised a simplified version, a language of his own, to try and bridge the gap with… him."

"We need to go," Levi said, his voice now filled with a focused determination. "To the Blake mansion. There has to be something there, something that can help us decipher this book and understand the connection between my father and… him." He glanced at the sun outside the cabin window. "Every moment we waste, he gets closer to waking up. And when he does, our fragile window of opportunity will be gone."

"No, Levi. You need to go there alone. At least let's not include Finn in this. Also, what… are we going to steal his book now? Then sleep with a gun under our pillows if he hunts us down? Calm down. We need a plan that doesn't involve immediate theft and guaranteed retribution."

Levi took a deep breath, the initial urgency in his eyes slowly receding, replaced by a more measured consideration. "You're right, Raphael," he conceded. "Stealing the book outright… it's a short-sighted solution with potentially fatal consequences here."

“Bring your damn chopper. And fly to the mansion. Leave the car behind, the moment things escalate me and Finn will be ready to bolt. And the same time, me and Finn will try to make sure he doesn’t wake up. Keep one vial to yourself, leave others here. Be quick. Real quick. Grab whatever you can. Than we will contact linguists. Okay?”

"Alright," Levi said, nodding decisively. "The chopper. Smart. Less traceable than the car if things go south here." He looked at me, a grim determination in his eyes. "I'll bring it in as quietly as possible, land a safe distance away from the cabin."

He then turned to Finn. "While I'm gone, keep a close watch on our… guest. Raphael is right; a prematurely awakened Conqueror is a scenario we must avoid at all costs. We'll leave a few vials of the derivative here, just in case. But conserve them. We don't know how long I'll be."

Turning back to me, he continued, "I'll be quick. Head straight for my father's study. Grab any books, notes, anything that looks like it might contain similar script or linguistic analysis. Then I'll get back here. We'll leave the car, as you said. If things escalate, you and Finn make for the rendezvous point we discussed." He paused, a look of grim resolve on his face. "Alright. Let’s move.”

...

“So what do we do now?” I asked.