We had exchanged little more than our names, and Sigurd —thankfully—hadn't pressed further for details about where we came from. As hours passed, the carriage wound its way through a landscape veiled in snow. Eventually, we reached a hidden village nestled on a hillside, shielded by the towering trees. The scene before me was almost surreal: children laughing and playing, their footsteps lost in the blanket of snow, while the low bleating of goats echoed in the distance. Wooden houses dotted the hill, their roofs sloped steeply, the design made to resist the burden of snow, though still, each one was layered in white. Above, the thick clouds concealed the sun, casting everything in a pale, cold light.
Sigurd stepped down from the carriage, and I followed, my limbs still sore but moving. I reached for Speira, lifting her unconscious form into my arms, while Sigurd carried Ursang and Eline with effortless strength. We moved through the snow, the cold biting but no longer numbing, something about this place felt alive and welcoming. His house stood larger than the others, towering like a guardian over the smaller homes. As we entered, warmth hit me, and there she stood, a woman with golden hair, speckled with the same freckles as Sigurd. Her blue eyes were kind, filled with a gentle light that contrasted with her husband's rugged aura. Though her face was soft, there was a strength in her, not of a warrior, but of someone who held the heart of this household.
She greeted us with a warm smile, but her expression quickly changed to concern when she saw Ursang and the two girls. Without hesitation, she began making up beds, offering me food and a hot drink. Her care was palpable, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I believed her words when she said, "You're safe here."
Sigurd bent down and pressed a kiss on her forehead, a gesture so simple yet full of love, before stepping away to play with five little children who were clearly a mix of the two. I sat there, watching them, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene. This was a family; a real family. The way Sigurd ruffled his children's hair, the way they laughed without a care in the world... It was something I had never known, something I had never experienced.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my head, like an arrow piercing my skull. I winced, and Sigurd's wife noticed immediately. She came to my side, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. There was no danger in her touch, only warmth, and kindness. Yet my heart ached in a way it never had before, a foreign feeling tearing at me.
"Are you alright, Yacha?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.
I knew then that Sigurd had told her our names. Of course, he would. Still, I reassured her with a nod, telling her I was simply tired.
She smiled gently. "Take this," she said, handing me a bundle of clothes, "and go take a bath. You smell worse than a wild boar. More food will be ready soon, dear."
I took the bundle, grateful but embarrassed, and she directed me to a room. As I lay in the steaming tub, the warmth soaking into my sore muscles, my mind raced. Why did the kingdom want this man dead? How had they known where to find him? As the water swirled around me, images flickered in my mind—disjointed, broken. A woman's laughter, carrying me in her arms, and a man's voice in the distance, calling us to stop playing and come to him. The pain in my heart intensified, and I clutched my chest. I was losing it. These memories—this woman—were they dreams? Or something else?
Once I finished, I returned to the others. Speira, Ursang, and Eline were still unconscious, so I took a small vial of potion from my pocket and placed it near Speira's nose. Her reaction was immediate.
"Ugh, disgusting!" she yelled, her face twisting in revulsion.
I smirked, quickly explaining the situation and urging them to get our story straight, We needed to be careful, now more than ever.
Just as we finished, the woman reappeared.
"Ah, so you're all awake," she said with that gentle smile again, her voice sweet like an angel. "Now, off you go, take a bath and clean yourselves up. You stink worse than my husband after a week of hunting!"
Her teasing tone lightened the room, and we took turns, starting with Ursang, followed by the girls. When they were done, I couldn't help but laugh when Ursang emerged, clean and looking like a completely different person.
"You look like one of those spoiled noble kids now," I teased.
He shot back quickly.
"And you look like a cleaned-up brat from Gaul!"
Our banter was cut short as we both turned, catching sight of Speira and Eline. They were dressed in simple white chemises with long brown skirts, their hair tied back with brown bandannas. I had never seen them outside their military gear, and for the first time, I saw them not as comrades, but as…something more. Something beautiful.
Both Ursang and I froze, dumbstruck, until the sound of laughter pulled us from our reverie. Sigurd and his wife stood there, grinning.
"You two look like my kids when they bicker," he said, his voice full of warmth. His children ran around us without a care in the world, the embodiment of innocence, untouched by the burdens we carried.
And for a brief moment, in the heart of this snowy village, I envied them.
After dinner with Sigurd, his wife Leonora, and their five children. Eirek, the eldest boy, Sverre, the middle child, the twin sisters Ingger and Lise, who were so alike you could scarcely tell them apart, and Olav, the youngest—there was a warmth in the house that I had never known. They listened with wide eyes as Sigurd told the tale of our encounter with the magic polar bear, the creature that had nearly spelled our doom, and how he had saved us with a single blow to the beast's neck. His children hung on every word, calling him their hero, the brave warrior of Skara Brae.
As I glanced at Ursang, Eline, and Speira, they were silent, merely observing. I gave them a subtle signal, a reminder to tread carefully despite the awe we all felt. Ursang may have been the leader this time, but in this place, a reckless move could cost us dearly.
After we had eaten our fill, I excused myself, stepping outside into the snow. The cold air was sharp, and the sky above was a heavy blanket of gray, the snowfall steady and quiet. For a moment, I let myself breathe, my mind spinning with the warmth of this family's life and the mission that weighed on my heart.
Ursang soon joined me. He stood beside me, his arms crossed, his breath visible in the frigid air.
"A family, huh?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Yeah. Something we've never experienced," I replied, my eyes still fixed on the falling snow.
"The mission is the mission, Yacha. Don't let these stupid emotions cloud your judgment," Ursang said, his tone now serious, as if he could sense my inner turmoil.
"I know," I snapped back, perhaps too quickly. "It's not the time yet. Besides, we don't stand a chance against him. Not like this."
Ursang gave a grunt, his jaw set in determination. "We'll figure something out, Yacha."
I sighed, knowing he was right. "For now, avoid using your bracelet, Ursang."
He smirked, a dry chuckle escaping him. "Tell that to Speira and Eline, not me. I'm not that dumb."
We shared a brief laugh, the tension between us easing for a moment. But that moment was quickly interrupted as Sigurd emerged from the house, his broad figure towering over the snow-covered ground.
"I'm not interrupting, am I?" he asked with a grin.
Both Ursang and I shook our heads.
"Good! The girls will join us soon with the kids, but for now—let's go to the feast!" Sigurd said, his voice filled with excitement.
Ursang and I exchanged a confused glance. "Feast?" we echoed in unison.
With a wide grin, Sigurd clapped us on the shoulders and beckoned us to follow. We trudged through the snow after him, our curiosity piqued. Soon enough, we arrived at the heart of the village, and what I saw took my breath away.
Before us stood a grand festival, a large bonfire blazing in the center, its flames licking the sky beneath a massive tent, Men and women, fierce warriors by the look of them, milled about, laughing and drinking. Children darted between the tables, their laughter ringing out above the crackling of the fire. Long tables were laden with food and drink, and the scent of roasting meat filled the air. Some of the villagers sang, others danced, the entire scene alive with the spirit of celebration.
Sigurd walked through the throng like a king among his people, his presence commanding yet warm. As he reached a large chair, almost like a throne, the crowd erupted in cheers.
"Hail Sigurd! Hail the Wolf of Skara Brae," they shouted, their voices booming with pride.
Sigurd raised both hands, quieting the crowd for a moment. "Tonight, we feast on polar bear, but not just any! The ice freak, the very beast that threatened our village! But that's not all. Tonight, we welcome guests from a far land, Yacha, and Ursang!"
The crowd erupted again, their voices filled with joy and excitement. They called for us to join them, to celebrate the death of the creature that had plagued their home. Ursang and I stood there, overwhelmed by the warmth of their welcome, the weight of the mission momentarily forgotten in the glow of the fire, and the cheers of these people who called Sigurd their hero.
Under the glowing lights of the bonfire and the snowflakes drifting from the sky, Ursang and I looked at each other, grins spreading across our faces. "Screw the mission," he said, his voice filled with a rare sense of excitement. We had survived the polar beast, after all—what harm could there be in joining the feast? We ate and drank, blending into the celebration, becoming one with the people of Skara Brae. Leonara and her children, along with Speira and Elin, joined us in the merriment, laughing and sharing stories.
Suddenly, a tall, broad man stood up, raising his axe high into the cold air. "I, Oscar, right hand of the chef, declare a spar among our warriors!" His eyes gleamed as they fell upon us. "And our guests."
"No, no, not them," Sigurd said, stepping forward with a firm hand.
But Ursang was already grinning. "We don't mind," he said confidently.
Oscar roared, "Let the spars begin!" and the crowd echoed with a thunderous cheer. The tables were cleared, the space becoming an arena as warriors lined up, each declaring their name before facing off. Swords and axes clashed, and those who won remained in the arena, awaiting the next challenger.