They had exchanged little more than names, and thankfully, Sigurd hadn't pressed for details about where they came from. Hours passed as the carriage wound its way through a landscape veiled in snow, eventually arriving at a hidden village nestled on a hillside, shielded by towering trees. The scene before Yacha was almost surreal.
Children laughing and playing, their footsteps muffled in the blanket of snow, while the low bleating of goats echoed in the distance. Wooden houses dotted the hill, their steeply sloped roofs designed to withstand the burden of snow, though each one was still layered in white. Above, thick clouds concealed the sun, casting everything in a pale, cold light.
Sigurd stepped down from the carriage, and Yacha followed, his limbs still sore but moving. He reached for Speira, lifting her unconscious body into his arms, while Sigurd carried Ursang and Eline. They moved through the snow; the cold bit at them but no longer numbed them, for something about this place felt alive and welcoming.
Sigurd's house stood larger than the others, towering like a guardian over the smaller homes. As they entered, warmth enveloped Yacha. A woman with golden hair speckled with the same freckles as Sigurd stood there, her blue eyes 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 them with a warm smile, but her expression quickly turned to concern when she saw Ursang and the two girls. Without hesitation, she began making up beds, offering Yacha some food and a hot drink. Her care was palpable, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Yacha 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 a mix of the two. Yacha sat there, watching them, unable to tear his 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 Yacha had never known, something he thought he had never experienced.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his head, like an arrow piercing his skull. Yacha winced, and Sigurd's wife noticed immediately. She came to his side, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. There was no danger in her touch, only warmth and kindness. Yet Yacha's heart ached in a way it never had before, a foreign feeling tearing at him.
"Are you alright, Yacha?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.
Yacha knew Sigurd had told her their names. He reassured her with a nod, saying he was simply tired.
She smiled gently. "Take this," she said, handing him a bundle of clothes.
"and go take a bath. You smell worse than a wild boar. More food will be ready soon, dear."
Yacha took the bundle, grateful but embarrassed, and she directed him to a room. As he lay in the steaming tub, the warmth soaked into his sore muscles. His mind raced. Why did the kingdom want this man dead? How had they known where to find him? As the water swirled around him, images flickered in his mind—disjointed, broken. A woman's laughter, carrying him in her arms, and a man's voice in the distance. The pain in his heart intensified, and he clutched his chest. He was losing it. These memories—this woman—were they dreams? Or something else?
Once he finished, Yacha returned to the others. Speira, Ursang, and Eline were still unconscious. He took a small vial of potion from his bracelet pocket and placed it near Speira's nose. Her reaction was immediate.
"Ugh, disgusting!" she yelled, her face twisting in revulsion.
Yacha quickly explained the situation and urged them to get their story straight; they needed to be careful now more than ever.
"Ah, so you're all awake," Sigurd's wife said, smiling gently.
"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 they took turns, starting with Ursang, followed by the girls. When they were done, Yacha 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," Yacha teased.
"And you look like a cleaned-up brat from Gaul!" Ursang shot back quickly.
Their banter was cut short as they turned to see Speira and Eline. Dressed in simple white chemises with long brown skirts, their hair tied back with brown bandannas, they looked unlike anything Yacha had ever seen outside their military gear. For the first time, he saw them not as comrades, but as…something more. Something beautiful.
Both Ursang and Yacha froze, dumbstruck, until laughter pulled them from their reverie. Sigurd and his wife stood there, grinning.
"You two look like my kids when they bicker," Sigurd said, his voice warm. His children ran around without a care in the world, the embodiment of innocence, untouched by the burdens Yacha carried.
And for a brief moment, Yacha 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 Yacha had never known. The children listened with wide eyes as Sigurd told the tale of their encounter with the magic polar bear, the creature that had nearly spelled their doom, and how he had saved them with a single blow to its neck.
His children hung on every word, calling him their hero, the brave warrior of Skara Brae.
Yacha glanced at Ursang, Eline, and Speira. They were silent, merely observing. He gave a subtle signal, a reminder to tread carefully despite the awe they all felt. Ursang may have been the leader this time, but in this place, a reckless move could cost them dearly.
Yacha excused himself, 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, he let himself breathe, his mind torn between the warmth of this family's life and the mission that weighed on his heart.
Ursang soon joined him, standing beside Yacha, 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," Yacha replied, his eyes 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 Yacha's inner turmoil.
"I know," Yacha snapped back, perhaps too quickly.
"It's not the time yet. Besides, we don't stand a chance against him. Not like this."
Ursang grunted, his jaw set in determination. "We'll figure something out, Yacha."
Yacha sighed, knowing he was right. "For now, avoid using your bracelet, Ursang."
"Tell that to Speira and Eline, not me. I'm not that dumb."
They shared a brief laugh, the tension between them 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.