The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the village as Bjorn stood in the center of the main hall, facing the two messengers who had traveled far to deliver urgent news. The air was heavy with anticipation, the crackling of the hearth the only sound breaking the silence. Sigrun stood at Bjorn's side, her presence steady and reassuring, while a few of Bjorn's most trusted warriors lingered near the entrance, ready for any commands.
The messengers, weathered and weary, stood with tense shoulders. The older of the two, his beard streaked with gray, spoke first.
"Chief Bjorn," he began, his voice rough from days of shouting over the northern winds, "we bring dire news. The barbarian horde marches toward the villages. Our scouts report their numbers in the tens of thousands—perhaps even more."
Sigrun's lips tightened, but Bjorn's expression remained calm, his piercing green eyes fixed on the messenger. He nodded slowly. "And how long until they reach the first villages?"
The younger messenger, a wiry man with a thin scar running across his cheek, stepped forward. "It's hard to say, Chief. Three to five days, at most. They're moving fast, but the terrain slows them."
Bjorn crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. "Three to five days," he repeated thoughtfully. "Enough time to prepare, but not much."
The older messenger shifted uneasily. "Chief, the numbers we've seen… they're unlike anything we've faced before. Entire villages could be wiped out in hours. The barbarians don't just march—they destroy everything in their path. The other chiefs have begun fortifying their defenses, but…" He hesitated, his voice trailing off.
Bjorn raised an eyebrow. "But what?"
The younger man swallowed hard. "They fear it won't be enough. They're afraid, Chief Bjorn. And honestly, I can't blame them. These aren't just raiders; this is a wave of destruction."
Bjorn uncrossed his arms and took a step closer to the messengers, his towering frame making them instinctively straighten their backs. He placed a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder.
"Fear is the first step toward defeat," Bjorn said, his voice steady and firm. "If the chiefs allow themselves to fall to panic, they've already lost."
The older messenger furrowed his brow. "But Chief, their numbers-"
"Tens of thousands," Bjorn interrupted, his tone unshaken. "Perhaps more. Numbers mean nothing without resolve. Tell your chiefs this: strengthen your walls, sharpen your blades, and trust your warriors. The barbarians may march like an unstoppable storm, but even the fiercest storm breaks against stone."
Sigrun placed a hand on Bjorn's arm, her emerald eyes reflecting quiet pride. "You have always believed in the strength of our people, Bjorn," she said softly. "And that strength is what will carry us through."
The messengers exchanged glances, clearly baffled by Bjorn's calm demeanor. "You don't seem worried, Chief," the younger one said cautiously. "Not even a little."
Bjorn allowed a faint smile. "Worry wastes time. Time we can't afford to lose."
The older messenger bowed his head slightly. "Your confidence is admirable, Chief Bjorn. We will relay your words to our leaders."
"Do so," Bjorn said with a nod. "And remind them—we stand together. If they need aid, they will have it."
The messengers gave brief bows, then turned to leave. Neither noticed Gabriel, who stood quietly in the shadowed corner of the hall, watching the exchange with an air of detached curiosity. As the messengers disappeared through the gates, Gabriel stepped forward, his glowing white robe catching the firelight.
"You handled that well, Chief," Gabriel said, his voice calm. "Your people are fortunate to have a leader who doesn't waver in the face of adversity."
Bjorn looked at him, a small smirk playing on his lips. "I've been through enough battles to know that fear is a luxury I can't afford. Besides," he added, his expression turning serious, "I know you'll keep your promise, Gabriel."
Gabriel inclined his head. "I will."
The messengers rode hard, eager to return to their villages before nightfall. The wind bit at their faces, but the weight of their task drove them forward. When they reached Skjoldheim, they found Chief Eirik Stoneheart and Elder Haldor Greymane already gathered with their warriors.
Eirik leaned forward, his weathered face grim as the messengers recounted their conversation with Bjorn. "He said not to worry?" Eirik asked, his deep voice tinged with skepticism. "To simply strengthen our defenses?"
The younger messenger nodded. "Yes, Chief. He didn't seem afraid at all. In fact, he seemed… confident."
Haldor, the elder, tapped his staff against the ground. "Confidence can be a dangerous thing, especially against odds like these."
Eirik stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Bjorn has always been bold, but this… this is different. He must know something we don't."
The older messenger hesitated. "There was something else, Chief. He mentioned standing together. He said if we need aid, they'll come."
Eirik's lips thinned. "We'll hold as long as we can. If Bjorn believes his village can withstand what's coming, then perhaps he knows more than he lets on. Prepare the barricades. Double the sentries. We'll be ready."
In Varhold, the messengers delivered the same report to Chief Thrain Wolfsblood and Elder Ylva Shadowsong. Thrain's green eyes narrowed as he listened, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table.
"Not worried," Thrain muttered, leaning back in his chair. "That sounds like Bjorn."
Ylva's sharp gaze flickered to the messengers. "Did he offer any insight beyond his confidence?"
The older messenger shook his head. "He only said to strengthen the defenses and trust your warriors."
Thrain let out a low growl of frustration. "Easy for him to say when the barbarians are coming for us first."
Ylva's lips curled into a faint smile. "Don't underestimate Bjorn. If he's confident, it's for a reason."
Thrain stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Then we'll prepare as best we can. Signal the hunters to set more traps along the valley. I want every path leading to this village to bleed."
Ylva inclined her head. "And if we need aid?"
Thrain's expression hardened. "We'll call for it when the time comes."
Back in Bjorn's village, the day began to wane, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows over the rooftops. The villagers, unaware of the messengers' grim report, continued their preparations for winter, their spirits lifted by Gabriel's presence.
Bjorn stood on the walls, his green eyes scanning the horizon. Though he had shown no fear in the hall, he was no fool. He knew the barbarians' numbers posed a real threat, but his trust in his people—and in Gabriel—kept him steady.
Inside the village, Gabriel walked quietly among the villagers, his serene expression hiding the thoughts that churned beneath the surface. He could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken worries of those around him. Yet, like Bjorn, he remained calm, unshaken by the looming storm.
For now, the village was at peace, but the echoes of war grew louder with every passing hour.