When Ingrid towered over Freja’s body broken and bloody, a twisted sense of satisfaction bubbled up from the depths of her heart. She had waited for this moment, for the chance to see the source of her shame finally pulled out by the root. As she looked down at the girl, there was no pity, no sorrow—only a dark, and calculated satisfaction. At last, Freja was getting what she deserved: death.

“I am surprised. You are still conscious.” Ingrid said she kept her tone sharp and to the point. “However pathetically you won, you still won. I will keep up my promise.”

Ingrid walked to her husband and nodded. She had to keep her appearance neutral and proper as she watched in glee as Ulfar gave her the customary gifts for a Shai. Useless, Ingrid thought. Freja wouldn’t survive her injuries, and these formalities were nothing more than hollow gestures. The girl had lost everything, and now the only thing left was to let her die. It didn’t matter though this was already more than the failure deserved and she would put this whole debacle to the back of her mind. Freja wasn’t worth remembering.

She looked down at her son who stood at her side. He was the heir now, the next to take the name Salstar through the generations. She wanted to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, but that part of her role was over. He wasn’t hers anymore. He was the heir to the name Salstar, and it was Ulfar’s task to mold him into a leader. Still, Ingrid couldn't ignore the flicker of pride she felt. He was strong, smarter than Freja ever had been. He would never shame them the way she had.

“Watch your father closely, Ragnar.” Ingrid said with a smile. “This is the duty of a Patriarch.”

Ragnar nodded, but Ingrid could see the hesitation in his eyes. He was observing, as he should be, but there was something else—a softness, a flicker of something unspoken. He turned his gaze from Ulfar to Freja’s broken body, his expression faltering. He looked conflicted for a moment before trying to harden his expression.

Ingrid's jaw clenched. The flicker of concern in Ragnar’s eyes gnawed at her. It was weakness, yes—but it was also something she couldn’t quite name. She hated it. Hated that he felt anything at all for the girl who had failed them. She had to trust that Ulfar would root out that softness.

She could see it—the worry in his eyes, the unspoken question hanging in the air. The same weakness that Freja had once shown. She wanted to snap at him, to tell him this was how things were supposed to be. But no, Ingrid could not speak those words. She couldn’t let him see her own frustrations, her own joy in this outcome. It wasn’t her place anymore. He was still her son, though, and in that moment, she wanted to harden him. To show him that this was how the world worked, that Freja had earned this end, that it was necessary.

“Mom. Is she going to die?” Ragnar whispered his voice caught in his throat.

For a brief moment, Ingrid almost softened. She almost reached for him, almost allowed herself to be his mother again, but she stopped herself.

“What happens to her next is not our concern,” she said coldly, cutting off any chance for sentimentality. “As heir, refer to me as Ingrid, not mom. Now watch.”

***

Days had past and Ingrid stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon, where the sun dipped below the mountains, casting the land in an ever darkening shadow. The chill in the air mirrored the icy grip that had taken hold of her heart for the past century. Noble houses in Yuhia were only as prestigious as the strength of their Patriarch or Matriarch. In a society where power dictated all, her role was to stand beside the mightiest, a position she had earned through blood and steel. The Salstar name was synonymous with power, and Ingrid had fought with every fiber of her being to be a part of it, to be with Ulfar, the most powerful starlight mage in the kingdom. Together, they were the Sword and the Shield of their house.

Yet, beneath the surface of that illustrious legacy lay the bitter truth of her greatest failure—Freja. She did not know if she was dead yet but it didn’t calm her mind.

Helga, her firstborn, had been a beacon, her potential in starlight magic shining even brighter than Ulfar’s. However, that light was snuffed out too soon, leaving a void that no other could fill. Then came Freja, the embodiment of every nightmare Ingrid had ever harbored. A daughter born without the gift, without the strength that was their birthright. Freja was a stain on the Salstar name, a constant reminder of Ingrid's inability to bring forth greatness in every child she bore. The thought’s still sickened her, the idea that she, Ingrid Salstar, gave birth to her like some sick joke.

Ulfar had changed after Freja was confirmed to be a wizard, of all things. The love that once burned in his eyes when he looked at Ingrid was replaced with cold duty. When he laid with her, it was not out of love or passion, but an obligation to erase the mistake she had brought into the world. Freja had driven a wedge between them, and every moment with Ulfar became a painful reminder that she was ultimately to blame.

Ragnar was her redemption, her precious son who proved that she could still produce greatness, that the Salstar blood was not tainted beyond repair. Even Eira, with her laziness, showed promise that Freja could never hope to match. The shame of Freja’s existence lingered like a festering wound, a cancer that threatened to rot away everything Ingrid had built until finally she was cast out.

Ingrid sighed as she turned from the twilight outside her window. The fading light cast long shadows across her room, caressing the edges of her red silk robe as it draped lazily over her form. The dwindling light danced across her fair skin and alluring form. She knew Ulfar wouldn’t be seeing her that night; he hadn't slept in the same room as her in a decade, not since Eira turned two. Although she wanted to give him more children it was his decision as Patriarch. Now he would be too busy as he needed to train Ragnar as the next heir of the family.

Ingrid knew her role—she was the Sword of Salstar, destined to spill blood in the name of her family and her kingdom. She would be leaving soon anyway, trouble was brewing in a nearby domain and the First Prince would unleash her on their enemies. She was the Sword after all and there was blood that needed to be spilt. She ran her hands across her bed as she laid down, sinking into the familiar comfort of her sheets, only to be pulled from her thoughts by a hesitant knock at the door.

“Enter.” Ingrid said bemused but curious.

The door creaked open, revealing a small, timid figure. Eira, with her downcast eyes and shy demeanor, stepped into the room. The girl’s brown skin, the result of Ingrid’s snowfallen heritage mixed with Ulfar’s nighthand lineage, made her a perfect blend of her parents. She was a woodentail wendigo, a darker-skinned mirror image of Ingrid’s younger self, yet there was a softness in her that Ingrid recognized as a vulnerability.

“Eira? What is wrong my Lítill Sverð?” Ingrid asked softly, her tone softening in a way that it rarely did.

The stern warrior façade melted away at the sight of the small girl. Eira looked like she was just caught doing something she shouldn’t have. Ingrid believed in strength above all else and one day her daughter too would be made strong. She would be the Sword when Ingrid no longer could kill in the name of the family. One day Eira would be put through the fires of battle and blood as all Salstar’s before her, but at least for now she can be spoiled a little bit.

Ingrid sighed, she was the Sword, yes, but right now, she had to be a mother—a mother to a daughter who deserved her love and protection, not the cold indifference she had shown to another.

“Come on, you can sleep with me.” Ingrid offered, patting the bed beside her.

Eira’s face brightened instantly. She scrambled onto the bed, her small form diving under the covers with a giggle. “Thanks mom!”

Ingrid tucked in her daughter and nuzzled Eira gently, a tender gesture of affection for wendigo.

“Goodnight my Lítill Sverð.” Ingrid whispered. Here, in this brief, tender moment, she was simply a mother, and that was enough.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

***

Freja pulled the empty beaker from her lips as the herbal health potion slid down her throat. She screamed through gritted teeth, her voice raw from days of enduring agony. Every nerve in her body felt like it was being scorched, as if hot coals were being dragged across her flesh. Everything burned as the herbal health potion ran its course and forced her body to repair itself ever so slightly faster. It was her third day trapped in this cold, damp cave, and the fourth dose of the potion had brought only marginal relief after a wave of intense pain. There was still constant thrumming in her chest and leg.

Her only saving grace was Bjorn. He was the only reason she hadn’t succumbed to despair. Day in and day out there was only her, Bjorn and pain. He wasn’t giving up on her, everyday he patrolled the cave, went out and found water, even hunted to feed her. She couldn’t just let all his effort go to waste. The pain was excruciating, but it wouldn’t break her. She had someone who believed in her, someone who cared when no one else did. There was no room for surrender, no space for the pain to win. She was going to survive and they were going to finally get out of this place.

Bjorn returned to the cave with a large stick; it was the second one that she had requested. He placed it beside the other while she spoke the words of power to create the Mystic Wind Hands.

“Good job, Bjorn,” Freja said after the spell was completed.

He assisted Freja in making a splint for her leg. She had to sacrifice a few garments, namely her bloodied outfit that was already torn to shreds by the troll. The Mystic Wind Hands lined up the sticks and even carefully wrapped the torn fabric to secure them in place. Freja had to use the wall and Bjorn to finally stand for the first time since she was abandoned.

“Look-look! I am standing.” She said with a smile.

It was a small victory but she needed as many small victories as possible to keep sane. To keep the dark thoughts of just using a bit too much of one ingredient in her next potion and killing herself to end the agony. It wouldn’t even be difficult to make it lethal. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as Bjorn joined in her mini celebration by jumping around and squawking. She couldn’t help but think about how adorable the familiar looked. The pain was manageable but she couldn’t put much weight on her leg. She used the wall for balance as she walked out to the open air. She was hoping for a breath of clean air but ended up gagging immediately.

She dry heaved a few times. “Oh, Forest Father above, that smells terrible!”

She was disappointed that the air outside smelled worse than the musky cave. The troll's body was still decomposing and the flock of vultures were taking their time getting through the thick hide to the meat underneath.

Freja pinched her nose to block the smell. “Let’s take a short walk away from here. I am tired of smelling that thing… or the cave.”

Freja kept a hand on the rock face for balance as she limped along the crag. Bjorn was ever vigilant as they moved just a few yards away from the cave. She wanted to know how far she could go so she carefully shifted her weight and counted each step. She knew the sooner she could really move the better testing her limits was important. The results were promising in that she could make it twenty five yards before the pain forced her to stop. It wasn’t as far as she wanted, recovery was going slower than she hoped, but from a shattered leg to this was a major improvement.

After a few agonizing minutes, Freja collapsed against the stony wall, drenched in sweat. Bjorn had parched himself on a boulder closeby keeping a lookout for something she couldn’t see, it made her uneasy. She couldn’t tell if he was responding to an actual threat or simply acting as her guardian.

He hadn’t come back to the cave injured any of the times he went out so she assumed there were no predators in the area. Then the thought crossed her, he had a healing factor which meant that if he did fight something it might have been healed before he got back.

He had killed a troll on his own—something no ordinary creature could manage, especially one so young. If there were others like it out there, or worse, a magic beast lurking in the forest, she wouldn’t stand a chance. Trolls usually traveled in groups called clans led by an alpha male, yet the one they had faced was alone. Was it because it was a beta, or was it searching for mates?

Freja looked at the dark forest opposite of the crag. It suddenly seemed far more sinister, she wasn’t anywhere near civilization out here, so one wrong move for her was death. No teachers, no family, no guards to protect her—just her and Bjorn. She was one accident away from being one with the Forest Father.

Alright, I am alone except for Bjorn. I am not going to leave the only safe place I have until I know I can at least run without my leg breaking under me.

“Bjorn!” Freja called. “I am ready to go back. Can you help me get up?”

***

“I don’t think I can carry an entire alligator.” Bjorn said in his head. “Maybe if I find a young one but it would be too much of a hassle.”

“But if we got one you wouldn’t have to hunt so much.” Failsafe said.

Bjorn had returned to the swamp to collect more water and hunt. He swam slowly through the water swaying his long body with a gentle grace. He had to go a different route this time to make it, he wanted to stay as far away from the wolves and whatever that half-wood-half-corpse creature was in the village. The new path was actually quite peaceful and he planned to take Freja when she was finally ready to move.

“But I would have to kill it without my venom and I don’t think I have the bite strength to win that confrontation without it.” Bjorn said.

“Oh yeah, I kind of forgot we wouldn’t be able to use venom.” Failsafe said. “Well we can at least go after bigger snakes.”

“That’s something I can agree with.” Bjorn said as he climbed out of the water on the roots of a large cypress tree. “Maybe I should try to catch a fish or two while we are here this time. Swimming came so naturally to me I think I can move pretty fast, maybe I could catch one.”

“Well this is your body now, I think you should learn your limitations. It will help me analyze you too.” Failsafe said.

Bjorn took another look around his surroundings for any potential predators trying to sneak up on him. Once he confirmed he was safe with a few flicks of the tongue he stuck his head and upper half of his body into the water. The cool liquid enveloped him, and he blinked, activating the thin membrane that shielded his eyes from the water’s abrasive particles. As he submerged, his senses shifted, becoming attuned to the underwater world in ways he was still learning to understand.

A strange, new awareness blossomed in his mind, allowing him to perceive even the tiniest movements around him. It was as if the water itself whispered secrets to him, revealing the location of every fish, every ripple, every disturbance in the environment. He could sense the flow of the currents, the shifting of sediment on the swamp floor, and the subtle vibrations of life forms moving in the depths.

After a dozen or so minutes he resurfaced to take a breath although he felt as though he could have stayed under much longer. He really just wanted to look around and make sure he was still safe. He scanned the area again, this time with a heightened sense of vigilance. A flick of his tongue caught a taste in the air that made him freeze. It was the strong nature magic he had associated with the odd monster that wiped out the village. Why was it there? Did it track him here? He slowly lowered himself fully into the water when he noticed the swamp had fallen into an eerie silence.

“Is that what I think it is?” Bjorn asked.

“Yep, we need to get out of here.” Failsafe replied, the urgency clear in his tone.

“Do you think it was tracking me? We can’t lead it to Freja. She’s not ready to move yet.” Bjorn said.

“I am not saying we take it with us just that we get out of this place before it finds us again.” Failsafe said.

Bjorn submerged all but the top of his head so he could so he could keep an eye on his surroundings. After floating for a while he saw the creature between the trees. It was unmistakable from any other being Bjorn had encountered so far. It was drinking water from the edge of the muddy shore.

Bjorn let out an internal sigh of relief, it hadn’t been tracking him, it came to slake its thrust. That solace was tempered by the sobering realization that such a dangerous beast was in the area. Staying hidden and moving carefully was more crucial than ever. There was still the possibility it could wander in the direction of the troll cave. Maybe the only reason it hadn’t come this far was because of the troll and with it dead it could be expanding its territory.

Since he knew where the creature was he dove under water putting as much distance between him and it as possible. His new sense of spatial awareness guided him, allowing him to avoid obstacles without needing to surface. He swam along the bottom of the swamp’s tangle of murky water and dense plantlife, not coming up again for air until he was sure he was well out of the range of the nature monster.

It wasn’t until he felt he had covered enough ground that he resurfaced, carefully emerging between the mesh roots of a cypress tree. The swamp was alive with sound again, the insects buzzing and the birds singing, a good sign that he was out of the creature’s immediate influence. Bjorn listened to the swamp's familiar chorus as he drifted along for a few tense moments just to make sure he wasn’t followed.

“That was over thirty minutes submerged.” Failsafe noted, a hint of amazement in his voice.

“Was it, I could have stayed under for much longer.” Bjorn replied, flicking his tongue to survey the area. The swamp’s earthy, pungent scent filled his senses, but there was no trace of the creature. “I am an aquatic lizard of some kind, right?”

“It looks that way.” Failsafe said. “But with your athletic build, you’re clearly suited for land too. Maybe you are something that would hunt near rivers or lakes or nests near waterways. Either way, let's hunt and get out of here before that creature starts moving this way.”

“Snakes, snakes, snakes.” Bjorn said absently. “Let's see what we can find.”