The sun was already climbing high when we finally hit the south district.
I glanced at the rest of the heavy assault division — eight of us, all still in full plate, hammers slung across our backs — and saw the same worry etched on every face. Captain Ragnar never missed morning drills. Never. The man woke up before the roosters and dragged us out of our racks like it was a personal mission. Hours past dawn with no sign of him? Something was wrong.
We'd already cleared the west, east, and north districts. Nothing. So we pushed south.
At first the streets looked normal. Then we crossed the invisible line into the southern quarter and the world turned into a goddamn graveyard.
Rubble everywhere.
Buildings flattened for kilometers in every direction, like some titan had marched through swinging a mountain. Cobblestone torn up and scattered like gravel. Shards of stone and splintered timber littered the ground so thick our boots crunched with every step. The air still tasted like dust and blood.
We picked up the pace without a word.
Then Jax spotted it.
"Captain's war hammer," he breathed.
The massive weapon lay upright in the middle of the street, head planted in the cracked stone like it had been set down carefully. Pristine. Not a scratch. That was the strangest part — Ragnar never set that thing down unless he was done fighting. Ever.
We broke into a run.
I veered right with half the squad, weaving past collapsed houses and piles of debris. The other four split left. Ten minutes of shouting his name, flipping over wreckage, hearts hammering harder than they ever did in battle.
"Where the hell is he…?"
I looked left — and froze.
The sun blazed behind him, spilling down in long golden beams that swallowed his figure in light. Ragnar stood in the center of the ruined street like the eye of the storm, unmoving, shoulders squared, arms hanging loose at his sides.
His armor was shattered in places, dark blood streaking across the plates and dripping down onto the broken cobblestones beneath his boots. Dust drifted lazily through the sunlight around him, glowing like embers in the air.
From a distance he looked almost unreal — just a massive silhouette standing against the morning sky, the devastation of the entire district radiating outward from where he stood.
"Phew… you scared me, Cap," I muttered, walking closer without thinking, still half-convinced my eyes were playing tricks. "Why you just standing there like something's up your ass?"
As I got closer the smell hit me first — thick, metallic. Then I saw it. Blood. Pouring down his chest in steady streams, pooling at his boots. His arms were crossed now, like he was just waiting for us.
"WHERE DID ALL OF THIS BLOOD COME FROM?!" I yelled.
"HEY CAP! ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?!"
"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE?!"
Ragnar didn't even uncross his arms. He just looked down at me with that same bloody, half-crazy grin and rumbled in a voice like gravel soaked in whiskey:
"No… Nothing happened."
He tilted his head, orange eye glinting through the cracks in what was left of his visor.
"Now pass me a potion, brat."
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I stopped at the river first.
The freezing current bit into every cut and bruise like needles, but I stayed under until the worst of the blood and dust and grit had been carried away downstream.
It wasn't enough to kill the iron smell that lingered on me, but at least I wouldn't track half the south district into the house.
Only then did I walk the last stretch home.
I pushed the door open as quietly as I could, every muscle still screaming, every step heavy with exhaustion. I just wanted the bed. Just wanted to close my eyes and let the world disappear for a few hours.
I expected Sylvie to be sprawled across the mattress like always — arms and legs everywhere, green hair fanned out like wild grass, snoring softly with her mouth half-open.
But she wasn't.
The plate of food I'd left for her sat on the little table, mostly untouched. She'd eaten maybe a few bites and saved the rest. For me.
That simple, quiet thought hit me harder than any punch Ragnar had landed all night. My chest squeezed so tight I almost couldn't breathe.
And there she was.
Not sprawled. Not careless. She was sitting up in the chair facing the door, little body slumped forward, chin resting on her folded arms, fighting sleep just so she could be the first thing I saw when I came home.
Her green hair fell across one cheek like silk, and every few seconds her head would nod, then jerk back up, stubborn even in exhaustion.
I reached up with shaking hands and pulled off what was left of the boar mask. The thing was shredded — barely more than a broken jaw and one cracked tusk. Useless now. I set it on the table without a sound. I'd burn it tomorrow. I didn't need it anymore.
I stepped closer.
My hand rose on instinct to pet her head, the way I always did — gentle, careful, like she was made of glass.
But the second my fingers hovered above that soft green hair, something broke inside me.
Tears spilled hot and sudden down my face.
I didn't understand at first. I wasn't sad. I wasn't hurt. I was just… relieved. So fucking relieved it hurt.
Because she was safe.
Because I was home.
Because this little girl — this tiny elf I'd pulled from the ashes almost a year ago — had somehow become the only thing in the world that could make a monster like me cry without even trying.
I looked at her and the truth crashed over me like a wave I'd been running from for months.
She wasn't just Sylvie anymore.
She was my daughter.
No matter how many times I told myself she wasn't, no matter how hard I tried to keep that wall up… she had crawled straight into the empty place in my chest and made it hers.
I reached behind my neck, fingers clumsy with exhaustion and emotion, and unclasped the pendant Arthur had given me the day I left.
The one he could never pass to his own son. The one that carried every promise, every regret, every ounce of love he never got to give.
The silver felt warm against my palm — heavier than it had any right to be.
I leaned down slowly, careful not to wake her, and slipped the chain around her small neck. The pendant settled against her chest like it had always belonged there.
Sylvie stirred just a little, a tiny sleepy hum escaping her lips, but she didn't wake. She just leaned into my touch like she'd been waiting for it all night.
I stayed there on my knees beside her chair, forehead pressed gently against the top of her head, tears still falling silently into her hair.
"I'm home, kiddo," I whispered, voice cracking so bad I barely recognized it. "Daddy's home."
And for the first time in four brutal hours — maybe in years — the weight on my shoulders felt just a little lighter.
Because she was here.
Because she was mine.
Because no matter how broken the world got, this green-haired little girl had given me something worth every single scar.
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AN
Hoped you enjoyed the chapter :p
I thought it was good
bye bye