HISADA AURUM

Mercenary For Hire

"There is a fine line between a hero and a monster. Its whether they revere you or afraid of you."

A Tale

“Hisada?”
The taller Xaelan Au Ra turned his head, his gaze meeting his Raean travel companion. “Yes, Yura?”
“You promised me tales of your adventures,” she said, a playful accusation in her voice. “But you haven’t told me a single one yet! How am I supposed to get material for my book?”
Hisada chuckled, the sound warm and low as he shrugged off his coat. He walked to the counter and poured himself a glass of bourbon. A heavy glass. “You’re right. What kind of story are you in the mood for?”
“How about… a story about life." Yura said eagerly, grabbing her pen and paper, her one visible eye bright with anticipation. “Something deep.”
He took a contemplative sip, the amber liquid glowing in the dim light. “Alright. Let me tell you a story I once heard—a story about a man who wanted to be a hero, but life had other plans, pushing him into the role of the villain in his own tale.”
Her eye gleamed. “Perfect.”
Hisada sighs. He takes a sip of his drink and begins to weave his tale.“A hero. Its what every Xaelan boy wants to be when they are born. But for this boy, things were different from the start.” He takes another sip of his drink and swirls the glass. “In his tribe, the birth of a boy was usually a time of celebration. The women would feast and dance with the brightly lit lanterns, the elders would speak of his potential. But when this boy was born, the festivities died. He was not greeted with joy but with fear and disdain.”
Yura’s brow creased as she scribbled furiously on her bed, her expression mirroring the tale’s growing weight.
“To make matters worse, the boy already was dubbed a murderer. His mother had died giving birth to him. His father had already vanished long before, lost in a raid on the village. To add salt to injury, the boy bore strange markings—red eyes and black, hardened scales. No one wanted to raise a child who looked… like a monster. He was cast into the orphanage, growing up with the other unwanted children.”“That’s so unfair,” Yura whispered, her pen paused midair. “He was just a child, alone and unloved.”
“You know as well as I do, Yura,” Hisada murmured, his voice hardening slightly, “the world can be cruel, and sometimes that cruelty starts early.”He poured another glass, and Yura noted the distant pain in his eyes. He continued, “As the boy got older, he was forced to look after the other children as he was unusually strong for a boy his age. He would steal food from the village people that threw him and the other children away, and some nights go hunt small game with his foster brother. The other children dubbed him as 'elder brother' even thought he was not the oldest. He would be the last one to stay up to make sure the other children fell asleep. But that was not the only reason. He would stay up and cry himself to sleep hoping his parents would come back. Come and save him. But… that’s not how life works.”
The flicker of grief in Hisada’s gaze softened as he looked back at Yura who was on the edge of her bed. She held her pen, transfixed, her notes forgotten.“As the years past the boy found out that his strength was not because of him, but instead of a rare blood condition. His blood had absorbed more aether than what is normal for a normal person. Its why his scales were black, and his eyes were red. They were symptoms of his blood condition. It made him understand why he was so hated. Why his villagers called him a demon spawn. And so, when he came of age, he left the village and joined the adventurers’ guild, seeking purpose. But he soon discovered a more lucrative path: mercenary work. The pay was better, and he could send some back to the orphanage for his ‘siblings.’ He became a sword for hire, or in other words a killer for hire.”Yura leaned forward, a spark of hope lighting her face. “It sounds like he was finally carving out his place in the world.”
Hisada’s laugh was bitter. “For a while, he thought so too. But as he accepted more jobs, he found the most profitable ones were those others feared to take. This man did not have much to lose, so he agreed to them. And with each mission, he tapped further into his aetheric powers. The more he fought, the brighter his red eyes blazed. When these people would see him with these glowing red eyes, they would call him all sorts of things. But they were all synonymous with one word.”
“What word?” Yura interjected without noticing. She notices Hisada staring at her. “Sorry…” She said embarrassingly.
Hisada shook his head and looked back at the window. “Monster.” He took a sip of his drink as the word escaped his mouth. “No matter how much good he did, he was still seen as cursed, as something unnatural. This went on for years. He saved a village from a raging beast; he would get his gil but not without getting spit on. He would kill an evil warlord who was enslaving children, he would be handed the gil but not without everyone looking at him with the same fear his own people had for him. But one day, things changed. He encountered a group of bandits trying to capture a young girl. He was able to kill the bandits and save this girl. When he finally got a chance to see the girl’s face, he met the most beautiful Xaelan Au Ra. However, while he was trying to save her, he was gravely wounded by one of the bandit’s blades. He half expected the girl to leave him there in the forest, but to his surprise she stayed. She was a healer, and she helped him close the wound. She did not even mind his eyes or his scales. She found them… beautiful.”Yura’s breath caught as her notes shifted from prose to poetry.“Love bloomed between them,” Hisada continued, his voice quiet. "She and him decided to settle down. He hung up his weapons and his armor. He became an artisan and made his money through trade, while she ran her own business. They had a son, a bright, innocent child who knew him as nothing more than a loving father. For a while, life was everything he had dreamed." He paused, the memory heavy. “But life is rarely so kind.”
Yura’s gaze softened, sensing the weight of the tale yet to come.
“They traveled to the Steppes often, eager to show their child the stars. However, on one ill day, a void creature had decided to attack the village. The man knew the village was not trained enough to handle it. He took his wife and child and barricaded them in one of the nearby homes. He told them to stay put and that he will be back. He approached the void creature and tried to defeat it. However, this void creature was not as weak as others he had fought. It was a battle unlike any he’d faced, a test of every ounce of aether in his body. Their battle shook the very Steppes and destroyed the surrounding land. However, the man was able to successfully subdue the creature. As he approached the creature with his axe, he looked at his reflection in a nearby puddle. His eyes were glowing red, and his body had grown considerably. He approached the creature. The man gave the void creature a chance to return home. He wanted to show his son, that even though his father was a killer, he could redeem himself and show compassion.”Yura was now sitting directly across from him at the table, her eyes locked onto him.Hisada sighed. “As the man walked away, he saw the void creature charge up multiple aetheric beams. He shielded the village to the best of his ability. He was able to get to the creature in time before it fired more attacks. He killed the creature and headed to the village to assess the damage. Most of the village was safe, except for the part of the village his wife and child were.” Hisada was clearly distraught and was full on drinking from the bottle of bourbon. “He removed the rubble as fast as he could. He found his wife and was relieved. She was still breathing. He then continued his search for his son. He finally found his son. Or rather… his son’s body. His son was not breathing. The man held his son’s body and screamed with such rage and sadness. He was used to losing everything, but this moment, it finally broke him. He tried to revive him, poured every last drop of aether he had into his child, willing himself to die if it meant his son could live. But it was no use. As the man continued trying to transfer his aether, his body was in excruciating pain. All he could see from his eyes were red and all he could hear was the voices from the job stones trying to take ahold of him. And before he knew it, his body gave out and he collapsed.” Hisada sighed and looked at the half empty bottle.The room went silent. No one spoke for a couple of minutes but what seemed like an eternity.
“Hisada?” Yura finally broke the silence. “Is that… the end?”
Hisada sighed, setting down the bottle. “Nothing else of importance after that. He buried his son, his marriage fell apart. The hero he once dreamed of becoming faded into the drink, and now… he drifts, seeking an enemy strong enough to finish what the void creature could not.”
Yura’s fingers still, the pen slipping from her hand. “Can I ask something, Hisada?”
He met her gaze, an almost weary smile forming. “Go ahead.”
“Is this your story?”
He looked at her for a long moment, then smiled faintly. “It’s a tale. Does it matter whose it is?” Standing, he crossed to his bed, pulling the blanket over himself. “Goodnight, Yura.”
She sat at the table, staring at her empty page. “Goodnight… Hisada.”

• Chevron Left

Monsters

"So, out of all the villages, towns, and cities on this side of Hingashi, why did you pick the most rundown place you could find?" Yuna asked, eyebrows raised as she took in the dim, shabby tavern around them.
Hisada put down his beer and gave her a slight smirk. "These 'rundown' villages tend to have the big contracts. Plus," he lifted his glass, "they usually have the best beer."
She rolled her eyes, watching him drink. "I've seen you down pints like water, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually get drunk."
"In my line of work, you build tolerance for all kinds of things—especially alcohol," he replied, a playful smirk hiding the real reason: his unique blood condition.
"You’re a hair’s breadth from becoming an alcoholic, you know that, right?"
He ignored her jab, taking another long sip. "Shouldn’t you have enough material for that book by now?"
With a huff, Yuna pulled out her journal and started writing, casting a glance at him as he finished his pint, his attention drifting toward the entrance. Moments later, a young couple and the village mayor entered, and Hisada’s ears perked up when he overheard them.“Mayor, she’s our daughter,” the woman said, eyes pleading as she clutched her husband's arm. “We know she’s alive.”
The mayor sighed. "I know she's your daughter, but we've already hired two mercenaries to get her back from Tristan. They took their down payments and ran off. I can’t keep throwing the village’s money at this.”
As the mayor walked out, the couple's shoulders slumped, and they exchanged a defeated look. Hisada’s gaze softened. Memories stirred as he remembered the anguish of losing a child. Without a second thought, he got up, walked to the flyer the mayor had posted, and pulled it down.
He motioned to the bartender. "Listen, I’ll be back. See that girl over there?" He nodded at Yura. "Get her anything she wants, and give her this note if she asks where I went." He quickly scrawled something on a piece of paper, handed it over, and left the tavern.Outside, he saddled his chocobo, spotting his wolf, Wafa, who wagged his tail eagerly, ready to follow. Hisada knelt beside him. “Not this time, Wafa. I need you to keep an eye on Yura.” Wafa whined but settled down, ears drooping. “When I get back, you’ll have the biggest slab of elk meat. Deal?”
With one last pat, Hisada mounted his chocobo and rode off into the dense forest.As night fell, he approached what looked like a bandit camp, though it was clear this wasn’t an ordinary one. Creatures controlled by Allagan neurolinks patrolled, their eyes vacant and obedient. "So, Tristan’s not just kidnapping children but enslaving creatures too," Hisada muttered, his eyes narrowing, glowing faintly red. The sight made his blood boil.
One by one, he moved through the camp, dispatching creatures in his path, until he found a cage hidden in the shadows. Inside was a small, trembling miqo'te girl with blond hair and dirty clothes. She scrambled to the far side of the cage when she saw him approach. Hisada sheathed his sword and knelt, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.“It’s alright,” he said softly. “Your mom and dad sent me to bring you home.” He pulled out the crumpled flyer and held it up to her. “What’s your name little one?”
The girl, still hesitant, took a step forward. “Raina.”
“That is such a beautiful name. My name is Hisada.” He gave her a safe smile. “Its time to go home.”
Raina nodded. “They sent… two other people to get me. But they… didn’t wake up.” She pointed shakily to the other side of the camp, where two bodies lay half-buried in the dirt.
Hisada’s jaw tightened as he blocked her view of the scene. “Don’t worry. I made sure to take a nap before I came here.” He glanced at the cage lock, then at her. “Can you go to the far side of the cage, close your eyes, and cover your ears for me?”
She nodded, moving to the corner of the cage and covering her face as he’d asked.
He gripped the lock, channeling aether through his Warrior job stone, harnessing his anger. His eyes burned a bright red, and his muscles flexed as he snapped the lock in one swift motion, nearly tearing the cage door off. “Alright, Raina,” he called gently. “It’s safe now.”
The girl turned, ran to him, and clung tightly to his chest. Hisada felt his heart soften as he hugged her back, thinking of his own son, of the family he’d lost. She was barely older than his late son. She looked at him, not as the monster that people saw him as, but as her hero. Gently, he patted her head. “It’s okay now. I’ll take you to your parents. But first…” His gaze hardened. “I need to deal with the bad man who took you.”
She clung tighter, her voice small. “Please… don’t leave me, Hisada.”
He sighed, his heart aching from her scared voice. “I am not going anywhere sweetheart.” He spoke softly, holding her and humming a familiar soft tune he would hum for his son. Once she stopped stirring, he lifted her onto his back. “Alright, but hold on tight. And keep your eyes closed until I say it’s okay, alright?”
She buried her face in his shoulder, nodding.He approached the main tent and kicked the door open, startling the figure seated inside—a man with a cruel face and a greedy glint in his eyes. The man looked up, unimpressed. "Another one? When will those villagers learn not to interfere with my business?"
Silently, Hisada threw a neurolink collar onto the man’s desk. “I’m giving you one chance. Put it on.”
The man sneered, tossing the collar to the ground. “You’re a dead man. Put the girl down, and I might let you live with a few broken bones.” He snapped his fingers, and creatures swarmed the tent.
Setting Raina down gently, Hisada handed her a small hatchet. “Only use this if you have to, okay? But call for me first. I’ll protect you.” He ruffled her hair, and she nodded, running to hide behind a stack of crates.
Hisada turned back to the man, his red eyes blazing as he drew his greatsword. With a single sweep, he summoned dark aetheric claws that cut down the creatures in his path. One leapt toward him, and without looking, he drove his sword into its chest, throwing it aside as he advanced.
The man, now trembling, pulled a revolver and fired. Hisada deflected the bullets effortlessly and, with a single motion, flipped the desk, pinning the man against the wall. He grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him to eye level.
“You… you don’t scare me,” the man choked out, gasping under Hisada’s grip.
Hisada’s voice was low and menacing. ““Well of course I don't. I haven't given you a reason to fear me. But the night is young, and I love reminding monsters that they are not the top of the food chain. There is always someone bigger and stronger. And for you... Thats me.”
A dark aetheric clone appeared at Hisada’s side, its red eyes glowing. The man’s bravado cracked as he tried to offer a bribe, stammering something about triple pay.
Hisada’s smirk vanished, replaced by cold rage. “You were going to sell her, weren’t you?” His voice was barely a whisper, yet it reverberated with deadly intent. “You aren’t just a kidnapper. You’re worse than a monster.” He growled. “I am going to enjoy making you wish death was swift.”
________________________________________
The next morning, the village was in an uproar. A cry rang out, echoing across the square: “She’s back! Raina is back!”
The girl, now clean and safe, was wrapped in her mother’s arms, her father’s face wet with tears. “Who saved you?” he asked softly.
Raina looked up, a smile breaking through her exhausted expression. “A nice monster did,” she said proudly.
“A monster?” Her mother asked, confused. “Monsters are dangerous, sweetheart.”
Raina tilted her head. “That’s what the bad man called him. But he wasn’t dangerous to me. He saved me! So if he’s not a monster… he must be a hero!”
________________________________________
“Hisada?” Yura caught up to him as he passed through the village gates. “Where did you go last night? You left me all alone.”
“Had something to take care of,” he replied, his voice steady, as they walked away from the village.
Yura shrugged, glancing back as villagers celebrated. “Sounds like the missing girl was returned. She kept calling her savior a monster… or a hero. Something like that.”
Hisada chuckled softly, his gaze fixed ahead. “The difference between a monster and a hero, Yura, is just a matter of who’s telling the story.”

• Chevron Left

Beasts

Hisada yanked his gunblade free from the Behemoth’s massive head, the blade sliding out with a sickening squelch. He wiped the blood off with a practiced motion and sheathed it at his hip, exchanging it for his axe. This was the part of the job he hated—villagers always wanted a trophy, as if the beast’s death wasn't proof enough. He swung the axe cleanly, severing the monster’s head with a single, precise stroke.Mounting his chocobo, he strapped the grotesque trophy securely and began the journey back to Kugane. As he entered the bustling city, his eyes caught sight of a small food stall, the same one that had drawn his attention the first time he arrived. The smell of sizzling meat filled the air, and his stomach growled in response. He dismounted and approached, picking up a fresh meat skewer. One bite in, and he was reminded why he loved Hingashi—the seasoning was immaculate, the meat tender and flavorful. Without hesitation, he tossed the stall owner a handful of gil, more than enough to cover the skewers. The pay for the Behemoth job would more than make up for it.Satisfied, Hisada made his way to the bar where he’d taken the job. The room fell silent the moment he entered, the Behemoth head slung over his shoulder drawing every pair of eyes. The weight of their stares didn’t faze him; he was used to being the center of attention, for better or worse.
He walked up to the barkeep, dropping the gruesome trophy onto the counter with a thud. “One Behemoth head as requested. Payment if you be so kind.”
The bartender, wide-eyed and pale, nodded silently and reached for the gil bag. “And a beer,” Hisada added, his tone casual, as if placing a severed monster head on a bar was just another day.
The barkeep poured a beer, sliding it across the counter. Hisada took a long sip, savoring the cold bitterness as he glanced around the bar. Hingans were usually hospitable, but the silence following his dramatic entrance was palpable. A bag of gil was slid in front of him, and he pocketed it with a faint, humorless smile. The payment would go a long way toward supporting the orphanage back at the village.
Leaving the beer half-finished, he turned to leave, but a group of rough-looking men stepped in his path. Bandits, judging by their scruffy appearance and the arrogance in their smirks.“We’ve got a job for someone of your caliber,” one of them said, his eyes darting to the Behemoth head as if measuring Hisada’s worth.
Hisada tilted his head slightly, his faint red eyes narrowing. “What would that be?” His gaze flicked past them to see a few more bandits hovering near his chocobo, their hands inching toward its saddle. His voice dropped, a low growl. “Touch him and see what happens.”
The bandits hesitated, and their leader quickly changed the subject. “Rumor has it the sylphs are gathering crystals, getting ready to summon a primal. You kill primals, don’t you?”
Hisada raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I kill what needs killing, but there’s no primal yet. Nothing for me to do.”
“Well,” the bandit pressed, “you kill beasts, don’t you? Only beasts summon primals.”
Hisada chuckled darkly. “Let me get this straight—you want me to kill sylphs because you’re afraid they’ll summon a primal. Alright, let me educate you for free.” He leaned in slightly, his towering frame making the bandits shift uncomfortably. “Sylphs are peaceful unless provoked. Stop stealing their crystals and cutting down their trees.”
The leader blinked, taken aback. “What… how—”
“You’ve been in their forest, haven’t you? Muddy boots, bits of aether-infused bark stuck to your clothes. If I recall, the Grand Companies pay well for those logs, don’t they? But here’s the thing—those trees are sacred. You piss off the sylphs, and they’ll defend what’s theirs. Want to avoid a primal? Give back the crystals and the logs. Now, move.”
He shoved the bandit aside and walked to his chocobo, securing the bag of gil in its saddlebag. Just as he was about to leave for the inn, he caught movement in his peripheral vision. The bandits were regrouping, surrounding him with weapons drawn. Hisada sighed heavily, as if the situation were more of a chore than a threat.Unhooking his greatsword from the chocobo’s side, he turned to face them, his red eyes flaring ominously. “You were right about one thing,” he said, gripping the hilt of his weapon with ease. His voice dropped, cold and lethal. “Only beasts summon primals.”

• Chevron Left

Memories

The cold wind howled through the forest, rattling the bare branches overhead as Hisada made his way along the secluded path. The moon cast a pale glow, illuminating the mist that swirled around him. Hisada pulled his cloak tighter, his glowing red eyes scanning the shadows ahead. He preferred traveling at night—fewer people to gawk or recoil at his unusual appearance.
As he approached a small clearing where he planned to camp, a faint scream pierced the silence.
Hisada froze, his senses sharpening. The scream came again—a woman's voice, filled with terror. His gaze snapped to the direction of the sound. Without hesitation, he hurried back to his chocobo, where his weapons were secured. His usual greatsword hung within easy reach, but his hand hovered over it before moving to a smaller weapon set—a sword and shield that rarely left their place.
His fingers brushed against the hilt of the sword as his eyes shifted to the Paladin job stone resting beside it. He hesitated, the faint glow of the stone evoking memories of battles fought to protect rather than destroy. It was a part of him he seldom called upon—saving others wasn’t the work he usually found himself doing. His contracts were often about ending threats, whether monstrous or human.
“Just this once,” he muttered, taking the sword, shield, and the job stone. Clipping the stone to his armor, he strapped the weapons securely before dashing toward the noise, his boots crunching against the forest floor.He burst into a clearing to find a group of bandits surrounding a young woman as she backed against a tree. The bandits laughed cruelly, their weapons glinting ominously in the dim moonlight.
"Leave her," Hisada commanded, his voice steady and cold as steel.
The bandits turned, momentarily taken aback by his sudden appearance. Their surprise quickly turned to mockery as they took in his solitary figure.
"And who might you be?" one sneered.
"It doesn't matter," Hisada replied, drawing his sword with a smooth, practiced motion. "Let her go," he commanded as his eyes glowed brighter from attuning more to his Paladin job stone.
The bandits exchanged glances before lunging at him. Hisada raised his shield, deflecting the first strike with ease, and countered with a precise slash of his blade. The clash was swift but brutal; his skill and discipline far outmatched their crude techniques. His sword flashed in the moonlight, cutting down one bandit after another until the clearing fell silent once more.
As the last bandit collapsed, Hisada staggered slightly, pain flaring in his side. He glanced down to see a dagger embedded between the plates of his armor. Blood seeped from the wound, but he gritted his teeth, pulling the blade free and tossing it aside.
He turned to the woman, who had crouched low, shielding her face with her hands. Her black hair caught the moonlight, and something about her presence drew his gaze. “It’s over,” he said softly, sheathing his sword and lowering his shield. “You’re safe now.”
Slowly, her hands lowered, revealing her face.Hisada froze.
She was beautiful. Her delicate features were framed by her dark hair, and her pink eyes—wide with lingering fear—shone like rare gemstones. For a moment, he forgot to breathe, caught off guard by her presence, her purity amidst the chaos he had just ended.
"You're hurt!" she exclaimed, her gaze dropping to his side where blood stained his clothing.
"It’s nothing," he muttered, instinctively covering the wound with his hand. Pain radiated through his body, but he was more concerned about her seeing too much of him.
"Sit down," she insisted, stepping closer. "Please, let me help."
Before he could protest, dizziness washed over him. Reluctantly, he sank to one knee, his shield slipping from his arm to the ground.
She knelt beside him, inspecting the wound with careful eyes. "Your armor’s in the way. I need to take it off," she said softly, her hands hovering near the straps as she awaited his permission.
Hisada hesitated, his glowing red eyes dimming slightly. "You don’t have to—"
"Let me," she urged gently, her voice calm but firm.
He sighed, nodding. As she unfastened the straps and removed the chest piece, her breath caught. Beneath the armor, the black scales covering his torso gleamed faintly in the moonlight, jagged and unnatural against his skin.
Hisada glanced at her reaction, his cheeks heating with embarrassment. "This," he said with a faint, self-deprecating smirk, "is the part where every healer runs."
She blinked, then surprised him by laughing softly. "Well, lucky for you, I’m not every healer."
Her fingers lightly brushed one of the scales, her pink eyes sparkling with curiosity. "They're... beautiful," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.Hisada blinked, stunned. "What?"
"Your scales," she continued. "They're strong. Protective. Plus… they look rather nice on you." Her smile grew as she met his gaze. "And your eyes… they’re stunning, like embers glowing in the dark."
He stared at her, searching for signs of fear or revulsion but finding none. For years, others had treated his eyes and scales as marks of a curse. Yet here she was, looking at him with admiration, not judgment.
"This might sting," she said, drawing his attention back as she cleaned the wound and planted her hands against the cut. She channeled her healing aether on to his body.“You’re… a White Mage. Now I understand why they wanted you.”
“That, and I come from a rather… well off family. I think they wanted to get back at my father and its rather hard to find a White Mage these days.” She removed her hands and placed a bandage on the feint scar as an extra precaution. “That should hold. But I assume I don’t have to tell you to take it easy for at least a day or two?” She asked with a playful smile knowing that he didn’t seem like the type to listen to healers.
"Thanks," he muttered, his voice quieter than usual, “and… I’ll try.” He still couldn’t meet her eyes, though his embarrassment was tinged with gratitude.
She stood up. "You saved me. This is the least I could do."
Hisada still looking at the ground, "I was just passing through. Plus… couldn’t let a beautiful girl like you get hurt."
Her pink eyes softened as her cheeks were now red, realizing that he felt the same way towards her. "Then… I’m lucky our paths crossed." She said as she pulled his head towards her and planted her lips on his.
________________________________________
Time passed.
Hisada stood in the workshop attached to his home, sparks flying as he carefully shaped the blade of a custom weapon. The smell of heated iron filled the air, mingling with the soft crackle of the forge. His movements were deliberate, every strike precise, honed by years of discipline in combat. He set the hammer down and examined the blade critically, wiping sweat from his brow as he leaned back.Behind him, the door creaked open, and he heard a familiar voice. “Still surprises me how a skilled fighter like you could just… stop and pick up blacksmithing so easily.”
He turned to see his wife standing in the doorway, their baby son cradled in her arms. Her black hair shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the window, and her pink eyes sparkled with the warmth he had come to treasure.
“Retire,” she added, teasingly, stepping closer. “From axes, great-swords, gun-blades, and shields; to hammers and anvils. How do you do it?”
Hisada smiled faintly, setting the blade down on the workbench. “It’s not that different,” he said, reaching out to take their son from her arms. The baby stirred slightly, opening his tiny eyes to look up at his father.
“Not different?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she leaned against the workbench. “You went from breaking things to making them. That feels pretty different to me.”
Hisada chuckled softly, holding the baby close. “Maybe it seems that way, but think about it,” he began, glancing toward the forge where the heated metal glowed faintly. “When I fought, I had to read my opponent—every move, every weakness. I had to understand the flow of the fight, how everything connected.”
He gestured to the sword on the bench. “Smithing’s the same. I have to study the material, understand its strengths and weaknesses. Every strike of the hammer, every adjustment—it all works toward creating something stronger, something better.”
He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as he gazed down at their son. “The difference is, when I fought, I was destroying to protect. Now, I get to create to protect. I’m still helping people, just… in a safer way.”Her smile widened. “Well, I think it suits you. A skilled warrior turned master blacksmith. Who would’ve thought?”
Hisada looked down at their son, his expression softening further. “Probably my siblings. You know how they always think I can do anything.”
She smiled warmly. “It’s because you can.” She continued to stare at her husband in admiration.
Their son cooed softly, reaching up to grasp one of Hisada’s fingers. Hisada’s heart swelled at the simple gesture; a reminder of the peace he had fought so hard to find.“You’d better finish up soon. You haven’t forgotten, have you?” she asked with a playful smile.
Hisada raised an eyebrow. “Forgotten what?”
She rolled her eyes, her pink gaze sparkling with amusement. “Our trip to the Steppes. It’s the first day of the month, and I’ve already packed everything except for the supplies you said you’d get ready.”
Hisada let out a soft chuckle, shifting their baby son in his arms. “Ah, so I’m the one behind schedule now?”
“Always,” she teased, tapping his shoulder lightly. “Come on. You know how much our little star loves those trips, even if he can’t exactly say it yet.” She glanced at the infant, who let out a soft coo as if agreeing.
Hisada sighed with mock defeat. “Alright, alright. I’ll finish this blade, grab the supplies, and be ready to go before you know it.”
Her smile widened as she stepped closer, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’ll never finish that sword with one arm,” she teased, gently taking their baby son from his arms. The child cooed softly, settling back against her with ease.
“Don’t keep us waiting too long,” she added with a playful smile. “You know how impatient your little star can get.”
Hisada smirked faintly, watching her head toward the door, their son now content in her embrace. “I’ll be ready before you know it,” he said, his voice warm.
She glanced back at him one last time, her pink eyes sparkling. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”As the door closed behind her, Hisada turned back to the forge, grabbing his smithing hammer. The warmth of the flames cast dancing shadows on the walls, and the rhythmic crackle of the fire filled the room.
“For so long, I thought they were right,” he murmured with a faint smirk, his voice barely audible over the forge’s steady hum. “That I was the monster they saw.”
He paused, adjusting the glowing blade on the anvil. His red eyes softened as memories of her smile and their child’s laughter filled his mind. “But monsters don’t build things. They don’t create. And they sure as hell don’t protect.”
With a quiet chuckle, he raised his hammer high, the weight of it familiar and grounding. “I promise,” he said, his voice firm yet full of warmth, “I’m always going to protect them.”
The hammer came down with a sharp clang, the sound ringing through the forge.
________________________________________
Hisada woke to the primal’s roar, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat. His breath was ragged, his body wracked with pain. He lay on the cold, shattered ground of the battlefield, his vision blurry and his ears ringing. Slowly, he forced himself upright, his muscles screaming in protest. He grabbed his head, the remnants of the dream still clinging to him like a fog. His other hand instinctively shot out to his side, searching for his weapon.
His axe lay a few feet away, half-buried in the dirt. The primal loomed nearby, its glowing eyes locked on him, its massive form radiating an aura of malevolent aether. The air around it warped with heat, and its guttural growls echoed through the desolate battlefield.
Gritting his teeth, Hisada wiped the blood dripping from a cut above his brow and staggered to his feet. His glowing red eyes flared with renewed determination as he lunged for his axe, gripping its familiar handle tightly. The primal, sensing his defiance, unleashed a torrent of fiery energy in his direction.
With a burst of speed, Hisada rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the blast. He pressed his weight into his legs, surging forward with his axe raised high. The primal swiped at him, its massive claws raking through the air. Hisada raised the axe to deflect, the clash of steel and aetheric force reverberating across the battlefield.“I’m getting real tired of your shit!” Hisada growled, his voice filled with rage, though even he wasn’t sure if it was directed at the beast or himself—at the promise he’d broken, the life he couldn’t return to.
The primal roared, preparing to charge. Hisada stepped forward, channeling more aether into his battered body. His red eyes burned brighter as he leapt into the air, gripping his axe with both hands, and brought it down with a roar of his own. The blade glowed faintly, his aether surging through it as it cleaved deep into the primal’s core.
The beast let out a deafening howl, its massive form convulsing as cracks of light spread across its body. With one final shudder, the primal collapsed, its essence dissolving into motes of light that drifted into the sky.
The battlefield fell silent.Hisada stood there for a moment, leaning heavily on his axe, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Around him, the earth was scorched, the trees shattered—but the small town in the distance stood untouched. A faint, tired smile crossed his face.
Straightening, he drove the butt of his axe into the ground, grounding himself in the present. “No matter the years. No matter the fights. The memories of that day… still haunts me.” His smile slowly changing into remorse and hate. “Memories,” he murmured, his voice low and hollow, “they are there to teach us lessons. For me… it might just be that I was foolish to think I was anything but a monster.”

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Promises

The icy winds of Coerthas howled through the desolate expanse, biting at the exposed skin of any unfortunate enough to venture through its frozen terrain. Snow fell in heavy flakes, blanketing the landscape in a stark, unforgiving white. Hisada stood at the edge of a cliff, his armor gleaming faintly in the dim light, his red eyes fixed on the distant horizon.
In his gloved hand, he held a worn, creased note. The edges were frayed, the ink faded in places, but the words were still legible, etched into his memory like an old scar. His red eyes flickered, not with rage, vengeance, or apathy, but with sadness—a deep, unyielding sorrow that seemed heavier than the winter air around him.
________________________________________
Love, a word I thought I’d never say,
But with you, it poured out every day.
I lived to give you the world and more,
And in you, I found what I was living for.
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The note was a relic of a life he’d long since lost—a life he had dared to believe could be his forever. But forever, he learned, was fragile, easily torn apart by fate’s cruel hand.
His grip tightened as a memory surfaced, vivid and bittersweet.
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It had been a quiet evening on the outskirts of Kugane, the gentle glow of paper lanterns reflecting off the still waters of the bay. Hisada had taken her there under the pretense of showing her a rare flower that bloomed only at night, but his nervous glances and fidgeting fingers betrayed the true reason for their outing.
The two sat on a wooden bench overlooking the bay, her black hair catching the warm light of the lanterns, her pink eyes watching the water with serene curiosity. She turned to him with a soft smile. “You’re unusually quiet tonight,” she teased gently. “What’s on your mind?”
Hisada shifted uncomfortably, his glowing red eyes darting to the water and then back to her. He cleared his throat. “I… just thought you might like the view,” he muttered, his usual gruff tone betraying a faint tremor.
She chuckled, tilting her head. “The view is beautiful,” she said. “But something tells me that’s not the only reason you brought me here.”
Hisada sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You always see right through me,” he grumbled, though there was no real annoyance in his voice. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped box, holding it out to her. “Here.”
Her eyes widened in surprise as she took the box, her fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. “What’s this?” she asked, her voice soft.
“Just open it,” he said, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground.
She unwrapped the box with care, revealing a delicate pendant inside—a phoenix carved from gold and ruby, its wings spread wide as if in flight. Her breath caught as she stared at it, her fingers trembling slightly. “Hisada… it’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“It’s nothing special,” he said quickly, his voice low. “I just… thought it might remind you of how you… bring light to everything.” The last words came out in a mumble, his red eyes fixed on anything but her face.
For a moment, she was silent. Then, with a suddenness that startled him, she leaned in and kissed him, her lips warm and soft against his. Hisada froze, his mind racing, but as she pressed closer, his hands found their way to her waist, holding her as if she might vanish.
When she pulled back, her pink eyes were shimmering with emotion. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but carrying a weight that made his chest tighten. “I didn’t think I’d ever say it to someone, but I love you, Hisada.”
He stared at her, his usually stoic expression breaking into something vulnerable and raw. “I…” The words caught in his throat, but as he looked into her eyes, he knew they were true. “I love you too,” he said finally, his voice steady. “More than I ever thought I could.”
Her smile grew, and she rested her forehead against his, the pendant still clutched in her hand. “Promise me,” she said softly. “Promise me we’ll always say it. No matter what happens.”
“I promise,” he said, and for the first time, he felt like the world might just let him keep it.
________________________________________
The flashback faded, pulling Hisada back into the cold reality of Coerthas. His red eyes flickered again, but it was sadness that swirled within their faint glow. He stared down at the worn note, his thumb brushing over its frayed edges.
Behind him, the crunch of snow underfoot broke the silence.
“Hisada,” Yura’s voice called, soft but curious. She stopped a few paces behind him, her Raean eye narrowing slightly. “What are you holding?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. The memories the note carried were heavy, threatening to pull him under. Finally, he exhaled, his breath a misty cloud in the cold air.
“Nothing,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, barely audible over the wind.
Yura tilted her head, stepping closer. “Doesn’t look like nothing to me.”
Hisada turned, his glowing red eyes meeting hers briefly. There was a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Without a word, he raised the note, tearing it into uneven scraps with deliberate motions.
“Nothing,” he repeated, the pieces of the note slipping from his fingers. The wind snatched them away, scattering the fragments across the frozen expanse. They floated like snowflakes before disappearing into the abyss below.
Yura watched the scraps drift away, her expression softening. After a pause, she stepped closer, her voice steady yet kind. “You know,” she began, her words carrying over the cold wind, “you need to stop blaming yourself, Hisada. You’ve been carrying this weight alone for too long.”
Hisada’s red eyes flickered, his gaze lowering slightly as her words struck him.
“She was responsible too,” Yura continued, her tone firm but not unkind. “Not a lot of relationships can survive something as devastating as losing a child. It wasn’t just on you. No one comes out of something like that whole.”
He stood silent for a moment, her words cutting through the storm of guilt and sorrow that had clouded his heart. His red eyes flickered again, reflecting a sadness too deep to be put into words.
The wind howled between them, filling the silence as Hisada finally murmured, “Love like that... wasn’t meant to endure something so cruel.”
Yura took another step closer, her voice softening again. “It doesn’t mean it wasn’t real,” she said gently. “It just means you’re both Aura—and being an Aura means breaking under the weight of grief sometimes.”
As the snow swirled around them, Yura’s voice lingered, low and reflective. “No one could carry what you’ve been carrying forever. Maybe it’s time to let it go.”
Hisada paused, her words hanging in the cold air. For a moment, his shoulders stiffened, and his red eyes stared into the distance. But he didn’t reply. Instead, he turned and began walking away from the cliff’s edge, his steps slow but deliberate.
Yura lingered, her gaze following him, before finally turning to follow. Her silent presence was a quiet promise that he wouldn’t face the winter alone.

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