10

The Stormrider glided over the waves with an effortless grace, its sleek hull cutting through the water like a knife. Valon leaned against the polished railing, arms crossed, watching the horizon where their escort fleet struggled to keep pace. The Doom, Hela's monstrous masterpiece, was the only ship that hadn't fallen hopelessly behind.

"Marriage?" Hela's voice drew his attention back. She stood near the helm, her dark cloak snapping in the wind, her brow furrowed. She repeated the word like it burned her tongue. "Marriage?"

Valon shrugged, suppressing a grin. "It was just a question. A thought."

He tapped a finger against the rail, glancing at her sidelong. "I know you'll be a great empress one day. And with such a title comes power – the power to choose. Whoever you want, whenever you want."

"But..." he added, a touch softer, "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to see a few grandchildren before I die."

Hela exhaled sharply, her gaze shifting to the sea. The faintest twitch touched her brow before she straightened, her hands clasping behind her back.

"Father, with all due respect," she began, her tone measured, "I have not met a single man who is remotely worthy of my attention."

Valon chuckled, shaking his head. "You've met plenty of men. None of them good enough for you?"

Hela tilted her head, her pale green eyes narrowing slightly. "Most of them are cowards. Or fools. Or both."

"Fair enough," Valon said, holding up a hand in mock surrender. He pushed off the railing and stepped closer, leaning casually against the helm. "But indulge me. What does a 'worthy' man look like to you? Is it strength? Skill with a sword? I imagine you'd enjoy that."

Hela's lips twitched, not quite a smile, but something close. She turned her gaze to him, her expression thoughtful.

"Strength at arms is... amusing," she admitted, her tone light. "But, truth be told, it's not necessary."

Valon raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. "No? Then what is?"

Hela was quiet for a moment, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The wind tugged at her hair, sending dark strands dancing across her face, but she didn't brush them away. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, but there was an edge of something deeper beneath it.

"A worthy man," she said slowly, "is someone who stands by his ideals. No matter the cost. Someone who doesn't waver, even when the odds are impossible. Even when he knows he'll lose. Or suffer. Or die."

Valon frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. "Plenty of fools die for nothing, Hela. What makes that worthy?"

Her gaze snapped to him, sharp and piercing. "It's not about dying, father. It's about standing. A man who faces down gods with nothing but his bare hands and a smile and says, 'I can do this all day.' That's the man I'd consider worthy."

Valon stared at her, his mouth half-open, caught somewhere between surprise and admiration. He... really hadn't expected that out of her, considering her actions and her apparent belief in the superiority of overwhelming power. Then he laughed, a deep, genuine sound that carried over the deck. "You have high standards."

Hela's lips twitched again, and this time, the faintest hint of a smile emerged. "You wouldn't want it any other way."

"No, I wouldn't," Valon admitted, his laughter fading into a warm chuckle. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the helm as he regarded her. "Though I suspect that's a tall order, even for a goddess."

"I'm in no rush," Hela said simply, turning her gaze back to the sea. "Marriage, children... they aren't important right now."

Valon nodded, his expression softening.

"Fair enough." He watched her for a moment longer, a rare warmth in his eyes. "But if you ever do meet someone who fits the bill, make sure to introduce him to me. I'd like to see this man who can face down gods and live to tell the tale."

Hela smirked, the wind catching her cloak as she turned toward him. "Don't worry, Father. If he exists, you'll know. He won't be easy to miss."

Valon laughed again, shaking his head as he clapped her on the shoulder. "I don't doubt it."

When Hela turned away, Valon's smile fell.

Such a man couldn't possibly exist beyond fantasy.

How did Valon know? Well, he'd lived long enough to see every single man he knew, including himself, disappoint and fail to live up to their own ideals.

Thelor leaned against the edge of his forge, wiping soot from his hands with a rag as he watched the scene unfold in the narrow alley outside. He had half a mind to step in, but something kept him rooted. The boy – Stephan – kept getting up.

Thelor frowned. The scrawny lad barely had meat on his bones, and the way he staggered to his feet now, one hand clutching his ribs, he looked ready to keel over. His nose bled freely, a crimson streak down his chin. One eye was nearly swollen shut, and his shirt was torn, hanging loosely over his narrow frame. But his other eye burned with defiance.

"You done yet?" Stephan rasped, his voice cracked but steady. "Cuz I can do this all day."

The biggest of the bullies, a burly boy named Calder, barked a laugh. "You're barely standing, runt. Stay down. It's better for you."

Stephan shook his head, spitting blood onto the cobblestones. "Not until you apologize to her."

Her. Thelor's gaze flicked to the corner where a young girl stood, hugging her knees, her tear-streaked face peeking out from behind a crate. Calder and his friends had been harassing her before Stephan stepped in.

Brave, Thelor thought. Stupid, too. But brave. The boy would've made a fine knight if he'd been born higher up in life.

"Apologize?" Calder stepped forward, shoving Stephan back. The boy stumbled but didn't fall. Calder's lip curled. "You don't know when to quit, do you?"

"No," Stephan said simply.

Thelor crossed his arms, his brow furrowing. The boy didn't even flinch as Calder's fist connected with his gut. Stephan doubled over but caught himself before hitting the ground. He gasped for air, his thin shoulders shaking, but still, he straightened. Still, he stood.

"Is that all you've got?" Stephan wheezed. Thelor almost caught himself chuckling.

Calder's grin faltered, and one of the smaller bullies shifted uneasily. "Maybe we should leave him, Calder. The guard—"

"Shut it!" Calder snapped, but his confidence had dimmed.

Stephan took a shaky step back, his heel hitting a broken barrel. His hand reached down, fingers closing around the wooden lid. He lifted it, holding it in front of him like a makeshift shield. The boy almost looked like he knew what he was doing.

"Come on," Stephan said, his voice stronger now. "Try it again."

Thelor raised a brow. Calder hesitated. The shield wasn't much, just splintered wood and rusted iron bands, but Stephan held it with the determination of a knight wielding a castle-forged blade. Calder took a step forward, but Stephan shifted his stance, raising the lid higher. The bullies exchanged glances, their earlier bravado fading.

A sharp whistle cut through the air. Thelor straightened as a city guard rounded the corner, his armor clinking. Calder cursed under his breath, shoving one of his friends toward the alley's other end.

"Let's go!" he hissed.

The bullies scattered like rats, their hurried footsteps fading into the labyrinth of Oldtown's streets. Stephan stayed where he was, the barrel lid trembling in his grip. He didn't lower it until the guard approached, his face stern.

"You all right, lad?" the guard asked, glancing down at Stephan's battered form.

Stephan nodded, though his knees wobbled.

"Fine," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

The guard's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing more, moving on after a moment. Thelor pushed away from the forge, stepping into the alley as Stephan sagged against the wall, the makeshift shield slipping from his grasp. The girl peeked out from her hiding spot, her wide eyes darting between Stephan and Thelor, before she ran away.

Thelor scratched his beard.

"You've got more guts than sense, boy," he said gruffly. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

Stephan straightened, wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand. "She needed help."

Thelor shook his head, muttering under his breath as he turned toward the forge. "Stubborn fool."

Behind him, he heard the scuff of Stephan's boots as the boy followed. "People should help those who need it."

Thelor allowed himself a small, grudging smirk. The lad was something else. "Yes, boy, I heard you the first time. Now get yourself cleaned up. There's clean, hot water in the cauldron and some rags I've soaked in it. After that, you and I are gonna have good, long talk about you trying to get yourself killed at every opportunity."

Stephan sat on a wooden stool by the forge, a steaming rag pressed against his swollen eye. Thelor stood nearby, arms crossed, his broad shoulders blocking out the firelight. His glare was sharp enough to cut iron.

"You've got some nerve, boy," Thelor said, his voice low and gravelly. "Always rushing into fights you've got no chance of winning. You think you're made of steel?"

Stephan shrugged, wincing as the motion tugged at a bruise on his shoulder. "Someone had to do it."

Thelor snorted. "Someone. Not you. You can barely lift a hammer without your arms shaking. What were you thinking, trying to take on Calder and his lot?"

Stephan lowered the rag, his good eye meeting Thelor's with quiet determination. "I was thinking about her. They were hurting her, and no one else was stepping in. What was I supposed to do? Just stand there?"

"Yes!" Thelor snapped, his hand slamming down on the forge table. The tools clattered. "You can't help anyone if you're dead, lad. Use that thick skull of yours for once."

Stephan didn't flinch. "Maybe. But I can't stand by and let people get hurt either. If I don't try, then what kind of person does that make me?"

Thelor groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "It makes you alive. That's what it makes you."

Stephan leaned forward, wincing again, but his voice didn't waver. "It makes me a coward if I don't do anything. I can't let fear stop me. People need help, Thelor. Even if it costs me."

Thelor stared at him for a long moment, his jaw tightening. Finally, he shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Stubborn as an ox."

Stephan tilted his head, a faint grin tugging at his bruised lips. "That's what you like about me."

Thelor grumbled something unintelligible and turned back to the forge, tossing a log onto the glowing embers. The fire flared, casting sharp shadows on the walls. "Do you even know why you fight, Stephan?"

The boy's answer came far too quickly than Thelor would've liked. "To protect those who can't protect themselves and to help those who can't help themselves. It's the right thing to do... even if it kills me."

Thelor snorted, but found that he couldn't really disagree with the boy's words. "Fancy yourself a hero, then, the perfect knight who fights for the weak and the needy?"

Instead of backing down, Stephan's eye glinted with determination. "Someone has to."

"You're useless in a fight, boy," he said finally. "If you're so determined to throw yourself into the fray, you'd better learn how to swing something heavier than your mouth."

Stephan's brow furrowed. "I can learn."

Thelor glanced over his shoulder, one thick hand resting on his hip. "Not from me. I'm no fighter. But I know someone who is."

Stephan perked up. "Who?"

Thelor waved a hand dismissively. "An old friend. Used to be a mercenary. One of the best in the Free Cities. He owes me a favor, and he's just mad enough to take on a whelp like you."

Stephan sat up straighter, his bruised face lighting up despite the pain. "You'd really do that?"

Thelor sighed, shaking his head again. "You're a fool, Stephan. But you've got guts, I'll give you that. Maybe if someone teaches you how to use those scrawny arms of yours, you'll survive long enough to help someone without getting yourself killed."

Stephan grinned, a genuine, wide smile that almost made Thelor forget the boy's battered face. "Thank you, Thelor."

"Don't thank me yet," Thelor grunted, reaching for a quill and parchment. "You've got a lot of work ahead of you. And you'll be working the forge twice as hard to earn your keep while you're at it. You still need to eat."

Stephan nodded eagerly. "I won't let you down."

"You'd better not," Thelor muttered as he started scribbling. "Or I'll tan your hide myself. Now, hurry up, get cleaned, and get some damn rest, boy."

Stephan chuckled softly, despite the pain in his ribs. For the first time that day, Thelor's lips twitched in what might have been a smirk. The lad had spirit, he'd give him that. Maybe, just maybe, this crazy idea wasn't as foolish as it seemed. If he gained some muscle, earned some money, and really learned to use a weapon, then, perhaps, Stephan wouldn't get himself killed too quickly.