Chapter 210
The council hall of Eldra Thrymseer was alive with the muted hum of daily affairs. The scent of smoke, old wood, and frost lingered in the air as clan leaders gathered around the long stone table. Torches burned low along the runed pillars, their light casting slow-moving shadows across worn banners and carved shields.
Ragnar Stormbreaker sat at the table's center, thick arms folded, listening as each leader gave their report.
"The western fields are recovering," rumbled Thane Gorr of Icehollow, his voice deep as the mines beneath his land. "The spring melt brought good water, but the soil still bears the scars of last year's frost rot. We'll have grain enough for our people, but not for trade."
Brynhild Ironveil nodded from across the table. "Our mines still hold steady. We've reformed two forges lost to the avalanche, though the yield is slower than before. My smiths speak of strange humming in the earth. The Seiðr veins pulse stronger near the forges, strong enough to make the runes flicker."
A murmur rippled through the room.
Skaldi the Ash-Tongue, lounging in his seat, exhaled a lazy puff of smoke. "The world groans in its sleep," he muttered. "Perhaps the Seiðr stirs because something old has awakened. Or someone."
Ragnar's eyes flicked toward him. "You see meaning in every whisper of ash, Skaldi."
"Aye," the older man said with a crooked grin. "And more often than not, I'm right."
Across from them, Varnir the Blind tapped his staff lightly on the floor. The sigils along his eyelids glowed faintly. "The southern ridges are restless," he said. "They speak of outsiders walking among our kin, of a man whose aura bends the Seiðr around him, as though it fears him."
Silence fell over the chamber. Ragnar leaned forward. "You speak of Daniel Rothchester?"
Varnir inclined his head. "That is the name carried by the wind."
Eldra folded her pale hands atop the table. "Bjorn Halvarsson and Runa Hallveig accompany him, along with the woman called Melgil, do they not?"
"They do," Ragnar confirmed. "Bjorn was tasked only to observe. The pair have proven steady, but reports from Huldmark are scarce. Travel is slow this time of year."
Eira Valsmir, silent until now, finally spoke. Her voice was calm but edged with thought. "Traders say the people of Huldmark no longer whisper in fear of the mists. They say the land itself feels different since those two arrived. Lighter. As if something unseen was lifted."
Brynhild frowned. "Or replaced," she murmured. "You think them harmless, but the old songs warned us of the Netherborn,those who wear mortal faces yet carry something unearthly within."
"Songs often grow louder than truth," Ragnar replied, his tone steady. "Yet I will not ignore them. If our suspicions are true, we stand on the edge of more than myth."
Eldra's gaze softened, though her eyes remained distant. "The Seiðr grows restless," she said quietly. "It hums even within the runestones of this hall. Whether it is warning or welcome, I cannot yet tell."
Varnir tilted his head as if listening to a distant whisper. "Then the winds of the North hold their breath. The land waits, as do we."
Ragnar rose, his presence filling the chamber. "Then we wait for word from Huldmark. But see to your clans, keep the forges burning, the warriors drilled, and the fields watched. If change is coming, we'll need steady hands to meet it."
A low murmur of assent rippled through the gathering. Cups clinked, cloaks rustled, and the hearthfire's crackle grew louder as the council shifted to mundane matters, harvest counts, patrols, trade routes.
Yet beneath it all, unease lingered. Each elder felt it deep in their bones: something vast and ancient was stirring beyond the snow-covered hills of Huldmark.
Then, a sudden gust rattled the hall, a raven fluttered in the opn window of the great hall, its feathers dusted with frost. Eldra rose, catching it gently as it perched on her arm. A scroll hung from its leg, sealed in dark wax.
As she untied it, the ink along its parchment shimmered faintly. The torches dimmed.And as Eldra began to read, a low hum filled the hallnot sound, but presence.
Bjorn Raskir felt it first; the runes along his arms ignited faintly, responding to Eldra's voice. "A man who bends the world's will… and a woman whose Seiðr burns with chaos itself."
Eldra Ironveil raised her hands; the runes across her blind eyes blazed. "These words… confirm what the Stormfangs have sought to verify. Long have we heard whispers of the Netherborn, the Dark Wanderers, beings older than any mortal memory.
I am Eldra Thrymseer, and these are my companions: Varnir the Blind and Skaldi the Ash-Tongue. We have each spent over two centuries recording, studying, and writing the history of our world. All that you have heard, and more, is true."
Ragnar's Stormfangs leaned forward, tense with anticipation.
Varnir spoke, voice low and resonant. "The Netherborn first appeared in the earliest days of the world, when chaos itself was still raw and unshaped. They were born of living energy, not flesh, not divine will. Each acted independently, following no path, answering to no god. Their arrival marked the first great eras of devastation. Entire civilizations vanished before their eyes, armies were turned to dust, and the land itself bent under their presence."
Skaldi added, "The Caldrith Empire, swallowed in a single night of unearthly storms. The Frostmarch Tribes, obliterated without warning. Fleets drowned in seas that rose as if sentient. Mortals reacted as they always do—fear, prayer, desperate alliances, and futile resistance. Many fought valiantly; all failed. Yet even when a Netherborn form fell, its essence never died , it transferred into another host, merging and continuing its will. No two Netherborn are alike."
Eldra's pale eyes glinted. "And yet, there is a pattern. When a Netherborn disappears, life returns. Forests grow, cities rise anew, and people flourish. But with that resurgence come the Seven Sins: Greed, Wrath, Lust, Envy, Pride, Sloth, and Gluttony. Each time mortals taste life after the chaos, their hearts open to weakness. The Netherborn leave behind a world cleansed by destruction, only for mortal failings to take root once more."
Bjorn whispered an ancient prayer, then cast a tiny ember into the air. It hovered, pulsing with light before shaping into two human silhouettes, threads of energy bending around them like rivers of starlight.
"See," Bjorn said grimly, "the flame recognizes them before we do."
Ragnar's fists clenched. "If they are the Netherborn… beings said to unmake gods and reduce armies to dust… what do we do? Strike or yield?"
Eldra Thrymseer's form rose, trembling not with fear but awe. "Strike not. Not yet. If they are who we believe, the balance of the world itself may hinge on how we greet them. These are the chaos-born of Valdyrheim, the very force our ancestors feared, revered, and recorded in saga and rune alike. They may destroy, yet they may also herald a new age. We must meet them with honor, discipline, and mastery… yet always with caution."
The raven screeched sharply, then fell silent. The parchment smoldered in Eldra's hand, curling to ash, leaving faint runes that whispered one word in the old tongue:
"Return."
The flames flared, casting the elders and warriors in an eerie, reverent light.
Ragnar stared into the fire. "May the gods grant mercy," he murmured. "For if these are truly the Netherborn… then the age of gods and mortals may be ending."
Eldra's pale eyes glinted with both dread and reverence. "…and perhaps a new age begins, born not of conquest, but of honor, discipline, and mastery. Yet one shaped by chaos itself, as it has been since the first days of Valdyrheim, when the first Netherborn walked the earth, leaving ruin and the seeds of mortal weakness in their wake, and when the Seven Sins rise once more after each disappearance."
A few hours before dawn,
the wind carried the lingering bite of winter. Mist clung to the forest floor, and the last embers of the campfire glowed beneath a thin veil of ash.
From the east ridge, twenty lean, wild-eyed men approached, their faces hidden beneath tattered furs and hooded cloaks. Once hunters, farmers, or craftsmen, now bandits driven by hunger and desperation.
Their leader, gaunt with a scar running down his neck, raised a hand. "Campfire ahead. Soldiers, maybe… or merchants."
A faint smell of oiled armor drifted on the wind. One of the men muttered, "Storm-cloaks. Skjorn warriors, perhaps."
"Even better," the leader grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. "They sleep heavy when warm. We take what we can and vanish."
From a leather pouch, he drew a handful of fine gray powder, sleeping dust. When burned or inhaled, it would deepen the slumber of any man it touched.
"Scatter it near the fires," he ordered. "Quietly."
As the bandits fanned out through the trees, the forest seemed to shift. The wind sang with resonance, low vibrations crawling up their spines.
One froze mid-step. "Wait…"
The ground beneath their boots pulsed faintly, like the heartbeat of the earth itself.
And in that instant, even the desperate, blood-hardened bandits felt the south itself watching.
The bandits froze, every instinct screaming that something unseen was watching. Yet the campfire remained still, and the soldiers seemed asleep. The temptation of loot was too much to resist.
One-Eye motioned again. "Move. Now."
They didn't see the faint shimmer , a distortion of air , that lingered just beyond the edge of the camp.
They didn't see Melgil's subtle web of Seiðr energy woven into the wind, nor Daniel's sleeping form, whose calm breathing masked the quiet hum of power radiating through the ground beneath him.
The forest held its breath as predators closed in on what they believed were prey , unaware that the hill itself was about to awaken.
The forest stirred before the bandits even realized what they had awoken.They crept between the trees , ragged men, their clothes torn, their faces gaunt from hunger and cold. The snow under their feet crunched softly, the only sound above their breath and the distant crackle of a dying campfire up the hill. The faint scent of warmth and cooked food had drawn them here , a temptation too strong for starving beasts dressed as men.
Then one of them , a broad-shouldered brute with frostbite gnawing his fingertips , brushed against something that wasn't bark or root. It moved.
The small, catlike shadow that had been curled near the tent . Nyx , opened one gleaming golden eye. Her body, small as a wolf pup's, trembled once, and then the earth itself responded. The sleeping powder the bandits had scattered drifted away in a strange wind.
A whisper , alien and divine , crawled through the trees.
"Who dares trespass upon my creators rest?"
The bandits froze. A sudden gust tore through the glade, scattering melting snow and dirt. Nyx rose, its small form dissolving into a mist of black and silver, her fur shifting into ethereal strands of mana. it grew , not into her true, colossal form, for her divine essence was bound , but enough to blot out the moonlight. Her eyes blazed like twin suns through the fog.
The forest answered her rage.
her serpent tail erupted from the frozen soil, curling like vines around the bandits' legs. Trees bent, groaning as if alive, their branches lashing out in anger. The snow turned to shards of ice that flew through the air, slicing into skin and cloth. The once quiet hill became a writhing nightmare , nature itself rebelling at her command.
The bandits screamed as the serpent pulled them downward, their bodies swallowed by the frozen earth. One tried to run, but vines burst from the ground and dragged him back. The forest was no longer a place it was Nyx's will made flesh.
From within the tent, Daniel's eyes opened slowly. His expression was calm, but his aura pulsed faintly with awareness. Melgil stirred beside him, sensing the divine disturbance, but Daniel whispered softly, almost amused.
"It seems our guardian is awake."
Outside, Nyx's voice echoed through the woods , a sound neither mortal nor beast could make.
"You have seen what is forbidden. Sleep now… and never wake beneath my moon."
With a final wave of her mana, the forest went still.Snow began to fall again, covering the ground where the bandits had once stood. The trees returned to silence, and Nyx, once more a small shadow, padded softly back toward the tent.
As she curled beside Daniel, her golden eyes flickered with quiet satisfaction. The restriction that bound her divinity still shimmered faintly across her body , invisible to mortals, but to Daniel and Melgil, a reminder of the ancient power that slept within her.
The forest would remember this night. And so would the wind that whispered her name , Nyx, the Guardian beast
The first light of dawn crept through the mist, tinting the snow-dusted forest in shades of pale gold. The air was still heavy , the kind of silence that followed something unnatural.
Daniel stirred first, his hand resting lightly over Melgil's shoulder. She blinked awake, her silver eyes scanning the surroundings with quiet suspicion. The campfire had burned to faint embers, and outside, the Stormfang warriors were already rising from their tents, stretching and yawning , yet each of them carried a strange unease they couldn't explain.
Runa Hallveig rubbed her eyes, noticing Daniel approaching with a calm but purposeful stride. He held a small leather sack, its contents clinking faintly as he handed it to her.
RUNA frowned. "What's this?"
"What was taken from you."
She untied the sack , inside were silver pendants, coin pouches, and fragments of personal trinkets, things clearly looted by thieves.
RUNA blinked, startled. "But… we didn't notice anyone last night. None of us felt a thing."
Before Daniel could reply, Bjorn Halvarsson's expression hardened. He crouched by the ground, his hand brushing a faint gray dust near the base of the tents.
"Toxin powder… sleeping dust, mixed with frostspore root. "He looked up at his warriors grimly. "The fact that none of us felt anything means they used toxins meant to dull Seiðr and senses alike."
The Stormfangs exchanged uneasy looks.
One warrior muttered, "If we were all under, how are we still breathing?"
Bjorn turned to Daniel, his voice quieter now , almost reverent.BJORN: "It seems… we owe our lives to you, stranger."
Daniel shook his head slightly, his tone modest but carrying that calm authority that silenced the crowd.: "Not me."He gestured toward the small mound of snow near the firepit. "Her."
A soft sound came , like the crack of frost breaking. From the snow emerged a tiny, shadow-furred creature with golden eyes and a long, mist-like tail. Nyx blinked lazily at the warriors, then yawned , her small fangs glinting in the morning light.
Runa instinctively stepped back, eyes wide. "Is… is that a fox ?"
Melgil chuckled under her breath. "Not quite."
Bjorn crouched slightly, studying Nyx. Even for a seasoned warrior, the sight unsettled him , her presence carried a pressure that brushed against the edge of divine energy. "I can feel… something old from this creature. She's no common familiar."
Nyx tilted her head and, with a small flick of her tail, the snow stirred into tiny spirals around her feet , delicate and effortless.
"Nyx is a retainer of mine. A guardian, bound by pact. She reacts to danger , especially to malice. "He looked around the forest, the ground where the roots had twisted and frozen over. "You had visitors last night. They won't be bothering anyone again."
The warriors exchanged glances , confusion, awe, and unease blending together.
Runa whispered softly, as if to herself, "So it wasn't a dream… the forest really did move last night."
Bjorn exhaled slowly, his voice filled with respect. "Daniel of the Tower… it seems the gods walk beside you."
Daniel's eyes softened ."Or perhaps they only remember me when they're bored."
A brief silence , then a few chuckles from the warriors, easing the tension.
Melgil smirked and patted Nyx's head. "If they're smart, they'll learn to leave us alone when she's asleep."
Nyx purred faintly, curling beside the fire like an innocent pet, though the faint shimmer of divine aura around her betrayed her true nature.
As the Stormfangs began to rebuild the fire and prepare their morning meal, the air still carried whispers of what had transpired. Bjorn and Runa exchanged a glance , both silently aware that they had seen something beyond mortal comprehension.
For the first time, Bjorn thought quietly, perhaps the legends of gods walking among men were not all myth.
Far away, beneath the cold marble arches of Mjorska Hall, the dawn air rippled faintly as if brushed by unseen hands. The ancient runestones embedded in the walls began to hum with an eerie resonance faint at first, then swelling like the heartbeat of the mountain itself. Three elders sat at the Hall's circular chamber, cloaked in deep gray and silver, their eyes closed in meditation. Around them, the air shimmered with thin threads of Seiðr , the spiritual energy of Valdyrheim , bending in response to something vast and foreign.
Elder Eldra Thrymseer the eldest of the three, opened her eyes first. Her pupils glowed faintly white as she stared into the unseen. "Do you feel it?" she murmured, her voice a whisper trembling through the hall. "Something… divine has stirred in the southern range."
Elder Varnir the Blind, frowned deeply, his breath forming mist in the cold chamber. "The threads of mana recoil as if touched by something ancient. Not the work of man or god… but something that remembers both."
Ragnar Stormbreaker, standing near the council's brazier, clenched his jaw. His scarred face , a map of old battles , twitched at the faint echo in the air. "Could it be… one of them?"
"the Seiðr i sensed was different, i was heavy, potent and raw," as Elder Varnir the Blind, responded
The third elder, Varnir the Blind let out a trembling sigh. "Perhaps. Long before the clans, before the fjords were carved, there were those who could bend life and death , the Shapers. They vanished into myth, yet their echoes remain, these were blood relative of the Ouroboros "
" but i am not sure, it felt different,"
"But do not let fear rule your council. Bjorn invited them here; he knows his men. If these wanderers mean harm, Stormskjorn will answer with steel. A god or a monster that threatens our people will meet the same fate as any raider." Ragnar's jaw tightened at that, not with cruelty but with resolve; the elders shared a look that mixed dread with a warrior's clarity , they would welcome what must be tested, but they would not bow until tested.
Her gaze hardened. "If such beings have returned… Valdyrheim may once again stand at the mercy of gods who walk in flesh."
Ragnar bowed his head respectfully but could not hide the fire in his eyes. "Then we must prepare. If these travelers are kin to such powers, I must see them with my own eyes."
The raven, exhausted from its long flight, landed beside the great brazier, its message tied with Runa's seal. Ragnar untied it swiftly, his brows furrowing as he read the Stormfangs' account , of strangers named Daniel and Melgil, of unnatural calm, of a familiar that turned the forest itself against intruders.
"Bjorn," Ragnar muttered under his breath, a hint of reluctant admiration in his tone, "you've found something the gods themselves forgot."
The elders exchanged knowing glances , not of fear, but of the kind that precedes revelation.
The morning sun finally broke through the misty canopy over the forested hill where Daniel and the Stormfangs camped. The frost on the ground shimmered like shards of glass. Bjorn Halvarsson stood before Daniel and Melgil, his broad frame outlined against the pale light.
"You've saved my warriors without raising a hand," Bjorn said, his tone carrying the weight of both gratitude and curiosity. "The elders at Mjorska Hall must hear of this. But more than that… I'd like you both to come with us , to see our city, our people. You've earned our trust, and perhaps… we might learn from each other."
Melgil's silver eyes lit up with unmistakable excitement. "A city?" she said, her voice brightening as she stepped closer. "I've read about your halls , the feasts, the horn songs, the mead… I want to see it. To taste it. To live among it, if only for a while."
Daniel looked at her with a faint smile, the corner of his lips twitching as if to protest. "You sound as if we're tourists, not travelers avoiding trouble."
Melgil gave a soft laugh, brushing a lock of her hair aside. "Then let's be tourists for once. Just this once."
Bjorn smiled broadly, clearly pleased by her enthusiasm. "Then it's settled. You'll come with us to Stormskjorn Fjord. The city will welcome you , I'll see to it personally."
He turned and barked a few words to his warriors. "Bring the spare warhorses!"
Moments later, one of the Stormfangs approached, leading a proud gray steed with a mane like silver frost. The animal snorted, its breath steaming in the cold air, its muscles taut with restrained strength.
Bjorn offered the reins to Daniel. "Take him. He's trained for battle but gentle with those who carry purpose."
Daniel lifted a hand politely. "I appreciate the gesture, but walking suits me. The world feels slower when you"
Before he could finish, Melgil wrapped her arm around his and looked up with wide, pleading eyes, her expression utterly disarming. "Please, Daniel," she said softly, almost childlike. "Just this once? I want to ride like the stories , through the snow, beside you. Let me have that."
Bjorn chuckled quietly, turning away with a knowing smirk as Daniel sighed in mock defeat.
"Fine," Daniel muttered, finally taking the reins. "But if we fall, I'm blaming you."
Melgil grinned, her eyes sparkling like the morning frost. "Then I'll just have to hold on tighter."
She climbed onto the horse with surprising grace, her cloak catching the sunlight in a swirl of red and gold. As Daniel mounted behind her, she leaned back against him, her laughter soft and warm in the cold morning air.
Bjorn watched them for a moment, something unfamiliar stirring in his chest , a quiet sense of kinship. For all their mystery, Daniel and Melgil felt right among them, like echoes of an older story returning to life.
As the company began their journey toward the fjord city of Stormskjorn, the last traces of night's frost melted under the dawn. The forest seemed to bow silently as they passed , as if the world itself recognized that the age-old legends of gods and mortals were about to intertwine once more.
The journey to Stormskjorn Fjord was brief but breathtaking , a slow unraveling of mist, mountains, and memory. The morning sun rose higher as Daniel, Melgil, and the Stormfang warriors rode down from the forested hills of Huldmark, where the cold still lingered like an old ghost refusing to leave. The road bent through valleys laced with rivers of melting ice, their waters gleaming like liquid glass. Pines towered on either side, their dark green needles heavy with dew, and the air carried the scent of salt and spruce, growing sharper the closer they came to the sea.
When they crested the final ridge, the city revealed itself , Stormskjorn Fjord, jewel of the northern coast. Built upon a vast granite shelf that sloped toward the sea, the city seemed carved from both nature and willpower. Its walls, forged of heavy oak beams bound with blackened iron, rose proudly against the spray of the waves. Behind them, homes of timber and stone climbed the hillside in tiers, their slanted roofs shingled with tarred wood to repel the endless rain. Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys, mingling with the sea mist to give the city an ethereal, shifting shape , half fortress, half dream.
At the city's heart stood Mjorska Hall, the great seat of the Stormfang unit , a monumental longhall of pale stone and dark timber, its roof crowned with twin dragonheads that faced the sea, mouths open as if to devour the horizon. Each wall was carved with sprawling reliefs of past battles, gods, and sea serpents, telling the saga of the northern tribes in the language of chisel and flame. Even from afar, Daniel could feel the faint hum of Seiðr within its walls, ancient and potent.
As they entered through the great gates, the people of Stormskjorn paused from their work. Fishermen mending nets, smiths hammering blades, children chasing one another through the muddy lanes — all turned their heads toward the newcomers. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as eyes fell upon the strange pair: Daniel with his calm, unreadable gaze and Melgil, whose beauty and aura seemed to carry the very scent of otherworlds.
"Who are they?" one woman whispered, clutching her basket of fish."Not of the clans," another murmured, "their eyes , look at them, they shine like starlight."A blacksmith crossed his arms, brow furrowing. "No traveler bears such composure after the wilds. They walk like the gods of old."
Melgil smiled faintly at their awe, her silver hair catching the light like threads of moonstone. "They're curious," she whispered to Daniel. "But not afraid."
Daniel's gaze swept the crowd, calm and steady. "Curiosity can turn quickly," he said softly, though without worry.
Bjorn rode ahead and raised a hand, his deep voice carrying over the noise of the city. "These travelers are under my protection. You'll treat them as kin of the Stormfang until the elders decide otherwise."
That silenced most of the murmuring, though the stares lingered , some respectful, others wary. Still, as they moved deeper into the city, the people began returning to their work, though every so often a head would turn to follow them, as though sensing the faint hum of something divine beneath the surface of the mundane.
The market square bloomed with life: rows of wooden stalls draped in furs and dyed cloth, barrels of smoked fish, and steaming pots of venison stew. The air was thick with the scents of salt, mead, and pine resin. Melgil's eyes widened with delight. "Oh, Daniel! Look at this! The bread , it's baked with seaweed, and they're selling honeyed mead in clay jars!"
Her enthusiasm drew a small laugh from Bjorn. "You'll find our food strange, lady, but it'll warm your bones faster than any spell."
Melgil smiled, clasping her hands behind her back. "Then I can't wait to try it all."
Daniel's lips curved faintly as he watched her. "You'll eat them out of their stores if you're not careful."
Bjorn grinned. "Let her. Our cooks will see it as a challenge."
As they passed beneath the shadow of Mjorska Hall, the faint toll of a horn echoed from the tower above , a call of return.
The great doors of Mjorska Hall groaned open, their iron hinges echoing like thunder as Daniel and Melgil stepped into the light of the roaring hearth. The warmth washed over them , the scent of burning oak and sea brine mixing in the vast chamber. Rows of carved shields and gilded cups lined the long tables, and the banners of the northern clans hung heavy from the rafters: wolf, hammer, serpent, and spear. Shadows danced upon the stone pillars, twisting in rhythm with the crackling fire as if ancient spirits stirred to watch what would unfold.
At the far end of the hall stood Ragnar Stormbreaker, towering like a mountain hewn from frost and fury. His broad shoulders were draped in a cloak of white bear fur, and his beard was streaked with silver, bound in iron rings that gleamed in the firelight. His storm-gray eyes locked onto Daniel with the weight of command , the gaze of a man who had seen kings fall and gods bleed. To his right and left stood the clan elders — figures of power and age, each representing one of the great northern houses.
Bjorn Raskir, leader of the Frostmaul Clan, sat nearest the fire. His presence was immense, the kind of strength that made the floorboards creak under his boots. Beside him stood his son, Arvid, a young warrior with eyes like shards of ice and an untested pride burning behind them.
Next came Eldra Ironveil of the Ironveil Clan, a woman of stern grace, her hair braided with thin steel wires that shimmered faintly under the torchlight. Her son, Sigrid, leaned quietly at her shoulder, sharp-eyed and thoughtful , a smith's patience in his movements.
Alva Valsmir, chieftain of the Valsmir Clan, bore the calm of the sea before a storm. Her daughter, Eira, was a mirror of that grace , slender, her cloak clasped with a carved whale bone, her eyes deep as fjord waters.
Lastly, Varrik Thryne, lord of the Thryne Clan, stood like a blade forged from the mountain's heart, his scars telling tales of old wars. His daughter, Brynhild, watched Daniel and Melgil with a measured intensity, her hand resting idly on the hilt of her axe.
The silence that followed was heavy , the kind that demanded truth or blood. Ragnar broke it with a single word, his voice rumbling through the hall like distant thunder.
"So," he said, his gaze flicking between them, "these are the travelers my ravens speak of , the man who commands the forest, and the woman whose presence bends the air."
Daniel inclined his head slightly, his calm unshaken by the weight of so many eyes. The firelight danced in his pupils, revealing faint traces of gold like hidden suns.
"I am Daniel Rothchester," he said evenly. "And this is Melgil my beloved partner. We came not as conquerors nor deceivers, but as those who wish to see this realm prosper. Too long has fear ruled these lands. I have seen it in your people , in their eyes, in their silence. I came to offer another path."
A murmur rippled among the elders. Eldra Ironveil's tone cut through the air, cold and precise."And what gives you the right to speak of our people, stranger? You who walk with power unknown to our Seiðr, yet claim to understand our pain?"
Before Daniel could answer, Melgil stepped forward, her presence soft but unyielding. The torchlight seemed to bend around her, casting faint ripples of silver through the air."Because he sees what many do not," she said, her voice melodic yet edged with quiet authority. "The fear that binds your people is not born of weakness, but of weariness. The wars, the blood feuds, the endless hunger for survival , they have dulled the spirit that once made the North burn bright."
Ragnar leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly, studying them both."You speak with the tongue of those who have seen beyond the mortal veil," he said. "Tell me, then what is it you truly seek? Aid? Power? Dominion?"
Daniel met his gaze without hesitation."Understanding," he said simply. "And unity. I wish to share what I have learned , knowledge that could strengthen your people, heal your lands, and prepare them for what's coming beyond your mountains. Something darker than the wars you've fought."
Bjorn Raskir grunted softly, his deep voice rumbling like stones sliding down a hill."Big words from a man who's yet to prove he bleeds like the rest of us."
Melgil smiled faintly, though her eyes glimmered with the faint trace of chaos energy. The torches flickered , not from wind, but from a ripple of unseen force.
"And yet," she said, "you already feel it, don't you? The hum in the air. The Seiðr that stirs within your bones even as you doubt us. We are not your enemy, Bjorn of Frostmaul. We are what your ancestors once sought , the bridge between the seen and the unseen."
For a heartbeat, none spoke. The only sound was the hiss of resin dripping into the fire. Then Ragnar rose from his seat, his shadow towering across the hall."Very well," he said at last, his tone both cautious and intrigued. "You will speak before the council at dusk. Until then, you are guests , not prisoners, not kin. The Stormfang will decide your fate when the sun meets the sea."
Bjorn nodded reluctantly, signaling his warriors to escort them to their quarters. As Daniel and Melgil turned to leave, Melgil whispered quietly, "They test us with words now… soon, it will be with more than that."
Daniel's eyes glowed faintly as he glanced back at the gathered elders."Then let them test," he murmured. "For truth does not fear fire."
And as the great doors of Mjorska Hall closed behind them, the air still trembled , a subtle, lingering vibration, as if the hall itself had felt the arrival of something ancient, something that could not be forgotten.
Bjorn stepped forward, resting a fist over his chest in salute. "Aye, Jarl. They are as the message said , though more human than legend."
Ragnar's expression softened, if only slightly. "We'll see about that." His eyes flicked toward Melgil, who met his stare without fear. Then, to Daniel. "The elders have questions. But first , you'll eat, you'll rest. Stormskjorn does not welcome guests with empty stomachs."
Melgil smiled brightly. "Now that is a tradition I can appreciate."
As servants hurried to prepare food and mead, Daniel exhaled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing. "It seems," he said quietly to Melgil, "we're finally where we were meant to be."
And as the firelight glowed across the carved walls of Mjorska Hall, the elders' eyes , ancient and knowing , exchanged silent glances. For they could feel it too: beneath the calm of their guests' hearts, something vast and celestial stirred, like the quiet before a storm that might one day rewrite their world.
The feast within Mjorska Hall began as the last light of dusk bled through the high smoke holes, tinting the rafters crimson and gold. The scent of roasted boar, smoked fish, and sweet mead filled the vast chamber, mingling with the deep hum of voices and the rhythm of drums echoing off timbered walls. Long tables groaned under the weight of platters , venison glazed in honey, baked root vegetables, fresh loaves of seagrain bread, and steaming bowls of broth thick with herbs.
Daniel and Melgil sat among the Stormfangs, flanked by warriors whose laughter shook the benches and whose scars told tales older than some of the songs being sung. Though many still watched them with quiet curiosity, the atmosphere had shifted; there was respect now, even a faint sense of reverence. Their earlier fear had been tempered by fascination.
At the head of the hall sat Jarl Ragnar Stormbreaker, lord of Stormskjorn Fjord , a man who looked as though the mountains themselves had carved him. Standing near eight feet tall, Ragnar's presence dominated the room even when seated. His long hair, the color of old iron streaked with frost, was bound in thick braids, and his beard, wild but well-kept, framed a face marked by the pale scars of countless battles. His arms were bare despite the chill, corded with muscle, the veins standing out like lines of iron beneath the skin.
Beside him, propped against the great chair carved from driftwood and bear bone, rested his legendary weapon , a double-bladed war axe, monstrous in proportion. Its haft was nine feet of reinforced ashwood, wrapped in runic leather bands that pulsed faintly with Seiðr energy. The twin heads of the axe gleamed dully in the firelight — each blade a foot and a half wide, forged with intricate patterns of black steel and rune-etched silver. It was a weapon meant not for men, but for giants.
The hall quieted when Ragnar finally stood. The timber floor seemed to creak under his weight. He looked toward Daniel and Melgil, his blue-gray eyes like glaciers under thunderclouds. "Tonight," he declared, voice booming like surf against stone, "we honor guests who walk with the weight of legends. You came through the wilds, through bandits and shadow, and reached Stormskjorn unbroken. You are no common wanderers. You sit among warriors."
The gathered men and women pounded their fists on the tables in agreement, sending mugs rattling. Ragnar raised his cup. "Eat. Drink. Let the night remember this meeting."
A roar of approval filled the hall. Horns of mead were passed down the tables, laughter and song rising like firelight against the rafters.
Melgil leaned toward Daniel, eyes bright with curiosity as she tore a piece of bread and dipped it in stew. "They eat like kings even on the edge of the world," she whispered, smiling as a serving woman offered her a plate of seared fish. "And this music—it feels alive."
Daniel nodded, his dark gaze sweeping the hall. "It's more than music. It's spirit. Every drumbeat here carries memory."
At the far end of the table, the three elders sat together, their aged eyes clouded yet burning with awareness. They murmured soft Seiðr incantations, weaving faint illusions through the hall — flickers of shadow and sound that brushed against Daniel and Melgil's senses like whispers from another realm. A test.
One illusion took form as a soft shimmer before Melgil's eyes , a spectral wolf pacing through the hall, unseen by others. Another brushed against Daniel's perception: a whisper of divine memory, a ripple in the air that sought to glimpse his essence.
Daniel blinked once, sensing the probing threads of energy. He did not resist; instead, he allowed them to graze his aura just enough to give them a glimpse . a false one. The elders' breath caught collectively as they sensed not darkness, but something far older , like starlight wrapped in shadow, chaos wearing the face of balance.
"They mask themselves," one elder whispered. "But they are no enemy."
Ragnar, unaware of the elders' murmuring, tore into a haunch of boar and laughed deeply. His gaze, however, remained fixed on Daniel. There was something in the man's stillness that unsettled him , not fear, but the raw curiosity of a warrior sensing a kindred force.
"Traveler," Ragnar finally said, his voice carrying across the tables. "They say you wield power that bent the forest to your will. Is that true?"
Daniel met his eyes calmly. "Power is a word men give to what they don't understand. The forest responded, nothing more."
A murmur rippled through the warriors. Ragnar's grin widened, revealing teeth like white stone. "A modest answer." He rose fully now, towering over the tables, his shadow stretching across the firepit. "But tell me, Daniel of no clan — does your strength match your calm?"
Melgil glanced up, her eyes narrowing slightly in amusement. "Ragnar," she said softly, her voice carrying despite the noise. "Are you challenging my companion to a duel at your own feast?"
Ragnar laughed, deep and thunderous. "Not a duel, lady — a test of respect! Steel against steel, spirit against spirit. The old ways demand it. A warrior's measure is not taken with words alone."
The hall erupted in cheers and stomps of approval. The warriors shouted their Jarl's name, eager for spectacle.
Daniel sighed softly, setting down his cup. His tone was calm, but his eyes glimmered with faint amusement. "If it is only respect you seek, I'll not refuse. But understand this, Jarl — I don't fight to prove, only to reveal."
Ragnar's grin widened as he lifted his massive axe and rested it on his shoulder. "Then reveal it, stranger. Let the gods bear witness."
Melgil leaned closer, her voice a gentle murmur meant only for Daniel. "Try not to break his weapon this time."
Daniel chuckled quietly, rising to his feet, the firelight painting his face in shades of gold and shadow. "No promises."
The great hall fell silent except for the crackle of the central fire as the Jarl of Stormskjorn Fjord and the Wanderer of the Netherborn stepped forward into the cleared circle between tables — one a mountain of mortal might, the other a man whose calm hid the quiet storm of the divine.
And somewhere above them, unseen by all but the elders, the air shimmered faintly , as though even the spirits of the north paused to watch.
The great feast of Mjorska Hall had turned into a storm of roaring laughter, clanging tankards, and the scent of roasted venison and honey-baked bread. Long tables carved from pine stretched beneath banners of blue and gold, fluttering with the sigil of Stormskjorn Fjord—a lightning bolt cleaving a mountain peak. The flicker of torchlight glowed across polished shields and fur-draped benches, and the rhythm of drums filled the air like thunder rolling in the distance. Yet amidst the music and mead, a hush slowly crept when Jarl Ragnar Stormbreaker rose from his seat.
The man was a walking tempest , eight feet tall, shoulders like boulders, with a chest that looked carved from the mountains themselves. His beard was thick and braided with silver rings, streaks of ash-gray running through the dark. Scars webbed across his arms, each telling a story of conquest and survival. Resting beside him was his war axe, a monstrous double-bladed weapon nearly nine feet long, its crescent heads gleaming like frostbitten moons, runes faintly pulsing with Seiðr energy. When Ragnar stood, even the drums ceased.
"Daniel," Ragnar's voice boomed, deep and thunderous. "You carry yourself like a warrior who has seen gods bleed. Let me see the truth of it."
The crowd stirred, a murmur of excitement rippling through the warriors. Bjorn's eyes widened in both awe and caution. "My Jarl… he's our guest," Bjorn said carefully.
Ragnar smirked, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Then let us honor our guest with a duel of respect — not of hatred, but of strength."
Daniel placed his goblet down gently, the motion deliberate, eyes calm. Melgil glanced at him, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "Try not to break their walls again," she whispered playfully, remembering the last time he had "held back."
Daniel rose, his black coat flowing like a shadow's breath. The warriors cleared the center of the hall, benches scraping against the floor. A circle was drawn on the stone, torches surrounding them like a ring of flame. Ragnar picked up his colossal axe with a single hand, resting it on his shoulder.
"Ready?" Ragnar grinned, his teeth flashing.
Daniel simply nodded. "I will not use my full strength," he said softly. "But I will not dishonor your challenge either."
Ragnar roared, and the duel began.
He moved with shocking speed for a man his size, the axe sweeping in a wide arc that split the air, the sheer force sending a gust strong enough to extinguish a few torches. Daniel sidestepped, his boots gliding across the stone with no wasted movement, his coat fluttering like smoke. When Ragnar's axe came down again, Daniel caught the haft with his bare hand — a dull echo rang through the hall like thunder striking the earth.
The crowd gasped. Ragnar's eyes widened in brief disbelief, then lit with fierce joy. He twisted, trying to throw Daniel off balance, but Daniel merely pivoted, redirecting the force and letting the axe slam harmlessly into the ground. Sparks flew as steel met stone.
"Ha! You dance like a whisper!" Ragnar laughed, swinging again.
This time Daniel blocked with his forearm, his mana subtly reinforcing his flesh. The impact was like a crash of thunder — tables trembled, goblets tipped, and banners shivered in their rafters. Yet Daniel's expression remained calm, almost serene.
Ragnar stepped back, grinning through the sweat and strain. "Good! You are no ordinary man!"
Daniel bowed slightly. "And you, no ordinary Jarl."
Then Ragnar charged, bringing the axe overhead in a two-handed strike so powerful the ground cracked beneath his boots. Daniel stepped inside the swing, his hand pressing gently to Ragnar's chest , and the Jarl froze, his entire movement halted as if caught in invisible current. A burst of wind spiraled outward, scattering embers into the air like fireflies.
Ragnar's breath came out in short, steaming bursts, his massive chest rising and falling as he steadied his stance. The weight of his monstrous axe rested against the ground, its head buried into the cracked stone. His storm-gray eyes glimmered—not with anger, but with raw curiosity and awe.
He looked at Daniel, whose posture remained composed and effortless, not a single mark or tremor betraying exhaustion. Around them, the warriors of Stormskjorn Fjord stood in silence, their mead forgotten, eyes wide as if they had witnessed the work of a god. The torches wavered, bending toward Daniel as though drawn by his unseen force.
Ragnar finally broke the silence, his voice echoing through the hall.
"He used Seiðr… in a different way?"
The question hung heavy in the air, part wonder, part disbelief.
Bjorn Halvarsson, still gripping the edge of the table, frowned. "That wasn't the Seiðr we know. It didn't flow—it bent. It felt like the air itself obeyed him."
Runa Hallveig nodded, still visibly unsettled. "I felt it too… It wasn't conjured or sung like the seers do. It was alive, like his spirit commanded the world itself."
The hall fell silent. Only the crackle of torches and the heavy breaths of two warriors filled the space.
Ragnar slowly lowered his weapon, then began to laugh—a deep, thunderous laugh that shook the rafters. "By the gods! You are the calm before the storm, aren't you?"
Daniel smiled faintly and lowered his hand. "And you, Jarl Ragnar Stormbreaker, are the storm itself."
The warriors erupted in cheers, slamming their mugs against the tables. Bjorn raised his drink high, shouting, "To Daniel, the Calm Storm! And to our Jarl, who still stands after it!"
Melgil giggled as she leaned toward Runa. "Humans are so loud when they're impressed," she teased, before glancing at Daniel with pride in her eyes.
Runa reacted silent " she called use humans?"
Daniel lifted his gaze to meet Ragnar's, his expression unreadable. "Names have power," he said quietly. "And some powers are best left without them."
For a brief moment, the hall fell into absolute stillness again. The faint hum of the air, the flickering torches, even the drunken chatter beyond the main hall—all seemed to fade.
Then Ragnar's booming laughter shattered the silence, echoing like thunder across the rafters. "Ha! Spoken like an ancient seer!" He slammed his hand against Daniel's shoulder—a blow that would have staggered most men but barely moved him. "Whatever it is, I've not felt such strength since I was a boy! You fight like calm lightning, and yet…"
He grinned wide, pride gleaming in his eyes.
"You respect your opponent. That, Daniel, is the mark of a true warrior."
The warriors roared in agreement, pounding their cups on the tables in thunderous applause. Melgil chuckled softly and leaned closer to Daniel, whispering teasingly, "See? You can impress people without breaking their bones."
Daniel exhaled, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That was never the plan," he replied, his tone calm as ever.
As laughter and music returned to the hall, Ragnar leaned closer to Bjorn, his voice lowered but filled with awe. "If that man wields Seiðr unlike any we've seen… then he's not from any of our bloodlines. He's from something far beyond the storms."
Bjorn nodded solemnly, eyes fixed on Daniel. "Then we should keep him close, my Jarl. For a power that old…" he paused, "might bring both blessing and doom to our world."
As the feast resumed with music and laughter once more, the elders in the shadows exchanged wary glances. They had seen what no mortal could easily explain, the subtle distortion of Seiðr in the air when Daniel moved. His very presence bent the natural flow of energy around him.
And though the night returned to joy and song, deep down, each elder knew one thing: A storm far greater than Ragnar's had just walked into their hall.
The torchlight in the inner chamber of Mjorska Hall flickered across walls carved from dark oak and stone, casting long shadows that seemed to writhe like living things. A heavy scent of incense, herbs, and old parchment hung in the air, mingling with the faint echo of the hall's earlier revelry. The three elders sat around a low, rune-etched table, their features sharp in the firelight and their presence heavy with power that even Ragnar—the mighty warrior who could fell a mountain—felt in his bones.
Eldra Thrymseer, her gray hair braided into intricate loops that framed a face lined with centuries of foresight, ran slender fingers along the carved runes before her. Her pale eyes glimmered as if she could see beyond the present, into the very threads of fate itself. Varnir the Blind, whose sight had long been replaced by the depth of inner vision, tapped his staff lightly against the floor, the vibrations resonating with some hidden awareness. Skaldi the Ash-Tongue, her voice always a little raspy, the result of years whispering to fire and shadow alike, leaned forward, the tips of her fingers brushing the carved surface as though tasting the runes.
Ragnar, still towering in his full eight-foot frame, loomed near the chamber entrance, axe resting against his shoulder. He had been pacing, fists clenched with restrained excitement, replaying the spar in his mind over and over. The sensation of Daniel's calm, flowing force bending his storm-like attacks, the air itself answering a man's will,he had never felt anything like it. His pulse thrummed with a mixture of exhilaration and awe, and even as a seasoned warrior, he felt a thrill that bordered on fear.
Eldra's voice, soft but commanding, broke the tense silence. "Ragnar Stormbreaker… you have faced him, witnessed his power firsthand?"
Ragnar's grin split his massive face, revealing teeth white against the shadowed room. "Aye," he rumbled, voice booming yet contained. "I've fought many, even men who claim mastery over Seiðr, but this…" He flexed his massive hands, recalling the strange resistance, the almost sentient counterforce. "…this is beyond anything. He bends Seiðr, yet it's not Seiðr. It's alive, it flows without shouting its name, and it respects the wielder, yet it humbles the storm itself."
Varnir's staff tapped again, a resonant thrum that seemed to vibrate through the chamber floor. "The flow you describe… it is not merely mortal. Not of this age. These are threads older than the tales our grandfathers passed to us, older than even the founding of Mjorska Hall."
Skaldi's eyes glimmered, ember-like in the torchlight. "I felt it too, in the hall. A presence… not wholly of flesh or bone. Something that could have walked the lands before men claimed them. Gods of the old myths, perhaps, or their remnants."
Eldra nodded slowly, her fingers tracing invisible sigils above the runes. "The Seiðr that was wielded tonight… it bears the mark of the divine resonance, the subtle echo of the forgotten. We have long feared their return, or at least the stirrings of such beings in our world."
Ragnar's excitement surged. He straightened fully, his great bulk casting a long shadow over the table. "By the gods… you mean they are the ones from the old songs? The beings who shaped our legends, who could give life and take it just as easily?"
Varnir inclined his head. "Perhaps not entirely the beings of myth, Ragnar Stormbreaker, but the connection is undeniable. Their power echoes what our ancestors whispered as the shapers and destroyers of worlds, and the manner in which it bends reality itself… it is no ordinary Seiðr."
Skaldi leaned closer, voice almost a hiss, as though sharing a dangerous secret. "And yet, they did not destroy. They restrained themselves, even when provoked. This… this is a subtle test, a measuring of hearts as much as strength."
Eldra's pale eyes softened, though her tone carried steel. "Which is why their arrival is a divine omen. Not of doom, but of guidance. If they walk among us willingly, as strangers and not conquerors… then perhaps the old balance seeks renewal through them."
Ragnar's massive hands clenched into fists, the excitement barely restrained. "Then they will come to Mjorska Hall? I must meet them again. I must test this force further! A spar like today… but perhaps deeper, with more freedom, to see what they can truly do!"
Varnir's blind gaze settled on Ragnar, calm yet piercing. "Caution, warrior. Divine power does not bend easily to mortal curiosity. Respect and patience will teach you more than brute strength."
Skaldi's ash-tongue rasped softly. "And observe… learn. The threads of destiny are weaving themselves anew with their presence. Even the smallest gesture may carry meaning beyond comprehension."
Eldra nodded, the firelight dancing in her eyes. "Ragnar Stormbreaker, guide them well. Treat them as guests, yes, but also as the living threads of the myths that once shaped this world. Their friendship, if earned, may be the balance we thought lost long ago."
Ragnar exhaled, a low, reverberating rumble of anticipation. "Then I will. By the storms above, I will welcome them as heroes… yet I will fight them as a warrior, to learn their truth."
The elders exchanged knowing glances, their silent understanding heavy with the weight of the old legends. Outside the chamber, the first faint light of dawn began to touch the frozen peaks beyond Mjorska Hall, signaling the beginning of a day that would change the history of their lands forever.
The chamber of the three elders was heavy with the scent of burning pine and herbs, the carved walls of Mjorska Hall echoing faintly with the soft crackle of torches. Daniel and Melgil were ushered into the low-ceilinged room, their steps quiet on the polished wooden floors, their presence unassuming yet carrying a subtle weight that seemed to tug at the air itself.
The three elders, Eldra Thrymseer, Varnir the Blind, and Skaldi the Ash-Tongue, sat in triangular formation around the rune-etched table, their hands poised above ancient carvings, fingers twitching subtly in anticipation. Even before a word was spoken, the air hummed faintly, threads of Seiðr woven into the very walls, probing, measuring, gauging the intentions of the strangers before them.
Daniel and Melgil bowed slightly, the gesture sincere but not subservient. Daniel's dark eyes flicked over the trio, noting the faint glow in Eldra's gaze, the soft vibrations through Varnir's staff, the barely perceptible curling smoke of Skaldi's fingers tracing sigils in the air. The elders were subtle; their tests were woven into the very atmosphere, invisible currents of perception meant to probe the soul, a quiet mystical conversation rather than overt confrontation.
Eldra's voice, smooth and melodic, carried first. "You walk in as guests, yet your presence is… unsettling. Not with malice, nor with destruction, but a force unseen, restrained. Why have you come to our hall, strangers?"
Daniel exhaled lightly, calm and measured. "We come neither as conquerors nor as messengers of war," he began, his voice resonating softly yet firmly, carrying a natural authority that seemed to anchor the room. "I have observed these lands from afar, and the reports I received before our journey were… incomplete, perhaps even exaggerated. The forests and valleys tell a different story.
The people we encountered, the Stormfangs, under Captain Halvarsson and his vice-captain, Runa Hallveig, displayed honor, discipline, and a manner I did not expect from warriors living in a land scarred by countless wars."
Varnir's blind eyes tilted slightly, as if sensing the weight behind Daniel's words. The faint tremor of air around him responded to Daniel's aura, a subtle pull as though the very currents of Seiðr were testing the stranger's sincerity.
Melgil, seated beside Daniel with her blanket draped elegantly over her shoulders, added softly, "We do not seek dominion over your people. We wish only to understand, to offer guidance where it may help. Fear and doubt linger in hearts shaped by endless strife. We have no wish to replace their strength, but to illuminate a path that may ease the burdens they carry."
Skaldi's ash-tongue rasped quietly, the sound curling through the chamber like smoke. "And yet, the threads of your presence… they speak of power that could undo the very foundations of our world. How do we know you mean what you say, and that restraint is not a mask?"
Daniel inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the elder's caution. "You do not," he said calmly. "Trust is earned. The subtle threads of magic, the currents of Seiðr, can reveal intentions, but not all. I have the ability to wield power beyond what most here have seen.
But I choose to temper it, to measure the consequences of every action. We are not here to test strength against your people. We are here to understand, to observe, and to offer guidance if it is welcome."
Eldra's fingers traced a sigil along the carved runes of the table, and the air shifted slightly. Shadows curled unnaturally along the walls, shapes whispering like long-forgotten specters. Yet Daniel did not flinch. Instead, he allowed a faint pulse of his own energy to mingle with the currents, subtle and harmonious, counterbalancing the illusions and revealing only enough to demonstrate transparency.
Ragnar's voice rumbled from the doorway, a mixture of awe and restrained excitement. "Even restrained, you are… formidable. To witness you is to see what our forefathers whispered about, the powers that once walked these lands."
Bjorn Halvarsson, standing slightly behind Daniel and Melgil, added quietly, "Yet notice, they bend not the will of others, but the circumstances around them. Observe without destroying, guide without enslaving."
Daniel allowed a faint smile, the kind that carried warmth but no condescension. "That is correct. We come seeking truth first. And the truth here… lies not in the rumors, but in the hearts of your people. Their courage, their honor, their capacity to grow beyond fear, that is what I came to see. If there is corruption, ignorance, or misdirection in this land, it will be addressed, but only as it aligns with their own will, not through imposition."
Skaldi's eyes glimmered as she leaned closer, her fingers tracing faint patterns in the air. "Your words… your aura… it is unlike anything the old prophecies foretold. Divine, yet tempered. Terrifying, yet gentle. Are you truly connected to the ancient myths of our world, or merely echoes of them?"
Daniel's gaze softened, meeting each of the elders in turn. "Perhaps both. Perhaps neither. But it matters less what the old names call us, than what we do with the chance to walk among you. The Stormfangs have already shown me glimpses of what is good in this land. I came here to see more, to learn, and to act if it is needed. Nothing more."
Melgil's voice, quiet and melodic, added a final note, "And to experience life alongside your people, your food, your traditions, the rhythm of your daily lives. These are treasures as powerful as any weapon, and we wish to honor them as guests, not as outsiders."
Eldra's eyes softened, the sigils in the air pulsing faintly in approval. "Then we shall watch. We shall measure your hearts, and see if your actions align with your words. But know this: the threads of Seiðr do not lie forever. All that is hidden will reveal itself in time."
Ragnar, leaning on his monstrous double-bladed axe, let out a low rumbling laugh, excitement barely restrained. "Good. Then let them dine, let them walk these halls, and when the moment comes… I will test them again. Not as elders, not as watchers. but as a warrior who seeks to measure the storm itself against the calm that wields it."
The firelight flickered, shadows stretching across the walls, as Daniel and Melgil shared a glance, quiet, unspoken understanding passing between them. They had entered a hall steeped in history, legends, and divine caution, yet they walked forward with calm resolve. Outside, the first faint hints of sunlight brushed the northern peaks, signaling the dawn of what promised to be a long and transformative day in the city of Stormskjorn Fjord.