The long house was cloaked in darkness, with only the faint glow of embers in the hearth providing a flickering light. Outside, the night was still, the world silent under the blanket of stars, with no sign yet of the approaching dawn. The long house breathed in the quiet of the night, its old wooden beams creaking like the weary sigh of an ancient being. Ingrid moved quietly through the room, her steps soft but purposeful as she tended to small tasks that needed no doing. The warm, flickering light of the dying fire bathed her in a soft, amber glow, casting long, wavering shadows on the walls. The walls, once witnesses to laughter and warmth, now absorbed the whispers of doubt and desperation, the flickering fire casting fleeting glances of light that danced like specters across the stone floor.
Thrain slipped inside, his heavy boots barely making a sound on the wooden floor. He paused just inside the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. He watched as Ingrid, illuminated by the fire, moved with a restless energy, a brightness in her that felt strangely out of place in the quiet of the night.
“Ingrid,” he called softly, his voice barely more than a whisper as he stepped further into the room.
She turned to face him, the firelight catching her smile, making it seem almost too bright for the hour. “You’re up late, brother. Come in, come in.”
He stepped closer, concern etched on his face deepening as he took in her demeanor. Thrain’s mind churned with a thousand unspoken thoughts, the weight of them pressing against his chest like a vice. He remembered the nights he’d spent listening to her cries, her desperate prayers whispered into the dark. The memory lingered like a ghost in the room, the echo of her pain filling the space between them. He wanted to reach her, to grasp those fragile threads of hope she clung to, but the more he reached, the more they slipped through his fingers, as insubstantial as the shadows flickering on the walls. “I wanted to check on you. You seem... different. Lighter.”
Ingrid’s smile widened, her eyes gleaming with a strange intensity that matched the flickering firelight. “Oh, I am! The gods have finally answered my prayers.”
Thrain frowned, his concern growing, the words caught in his throat. “Ingrid, about what happened—”
“No,” she interrupted, her voice firm and resolute. “You don’t understand. The gods brought that baby to me, to replace the one I lost.”
As she spoke, Ingrid moved away from the fire, stepping into the shadows that filled the far corners of the long house. The light that had illuminated her face faded, leaving her features obscured, and with it, the brightness in her voice took on a more unsettling edge. The darkness embraced her, a silent accomplice to the thoughts she kept hidden, thoughts that swirled like the smoke from the dying fire. Thrain sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, the weight of her words heavy on his heart. But now, in this quiet hour, he feared that the comfort she sought in the gods’ will had given way to something darker, more dangerous. The gods, those distant, unknowable beings, had always played a role in their lives—sometimes merciful, often cruel. But this? This was something different, something he couldn’t grasp, couldn’t trust.
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“Ingrid, I know this has been hard, but that child... he isn’t yours. He isn’t even dwarven.”
Ingrid stepped closer to him, her face now hidden in the shadow, her eyes flashing with determination. “Family isn’t just about blood. It’s about who we choose to love, who we bring into our lives. And besides, my milk might just change those pointy ears.”
He could feel the desperation in her words, the way she clung to this hope. Thrain’s chest tightened, the words he wanted to say tangled in the knots of his own fear. Fear for her, for the village, for what this obsession might lead to. Fear that the gods had not brought her salvation, but a trial, a test of faith that could break her if she wasn’t careful. “Ingrid, you can’t just take someone else’s child. It isn’t right.”
“But Ochrea said there was a sacred bond between us,” Ingrid insisted, her voice growing more animated, her hands gesturing emphatically as she moved further into the darkness. The shadows seemed to deepen around her, as if the very house were conspiring to hide her from the truth, to protect her fragile hope. “She said it’s something she’ll never have. The gods put him in front of me, brother. They chose me.”
Thrain stepped closer, trying to reach her in the shadows. The flickering flame behind her, struggling against the encroaching night, mirrored the fragile hope she clung to—a hope that wavered, threatened to be snuffed out by the cold reality closing in. He met her gaze, though her face was barely visible now, and felt a deep pang of worry. “The gods are fickle, Ingrid. They aren’t meant to be easily understood. And just because we did a good deed doesn’t mean we should be rewarded with something that isn’t ours.”
Ingrid paused, her thoughts racing as she considered his words. A flicker of doubt crossed her face, but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a stubborn resolve that had taken root deep within her heart. The gods had taken so much from her already—her husband, her child, her peace. How could they be so cruel as to dangle this hope in front of her, only to snatch it away? No, she wouldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t. “You’re right, brother. Maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly. But what if the gods didn’t just bring those adventurers here for me? What if they sent them to help the village, to take on the Frost Troll?”
Thrain hesitated, weighing her suggestion carefully. He wanted to believe there was a purpose behind the adventurers’ arrival, something more than coincidence. His mind flickered back to past decisions he had made based on faith alone—some had ended well, others disastrously. The gods, in their infinite wisdom, had always seemed distant, their motives unknowable. But here, now, with his sister standing before him, her eyes alight with that desperate hope, he felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him like a physical force. Perhaps, just perhaps, the gods had sent them for this reason. But he wasn’t one to trust blindly in fate.
“I’ll ask them to help,” he said slowly, nodding as if convincing himself. “But I won’t begrudge them if they choose to leave. It’s my duty to protect the village, not theirs. They’ve already shown us kindness.”
As he spoke, Ingrid’s thoughts darkened, the fire of conviction burning in her eyes. If the adventurers died fighting the Frost Troll, that would be the will of the gods too. And she would still have the child, the one who was meant to fill the void left in her heart. But she kept these thoughts to herself, letting her brother see only the determined set of her jaw.