Duskfire Glacier Bathe yourself, in the light

meant for @Kaelith

the frost bit sharp this morning.
it clung to the trees in sheets, kissed the earth with pale silence. faust moved through it like a shadow, deliberate and unhurried, the kind of stillness that came only from control—of self, of breath, of the cold things men learned to carry.
he hadn’t seen kaelith since dawn the day prior. not unusual, perhaps, but enough to turn the weight in faust’s chest. the boy was growing—too fast, maybe. taller, stronger, with something restless boiling beneath his skin that faust remembered too well. it wasn’t the worry of a vanished pup that stirred him to walk these miles. it was the knowing. the sense that something had shifted. kaelith was not just a son of darukaal. he was his brother.
and faust had made promises. to his family, to his dead. to himself.
his breath curled around his muzzle as he paused at a ridge, scanning the timberline below. hare tracks. fox. no sign of a wolf’s weight. the trees offered nothing, but faust kept moving, muscles coiled beneath thick black fur.
he would find him.

since before dawn had kaelith sat waiting. waiting in the dark for the light to come, watching the world pass him by. something thick and tense hung in the air of his new home, more than the simple shock of his arrival in darukaal. no, something else was happening, something urgent. war, perhaps, or some inner conflict he had not yet picked up on. whatever it was, it held his brother captive to its whims. kaelith, too, could feel its invisible pull. perhaps it was what had taken him from winterhelm, driven him to track down faust.

he fought it for now, sat and idly observed the blackbirds as they foraged through the earth with half-buried beaks.

footsteps disturbed the snow a few meters behind, and kaelith straightened. the weight and cadence of the movement, the muted thuds of great paws- kae knew whom he was addressing before he turned, an inviting smile tugging at his lips.

"good morning, brother."

faust came with the cold on his shoulders and silence in his eyes.
he approached slowly, his steps quiet despite the weight he carried. the morning light had not yet fully broken, and the sky stretched pale and hollow behind him. when he drew near to kaelith, he stopped—close, but not too close—and regarded him with a long, unreadable look.
morning, he returned, voice low.
he did not sit. did not smile.
there's trouble, kae.
his eyes flicked to the birds digging in the frost, then back to his brother. his jaw tightened, muscles shifting beneath his dark fur.
the saatsine. the name alone carried weight. they’re not like winterhelm. not like us. they answer violence with worse. they mutilated a woman—gjalla, almost killed her. his voice was level, but underneath it was a deep and grinding anger. not loud, not brash—just relentless. they call it justice. we call it barbaric.
his gaze darkened. we wouldn’t tolerate it. not in front of our own. a pause. sun eater—their chief—he’s got a long memory, and too much pride. now we stand on the edge of war.
finally, he looked back to kaelith fully.
i wanted you to know before word spread.

the jubilant smile fades as faust fails to return it, and the boy instead adopts a more serious look. something weighs heavy on his brother's shoulders, and thus he listens intently as he speaks in hushed tones.

kaelith's blood runs cold, and he stiffens. thinks for a long time, head lowered as faust looks to him for an answer. the blackbirds, having heard the commotion, take flight in a flurry of feathers and squalls.

"if they did as you said," kaelith raises his head, blue eyes burning. his jaw sets, determination lighting a fire in his heart.

"then the war has already begun, brother."

"this does not end with gjalla. they will not let it. we cannot let it."

then, he says something startlingly unlike himself. "we should strike first, as they sleep. approach from downwind, conceal our scent. we'd have the advantage...and if they flee, we can track them."

faust watched him in silence—his brother, blood of his blood, no longer the fumbling boy who had once darted after him through the snow. kaelith’s words rang with conviction. they weren’t empty, either. there was a strategy there, a spine.
he let the stillness settle a moment longer before drawing in a slow breath through his nose.
you’ve been listening, he said finally, the edge of something almost like pride touching his voice, though it remained quiet. thoughtful. more than i realized.
his eyes flicked to the treeline where the blackbirds had vanished, where the horizon held still with its hush of waiting.
they struck at our spirit, not just our numbers. if they believe they’ve silenced us— his jaw clenched, —they are mistaken.
he glanced to kaelith then, gaze steady. i won’t bring the fight to saatsine’s children. but i will bring it to the wolves who marked themselves as enemies. downwind, yes. swift and precise.
then, a pause—his voice softer, more personal.
you speak like a man, kae. father would have been impressed. so am i.

"sun eater will die for what he has done." kaelith declares softly, a promise of what is to come. he is not a violent man, can hardly bring himself to snuff out the life of a rabbit- but he has a keen mind with which to see it done.

faust calls him 'kae', and something slips through. an echo of the boy he once was.  kaelith smiles softly, sadly. he has always been his father's greatest disappointment, and nothing will change that, but faust's approval is more than enough to sate him.

"i know where i belong now, faust. when the war is over, i will make a life for myself here in darukaal. i have wandered far enough."

faust watched him—his boy—speak of death like a man. not with hunger, not with bloodlust, but with purpose. and that was the part that twisted something low in his gut. not pride. not sorrow. something colder. older. something that had belonged to faust’s father, and his father before him.
that’s the hope, he said at last, voice low and flat as the wind-scoured glacier. his eyes drifted out over the pines. over the rise where he could almost still see gjalla’s blood, dark in the snow.
men like sun eater, he went on, they don’t stop until someone stops ‘em. and that means we make damn sure it’s us.
his gaze cut back to kaelith then, and though his face didn’t soften, something in his eyes did. you’re not a killer, kae, he said. and that’s not a bad thing. but this—this war—it don’t care what kind of man you are. it’ll turn you into what it needs.
a beat.

then, quieter, almost a rasp:
so hold tight to the part of you that knows who you are. ‘cause when it’s over—and it will be over—darukaal’s gonna need men like that.
he stepped forward, heavy paw pressing briefly to the boy’s shoulder, the way his father never had to him.

"darukaal has me, brother. so do you. saatsine won't take that." his gaze is earnest, laced with something somber, a sharp pang in his heart that has stretched and grown with him since boyhood.

faust touches his shoulder, then. tender, fatherly in a way kaelith has never had the privilege of experiencing, and the boy pulls his kin thoughtlessly into a tight embrace. he knows he is being foolish, that his brother is a man of action, that he will likely end up facedown in the dirt for such frivolity, but the moment is worth it.

faust is still a moment, a statue carved from glacier and bone. but the touch to his shoulder, the quiet truth of the boy’s voice— his brother’s voice— cracks something in the hard veneer he wears like armor.
kaelith pulls him close before he can speak. instinctively, faust's chest tightens—but he does not pull away.
he returns the embrace.
a slow, steady breath leaves him, and he rests his chin against the younger wolf’s shoulder, just for a beat. not long. not too much. but enough.
you are not foolish, he mutters, voice low, close to the boy’s ear. you are mine. blood of the north. of the gods, whether they speak to us or not.
he pulls back, but only slightly—just enough to look kaelith in the eye.
i will kill for you, he says, plain. promise. vow. one of many.
i will die beside you, if that’s what darukaal demands. but you’ll never be alone again.
a pause. then a rare, half-tilt of his mouth—almost a smile.