Agnar stood in the garden, sweeping his wooden sword through the air while he stared into the distance. The breeze rolled across his bare torso and sent his long, tied hair drifting behind him.
“Dear, I think you’ve trained enough for today,” a woman’s voice called from behind.
Agnar stopped mid-swing and turned to face her. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “My mind was wandering. This helps me clear it.”
“Don’t push yourself so hard. You always do, and you always end up hurt. Sometimes I wish you were a little more like your friends,” she murmured as she lowered herself onto the wooden deck overlooking the garden.
“You might not like that,” Agnar replied with a low chuckle as he sat beside her, resting his hand over hers. “You’ve seen how they behave. Still… you always know what’s best for me, Ayame.”
Ayame laced her fingers with his and leaned her head on his shoulder, eyes closed, listening to the wind comb through the garden.
“I still remember that daring young man who went off to train and returned to my village two years later,” she said softly, keeping her cheek against him. “You looked like a proper samurai—elegant, two swords at your belt, face stern but filled with ambition.”
“Don’t remind me,” Agnar muttered, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. “I get embarrassed every time you tell that story.”
“It’s my favorite one. You know I never tire of it. When you came to my home that day, I could barely recognize you—you’d become a man.”
“And I saw a girl who’d turned into a young woman,” he said, remembering. “Your kimono pulled up as you planted rice, your eyes so innocent… I knew right then I wanted to stay by your side.”
“Yoichi… Or should I call you ‘Agnar’?”
“You don’t need to use that name,” he replied with a small sigh. “I told you—it’s just something my friends and I toy around with.”
“It still amuses me, the way you call each other and that strange language you speak when you think I’m not listening. Is it some sort of code the Tokugawa use?”
“Let’s say yes. It’s… complicated.” Agnar looked away, eager to dodge the subject. “By the way, how’s Kouji?”
“Still sleeping. Our boy grows strong and healthy—he gets that from you.”
“You heard about the meeting?”
“Akemi mentioned it the other day. They’re coming tomorrow afternoon, right?”
“Yeah. We’ll all gather here. Maybe Kouji can play with Taro for a bit.”
“You know Akemi hates when you call him that…”
“I refuse to use the name that woman gave him. I don’t know how his father allowed it.”
“You’re always so strict,” Ayame teased, resting her hand on Agnar’s shoulder. “I’ll tell the others so they can help me prepare dinner for tomorrow. Your friends always eat a lot.”
With that, Ayame rose and walked to the room where their small son slept peacefully. She approached his bed and brushed her delicate fingers through his dark hair, her face softening with joy.
***
The next night, guests began arriving at Agnar’s home—eight in total. Ayame, Agnar, and the rest of the household staff welcomed each of them as they stepped inside, greeting their companions and families the way they always did.
“Agn— I mean, Yoichi!” Karl exclaimed, throwing his arms around his friend. “How are you? How are your wife and son?”
“We’re well,” Agnar answered. “Ayame’s inside, and Kouji is in his room.”
Karl stepped into the house, and behind him a small figure darted toward Agnar, colliding with his leg before looking up with a wide grin. A boy—no more than six years old. A pair of hands quickly swooped in, lifting the child and setting him back down at the side of a tall man.
“Son, I told you not to sprint through other people’s homes,” the tall man called after the boy.
“Don’t fuss so much, love,” Hjørdis said, flashing him a smile. “You know our Kintaro’s got energy to spare. Let him run a bit. Uncle Agnar knows he won’t break anything.”
“Akemi… I don’t want him getting used to that kind of behavior. He could grow into a fine warrior one day.”
“Then let him be a lively one,” Hjørdis shot back, confident and unbothered.
“Akemi, Hajime, Kintaro—welcome. Truly,” Agnar said, bowing to Hajime. “And you’re just as outgoing as ever. How’s Kintaro doing?”
“Strong as a bear,” Hjørdis answered. “Got that from me. Should’ve named him Björn.”
“I doubt that’d be appropriate for the son of parents serving the Tokugawa.”
“Don’t even bring that up,” Hajime muttered. “Out of all the names she picked for our boy, Kintaro was the one that didn’t sound utterly strange to me—even if it came from a storyteller’s hero.”
“It’s good to see the three of you living like a proper family now. Hard to picture you trading blows on the training grounds ten years ago.”
“What can I say? I like them persistent,” Hjørdis said, looping an arm around her husband’s neck. “This lanky fool kept confessing his love, and I just kept knocking him on his back.”
“How many duel challenges did it take for you to accept him?” Agnar asked curiously.
“I stopped counting after twenty. At first, I only fought him hoping he’d give up, but eventually his stubbornness grew irresistible. Let’s just say I got used to staying on top of him… most of the time.” Her voice dipped into something teasing.
“Akemi!” Hajime blurted, his face flushing crimson.
“That’s not the sort of thing you should say in the entryway,” Ayame chided gently as she approached her husband. “Akemi, you should behave more appropriately for a lady your age. Remember, you’re not only a subject of the Tokugawa—you’re also the wife of one of their disciples, just as I am.”
“I… I’ll try. Sorry, Ayame,” Hjørdis said, more subdued.
“I hope so.” Ayame crouched until she was eye level with little Kintaro. “Would you like to come inside and play with Kouji?”
The child answered with an eager, bright “yes!” and followed Ayame deeper into the house. Agnar watched for a moment, then motioned for the couple to enter.
Arvid came next, his hair tamed more than usual. He offered a polite greeting. Holger followed and swept Agnar into a hug even fiercer than Karl’s earlier. Rune trailed behind, asking if Agnar was ready to go over a few formation ideas that had come to him recently. Agnar waved it off—there would be time later. Finally, Sigurd shook his hand and squeezed hard, claiming he just wanted to make sure Agnar hadn’t gone soft. Agnar responded with a small, confident grin.
Once everyone was inside, they gave thanks for the meal and began to eat. Their table manners had improved over the years—no more dropping rice everywhere or fumbling with chopsticks—worlds away from the way they used to tear into lamb legs around winter campfires in their first lives.
After dinner, the household staff cleared the dishes, and the guests moved toward the main hall.
There, Agnar spoke about Tokugawa Ieyasu’s intentions—the lord and head of the Tokugawa clan, who was preparing to face the Toyotomi, long-standing rivals in the struggle for control of the nation.
Agnar’s group simply listened and accepted whatever the future demanded. Refusing a fight had never been in their nature. The meeting flowed easily after that, and they settled on how they would mobilize once the battle came.
When the gathering finally ended, some lingered. Hjørdis and her husband watched their son play with Agnar’s child. Karl stayed too, juggling his scythes with surprising finesse—earning impressed murmurs from everyone watching.
Agnar, for his part, took in the warmth his friends brought to his home. His wife’s presence made it feel even brighter, a gentle glow he wished he could hold onto. Yet beneath it all, something tightened in his chest as he imagined the future waiting for them—the battle drawing ever closer…
