Vienna And Vastarael

The fire pits were crackling with their final embers, most long died down to glowing coals and smoke curling into the vast navy of night. The Highland Boar was naught but bones and memories now—its last legacy remaining only in the sauce stains on armor plates and the satisfied snores of knights stuffed beyond redemption. The celebration had simmered down into murmured campfire tales and slow yawns, until even those faded into silence.

The tents had been pitched, some awkwardly crooked thanks to amateur hands, others perfect down to the knots—probably done by Vienna herself. Most of the soldiers had long since curled into their bedrolls, bellies bloated and spirits high. And far from the central fire, beneath a larger canopy stretched between two trees, sat Vastarael and Vienna, resting in the last precious breath of the day.

Vastarael leaned back against a slab of thick-furred pelt, legs stretched out before him, a peaceful look drawn over his features. His eyes were half-lidded in contentment, his expression caught somewhere between noble serenity and a tired uncle at a family reunion. In his lap, curled up like a loaf of sleepy chaos, was Shimmer—her wild curls sticking out in all directions as she nuzzled her cheek into his chest, arms loosely wrapped around his waist, and mouth slightly open with a faint snore.

Vienna sat beside him on a folded woolen pad, her back straight at first but slowly drooping as fatigue softened her posture. On her lap lay Runner, fast asleep, her little legs twitching as if chasing something in a dream. Vienna absently brushed strands of hair from Runner's forehead, then pulled the thick blanket higher over her.

The only thing louder than the wind was the sigh Vastarael let out. He tilted his head toward Vienna with a crooked smirk.

"So..." he began, voice low and lazily amused. "How's the Bane?"

Vienna blinked once, slow and tired.

"...Annoying. It's like having a dull knife stabbed into the bottom of your spine. But... weirdly, I was fine tonight. Didn't even feel the crash."

A pause. Then her eyes squinted at him suspiciously.

"Wait."

"What?"

"You."

He grinned, not even trying to deny it.

"You," she repeated, narrowing her gaze like a hound who caught the scent of guilt. "You fixed it. You used Reconstruction on me, didn't you? I knew I didn't just recover from a fourteen-hour shift in a field kitchen with divine war pigs by sheer willpower."

He lifted a brow. "What if it was willpower? You're always scolding the rest of us like a retired auntie."

"Veneri."

He chuckled. "Alright, alright. I did. But only because... well, Vienna, to them—" he glanced down at Shimmer, then over at Runner, nestled in her arms— "you're important."

"To them?" she echoed.

"Yeah. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love food more than I probably should, and without you I'd have had to eat whatever the others burnt into existence. But really? It's because you're kind. You're reliable. You're their big sister."

Vienna looked at him like she wanted to scold him again, but the weight of Runner's sleeping body kept her gentle. "I am older than you, you know."

Vastarael gave a small, exaggerated nod. "Yes yes, the ancient and wise Vienna, born two whole years before me. You must've witnessed the creation of the first soup."

"I did. And it was awful."

They both snorted.

He looked up at the stars. "But you should treasure this, you know. This moment. Having them like this... warm, little, needing you."

Vienna raised a brow. "You sound like a philosopher."

"I'm being serious," he murmured, his voice dipping softer. "Because when divine children grow, they grow fast. Too fast. And when they reach of age... they don't look back. They don't need to. It's not pride, it's just how it is. Independence gets stitched into our bones."

He paused. "I haven't seen my parents in over three years. Haven't written. Haven't even thought of them until now. I loved them, and they loved me, but... I outgrew the love that needed them."

Vienna looked down at Runner, then at Shimmer sleeping like a starfish against Vastarael's chest. Her fingers curled into the blanket tighter.

"They'll do the same?" she asked.

"Yeah," he nodded slowly. "Sooner or later. And not out of malice, or rebellion. It's just... the divine don't cling forever. The ones we love most—we leave them behind."

A thick silence settled between them, broken only by Runner's sleepy mumble: "...gimme sauce..."

Vienna gave a dry laugh. But then she said, quiet and certain: "I hate that about divine beings."

Vastarael turned to her, a question in his brow.

She continued, "I don't care if they're divine. I don't care if they grow wings, ascend, or turn into glowing demigods who can punch a crater into a continent. I'm not letting them go. And more importantly... I don't think they'll let you go."

He blinked.

She smiled softly. "Because for all your shiny speeches and fancy titles... you've never tried to stop them from holding your hand."

The Prince of Beauty looked away, a flicker of thought shadowing his eyes.

"I'm just their subordinate," Vienna added, her voice a touch too casual, like she was trying to downplay the sting. "But at least... at least I get to matter. A little. To someone."

The sky above was vast, dusted with constellations, quiet in its unreachable dance. The kind of night that made you feel both impossibly tiny and endlessly significant.

Vastarael looked up at it and exhaled.

"They'll protect you, Vienna," he said. "Those two little beasts? They'll grow strong. And they'll remember who sat with them when they cried, and who gave them burnt rice because 'that's how it's supposed to taste, you gremlin.'"

She laughed. Quiet, but it was real. "If they do... I guess that's enough."

He glanced over and found her cheeks tinged a little red.

"Are you embarrassed?" he grinned.

"No," she huffed, adjusting Runner's blanket again. "I'm cold."

"You're wearing three layers."

"It's the emotional cold, Veneri."

He smirked. Then, after a pause, gently lifted Shimmer into his arms. She mumbled something about "golden syrup falling from the sky" and nuzzled deeper into his shoulder. Vienna stood up carefully, cradling Runner like a treasure. The two adults walked quietly back to the tents under the hum of fireflies, the air cool, the grass soft beneath their feet.

At the edge of the camp, as they reached the twin tents marked with tiny peony and sapphire symbols—handmade by Runner herself—Vastarael stopped.

He looked at Vienna.

"You're not just a subordinate," he said, voice low. "You're the one who keeps us fed. Keeps us sane. You're the fire that never dies out."

Vienna didn't reply right away. But she smiled.

A real, quiet smile.

And that was enough.

They tucked the girls in—Shimmer's fingers still gripping Vastarael's sash even in sleep, and Runner whispering "stupid sauce" with a dreamy giggle. The lanterns dimmed, the night wind picked up again, and the world slowed into a calm, perfect hush.

And in the midst of it, beneath a canopy of stars, two caretakers stood together—not gods, not warriors, just people—watching over the children who would one day forget... and hoping they'd still remember.

--------

The morning kicked off with a blazing cold wind and sunlight that somehow felt like it was just there to mock them. Snow blanketed the land like a thick, icy carpet, muffling the sounds of over six hundred warriors crunching their way forward—but it didn't muffle the groaning of people trying to fully wake up in sub-zero temperatures. Breath turned to white mist. Noses turned red. And just about everyone silently agreed they'd trade a thousand Enousi for a single cup of warm tea.

Raika, wrapped tightly in her blue-and-gold traveling coat, gave a long exhale as she sat atop her majestic snow stag. The beast's antlers shimmered with subtle enchantments to keep the snow from sticking, and it snorted as if offended by the weather. Veyn, her ever-loyal childhood friend, rode beside her on a smaller stag that looked like it hadn't quite accepted the idea of working today.

"Honestly," Veyn said, squinting at the organized chaos ahead, "if I didn't know better, I'd think we were running a kingdom out here."

Raika gave a smirk, brushing snow off her fur-lined glove.

 "It's the best army I've ever seen. Efficient, tight formations, and you saw the paladins? They're not even winded."

"And the mages," Veyn added, pointing upward, "look at them gliding around like snowflakes with wings. They've been ahead of us all morning, scanning everything. And somehow, even the assassins are blending with the paladins now. That's not stealth. That's black magic."

Then came the mounts.

No, not the stags. Not the snow stags. Not the giant-horned ice bears.

Two beasts came into view from behind the icy hill so tall, graceful, majestic, and so out of place that Raika briefly thought she was hallucinating from too much snow in her eyes.

The first was a gigantic white wolf, ten meters tall. Its fur shimmered like frost-kissed moonlight, and its eyes were like two tiny suns. Its gait was as soft as falling feathers, despite its immense size. Upon its back, clustered together like the warmest bunch of companions in the world, sat Chrysanthemum, Shimmer, Runner, and Vienna, cozy and bundled up in enchanted cloaks, laughing like they were on a fairytale ride instead of a warpath.

And behind them, towering on a mount that was so absurdly elegant it looked sculpted by the gods, was Vastarael himself—riding a ten-meter-tall white cat.

Yes. A cat.

Not a lion. Not a panther.

A cat.

It licked its paw lazily at one point while walking and then leapt through a thick stretch of snow like it was hopping over a puddle. With Vastarael on top, arms crossed, expression as serene as the still morning, it was almost offensive how effortlessly perfect it looked.

Raika blinked. "Is that... a cat?"

Veyn said nothing. His eyes were glued on it. Eventually, he let out a slow breath.

 "We've lost. It's over. That's it."

"Don't let Kezren hear that," Raika said, stifling a snort. She turned back as she saw Obsidian—Vastarael's ever-gleaming knight—running alongside their stags with literal spark trails kicking up behind her boots. She wasn't just jogging. She was jogging while fixing her gauntlet like this was some pleasant countryside stroll.

Obsidian looked up at Raika and Veyn and casually said, "We're actually holding back for you. You know that, right?"

Raika blinked. "Excuse me?"

"If we ran at full speed, we'd be across that mountain ridge and halfway through the forest before your stags even realized we left."

Veyn coughed into his scarf. "...So we're the reason this pace is so slow?"

"Pretty much," Obsidian shrugged, running ahead again as if the snow wasn't even there. "But think of it as a workout! Great for stamina!"

Raika almost leapt off her stag right then and there. Her pride stirred like a dragon poked in the ribs. 

"I can run."

Veyn immediately held her shoulder. "You could run. But you'd be sprinting like your life depends on it, and they're only jogging. Trust me. Don't do it. You'll die."

Raika reluctantly sat back, arms folded, muttering under her breath.

 "Show-offs..."

Meanwhile, the snow crunched rhythmically under the synchronized march of six hundred strong, forming a procession that stretched across the whitened path like a river of steel and mystic light. The enchanted weapons on their backs, the shimmering cloaks over their armor, the banners of their crests fluttering in the wind...

And leading them were two oversized pets like some divine fairy tale gone rogue.

Vastarael gave a lazy yawn on top of his gigantic cat, gazing toward the horizon with dreamy eyes. The wolf gave a low huff and sprinted forward for a few seconds before stopping again, nearly knocking Chrysanthemum off balance, but Shimmer and Runner squealed in excitement.

Vienna, meanwhile, was gripping onto the wolf's fur with all the strength her Bane-weakened limbs could offer, muttering.

 "I swear to the Divines, if this thing decides to leap again, I'm leaving this army."

Vastarael gave her a glance. "It only leaps if you're scared."

Vienna's glare could've frozen the sun.

And yet, despite everything—the snow, the wind, the absurd speed of the vanguard, and the slow crawl of the noblefolk and stags behind them—the army pressed on.

That was, until they saw them.