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Vol.7, Ch.6, P.5

In a moment, the cries, the clattering, and the clashes beyond the far walls wavered and waned, and then was washed away. Battle there had ceased. Only rain now remained, fogging, falling. Its caress was as quiet as it was cold.

“…I had a son.”

So began Björn out of the blue. He’d spoken before of this son in passing, to be sure, but…

…had.

Björn had a son.

At once, I wondered the worst.

“—A son, raised by but these two widower hands,” the captain continued. “Of fine heart he was…”

And ever as he spoke, Björn looked upon me directly. But the erstwhile gravity of his gaze was gone. Sitting hunched in its place was grief—the grief of an old and lonely man.

“He ever revered the knightly way, and