All Roads Lead to Reunion
The path to Reunion was always a perilous one. Temutai kept a watchful eye on the roads and paths, ever peering out across the rolling plains of the Steppe. He had been set upon by more aggressive tribesmen before, shortly before sending them scurrying or driving them into the dirt with his blade. His axe was readied, his jaw set. His eyes scoured every blade of grass, watching for any misplaced tracks or suspicious traps, any telltale signs of impending danger.
The shriek of an elderly woman, fearful in it's tone, was enough to pull the Xaela from his cautious stride, the man breaking into a frenetic sprint. He never was one to turn a blind eye.
An elderly man and woman stood at the top of a small hill, ringed by a unit of Oroniri and Budugan spearman. The man stood tall, albeit wounded, an axe hefted in both hands as he breathed raggedly. The woman, his partner, stood behind him with a bow at the ready. Numerous dead already laid at their feet, though it was clear that they didn't have the stamina to persist with any further assaults. One spearman charged and was sent flying for his arrogance, though not before his spear caught the older man in the shoulder. With a wince he dropped to his knees, the ring of spears slowly encircling the two.
Temutai’s axe cleaved the first of the aggressors in short order as he sprinted from the base of the incline. The clamor of spears meeting axeblade rang out across the Steppe, with Temutai’s bestial roars quickly drowning them out. He was well-used to fighting outnumbered, but even this pushed the limits of his endurance. Thrust after thrust was aimed at him, the Qereli exile deflecting and crushing each offensive with wild swings and violent outbursts of aether, the very ground upheaving in molten rock as he swung his mighty blade. He fought the elders’ side, moving with blinding speed as he fought tooth and nail.
Temutai knew himself well. The rage of battle was enough to rouse the beast that burned so brightly in his breast. The stench of blood, the clang of steel, and the cracking of bone. He could feel his bloodlust rise, and yet he maintained the lucidity he'd always desired. Man after man crumpled and broke before him, but he remembered everything. The shock on their features, the sickening sound of his blade cleaving through flesh and bone, the spray of blood. It should have terrified him, but there was one thing that was more important. One burning instinct imprinted on his thoughts.
When at last the dust settled, the spearmen were laid to waste. The few that he hadn’t decimated had long since fled, their weapons left behind as they had scrambled to flee. He finally turned to the two he was protecting, his eyes burning with inner rage. He saw the shock on their features. The man's eyes a bright blue, his features creased with age. The woman's eyes a dark red, with burning crimson limbal rings encircling her iris. Fear and shock changed to confusion. Temutai stared a long moment, his eyes dimming and returning to their mismatched hues. Bright blue, and red with a crimson limbal ring.
"T... Temutai?" The woman spoke in a shaky cadence. She took a tentative step forward, one hand outstretched.
"Th-this..." The man was aghast, his features wide with awe and shock. "Th-that you survived..."
Temutai's eyes widened as he finally recognized them.
He reached out for his mother's hand, though he quickly stopped and withdrew. He took a small step back, his surprise shifting to awkward shame. "...You are safe now. You should continue before more arrive." He stowed his blade on his back. He took another step as he intended to leave, though not before his mother snagged his wrist.
No words were spoken. His mother's features creased in a somber smile, tears welling and streaming down her face as she seized her mountainous son in a warm embrace. His father moved to her side, regarding Temutai with muted adoration as his hand rested on the woman’s back. Temutai simply watched, dumbstruck, before his father ushered her mother away with hushed words.
Temutai remained motionless as they departed. His mother had left him with a carving, not unlike those he himself made. Worn and yellowed with age, an evident reminder of the son she'd lost. He stared intently at it, his thumb rubbing over the surface. A child carrying an axe, not unlike the one he carried on his back.
He turned his eyes back up to the road, letting out a shuddering exhale as tears claimed his sight.
