Headed by a Snake

"But since you gave the order," Pale went on, "you probably have a different way already planned to get back."

As a default, Tycondrius of Charm spoke with an air of unquestionable confidence.

However, the boy was wrong.

Tycon did not have a way to return to the material plane.

A Spell, a Formation, an enchanted artifact-- having a personal means of planar travel was expressly forbidden under the Gatekeeper's Laws.

The only loophole was chancing upon a ⌈Gate⌋, naturally formed. But in those cases, it was prudent to immediately seal the rift to prevent its abuse.

Tycon did that with the boy's help.

He didn't even question it-- nor did the boy.

That... was a sign of his express and absolute faith.

However... because of it, a new problem had arisen.

Tycon clapped the young Pale's shoulder with pride. So many years of travel and quest resolution made him an equal when it came to adventuring.

If the boy used that moment to ask for the leadership of Sol Invictus, Tycon would have granted it to him without the need for a formal duel, as tradition dictated.

"Yeah. You definitely have a way," Pale nodded.

Ah. That smile...

The smile of a Hero carried a burdensome amount of pressure behind it.

Tycon felt his mouth twitch. He wanted to tell the boy the truth... but the notion of betraying his expectations pained him greatly.

He closed his eyes as he walked on.

He'd figure something out...

"Sir? Can I ask why I'm dragging this buttload of weapons and armor?"

Tycon glanced behind them. The boy was dragging a series of tied ropes, interlaced with dark iron mail armor pieces, axes, hammers, and the like.

After making some mental calculations, he discerned that the weight Pale was responsible for was actually greater than a 'buttload.'

However, informing him of the fact had no merit.

"Because you're physically stronger than I am," Tycon explained simply.

"I mean... what's it all for?" Pale clarified.

"Why, it's for our next mission, young man."

"Uh... Sir? Can I ask... about what our next mission is?"

It was slightly bothersome to answer so many inquiries instead of one, single and comprehensive. However, the current Tycon did not have the confidence to scold the boy for it.

"Yes, of course," he smiled. "I'm looking for an army."

"We... I think we should find Troia, first," Pale said resolutely. "She and Dawnbringer pretty much make up an entire army by themselves."

"Unnecessary," Tycon waved. "Either she's gone toward Kimura Taree and Dragan or she'll come to find us. Is that a fair assumption?"

"Y...yeah," Pale sighed, somewhat defeated. "I'm just a bit worried, I guess."

Tycon was fairly certain that the Holy Princess would be actively seeking them out (though he asked for clarification because of his ever-increasing doubt in himself.)

Pale had been placed under a limiter-- one that applied to him in the Plane of Fire, but was not present on the Material Plane.

The limiter was benign... easily broken if Pale were to face great danger. Tycon considered removing it, but it also served to functionally conceal the boy from cursory detection by anything Sky-Rank and higher.

And as it was Divine in nature, it was likely a gift from Troia.

Tycon could sense it easily enough... but he had yet to discern its actual source.

Was the boy wearing a trinket that the Holy Princess had tampered with beforehand?

If it was loosely attached to his person, Tycon could localize and dispel it, if the situation required.

Whatever the case, it stood to reason that, as long as the boy was protected by Troia's Divine Blessing, his location would be known to her and Dawnbringer.

It was then that Tycon noticed that the boy was walking with his face staring at the red dirt.

He knew better than to posture as such while marching... so Tycon naturally assumed the action stemmed not from sloth, but from a different issue.

"Speak your mind, Mister Pale."

"Sir... it's-- because of Vanya," the boy started, but he paused to take a breath...

"--in the Plane of Ice... Vanya's tribe... they might be able to help us. We need to go back, anyroad... they have a right to know what happened..."

Pale took another deep breath, "It... hurts, Sir... it hurts a lot. She trusted me and I failed her."

The boy was suffering from chronic pain-- likely psychosomatic symptoms related to grief.

A lesser man would have told the boy to ignore it-- to soldier on, regardless.

Such a solution was common... but not particularly healthy.

Further, the young man's concerns were valid.

Pale was a leader. It was a fate selected for him and one he had chosen to pursue.

It would not be the last time he would suffer such a loss.

...and the nightmares that would plague him for the rest of his life would only grow more vivid, more damning, as the years would pass.

"Indeed," Tycon nodded. "Never forget, young man. To do so would be a disservice to the fallen."

He, himself, would never forget the sacrifice of Princess Suka.

He'd never forget Wroe and Rena and Tamaki and dozens of others. Each of their names... and the manner of their deaths were painstakingly carved onto his black heart.

They would bleed on for the rest of his life-- and perhaps even beyond...

The young Pale let out a deep sigh, "I... I dunno what I'd be doing if I didn't find you, Sir..."

"Life goes on, Brother-Pale. The members of Miss Vanya's tribe will mourn her loss, as you do, but they will move on. They will return to the mundanities of their individual lives. They have more to live for... as do we."

For a moment, Tycon wondered if he was talking more to the boy... or out loud, to himself.

"However," he said... "You and I, young man... we are different. You and I have the ability to seek revenge on Miss Vanya's behalf."

He turned to Pale with a somber smile, "That is one of our goals, I'm assuming."

"Y-yeah," Pale nodded. "It is..."

He took a deep, haltered breath.

He was in pain... in mourning. For a moment, Tycon wondered what kind of advice Quay would have given his son.

As worthless as it would be for a normal person, the two had enough similarities in personality, that it might have actually been helpful.

It was a shame that person was long dead.

"Sir?" Pale said... "How... do you do it? How can I find the strength to... keep going?"

Tycon glanced behind them and back at the boy. His walking pace had been steady over the past half-bell.

"You appear to be doing just fine," he remarked.

"Uh... Sir?" Pale grimaced, "I get that I'm physically strong... but I don't have any Skills or anything that make me... mentally strong?"

"Ah... so you desire mental fortitude," Tycon nodded... "In the Kingdom... they have coined a notion they call 'raison d'etre'... a reason for... existing."

Pale trudged along quietly.

As Tycon saw the cogs of thought turning in the boy's head, he allowed the boy the quietude.

After several moments the boy turned, "How do I find something like that?"

"It's a complex topic," Tycon shrugged. "From what I understand, there is no single correct answer."

"What... do you do, Sir?"

Tycon shook his head, "I'll admit... I, myself, am a simple fool when it comes to the matter. I choose to live by relying on other people."

"But Sir? You-- what? That doesn't make any sense. We... we all rely on you, though? Everyone in Sol Invictus does."

Tycon chuckled to himself, "Did you not realize the notion could also be cyclical? I am relied upon, thus I strive to be reliable."

"The... the law of equivalent exchange," Pale suggested.

"Not quite," Tycon chuckled. "It's called a positive feedback loop."

Or perhaps it would best classified as a 'Fallacy of Circular Reasoning.'

"R-right... Sir?"

"Yes?"

"...Is that really enough?" Pale asked honestly.

Hm...

Oftentimes, it did feel quite lacking.

"It... is enough for me," Tycon sighed. "I am... a part of many people's lives. For some, my mere existence provides them no small part of purpose or happiness-- something of the like. And so I live... so I continue to breathe as this life demands... eking by when I can, seizing victory with blood-soaked hands and barbarity if necessary."

"Can... I live like that too?"

Tycon unwittingly loosed a light chuckle.

The young Hero was already doing so. After all, Tycon would not allow the boy to betray his expectations-- only to exceed them.

"For now, I advise you to place your faith in myself, in Kimura Taree, and in your Holy Princess, Troia."

More reasons would come.

Pale was a kind child with a good heart. Many more would come to rely on him... and, if he continued as he was, he would strive to live up to their ideals.

"For... Sol Invictus," Pale quietly muttered.

"Your volume is lacking," Tycon said, offering his arm.

Pale clasped it at the wrist.

"For the honor and glory of my house, Sol Invictus," he repeated.

That... would do.

"Well done. I'm proud of you, boy."

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