Path to Oblivion (2)

"They are coming!"

"They are coming!" The words thundered through the chamber, cutting through the tender moments of emotion like a bolt of lightning.

Yakarl's focus abruptly changed as duty pulled him back into the realm of leadership, temporarily putting the depths of his profound love on hold.

His gaze, once filled with the soft glow of paternal anticipation, hardened into a piercing glare that mirrored the electric intensity of a storm.

Turning swiftly, Yakarl's commanding presence filled the chamber, his voice resonating with authority befitting a leader of warriors.

In that moment, all traces of his previous unattentiveness vanished, replaced by the unwavering focus of a battle-hardened commander.

"Prepare for the upcoming operation. Phase one is about to commence. I want everyone to execute the plan precisely as instructed. This is my direct order. Move out!" His voice rang out, carrying with it the weight of responsibility and the urgency of imminent danger.

There was no need for further explanation, for his words held the power to stir action within those who heard them.

In an instant, his orders were understood, and the warrior who had delivered the news raced away with a sense of purpose, carrying Yakarl's directive to those who awaited it.

Yakarl's gaze shifted from the impending battle to the fragile figure lying before him. A flurry of emotions danced across his face, but he knew that now was not the time to indulge in the depths of those feelings.

He turned his attention towards Shaman Marsa, his voice resolute yet tinged with a touch of urgency.

"Shaman, heal Scyl and prepare for the ritual," he instructed, his words carrying the weight of both command and concern.

Shaman Marsa, now fully attuned to the gravity of the situation, wasted no time. As if summoned by her will, a wooden staff materialized in her hand, its end fashioned in the shape of a crescent moon.

A soft, hazy light emanated from the staff, enveloping Scyl's lower body before spreading to encompass her entire being. In the span of a heartbeat, the chieftess stirred from her unconscious state, her eyes flickering open.

Yakarl then ordered all the midwives and Shaman Marsa to leave, leaving only three people in the room.

Yakarl, his heart pounding with a mix of relief and anticipation, moved swiftly to his wife's side, taking hold of her trembling hands.

Scyl's vision cleared, and she saw the man she loved standing before her, holding their newborn child in his strong arms.

For a moment, time stood still as Scyl struggled to process the flood of emotions overwhelming her. The first word that formed in her mind was "baby," a testament to the instinctive bond that had blossomed within her during the months of carrying new life.

And in that instant, as the realisation washed over her, she understood that Yakarl was standing there, the embodiment of strength and devotion, with their precious child in his care.

"Su...baby...has beautiful hair just like you," Yakarl whispered, his voice carrying a tenderness that melted the barriers around Scyl's heart. He gently presented their newborn to her, a radiant smile adorning his face.

"Baby!" Scyl's voice trembled with a mixture of awe, joy, and tears. She reached out, her fingers trembling, as Yakarl placed their precious bundle into her waiting arms.

With her strength slowly returning, Scyl managed to sit up a little, supported by a soft pillow. Cradling her newborn in her arms, she gazed at the tiny face before her, her heart swelling with a love that words could not adequately capture.

This precious child was the result of her perseverance through the trials and tribulations that had befallen her tribe.

Tears welled up in Scyl's eyes as she leaned forward, planting gentle kisses on her baby's forehead. Each tender touch conveyed a depth of emotion that only a mother could understand—an unbreakable bond forged in the crucible of sacrifice and unconditional love.

Her gaze was then drawn to Yakarl, who stood by her side, his eyes fixed on their child with a warmth that surpassed even the passion they had shared in their intimate moments.

It struck a chord within Scyl, and she playfully pinched him—an unexpected jolt of mischief.

"Ouch! Su, what was that for?" Yakarl winced, his gaze searching Scyl's face for an explanation he knew he would never receive.

"Nothing! Nothing at all! Just felt like it!" Scyl replied, her expression one of feigned innocence as she winked mischievously at her husband, as if mischief was the only way to bring levity to the weighty moment.

Yakarl, seeing this moment, hugged his family of three.

After a long hug, the family of three separated, and Scyl spoke in a soft tone, "His name is already decided."

Yakarl went stiff because this tone was not soft at all; normally he would always agree with his wife's request (command), but the naming issue was dragging on for far too long, and they both couldn't find common ground on this naming situation.

Yakarl answered in a very calm tone, as much calmness as he could muster, "Yes, Ivar."

A flying punch.

Bang!

Shaking her hand, Scyl looked at him with narrowed eyes, and with an affirmed tone, she spoke, "It's Ignis."

"Um... but Ivar sounds better."

"Ignis sounds cool, and my son deserves a cool name unlike your brute name."

"He's a boy, so I should give him a name. Right?"

"What stupid logic! You give names to our daughters. Happy?"

"Umm.. How about we combine our names and then something... something?"

"Okayh! I like your idea, Rudcy; thou shalt my blessing continue."

Inside the chamber, a battle took place, and its outcome was determined. Yakarl Reigns gave her the idea, but he still had to use the name that Scyl came up with using their names together.

They both would have started to bicker more, but a midwife entered from outside and said, "Sorry for my intrusion, Chief; the preparation has been completed, and people are waiting outside."

Hearing this seriousness again surface on Yakarl's face, Scyl, who heard this, went stiff, and looking at Yakarl with an angry face, she spoke even though she knew the answer, "They have reached here?"

Yakarl just nodded.

Scyl's anger surged forth, unleashed upon Yakarl in a flurry of punches driven by frustration and sorrow. Each strike carried with it the weight of their collective suffering, the relentless trials they had endured as a tribe.

Clutching their child tightly, tears streamed down Scyl's face, her once beautiful eyes now filled with anguish. The weight of their people's struggles bore heavily upon her heart.

"Why, Rudcy? After all, we have endured, why won't they let us live in peace?" Scyl's voice trembled with a mixture of grief and fury. In that moment, she was not the fierce warrior, but a mother torn between her love for her child and the cruel reality that threatened their very existence.

Yakarl gritted his teeth seeing this; even though he was strongest, he couldn't stop the empire's onslaught.

He hugged his wife and son.

Something in him told him that this was the last time he would be doing this.

As a father, he knew that this embrace held the weight of a lifetime—both the joy and the sorrow, the protection and the sacrifice. It was a bittersweet embrace, for he sensed the gravity of the challenges that lay ahead.

But he vowed to himself that he would shield his family from the full extent of his burden, standing firm as their unwavering pillar of strength.

It felt like it to him, but he couldn't let it show on his face.

In that moment, Yakarl understood the weight of responsibility that fatherhood bestowed upon him. There were no words needed, no one to guide him. It was an unspoken understanding that coursed through his veins—the profound obligation to protect and provide, to forge a path forward despite the encroaching darkness.

No one was there to tell him.

But he could feel it.

Feel the responsibility.

"I'll beat the shit out of them today too! Huhuhu!" He laughed as he casually said something no one would be able to say if they regularly clashed with the empire.

Scyl shoved her face into Yakarl's embrace, and in a tone that seemed colder than ice, she started to seep out, "Rudcy, you know they took everything from us."

Yakarl didn't object and let her continue.

"They destroyed everything, everything we held dear. And I refuse to let our child experience that pain, that emptiness."

Every time she spoke, her voice grew heavy.

"My long ears, my identity—I had to cut them off. They were once my pride, a symbol of who I was."

"Rudcy I thought if I did that, they would leave me alone. But they didn't."

"When I met you and embraced this new life among the barbarians,

"Live free and die free."

"Freedom."

"I hoped to find freedom, just like every barbarian sought. I thought I could find my own sense of liberation in this new world. But they showed up again, Rudcy."

"Our son is a blend of both high elf and barbarian blood. I fear he'll feel trapped in the presence of those wretched bastards. He too will long for what we yearn for, and they will stand in his way."

Tears started falling from her eyes.

Drip!

Drip!

"I have this request, Yakarl: Remove them from this world, so our son can breathe freely."

"This is my only request to you."

"Rudcy, he's our fire, our precious spark of life. I won't let anything dampen his spirit. Not even the shadows of the past."

"I don't want wet woods in his life."

Her voice was soulful.

Yakarl knew what this meant—a flame that would never be extinguished.

He hugged his wife once more, their bodies pressing close in a quiet embrace. In a hushed whisper, he assured her, "I'll be back soon, Su."

His voice was more emotional than ever.

Yakarl turned around and started to walk out of the chamber with the baby.

He didn't turn around.

He didn't turn around to see his teary-eyed wife.

He didn't turn around to see his crying wife.

He knew both of them were warriors; he knew she was only second to him; he knew she could feel it too; and they knew that as much as this day was the brightest day of their lives, it might be the darkest too.

Exiting the chamber, he started walking towards a destination, and Shaman Marsa followed him.

Soon they reached a balcony.

He could see the open, slightly reddish sky; the sun appeared to be setting, and some dark clouds were gathering.

And from below the balcony, he could hear the chatter of many people.

Just slightly ahead of the balcony, a standing area appeared, seeming like a stage, and Shaman Marsa went forward and stood on it.

The moment she arrived, she struck her half cresent moon staff into the ground, and a sudden sound resounded in the area.

Everyone's chatter died down, and everyone looked up towards the balcony.

Some people present below wore armour and appeared to be warriors; some were wearing normal clothes from different animals, of which many appeared to be raggered and tattered.

"The time has come for what we have been waiting for!" Shaman Marsa spoke; her voice was not loud, but it could be heard clearly in this large area.

The moment those words were uttered, many of the people had already guessed the situation, and the happiness on their faces could not be hidden.

Yakarl started walking towards the stage; his face and his conduct were exuding a fiery aura.

As he reached the stage, Yakarl took a deep breath and looked around. Thousands of barbarian warriors kneeled before him, and on the other side, other members of the tribe were also kneeling, from the elderly to the young ones.

They all showed respect to the leader who has protected them and given them this safe life.

While kneeling, everyone clasped their hands together, the right hand as a fist and the left hand as a cup, and greeted their leader.

"We greet our Mighty Cheif, YAKARL REIGNS!"

"We greet our Mighty Cheif, YAKARL REIGNS!"

"We greet our Mighty Cheif, YAKARL REIGNS!"

The greeting was so loud that a weak person would have collapsed.

If it were any other assembly, Yakarl would have calmly conducted things, but not today.

Yakarl, noticing all this, shouted, the veins on his neck swelling and protruding.

"Barbarians!"

Yakarl's voice boomed like thunder, and veins bulged on his neck.

"What is it that we live and die for?" he shouted, seeking an answer from the barbarians before him, but he already knew it deep inside.

"To live free and die free!" came the resounding response, a voice filled with conviction.

"Yes! We refuse to be shackled by others or meet our end on their terms!" Yakarl continued, his voice resonating with authority.

"We live for ourselves and our family!"

A surge of passion and various emotions began to stir within the crowd.

"But those who assail our land, what do they truly seek? Can we not discern their intentions through their actions?"

"They desire to subjugate us, masking their true motives with deceptive words!"

As Yakarl spoke, anger, fury, and a thirst for vengeance became visible on the faces of every barbarian.

They understood all too well what the empire aimed to accomplish.

"We will crush them!" a voice bellowed from a corner, swiftly followed by a chorus of agreement.

"I will devour their flesh!"

"We will annihilate them!"

Yakarl surveyed his people, and their thoughts aligned with his own.

He gazed at his son, held him high above his head with both hands and made a momentous declaration.

"This is my son and the next leader of our tribe!" With each word, the veins on his neck pulsed fervently, matching the magnitude of his proclamation.

The crowd fell into silence, their attention fixated on this historic moment.

"I aspire to rebuild our homeland, a place filled with the laughter of our children and the joys of our people, untouched by constant strife."

"This is my son, Skylar!" Yakarl declared, his voice resolute, each word carrying the weight of countless untold stories.

CRACKLE! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The heavens themselves seemed to respond, with a thunderous clap reverberating through the skies as if nature itself joined in the proclamation. The air seemed heavy and acknowledged the immense gravity of this moment.

"SKYLAR REIGNS!!!"