Steven and Surtr ended up talking the whole night away, emptying several bottles of fine liquor in the process. By the ti dawn began to creep over the horizon, they finally closed their eyes for a brief rest.
Not that Steven needed much rest anyway. For soone like him, sleep was more of a formality than a necessity.
So when he saw Surtr leaning against the edge of the bed, already fast asleep, he just smiled softly, pulled the blanket over her shoulders, and quietly slipped out.
His destination wasn't Talulah's tent—not yet.
First, he had soone else to see.
He made his way to the training grounds, where the frost-bitten air was filled with the echoing rhythm of shields clashing and boots striking snow. There stood Patriot, commanding his Shieldguards through their drills.
The howling wind bit deep, but to that giant of a man, it might as well have been a sumr breeze. His towering fra, his massive spear and shield—just standing there, he was like a living fortress, a mountain of black steel that radiated safety and strength.
It's no wonder that everyone in the guerrilla forces looked up to him as their true leader.
When Patriot noticed Steven approaching, he imdiately seed to understand the reason for his visit. He barked a few last orders to his soldiers, then strode over, his heavy footsteps crunching in the snow.
Thanks to the food supplies Steven had traded earlier, even the Shieldguards were healthier now—strong enough to resu proper training for the first ti in a long while.
"You ca to see ?" Patriot's low, gravelly voice carried easily through the icy air.
He glanced down at Steven with his glowing crimson eyes—though a mont later, realizing that staring down like that might be a bit impolite, he found an empty spot nearby and motioned for Steven to sit with him.
"I'll be heading out soon," Steven said simply once they sat. "Before I go, there are a few things I should probably tell you."
He reached into his inventory and pulled out a tal flask. The rich aroma of strong liquor spilled into the cold air.
"Drink while we talk?" he offered with a grin.
There's a saying: there's no such thing as a sober Ursus man. And if you add the biting northern wind, a little vodka becos as essential as air.
Joke or not, Steven was pretty sure this was the right way to approach soone like Patriot.
Sure enough, the old soldier didn't refuse. He took the bottle, tilted it back, and downed a solid gulp. The red glow in his eyes brightened slightly.
"Good drink," he said approvingly.
"Of course it is," Steven chuckled. Then his tone shifted, becoming more serious. "But seriously—be careful for a while. Especially during missions. Keep an eye out for that thing from last ti. It's good at hiding, and it spreads corruption fast. If that thing ever makes it into your camp of Infected…"
He paused, letting the weight of the words settle. "…it'd be a disaster."
His voice was calm, but firm.
He knew how strong Patriot was—probably the strongest human he'd ever t—but even he couldn't fight an enemy that refused to show itself.
The northern tundra has grown restless lately. Who knew what other horrors might crawl out of the ice? And if one of those monsters reached the Infected encampnt, Patriot would be the only one capable of stopping it.
And worst of all—the source of all this chaos? It probably had sothing to do with Steven himself.
So, of course, he had to warn him.
"…That's why you were called in yesterday, isn't it?" Patriot rumbled.
As soone who'd also once been walked under the banner of the late Emperor, Patriot didn't need Steven to elaborate. He already knew what kind of "thing" they were talking about—and that the higher-ups wouldn't care about the Infected, or the guerrilla forces, so long as the threat was contained.
"It's part of it," Steven admitted with a shrug. "The rest was just about asking where I stand. But really, what kind of 'stance' could I even have? Wherever Talulah and the others stand, that's where I stand too."
He said it with a grin, but sothing in his tone carried a quiet finality—like the words of a man preparing to leave for a long ti.
And for a mont, even the howling wind seed to fall silent, as if listening.
Steven pulled out another bottle and took a long swig. Ever since he first tasted this stuff, he'd grown fond of the way it burned down his throat. Getting drunk wasn't the point—it was that fiery sting he liked, that reminder that he was still human enough to feel sothing.
"So you actually turned down the invitation from Ursus?" Patriot asked, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Not many people could do that."
There was genuine respect in his crimson gaze. The invitation had co from the Emperor of Ursus himself—the most powerful man in the entire nation. And Steven had not only refused, but sohow walked away from it alive and unhunted. That alone spoke volus.
"Nothing worth bragging about," Steven said with a shrug, waving off the thought. Then, after a pause, he smiled slyly. "But what about you, Captain? Didn't Talulah invite you too? I rember she ca looking for you right around the day Reunion was founded."
That was sothing he was curious about. Patriot's stance last night had been… complicated. Supportive, but not entirely committed.
"I don't know," Patriot said bluntly.
His answer was so short, so decisive, that Steven almost burst out laughing. But then the old soldier took another long drink from the bottle, letting the burn roll down his throat before continuing.
"I need to watch a little longer. She's made a strong start, and her ideals are… admirable."
He paused, the faintest flicker of lancholy crossing his eyes.
"But I've seen too many like her," he said quietly. "Drears, visionaries… Most of them die halfway down the road. Or worse—they change before they reach the end."
The weight in his voice was that of soone who had seen generations rise and fall, revolutions burn and fade. He turned his gaze slightly toward Steven, his eyes steady and thoughtful.
"Still," he continued, "if you were the one leading this movent… Perhaps I would choose to stand beside you instead. You're different from her. I've never once seen confusion in your eyes."
It wasn't flattery—it was a statent of belief.
If Steven had been the one to rally the Infected, Patriot would have followed him without hesitation. That kind of confidence he showed, that quiet conviction—it wasn't sothing you could fake.
Steven, however, only laughed.
"Forget it," he said, waving both hands dismissively. "I've got zero interest in starting rebellions or leading armies. You keep watching her—that's probably the best thing you can do. And if you can, maybe help steer her thinking a little. She's still… too soft when it cos to the Infected."
He shook his head like a rattle drum as he spoke such words.
The very idea of leading a revolution made him tired just thinking about it.
Steven preferred to be the kind of guy who stood behind the real leader, shouting encouragent and occasionally cracking jokes. Anything beyond that just sounded like work.
It wasn't that he hated trouble—he just needed the trouble to be interesting.
Patriot gave a slow nod. "The guidance of outsiders ans little to her," he said gravely. "Only pain can temper her. When she suffers, when she bleeds—only then will she begin to grow."
The words hung in the cold air, heavy as steel.
And for a brief, wordless mont, the two simply sat there—sharing silence, the bottle, and the quiet burn of fire in their throats.
Patriot lowered his head slightly, the faint shake of it betraying the weariness beneath that iron fra. Of course he knew what Talulah was like. To the Infected patrols and soldiers, she could be a commander of cold iron and unbending resolve—issuing orders without hesitation, drawing plans without rcy.
But when it ca to the Infected themselves… she was still too gentle. Too idealistic.
And that—Patriot knew—was not a good thing. Nor was it sothing he could easily change.
"When she starts losing her way," Steven said with a sigh, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips, "I'll have to ask you to give her a push for . And if that doesn't work… well, just have Yelena call ."
The mont the na Yelena left his mouth, the air grew heavy.
"You still dare to say her na?" Patriot's voice dropped an octave, deep and dangerous. A subtle pressure rolled off his massive fra like an oncoming avalanche. If it weren't for his daughter's disapproval, he'd have already given this kid a lesson on what it ant to "take responsibility."
"Cough—hey, wait, don't glare at like that," Steven said quickly, raising both hands in surrender. "There's sothing else—I'll check Yelena's condition before I leave, and I'll also work on suppressing the Originium's effects on her body a bit more. Oh, and, uh, I did promise her I'd take a look at your condition too."
As he spoke, he dug around in his pocket and produced a small, neatly wrapped piece of candy, which he then offered to the towering Wendigo before him.
"Here," he said with a grin, "one for the road."
At first, Patriot simply stared at it, the candy looking comically tiny between his thick, gloved fingers.
"…What is this?" he asked at last, holding it delicately between two fingers, as if it might shatter.
"Just think of it as a cough drop," Steven replied with a straight face. "Sothing to soothe your throat. Your daughter practically begged to make it for you, so… I'll let you decide whether to eat it or not."
He kept his tone casual, but his eyes flicked toward Patriot's throat for a brief second. The rasp in the old soldier's voice, the faint pauses between words—it wasn't hard to tell that the Oripathy had already begun gnawing at him from within. It wasn't serious yet, but left unchecked, it would only worsen.
For now, one of those candies would be enough to ease the symptoms—to make speaking a little less painful.
"I see…" Patriot murmured, studying the tiny thing for a long mont before finally slipping it into his mouth.
Steven leaned back a bit, arms crossed. "As for Yelena," he went on, his tone turning more serious, "I'll handle her side personally. But if you really want her to stop suffering from that freezing backlash, the best thing she could do is stop using her powers altogether."
His brow furrowed slightly as he spoke. "I can tell her strength is hurting her. It's not just her either—everyone in the Yeti Squadron is getting caught in the sa feedback. The more they fight, the worse it'll get."
He didn't say it aloud, but what he saw when he returned had unsettled him.
Yelena's body was deteriorating again—worse than before, despite his previous treatnt. It wasn't natural. It was the toll exacted by the power she refused to let go of.
"That's sothing you should tell her," Patriot said at last, his deep voice rumbling again.
"She won't listen to ," Patriot admitted. "When it cos to her powers, she has her own beliefs. Her own pride. If anyone can make her see reason…"
He fixed Steven with a knowing look, the corners of his mouth curling just slightly beneath the shadow of his mask.
"…it's you."
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Note: Character Illustration is in this Google Drive:
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