Aksel had never grown accustomed to celebrations. A learned task from before he ever woke within Mythris. The Sólskin had their share of festivities, and of course he would always accompany Solvi during them. But his place was meant to the outskirts, where he could have a good view of his charge and the goings on around her.

Old habits die hard, as they say.

The blade had accompanied Elvie and the various souls of the Haven she was creating. And while he’d been with them for the entire journey, the moment they reached their destination he was quick to break away. It wasn’t that he disliked celebrations—it was the opposite. Aksel enjoyed the sounds of conversing, laughter, and the atmosphere of life after the dreadfully long winter they had to endure. This was a blessing by the Mother. He just wasn’t the best at being near the center of it all.

Aksel’s leg no longer gave out beneath his weight, and the various punctures were now nothing more than scars with memories of the battle attached to them. He recalled the constant check-ins from Elvie, ensuring he was stable enough to travel so far. While he couldn’t say it was as good as new, it was at least usable without pain.

The wind carried scents of wolves he didn’t know, with prey, and fermented berries too. The preparations were in full force.

When movement up ahead caught his attention, Aksel froze momentarily. A woman, alone but moving with purpose and wearing the scent of Ravorn. Perhaps they had sent out their own to verify nothing malicious lingered around their home. It made sense.

I hope I’m not making your job more difficult by being here, he called out before aligning his path to cross hers. I’m with the Haven, we’ve come to Ravorn for the celebration. Once close enough, Aksel stopped, greeting her with a ghost of a smile but eyes genuine enough to see his nature. My name is Aksel, introducing himself to a patroller was easier than a group of socialites.