Snow. That was the word that popped up in Nathan's mind as he looked out the window. The white flakes fell down like they were flirting with the earth. Their descent was slow but not too slow, the white crystallized water covering the entirety of the ground outside and the exterior of the cabin as well.

He watched as the latest flake fell from the heavens, gracefully descending through the sky without a care in the world, so casual, so relaxed, without a bother in the world. Nathan had no idea why, but a part of him seemed to love the concept.

Unbothered, uncaring.

Innately he knew that it wasn't the snowflake itself, or the ice or the water that had his attention. No. It was the way it fell from the heavens that had his full attention, swaying in what was definitely cold winds. The flake battling against the soft current, but like with all other opponents, the wind won.

Always.

With a smile on his face, he watched as the single snowflake he'd been tracking swayed a little more. The sight caused something to stir within his soul. The same feeling a scientist would get when they had their eureka moment, or an artist finding sudden inspiration. Either way, Nathan could tell that he was close to something that could potentially change his life or ruin it.

A feeling that most would get before making a potential life-altering decision, a decision that would sway the decider's life in a good way or a really bad way. He resisted the urge to trace what the stirring in his soul meant. He had to admit that he was wary of messing with things that he had no clue about.

Maybe I could pull the thread a little, just to see where it leads.

Tempting, it really was tempting to trace the source of the stirring. But like the chosen one in fantasy books fighting against the prophecy, he kept his distance. Content to let the sight of his stronghold covered with snow occupy his mind. It was beautiful from where he stood, inside his cabin, with the fireplace warming him up, background conversations going on, but he paid no mind to them, content to stare out the window.

It'd been three days since they'd gotten back from the mine, and luckily enough, no bad things had happened, no issues that needed weapons at least. Ruben had gone overboard, and the berserker and Daniel had exchanged words. Nathan and the rest of the squad had left the pair to get over their issues together, and now the two were cool like best friends.

Pirlo had tried to sneak out on the second day of them staying inside the cabin, but Nathan had made sure to stamp his authority on the rogue. It was his words that had kept the rest of the squad still in the cabin. As much as everyone felt like they were ready enough for the next thing—whether mining, dungeon runs, or battling whatever monsters were out in the ungodly weather.

He didn't doubt their physical readiness to take on the task. No. What he doubted was their mental readiness. They were all teenagers who'd partaken in the slaughtering of an entire camp of different races. They'd lost a comrade in Yola as well. And while Nathan wasn't a veteran soldier or a good people person, he was pretty sure that an event like that would have an effect, and it wouldn't do for them to break under pressure at an inconvenient time. That was what this time was for: to let them unwind and get their lives back in order.

More than anyone, he was worried about the berserker. The teen hadn't stopped talking since they'd left the mine, and Nathan couldn't tell if it was a coping mechanism for the berserker or if Ruben just no longer felt pressure.

With a sigh, he picked out another snowflake to track, his eyes following the flake with ease. His enhanced perception in this close quarters made everything seem much better, clearer, and incredibly detailed. He could see the sections, the way the flakes fell off, and the sight was beautiful. It joined the rest of the white covering the grounds of his stronghold, a single snowflake amongst thousands. The stirring got stronger at his thoughts, and it began to seem like Nathan was fighting a losing battle. Nothing he could do would change the fact that he was going to pull the loose thread that was the stirring in his soul.

"...than, Nathan," someone said, a soft palm tugging at his bicep.

"Huh," Nathan said, shaking his head to clear out the confusion.

"I've been calling your name for a minute," Ciara said, her brows furrowing in concern. "Are you okay?"

Well, this is embarrassing.

"Uhm, yeah," he said sheepishly. "I was just admiring the view."

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"Interesting. I didn't think you were that type."

"What type?"

"You know, the kind to lose themselves, looking into the scenery, the type to appreciate their surroundings."

"Oh, I guess it's kind of a new thing for me. The apocalypse seems to make the ordinary things more interesting."

She simply smiled at his response as they both looked out the window, an awkward but yet not so awkward silence creeping in between them. Nathan didn't know what else he was supposed to say. He and the mage hadn't had a moment alone before, so it was a new experience, a weird one. Now that everything was relatively calm and they weren't fighting for their lives or planning tactics, he could actually look at her. He occasionally stole glances her way.

She was a head shorter than him, with beautiful chestnut hair. Lean muscles showed from her partly ruined sweatshirt sleeves, no doubt surviving in an apocalypse was making clothing prove its worth. All those were good observations. But for the most part, Nathan tried his best not to react to the palm that was still on his bicep.

"Do you think it has an end?" She asked.

"Why not. Anything that has a beginning has an end," he said.

He hadn't responded immediately, of course. He'd had to get rid of the lump that had suddenly popped up in his throat, and after that, he actually had to think about the issue before speaking. Of course, the truth was that he couldn't see an end in sight to the apocalypse. He had no idea what the end game of the apocalypse was. What he was certain of was that anything that had a beginning definitely had an end, and that was a hill he was ready to die on.

"I hope so... the blood is too much," the mage said, her voice cracking.

Nathan resisted the urge to wrap his arms around her. They weren't that close, so he had no idea how she'd take such an action from his end, and he'd rather things not get weird.

"It is, isn't it?"

Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was that?

Nathan almost kicked himself for the stupid response. But even though he didn't complete the motion, his body moved enough to startle the mage who had a palm resting on his bicep. Their eyes met, and she blushed before quickly pulling her palm back and returning her gaze to the window, her cheeks red.

At least I'm not the only one.

The pair stood in silence, looking through the window as snowflakes fell from the sky. And while everything was perfect, all Nathan could think about was the hand that the mage had pulled back. Sure, it wasn't much of an issue, but it was definitely a cringe one and definitely one that he'd be revisiting later.

The good or bad part of their little interaction was that he could no longer feel the stirring in his soul. Everything had gone calm, and now a different part of him was stirring up. But he tamped down on it, trying his best to keep his heartbeat in check. No longer would he let the damned organ run amok, beating like he'd just run a damned marathon.

To distract himself from the weird problems he was currently having, he decided to let his mind wander back to when he still spun signs for Mr. Wong, earning minimum wage. And then he let his mind go further back to when he was a petty thief and dealer for Sparrow, or the Black Knight, as he was called then.

It wasn't one of his proudest moments, but as a street kid, that was as good as the opportunities he was going to get. He'd done the best he could with the dice life had rolled for him. He'd had to buy his way out of Sparrow's gang, and even though it'd cost him most of his savings and a few friendships, it was the best thing he'd done in his life.

Shortly after leaving the gang, the universe had thrown him a boon in the way of Mr. Wong. The Asian man gave him a lifeline to make an honest living and keep from relapsing back into a life of crime. A smile appeared on his face as he thought back on that day. Mr. Wong had been so casual with the offer. Maybe the man had just wanted to take a kid off the street, and Nathan had been there at the right moment.

A part of him wondered what the restaurant owner was up to right about now. Had the man survived? He hoped so. Nathan shook his head. Mr. Wong had to have survived. The man was one of the most dedicated people he'd ever met.

I wonder which Archetype he picked.

As far as he could tell from the man's personality, he genuinely doubted that he'd choose anything other than Berserker or Ranger. He seemed like the type to lead, not to follow, and he wasn't just a trash leader like most he'd met. He was stern but considered, cold but attentive. He kept the order but wasn't a tyrant, at least to his staff.

Different personalities.

Nathan shook his head at the thought. For the most part, the leaders that he'd had the fortune or misfortune of meeting or working under usually fell into the tyrant category. Mr. Wong was one out of one, and it made Nathan wonder: What kind of leader was he going to be when this was all over? A tyrant? Or an actual leader, one that was worth fighting for when things were in bad shape?

"Hey, snow gazers," Ruben called out, the berserker's words breaking Nathan out of his thoughts.

"Yes, Ruben," Ciara said, the mage beating him to a response.

"Get a room," the berserker replied, giggling, which in turn made other members of the squad chuckle, much to the confusion of Nathan and Ciara.

"Can we get a muzzle for him," Ciara whispered to him.

"Sure, but I'm sure he'll force the muzzle to disintegrate with his power of blabbing," Nathan said, chuckling.

The mage chuckled at his words before heading up to join the group sitting on the ground in a rough circle. She motioned for Nathan to sit beside her, and with a fake grumble, he did.

"Okay, since his and her majesties have decided to grace us with their presence, can we decide what we're going to do next? I fear that I'll become as stiff-boned and emotionless as Pirlo if I stay in this cabin much longer," Ruben said.

A protest rose up from the rogue, but murmurs of agreement covered up the protest, and Nathan had to sigh. Would he be a tyrant or would he give the people what they really wanted? Mentally bracing himself for what he was about to do, he reached into his bag of holding and pulled out a single item, one that stole the gaze of everyone in the cabin—even the Rabbit. He said nothing, but the item in his hand was enough to answer the berserker's question, because in his hands was a ship—a wooden ship.

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