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Chapter Text

The thing about Darkshire was that its people knew how to mind their own business.

Outsiders thought Duskwood was haunted - and maybe it was - but the real horror had always been how quickly the rest of the world had abandoned them. Darkshire had learned long ago that no help was coming, no reinforcements from Stormwind, no knights in shining armour. They had only themselves, the Night Watch, and their own stubborn will to survive.

So, when an old ranger took up residence in the lonely cottage deep in the woods, no one asked questions.

Sure, he was pale - too pale. Sure, his dogs were bigger than wolves and meaner than any normal hound had a right to be. And yes, maybe his eyes gleamed a little too sharp in the dim lantern light, his voice carried a rasp that wasn’t quite natural, and his presence sent a cold shiver down the spine of anyone paying too much attention.

But he kept to himself. He took care of the undead and feral Worgen that wandered too close to town. He hunted his own food, traded fairly at the butcher’s shop, and even paid his tab at the Scarlet Raven on time.

That was more than could be said for some of their own.

So, as far as the people of Darkshire were concerned, the man in the woods was just another survivor, same as them.

A group of adventurers rode into Darkshire one evening, their armour too polished, their voices too loud.

A knight - fresh-faced, young, full of righteous energy - strode into the inn and fixed the barkeep with a steely gaze. "We're looking for an undead."

The room went quiet.

The barkeep, a middle-aged woman who had survived more horrors than this boy could dream of, didn't so much as blink. She wiped down the counter and raised an unimpressed brow. "That so?"

The knight frowned, glancing around the inn. "Yes. We've received reports of an undead man in these woods. Dangerous. We've been told he was last seen near Darkshire."

A low chuckle came from a nearby table. "You’re gonna have to be more specific, lad," grunted one of the older hunters. He leaned back in his chair, pipe in hand. "Plenty of dead things wander these woods."

The knight's jaw tightened. "This one is different. He’s-"

"Let me stop you right there," the barkeep interrupted, setting down a tankard with a heavy thud. "You see, the thing about Darkshire is, we don’t much like strangers coming in and stirring up trouble."

The knight bristled. "I'm not stirring up trouble. I'm asking about a dangerous criminal."

At a table near the fire, a woman scoffed. "If you were asking, you’d sound a hell of a lot more polite about it."

A chuckle spread through the room.

The knight exhaled sharply. "If anyone has seen anything-"

"Haven’t seen a thing," said the blacksmith.

"No strange undead here," added the tanner.

"Not a single one," agreed the old woman knitting by the hearth.

The knight looked around, frustration mounting. "You're telling me none of you have seen anything unusual? No pale men lurking in the woods? No strange hermits with glowing eyes?"

A long silence.

Then the barkeep shrugged. "Nope. Just the usual. Wolves. Ghouls. Spiders. Scourge remnants, here and there. You know, normal things."

The knight's face turned red. "This isn't a joke."

The barkeep leaned forward, planting both hands on the counter, and finally let the steel enter her voice. "No, it ain't. And if there was something worth worrying about in these woods, we’d handle it. Ourselves. Because that's what we do."

She straightened, grabbing another mug and turning away dismissively. "Now, unless you’re here to drink, I suggest you take your questions and leave."

The knight hesitated, clearly wanting to push further. But as he glanced around the room, all he saw were the faces of people who weren’t afraid of him. Who had lived through things worse than whatever threat he thought he was chasing.

Slowly, grudgingly, he turned and left.

The moment the door swung shut behind him, conversation resumed as if nothing had happened.

A few minutes later, the old hunter leaned back and called toward the barkeep. "Think we should warn your quiet ranger about the patrol?"

The barkeep poured another drink. "Don’t need to. He probably already knows."

And out in the woods, under the permanent dusk of Duskwood’s sky, a pale figure watched as the patrol left town, his lips quirking in something that just might have been amusement.

Chapter Text

The first time the boy approached him, Nathanos Blightcaller almost sent him running with a glare alone.

He was used to people staring. Used to hushed voices, wary glances, and the kind of silence that spoke volumes. But this was different. The boy - probably no older than twelve - stood with his fists clenched, his expression set with determination rather than fear.

"I want to learn."

Nathanos didn’t even bother looking up from where he was oiling his bow. "Learn what?"

The boy straightened. "How to fight. Like you."

That got Nathanos' attention. Slowly, he lifted his gaze, pinning the kid with an unimpressed look. "Go join the Night Watch."

The boy’s jaw tightened. "I tried. They said I was too young."

"Then they’re right." Nathanos returned to his bowstring. "Come back when your voice doesn’t crack when you’re trying to sound tough."

The kid didn’t move. He just stood there, shoulders squared like he was daring Nathanos to dismiss him again.

That was the first thing that made Nathanos reconsider.

"You saved the town," the boy said after a long silence. His voice was steadier now, as if he’d prepared for this. "That abomination could have destroyed everything if you weren’t there. I saw you fight. You weren’t scared."

Nathanos let out a low scoff. "I don’t have the luxury of fear."

"Then teach me."

It wasn’t a plea. It was a challenge.

Nathanos sighed. He had better things to do than play mentor to some wide-eyed brat with too much fire and not enough sense. But when he looked up again, really looked, he saw something familiar. The kind of defiance that ignored all sense and would get the kid killed sooner rather than later.

He recognised it because once, a long time ago, he’d had that same look in his own eyes. The kind of look that said that he’d do it on his own with or without help.

Damn it.

Nathanos set his bow aside and stood, towering over the boy. "Fine. You want to learn how to fight? Let’s see if you can even hold a weapon properly."

The boy’s face lit up with excitement, but Nathanos shut that down immediately. "But don’t get any ideas. I’m not some kindly old man looking for an apprentice. I don’t do pep talks, I don’t coddle, and I will not be held responsible if you get yourself killed being an idiot."

The boy nodded, determined. "Understood."

Nathanos sighed again, shaking his head. "What’s your name, boy?"

"Charlie."

"Alright, Charlie. First lesson: your posture is garbage. Fix it."

Charlie scrambled to adjust his stance, planting his feet wider. He had no idea what he was doing. Nathanos could see it in every clumsy shift of weight, but the kid was trying.

And just like that, he had an apprentice.

Charlie learned quickly. That was the first thing Nathanos begrudgingly admitted to himself.

He was rough around the edges, too eager, and made mistakes that would have gotten him killed if this were a real battlefield. But he listened, and, more importantly, he didn’t whine.

Not even when his palms blistered from endless drills or when he fell flat on his back trying to mimic Nathanos’ footwork. He got up, every time. That counted for something.

During the following week, Nathanos drilled him mercilessly. Footwork, stance, grip, breathing. Over and over until the boy's arms ached and his legs trembled, but he never quit.

"You’re not as useless as you look, kid," Nathanos muttered one evening as Charlie managed to land a half-decent strike against a training dummy.

Charlie grinned, which made Nathanos regret saying anything.

That weekend, when Mathias Shaw arrived as he always did, he knew something was different the moment he stepped into the clearing around the cottage. The front door stood wide open, the hounds lay sprawled in the grass nearby, barely raising their heads to acknowledge that Mathias had arrived, and there was the telltale twang of a bowstring followed by the thud of an arrow hitting a target. 

But it didn’t sound like Nathanos’ normal practice, the twang of the bow was different and the thud of the arrow wasn’t as sharp, and it soon became clear as to why. Because in the clearing behind the house, Nathanos was training a boy.

Mathias leaned against the porch railing, watching with silent amusement.

Charlie was holding a short hunting bow now, mimicking Nathanos’ stance. The boy’s movements were stiff, but he was trying. Nathanos, ever the taskmaster, circled him like a wolf.

"No. Again. You’re rushing the shot."

Charlie groaned but adjusted his stance. "It’s hard when you keep glaring at me like that."

"Good. Fear builds discipline." Nathanos folded his arms. "If you want someone to coddle you, go find a priest."

Charlie muttered something under his breath and drew the bow again. This time, when he released, the arrow struck closer to the centre of the target. He blinked in surprise, and Nathanos, behind him, gave a quiet grunt that might have been approval.

“Since when did you start collecting apprentices?" Mathias asked dryly.

Nathanos stiffened at the sound of Mathias' voice but didn’t turn around. "He kept showing up. Figured if I didn’t put him to work, he’d just get himself killed doing something stupid."

Mathias walked down into the clearing, hands behind his back, inspecting their setup with a critical eye. "So you do have a soft spot. Imagine my surprise."

Nathanos shot him a glare. "Keep talking, Shaw. Maybe I’ll let the kid practice his knife work on you next."

Charlie, wisely, said nothing. But the way his eyes flickered between them suggested he had questions.

Mathias just chuckled, taking in the scene - the way Nathanos stood just close enough to correct the boy’s stance, the begrudging patience in his instructions, the way Charlie kept trying, even after failing.

It was adorable.

He would never say that aloud, of course. He valued his life.

Instead, he folded his arms and smirked. "You do realise this means you're officially a mentor now?"

Nathanos rolled his eyes. "Don’t push it, Shaw."

Mathias merely smiled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. I’ll let you get back to playing instructor." He clapped a hand on Nathanos' shoulder and leaned in to brush a soft kiss against his cheek, ignoring the way the ranger tensed slightly at the public display of affection. "Just don’t get too soft on him. Wouldn't want the kid picking up your bad habits."

Nathanos swatted his hand away with a scowl. "Get inside before I make the kid use you for target practice."

Mathias laughed all the way inside the cottage.

Chapter Text

Charlie wasn’t stupid.

He might have been young, but he wasn’t blind, and he definitely wasn’t deaf. He had heard the townsfolk of Darkshire whisper about the ranger in the woods before he had even seen Nathanos for the first time. Some feared him, some respected him, and most had learned to simply look the other way. Charlie had been wary, as one raised in Duskwood ought to be of strangers, but that had all faded after he had seen Nathanos fight the abomination. 

Charlie hadn’t been afraid. He had been in awe.

Which was why he kept coming back, day after day, even when Nathanos growled about him being a lost cause. He wasn’t. He was learning. And more importantly, he was watching.

Watching how Nathanos moved - silent, precise, never wasting a motion. How his sharp eyes scanned the treetops before they ever stepped foot outside the cottage. How he spoke to his hounds, low and measured, like they were partners rather than pets.

Charlie didn’t comment on any of it. He wasn’t stupid. But he filed it away, just like he filed away everything else.

The mornings were early, dew still clinging to the grass when Charlie came knocking on the door to the cabin.

“You back again?” Nathanos would say, voice like gravel and smoke. Charlie never answered with words - just a nod and aching legs that carried him into the woods again.

At first, he couldn’t keep up. Nathanos moved like a shadow, slipping between trees while Charlie tripped on roots and swatted at brambles. But day after day, his footing grew steadier, his breathing quieter and Nathanos stopped correcting his posture as often.

By the end of the second week, Charlie could notch, draw, and release three arrows in the time it used to take him to fumble one.

“Still sloppy,” Nathanos grunted, but he didn’t hide the faint flicker of approval in his eyes.

They trained in silence, mostly. Nathanos wasn’t one for idle chatter. But every so often, when Charlie’s form held steady or he tracked a rabbit trail correctly, the man would mutter something like, “Not bad,” or “You’re starting to look less like an idiot.”

One afternoon, while practicing on targets further away behind the cottage, Charlie asked, “Did someone teach you, too?”

Nathanos didn’t look at him. “I learned the hard way.” Then, after a long pause: “Most do.”

It wasn’t an invitation for pity. Charlie just nodded. “Guess I better catch up, then.”

That earned him a rare snort.

Some evenings, they sat on the porch with the hounds asleep at their feet, watching dusk bleed into night. Mathias would occasionally join them, dropping off food or leaning against the railing with that irritatingly relaxed grin.

“You’re starting to walk like him,” Mathias said once, nodding toward Charlie. “It’s unsettling.”

“It’s effective ,” Nathanos muttered, but didn’t correct him.

Charlie couldn’t hide how pleased he was.

Nathanos leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching Charlie as he struggled to restring his bow.

“You’re wasting movement,” Nathanos muttered. “Try again.”

Charlie sighed but obeyed, tongue peeking out in concentration as he worked. From the porch, Mathias watched with a small, amused smile. “You really do have a soft spot for the kid.”

Nathanos rolled his eyes. “Don’t start.”

Mathias stepped inside, casually draping his coat over a chair before settling in by the hearth. “I’m just saying, it’s almost adorable.”

Charlie, unaware of their conversation, finally got the bow strung properly and looked up with a triumphant grin. Nathanos grunted approvingly. “Not terrible.”

Mathias smirked. “High praise.”

Charlie beamed, clearly pleased, then hesitated. “So… can we eat now?”

Nathanos huffed. “Go wash up. You’re covered in dirt.”

As Charlie dashed outside to the water barrel, Mathias leaned back, studying Nathanos with quiet fondness. “You know, he’s going to figure it out eventually.”

Nathanos exhaled, rubbing his temple. “Maybe. But until then, it’s safer if he doesn’t know.”

Mathias nodded, understanding. “Agreed. No need to let him in on all our… shared past.” Then, after a pause, Mathias added “He’s a smart kid. Smarter than most give him credit for.”

Nathanos only grunted in reply. The warm light of the hearth flickered, casting long shadows. For now, life was simple. Nathanos and Mathias had built something here - something quiet, something close to peace. And Charlie, stubborn and bright-eyed, had somehow carved a space in it too.

And for once, Nathanos didn’t mind.

Charlie quickly finished washing up, shaking his hands dry before dashing back inside. The warmth of the cottage was a welcome contrast to the cool night air, and the smell of stew filled the space.

Mathias had taken over the small kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he stirred the pot. “Sit,” he instructed without looking up. “It’s almost done.”

Charlie flopped into a chair, watching Mathias work. “You cook?”

Mathias smirked. “Surprised?”

Charlie shrugged. “I just figured Nathanos did all the practical stuff.”

Nathanos scoffed from his seat by the fire. “He can barely boil water without burning it.”

“Not true,” Mathias countered smoothly. “I just have better things to do than cook all the time. Like making sure you don’t wallow in existential brooding for too long.”

Charlie snorted as Nathanos scowled but said nothing.

As Mathias served up the stew, Charlie dug in eagerly, only to stop mid-bite. “This is… actually good.”

Mathias gave a mock bow. “I accept your glowing praise.”

Nathanos shook his head but still took a bowl for himself. As they ate, the quiet settled into something warm, something easy.

Charlie glanced between the two of them. “So, how long have you two known each other?”

Nathanos and Mathias exchanged a look.

“A long time,” Mathias said smoothly.

“Since before the war?” Charlie pressed.

Nathanos’ gaze darkened, but Mathias answered lightly, “Since before you were born, kid.”

Charlie frowned but let it drop.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics; Charlie asking about hunting tips, Mathias saying that some Captain was back in Stormwind - which made Nathanos glower and Charlie wonder just who this man was that Nathanos disliked so - and Nathanos grumbling about how the townsfolk was starting to assume he was Charlie’s father.

Charlie laughed at that.

“Could be worse,” he said, smirking. “At least you got stuck with me and not some actual brat.”

Nathanos arched his brow. “You assume I’m not considering returning you to the wolves.”

Charlie grinned. “Nope, you’re stuck with me.”

Mathias chuckled, shaking his head. 

And as the fire crackled and the night deepened, Nathanos - begrudgingly - realised that he really didn’t mind.