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Einar's Diary – Episode 3-2 (Paid-Members) (Edited)
🕑 Added 2024-01-02 16:47:02 +0000 UTCWords Count: 4425
A/N: Welp, took a day off, and now I’m back. Hope the Spell’s explained well enough.
Training in the morning has never been my cup of tea.
It's always a struggle to find the motivation to get out of bed and push myself physically when all I want is a few more hours of sleep.
But the reality is, our enemies wouldn’t care about our fatigue or our need for rest. They wouldn’t give us a moment's respite, when it concerns a matter of life and death.
One training session stands out in my memory crystal clear… I can still feel the sting of disappointment as my blade barely grazed Mikael before he, with difficulty, disarmed me. As I laid there on the damp grass, gasping for air, a proud smile couldn't help but show on his lips. He tried to hide it, of course, but I could see the satisfaction in his eyes.
It took every ounce of stubbornness in me to push myself back up, my muscles protesting with every small movement. "Again." I insisted.
Rest is important, I know that. But the healing power of the Ripple is extraordinary.
It has this incredible ability to mend torn muscles and ease the strain on my body, and by the time I dragged myself off the ground, I could feel the energy surging through me. I was at my peak, ready to fight again- ready to prove myself.
But to my surprise, Mikael halted me. He patted the spot next to him, a gesture of camaraderie and a rarity from him, as he meticulously cleaned his blade with a worn leather patch. "Come." The Viking said softly, an adjective I hadn’t ever thought could be applied to him. I joined Mikael, that proud smile still lingering on his face. “You’re doing well… Better than well, I suppose.”
“I don’t need you to remind me, I’m well aware of my awesomeness.”
I retorted with a playful smirk. “So, what brought this on?” Mikael’s strict on me, and even stricter on himself now that the spring of his youth is fading, all in an attempt to preserve the unpreservable. The old man wouldn’t have stopped, not unless our village’s under attack, or he had something of importance to discuss. “Einar, I–”
He Initiates the conversation, yet stumbles over his words as if they’re trapped in his throat.
“Has she informed you?”
Although it should have been perplexing, I instantly grasp the subject of Mikael’s inquiry. “Ayana hasn’t. However, I had guessed early on… It just didn’t make sense for the village’s hardass to single me out… Plus, you two were rather vocal when you last came to our door.” The man’s weathered gaze had lingered on his blade, seemingly afraid to meet mine. “Do you- Do you blame me, son?”
“No.”
I gently shake.
Mikael was faced with a difficult dilemma, torn between his wife and his son.
If I had stayed, Esther would have likely abandoned me or attempted to alienate me from my siblings, possibly even trying to… Remove me from the picture entirely.
While what Mikael did was far from ideal, abandoning me to the mercy of a cruel woman who despised me wouldn’t have been right either. “You should not burden yourself with blame… It wasn’t your fault, and everything works out in the end, so–” I patted his shoulder reassuringly, as the tension drained from his form. “Come on, this… Resigned look doesn’t suit you, ol’ man.”
And so, we stand up, continuing our spar. As I lowered myself into a crouch, my sword glided against Mikael’s before my leg swiftly swept at his. In response, the Viking struck at my face with his knee, yet I promptly defended myself by blocking with the hilt of my sword. “I heard you got in a fight with Elijah and Niklaus.”
I shrug, “They were being cocky assholes.” In all fairness, courting the woman they liked was foul of me, but they brought it on themselves… Although I dared not claim to be the calmest, nor the most patient, I was fine staying clear of the Mikaelson. “They took it as a sign I’m afraid of them.”
It started with the littlest thing: A insult here, a remark there, until it escalated.
They even dragged Kol into their schemes, “It was annoying.”
Upon hearing my words, Mikael’s smile vanished, his expression turning somber. With a skillful move, he intercepted and entwined his blade with mine, effectively immobilizing me. Though I possessed the capability to break free effortlessly, I chose to restrain my actions, sensing the earnestness and tension in his limbs.
“I won’t live for much longer…”
With cold, piercing blue eyes locked onto mine, Mikael spoke, and I couldn’t help but notice the uncanny resemblance between his gaze and the introspective look I often found staring back at me in the mirror.
It was easy for others to dismiss his words as the ramblings of a madman, considering his age,
But in this era, very few lived beyond sixty, and Mikael’s rapidly approaching that milestone. Due to the lack of proper nutrition and a harsh living environment, their life expectancies were shortened, with most predicted to live only until their sixties, seventies at most. “Elijah’s not… Talented at fighting. Better than his brothers, perhaps, but–” Mikael trails.
“Why are you speaking as if you’re on the brink of death, old man?”
I retorted, rolling my eyes in disbelief. Despite what I had heard about Esther’s limited interest in magic, I had no doubt that when the time came, she’d spare no effort in assisting Mikael. His worries, while not totally unfounded, were a good decade away. “Take this seriously, son!” Again, I roll my eyes, sliding away as his blade grazed my cheek. “Finn’s…”
“A mama’s boy!”
I exclaimed, unleashing a swift kick towards Mikael’s chest. Although he managed to absorb the blow, I could see that it had taken the wind out of him. The aging Viking chose not to respond directly to my accusation, but his silence said more than words ever could.
“Kol lacks the skill with a sword, and though his Magic will surely compensate for that,” He continued with his assessments of his other children. “But the men of the village will not readily fight for him. They seek a leader who embodies strength and battle prowess, not one who relies solely on tricks. Time waits for no one, and I fear I won’t live to see Henrik grow to adulthood, as for Klaus…”
Neither of us spoke, for he’s the one who disappointed us the most.
While it was undeniable that Niklaus possessed an abundance of talents, his gentle nature rendered him ill-suited for the harshness of our era.
In a time of peace, his artistic abilities would have propelled him to greatness, but in the current climate, his compassion could prove fatal to both himself and those around him. As much as I found myself at odds with Mikael and his methods to toughen my brother’s heart, it’s a… Necessary evil.
If Niklaus were to navigate this unforgiving world and make anything a name for himself, he would need to toughen up. “None of my children can be expected to protect the village and take up my mantle… None except you.” I head-butted him, causing Mikael to stumble a few feet away as I launched into a series of attacks. “What’re you getting at, old man?”
The Viking sent me a pleading look, one I hadn’t known the old man’s capable of as steel clashed against steel, then, “I know you are at odd with your siblings, but… Promise me… Promise me you’ll protect them.” My stare bore into him. Though reluctant, I couldn’t reject the man who had grown to love and respect. “I promise. As long as I’m alive, no one will touch your children.”
Mikael seemed satisfied with my answer, so much so that the tension he had always held faded. With a punch, I successfully knocked the blade from his hands, mine resting against his neck. “I’ve won, old man.”
“So you have…”
The hardass finally allowed a rare smile to reach his lips, “So you have.”
That was the first time I ever won against Mikael;
That was what helped cement my position in his heart, not just as his son, but the bearer of his legacy.
— Einar’s Diary —
As I carry the sleeping girl in my arms, I rush back to the Manor only to find the front door tightly closed as I left it. There is no sign of Alaya, but I can hear her inside–– Her heart racing and the faint sounds of movement, like rustling clothes or bedding. Clearly, someone is feeling guilty and finding it… Difficult to sleep, which is understandable given what she did with the… Provocative materials we provided. “The perverted voyeur.”
While it may be argued that I am to blame for openly engaging in the act, who asked the little Witch to follow us? Not me, certainly.
Besides, she should’ve respected our privacy instead of touching herself like she’s in heat. Though I suppose I’m being too harsh on her, it’s the late 1800’s, steamy materials for people to release their pent-up, baser urges are, sadly, limited to erotica, two-thirds of which probably aren’t even close to being anatomically correct,
Granted, this can hardly be blamed on the authors, for it is more a product of societal standards and expectations at this time. Truth is, everyone’s having sex left, right and center; many more are committing adultery behind the curtains, but the fear of being alienated forces them to act a certain way. “Breakfast’s going to be awkward…”
That’s if Margaret can even make it to breakfast with how I ‘handled’ her earlier. Sighing, I push into the dimly-lit building, careful not to bump the blonde’s against something as I rush to her bedchamber. Gently laying her on the soft, pillowy mattress and pulling a cover over her slumbering form, I can’t help pressing a kiss on her forehead. For a moment, her eyelashes tremble, and I fear I have woken her, but it’s a false alarm.
Margaret turns, burrowing into the pile of bedding, and sleepily mumbles. “Ei… Einar… Don’t leave.” My gaze narrows as I listen to her breaths and heartbeats, but nothing is out of the ordinary. The blonde’s breathing is gradual, and there are no irregular skips while the organ continues its functions as usual, pumping pure sweetness through her veins. Only after I have confirmed she’s truly asleep, do I make my way to the exit, all while a surge of guilt causes my stomach to churn.
“I’m getting way too paranoid.”
I mutter, feeling my nerves uncoil. It can’t be helped… Once bitten, twice shy. Even if she were employing the classic: Guilt-tripping, her intentions are unlikely to be malicious.
Lost in contemplation, I find myself in front of the guest room without even registering how I arrived there.
Alaya’s room is a mere two doors away from mine. Fleetingly, the idea of teaching the Witch a lesson crosses my mind, but I quickly dismiss it.
The hour is late, and it’s probably best to let Alaya be, lest that rotten and devious mind of hers conjures up unsavory notions about my intentions. With another sigh, and regret inside my heart, I enter, fetching a bunch of candles I have borrowed from the Witch in the afternoon. After… Blowing off steam, sleepiness no longer plagues me, and the fog has been lifted off my mind. Even if I want to, sleep won’t come easy, not until I have managed to rid myself of this… Knot in my heart.
Candles lit, an ornament of the Bennett Lineage in hands, I begin to chant. Usually, conversing with dead Witches needs to be done at their place of death, but the Door to the Other Side’s weakest at 3AM; I happen to have a Bennett nearby; and as descendants of Lady Qetsiyah, albeit generations-removed from her brother’s side, the Bennett are allowed… Some leeway.
As expected, having friends in high places is really beneficial. “Ayana… If you’re listening, I need you, mother. I need advices.”
The atmosphere remained stagnant until a sudden gust of wind disrupts the stillness, causing the gentle candlelight to flicker and dance, as if heralding her arrival. “Einar… It’s good to see you, son. When you disappeared, I had thought the worst.”
Without a powerful source to draw upon, it’s impossible for Spirits to manifest physically, but exchanging words isn’t a problem for us. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect your wife. When Esther came to me for help, I should’ve realized what she’s planning… I should’ve stopped her.” Guilt oozes from my surrogate mother’s every word as something akin to arms circle around me in an embrace.
Although lacking the familiar warmth I had subconsciously associated with Ayana, the ethereal presence emanates a level of comfort. “It’s not your fault.”
I reassure, attempting to reach out and embrace her shoulders, only for my hands to pass through her spectral form. Yet, I can clearly tell her appreciation for the gesture, despite the lack of physical contact. “It’s good to see you in good health, mom.” I tease, and the pillow suddenly get launched towards me. Tilting my head, I watch, amused, as the soft object collides with the wall. “You have grown bolder, I see. Why have you called me, Einar? It can’t be because you miss me.”
Summoning Spirits not only requires an immense amount of Magic, but it also affects the Line of Life and Death negatively. Do it enough times, and a Rift might open, allowing the other Spirits to pour through the Gateway, which is something neither Ayana nor I want to occur, since dead Werewolves and Vampires share the same resting place as Witches.
It’s why you don’t see Covens borrowing the might of their Ancestors for every little Spell. Asides from the fact it damages the delicate Balance, it also cheapens the existence of the Ancestors, and most of these deceased asses can be quite the egotistical bunch. “I wish to know the whereabouts of those traitors. I want- No, need them to suffer as I have. Plus, I need advices…”
“On what?”
Her voice, like the gentle breeze, blows into my ear.
“It’s a woman, you see.”
I mutter awkwardly. “The blonde, or the Bennett Witch two doors down?”
My lips purse in dissatisfaction. “Ms. Forbes, obviously. I’m not interested in incest.”
“Can it be considered incest if you two are unrelated by blood?” My expression twists with disgust upon hearing her words. Aware of her predictable reaction, I choose not to dignify her immature joke with a response. “Moving on–”
“Aw… But I want to tease my baby some more. You look absolutely adorable when you’re shy. Shame you’re so serious all the time.”
Ayana coos.
“Stop it.” I respond curtly. “That kind of tone doesn’t match a woman your age.”
“That’s low, even for you, Einar.” I can’t see her, but I have a feeling Ayana’s pouting right about now. “About the Mikaelsons…”
Her tone takes on a serious note as she continues, “The latest information I received was that they have fled to Europe, with Elijah leading Mikael on a wild goose-chase in South America… The European Covens have been extremely tight-lipped about their whereabouts, most likely out of fear of retaliation from those abominable creatures.”
With a furrowed brow, I inquire, “Can you continue to gather information from other sources? If needed, tell them they’ll have my protections.”
Her response is laced with a hint of skepticism, “I will make an attempt, but please keep your expectations in check. Innocent lives claimed by your… Siblings over the years for ‘crossing them’ can pile as high as Mount Everest. Even the most powerful of Covens dare not provoke them without a good cause. I’m not saying this to shame you, but you must understand, due to your situation, you still are an unknown, while the Mikaelsons have built their reputation atop mountains of corpses.
It won’t be easy to convince them.”
“I know.”
That is precisely why I have made the decision to leave Mystic Falls behind. Quietly, I retrieve an amulet from my pocket, its creation credited to Ayana, drawing inspiration from the pendant of a game I once indulged in as a 21st Century young adult, known as The Witcher.
However, I had avoided adopting the symbol of the School of the Wolf, as that emblem should rightfully be reserved for the Werewolves.
Instead, I opted for the depiction of a fierce jaguar head, its fangs bared in a snarl, its eyes made from emerald gemstones… I had thought it lost, but it was actually buried under a pile of rocks after portions of the cave were loosened. Its Enchantment had nearly faded when I found it, luckily renewing the simple [Self-Cleaning]; [Muffle] and [Detect] hadn’t proven challenging as I had imagined.
“Do not fret… This talisman shall gain a reputation even more notorious than the Mikaelson’s ‘M’.” In order to maintain my anonymity, I shall employ this amulet as a substitute once I have established my own organization. Perhaps I should fully embrace the Witcher motif and christen it the ‘School of the Jaguar’? Food for thoughts. Speaking of Witcher, “Ayana, do you remember the Dragon that attacked our village?”
After a brief silence, Ayana’s voice fills with skepticism as she responds to Einar. “What on earth are you talking about, Einar? Dragons are little more than fictional creatures, figments of our imagination. They’re the stuff of bedtime stories. They don’t actually exist.”
In an instant, my mood deflates as a wave of annoyance washes over me, though I do not direct it towards Ayana. If she had been jesting, my anger would’ve been somewhat justified, but her serious demeanor indicated otherwise. “Are you alright, son? Maybe you should take a few days off… Nine centuries of torture could not have been easy on your mind.”
Even though I know means well, her words were rather infuriating.
“I… I understand.” I manage to utter, clamping on the urge to pull my hair out in frustration. I’m not crazy, I swear to the Gods I’m not. I did kill a Dragon, even got a scar near my leg to prove it. “Einar, maybe you should–”
“I’m FINE!”
In spite of my best efforts, I fail to hide the edge to my voice. Sensing my instability, Ayana whispers, “I’ll ask around for you, Einar, but like I said… I can’t promise anything, son.”
“It’s alright.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s the gesture that counts.” With one last burst of Magic, the candles are snuffed out and Ayana, gone, leaving me to my thoughts. I slump in my seat, running a hand down my face as I repeatedly mutter like a mantra, “I’m not crazy. I’m fucking not.”
Looking at my reflection in the half-emptied glass of wine, I scowl, raising my hand to fling it across the room, only to stop myself when I recall the other members of the Manor deep in sleep still, instead settling for an angry, though quiet hiss, “What in Odin’s dirty beard’s fucking happening?!”
Unfortunately, my question is unanswered, and likely will remain that way for the foreseeable future.
The hair on my nape rises.
It’s probably paranoia, but it almost feels as though countless eyes are staring at me from the darkness, wishing to devour me whole. ‘It has to be paranoia, right?’
— Einar’s Diary —
As the first ray of light penetrates through the impenetrable shroud of darkness, I remain wide-awake, unable to find solace in sleep. Throughout the night, anxiety consumed me, leading me to nervously pace back and forth in the room.
I was constantly on edge, anticipating the arrival of an unknown monster that thankfully never materialized.
It’s somewhat embarrassing for a creature of the night to experience fear, but in my humble opinions, Vampires and Werewolves are simply humans with an… Added touch of something extraordinary, as such can still be burdened by human fears.
With both Margaret and Alaya deep asleep, I don’t have the heart to wake them just to keep me company… Can’t tell them I am afraid of a monster I don’t even know for sure exist, can I? Instead, I blitz towards the kitchen in the hope of distracting myself by attempting to cook.
This endeavor will likely result in yet another spectacular failure, as per usual, but oddly enough, that’s exactly what I need right now.
“I should probably choose something simple to make…” I mutter to myself.
My Stand hovers behind me, his stupid, ethereal lips curled into an amused smile, seemingly to mock me. Annoyed by his cocky expression, I threaten, “Shut it, or I swear I’ll force-feed you whatever I make.”
Suddenly, my Stand’s confident smirk vanishes as I fling open all the cupboards in a frantic search for ingredients. Unlike the modern era where one can stock up for weeks, or the past era where food was simply dried over smoke with little regard for flavor, the girls purchased just enough supplies for a few days. Most of it has already been consumed, leaving behind a scant amount of meat and eggs, which suits me perfectly fine since those are about the only things I can cook without the attempt turning into a complete and utter disaster.
With a flick of my wrist, the stove ignites brightly, and having learned from past mishaps, I remember to keep the windows open this time. I may be able to bear the smoke, but the girls won’t fare as well. So as to not burn the food, I carefully control the flame using Magic. So busy I make myself, that I don’t even realize Alaya’s presence, or I wouldn’t have if not for Heaven’s Quintessence standing guard. “You haven’t learnt, have you?”
The Witch drawls.
Without even sparing the Witch a glance, I dismissively respond, “That’s all you have to say after spying on us, pervert?”
She blushes and sputters, “You two were the pervert who did it in the open!”
“And you watched when you ought to turn the other direction… What does that make you?” Alaya growls, heart racing in the cavity of her chest. “Urgh… Can’t you just let me win?”
“Losing is not in my nature, sorry.”
Gradually, she draws closer, peering over my shoulder and exclaiming, “Oh, for once you haven’t managed to burn anything! Is the Sun rising from the West?!” I stare. “How is your progress with [Strengthening]? It’s the simplest Spell in my arsenal.” Her face instantly goes a shade paler.
I genuinely fail to comprehend why Alaya finds it so… Challenging when, if we break it down, [Strengthening] basically boils down to a very straightforward principle: S = M * P * A * E
S = Enhanced Strength (Measured in arbitrary units)
M = Muscle Activation or Efficiency Factor (Ranging from 0 to 1)
P = Protein Synthesis Factor
A = Adaptive Response Factor
E = Energy Metabolism Optimization Factor
Alaya grumbles, “Why do I even have to calculate these stupid factors? I don’t even know what half of them are!”
“That’s because you weren’t listening to my lessons.” I chide, flipping the bacons and eggs.
“Yes, I was!” The Witch protests.
“Then explain to me what M is.” I challenge, and given the sullen look she puts on, Alaya probably doesn’t even remember what it was. Now I understand why some teachers are so aggressive… Turns out teaching can be highly frustrating, who’d have guessed? Letting loose a resigned sigh, I begin with my explanation.
“Muscle activation or efficiency factor (M) represents how well your muscles engage and work during exercise. A higher M value means your muscles are working… Efficiently, using more muscle fibers and generating strength. If the M value is too high, it can tire your muscles or strain them too quickly.
Protein synthesis factor (P) is how well your body builds new muscle proteins. Protein synthesis is essential for muscle growth and repair. A higher P value means your body is building more muscle proteins, helping your muscles grow and recover stronger. A lower P value means your body isn’t making enough proteins, which can hinder muscle growth and recovery.”
Through Heaven’s Quintessence, I watch as Alaya move about like a zombie in the background. “Adaptive response factor (A) represents how your body reacts and adjusts to the [Strengthening] over time. When you challenge your muscles, your body responds by becoming stronger and more resilient. A higher A value means your body is adapting well and getting stronger. However, if the A value is… Too high, it can lead to abnormal muscle growth or imbalances in your immune system. Neither’s ideal.”
The first can cause her to look like a bodybuilder with roids im her veins instead of blood, and the latter is even worse- Increased susceptibility to infections; allergies and hyper-responsive sensitivity; autoimmune disorders; inflammatory disorders; and the best of them all: Impaired wound healing.
You name the adverse side-effects, and it has it.
“(E) is Energy metabolism optimization, or how well your body uses energy during strenuous activities and recovery. Energy metabolism is how your body converts nutrients into energy for muscle activity. A higher E value means your body is efficiently using energy, allowing you to sustain muscle contractions, improve endurance, and recover better. If the E value is low, you may experience fatigue and have limited strength gains.”
With a smile, I glance over my shoulder. “Understood? The Spell won’t fall apart if you mess one factor up, but the adverse effects will cause you issues later in life.” Alaya purses her lips, then asks.
“Why’re your Spells like this…?”
“Like what?”
She growls. “Stupid!”
“Stupidly powerful?”
“You know what I meant!” The Witch crosses her arms,
And I laugh teasingly. “I think you got it in reverse there. My Spells aren’t stupid, you are.”
Annoying as she is, at least my mind’s no longer completely occupied by the thoughts of some existence-erasing beast stalking nearby, which I suppose I have Alaya to thank for. I’ll probably never voice it though. The girl needs to be taken down a peck, not have her already overinflated ego boosted. “Engrave it in your mind… I expect you to explain all the factors to me later.”
The Witch grumbles, then hurriedly escape the kitchen.
Stupid girl… There’s nowhere safe from me.
'If only this could last.'
Taking a temporary respite from the weight of the future, the impending vengeance, and the glaring responsibilities and obligations, I allow myself a moment of pure authenticity, a mere moment to live. And despite knowing full-well how fleeting this happiness is, I can’t help but desire more.
