Headed by a Snake

⟬ Making Labyrinth, Vralkek Medical Tents, several bells later... ⟭

Tycondrius stood over Pale, asleep in his medical cot.

The boy's arms hung off the sides, he had thrown off his blanket, and saliva ran down the side of his mouth.

...He was also taller than Tycon remembered.

Curious.

"Wake up, boy," Tycon said, nudging the snoring child's head.

...He said the words, but in truth, did not want to interrupt the boy's slumber.

Like his father, Pale was a young man who valued action.

It took the combined efforts of two adult men and a shadow clone to restrain him, but the boy fell victim to the first cast of ⌈Sleep⌋.

Elves had a strong resistance to mind-altering Spells.

How quickly Pale's body folded at first opportunity was grossly indicative of his exhaustion.

And besides that, Vralkek's medical practitioners reported the boy had multiple severe bruises, broken bones, and barely-healed lacerations...

The boy was a Hero... sustaining and surviving injuries that would have fallen any other member of Sol Invictus.

--with the notable exception of Lulu.

Tycon did not understand that creature's physiology.

Anyroad, the few bells of rest Pale had, Tycon deemed necessary.

The young man's bones were set and his open wounds were sealed.

The healing process had, at least, begun.

But once Pale awoke... once he resumed his... Hero-ing, the cycle would begin anew.

Tycon took a deep breath and placed his palm on the boy's forehead.

"Why do you even fight, child?"

⟬ ⌈Desire Trigger⌋ activated. ⟭

⟬ ⌈Desire Trigger⌋. Support ability. Targeted ally is compelled to envision an existing incentive, moderately boosting target's ability to resist detrimental effects. ⟭

Pale twisted his body, lying on his side and hugging his arms.

"Vanya," he called... "No..."

Tycon pursed his lips.

Vanya.

He did not know a Vanya.

Perhaps a new member of his team?

Pale gulped hard, turning to lie on his opposite side.

"Taree," he said. "I'll... I'll save you."

Ah, the silver-haired whelpling, Kimura Taree. Tycon recognized that one.

Perhaps that was the 'Ree' the boy had mentioned earlier?

If so, that explained why Dragan--

"I remember," Pale gasped.

"...Go on," Tycon prompted.

"I... made a promise... Troia... I haven't forgotten..."

Tycon pursed his lips to the side.

Vanya was a feminine name... which meant that activating ⌈Desire Trigger⌋ on the boy made him think of, not one, but three separate females?

The boy's father had several laudable titles, Blade Dancer...

Err...

Leader of Sol Invictus?

No. Hm...

The boy's father had one laudable title: Blade Dancer.

But his other title-- that of 'Serial Womanizer' was one that Tycon hoped Pale would not inherit.

The young man lied flat on his back. He grit his teeth, as if he was in pain.

"S... sasha," he whispered.

Ah. Yes. Sasha.

Tycon drew Mercy from its scabbard, securing it tightly in a reverse-grip. He raised his sword arm, directing the blade downward.

Hm.

His conscience bid him pause.

It was... ethically wrong to kill a Hero.

Heroes were selected by the fates, tasked to save a Realm. If he were to kill Pale, it was the equivalent of sentencing millions-- perhaps billions of sentients to death or worse.

Heroes were an important existence, not just to their Realm, but to all Realms...

Tycon twisted his lips to the side.

There was an alternate solution.

Castration.

A Hero could still do... most all things a Hero could do, even without the capacity to sire offspring.

Suddenly, Pale shot awake, sitting up in his cot.

Tycon grabbed the sweat-covered boy by the collar and forced him back down-- out of reflex.

"B-boss?" Pale said, rubbing his eyes, "Is it... dinnertime?"

Tycon narrowed his gaze, "Yes. But before that, have you spoken with Sasha recently?"

"Not since I last saw you, Sir," Pale sighed. "I was hoping to ask her to join my party again."

...Tycon returned Mercy to its sheath, "So you would speak to her for reasons purely professional?"

"Well... yeah?" Pale said, scratching his head. "You always taught me to be a professional, Sir... So yes, of course."

"No other reasons?"

"...No?" Pale frowned, "I can't think of anything else? I... I've grown a lot stronger now-- and more professional than last time I asked her."

"You say you've grown?" Tycon smiled politely, "From your earlier demonstration, I approve thus far. However, according to your age, Mister Pale, there is yet more growing to be done."

He grabbed the wheeled cart, repositioning it aside Pale's cot.

"I'm pretty grown up already, Sir," Pale argued weakly.

Tycon again recalled the boy's current height; it matched his own.

Further, his voice had deepened... making him sound much like his father.

However, Pale would never be confused for Quay by voice alone. It was difficult to explain, but the 'senseless idiot' quality of that person's voice was impossible to recreate.

...And Tycon supposed that the boy's half-elven features showed hints of maturity?

Hmph.

He needed a haircut.

--and a proper bath.

"Have you 'grown up' so much that you'd reject a meal I cooked myself?" Tycon confidently teased.

Pale sat in the kneeling before placing his hands together and bowing his head.

"No, Sir," he said. "I would very much like to eat what you cooked, Sir."

Tycon chuckled lightly, "Very well."

He would not reject the boy's earnest request.

He was rather proud of his latest concoction, a slow-cooked broth derived from the bones of wild fowl, fortified with a medley of vegetables and root tubers. On the side, he prepared a plate of thinly sliced mutton. The boy could add it to the soup, if he was feeling up to it.

Tycon scooped a modest serving into a bowl, offering it to the salivating child.

Pale reached out his hands to accept it.

"I've really missed your cooking, Boss. You... used to tell me I'd stay short forever if I didn't eat nutritious things."

"Not exactly true," Tycon replied. "But still, a nutritious diet is necessary for your physique to achieve its maximum potential."

"Uh... Boss?"

"Yes?"

"Can... you let go of the bowl, please?"