The faint steam from the hot spring drifted lazily through the evening air, curling around the trees like soft smoke. The sound of the water bubbling over rocks filled the silence, almost meditative, but Dean's mind was far from peaceful. He leaned back on the wooden bench, arms crossed, staring at the rippling water—but his thoughts had already crossed decades ago.
Eleven years ago, he was 24. Young. Naïve. And the war had already claimed more than he could bear—or so he had thought.
He could still see Leo, his younger brother, returning from the battlefield with haunted eyes, his once-bright smile replaced by a shadow of himself. Leo didn't speak much. He barely ate. And he loathed training—the only thing that kept the demons at bay.
Dean's memory of that time was sharp, almost painful. The early mornings spent running under frost-bitten winds, the long hours of sparring until bruises covered their bodies, the relentless insistence that Leo keep moving, keep fighting, keep breathing. Every stumble, every tear, every exhausted breath—it was a shared burden.
"You can do this, Leo!" Dean had shouted across the open field, voice hoarse from both command and desperation. "You survived the battlefield. You survived them. You survived yourself! I won't let you die here!"
Tears streaked down his brother's dirt-streaked face. "Why… why are you doing this to me?"
Dean's chest had tightened, fists clenching, heart pounding. "Because I care! If I let you give up, I'm letting the world win. I promised I'd bring you back, and I will!"
And yet… Leo had died. At eighteen, just after winning the Tournament, immediately drafted into a battlefield where Dean's power, his guidance, could not reach.
The pain of that failure had carved itself into Dean's soul, leaving him disciplined, unyielding, and obsessed with protecting those under his care.
Now, watching Einar in the hot spring, Dean saw a familiar spark—the reckless fire, the stubborn pride, the unwillingness to back down, the desire to push beyond limits, the same dangerous hunger he had once seen in Leo's eyes.
I can't let history repeat itself, Dean thought, his fingers tightening around the bench's wood. I won't let him die like Leo did.
The hot spring water hissed softly as Einar dipped in fully, sending ripples across the surface. The boy's shoulders tensed, amber eyes narrowing—not from the heat, but from thoughts deeper than Dean could guess.
Dean exhaled slowly. "He's strong. Too strong for his own good… and stubborn. Just like Leo."
A flash of fear and determination mingled in Dean's chest. He had to guide this boy. He had to teach him restraint. And most of all… he had to survive where he had failed before.