Chapter 20 - Reason
--Tomorrow, Lyra--
"Mom! I'm going for a walk!" Kyro called as he slipped into his leather shoes, tugging the straps tighter around his feet. The leather creaked softly beneath his fingers as he stood. "I'll be back before evening."
"You better be!" Mom's voice echoed from the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of pots and the rhythmic scrape of a spoon against metal.
He stepped outside a moment later, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
I came down the stairs shortly after, the familiar weight of my sword settling against my back as I secured its sheath. Saul had given me this blade during my birthmonth party. The leather grip was smooth, the steel gleamed. It was clear that this was a newly forged sword, and I thanked Saul for giving this to me.
I moved through the living room, the cobblestone floor landing softly beneath my boots, then into the kitchen. Mom stood at the counter, her back to me as she scrubbed a pot with vigorous strokes. I grabbed an apple from the wooden counter, its skin cool and smooth against my palm. She didn't even glance my way as I stepped out into the backyard.
I took a bite of the apple, the crisp sweetness bursting across my tongue. The juice dribbled down my chin, but I didn't bother to wipe it away. My mind was already elsewhere, focused on the restless energy coursing through my veins.
The backyard stretched before me, familiar and welcoming. I walked through the green grass where Saul, Kyro, and I usually trained. Soon, I reached the barn, the massive doors stood slightly ajar, and I pushed them open the rest of the way, sunlight spilling across the hay-strewn floor like liquid gold.
Inside, Papa sat on a flat stone, milking one of our cows. A wooden bucket sat beneath the udder, already half-full. Thorskil wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, his movements steady and practiced. Then, he must have heard my footsteps, because he turned his head and saw me standing there, my sword strapped to my back.
"Lyra, good morning," he said, his voice warm and easy. "Did you finish your chores?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I hurled the apple I had been holding toward him. He caught it effortlessly, his reflexes as sharp as ever. Before he could say another word, I was already moving, my sword singing as I drew it from its sheath.
I swung with all my strength, aiming for his midsection. But when I thought I would finally land a hit, he was gone. My blade connected with the stone he had been sitting on instead, the metal biting deep with a sharp crack. The cow beside me let out a startled low, its ears twitching nervously.
"Nice form, Lyra," Thorskil said, now standing beside me, clapping his hands together. His smile was wide, his eyes alight with amusement.
I gritted my teeth, frustration coiling in my gut. "HARGH!" I swung again, this time my blade finding a wooden beam. The wood splintered with a satisfying crack, but Thorskil had already moved, his form a blur of motion.
"Oh man," he sighed, shaking his head. "I just fixed that beam last week."
"Train me, Papa!" I demanded, rushing toward him again. "You're a Sword God, right?!"
I swung at him repeatedly, each strike faster and more determined than the last. But he weaved through them all, his movements fluid and effortless, as if he were dancing rather than fighting.
"Why do you keep avoiding training me?!" I swung again, my arms burning with the effort.
"Lyra, why are you—" Thorskil began, his voice calm.
I cut him off. "Train me!" I swung once more, and this time my blade sliced through the barn's door, sending a shower of splinters across the floor. The sound of wood splitting filled the air, sharp and final.
Thorskil sighed, stepping closer to me. His hand reached out, not to strike, but to rest gently on my shoulder. His nose twitched slightly, as if he could scent the emotions radiating off me—the insecurity, the frustration, the desperate need to prove myself. "Lyra, it's clear something is weighing on you," he said, his voice soft but firm. "You can always talk it out with your pops."
The moment his hand touched my shoulder, something inside me snapped.
My left hand shot up, gripping his wrist in a vice-like hold, while my right hand swung my sword with all the force I could muster.
BAM!
The impact sent Thorskil skidding backward, his boots carving deep grooves into the dirt as he slid across the field. The barn's side exploded outward, wood splintering like kindling under the force of the blow. My muscles trembled, veins bulging along my arms as I panted, my vision tunneling with the exertion.
I didn't wait. I dashed forward, my heart pounding in my ears. "ARGH!" I yelled, swinging again with everything I had.
I watched as my sword inched toward Thorskil's face, the blade catching the sunlight like a sliver of fire. For a moment, I thought I had him, but then, he sighed.
Time seemed to slow, my vision, everything was going normally, but to Thorskil he could see me in slow motion.
As everything moved in slow motion, Thorskil simply stepped to the side, his movements almost lazy, and walked just behind me. Before I could react, he leaned forward, his breath warm against the back of my neck.
With a single, almost gentle chop of his hand against the base of my neck, my aura shattered.
It was like glass breaking, the fragments of golden light dissolving into the air, scattered by the breeze. The force was so light it wouldn't have hurt a fly, but it was enough to disrupt the barrier that had protected me for as long as I could remember.
"Ah—!" I gasped, my knees buckling beneath me. The world tilted, darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision. But before I could hit the ground, Thorskil caught me, his arms wrapping around my torso. My body went limp, my sword slipping from my grip and clattering to the ground.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, Thorskil sighed, his breath steady against my hair. He turned, carrying me effortlessly, and set me down on the soft grass just outside the barn. The barn's side was now a gaping hole, the door hanging by a single hinge. He looked at the damage, then back at me, his expression unreadable.
"You're giving your pops unnecessary work," he said, his tone light, but there was a edge of exhaustion beneath it.
***
After what felt like an eternity, I opened my eyes.
The world was blurry at first, the sunlight too bright, the air too still. I groaned, rolling onto my side and pushing myself up onto my elbows. My head throbbed, a dull ache pulsing behind my temples. I rubbed the back of my neck, wincing at the tenderness there. What happened? I remembered swinging, remembered the force behind my neck, remembered my aura shattering like glass.
"What just.. happened?" I muttered, the memory clicking into place.
Just then, Thorskil's voice cut through the silence, calm and steady as ever. "You calm now?"
I blinked, my vision clearing as I looked up. Thorskil stood a few feet away, playing with my sword as if it were a toy. The tip balanced perfectly on his pinky finger, wobbling slightly but never falling.
"What... what happened?" I asked, my voice hoarse. I rubbed my temples, trying to piece together the fragments of memory.
Thorskil lifted his pinky, and the sword spun upward, flipping end over end before he caught it effortlessly by the hilt.
"Well, I made sure to calm you down without hurting you." He followed my gaze to the sword in his hand, his expression turning serious. "And if you think I'm giving you this sword back, you're sorely mistaken." He gave me a small, teasing smile. "I can't give it to you yet if you're just going to attack me the moment after. I've still got chores to finish, you know?"
I gritted my teeth, frustration flaring anew. "Why...?" I turned away, curling my arms around my legs as I stared at our house in the distance. The familiar sight of the farm, the barn, and the fields.. it all felt less like home, but more like a cage.
Why..? Thorskil repeated my question as he raised an eyebrow, watching me with an unreadable expression.
"Why are you farming like a regular person...?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The words tasted bitter on my tongue. "With all that power... I really want to be like you, Papa. To be one of the strongest. No, to be the strongest..."
Thorskil paused, setting the sword down in the grass beside him. The steel gleamed in the sunlight, a silent testament to the battle we had just fought. He sat down next to me, the grass rustling softly beneath him.
"Is it because of yesterday's match?" he asked, his voice gentle. "About Kyro actually beating you for the first time?"
I didn't say anything, I couldn't say anything as the words stuck in my throat, heavy and suffocating. My eyes burned, tears welling up before I could really stop them.
Thorskil knew. Of course he did. He always knew.
"You came to me so that you could become stronger fast, correct?" he said, his voice soft. "Since I'm the Sword God, way above Saul, who's a Sword Saint."
I hesitated, then nodded, wiping at the tears that spilled down my cheeks. I hated this feeling; so small and so powerless.
"Lyra..." Thorskil's voice was gentle, as if he were speaking to a wounded animal. "Losing is part of growing. And you can't skip your way to the top." He reached out, hesitating for just a moment before resting his hand on my shoulder. "There's a reason why I can't train you, even though you really want me to."
"Then why?!" I yelled, turning to face him, my voice breaking. "Tell me why?! I've always admired you. After knowing you're one of the strongest people in the world, I wanted to be like that!"
Thorskil paused, his hand still resting on my shoulder. He sighed, long and slow, as if the weight of the world had settled onto his chest. "Okay, fine. Since you insist." His voice remained calm, but there was a tension in it now, something dark and heavy. He looked down at his hands, his calloused fingers flexing slightly. "You see, Papa is... cursed."
Cursed?
What did that even mean?
"You know the Blade God?" Thorskil continued, his voice dropping lower, as if he were sharing a secret that could shatter the sky. "Yeah, well... I've been disobeying his commands for years. And he hates me for it."
I tilted my head, confusion twisting my thoughts. "Why?"
Thorskil hummed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "A Sword God has two roles to play. One is for darkness, and one is for light." He gestured upward, toward the endless blue above us. "And you see, a Sword God must play his role to entertain the boss," he said, a bitter edge creeping into his tone, "which is the Blade God. In dreams, he gives us commands on what to do. And each task must be followed carefully to avoid displeasing him."
He turned his gaze toward the house, his expression distant, as if he were seeing something far beyond the walls, far beyond the fields. "And as you may have guessed, I am the darkness." His hand clenched into a fist, the tendons standing out sharply against his skin. "And my role is to cause destruction, spread evil, and create chaos."
I stared at him, my mind reeling. This was my father, the man who had raised me, who had carried me when I was tired, who had laughed with me and scolded me and loved me. And now he was telling me he was supposed to be some kind of... monster?
"But I never liked the job, in fact, I was the worse Sword God of Darkness in history," Thorskil laughed for a brief moment. He looked at his left hand, as if it held the answers to questions I didn't even know how to ask. "I made friends and made connections. I wasn't supposed to be like that, said by the Blade God, so eventually, I voluntarily disobeyed him."
"I never wanted to be the Sword God," his voice quiet, almost ashamed as he clenched his fist, he closed his eyes and his brows furrowed.
In Thorskil's mind, he could remember the time he was a child.. Taken away from his parents, and forced to become someone he isn't.
Eventually, he pushed the trauma behind, and faced Lyra.
"To stop being the Sword God of Darkness, I must train someone who has the affinity to handle the power of darkness. If they don't have the affinity for it, they'll die automatically after the first day of training." He looked at me, his rose-colored eyes filled with a sorrow I had never seen before. "When I start training someone, a portion of the power of darkness will automatically transfer slowly over time. And with enough time, the power of darkness will find a new host and become the new Sword God."
I sat there in stunned silence, staring at my father as if I were seeing him for the first time.
"And so, the Blade God commanded me to train a particular person." Thorskil's voice was heavy, each word like a stone. "That person should've been my successor. The next Sword God." His hand clenched tighter, his knuckles turning white. "But instead of training him, I killed him." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Because... I saw the future. He was the person destined to destroy the world. And I stopped it."
He looked up at the morning sky, his expression unreadable, but I could see it.. The tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed at his sides like he was bracing for a blow. It was as if he were daring the Blade God himself to strike him down right then and there. The defiance in his stance was palpable, but so was the exhaustion, the weight of years spent under a burden no mortal should have to bear.
"You see why I don't train you?" His voice was quiet, but it cut through me like a blade. "Because you don't have the affinity to wield the Power of Darkness, and trust me, I know." He turned to me, his rose-colored eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. For a moment, I saw something in them I had never noticed before; not just strength, but sorrow. Deep, unshakable sorrow, like a wound that would never fully heal.
Then he turned his face forward again, his gaze drifting back toward the house. The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. I could feel the words pressing against my chest, demanding to be let out, but I didn't know what to say. What could I say to that? That the man I had always looked up to, the man I had always believed was invincible, was carrying this much weight.
"Now," he continued, his voice low, as if he were sharing a secret with the wind itself, "since I kept disobeying the Blade God's commands, he sent people to kill me." His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the callouses on his knuckles standing out starkly against his tanned skin. "Strong people too, assassins, warriors, all of them sent just to defeat me, to ruin my peace in everyway possible." He exhaled sharply, his breath shaky for the first time since I had known him. "But I killed them all first."
There was no pride in his voice, "None of them had the ability to stand against me. And eventually..." His voice softened, just slightly, as if the memory could cut through the darkness of his past. "I met your mother."
A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "And the rest, as they say, is history." He glanced at me, his expression shifting, the weight in his eyes easing just a fraction. "Do not worry, Lyra. Even if he sends more fighters to kill me, I will always win." His voice was absolute, brooking no argument. "I will always protect you, and Kyro, and your mother. That is a promise."
The certainty in his voice was like a warm blanket, my fears, the confusion.. It didn't disappear, but it lessened just a little. But it was short-lived, because then he turned to me fully, his eyes burning with an intensity that made me sit up straighter, my own fears momentarily forgotten.
"I want you to grow," he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "And be strong in your own way. Grow as a swordsman in your own way, Lyra." He reached out, his hand resting on my shoulder, his grip warm and steady, grounding me. "Be free from the shackles of the gods."
He paused, and for a moment, I thought he was done. But then, the corner of his mouth twitched, and a small, almost mischievous smile tugged at his lips. "More specifically," he said, his voice lightening as if he were sharing a private joke, "the two dumb idiots, Lightning and Blade."
The sudden shift in his tone caught me off guard, and I blinked, my mind still reeling from everything he had just revealed. I felt a small, reluctant smile tugging at my own lips. Only Papa could go from talking about divine curses to calling gods morons in the same breath, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Thorskil chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and it was as if the weight of the world had lifted from his shoulders, if only for a moment. The lines around his eyes crinkled, and now he looked like the father I had always known; the one who teased me, who challenged me, and the one that loved me.
"They think they're so clever, sending their champions after me," he said, tapping his chest with his fist. "But they forget one thing." His smile widened, and there was a glint in his eyes, "I'm the Sword God of Darkness, Thorskil Samsworth, and I'm not going down so easily."
I leaned my head next to him. "Sorry, papa.. for trying to attack you."
"Ah, I already forgot about that. All good."
[End]