While Aleric and Fenrir were busy spoking behind the closed door, the adjoining room settled into a different kind of silence. It wasn't the heavy, suffocating silence of the forest, but one charged with the friction of two ancient egos occupying the same small space.
Athena stood near the window, framed by moonlight that turned her bronze armor into silver. Fafnir leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his presence a constant, low-thrumming heat in the cool night air.
For a while, neither of them looked at the other. They rarely did for long. It wasn't out of hostility. It wasn't trust either. It was something between the two — a quiet awareness, like two blades resting close enough to touch but not yet crossing. They were powers from different mythologies sharing a room, each waiting for the other to break the silence.
Eventually, Athena turned her gaze toward him. She didn't blink. Fafnir noticed. He always noticed. He had the instincts of a creature that had spent eons guarding a hoard; nothing moved in escaped his awareness.
After a moment, he exhaled slowly through his nose, a faint puff of steam visible in the moonlight. "What is it?" he asked flatly. "You've been studying me since we left the guild."
Athena didn't answer right away. Her gaze never wavered. "You seem to be hiding something," she said at last, her voice as cool as ice.
Fafnir lifted a brow. "That's a bold accusation."
"It wasn't mere amusement at the guild," she continued. "It had nothing to do with the band they asked Fenrir to wear, nor was it about the registration." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You seemed to be watching him."
Fafnir tilted his head, a slow, predatory movement. "Don't pretend I am the only one. You do the same."
Silence. Athena's jaw tightened — just slightly. It was the only crack in her composure.
"My duty is to watch him and teach him, like you asked of me when I first arrived in this world."
"Duty," Fafnir repeated, pushing off the wall. He stepped closer, slow and casual, like a predator testing the air. "Is that what you call it?"
Her expression remained perfectly composed. "Yes."
Fafnir studied her for a long moment, his emerald eyes searching hers. "I saw you tighten your grip on your spear when that patrol captain threatened to take Fenrir."
"I was just raising my guard."
"You were not raising your guard." His voice softened — not mocking. Simply observant. "You got nervous."
Athena held his gaze, though her hand twitched toward the hilt of her spear. "He is weak and I knew he would fight if it came to that regardless of his strength."
"You seem to forget. He has us. What mortal could possible face us and live?" Fafnir replied dryly.
"Nothing would happen to us, but he is still only a human."
Something flickered briefly in her eyes—a shadow of the woman beneath the goddess. Fafnir saw it and smiled faintly.
"Yet you do not look at me same way."
"Because that would be irrational, human form or not, you are still a dragon. Why would I bother worrying about you?"
"Mm that is fair." He paced a slow half‑circle around her, thoughtful rather than threatening. "By the way, there is something that I noticed on our way here." As he spoke, he stopped before Athena and leaned down to look straight into her eyes. "Why is it that every time you gaze at him, no matter what the situation, you always seem to watch him as if something would swoop down and take him away from you."
His question landed quietly, but they carried the weight of a mountain. Athena's posture stiffened. "You probably saw wrong."
"Did I?"
Another silence stretched between them, heavy with the things Athena refused to say. Fafnir didn't push further. He didn't need to. After a moment, he added, softer now: "There is a difference between guarding and teaching someone… and fear losing that person."
Her gaze sharpened. "You presume much."
"I simply observe." A pause. Then, almost gently: "You are not simply responsible for him anymore."
Athena didn't answer. And for the first time since he had known her, she looked uncertain. The Goddess of Wisdom was suddenly faced with a question she didn't know how to answer.
She was brought back from her thoughts by the sound of the latch turning. Both of them glanced toward the door as it opened. Aleric stepped into the room. Fenrir followed behind him. The faint glint of metal at the wolf's throat caught the lamplight.
Athena's gaze dropped instantly. To the band where the silver tag hung. Her shoulders straightened — not in approval but in shock. She looked like she wanted to rip the metal from his neck and throw it out the window.
"Well?" Fafnir asked lightly.
"He agreed," Aleric said, his voice sounding weary. "For now."
Fenrir's tail flicked once. "I only agreed until we find a better option," the wolf corrected evenly.
Fafnir's eyes lowered to the tag. He studied it silently for a moment. Then one brow rose. "Remarkable."
Fenrir's gaze slid toward him, cold and sharp. "Choose your next words carefully."
"Oh, I am choosing them very carefully," Fafnir replied, a smirk playing on his lips. "The Wolf of Ragnarok…wearing a collar."
"It is not a collar," Fenrir growled.
"I guess not," Fafnir agreed. "What did that puny receptionist call it again? Ah right, a leather band."
Aleric exhaled quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Quit it you two. We all know this is necessary to avoid drawing attention to ourselves."
Athena stepped a little closer to him as he spoke. There was no reasoning behind her movement. Her body just moved unconsciously. It was like the movement of a moon finding its orbiting our its planet. Fafnir noticed. Of course he did. Fenrir noticed as well. The wolf's eyes lingered briefly on the distance between Athena and Aleric.
'Unexpected.'
Fafnir folded his arms. "Does it itch?" he asked mildly.
The air cooled, a sudden frost forming on the washbasin. "You continue to test my patience," Fenrir said, his teeth clenched.
"It passes the time."
Aleric rubbed his temple, the headache of the day finally catching up to him. "Can we not turn this into a rivalry?"
"It is not a rivalry," Fenrir said calmly.
"It is just a bit of teasing," Fafnir added.
Athena cut through it, her voice a sharp command. "Is it necessary?"
Both men looked toward her.
"I understand the band is necessary since there would always be patrols. It is a given after all," she continued. "But what if they enforce more stringent requirements in the future and he isn't wearing it?"
Aleric nodded. "That is true."
Fenrir studied her quietly. "You want me to keep wearing this band?"
"Until we are sure, I believe it is the wisest option at the moment so yes." she affirmed. But her eyes flicked again toward the collar.
Fafnir noticed. His gaze sharpened just slightly. "What if he refuses to wear it long term?" he asked casually.
Athena didn't look at him. "Then we fight if we must."
"For whom? Aleric?"
"Yes."
A pause. "Why not for the wolf?"
That made her turn, her eyes flashing. "Because its different."
"Mm."
Aleric looked between them, feeling the strange current of the room. "What are we discussing now?"
"Nothing," Athena and Fafnir said at the same time.
Fenrir's tail flicked once. "You are so obvious."
Fafnir smirked. "Only to you."
Silence settled again. But it was lighter now. Fenrir shifted slightly, the metal tag catching the lamplight once more.
Fafnir glanced down at it. "You realize," he said thoughtfully, "that if word spreads to your pantheon, you will become a mockery."
Fenrir tilted his head. "Explain."
"The Wolf of Ragnarok, wearing a mortal kingdoms tag but still boasting he bows to no one."
Aleric blinked. "That's not—"
"That is what the others would think," Fafnir continued. "That he was tamed by mere mortals."
Fenrir's gaze drifted slowly toward Aleric. "I have not been tamed and I have not bowed, this is a necessary sacrifice," he corrected.
"Well, of course."
Athena stepped closer again as the conversation drifted toward politics and possible reactions of the pantheons to seeing Fenrir with the band. Her movements were subtle. Almost instinctive. Fafnir noticed. This time, he said nothing. He only smiled faintly to himself. Because she hadn't noticed herself moving and Aleric was too busy noticing.
But Fenrir—Fenrir had. The wolf's gaze lingered on Athena. Then shifted to Fafnir. A silent understanding passed between them. The look was not one friendship or alliance but that of two beings who see what is becoming.
Something had begun to shift and unlike the patrols or royal decree, this shift had not come from power. It had come from the quiet, human heart within their group.
+++++
Eventually, the tension eased. Aleric glanced toward the door. "We should eat before the kitchens close."
No one argued.
The common room downstairs was warm and lively in the comfortable way of an evening inn. Lanternlight hung low from the beams. The air smelled of roasted meat, onions, and fresh bread. Tankards clinked. Dice rolled across a corner table. It was a scene of mundane, beautiful life, and for a moment, Aleric felt like he actually belonged to it.
They found a broad table near the hearth. A waitress approached quickly. "Evening. The stew is three bronze. Bread and cheese are two bronze. Roasted capon with turnips is one silver, five bronze. The boar platter is two silver. Ale's a bronze a mug."
Aleric did the math automatically, his mind retreating into the familiar safety of numbers. Three bronze for stew. Two silver for a full platter. They had ninety‑eight silver and eighty‑two bronze remaining. Enough to eat comfortably for weeks — if careful.
"We'll take two stews," Athena said.
"One capon."
"Boar," Fafnir added.
The girl blinked, then nodded. "Two silver."
Fenrir folded himself beside the table with deliberate control. The server hesitated, her eyes wide as she looked at the silver wolf. "…And for the hound?"
Fenrir's ears twitched. Aleric answered easily. "Meat. Whatever scraps you'd normally discard."
"Half a silver for a butcher's plate."
"Done."
She left. Fafnir leaned back in his chair, the wood groaning under his weight. "You didn't try to lower the prices."
"She didn't seem to be inflating it," Aleric replied. "I thought the prices were fair."
Athena studied him briefly. "Do you always calculate everything?"
"I have to." It was the only way he knew how to see how long their funds would last.
The food arrived quickly. The stew was steaming in thick wooden bowls. A roasted bird glistening with fat was lowered on the table with a dark, rich platter of boar meat accompanying it. The bread they received was still warm and soft. As for Fenrir, a broad wooden plate was placed carefully on the floor. Large slabs of juicy red meat filled with fatty tissues was arranged over the plate. On the side were also some of the animal bones that was probably added since the platter was for a 'hound'.
Fenrir lowered his head and licked his lips. Paused. Then began eating with measured grace. He didn't eat like a ravenous beast. He ate the meat in controlled bites. Fafnir on the other hand, attacked the boar with far less restraint, eating like a man who hadn't tasted meat in a thousand years.
Athena ate with graceful movements. Aleric let out a quiet breath after his first bite of stew. Warmth spread through him, soothing the dulling ache in his ribs. For a few minutes, there was only the sound of eating and the hum of the room. Everything felt simple. Grounded.
After a while, Fafnir spoke. "We should go to the guild at first light."
Athena nodded. "I agree, we can't rely on Aleric's funds as our only way to survive."
"You guys are right," Aleric added.
Fenrir lifted his head slightly. "going early also allows us to choose missions before the other mercenaries get there."
That quieted the table briefly. Athena wiped her hands with a cloth. "We should choose something practical. Not something flashy."
"I say we try to find escort work," Aleric said.
"Being escorts mean we will be able to move more freely if we accompany a merchant or a trader."
Fafnir smirked. "Why escorts mission when we can go after the higher paying jobs?"
"It will attract attention and that's the last thing we need."
Fenrir's tail flicked once in approval.
When the meal ended, Aleric totaled the cost. Boar platter — 2 silver. Capon — 1 silver, 5 bronze. Two stews — 6 bronze. Fenrir's meat — ½ silver (50 bronze). Ale — 2 bronze. Altogether: 3 silver, 63 bronze.
He paid without hesitation. Which left them with: 94 silver and 19 bronze. Aleric weighed that number in his mind. One hundred silver was a good starting fund. Paying five silver was an indulgence. Bronze coins—those were needed for daily essentials. And a comfortable daily life was what he was fighting for.
Upstairs, the corridor was narrow and quiet. Their rooms were simple. The floors were rough but at least the rooms included clean straw mattresses with thick wool blankets to fight off the nights chill. A basin and pitcher for water was also provided for washing. For only a few bronze coins a day, the rooms were modest—but comfortable.
Athena paused at her door. "Remember. Be up at first light."
Fafnir nodded once and disappeared into his room. Aleric shot her a thumbs up and walked into the room that was decided he would share with Fenrir. The door closed softly behind them.
Outside, the inn settled into the night. Below, embers glowed in the hearth. Beyond the town walls, patrols rode darker roads. But inside those rented rooms, the group could finally rest in small, honest comfort. For now, that was enough.
++++++
Athena remained in the corridor a moment longer. She watched as the others walked into their rooms for the night. She listened to the inn settling and to the footsteps fading down below.
Satisfied, she entered her room. The chamber was modest. It held the bare minimum but at least it wasn't cluttered.
She removed her shield first. The round aspis slipped free from her arm in a smooth, practiced motion. She placed it within reach of the bed, angled against the wall. Her spear followed, resting to it.
Only then did she loosen the ties of her cuirass. It was styled after the greek hoplites. It was made of layered linen reinforced with bronze plates. It was the same kind of armor worn by the warriors who once invoked her name before battle. She wore it as a sign of respect for her followers that shaped their way of fighting in her image.
She dimmed the lamp until only a faint shadow remained. Then stood still.
Her thoughts replayed the encounter with the patrol that happened early that day. The Greymark riders had approached hesitatingly. It was almost as if they were testing them. Then came the moment their captain's gaze settled on Fenrir. The whole encounter almost became a stand-off. Then came the mention of confiscation of Fenrir.
Her body had prepared to move at the first sign of aggression. Her shield arm had already been adjusting. She changed her center of gravity. Her grip on her spear tightened. As she thought back to that situation and her reactions, she couldn't understand why she acted like that. It intrigued her. She never acted without thinking. She was wisdom and war incarnate. Yet her readiness had not been born purely from preparedness. It had been almost instinctual.
She folded her arms. Aleric had never moved to draw his sword. He had not postured or acted arrogantly. He had not provoked the guards either. He spoke calmly and every word he uttered was deliberate. He had offered t comply with their directives to avoid causing a scene. He had done so while standing before armed riders. IT was the first time she saw him act so decisively.
That mattered. He could have chosen to act haughtily and disregard the patrolling guards or just decide to fight and kill them but he didn't. He chose to comply and keep a low profile regardless of the power that accompanied him at the time. Most rulers preferred to use intimidation. Most men, when they were tested publicly, chose to save their pride but not Aleric.
She approved of how he dealt with the situation. That was why she stood beside him. Why she decided to give him a chance.
The words Fafnir said when they were alone in the room came back to mind.
Her reaction during the confrontation, she realized, had nothing to do with preparedness. It had been purely personal. The cold, calculating part of her mind had been momentarily eclipsed by a sudden, fierce protectiveness.
She turned slightly toward the wall separating her room from his. Faint sounds carried through the wood—Fenrir shifting, Aleric settling down on his bed. The sound steadied her. It was… grounding. It was a tether to the present, to the small, breathing reality of this room.
Millennia had taught her detachment. Mortals came and went like the changing of seasons. Kings declared themselves eternal and were forgotten within decades. She had guided countless champions, watched them burn bright and then fade into shadow in the annals of history. It had never bothered her before.
And yet—she found that she preferred knowing he was there, alive and safe.
If he were to fall, the consequences would be significant. We, his summons, would be stuck here or just be erased by this world. His well, the power he carries, on the other hand, would likely tear this world apart. But even after all those possibilities, the first thing that came to her mind if he fell was:
No. Unacceptable.
It would be unacceptable because his absence would change something she had begun — without noticing — to value. The world would simply be less interesting without his voice, his numbers, and his quiet, stubborn resolve.
She sat on the edge of the bed and rested a hand on the rim of her shield. The bronze was cool under her touch. In a phalanx, shields locked together to protect the line. She had taught mortals that unity preserved their survival.
She, however, was not holding a line. She decided to stand beside a single man. There was no compulsion or obligation. She made the choice to stand united with him. She would face everything with him. She, above all beings, understood the weight of her decision.
Deep down, she acknowledged a quiet truth: Aleric was no longer mere mortal in her eyes. He was someone whose continued presence she desired.
What she felt was not love. Not yet. This was earlier than that. But whatever she felt was real. And Athena did not ignore what was real. She closed her eyes, and for the first time in an age, the Goddess of War slept with a heart that felt surprisingly full.