Chapter 11 - Strongest Parents Alive
"Mom!"
"You will not lay a hand on my children!" Her voice thundered across the clearing.
The moment she stepped forward, earth trembled beneath her. Dust rose with each step. The ground buckled under her fury. Cracks split the soil as the very forest seemed to respond to her wrath.
The bandit blinked. For a moment, he stared at the ground, brow furrowed.
"A barbarian." He scoffed silently. "What a nuisance."
Then he looked up and Reyna was already airborne.
Her axe swung overhead, casting a long shadow as it came crashing down like judgment itself. The bandit raised his sword.
BANGG!
The bandit's feet buckled, creating a mini-crater of dirt. He gritted his teeth.
"You will not get away from this!" Reyna yelled, she pushed forward as the sword king was pushed back as he was slammed to the dirt beneath.
BWOSH!
Kyro scrambled over to Lyra, despite the headache, trembling legs and the wave of dizziness, he fought it all as he dropped beside her.
"L-Lyra! Are you okay—?"
"Hush!" she hissed, pressing a tiny finger to his lips. Her eyes sparkled. "Mama's fighting! I wanna see this!"
What's wrong with this girl? Kyro thought as a bead of sweat formed around my temple. Before he could answer, a strong hand wrapped around his waist. Another around Lyra's.
"Ah—!" Kyro flinched. Both Lyra and I looked up to see Thorskil.
"FATHER!" both Kyro and Lyra cried out in unison.
Relief flooded Kyro's chest, washing away the fear like a wave over a dying flame. The warmth of his father's presence, solid and unmoving, finally reached his limbs. His body, frozen just moments ago, began to tremble; not in fear, but from the aftershock of surviving the terror.
Thorskil held them tightly, one arm around each child.
"We saw a smoke rising from here. What are you two doing here anyway?" His voice was calm, almost too calm, like the eye of a storm. But his eyes told another story. They scanned every inch of them, flickering with restrained panic, as if he were searching for any sign of wounds.
"We—um..." Lyra said hesitantly.
Thorskil sighed, "We'll talk once we get home, yeah?"
Kyro and Lyra exchanged glances before turning to their father with a nod. Once satisfied, his gaze shifted past them.
Toward Reyna.
The battlefield had shifted.
Reyna had one of the man's ankles clutched tightly in her hand. Her teeth were clenched, muscles bulging as she roared with each motion. With the fury of a rampaging beast, she slammed him against the ground. Once. Twice. Then again. Each slam shook the dirt and sent mud splattering in every direction. The sound of impact echoed across the forest swamp, joined by Reyna's guttural cries. Rage twisted her features; rage born from a mother's wrath.
With a final growl, she hurled him high into the air.
The bandit's body twisted midair like a ragdoll.
And as he began to fall, Reyna dug her boots into the earth, raising her battle-axe high. Her stance was solid, like a titan bracing for a storm. No, more like she was preparing to swing a baseball.
She swung.
The impact rang like thunder.
Her axe struck the bandit across the chest, sending his body hurtling through the swamp. Trees splintered beneath him. One, two, three, four, until the fifth shattered like brittle glass. His body came to a brutal stop against the sixth tree, bark cracking under the force.
His aura broke. It shattered with the sound of glass meeting stone, fragments of golden energy scattering into the fog. He gasped, spitting saliva as he slumped to the base of the tree, eyes wide in disbelief.
Reyna straightened her back and wiped a thumb across her nose. She scoffed as if tossing aside the weight of battle, her eyes burning with defiance.
Kyro stared, slack-jawed. Beside him, Lyra's eyes sparkled with amazement.
"Mother is strong..!" Lyra whispered, her voice full of awe.
Thorskil chuckled, the sound low and proud. "Yeah. She is."
The man stirred again. Slowly, he dragged himself up, sword trembling in his grip. His chest heaved. His aura was gone, his stance sluggish. But it was his face that revealed what he felt.
Not fear, but confusion.
"Argh... my speed... it's decreasing..." he muttered, glancing down at his sword arm as though it no longer belonged to him. "My body feels heavy... I couldn't react in time to that monster's attacks..."
He grimaced, I could take on barbarians with ease... but why am I suddenly... sluggish? The bandit thought. Then, his eyes darted from Reyna back toward the man standing calmly with two children tucked safely under each arm.
Thorskil.
He wasn't holding a blade. He hadn't even drawn his sword yet.
But the moment the bandit had noticed him, truly noticed him, everything had changed. The Sword King clenched his jaw. He had faced champions, warlords, knights blessed by gods. Yet never had his instincts screamed so loud.
His vision spun for a moment, like the ground beneath him had tilted. Thorskil's presence pressed on him like gravity, each breath heavier than the last.
Sword God's Authority.
An aura that did not radiate outwards but weighed inwards, like a mountain placed atop the spirit. A divine suppression born from the title of Sword God itself. It didn't matter if Thorskil stood still or moved. For those who recognized him as a threat, those who dared to stand opposed him in the battlefield, Thorskil became a living curse. Their bodies weakened, their strength would falter, their swings would slow, and their reactions dulled. Even their balance could shatter mid-battle, like standing on a ship during a storm.
He could toggle this power on and off like a light switch, and now, he's using it for Reyna to do the job while he makes sure the children are protected.
For Reyna, that pressure had become her boost.
Reyna's eyes locked onto the man again. She rolled her shoulders slowly, like a predator shaking tension from its muscles. Her grip tightened on the handle of her battle-axe, each finger curling with deliberate control. Mud squelched beneath her boots as she stepped forward, radiating fury.
The bandit staggered back, eyes flicking between Reyna and the looming figure in the distance.
"Thorskil...?" he breathed, face pale with dawning horror. "Thorskil's here...!?"
His voice cracked.
Panic crept into his tone as realization spread like poison. "That scum sent us to our deaths...!"
His head jerked toward the trees. He spun on his heel and bolted, trying to run. But he didn't make it far. A pulse rippled through the swamp. Not a sound, not a gust, but a shift in the very air. The Sword God's Authority surged like an unseen tide. The bandit's knees buckled. His vision tilted violently. A wave of dizziness struck him so hard it dropped him instantly to the ground.
"Rghhh—!"
He groaned, clawing at the mud, trying to stand. His limbs trembled under their own weight, his strength leaking out of him like blood from a wound.
Then a shadow fell over him, and slowly, he looked up. Reyna stood above him, battle-axe raised high.
Steam curled from her arms. Her eyes, sharp and burning, glared down like judgment itself. There was no hesitation. No pity. Only the feral, primal rage of a mother protecting her children.
The bandit opened his mouth to scream something, anything, but the axe had already begun to fall. The blade swept downward like divine punishment, cleaving clean through flesh and bone. The sound tore through the clearing, not like metal striking metal, but like a wet crack of thunder, sharp and final.
"ARGHH—!"
The scream was short, what followed after was silence.
Blood spattered the water and Reyna's apron. The body collapsed, split in two.
--Kyro--
I flinched the moment it happened.
My body, locked up in my father's arm, heart jumping straight into my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut right as my mother brought her axe down, like I could shield myself from the reality of it just by not seeing it. But the sound still reached me. That wet, final sound. It sank deep into my ears, dug into my brain.
My hands trembled.
This wasn't like the games back home. It wasn't like movies or simulations. This wasn't a dramatic death with orchestral music and a fade to black.
This was messy. It was violent, fitting for the word brutal.
I felt something twist in my stomach.
A cold pressure gripped my gut and pushed up into my throat. I didn't vomit, but I was close. My breathing turned shallow. My hands clutched tighter to my father's shirt without realizing.
She just killed him. Mother just... killed someone...
I opened my eyes slowly.
Reyna stood there, axe lowered to her side, blood dripping from the blade like melting wax. Her chest rose and fell with deep, measured breaths. Her eyes were sharp, but not shaken.
Thorskil remained still, calm as ever. His gaze was locked on the corpse, but there was no emotion in his expression.
Lyra, being held beside Thorskil, eyes wide, but not in horror. In admiration.
"She got him!" she said simply.
She didn't look away, didn't even blink, like she'd seen this before. Like it was normal.
I swallowed hard, because I was the only one reacting like this. I came from a world where murder was an act that shook the foundations of society. Where death was clinical, distant, never raw and inches from your feet. Where seeing a man split in half would spark headlines and courtrooms, not a relieved sigh and admired eyes.
So can you really blame me for reacting like this?
I was only one who still couldn't stomach seeing it done and yet... this was my new reality. Thank goodness I wasn't near enough to see the detailed gore, or else I'd definitely vomit.
***
Mother carried her massive battle-axe over one shoulder, the blade still darkened by dried blood. She walked in long, confident strides, her expression unreadable beneath the fading sunlight. Father followed behind her, Saul slung unconscious across his back, one arm bandaged and limp.
Lyra and I trailed behind them, our boots soft against the dirt path. She kept close, hands clasped behind her head, gaze drifting occasionally toward Saul. Her eyes were distant, lips pressed together in a flat line.
The other village guards came last, five in total, each dragging or carrying an unconscious bandit. Their bodies would be healed enough to talk, just not enough to run. They'd be interrogated before the sun rose again.
Mother had offered to carry me, which I declined, after that she had asked Lyra if she wanted to ride on her shoulder. But Lyra shook her head, chin high, and said she was almost an adult. I said nothing. I couldn't bring myself to grab Mother's fingers. Not while they were still stained with blood.
We weren't close with Saul, but for Lyra... She had trained with him for over a year. They'd sparred together, eaten meals, shared dreams of adventure. My worry to Saul, the man that risked his life for us, was true, but Lyra's... it was deeper, well it should be. She kept glancing at him, even after we'd passed him.
By the time we reached the village gates, the sun had dipped low enough that shadows stretched long across the fields. Torches flickered to life along the fences. People stepped out from homes, murmuring, whispering as they saw Saul's body and the tied-up bandits.
Father gave orders calmy and the guards followed without hesitation. It surprised me, how easily he stepped into command. He wasn't wearing anything regal, no fancy armor or cape. Just a dirt-streaked tunic and leather boots. Yet the way people responded to him... it was like he had always been their leader.
As Father stayed behind to organize the guardhouse, report to the captain, and secure the prisoners.
Mother, Lyra, and I made our way back to the house.
The door creaked open. The familiar scent of wood, herbs, and smoke welcomed us home. It should've comforted me, and it did... Just only a little. The moment I stepped inside, everything caught up to me.
The adrenaline was gone. Replaced by exhaustion, aching bones, and a heavy fog in my head. My shoulders slumped, and my knees felt like they might give out at any moment.
Mother was saying something. Maybe telling Lyra to wash up. Maybe reminding her about tomorrow's chores. I didn't hear it. My thoughts were spinning too fast, too loud.
All I could think about was what had happened.
We almost died. I let out a shaky breath. Saul lost an arm.. Because of me.
Because I couldn't keep my temper in check. Because I let my pride get in the way. I should've known better. I should've stopped myself. I should've-..
I stared at the floor, barely hearing the creak of the door closing behind us.
Then, a hand rested on my shoulder. I turned my head. Lyra stood beside me, smiling. It wasn't forced. It wasn't bright, either. Just a simple, gentle smile that said she was still here. That we both were.
"What? Are you sad?" she asked, tilting her head a little.
I didn't answer right away.
How could she smile after everything that happened? After Saul nearly died? After Mother cut a man in half? That wasn't something you were supposed to smile after.
"I... well... I just..." The words stumbled. Nothing came out right. My mouth moved, but my thoughts were a mess. Eventually, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My shoulders sank, heavy with everything I had kept locked in since the moment we ran.
"I'm sorry, Lyra. I caused all of this."
She didn't stop smiling. No twitch in her brow. Her eyes stayed steady, quietly watching me like she could already hear the rest before I even said it.
"What?" she asked, her voice light.
"It's my fault," I murmured. My fists tightened at my sides. "It all started because I called you an idiot. I shouldn't have said that. I was mad and... I let it out. I should've kept it in. I'm sorry I—"
"You think that was your fault?" she cut in gently.
I froze. Her voice wasn't angry, but it still stopped me cold. I looked up to meet her gaze. She let her hand fall from my shoulder and gave a half-shrug, her face unreadable.
"Kyro, we were attacked by bandits. Bad people. Do you really think one argument between siblings had anything to do with that?"
I wanted to speak. I really did. I wanted to say Yes. I wanted to say, If I hadn't said that, you wouldn't have run off. I wanted to believe there was a way it could've all been avoided. That if I had just stayed quiet, maybe none of this would've happened.
But she beat me to it. She rolled her eyes and gave a soft snort.
"You're not that important. No offense."
The words hit harder than any slap. But they weren't cruel, but they were grounding in a way. Like being pulled out of a dream you didn't realize you were stuck in. I stood there, the weight of those words sinking in.
"W-what do you mean?! Saul nearly—"
"I was already planning to go to the forest,"
She walked past me and dropped onto the wooden bench beside the fireplace. Her arms draped across her knees, her posture slouched. For once, she wasn't trying to act bigger than she was. She just looked tired.
"Even before I asked you to teach me about magic," she said, eyes locked on the hearth. "I'd made up my mind. I wanted to try out that new move Saul showed me. I wanted to prove something. I was excited, and angry. It was a bad mix."
Her voice lowered, and something bitter curled at the edges.
"I wasn't thinking at the time.. that was my choice, not yours. I walked into that forest because I wanted to, not because of something you said."
She clenched her jaw and looked away.
"It cost Saul his arm, and that's on me."
A small, humorless scoff escaped her lips.
"You were right, by the way. I am an idiot. So I'll take the blame. All of it."
Silence crept in, only broken by the occasional crack of wood in the fireplace. The orange glow danced across her face, softening the tension in her features. I stayed by the door, the guilt still clinging to my chest like a wet blanket. It didn't feel gone, at least not yet.
I stared at her back, then asked, barely louder than a whisper, "Then how can you still smile after all of that?"
She turned her head. That same faint smile returned. A little lopsided this time, a little tired. But real.
"Because my little brother isn't acting like a wuss anymore."
I blinked. The words surprised me. Not because they were mean. They weren't. They were... proud.
Her eyes met mine. Sharp, as always, but there was no teasing. Just quiet admiration. She looked away again, back toward the fire.
"I'm still sad, of course I am. I hate what happened. But when I think about that moment... that you actually went into the forest for me... I felt proud. It made me happy, even in the middle of all that fear."
Honestly, I didn't know what to say.
She leaned back against the bench and stared into the flames. Her voice softened again.
"Saul's gonna live. He's tough. He always has been. I don't know how to make it up to him yet, but I will. I want to make him something. An apology, at least. Even if it's small."
I listened to her every word. Her tone, her pauses, her honesty. She looked at me one last time, her eyes shimmering faintly in the firelight.
"I'm sorry again, Kyro. It's not your fault. But your big sister? This time... it was hers."
I didn't respond. My eyes stayed open, not with fear or pain this time, but clarity.
Ah. So that's how she sees it.
My eyes followed her face.
She's... she's wiser than she looks.
She leaned back, stretching her arms above her head with a groan. Then, suddenly, she turned toward the back room and shouted.
"Mom! What's for dinner?"
Mother's voice boomed from the kitchen.
"Change your clothes first! You're tracking in mud!"
Lyra let out a loud sigh and dragged herself off the bench. I stayed where I was, near the front door, the wood warm beneath my feet. My eyes wandered across the room. The walls. The fading sunlight filtering through the window. The fireplace still crackling.
I let out a breath.
Everything that had happened today was still lodged in my mind. The fear. The screams. The blood.
Gosh... It's too much.
Although, I felt relieved from Lyra's words, but I was just... too tired. Completely, utterly tired. I took a step forward, but the world shifted beneath me as my vision tilted.
Huh...?
My vision blurred, colors melting together as the sounds dimmed.
Bam.
I hit the cobblestone floor and everything went dark.
Damnit... I'm all out.
[End]