Like Father

There wasn’t much about Sermar that Kenasif remembered vividly. There had never been much remembered in the first place, really, after her childhood visits to the territory had become more infrequent. One of many regrets she had developed later on in her life, though that particular one was largely out of her control, at least.

Kenasif swathed herself in a rather unbecoming cowl for most of her journey to Azebhad; a decently-sized walled town that punctured an otherwise dim landscape, save for distant snow-capped mountains. It was large, sure, but not large enough to feel secure in going unnoticed in a crowd. One other fact she still managed to retain: it was left unoccupied by the Gold Fang Horde these days. A bit too far west for their taste, save for rare occasions, which left it at a population of primarily humans.

In the past she had come there from the steppe strongholds to the East, so landmarks from the Western route were unfamiliar. Her heart was seized tight in her chest for the entire solitary trek on horseback, ever-paranoid of being recognized despite never having been through the Western roads before.

Finally arriving in Azebhad felt notably different. Instead of feeling free and safe when seeing the pale walls in the near distance, the openness of the vast copper-toned land around them made them feel lonely. Nothing about the trees, arched doorways, or dusty town paths upon entering were different from what she remembered, yet it felt foreign. Like she wasn’t supposed to be here. It always had, in a way, but especially now. The sandstone homes all blended together into a small beige sea flowing within the walls, but there was one she sought out unconsciously.

Muscle memory soon drove her down the winding sandy roads towards a round-topped home with thick black smoke issuing from a hole in the awning roof. The familiar rhythmic clang, clang, clang of an iron hammer on metal made her breath hitch. He does still live here. Maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe she should just turn her horse around and leave, find somewhere else to go sulk, or go back to the island all together and abandon this horrible idea. What would he even say to me, anyway?

Her horse did not feel the same apprehension. It stepped right around to put Kenasif in direct view of a broad, copper-skinned man hunched over a huge anvil, slamming an iron mallet on a curved piece of steel. His back was turned to her, his hair was thick and dark with streaks of grey, and just as shaggy as her own. It pulled tight against his head in a half-updo, and his beard had grown so long that she could see it even from behind.

His workshop was a wide-open space framed by arched openings on three sides. Immaculately hammered steel weaponry lined the racks, as much works of art as they were effective arms. Judging by the piece he was working on now, he was still the town’s number one supplier. He’s only gotten better with age, it seems.

Kenasif felt frozen in the saddle, mouth slightly agape as she simply watched her father work for what felt like an age. He finally raised himself from the anvil, not noticing her and moving to drop the blade into the water before doing a double take. His eyes met hers, large and brown and warm as ever – that was it. Home.

“Kenasif…” he muttered. Was that relief in his voice she heard? Or fear?

“…Hi, dahn.” Just saying it was almost overwhelming. She dismounted, pushing away her cowl almost out of shame. Shir Asorouri had never been a very outwardly emotive man, but Kenasif saw her father throw down the unfinished sword to hiss violently in the quenching bucket before rushing to bring her in a tight embrace. He smelled overwhelmingly of fire and fresh-cut wood and metal, just as she remembered.

Even though he was nearly an entire head shorter than her he was no less strong. The feeling of his huge arms around her yanked something deep in her heart. She returned his gesture in equal measure, gasping as if she were finally relieved of some immense burden.

“Your hair…” he said, bringing his hand up to the nape of her neck to curl the ragged, short strands. Kenasif almost laughed at the comment. “Yeah… I’ve been cutting it.” Shir pulled back to look at her closer. She knew the concern in his eyes as he looked upon the jagged burn scar on her neck, the cleaved lip scar and replacement tooth, and the string of teeth and horns around her neck.

Finally, he let go completely. He looked as if he didn’t even know where to start after that. At least we’re together on that one, she thought.  “Hitch the horse ‘round back. You want something to drink?” he finally asked. Kenasif simply shook her head and brought the horse behind the smithy to the residential side of the property where he’d suggested.

Ducking through the doorway into her father’s home was like being cast directly back in time. Not a single thing had changed about the place in all the years she had been gone; every rug was the same, every tapestry on the wall and decorative wooden piece remained exactly how she remembered it. He even had the same coffeemaker on the counter; an ancient thing of copper and glass that looked more well-loved than a hand-me-down baby blanket. The place even smelled the same; like a dry hearth just beginning to catch fire.

She sat herself down on her knees at the low dinner table, though her legs were much too big to actually fit under it now. Eventually Shir entered and began to brew coffee, also taking out some unleavened bread from the morning’s bake.

“Dahn, It’s fine, I just-“

“No. I know how far you must have traveled, and you must be starving for something decent. Please, Kenasif. Eat.” He sat down across from her, albeit slowly, suddenly wincing and pressing a hand on his side. “Agh- damn this back. Been bothering me for weeks.”

Kenasif looked down in silence. The air seemed to rush with static to fill the empty space between them.

“Dahn, I…” she started, but immediately lost the words. How in the gods’ name am I supposed to do this?

“Are you in danger?” Her father said, not accusingly.

“I, well… No, but-“ Kenasif stammered out, then simply put her face in her hands. “There’s just… A lot. A lot I need to fill you in on.”

Her father simply sighed and rested his elbows on the table. “Well, I’ve doused the forge and closed the shop for now. Tell me all you need to.”

Kenasif felt her mouth go dry. “I guess… I should start with the Champions of the Sky.”

---

“…It’s been months since I lost her. I haven’t been able to think about anything else. I can’t do anything else. I just feel so-”

“-Helpless,” her father finished, sipping into his third cup of coffee. Retelling the ordeal felt like reliving it all over again; the loneliness she felt at first arrival to the guild, meeting Miya in the labyrinth, their first kiss… Her death…

“This is no ordinary thing you’ve gotten yourself tangled up with.” Her father had become more forlorn looking, she noticed. After speaking with him for some time, there was a certain permanent sadness to his face that Kenasif hadn’t remembered before.

“Yeah, I know… I fucked up. Again.”

“You did what you thought was right at the time, Kena. Don’t be ashamed of that. You did what many people would fear to do and stood your ground against evil, against a devil.”

“It doesn’t feel like it, though, dahn. It feels like the coup all over again. I was wrong, I shouldn’t have been so reckless, I should have stopped to consider the consequences.” Her fist clenched around her mug. “I’ve lost mohn, Khurna, the Horde, now Miya-”

“You mustn’t think like that,” Shir cut in, but paused for a moment. He reached out a calloused hand and placed it on Kenasif’s.

“Mohn is gone, this cannot be undone.” His voice was soft, mournful. “I know you still grieve for her, Kenasif, but clinging to that sorrow makes no room for growth.”

Kenasif remained silent, brows furrowed into her coffee cup. She wanted to cry, but the tears would not come.

“Khurna lives, at least. She leads the pride after your mohn, from what I’ve heard. The Gold Fang Horde rides on behind her as well.”

Her mouth dried up again. “That’s… good. I’m glad. She deserves it.” Much more than I, that’s for sure. Thinking about Khurna was always immensely bittersweet. “I… She would get along with Miya, I think. ”

Shir chuckled. “From what you have told me, I’m sure they would. Khurna’s spirit has always been unquenchable.”

Kenasif bit her lip. “…She probably thinks I’m dead. I just-” Her voice broke away. “I want to fix it. All of it. I’ve been avoiding it for so long, dahn. I... I can’t bear the thought of Khurna hating me. It fuckin’ haunts me, and I’m scared to know the truth, but I can’t take this guilt one more gods-damned second.” Her eyes pinched shut, and finally, a tear polluted her coffee.

“I should have died instead of Miya, after all the damage I’ve-“

“Kenasif.” Her father’s voice grew harsh then, before sighing and settling back onto the pillow. Hearing him like that made her feel like a child again. “You are not listening to yourself. You have already accepted that you cannot change the past, but you have convinced yourself your future is set in stone as well.”

“If there was one thing Giirah Kaggrig valued, it was fortitude,” he continued. “Both emotionally and physically. Your mohn would not want to see you forcing yourself to suffer like this. You have become a slave to your own grief, Kena. Do you not see?” He spoke almost feverishly, working himself up in a way Kenasif had not seen in a long time, if ever. It was too much, and she lifted both hands to her face to stifle a gasping sob.

Shir corrected immediately, scooting around the table to put an arm around his daughter, speaking more softly but with no less meaning behind the words. “You must let go of these notions if you ever want things to change. To truly change, and to be able to mend what you can. And you must be resilient enough to accept that yes, all may not work out neatly, but you must have the strength to try.”

Kenasif’s back heaved in a heavy, growling sob. “I- I don’t know how. Wh- How do I even fuckin’ start…?”

“You start by bringing Miya back from that devil. That is the easy part.” Shir rubbed her arm gently, his touch as warm and comforting to Kenasif as a winter fire, but even now she instinctively wanted to shy away from the heat. “Then you must contact the Horde. Arrange a meeting with Khurna if you can,” he continued

“She’ll be so furious… She was always so loyal, and I- I betrayed them all… Like some craven dog.” Kenasif muttered, her voice sinking away at the admission.

“Oh yes, she will no doubt, but you must have the strength to withstand her fury. I cannot say whether or not she will hear you out – you know better than anyone that words mean little to her over actions. Words cannot undo the past. But she surely grieves for you such as you both grieve for your mohn. Even if she is angry, I cannot help but believe she would be relieved to see you alive. You already know she was looking for you at the time.”

Kenasif managed a long, shaky sigh to settle herself. “Yeah, I thought she was gonna come kill me.” You know that was never true, Kenasif. Damn old man… Why did you always have to be right? “I can’t run from it anymore. It’s… just gotta happen, one way or another.”

Shir nodded in silent acknowledgement, pulling away from his embrace on her to simply hold both her hands in his. Kenasif stared down at his finger still bearing the ring her mother had given him on their wedding day; a thick band of the finest carved ivory intertwined with molded gold to form symbols of bonding, family, and loyalty. Even though they separated years before her death, he still wears her ring…

“I… I just want to make mohn proud,” Kenasif managed. “Even if I can’t rejoin the horde, I just want her to be proud of me.” Kenasif felt more tears threaten her composure.

“I know,” Shir replied. “And you still can. You are not a lost cause, Kena. If you keep believing that, you will continue to lose.”

No truer words had ever been said to her, she thought. Except they had, many years ago, and she did not listen. When she had come to him all those years ago fleeing the Horde’s conflict and confessed her cowardice and sins to him – how she was wrong to side with the violence, how she couldn’t bear the shame of showing her face again to the Horde – he had given her similar advice. He had told her Khurna had come seeking her, but the wounds were still so fresh at the time. Kenasif fled even further, knowing Khurna might be on her tail. She had ran, and ran, and ran…

But that was over now. If she continued to run, she would continue to lose. And she was so tired of losing.

She hadn’t noticed she had stopped crying. In fact, she was completely still. Her father simply looked at her. His warm brown eyes seemed to be etched with every year they had spent apart.

“How long until you go?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I just need to wait until Zathra needs something from me, I guess.” Kenasif hated that. She hated having to wake up every day wondering if that would be the day she needed to gather up some allies and go do a devil’s bidding.

“Why don’t you stay here a while. I still have your room, you know. Some time away might do you some good.” Shir stood, his knees cracking with the effort, causing him to curse under his breath.

Kenasif thought for a moment. “I… I told the guildmaster I’d be no more than two months. It took a couple weeks just to get here.”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll stay here for the remaining time, I could even put you to work at the forge, if you want. I could use my little helper these days.” His smile then was so warm and genuine, it almost brought Kenasif to tears again.

“…Thanks, dahn. I think I’d like that.”