A cozy family dinner

[Haldor Firefury]

Haldor was a legend, once known across the land as a mighty warrior and a hero to his people.

As the son of a mighty general, Haldor's destiny was shaped from a young age. His father, a renowned general in the Stormhaven army, saw potential in his son and wasted no time honing his combat skills. Haldor's early years were filled with grueling training, preparing him for a life of bloodshed.

But it was not enough for Haldor to simply become an ordinary soldier. No, he wanted to become a true warrior of his people, a champion among champions, and a conqueror of lands. And his talent allowed him to have it all. With unmatched determination, he threw himself into training, giving his all. By age sixteen, he was already making a name for himself as a formidable opponent—a hope of his generation.

By the age of eighteen, Haldor had risen through the ranks of the army, proving himself worthy to his superiors and fellow soldiers. He quickly gained a reputation for his fearless nature and ferocity in battle, and he was soon appointed to lead a regiment of Stormhaven's finest warriors.

Under his command, they were unbeatable, carving a path of destruction through the enemy lines and leaving a trail of bodies behind them. Over time, his actual last name, his father's, was forgotten. The name "Firefury" came instead from his famous two-handed sword; its blade always wreathed in flames during the battles. His name echoed through every corner of Stormhaven, marking him as a true hero of the kingdom, if only for a fleeting moment, like so many "heroes" before him.

During the Elven War, Haldor fought bravely, his sword flashing as he cut down his enemies with deadly precision. His courage and skill were matched only by his stubborn determination, the first to arrive on the battlefield and the last to leave.

Elven War was the time of his peak. Haldor truly etched his name into the annals of history during that time. He led his troops into battle with unwavering resolve, facing the forces of the Elven Kingdom of Astralwyn head-on. Victory followed victory; the people of Stormhaven saw in him a savior, a champion who would lead them to glory.

He had everything: honor, wealth, power—everything a man could ever desire. And yet, none of it was enough. He always hungered for more.

But destiny is a fickle thing that can change in the blink of an eye. One fateful day, while leading a scouting party, Haldor crossed paths with an elven mage deep within the forests of Astralwyn, or what remained of it at that time.

Before he could react, a sudden and terrifying jolt of dark lightning surged through his entire body, a type of magic he had never seen before nor ever will. It was as if the very air around him had turned into a fierce storm, ripping through his flesh and bones with searing agony. The pain was so intense that it felt like a thousand needles were piercing his every nerve.

His comrades were also caught off guard by the mage's devastating attack. They hadn't even had a chance to blink before they, too, were enveloped in the same tormenting lightning; their cries, even to this day, often find him in dreams.

One by one, they began to lose their minds, driven mad by the pain. Their eyes rolled back, their bodies twitched and spasmed, and the smell of urine and feces filled the forest air. It was as if the darkness had descended upon them, and a black cloud of despair swallowed them whole.

As Haldor lay on the ground, his body numb and broken, he could only watch in horror as his fellow warriors began to kill themselves, doing his absolute best not to do the same. He wanted to. Gods, he did.

The mage vanished as quickly as he appeared, leaving Haldor broken and defeated, all alone as the only survivor. And only by some miracle.

The lightning strike had changed Haldor Firefury in more ways than one. The once-flaming sword, a symbol of his might, had been reduced to charred remnants. However, his inner fire suffered the most, the fiery passion that once burned the brightest within him. No longer the champion of Stormhaven, not a hero. No, heroes don't lose. He was nothing but just an ordinary soldier.

The Stormheaven is a place where your strength is honored above everything else. His glory days were truly over. He became a shell of who he once was, a broken man haunted by memories of the past. The elves, the source of his downfall, had become the target of his hatred. Haldor Firefury's once-mighty spirit seemed as broken as his body. To not embarrass himself in front of other soldiers who once admired him, he retreated into solitude in a small cottage on the outskirts of Stormhaven.

As for the war, it was only a matter of time before the elves were defeated. Eventually, the Northern Empire conquered the Elven Kingdom of Astralwyn. After the war, the Stormhaven royalty gave Haldor a trophy as a reward for his accomplishments and courage during the war.

Much to everyone's surprise, Haldor, a bitter and broken man, was presented with the Princess of Astralwyn, Nivalis Silverfrost. She was a stunning beauty with flowing silver hair and piercing blue eyes.

Haldor, however, was furious. He saw nothing in her but a constant reminder of his failure... of his shame and defeat. In his eyes, she was not a person; she was merely a servant, a lowly being beneath his notice and unworthy of his respect. But refusing an emperor was not an option... so he agreed.

Yet he had never looked at her as a living, breathing soul. Instead, he saw her as a possession, a trophy, and a tool. In Haldor's eyes, her sin was being an elf, which justified his cruel treatment of her.

...

Haldor pushed through the pine forest, his boots sinking into the thick, powdery snow with each step. His raven-black hair whipped around his face, and his equally dark beard was flecked with frozen droplets. Every breath he took turned into little clouds of mist, like ghosts floating away from his mouth. The world was covered in a soft, white blanket, the snowflakes twirling and dancing in the air.

His golden eyes flickered to the side, and noticing a glimpse of a breathtaking deer. The deer's elegant form was bathed in the gentle glow of sunlight as it walked through the old, tall trees.

Haldor's heart raced, and a feeling of excitement flowed through his veins. A soft growl escaped his mouth as he gripped his trusty bow. His fingers skillfully placed an arrow, its dark, metallic tip glimmering in the soft sunlight.

As he held his breath, the world around him seemed to blur as he focused intently on the majestic deer. It was as if time itself had frozen in that moment. Then, with a fluid motion, he released the arrow, and it sliced gracefully through the crisp winter air.

The sheer satisfaction that surged through him was indescribable when an arrow hit its target with almost poetic precision, finding its home deep within the deer's heart. The majestic creature crumpled gracefully, and the snow around it instantly became stained with blood, ruining the perfect white shades.

A triumphant grin curved Haldor's lips as he approached the fallen deer, his steps heavy with pride. He knelt beside the majestic beast and retrieved his arrow with a sickening sound that echoed throughout the forest.

— "A fine kill," he whispered, admiring the creature's grace as it took its final breaths. Then, a cruel thought crossed his mind as he pondered what to do next. A deer was sacred for elves, and its slaughter—especially eating one—would be considered a grave offense.

A dark gleam flickered in his eyes.

— "Let's see how that stubborn wife of mine likes fresh venison," he mused, a wicked smile gracing his rugged features. Watching his wife's face whenever he brought a deer home was his favorite thing to do. His heart was set on making the elves suffer, especially Nivalis, his wife. It would be a sweet victory indeed.

With that thought in mind, he began skinning the animal. It was a task that required both patience and skill, but he had perfected the art of skinning over time. His calloused hands moved quickly, stained with the deep red blood of his prey, as he held onto the animal's fur, pulling onto it to remove it to make it look as awful as possible. The smell of blood and gore filled his nose, and he took a moment to appreciate both the sight and scent.

Once he had finished working, he hoisted the carcass onto his back, feeling his muscles strain under the weight. Undoubtedly, it was heavy, but he was determined to bring it home to his wifey.

The cold wind howled like a wounded wolf as Haldor began dragging the deer's lifeless body back to his home. A dark trail formed behind him, like a grim reminder of the path of death and destruction he had once caused.

As he walked back towards the village, he couldn't help but smile at the thoughts of the delicious feast that awaited him and the look of surprise and shock on his wife's face. 'It would be a night to remember,' he thought, adjusting the corpse on his shoulder.

Haldor strolled into the village, and the folks there gazed at him with amazement and respect. They couldn't believe their eyes when they saw him bringing back a deer this big single-handedly. It would have taken three men to lift it, but somehow, he managed to reach the village alone. Gods, he loved those stares. It reminded him of the better days when he was their hero, the one they looked up to.

As he approached his house, he spotted his wife, Nivalis, looking out from the open window. Her eyes followed him as he carried the prey, her expression calm at first. But when she recognized the animal, her face twisted in disgust, only to quickly return to that calm mask. It alone gave Haldor a sense of satisfaction, making it all worth it.

He grinned at her, his lips pulling back to reveal his teeth in a wicked, cruel smile that contorted his entire face. "I have something special for you," he finally said. "Look what I've got! It will be a great meal, right?" he exclaimed triumphantly.

Nivalis remained quiet, her face showing no emotion.

— "What's wrong with you? I did it for you. I know how important deers are to your kind. Don't you like it?" he whispered, watching for any change in her expression. Yet, Nivalis remained still, not reacting to his boasting.

— "Ah, maybe your sight isn't what it used to be. Alright, I'll just show you what I've got a bit closer," he grumbled. He kicked open the creaky door with his boot and stepped into the house. He lowered the heavy deer, its furless body covered with blood, right onto the wooden floor for her to see.

A closer look made Nivalis's eyes widen at the sight of the sacred animal, a symbol of nature to the Elven people. Her eyes began to well as she stared at the dead deer, her silver hair tied in a loose bun, a few stray strands framing her delicate face. She quickly tried composing herself, but it didn't stop her heart racing.

— "Beautiful, isn't it?" Haldor asked, seeing those barely noticeable tears at the corners of her blue-as-the-summer sky eyes.

"...It is," Nivalis replied, her voice devoid of emotion. Nivalis let out a tired sigh, her slim shoulders slumping. "It's going to be a delicious meal," she added, turning away from him.

— "You know what will happen if it won't," he replied, his irritation growing.

"Mhm," she quietly hummed, making her way to the kitchen.

Haldor didn't like the way she behaved. She tried to act as if she didn't care, but he could sense her discomfort. Those blue eyes never lied. He knew it was an act, and he knew her too well. She wasn't fooling him.

But before he could say anything as she walked away, Haldor's golden eyes fell upon his daughter, Silvia. She stood there, a tiny figure in the corner of the room, her gaze fixed on the deer. Her eyes, the same golden hue as his, got wide. "Well, little one," he said, turning his attention to her, his voice echoing around the old wooden cottage they called home. "What must you say when your dad brings food home?"

Silvia's gaze shot up to meet her father's; fear played in her young eyes. "Thank you," she whispered shyly, her voice barely audible.

A scowl darkened his face as he saw his daughter's reaction. It only confirmed his suspicions.

A scowl darkened his face as he saw his daughter's reaction. It was clear to Haldor that she did not fully understand the reason behind her words and how significant the deer was. She was unaware of the effort it took to bring down such a majestic creature—the hours spent tracking it, the lurking dangers in the wilderness.

But what bothered Haldor even more was her lack of understanding of respect. She didn't seem to appreciate the sacrifices he made for the family or the food he provided for them daily... while many less fortunate ones starved to death.

He sighed deeply, thinking to himself how crucial respect was. Without it, love couldn't flourish; without love, there could be no real family. "Now go and help your mother prepare the meal," he added, turning away from her with a disappointed exhale.

She nodded slowly, responding slightly louder than a whisper as she mumbled, "Alright..." before walking towards the kitchen, her little footsteps echoing in the silent house.

As Haldor stood alone, a heavy sigh escaped his lips. He raked his fingers through his tousled hair, his frustration apparent in his furrowed brow. 'I should've brought it straight to the kitchen,' he thought. In one quick motion, he picked up the deer, its weight straining his muscles once again. Slowly, he began to walk towards the kitchen, the deer's hooves dangling and brushing against the ground, leaving bloody smears on the wooden floor. Girls would clean the mess later, anyway.

When his part was done, the most important one, but of course, he sat at the worn-out kitchen table, his eyes glued to the flurry of activity as Nivalis and Silvia worked tirelessly to prepare the evening's meal. Much to his annoyance, time seemed to move slowly as the meal gradually came together. Only when the tantalizing aroma of roasting venison filled the air did his annoyance fade away like a distant memory. When the dishes were finally ready, Haldor shook off his irritation and concentrated on the task at hand — eating.

And oh, what a meal it was! The venison was close to perfection, practically melting in his mouth. Haldor couldn't help but savor every bite, occasionally sipping from his wooden tankard of mead to wash it all down.

But what truly made his evening was the sight of Nivalis. She sat across from him, her usually graceful demeanor replaced by a clumsiness as she struggled with her meal. She tried to scoop all the meat out of the dish, doing her best not to look at the deer carcass hanging over the fireplace.

He watched her, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.