Chapter 48: Between Mother and Son

"And what about you?" she asked abruptly. "How did Nicky and Glen find the way, if the path is anchored within us?"

"We brought them there. Some missions overlap. When someone shows particular skills, we ask our gods. If they confirm, we offer to live together. Only Nicky, Glen, and D accepted."

"Have you met many?"

" A few. About twenty per region... but solitude breeds mistrust. Sleeping means being vulnerable. Some come and go. Despite our facilities, the food and everything... living in a community is something else. The rules, the ranks... Uncle D."

She smiled despite herself. Yes, Derek alone was enough to discourage anyone.

" Ranks?"

" Yeah. We're ranked based on our missions, our stats, the competition. It changes with every arrival and every death. Actually, it's been a while... ask Fen."

" Fen? You mean Fenrir?!"

Argy looked at her, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Tell me right now, " Blanche growled.

He raised his hands, laughing.

"I'm going to tell you! You don't know Viking legends yet... According to one of them, your wolf would bring about the end of the Otherworld. So the gods imprisoned him with a magical leash. Guess who freed him after getting his promise not to destroy anything?"

"Your wolf"? What do you mean, "my wolf"?!

" Me?!"

" He was chained when you found him. You helped me with my missions, then you did yours with Dad. One day, you ran into him. You told him you were from the future; he didn't believe you. You made a bet, you won. He couldn't stand being put back in his place. Since then: friends. With benefits. A good fight brings people closer."

" What?! Me, friends with that arrogant god? What benefits?"

" Benefits in kind," a deep voice whispered behind her.

Blanche jumped. Fenrir, stunning and so close he could have kissed her, was staring at her. She leapt back, fell off the rock.

" Never! Not even in a dream!"

"Too late. It's already happened... several times, " he murmured, his gaze sliding over her with unapologetic indecency.

Fenrir stood there like a living anomaly, too radiant to belong to the world around him. His long blond hair, cold and almost silvery, caught every hint of light and cast it back in pale reflections, as if it were made of frost rather than silk.

His heterochromatic eyes—one an icy green, the other a burning amber—never seemed to look in the same direction, giving the unsettling impression that he saw both the present and something farther away, something older.

Dressed in white, a pure, unreal white, without the slightest trace of dirt despite the mud and rain, he clashed violently with the darkness of the setting, like a figure torn from another plane.

That brightness softened nothing; on the contrary, it heightened the sense of danger, as if beneath that apparent purity lurked something deeply unstable, ready to fracture at any moment.

He stood in stark contrast to the two players, dressed in black, in military uniform.

"Stop!"

She tried to read his aura: impossible. His mischievous gaze horrified her. How could she ever have...? Her disgust was obvious: Fenrir lost his smile and returned to his mask of cold savagery.

" If we're really friends, why did you treat me like that?"

He took the time to restore the flow of time—which he had inadvertently frozen—then replied mentally, in a neutral, sincere voice:

I wanted to see how the girl would react, compared to the warrior I know. And you know what? Like your teacher and most of the men who will become your lovers, you never stop addressing them formally: you love them as much as you respect them.

Her lovers? Her teacher? Scarlet red, she fell silent. His tone, toward the end, had taken on a softness she had never heard from him before. Then he vanished without a word.

"Seriously?! Haven't seen him for days! And he leaves without saying anything!"

You were the subject of a debate: the first dark mage in ages. Some wanted you dead, others wanted to hand you over to a higher god—which I am not. Odin, in charge of the north, after Munin and Hugin, ruled in my favor... even though he knows I cheated. The gods are interested in you. I hadn't claimed a player in millennia.

" Oh shit..."

Argy raised an eyebrow. She explained—at least, what she could.

" Should've seen it coming, " he replied." I'm sure you planned everything."

She had no idea.

"Trust yourself. I believe in you."

The intensity of his gaze almost frightened her. A light rain began to fall, as if in response.

"By the way... Fenrir, what's our ranking?"

Argent, as the northern seer, is seventh: one of the oldest still alive. You, first. You are the Queen of Players, remember. Your husband, second.

" Wow... thanks."

Second. The one with monstrous stats. In four thousand years... maybe more? She didn't have time to think about it.

"They're coming," Argy warned." Get in position. I'm just here to patch you up."

Blanche stood, focused. Her hearing finally picked up the sounds.

Three goblins. That should be fine.

They appeared in her field of vision. Standing firm, ready to fight.

The wind suddenly shifted direction, carrying the damp scent of moss and freshly turned earth. The trees around them, tall and gnarled, seemed to lean in as if to watch the scene, their branches creaking softly. Something in the air still vibrated from Fenrir's passage—an invisible, almost electric tension that made the skin prickle.

In the distance, a muffled laugh echoed. Not human. Not entirely.

Blanche clenched her fists.

She could still feel his gaze on her, like a mark. A burn. A promise, too.

Fenrir wasn't merely curious. He was studying her. Testing her. And behind that irony, behind that constant provocation, there was something else—a dangerous, unstable fascination. As if he constantly hovered between amusement and destruction.

A sharp crack.

The goblins moved forward, slow, wary. Their eyes gleamed with a sly intelligence. One of them sniffed the air, then fixed Blanche with insistence, as if it sensed something abnormal in her.

The rain intensified.

Every drop seemed to amplify the silence.

Somewhere, out of sight, a presence lingered.

And she knew.

Fenrir hadn't really left.