Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 94: Guess what?

Chapter 94: Guess what?

The Ocean brothers were quiet—too quiet.

Kenneth sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the ceiling like it owed him answers. Milo was half-asleep on the couch, one eye barely open. Shylo stood by the window, arms folded, watching the wind whisper through the dead branches outside. Johnny hadn’t said a word in hours.

Then—

A knock.

Three slow, heavy thuds.

They all snapped to attention.

"...You expecting someone?" Johnny asked quietly.

"No," Shylo replied.

The second knock came—heavier this time.

Maverick rose from the corner, grabbing the nearest blade. "Weapons. Now."

No one argued.

They moved fast—silent, sharp, every instinct taught in blood. Milo took position by the front. Kenneth pressed against the wall, tension in his spine like a loaded spring.

Then the doorknob turned.

The door creaked open.

Two large men stepped inside slowly, their presence eating the space. Tall. Unfamiliar. Unsmiling.

The room filled with heat and panic.

Johnny’s hand twitched. Shylo inhaled.

And then—

A figure stepped out from behind them.

Thin.

Familiar.

Scarred and quiet.

Amari.

No words.

Just him.

Still standing.

The silence cracked like thunder.

"AMARI!" Milo yelled, bolting forward.

"YO—YOU’RE ALIVE!" Kenneth almost tackled him.

Shylo didn’t speak. Just grabbed him and pulled him into a hard, shaky embrace.

Even Maverick, slowest to move, stood in stunned stillness before a rare smile broke across his face.

"You little chain-dragging bastard..." he murmured. "You actually made it back."

Amari just stood there, overwhelmed by the joy, by the disbelief washing over their faces. For the first time in days, he felt like he wasn’t fighting alone.

He’d come back—

...

(The day before. In the Dragunov Mansion.)

The room was silent save for the slow tick of the ancient wall clock.

Amari stood tall despite the tension wrapping itself tight around his chest.

"I want to bring them here," he said. "My brothers. The ones who came looking for me."

Yana blinked. "You want to offer me more slaves?" Her voice curled with disgust. "That is your favor?"

Her father raised a brow, but didn’t speak yet.

"They’re not slaves," Amari replied. "But like me... they’ve got nothing. No family. No place. You give them food, a roof, coin? They’ll fight for you. No questions."

Yana scoffed and looked to her father, who slowly stood from the chair near the fireplace, cane in hand. He studied Amari for a long beat.

Then he turned to Yana and spoke in Russian, low and smooth:

> "If the boy’s loyalty comes bundled... it’s worth considering. Foot soldiers born of desperation serve longer than ones born from legacy."

Yana shot him a glare. > "Don’t meddle. This is my operation." (Russian)

> "Then own it," he replied. (Russian) "Take the gamble or let it slip away."

Though Amari couldn’t understand the words, he read the rhythm of the exchange. And before she could shut it down, he stepped forward.

"They won’t disappoint. And if they do—you’ll still have me."

That made her pause.

Just for a second.

Then slowly, deliberately, she turned to face him. Her crimson-painted nails tapped once against her wrist as her eyes narrowed.

"You’re staking your future on theirs?"

"Yes."

She inhaled sharply.

"Very well. Bring them. House them. Train them. But listen carefully."

She stepped forward.

Her eyes shifted.

Blood red. Glowing from the inside like coals forged in ice.

"If even one of them fails me..." her voice was a whisper now, but it slithered under his skin, "I will break them. I will break you. And no amount of courage will hold your bones together when I’m through."

Amari held her gaze.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

But she did.

> "Stop looking into my eyes," she snapped, suddenly sharp and annoyed. "I’ve told you before—I hate that."

Amari’s breath hitched as the weight hit him again. He dropped his gaze instantly.

"Yes, ma’am."

Yana turned away, cloak whipping behind her as she strode out of the room.

Behind her—Amari stood still.

Knowing full well that what he just bargained for...

...

(The present.)

The fire cracked softly in the center of the room as the Ocean brothers sat in a quiet semicircle, the weight of Amari’s words settling like fog over them all.

"I’ve laid it out," Amari finished. "That’s the truth."

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Maverick exhaled sharply and leaned forward, elbows on knees. "You know who the Dragunovs are, right?" he said. "They’re not merchants or nobles or some secret philanthropy cult. They’re a crime family. The kind of people that don’t leave trails—they leave warnings."

He ticked them off on his fingers.

"Assassination of three sitting judges in the Eastern Bloc. Whole villages vanished in the Tundric Zone. Smuggling relic-class weapons through dead airspace. And that’s just the whispers people are willing to admit to."

Milo leaned back, arms crossed, tone quieter but eerier. "There’s an old story—might be myth, might not. Says their founder, Viktor Dragunov, was born of a war goddess. That he could command storms and bend metal with his breath." He paused. "Some people say the family still carries divine blood. Just like the royals."

Amari shook his head slowly. "I don’t know anything about all that. All I know is... I’ve belonged to them since I could remember. Whether I ran or stayed, they owned me. At least now, I get a say."

He looked around the circle. "And I want you with me. We could eat every night. Sleep indoors. Train. Earn more than scraps. We’d be soldiers—not just drifters."

Kenneth leaned forward, his voice blunt. "And we’d be disposable. You think they care about us? They’ll feed us until we’re useless—then bury what’s left."

Maverick nodded grimly. "They don’t hire people like us, Amari. They use them."

Amari’s jaw tightened. "Better to be used with purpose than to rot out here doing nothing."

That hung in the air for a moment.

Until Shylo finally broke the silence.

"But what’s the point if we’re gone in a year?" he said softly. "What’s the point of gold, fire, and a warm bed if it only lasts ’til your next mistake?"

The room went still.