Chapter 1.

A twig snapped. Something rustled in the tall grass. 

There it was. The boar Eylin had been stalking. 

She nocked her arrow, pulling it taut, the string making no sound save a soft creak. She held her breath, waiting for just the right—

There! She loosed her arrow and watched it arc through the air, piercing the boar in the neck. Her lips twisted in a humorless smile as it staggered through the bushes, finally falling dead about twenty feet from where she’d shot it. 

She crept over to the spot where the boar’s body lay. 

“Thank you.” She whispered, as always, not quite sure who she was talking to. The gods, perhaps? No, they didn’t deserve her allegiance. The ancient spirits, maybe? No, that didn’t seem quite right either. Regardless of who was responsible for this provision, she was thankful. This boar would put food on the table for the next two weeks, even longer if they stored it right.

Deftly quartering the meat, she packed it away in the bags she’d brought and disposed of the carcass. 

The walk back home through the village was the same as usual. 

Some women at the market paused their shopping to gossip when they saw her pass. The shopkeeper paused in his sweeping, but refused to meet her gaze.

Eylin glanced up to see a little girl of about six years old staring at her with wide, curious eyes. She began tugging excitedly at the sleeve of the woman standing beside her.

“Why is nobody talking to that girl, Mama?”

The woman's lips hardened into a thin line. She spoke lowly, but Eylin still heard her words clear as day.

“Because of her mother, dear. Now come along, we need to go home.”

Eylin looked on in dismay as the woman pulled the child away, soon disappearing down the street.

She continued her journey in silence, not noticing that one man’s gaze lingered on her longer than most.

“May the gods be with you, dear girl. Even if I cannot.” He murmured under his breath as she went out of sight around the corner. The tired soul turned back to his sweeping with a heavy heart.

Finally reaching her home on the outskirts of the village, she padded in quietly, careful to not disturb her father, who was likely still sleeping. 

He slept a lot these days, as the pain in his leg grew worse with the change of the seasons. 

She dropped her bag of meat on the table with a thud and sank into the chair beside it, relishing the few moments of respite before she would have to carve the meat into smaller chunks and store it… Likely some in salt, some seasoned and air-dried for jerky. 

Their house was a small one, with only one bedroom and a kitchen that doubled as a living area with a table and two chairs. There had once been four chairs, but the other two had long since been used for firewood. In the bedroom, there were two small pallets set up that took up most of the room. One for her and her older brother, and the other for her parents. Now only Eylin and her father occupied those beds. 

Hearing a soft thump from the bedroom, Eylin stood and went toward the sound.

“Back already, daughter?” Her father asked, allowing her to help him up from the bed, his frail form needing the assistance to get moving.

She smiled.

“Skaði be blessed, yes. She sent a boar straight to me.”

He snorted.

“You’re the best huntress on the island, trained by none other than me.” His leathery face cracked with a grin. “Don’t give a goddess all the credit.”

She chuckled good-naturedly. The two had always held a… loose view of the gods. If they existed, they hadn’t done much for them. If they didn’t… They couldn’t be any worse off than they were now. Arkyn was the devotee in the household, and look what it got him. 

“Now come, girl. Let me help you put this meat away. These old bones need to be good for something.”

She offered a small smile in reply, but it lacked genuine mirth. 

The man was only 40, but a well-placed sword point to his hip four years ago had made him hardly able to walk, let alone work.

The image of him limping home that day, bloodied and battered, rose unbidden to her mind. Visions of her townsmen after that battle, their cries as they were being tended to by physicians, and the heartbreaking news they had returned with. The memory left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Shoving down the emotions rising within her, Eylin stood and joined her father at the old wooden table, dipping the strips of meat he cut into the bowl of salt and spices she’d prepared earlier, and hung them on the hooks above their cobblestone fireplace. 

She stoked at the fire before turning back to the table, which reminded her of another pressing need. She would have to go out for firewood soon. 

One of the young men had helped her last year, in hopes of gaining favor with her father, and that had failed spectacularly. Thoren was a nice enough boy, and she certainly could do far worse in the husband department, but… Eylin shook her head, dispelling that line of thought.

She would never marry. Simple as that.

As for this year, she would have to get the wood herself. Winter waits for no man… or woman.

It was already getting colder, the days shorter. It wouldn’t be long before most of the animals she hunted would go into hibernation. She could only hope that their food stores would last them until spring. 

“You’re quiet today, daughter.” His tender voice cut through her reverie. “Are you alright?”

She fumbled the meat she’d been holding, dropping it into the bowl, glancing up to see the concern in his emerald eyes. She noticed that his long blonde hair was tied behind his back in a haphazard braid that was clearly a few days old. Her fingers itched to fix it and make it neat again. She was quite particular about such things.

“Yes, Father. Just tired.” The lie came easily.

She knew how it ate at him to not be able to provide for them, knew the guilt he felt that she had to do everything.

So how could she tell him that she was sick of it? That she was sick of this way of life, of being their sole provider?

But there was nothing to be done for it.

So no. That’s not what Eskild needed to hear. Not now, not ever. 

She corrected her oversalted mistake pensively.

As far as her father would ever know… She was simply tired. 

After a minute, she reached a hand across the table to clasp one of his with a small smile.

“I’m fine, Father. Truly.” She squeezed gently. “I’m just so glad you’re still with me.” This, at least, was true. 

He smiled gently. 

“You are my greatest blessing, daughter. If there are gods in this realm, then they have smiled upon me in this one way: in giving me you.”

“And in giving me you.” She replied simply, meaning every word of it.

***

That night, as Eylin lay on her pallet, she stared out the window that was in the wall beside her, seeing but not comprehending the stars above her. 

She was in another world, thinking of life when it was happy. 

Her father, Arkyn, and herself. The three of them against the world. And they put up a formidable fight too.

A small smile of pride twisted the corner of her mouth. 

They were good together, the three of them. 

The smile turned wistful and then into a grimace.

“Why, Arkyn? Why did you leave me?” She whispered into the darkness, confident the soft sound didn’t reach her father’s sleeping form.

But little did she know, Eskild was just as restless as she was, and as her broken whisper reached his ears, followed by the stilted sounds of muffled tears, his heart broke. 

“Eylin.” He spoke her name softly, but she still startled.

She sniffed and cleared her throat. “Yes, Father?” She willed her voice to remain even.

“Come here, child. Sleep with me tonight. You'll stay warm better."

She rose, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. 

“You know as well as I that it’s not that cold yet, Father. Besides, I'm 17, hardly a child. I can handle a little chill.” 

With a small shake of her head, she settled in beside him, snuggling in close, as she had when she was a little girl.

“Ah, you know me too well, daughter. You see through all my tricks.”

“Only because you taught me most of them.” 

That made him laugh. A full, rich laugh, such as she had not heard in far too long. 

She couldn’t help but grin.

“I love you, Eylin.” There was a note of sadness in his voice that she could not comprehend.

She frowned at the sudden change in his tone.

“I love you too, Father. More than anything.” She glanced up at him. His wizened face was drawn with worry, and his eyes were filled with something she couldn’t name.

“What is it, Father? What’s wrong?”

He sighed deeply. 

“I do not know. I just have…” He shook his head. “A feeling. One that tells me everything we know may well be about to change.”

 He gazed down at her with a look of protective fierceness such as she had not seen since the last time he was in battle. “And I want you close by me when it does.”

She nodded slowly, glancing over at her sword and bow, which were leaned up on the wall next to her pallet.

And as her eyes finally closed in sleep, she couldn’t dispel the same strange sense of foreboding.

Chapter 2.

The acrid odor of smoke filled the air, making Eylin’s lungs burn. 

“The fireplace!” She cried out as she leapt out of bed.

“No, not the fireplace.” Her father replied in a low tone, standing as quickly as he could and reaching for his old sword hanging on the wall. 

Then the sounds of clashing metal and mayhem assaulted her ears, and a sudden, raw fear that she didn’t want to acknowledge filled her soul as she realized what was happening. 

“Not again.” She breathed.

She looked at her father and saw what she felt mirrored in his eyes before they hardened with a resolve she’d never seen in them before. He leaned forward, resting a hand heavily on her shoulder as he met her eyes fiercely.

“Arm yourself. Do what you can here in the village, but promise me that every move you make will take you further from this battle. Make your way to the forest. You might be safe there. I will hold them off for as long as I can.”

Her eyes widened. 

“But Father, you can scarcely stand!” Her nostrils flared, and she bent down for her weapons. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes, Eylin. You are.” The stern tone of his voice surprised her. 

She drew up and looked him in the eye, paying no heed to the cacophony outside. 

“If I do, that means I’ll never see you again.”

His eyes brimmed with tears, and his arms enveloped her in the tightest hug of her life. 

But then, just as quickly as he’d done so, he pulled back.

“Now go. Go!”

She gave a slow nod, forcing her chin not to tremble. 

She scurried to the rear door but turned to look back at her father one last time. 

Something unspoken passed between them in that moment. Something Eylin would remember for the rest of her life.

Turning back to the door, she broke into a run, making a beeline straight for the forest, trying to ignore the sounds of battle behind her. 

She didn’t even make it to the treeline. 

Looking back at her town, she saw for the first time the houses on fire, the ships docked at the shore, and the invaders pouring from them, flooding her village.

They were dressed in furs. 

“Northmen.” She spat the word to be carried away with the wind. 

“Sorry Father… But I never actually did make that promise.” She murmured to herself as she dashed back to the village, joining the fray. 

She scarcely noticed the glint of the morning sun on steel before— 

Clang! A sword met hers. 

Her attacker lunged, knocking her momentarily out of balance. 

His beady black eyes looked down on her, and repulsion filled her at the sight of his greasy, stringy hair and the stench of his rotting teeth. 

She found her footing and dodged his next strike. And the next. And another, until she found her opening. 

Her first attack found no purchase, her sword glancing off the man’s armor pitifully. 

He took advantage of her position and moved to take her feet out from under her. 

She jumped the swinging blade, but he grinned, as if expecting that. He shoved her back, and she staggered, losing her grip on her sword. She watched helplessly as he kicked it out of reach.

He advanced on her and raised his sword. Just before the death blow was dealt, another sword joined the fight. She recognized her rescuer. He was the man sweeping off his porch yesterday.

She watched in horror as the Northman quickly rounded on him.

Using the distraction the man provided, she reached for her sword and scurried away from them. “Thank you.” She breathed, wishing the man luck as she moved further into the battleground, facing off with attacker after attacker, the agonized cries of her countrymen spurring her on. 

She noticed a Northman cornering a small group of children, murder glinting in his eyes.

In that moment, her sword was no longer a sword. The weapon she held became an extension of her being as she fought her way through the maelstrom, praying she’d reach the children before she was too late. 

Her movements were fluid and swift as she confronted the children's attacker. But he found an opening and used it.

She hissed at the blow, feeling blood trickle down her arm, but sidestepped his next strike.

She growled in frustration, swiping her blade across his throat, dispatching him.

But she could not revel in her victory.

“Run!” She cried to the children as she noticed a shadow on the ground. Turning, she found the source of it bringing his blade down upon her.

She met it with her own and gave a cry as she shoved it away from herself. 

He lowered his sword for a moment, leering over her form. 

“You’re a pretty little thing, ain’t ya? I’ve always taken a shine to redheads. What say you drop that sword, and… Well I’m sure we could arrange something or other."

With a shudder of utter disgust, she ducked underneath his sword arm, coming up behind him and plunging her steel between his shoulder blades. 

“I say you shouldn’t underestimate a pretty face.”

She didn’t take the time to watch his form slump over because her attention was stolen by another Northman dragging a man out into the village square. 

A crippled man. 

“Father.” She whispered. 

Her entire body froze, her blood running cold. It felt as if time had stopped, her aching arm hardly a thought in her mind.

She saw nothing but the two men, heard nothing but the sound of the Northman’s dagger being unsheathed. 

When he drove the blade into her father’s side, she felt the blow herself.

White-hot fury surged through her being, and with a battle cry to match the greatest, she charged the man who killed her father. 

Steel clashed with steel. Eylin met every strike with one of her own, each return more vicious than the last. 

A glimmer of uncertainty found its way into her opponent’s eyes. 

She took advantage of it and struck blow after blow, each one weakening his blocks as she pinned him against a wall and stopped, both of them panting heavily, her blade pressed up against his in a cross.

“What are you?” He whispered, something unreadable flickering over his expression. 

“I’m just a girl whose father taught her well.”

She drove the fist of her good arm into the man’s gut, disabling him long enough to swing her sword and relieve him of his head. 

A strange sound met her ears next. 

Silence. For a moment, utter silence. 

Eylin looked around, stunned, and realized that the Northmen were gone. 

Their ships sailed away through the fog of the morning, swift as they’d arrived. 

She locked eyes with the only other villager still standing just before he collapsed. 

She ran to his side, dropping her weapons, and cradled his head in her lap. 

It was Thoren. 

He wouldn’t make it. His leg was bleeding, as were his head and everywhere else. But the strongest evidence of his impending end was the three arrows lodged in his stomach. Removing them would merely speed the process, and from the looks of him… It didn’t seem much speeding would be necessary. 

“We did it, Eylin. They’re gone.” His low, relief-filled voice sent a pang through her heart. 

She nodded, for a moment her throat was too tight to speak.

Tears trickled down her cheeks unbidden.

“Yes, Thoren… We did.” She finally managed. “You fought well, my friend.”

He smiled.

“As did you. I never knew you could fight.” A bemused frown crossed his features before they smoothed out.

“You never asked.” She whispered brokenly, one last friendly tease before all she could do was smile bravely down at him as she watched the life drain from his eyes, a slight smile tugging at his lips. 

She sat there for a moment, silent and still, taking in the surrounding carnage. 

Every house in the village was either in flames or reduced to the charred remains of the homes they’d once been. There were bodies everywhere she looked, of Northmen and villagers alike. 

Judging from the sun's position in the sky, it was still early in the morning. The battle couldn’t have lasted longer than an hour. 

How was it possible for such devastation to take place in such a short time?

After a long, long while, she stood, making her way over to the body of her father. She would care for him first. 

The moment his lifeless face came into view, a keening wail found its way out of her as she collapsed on the ground by his side. 

“Oh, Father.” She whispered, wrapping her arms around his limp body and holding him as if she could instill life through the embrace.

“How much more must I endure?” She murmured.

After a while, she finally stood, remembering all too well how to deal with a person’s remains. 

Carefully dragging him back to the burned remnants of their home, she set up a funeral pyre in the back and reverently laid him upon it. 

She noticed a butterfly floating about and watched as it softly alighted upon the edge of the pyre, its beauty a stark contrast to the ugliness of their surroundings.

She tentatively reached out a finger, wondering what it would do. To her surprise, it flitted up to land on it.

She tried to smile, to appreciate what she held in her hand. But her face wouldn’t comply. 

“Will I ever smile again?” She whispered to her small friend. To this day, she swears that it shrugged before floating away with the breeze.

Solemnly reaching for the torch she’d just lit, she brought it down to the pyre, setting it aflame.

As the flames licked her father’s remains and consumed them, she watched, curled up into a ball on the ground, sobbing like she’d never done before. 

For the first time in her life, Eylin Eskildsen was really and truly alone. 

Chapter 3. 

 The smooth, worn wood of the Syreeta’s wheel glided easily under Kjartan’s practiced hand. 

He watched his crew bustling about the main deck and forecastle, doing their various duties, and nodded in deference as Bjorn, the ship’s blacksmith, met his gaze on his way down to the battery, which they also used as a forge. 

Ingrid was up in the crow’s nest, watching for the first signs of Helgryn Isle. 

After months of travel, they were finally reaching their first destination.

Kjartan grinned.

Negotiations would soon begin, he hoped.

The name Kjartan Ironfist was well known, and he had no doubts that the clan chiefs of this small chain of islands would be thrilled to align with his leadership. Each island would still govern itself, as it had been, but his dream was to see all the islands allied not only with one another but also with all the might and authority of the Northern clans. 

That way, when the Varakai returned… The lands of the North Sea would be ready, and they would be able to defend their homeland much more efficiently than the last time. 

The last war had demanded so much of so many. 

He felt a responsibility to do all he could to bring the peoples together. 

His fingers tightened on the wheel, steady despite the restless energy humming beneath his skin. 

He checked his map, reassuring himself maybe for the hundredth time that they were on the right route. His eyes scanned the horizon as he waited for Ingrid’s signal.

A strange feeling of dread that he couldn’t explain entered his spirit when Ingrid finally called out sight of the island a short while later. 

He turned the wheel to the left, veering toward it, but gasped as the growing landmass came into view. 

Before long they could see that every standing building was smoking, and even from this distance, he could smell the stench of death.

“What in the realms happened here?” Alvis, Kjartan’s first mate, asked slowly, his tone carrying a note of grim fascination.

Kjartan hadn’t noticed him walking up. He shook his head in reply.

“Captain, look. There are fresh fires being lit along with the older ones.”

He nodded. “Get Bjorn up here.”

Alvis left to do as he was bidden. A moment later, he reappeared above decks with the large man. He was practically made of muscle and even taller than Kjartan himself; his long black hair and beard were braided down to his waist in patterns as intricate as the decorative designs he put into the hilts of his swords. 

Bjorn took in the scene before them with a sigh. 

“Well, this is unexpected.”

Kjartan laughed humorlessly. “You’re telling me.”

He gazed at the smoking island a moment longer, steeling himself for what they might be about to encounter before returning his attention to his closest friends. He spoke quietly.

“Bjorn, Alvis, pick two more men and meet me by the boats. We shall drop anchor here and row in.”

***

The sickly sweet stench of burning flesh assaulted Eylin’s senses as she put the bodies of her townspeople onto group pyres in the town square. She had originally wanted to do it outside of town, near the forest, to minimize the amount of… leftovers that would be in the way, but soon realized that she didn’t have the willpower or the strength to drag that many bodies that far. They already smelled pretty ripe, burning aside, and she wanted to take care of these remains as soon as possible. 

Even this method of just piling them up where she found them was going to take forever by herself. 

“At this point, I might as well just go live in the forest and be a hermit.” She muttered with a huff. “It’d save me all this work, that’s for certain.” 

After lighting the pyre she’d just finished, she knelt down to rest. Leaning back until her shoulders and the back of her head touched the ground, she relished the stretch in her aching thighs and closed her eyes. The adrenaline had worn off long ago, and now her body was letting her know every single spot she’d been hit or jostled. Every muscle ached, and her head was pounding. Her arm had been shaking for an hour. She’d tied a makeshift bandage to it to help curb the bleeding, but it did nothing for the pain or effects of such a wound. 

She sighed.

Her first battle. Something her father had hoped she’d never see. And it came right to their front door.

The thought of Eskild threatened to bring a whole new flood of tears, so she stood and ran to the forest to get another bundle of firewood, hoping to distract herself. 

Upon reaching the treeline, she began collecting sticks and branches, cursing the Northmen with every breath. 

“Why couldn’t they have left us alone?” She whispered. “Do you hear me?” She cried louder. 

“By all the gods, why did you come here?” She was screaming at the top of her lungs now, knowing nobody could hear her, but the action provided a certain cathartic release all the same.

She screamed until her throat was raw, cursing the gods and pleading with them by turn. 

Spent and exhausted, she collapsed, dropping her bundle and covering her face with her hands. 

Then she heard a twig snap.

Her hand instinctively flew to her dagger, holstered on her belt.

She crept slowly toward the sound, blade raised defensively, scanning the illusions in the leaves created by the midmorning light.

Then the form of a little girl, about seven years old, emerged from within the shadows.

Eylin gasped.

Sheathing her dagger and glancing around quickly, she inched nearer to the girl, speaking softly.

“Hello there, little one.” 

There was hope in the girl’s eyes as she came closer.

“Are the bad men gone?” She asked in a small voice.

With a bittersweet smile, Eylin nodded.

“Yes, child. They’re gone.” She opened her arms tentatively and the girl flew into them, holding on to her for dear life. Eylin awkwardly tried to comfort her as she started sobbing violently.

“Th–they ki—they killed Mama!” She blubbered. That was when Eylin recognized her. This was the little girl from yesterday. 

She held the girl even tighter, as if she could make it all go away just from this embrace. Oh, how she wished she could. 

“I know, child. I know. They killed my father too.”

As the girl began to calm, Eylin leaned back, tilting her chin up so she could look her in the eye.

“What’s your name, little one?”

“Tyra.” She sniffed. 

Eylin smiled down at her warmly.

“My name is Eylin. Are you alone out here?”

The little girl shook her head, swiping her sleeve across her nose.

“There are more of us. We ran into the trees when the bad men came.”

Eylin’s breath caught.

“Show me.”

Chapter 4.

The sea was eerily calm as Bjorn rowed their small craft up to the shoreline. Waves lapped gently against the hull, belying the violence of what had just occurred on this island.

The men made their way across the sea in silence, lost in their thoughts and suppositions.

With a soft thump, they hit land and pulled the boat ashore, stashing it in the bushes.

“Be on your guard, men. There are still people about. We do not yet know whether they are friends or foe.” The men nodded solemnly at their captain’s words.

They moved inland, approaching the carnage.

Kjartan’s eyes watered from the smoke as they searched the remains for survivors. Their footsteps made small clouds of ash upon impact.

Alvis began coughing, and Kjartan was one poor inhale away from doing the same.

“What do you think of it, Captain?” Bjorn queried in a low voice, yet it was loud in the stillness of their surroundings. 

Kjartan sighed.

“I’m not sure what to think. Obviously, the island has been attacked. But it seems the offending parties have left.” He gestured to the funeral pyres. “There are survivors somewhere. We should find them and find out for ourselves what has happened here.”

Bjorn nodded, his reply a growl.

“I don’t like this.”

Kjartan knelt down, picking up some dirt and ash, letting it sift through his fingers and blow away with the wind.

“Neither do I.”

“Captain, look!” Alvis called out.

Kjartan frowned at the alarm in his voice. After exchanging a glance with Bjorn, they walked over to where his first mate was standing.

When they saw what he was pointing at, they stopped dead in their tracks.

Kjartan’s face paled, and he was gripped by an unease that bordered dangerously close to fear.

A symbol was burned into one of the only standing walls that remained.

A great raven, wrought in blackened lines, stood tall against the stone, a straight-bladed sword resting along its body, its handle gripped tightly in the raven's talons. Curving, wispy, winglike shapes framed the mark, scorched deep as if the fire had lingered there longest. Beneath it were four stark letters.

His family crest.

***

Tyra led Eylin further into the woods, and they came out into a small clearing, where people were putting together makeshift shelters out of branches and trees.

The group was made up mostly of women and children, but a good handful of men were there too, doing most of the grunt work.

“Tyra!” An older woman came running from the rest of the group, sweeping the girl into a tight embrace. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m ok, Grandma. Thanks to her.” She looked at Eylin. 

Eylin shifted uncomfortably under the woman’s piercing gaze. With a shudder, the woman turned away, leaving Eylin standing alone, despite Tyra’s protests.

Eylin followed them reluctantly.

“Surely they won’t all be so petty.” She muttered under her breath as she drew closer to the camp.

Conversation halted at her approach. All eyes turned to her.

She swallowed hard at the looks of disgust that some afforded her.

“You.” One of the men spoke quietly. “You’re the one who was fighting, weren’t you?”

She nodded.

He continued.

“You saved my life. One of the soldiers you killed was coming right for us.” He wrapped a protective arm around his wife, pulling her closer. When Eylin met his eyes, her heart skipped a beat. She knew those amber depths better than she’d like to admit. But they belonged to another. These must be Thoren’s parents, Rafe and Helga.

“I… I did my best. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite good enough.”

A pained expression came over his face. 

“Thoren?” 

Eylin shook her head.

Helga started sobbing, and Rafe held her tighter. A single tear tracked down his cheek, and he lowered his head, speaking soothing words only Helga could hear.

“He fought bravely and with great honor. He did you credit. I know it is small comfort, but… it’s something.” Eylin said, her tone low and sincere.

She shifted uneasily under the group’s silent appraisal. 

“Why are you here?” A woman in the back sneered. Eylin didn’t recognize her.

“Tyra found me in the woods, and I asked her to bring me back here.”

The woman hissed in disapproval. Eylin sighed. 

“Look… we’re all that’s left of our village. We need to take stock of what we have. Food, clothing, shelter. I know none of you trust me or care to give me the time of day, but… We need to work together. Care for our dead. Clean up our village.” She hesitated. “I’ve already begun some of the work. If you care to give your loved ones the honor they deserve, then you should help me finish.”

With that, she turned to head back to the village but was stopped by a small hand on her arm. Startled, she looked down.

“Please.” Tyra said in a small voice. “Stay. Don’t leave me.” Eylin’s heart twisted as she knelt down to look the little girl in the eyes.

“Don’t worry, child.” She tucked an unruly strand of Tyra’s curly hair behind her ear. “I won’t be far.” She glanced over the other survivors. “So long as they’ll let me be.”

Her challenge was met with a hostile silence until finally, a man who looked vaguely familiar limped forward, addressing them all. She gasped when she recognized him. It was the shopkeeper who had intervened for her in battle. 

“I say she stays with us. She’s more than earned it. How much longer must we blame her for the mistakes of her mother?”

Tyra’s grandmother spoke up then, rage and disgust twisting her features.

“Kalman! How could you say such things?” She gestured to Eylin wildly. “She is the daughter of a harlot! Rot runs in her blood. If we let her be one of us now, gods only know what havoc it may wreak.”

Kalman’s expression hardened.

“Skadi.” His tone was low and dangerous. “Set your prejudice aside for a moment. If you can.” He pointed at Eylin. “That girl is braver than all of us combined. While we hid here in the woods, she met our attackers in battle and fought with everything she had.”

Eylin cringed.

The man standing beside Skadi took a menacing step closer to Kalman. “Do not make this decision lightly, Kalman. The fact that she is your niece does not make her trustworthy.” 

Eylin froze..

Kalman refused to meet her gaze, deciding instead to stare back at the man, letting out a low growl.

“Leave my family ties out of this, Eero.”

Eero advanced on him further.

“And if I don’t?”

Eylin rushed forward, stepping between them.

“Gentlemen, please. There is no need to get violent. I’ll go back to the village alone if I must.”

Tyra let out a small cry of disappointment, and Eylin hung her head at the sound. She had no choice.

Kalman finally looked at Eylin fully for the first time, and then Eylin saw it. He had her father’s nose. The same eye shape.

He spoke quietly, but his words were crisp and clear, brooking no argument.

“You’re not going anywhere, Eylin. You’ve more than proven yourself. It’s a shame you ever had to in the first place. This village has held you and your family responsible for the actions of your mother for far too long. It. Ends. Now.”

Eero’s hands tightened into fists, but he remained silent and took a step back, respecting Kalman’s position as the acting leader.

Resting a heavy hand on Eylin’s shoulder, Kalman turned around, facing the survivors.

“No matter what your opinion of Eylin or her family may be, the truth remains. She’s a warrior. Many of us owe her our lives.”

The breath left Eylin’s lungs.

After a long, hard look at the group, Kalman continued. 

“Can you still not see past the mistakes of a dead woman and examine the girl standing before you now?”

Silence ensued.

Rafe looked Eylin in the eye, debating something internally for a long moment. 

“I agree with Kalman. She is a respectable young woman, and I trust her. Besides… Even Thoren cared for her, and you all know as well as I that he was discerning beyond his years.” Eylin’s lips tightened into a thin line. 

Rafe inclined his head to Eylin in deference before turning his attention back to his wife. He’d said his piece.

Reluctantly, many of the group did the same.

The tension in Kalman’s shoulders eased slightly.

“She stays then. Anyone who has an issue with it can deal with me personally.”

Skadi glared fiercely before stepping back.

“You’re inviting ruin upon us all, Kalman. You’re lucky our chief was slain, else you would not be getting your way in this matter.”

Kalman’s only reply was a stony glare and a tightening of his grip on Eylin’s shoulder. 

After a general murmur among the group, everyone went back to what they were doing before Eylin’s arrival, all keeping a wary eye on her and her uncle.

After they dispersed, Kalman finally met her eyes again.

“We… Have much to discuss, Eylin.”

She barked out a laugh. 

“I’d certainly say so… Uncle.” The word sounded foreign to her ears. 

Probably because it was. 

With a grim nod, he led her to a secluded space of trees a small distance away from camp. 

When they stopped walking, Eylin spoke first.

“Tell it all, and tell it plainly.”

He chuckled.

“You’re just as blunt as your father. I like that.” He took a deep breath. “When you were born, your father and I had… A disagreement. I felt he should arrange a match for you in childhood, securing you a marriage and a future. He felt you deserved the right to choose for yourself when you came of age.” He let out a self-deprecating huff. “Looking back, it was a silly disagreement, really. And none of my business. But that stubborn streak you have? It comes from us. We didn’t speak to one another for years.” He paused, reflecting back on that time. “And then your mother, well… You know well what happened then. Afterward, I reached out to your father, and we made amends as best we could. But if I associated with your family too much, it would have been bad for my own. I couldn’t risk my wife or my sons. You know how this village can be. Your father understood that and respected it. Besides fighting together in the war, we haven’t spoken since.” He closed his eyes, his expression darkening.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” He whispered.

Eylin nodded.

He inhaled sharply, looking away, his throat working around words that would not—or mayhap could not—come. 

After a long moment, Eylin finally spoke.

“Did I… ever know you?”

His expression softened, a look of rare tenderness coming into his usually stern eyes.

“Briefly. When you were very, very young.” His worn face cracked into a wry smile. “I used to play with you by holding your tiny little hands and letting you run circles around me, sometimes even picking you up and spinning you.”

She gasped as an image flew to her mind unbidden. 

A much younger Kalman playing with her, his rich laughter filling the air. Her father was standing nearby, enjoying the spectacle. And even… Even her mother was watching with a fond smile playing on her lips.

“I remember.” She whispered. “I had forgotten those days... They were so long ago.”

His face lit up.

“Really?”

She sighed.

“Those were happier times, weren’t they?”

His expression turned rueful.

“In a way.”

Eylin met his gaze, holding it for a long while before speaking again.

“Why did you stand up for me back there? You could have just let me leave. It would have been easier.”

He pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly.

“No. I couldn’t. I’ve let social cowardice rule my life for far too long. I should have stood up for you back when the town first decided you weren’t worth the dirt you walked upon, when I knew good and well they were wrong. I shouldn’t have waited until now. I was wrong for that. I should have defended my own flesh and blood.”

He reached for her hands, holding them in front of him, sincerity shining in his eyes. 

“For that, I am truly sorry. I hope, moving forward, that you can learn to forgive me.”

Eylin hesitated, tensing slightly but not quite pulling away.

He noticed the change and took a step back, giving her space.

“I understand.” He murmured, a hint of sadness coming into his eyes. “Just… know that I'll be here. Ready when you are.” His expression settled back into its normal sternness, but there was a gentleness in his tone. “I've learned from my mistake, Eylin. And I will back you from here on out. Always. We’re all each other has now.”

With that, he turned and limped back to camp, with a confidence in his stride that hadn't been there for years.

As Eylin watched him walk away, she felt a heaviness that she couldn’t quite explain.