The valley stretched out before us, a wide expanse of green with a shimmering river cutting through it like a silver ribbon. The water flowed lazily, its surface glinting under the midday sun. On the far side of the river, a dark forest loomed—tall, twisted trees creating an almost impenetrable wall of shadow.
Ulrik pulled the cart to a halt at the crest of a hill, giving us a clear view of what lay ahead. "That," he said, gesturing toward the river, "is the current barrier between the Raven Clan and the Wolf Clan."
I leaned forward, studying the terrain. The river seemed deceptively calm, but there was something unsettling about the forest beyond it.
"And on this side of the river," Ulrik continued, a note of pride creeping into his voice, "is the eastern war camp. My war camp."
---
The "camp" was far more than I expected. Nestled in the valley, it was larger than the village of Akerholt, with massive stone walls encircling it. Smoke rose in plumes from various points within, the scent of burning wood and roasting meat carried on the breeze. On top of the walls, I could make out figures—warriors and magi—standing guard, their silhouettes imposing against the sky.
"They don't look like the guards in Akerholt," Emery said softly, her voice tinged with unease.
"They aren't," Ulrik replied bluntly. "These are warriors of the Wolf Clan. My warriors. They are strong, ruthless, and unyielding. They don't follow laws—except the law of power." His tone carried a distinct sense of pride.
---
I shivered involuntarily. The warriors on the wall were unlike anything I'd seen before. They carried themselves with a brutal confidence, their armor and weapons battered but sturdy, their stances relaxed but ready. They looked like true Vikings, and their presence exuded raw strength.
As we descended toward the camp, the sound of cheering, shouting, and clanging metal grew louder. It was a cacophony of chaos, but it was oddly… alive.
"Doesn't look much like a camp," I said, my gaze sweeping over the stone fortifications.
"Of course it doesn't," Vidal interjected, his lips curling into a smile. "That's my handiwork you're seeing."
---
Emery tilted her head, confused. "Your handiwork?"
"When you get a stone Magi who's also an architect," Vidal said, puffing out his chest, "you can build a walking fortress."
I glanced back at the walls, noting their formidable construction. It suddenly made sense. A stone Magi could shape the very foundation of the camp, turning it into a near-impenetrable stronghold.
"You're a stone Magi?" I asked, trying to piece together what I knew.
"Among other things," Vidal replied, his tone light but with a hint of pride. "Fire and stone affinities, if you must know. Together, they make me the perfect builder—and the perfect destroyer."
---
As we approached the gates, I could see that the walls weren't just stone—they were alive with activity. Warriors and magi moved along the battlements, shouting orders and surveying the landscape. They didn't glance down at us; their focus was outward, toward the river and the forest beyond.
The gates groaned as they opened, revealing the bustling chaos inside. The cart rolled forward, and I took in the scene around me.
The war camp was alive with motion. Warriors sparred in open courtyards, their strikes brutal and unrelenting. Magi practiced their spells erupting in controlled displays of power. Others drank heavily, their laughter carrying over the din, while some gambled at makeshift tables, coins and dice clattering loudly.
---
"They're… rowdy," Emery said hesitantly.
Ulrik chuckled. "They're ruthless, rowdy, and loyal to the bone. They live for battle, and they trust nothing but strength. You'll find no finer warriors in all of Halgard."
The cart rattled through the camp, passing groups of warriors and magi who turned to look at us. Their eyes were sharp, their gazes appraising. I felt the weight of their stares, the unspoken challenge in their expressions.
"Stick close to me," Ulrik said, his voice firm. "I need them to see you with me. If they know you're under my protection, they won't bother you."
---
I nodded, but I couldn't shake the unease creeping up my spine. These weren't the disciplined guards of Akerholt. These were killers, hardened by a life of blood and conflict. Their laughter was rough, their movements unrestrained.
Emery shifted closer to me, her unease mirroring my own. "Do you trust them?" she whispered.
Ulrik overheard and laughed. "Trust?" He shook his head. "I don't need to trust them. They're loyal because I'm stronger than they are. That's all that matters here."
---
The cart finally came to a stop in front of a large central building, the only structure towering above the others. Smoke curled from its chimney, and the scent of roasting meat wafted through the air.
"This is where we'll be staying," Ulrik said, dismounting from the cart. "For now, you'll stay close, listen well, and learn fast. You're in my world now."
He strode toward the building, his presence commanding attention from everyone around. Emery and I exchanged a glance, then followed silently, the weight of the camp's atmosphere pressing down on us.
I didn't know what lay ahead, but one thing was certain: we were no longer on the outskirts of this world. We were at its very heart.