Vigdis sat outside the healer’s house in the pale morning light, the axe balanced across her knees. For the first time since she’d taken it, she had the chance to really look at the weapon. Her fingers traced the edge of the blade, worn but still razor-sharp after weeks of use.
It wasn’t like the crude, battered weapons most raiders carried—blunt machetes, splintered clubs, rusted knives. This was different. The steel gleamed faintly, its surface etched with intricate patterns that caught the light. The curved blade was elegant, deadly but refined, and the spike on the reverse side looked sharp enough to punch through armor. The handle was wrapped in deep blue leather, frayed in places but still firm under her grip.
This wasn’t the kind of weapon a raider forged in desperation. It looked... regal, like it had been made for someone important. Someone who fought battles worth remembering.
“Where’d you come from?” Vigdis muttered under her breath. She turned the axe over in her hands, noting the scratches and dents along the haft—evidence of a life lived hard. Whoever had carried it before her hadn’t been the first, nor likely the last.
The thought didn’t sit well. She’d taken it from a man who had tried to kill her, and he’d probably taken it from someone else. How many hands had held this weapon, she wondered, before it found its way to hers?
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When Aeryn checked her bandages later that morning, Vigdis hesitated before pulling one of the crossbow bolts from her pack. She held it up between two fingers, the faint greenish tint at the tip catching the light.
“You ever seen anything like this?” Vigdis asked.
Aeryn’s sharp eyes narrowed as she took the bolt, turning it over carefully in her hands. “Not exactly,” she admitted, her voice thoughtful. “The craftsmanship’s good, but that tip...” She paused, sniffing it lightly. “There’s something strange about it. It’s not poison, but there’s power in it. Not the kind you find in this world.”
“What do you mean?”
Aeryn set the bolt down carefully on the table beside her, her expression distant. “There’s a story—an old one. About a weapon charged with the power of nature itself. It could pierce anything, they said, no matter how strong or strange. It was meant to protect the land, not destroy it.”
Vigdis frowned. “And you think this is it?”
The healer shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s just a story. There’s no proof it was even real, let alone what kind of weapon it was.”
“Helpful,” Vigdis said dryly, tucking the bolt back into her pack.
“If you really want answers,” Aeryn continued, her tone sharp, “you might try speaking to the Magician.”
Vigdis raised an eyebrow. “The Magician?”
“He passes through here sometimes. Lives in a tower a few days’ travel south, though good luck finding it if you don’t know the land.” Aeryn crossed her arms, her gaze skeptical. “He’s not the most reliable sort, but he knows things. Maybe he’d recognize something like that.”
“Sounds like a wild goose chase,” Vigdis muttered, slinging her pack over her shoulder.
“It might be,” Aeryn replied, her voice quiet. “But you seem like someone who doesn’t let questions go unanswered.”
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Vigdis glanced at the bolt one last time before tucking it away. The Magician’s tower wasn’t on her map, but if this weapon really had a story, it might be worth hearing.
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The settlement of Thornshade was quiet at dawn, the air crisp and the trees whispering faintly in the breeze. Vigdis sat on the low step outside the healer’s house, her arm resting lightly on her knee as she watched the first rays of sunlight touch the rooftops.
The poultice had worked its magic overnight. The burning in her arm was gone, replaced by a dull ache that was far easier to ignore. Her thigh wound had scabbed over as well, though the sharp twinges when she walked reminded her not to push too hard. For the first time in weeks, she felt like she could breathe.
But the peace pressed against her in a way that wasn’t entirely comfortable.
The people here were kind. Too kind. They brought her food, checked her bandages, asked if she needed anything. Children ran past her, giggling and playing with makeshift toys, their laughter carrying on the wind. A man nodded to her as he passed, a bundle of firewood in his arms.
It reminded her too much of her childhood village—the quiet rhythm of life, the sense of community. It stirred something in her that she didn’t like to name, a feeling that clung like a shadow no matter how hard she tried to shake it.
She ran her thumb along the handle of the axe resting across her knees, her grip tightening.
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Hale found her there later in the morning, leaning against his cane as he stepped out of the trees. His sharp eyes lingered on her, taking in the bandages and the faint tension in her posture.
“You’re healing well,” he said, his voice gruff but warm.
Vigdis nodded, not looking at him.
“We could use someone like you here,” Hale continued, lowering himself onto the step beside her. “A strong back. A sharp axe. The roads are dangerous, and Thornshade’s always been... fragile.”
Vigdis glanced at him then, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You think I can’t see through that?”
Hale chuckled, shaking his head. “No tricks. Just truth. You’ve got skills we don’t. And it wouldn’t be the first time someone came here looking for a rest and found something more.”
Vigdis snorted softly, turning her gaze back to the horizon. “I don’t stay places long.”
Hale leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Because you think it’s better for them—or for you?”
Her jaw tightened, her grip on the axe shifting.
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The laughter of the children drifted to her ears again, and her mind wandered, unbidden, to a different time. A smaller village, nestled in the trees, where the sound of her father chopping wood mixed with her mother’s low, melodic voice. Vigdis had felt safe there once.
Until she hadn’t.
The smoke had filled her lungs before she’d seen the flames. The faces of the raiders—painted, snarling—blurred in her memory, but she would never forget the way her parents’ cabin had collapsed in on itself, the roof caving in as fire consumed it whole.
And after that...
She blinked, forcing the memory away, but the ghosts lingered. Her crew. Her...
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she rose to her feet, slinging the axe over her back.
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The restlessness grew with each passing day. The settlement was too quiet, too kind, too fragile. Hale was right—they could use her strength. But that wasn’t her strength. Not here. Not for them.
When Aeryn caught her packing her things, the healer’s sharp eyes softened only slightly. “You’re leaving.”
Vigdis nodded, tightening the strap on her pack. “The road’s waiting.”
Aeryn sighed, crossing her arms. “You could stay, you know. Rest longer. Help out. You’ve got nothing to prove out there.”
“It’s not about proving anything.”
“Then what is it about?”
Vigdis hesitated, her hands pausing over her pack. She didn’t meet Aeryn’s gaze. “People around me don’t last long,” she said quietly.
The healer frowned. “That’s not true.”
Vigdis looked up then, her green eyes sharp and unwavering. “You don’t know me.”
Aeryn didn’t argue. She just stepped aside, letting Vigdis hoist her pack and sling the crossbow across her shoulder.
“Thank you,” Vigdis said, her voice steady but soft.
“Take care of yourself out there,” Aeryn replied, her tone heavy with unspoken words.
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Vigdis left Thornshade just as the sun crested the horizon, the settlement shrinking behind her with every step. The road stretched out ahead, vast and empty, and she felt the familiar pull of the unknown settle in her chest.
She didn’t belong in Thornshade, just as she hadn’t belonged anywhere else. The past had made sure of that.
But there was still a map in her pack, and she didn’t need to know what it meant to know she was meant to find it.