Thorfinn held Arwyn tightly, her body pressed against his. Her skin was caked in blood and earth, but none of it mattered to him. He stroked her hair, his rough fingers carefully brushing through the tangled strands, offering her the comfort she so desperately needed. The warmth of his embrace seemed to steady her, calming the storm that had been raging within her since his absence. His voice was soft but firm, reassuring her as he whispered, "I'm here."
Despite her nakedness being on view to everyone, Arwyn clung to him with all her strength. She hadn't realized just how much she had needed him until this moment, after weeks of nightmares and doubt. Thorfinn's presence was the only thing grounding her now. He kissed her forehead gently, his other hand still resting on the back of her head.
"Where are the rest of you?" Ragnar's voice interrupted.
Thorfinn turned to see Ragnar pushing himself up with Rollo's help, his face bloodied and bruised from the fight. "Those damn fuckers killed them," Rollo spat into the dirt.
Ragnar looked around at the small group that remained. "How did you escape?" he asked.
The men turned their gaze toward Arwyn, who was still wrapped in Thorfinn's arms. She finally released her hold on him, stepping back slightly but still leaning into his touch. Thorfinn's hand rested protectively on her shoulder as Rollo spoke up.
"It was Arwyn. She saved us."
*Flashback*
The forest was a nightmarish battlefield filled with the sounds of snarls, screams, and the tearing of flesh. The men were in disarray, their numbers dwindling with every passing moment. Blood stained the ground, and the bodies of the dead littered the clearing. Floki's voice cut through the noise. "We're going to die here. All of us."
A massive werewolf, its fur matted with the blood of its victims, spotted their small group and began to charge. Its eyes gleamed with hunger as it bore down on them, moving with terrifying speed. Rollo stepped forward, his axe gripped tightly in his trembling hands. Fear coursed through him, but it was overshadowed by his rage—rage for the friends these beasts had slaughtered, rage for the helplessness he felt in the face of such monsters. He roared back, his voice a battle cry of defiance as he braced himself for the inevitable clash.
Just before the werewolf reached him, it was slammed to the side by a blur of movement. Arwyn, in her werewolf form, crashed into the creature with all the fury she had held inside. Her jaws clamped down on its neck with bone-shattering force, snapping its spine with a sickening crunch. The werewolf's body went limp, and Arwyn stood over it, her chest heaving, blood dripping from her fangs. The men stood frozen in shock, their eyes wide with disbelief. None of them had ever known she was like them, like the Ulfhednar, she had been among them for months and she had kept such a secret. Her transformation had taken them by surprise, and even Rollo found himself shocked. Floki took a cautious step back, his mouth agape as he stared at her.
Before any of them could react, more werewolves emerged from the trees after finishing off their friends. The men who had fled earlier were now lying dead, their bodies torn apart by the pack. Arwyn let out a deafening roar, one that shook the trees around them, and charged at the approaching wolves. The clash was brutal. Arwyn fought with fiercely, but she was outnumbered. Two of the werewolves leaped at her, their claws slashing into her flesh, tearing at her sides and legs. Blood sprayed across the forest floor as they bit down on her, their fangs sinking into her shoulders and arms. Arwyn let out a snarl of pain but didn't falter.
"Go help her, you bloody cowards!" Floki's voice rang out, sharp with anger and desperation. "Or we all die!"
The men snapped out of their stupor, rallying behind Floki's words. With a battle cry, Rollo charged forward, his axe raised high. He slammed it into the side of one of the werewolves that had its jaws locked on Arwyn's shoulder. The beast let out a howl of pain, releasing her and stumbling back. Arne and Torsten joined the fray, stabbing at the second werewolf with their spears, driving it away from Arwyn long enough for her to recover. Blood dripped from Arwyn's wounds, but her eyes were filled with a cold fury. She lunged at the remaining werewolves, her claws slashing through fur and muscle. The men fought beside her, hacking and stabbing at the beasts, working together to overwhelm them.
Rollo roared as he swung his axe at the legs of one of the creatures, severing its tendons and bringing it to the ground. Arwyn pounced on it, her jaws closing around its throat, tearing out its windpipe in a savage bite. The werewolf let out a final gurgle before going still. Torsten's spear found its mark in the chest of another werewolf, and Floki darted in to slash at its flank with his knife. Arwyn took the opening and tackled the creature, clawing at its body and ripping its throat out. By the end of the fight, the ground was littered with bodies—both human and beast. Blood soaked the dirt, and the air was thick with the scent of death. Arwyn, her fur matted and torn, stood among the corpses, breathing heavily.
*Flashback end.*
"After that, we tried making our way to you and the others," Rollo explained, his voice grim.
Thorfinn nodded, his gaze flickering between the faces of the survivors. Arwyn still clung to him. He held her close, his hands stroking her hair again, whispering soft reassurances. "You saved them," Thorfinn said quietly to Arwyn. "I'm proud of you."
She looked up at him and smiled leaning her head into his chest again. Despite the doubts she'd been having it filled her with warmth any time she made him happy or did something he approved of.
Ragnar shook his head, wiping the blood from his face as he surveyed the aftermath. "Let's not waste any more time. We need to leave. There are more of those beasts out there."
Thorfinn tightened his grip on Arwyn, nodding in agreement. They weren't safe yet, and they wouldn't get lucky again if they got surrounded. Thorfinn moved back to the cart, his muscles aching from the crash. He rummaged through the supplies and pulled out his pack. With a grunt, he slung it over his shoulder and turned back toward the others. His eyes scanned the group—Rollo, Ragnar, Floki, Arne, and the rest—all battered and bloodied, but alive. That was all that mattered. He reached into his pack and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. As he unwrapped it, the glint of silver caught their eyes. Thorfinn began handing out the silver daggers, one by one. "These are for the werewolves," he said, his voice low but firm. "Their weakness is silver. Use these, and if you've got oil or a torch, set them alight. They catch fire easily."
Arne, his face covered in dirt and blood, looked down at the dagger in his hand and frowned. "How do you know all this?" he asked, suspicion in his tone.
Thorfinn's gaze turned dark for a moment, memories flooding back. "I faced an Ulfhednar in Northumbria. Killed one, barely. You don't remember the pelt I brought back?" He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line. "It's where I met Arwyn... and her sister. I defended their farm from the creature, when it was about to kill me I forced my coin pouch into its mouth, it made it violently ill, it saved my life."
Ragnar gave a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "I remember. I thought you were exaggerating, that it was just a big wolf you'd killed."
"No," Thorfinn replied. "It wasn't just a wolf. I thought the same at first, but I learned quickly."
The conversation hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the truth that had finally come to light. Arne cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "Perhaps we can speak more of this later. Right now, we need to get the hell out of this cursed forest." Everyone murmured in agreement. Thorfinn nodded and turned to Arwyn, wiping the dirt and blood from her face with a rag. "Here," he said softly, handing her a long tunic from the cart. "Put this on."
Arwyn took the tunic and slipped it on over her naked body. It was loose and hung from her frame, but it was enough to cover her. She glanced at Thorfinn, her lips curling into a small, grateful smile. "Thank you," she whispered. As she finished adjusting the tunic, Floki stepped forward, his face pale and tense. He leaned in close to Thorfinn, his voice barely above a whisper. "Night is almost upon us," he said, his eyes darting around the darkening forest.
Thorfinn chuckled. "The wolves are just as deadly during the day as they are at night, Floki."
Floki shook his head, his expression grave. "That's not what worries me, Thorfinn. This forest... something is wrong with it. I've felt it since the moment we arrived."
Thorfinn frowned, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"
Floki pointed to the trees around them, his hand trembling. "Haven't you noticed? No animals. Not a single one. Not since we entered this place. Where are the birds, the deer, the wolves? Even in a forest this dense, there should be signs of life. But there's nothing. It's like the forest itself is dead."
The realization struck Thorfinn like a blow to the chest. He had been so focused on the immediate danger of the werewolves that he hadn't even considered the eerie absence of wildlife. "You're right," he muttered, glancing around. "No animals, no tracks... just silence."
Floki continued, his voice hushed but intense. "There's a sickness here, in the trees, in the ground. It's like a rot has set in. The oak, the ash—all of them are wrong, twisted. Something festers inside them." Thorfinn looked at the nearest tree, noting the dark, unnatural texture of the bark. He felt it too now, a crawling sensation at the back of his neck, like unseen eyes were watching them. "I do feel like we're being watched," he admitted.
Floki's lips curled into a nervous smile. "I am not sure what else could be out there, but I don't want to find out. Whatever it is, I fear it'll come out when the sun sets."
Thorfinn nodded, understanding the gravity of Floki's words. "Then let's hope we make it out of this cursed place before nightfall."
Everyone scrambled to gather what they could from the cart—food, weapons, supplies. Thorfinn, however, stayed behind for a moment longer. He stood by the cart, murmuring a few ancient words under his breath, and in an instant, the cart shrunk down into a small object, no larger than a child's toy. He tucked it into his pouch before jogging to catch up with the others. Arwyn was standing a few paces ahead, staring off into the distance, her eyes unfocused. Thorfinn slowed his pace and walked up beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
Arwyn flinched at his touch, snapping back to reality. She turned to face him, forcing a quick smile. "I'm fine," she replied hurriedly. "I was just... thinking. I'm glad you're here, Thorfinn. Alive." Her voice wavered slightly as she spoke. Thorfinn raised an eyebrow, sensing that something deeper was troubling her. But before he could press her for more, Arwyn started walking again, moving ahead of him. In truth, her mind was filled with thoughts she didn't want to face—thoughts of her family, of her sister. And of Thorfinn. The man responsible for the deaths of her loved ones was standing right beside her. She swallowed hard, pushing those feelings down into the pit of her stomach.
They all walked together, moving carefully through the forest, their eyes darting into the thick shadows between the trees. Every slight rustle made them flinch, their ears straining for any sound that could betray the presence of the creatures lurking in the woods. No one dared to speak loudly, keeping their voices hushed, knowing full well that too much noise could draw unwanted attention. The urge to run was strong, but none of them wanted to risk breaking the silence or alerting more of the beasts to their position. Besides, many were too injured to run for long. Arne had a vicious bite mark on his shoulder, and others bore claw marks across their arms and legs, their wounds seeping blood through hastily wrapped cloths.
As they walked, Arne turned to Thorfinn, breaking the silence. "Tell us, Thorfinn. Did you really slay the leviathan? No man here will judge you if you returned empty handed, it was an impossible task."
Thorfinn, walking at the front of the group, didn't break his pace. "Aye," he replied simply, his voice low. "With the help of Thor and Freyr, I killed the beast. Its heart now rests in Kattegat."
Floki chuckled darkly behind him, but the others looked at each other, clearly in disbelief. Torsten voiced what many of them were thinking. "No man could kill such a beast."
Thorfinn glanced over his shoulder at Torsten, his eyes hard. "I don't care if you believe me. I returned to Kattegat with the heart. You'll see it for yourselves soon enough." That seemed to silence the doubters, though murmurs still passed through the group. As they trudged onward, the conversation shifted toward Kattegat itself.
"What's happened since we've been gone?" Ragnar asked, breaking the tension in the air.
Thorfinn's face darkened, and he fell in step beside Ragnar and Rollo, his expression grave. "I was going to wait until we were out of this cursed place to tell you," he said quietly, "but it's best you know now. In case we don't make it out."
Ragnar frowned but said nothing, waiting for Thorfinn to continue.
"When I returned to Kattegat, Magnus tried to have me killed. He sent men to Rollo's home in the dead of night. I killed them, but... Lagertha was hurt. Jarl Bjarni and Magnus are dead now, but Lagertha was injured in the fight."
Ragnar immediately stopped, his fists clenching at his sides. "Is she alright?" he asked, his voice tight with worry.
Thorfinn gave a nod. "She'll recover. I healed her wounds, and she was recovering when I left. She's safe both her and Bjorn, and there's no more threat to her. I've taken the Jarl's seat and earned the loyalty of the people. Kattegat stands with us."
Torsten and Arne clapped Thorfinn on the back in congratulations, while Floki grinned, his teeth showing through his tangled beard. "A Jarl now, are you? I didn't think we'd live to see the day."
Rollo gave a hearty laugh, but Ragnar's face remained emotionless, his eyes staring ahead into the darkening forest. "If the Jarl is still alive," Rollo muttered after a moment, "There'll be some who defy you."
Thorfinn shook his head. "Not anymore. I killed him barely a few hours ago."
Rollo chuckled again, squeezing Thorfinn's shoulder. "Good. Then you'll owe me for the house you wrecked. It was a fine one too."
Thorfinn smirked. "I did you a favor, Rollo. That house was falling apart."
Rollo laughed, but Ragnar interrupted, his voice cold. "Enough. We need to hurry."
Thorfinn exchanged a glance with Floki, sensing that something was weighing heavily on Ragnar's mind, but neither of them said anything. They picked up the pace, the forest growing darker with every passing minute. The dense trees overhead blocked out what little light remained, forcing them to light torches to see their way forward. At the back of the group, Arwyn walked in a strange trance, her eyes distant, fixed on the ground. She had been quiet since the fight, but now something was different. Her eyes were unfocused, her breathing shallow. As she followed behind the others, she found her gaze drawn to Thorfinn. She watched him walk ahead, talking and laughing with Rollo and the others. His voice seemed distant, almost muffled, but the words pierced through.
"I killed her father. Slit his throat like a pig. His blood soaked my hands, the man was so weak he couldn't protect his family or his silent," Thorfinn said before laughing. "You should've seen her sister, much better than the one we got now, had the tightest hole I've ever been in, you'd have loved her Rollo," he said before laughing again, the others joining him.
"It's a shame I had to kill her."
Arwyn's eyes widened. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, but the scene in front of her didn't change. Thorfinn's laughter echoed in her ears, and she saw the others grinning, laughing along with him. He was talking about her family, about the death of her sister, and they were all laughing. Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. The anger built slowly at first, a quiet simmer, but it quickly grew into a raging fire, threatening to consume her. Her heart raced, and she could feel the heat rising in her chest, her throat tightening with fury. The world around her seemed to slow down, everything moving in distorted, nightmarish fragments. Thorfinn's voice, his laughter, filled her ears, drowning out all reason.
She took a step forward, her eyes fixed on his back, her hands shaking with rage. But suddenly, she stumbled, knocking into a tree. The rough bark scraped against her arm, snapping her out of the trance she was in. She blinked, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. When she looked up again, Thorfinn was speaking to Floki, his tone light and casual, speaking of his new boat. There was no mention of her family, no laughter. But the anger hadn't left her. It simmered beneath the surface, burning through her veins, and she couldn't shake the images she had just seen.
"Arwyn?" Thorfinn's voice called out, and she snapped her head up, realizing she had fallen behind. He was looking at her with concern.
"I'm fine," she muttered, catching up to the group. But the truth was far from that. Inside, her thoughts still churned with hatred, her memories of her family's death clawing at her. And every time she looked at Thorfinn, those memories became sharper, more painful.
Arwyn heard it first, the pounding of something heavy hitting the earth, fast and hard. It wasn't just one sound—there were many, closing in from all directions. Her heart jumped in her chest, and she turned around sharply, her eyes scanning the darkness beyond the flicker of torchlight. Then came the growls, low and guttural, mixed with snarls and the sound of snapping jaws.
She didn't wait.
"Run!" she shouted, her voice raw with panic. "Run now!"
The others didn't need to be told twice. Their instincts kicked in, feet pounding against the dirt as they pushed through the underbrush. Branches whipped at their faces, and thorns clawed at their skin as they tore through the forest. Torsten cursed under his breath as they ran, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"They'll catch us," he hissed, his voice desperate. "Tear us apart."
"Then we stand and fight," Arne shot back, his voice hard.
"No!" Thorfinn bellowed over the sound of breaking branches and the growing snarls behind them. "Light the forest on fire. Use the oil!"
Without hesitation, they fumbled for the flasks of oil they had left, hurling them into the trees, spilling the thick liquid on the ground as fast as their hands would allow. One torch was enough to catch the dry forest floor, and the fire spread faster than they could have hoped for—unnaturally fast. The flames crackled and hissed, roaring up into the trees. The heat licked at their skin, and the smoke stung their eyes, but they didn't stop running. The fire slowed the beasts, but only for a moment. Their growls grew louder, closer. "We have to keep moving!" Thorfinn shouted, pushing them forward as they sprinted through a thick wall of brush. The branches and thorns tore at their flesh, cutting deep into their arms and legs, ripping through their tunics like blades.
On the other side, they stumbled, panting, and found themselves separated. Ragnar and Rollo were together, breathing heavily, their weapons drawn and eyes wide as they looked around not seeing anyone with them. Arne and Torsten stood with a few other men, all of them bleeding and shaken shouting for Ragnar and the others. Thorfinn, Floki, and Arwyn were each alone, split off from the others.
Thorfinn didn't stop running. He could hear the snarls growing closer behind him. One of the beasts was on him, its heavy paws crashing through the forest, the breath of the creature hot on his neck. Thorfinn darted toward a tree, using its trunk to push himself up. In one smooth motion, he leaped back, twisting in midair, and plunged his silver dagger into the beast's chest. The werewolf let out a bone-rattling roar, its claws tearing into his back. He gritted his teeth against the pain, twisting the dagger hard, until the beast went limp and collapsed at his feet.
Breathing heavily, Thorfinn yanked the dagger from the werewolf's heart, his hand slick with blood. He didn't have time to think—there were more coming. Half a dozen of them emerged from the shadows, their glowing eyes fixed on him. Thorfinn got into a fighting stance, ready for the next wave. But they didn't attack. They whimpered, their ears flattening against their heads, tails tucked between their legs. Then, without warning, they turned and ran, disappearing into the smoke and flames. Thorfinn stood there, confused, scanning the forest for any sign of what had made them flee. There was nothing.
Rollo and Ragnar, both panting from the sprint, found themselves in a similar situation. They were surrounded, the werewolves closing in fast, snarling and baring their teeth. Rollo raised his axe, his face set in a grim snarl of his own. "Ready to meet the gods?" Ragnar muttered, to Rollo who smiled viciously as he tightened his grip around his axe. But the beasts never struck. They, too, backed away, growling low before bolting into the darkness. Ragnar and Rollo stood there in disbelief, exchanging confused glances.
Across the forest, Arne and Torsten had drawn their weapons, standing back to back as they were cornered by another pack. The werewolves circled them, growling, but never attacked. Like the others, they whimpered, turned, and ran, disappearing into the blackened trees.
Floki, had already noticed something was wrong. The air had shifted, and the fire now glowed with a sickly hue. He muttered to himself, staring at the sky. "It's the sun," he said under his breath. "It's gone, even the Ulfhednar fear what lurks here," He said with a giggle.
Arwyn, however, was in her wolf form, her body rippled with muscle and fur. She tore through the trees, her massive jaws snapping shut around another werewolf's throat. Blood sprayed from the wound as she ripped it apart, the creature's body twitching and going still beneath her. She let out a low growl, her fur matted with blood, her golden eyes searching the forest. But something wasn't right. She couldn't find them. The others—Thorfinn, Floki, Ragnar—they were gone. Her nose, sharp as it was, caught no scent. Her ears, tuned to the faintest sound, heard nothing but the crackling fire and the distant cries of wolves. She shifted back to her human form, naked, her body slick with sweat and blood. She stood in the dark, her breath ragged, trying to focus. But no matter how hard she tried, no matter where her senses led her, there was no one there.
Her breath was ragged as she pushed through the thick underbrush, her feet moving swiftly. She was searching for Thorfinn. The anger that had boiled inside her before was still there, lurking, but another feeling had taken over. The need to know he was safe. The thought of him hurt twisted something deep inside her, despite the fury gnawing at her mind. The forest grew quieter as she moved. The growls and roars that had echoed before seemed to fade. Even the rustle of leaves underfoot was muffled now. She slowed her pace, her eyes narrowing as the woods seemed to press in around her. Then, through the trees, she saw it—a small pond, still and dark under the moonless sky.
She knelt down by the edge of the water, the coolness of it seeping into her bones as she splashed it over her body. The blood that had stained her skin mixed with the clear water, washing away in thin red streams. She drank deeply, the cold water soothing her parched throat. As she leaned closer to the surface, she caught her reflection.
Monster.
The word slammed into her mind. Her breath caught, and her fists clenched as she continued to scrub the blood from her skin. She couldn't escape the thought. Her reflection stared back at her, wild-eyed and covered in streaks of crimson.
"I need to find him," she muttered to herself, her voice shaky. She remembered crying herself to sleep when Thorfinn had left for the sea to fight the leviathan. The fear of losing him then had been unbearable.
Liar.
The voice in her head came again, louder now. She shook it off and stood, her eyes darting through the forest. She had to find him. She couldn't let him die. As she moved deeper into the trees, the darkness didn't slow her. Her keen eyes pierced through it easily as if it were day. But then something strange caught her attention—a sound that didn't belong. The sound of laughter. A child's laughter. Arwyn froze, her heart racing. She turned, following the sound, her feet moving faster. What was a child doing here?
She broke into a run, her breath coming fast as she pushed through the trees. Then, in the distance, she saw them. Two girls playing together in a small clearing, their laughter filling the air. Arwyn slowed, her eyes widening. One of the girls was younger, the other older, and they were chasing each other around, carefree and happy. Her heart twisted as she recognized them. It was her—her and Eowyn, her sister, from when they were children. They had always played in the forest together, running through the trees, pretending to be wild animals or warriors. It was like watching a memory unfold before her eyes, everything moving in slow motion.
A moment later, their brother appeared, bursting from the trees with a loud roar. He was pretending to be a monster, growling and swiping at them playfully. Arwyn remembered this day, how he had chased them, making them run and laugh until they couldn't breathe. A smile crept onto her face, her eyes filling with tears as she watched. She followed them, her heart aching with every step. The children ran, their laughter echoing in her ears, and Arwyn followed, almost forgetting everything around her. They ran through a thick bush, disappearing into it. Arwyn rushed after them, pushing through the branches.
When she emerged on the other side, her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened as she looked around.
It was her home.
The farm where she had grown up stretched out before her, just as she remembered it. The warm glow of the hearth inside, the soft breeze blowing through the tall grass. Her heart swelled with a warmth she hadn't felt in years. She saw her younger self, along with Eowyn and her brother, running toward the house. Her father and her other brother stood nearby, watching them with a smile.
Her father, tall and strong, picked her up and spun her around, her laughter filling the air. Arwyn stood frozen, tears streaming down her face. It was as if she had stepped back in time. Her older brother lifted both her and Eowyn onto his shoulders, running around the yard like a horse while they squealed and laughed. Arwyn walked closer, her heart pounding in her chest. She could see them all—the family she had lost, the love she had once known. "Father!" she called out, her voice trembling, but he didn't respond. None of them did. They couldn't see her, couldn't hear her. They only smiled at the children as if she weren't there.
She kept walking, following them inside the house. As soon as she stepped through the door, the memory shifted. She was in a familiar room, one she hadn't thought about in years. She remembered this too. It was the day she had fought with Eowyn. Eowyn had broken her favorite doll, and she had been furious. Her father sat with her, cupping her face in his large hands, stroking her hair gently. "Don't be angry, my love," he said, his voice soft. "Love is the greatest gift God has given us. Promise me, my love—it is far too easy to hate, and far too hard to climb out of it once you've fallen in. Choose love."
He kissed her head, his rough fingers brushing against her cheek. "Now, go make up with your sister," he said before standing up. For a moment, his eyes seemed to meet hers—her present self. He looked at her, through her, and then walked away. Arwyn was left standing there, sobbing, her tears falling freely as the memory pulled at every wound in her heart.
She followed him outside, but something was wrong. The sky had darkened, an angry red glow spreading across the horizon. She looked around, her breath hitching in her throat. In the distance, she saw someone approaching.
It was Thorfinn.
"ODIN!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the valley as he charged toward the farm. Arwyn's heart stopped.
"No!" she screamed, running forward, but her legs felt heavy, her steps slow. She watched helplessly as Thorfinn reached the farm, his axe swinging. He struck down her father first, the sound of bone crunching and flesh tearing filling the air. Blood splattered across the ground. Her brothers tried to fight back, but Thorfinn cut them down.
"Stop!" Arwyn cried, trying to reach them, but her hands passed through them, her body like a ghost. She screamed, her voice breaking as she watched her family fall, one by one, beneath Thorfinn's blade. Eowyn screamed as Thorfinn grabbed her, dragging her away. Arwyn collapsed to her knees, her body shaking with sobs, her voice raw from screaming. The farm, her family, everything—it faded away, disappearing into the smoke and darkness.
She was back in the forest, alone.
...
Ragnar moved carefully through the forest, his axe held low but ready. Rollo followed close behind, his broad shoulders brushing against the branches as they pressed through the thick undergrowth. Ragnar carried the only torch they had, without it they'd be plunged into Darkness. "We need to find the others," Rollo muttered, his voice gruff. He glanced around, eyes flicking between the trees as if expecting a beast to lunge out at any moment.
"Aye," Ragnar replied. His mind was sharp, thinking of Thorfinn, Floki, Arwyn—where they could have gone, what might have happened to them. He didn't like this. The forest felt wrong, too quiet, too empty. "We'll find them." They moved on, their pace slower now. Every sound seemed louder—branches creaking, leaves crunching underfoot. Rollo stopped and turned around, his eyes scanning the path behind them.
"Ragnar?"
But Ragnar was gone. Rollo's breath caught in his throat. He turned in circles, eyes wild, looking for any sign of his brother. "Ragnar!" he shouted, but his voice was swallowed by the forest.
Ragnar, too, had stopped. One moment, Rollo was there, just behind him, and the next, he was alone. He spun around, searching the shadows, but there was no sign of his brother. "Rollo?" he called out, but there was only silence.
His breath quickened, his heart pounding harder as he turned and began walking again, faster now, pushing through the brush. But as he moved, the forest changed. The trees thinned, and the underbrush faded away. Ragnar found himself stepping out into a field, the tall grass swaying gently in the breeze. It was his farm. The same land he had worked for years, the same fields he had tilled with his bare hands. But something was different. It felt... empty. He moved forward, his legs heavy, as if they were dragging him toward something he didn't want to see.
He saw himself there, an old man, bent with age, his hands rough and calloused from years of hard work. The old Ragnar walked slowly, his head down, his shoulders hunched. There was no one with him. No wife, no children, no one at all. Just him and the dirt. Ragnar watched in silence, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. He saw the old version of himself leave the farm, walking slowly through the empty fields toward Kattegat.
Kattegat was different, larger than it had been, but it didn't matter. As old Ragnar walked through the village, no one spared him a glance. He moved among the people like a ghost, unnoticed, unimportant. He wasn't the Jarl, wasn't a warrior, wasn't a king. He was just another old man, invisible, forgotten. Ragnar watched as the old man stopped in the center of the village, his eyes scanning the crowd, searching for something, someone, but there was nothing. No one. His worst fear made flesh. The vision faded, and Ragnar was left standing in the darkness of the forest once again, his hands trembling with anger.
Meanwhile, Rollo found himself in a vision of his own.
He was still in Kattegat, but it wasn't the Kattegat he remembered. It was massive, stretching out further than he had ever imagined. The village had grown into a city, ten times the size it had been. There were more people, more homes, more everything. He walked through the bustling streets, watching as men and women celebrated, cheering and shouting.
"Hail King Ragnar! Hail King Ragnar!" they cried, their voices booming through the air.
Rollo's jaw tightened as he followed the sounds of celebration. He saw it then—a great feast being held in the largest longhouse he had ever seen. It was more grand than any hall he had ever stepped foot in, filled with food, drink, and laughter. Inside, at the head of the table, sat Ragnar. Ragnar looked younger than he did now, strong, healthy, surrounded by wives, by children, by warriors who sang songs of his victories. His friends sat beside him, raising their cups in his honor. The whole of Kattegat adored him.
Rollo's fists clenched as he looked around. His eyes narrowed as he took in the grandeur of the feast, the wealth, the power. Then, in the distance, he saw it—his own home. A small, shabby hut at the edge of the village. While Ragnar lived like a king, Rollo lived like a beggar, unnoticed by the crowds, forgotten by his own people. Rollo's blood boiled. He stormed toward his hut, pushing the door open. Inside, it was cold, dark. There was no warmth, no family, no wealth. Just him, living alone while his brother basked in glory. And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the vision faded. Rollo was back in the forest, his chest heaving with rage. His fists tightened, and he fought the urge to roar out in frustration.
Both brothers were lost in the forest, their minds burning with the visions they had seen, the anger still fresh and raw. It took time—too much time—before they stumbled upon each other again. Ragnar emerged from behind a thick tree, his face dark, his mouth set in a hard line. He didn't say a word as he looked at Rollo.
Rollo, still shaking with anger, met his brother's gaze. His jaw twitched, his muscles tense, but he said nothing. They moved forward, side by side, but neither man was happy. Rollo's hands clenched and unclenched as they walked, his eyes forward, refusing to meet Ragnar's gaze. And Ragnar, though his face remained hard, felt the anger simmer beneath his skin.
...
Thorfinn moved cautiously through the forest, the small light in his hand casting shadows across the trees. He had muttered a simple spell to guide him, the faint glow barely strong enough to pierce the thick darkness of the woods. His other hand gripped the dagger at his side, ready for anything. He wished he knew more spells—something to help him find the others—but he hadn't learned enough from the book. Not yet. As he moved deeper, the air grew colder, and the trees seemed to close in around him.
Then, he emerged into a clearing. The place felt familiar. His eyes scanned the area as he frowned, trying to place where he was. After a moment, he realized—this was the Druids' camp in Northumbria. But that wasn't possible. He hadn't been here in months, and this was Darkmoon Forest. His frown deepened, his thoughts running wild. How could this be? he thought. Why would this place be here?
He walked through the camp, the light in his hand flickering over the bodies of the dead Druids. They were torn apart, limbs scattered, entrails spilling out across the ground. He remembered this. He remembered Arwyn doing this, tearing them apart like animals. His steps slowed as he moved between the bodies, his stomach tightening.
Then he saw something that made his knees buckle.
Rebekah. Hild. Gyda. All of them lay on the ground, torn to pieces like the Druids. Their bodies mangled, blood staining the earth beneath them. Two of them, Rebekah and Hild, still had swollen stomachs—pregnant, but now lifeless.nThorfinn fell to his knees, bile rising in his throat. He leaned forward and vomited onto the ground, his body shaking with the effort. His eyes burned, and he started to scream, his voice hoarse and raw.
"No! No!" he shouted, scrambling toward their bodies. His hands moved frantically, trying to dress their wounds, muttering healing spells, but it was no use. They were dead. His fingers fumbled uselessly as he tried again and again to heal them, but nothing worked. His chest heaved, and he looked around, desperate. There has to be something I can do, he thought. There has to be.
But when he turned back, the bodies were gone. The camp was empty again, as if they had never been there.
He heard crying—soft, distant. His head jerked up, and he ran toward the sound. His heart pounded in his chest as he moved through the trees, the crying getting louder, more distinct.
He came to a familiar place. A cliff overlooking a rapid river. His breath caught in his throat. He knew this place. It was where Eowyn had died, where she had fallen into the river.
His steps slowed, and there, standing at the edge of the cliff, was Eowyn. She was holding a baby in her arms, rocking it gently. Her face was calm, serene, as she hummed softly to the child.
"Eowyn?" Thorfinn said, his voice barely a whisper.
She turned toward him, her face lighting up with a smile. "Thorfinn," she said softly. "You came."
He stared at her, his mind reeling. "How are you here? You're supposed to be dead."
She laughed, a light sound that sent chills down his spine. "Am I?" she asked with a giggle, looking down at the baby in her arms.
Thorfinn's eyes followed her gaze. "Is that...?"
She nodded. "Yes. I called him Arthur."
Thorfinn forced a smile. "A strong name..."
Eowyn smiled back, continuing to rock the baby. "It's a shame you'll never get to see him."
Thorfinn's smile faltered. His brow furrowed. "Why?" he asked, his voice low.
"Because you killed him," she said, her smile not fading. "Just like you killed my family. Just like you killed me."
"Stop," Thorfinn said, his voice shaking.
She stepped closer, her eyes locked on his. "Just like you'll kill Rebekah. Hild. Gyda."
"I said stop!" Thorfinn shouted, stepping back, his heart racing.
"Lagertha. Thyri," she continued, her voice calm and cold.
"Enough!" Thorfinn roared, grabbing her arm. But as he did, their footing slipped. Eowyn stumbled backward, her eyes wide as she fell, baby Arthur still in her arms. They both plummeted off the cliff, disappearing into the rushing waters below.
"No!" Thorfinn screamed, diving forward, his hands reaching out to catch them. But it was too late. They were gone. He stared down at the river, his chest heaving, his throat raw from shouting. And then it was gone. The river, the cliff, the camp—all of it faded. He was back in the forest, kneeling on the cold ground, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Something shook him, and he turned sharply, his vision clearing. It was Floki, standing over him.
"There's a trickster here," Floki said, his voice low and urgent. "It's making us see things. Horrible things."
Thorfinn blinked, his heart still racing. "Are they real?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Floki shook his head. "No. They're not real."
Thorfinn breathed a sigh of relief, his muscles loosening. But the anger inside him didn't go away. It built up, swelling like a storm inside him. He clenched his fists, the fury pushing its way to the surface. The power he had taken from the leviathan surged through him, white spheres of light forming in his hands. His skin burned as the energy coursed through him.
"Move, Floki," Thorfinn said, his voice hard.
Floki didn't hesitate. He ran.
"You want to play games with me?" Thorfinn roared, his voice echoing through the trees. "Show yourself now!"
He slammed his fists into the ground, the earth beneath him cracking and shaking. The power drained him quickly, his body trembling from the effort. Trees began to groan and snap, their trunks splitting as they crashed to the ground around him.
A scream tore through the forest, high-pitched and desperate. A figure appeared in the distance, moving through the trees.
It was a woman, beautiful at first glance, her long green hair flowing behind her. But as she bent forward, both Thorfinn and Floki saw her back—hollow, as if her insides were missing.
"Stop it!" she screamed, her voice frantic.
Floki's eyes narrowed. "A Huldra," he muttered. "A forest creature. They cast illusions, but they're bound to the place they were born." Thorfinn understood immediately. He was destroying her home, and if the forest died, so would she. He pressed on, his power shaking the earth harder.
"Release my friends!" he shouted, his voice hoarse. "Bring them here!"
The ground cracked and buckled beneath him, but his strength was fading fast. He could feel the power slipping from his control, his limbs growing weak. The Huldra screamed again, then disappeared into the shadows. A few moments later, figures began to appear from the trees—Ragnar, Rollo, Arne, Torsten and the others. They stumbled forward, confused but alive.
Thorfinn released his hold on the power, the light fading from his hands. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, struggling to breathe. The others rushed to each other, checking their wounds, making sure they were all still standing. Arwyn was the last to come forward, her eyes locking onto Thorfinn as she knelt beside him. He tried to stand, but his body wouldn't obey, and he slumped back, exhausted.
"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice colder than he expected. There was no softness in her tone, just a flatness that made his stomach twist. He nodded, even though his body was weak, the exhaustion biting into him like a wolf's fangs.
"I'm fine," he muttered, though the lie was obvious.
As Thorfinn sat there catching his breath, Arwyn's eyes flicked to the dagger lying on the ground beside him. Without thinking, she reached for it, her fingers wrapping around the hilt. She crouched down in front of him, the blade pointing toward his chest, her eyes locked on the weapon.
"Arwyn?" Thorfinn's voice cut through the thick silence.
She blinked, her gaze lifting to meet his. Her expression shifted, and she seemed to snap out of whatever place her mind had wandered to. Slowly, she turned the dagger in her hand, offering it back to him. He took it without a word, slipping it into his belt as she reached down to help him stand.
"Let's get out of here while we have the chance," Thorfinn said to the group, his voice quiet but firm. His body screamed with fatigue, but there was no time to rest. They had to move. The others gathered around, but none of them looked pleased. There was a tension in the air, a heaviness that hadn't been there before. Thorfinn noticed the hard stares exchanged between some of the men, especially Ragnar and Rollo. Whatever they had seen in those cursed visions, it had changed them. Anger simmered beneath the surface, waiting to boil over.
Ragnar nodded grimly. "Aye, let's go."
They moved through the forest, the trees thinning as they neared the edge. For once, they met no resistance. No more creatures, no more illusions. Only the growing torch light ahead as they broke free of the cursed woods. When they finally emerged, the sight that greeted them was a group of armed men waiting at the treeline. Mikael stood at the front, his face twisted in pain, his body marked with deep claw marks and bites. His eyes, however, were still full of hatred.
"You made it out," Thorfinn said, stepping forward, his legs barely holding him upright. He kept his face neutral, though his body screamed to collapse.
Mikael sneered, lifting his head high. "Those creatures were no match for me. I don't know how you survived, but it ends here, Thorfinn. You will die now."
Thorfinn glanced at the men behind Mikael. They were ready to charge, weapons drawn, but there was a hesitation in their eyes. "It's over, Mikael," Thorfinn said, his voice low but filled with finality. "The Jarl is dead. His son is dead. Jarl Bjarni is dead. All of them slain by me. Kattegat is mine now, filled with men loyal to me. You may try to take it, but you don't have enough men. You'll die before you even reach your home."
The men behind Mikael began to murmur among themselves, their grips loosening on their weapons. Doubt flickered in their eyes as they exchanged uneasy glances.
"Quiet!" Mikael barked, his voice desperate. He took a step forward, eyes blazing with fury. "Maybe I will die, but I will take comfort in the fact that you will be dead too, Thorfinn." He spat the words like poison, drawing his sword from its scabbard with a sharp hiss.
Thorfinn raised his voice, addressing the men. "Anyone who throws down their weapons now will be forgiven for their loyalty to the Jarl. You will be allowed to swear fealty to me and live. The rest of you will die." At that, half of the men immediately dropped their weapons, backing away from Mikael. Their faces were pale, their will to fight shattered. The others, however, stayed loyal to Mikael, clutching their swords and axes with grim determination.
Thorfinn gritted his teeth in frustration. He had hoped to avoid more bloodshed, but it seemed Mikael's pride would not allow that. He needed to make an example, to show them his power. With a deep breath, Thorfinn drew back his fist, calling on the pale light that still clung to him from the leviathan. A white sphere formed around his hand, flickering and pulsating with energy. He threw his fist forward, his entire body screaming in protest.
As his fist connected with the air, it cracked like thunder. A shockwave erupted from his hand, tearing through the space between him and Mikael's men. The ground trembled, and Mikael and his followers were thrown from their feet, crashing to the ground in a heap. But beyond that, there was no real damage.
Thorfinn staggered, bile rising in his throat. The power had drained him more than he'd expected. Blood filled his mouth, and he swallowed it down, his vision swimming. He could barely stand.
Mikael scrambled to his feet, his face twisted in rage. He glared at Thorfinn, his hand gripping his sword tightly. But before he could act, more of his men began to throw down their weapons, backing away from him. Fear had taken hold, and now Mikael stood alone. His face contorted with fury, and he prepared to charge at Thorfinn, ready to die in the attempt. But before he could take a step, something hard struck him in the back of the head. He collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
Finn, standing a few paces away, lowered the makeshift club he had used. He stepped forward and bowed his head slightly.
"Jarl," he said quietly.
Thorfinn nodded in acknowledgment, though he could barely see straight. His vision was growing darker by the second, and his legs felt like they were about to give out.
"We leave in the morning," Thorfinn muttered, turning away from the others. His steps were unsteady, each one a struggle. 'Only a little further...' he thought to himself. He made it to a tent nearby, pulling back the flap and stumbling inside. As soon as he crossed the threshold, his legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, his body completely spent. He hit the dirt hard, unconscious before he even knew it.
(AN: So it's over now. The Darkmoon Forest Arc. I could've done a lot more with it but tbh I thought it would get a bit boring if I did. Anyway now we are moving into the last part of this Arc, I think it's time for some babies to be born and a big time skip. Hope you enjoyed the chapter.)
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