In the frozen silence of the city, beneath the northern lights, Eirik felt for the first time as though the gods were watching. In his 26 years, he had never seen them himself, although it was rumored that sometimes, late at night, they appeared over Halsport in the biting cold, when the city was asleep.
“Wow!” Saarni gasped, squeezing in beside him at the narrow window. She pushed him aside, and when Eirik tried to shove her back, it was like going against a wall. Saarni laughed at his futile attempt.
“Will they ever grow up?” their mother mused, her voice soft but full of amusement. Behind them, little Pitu let out a dismissive snort, as if to say, "Not anytime soon."
Normally, Eirik would’ve bickered longer or fought for the best view, but tonight was different. Candles flickered on the windowsills, and the lanterns in the urn room were lit. This evening, they would finally witness the souls crossing the bridge to the lands of the dreams.
Eirik held his breath, the air around him thick with the awe of the lights, afraid that speaking, or even moving too suddenly, might shatter their fragile beauty. He had never witnessed anything so magnificent, so raw and untamed, and he found himself unwilling to let it slip away. But, as everything must, the lights slowly faded into the darkness, like a whisper carried away by the wind, leaving only the cold night in their wake.
“The lost souls have now found their new home,” their mother sighed from the nearby window.
With a soft nod, she turned to leave the room, guiding Pitu along with her. They still had work to finish and preparations for the next day’s rituals.
“Do you know what that means, Eirik?” Saarni asked, giving her brother a playful slap on the back. “You’re working overtime tomorrow. The people of Halsport are going to go wild over this.”
Eirik laughed. He tried to pretend the slap hadn’t hurt, but Saarni’s crooked grin made it clear that his act hadn’t fooled her. “You’re right. Tomorrow’s going to be fun.”
“Certainly,” she said with mock enthusiasm.
“What’s with that tone?” Eirik raised an eyebrow. “You know, the gods need our insights more than your patrols on the harbor borders. There are no thieves here, but plenty of prophecies.”
They spoke in hushed tones, careful not to let their words slip. The topic was sharp, like the edge of a sword, capable of shattering the peace of the household if their parents overheard.
Saarni rolled her eyes. “Right, because deciphering the gods’ riddles is so vital. People just want to be controlled.”
“Or maybe they just want to feel heard—and safe,” Eirik countered. “Today, I saved someone from breaking their leg.”
“Really?” Saarni smirked. “And how exactly did you do that? Did they see a three-eyed raven in their dreams, and you informed them it means they’ll fall into a ditch if they don’t mind their step in two hours?”
“Something like that.” Eirik smiled. “How about you help out tomorrow? You must remember something from your lessons.”
“Nice try, but no. I’m heading to the forest tomorrow.”
“What?” Their mother returned, eyes narrowed with concern. “There are many forests here, and none of them are safe. Lately, people have dreamed of darkness in the woods. The forests don’t want us, and we must respect the will of nature. You should not—”
“No worries,” Saarni cut her off, “It’s just the nearby woods. We won’t go far. The watchmen spotted strange activity—human activity—and wanted me to check it out with a few others.”
The tension thickened in the room. Their mother’s stare was firm, a look Eirik knew well—a silent warning that had ignited many arguments in the Nanuk household over the years.
“Good talk,” Eirik broke the silence, clearing his throat. “I think I’ll head home.”
“Me too,” Saarni replied. Their mother remained silent, the weight of her worry etched into her expression. Her eyes held shadows, deepened by years of quiet fear. Eirik kissed her cheek, hoping to lift her spirits, but all she managed was a faint, half-hearted smile.
Snow crunched under Eirik’s boots. The city was still and quiet, as the people mourned. During the northern lights, it was believed that the phenomenon created a bridge between the mortals and the gods. Souls, thought to wander restlessly after death, were guided by the ruler of paths to their final resting place in the dream realm, where the gods resided. The veil between the worlds thinned, allowing the humans to reach out to the spirits in the afterlife and connect with those they had lost.
Eirik’s breath misted in the air. “Now I get why people love the northern lights. The air feels... different. Heavier. Like we could actually see the dead in the sky.”
Saarni huffed. “We’ve become too greedy. It’s not enough for the gods to speak to us. We have to meddle with the dead, too.”
Eirik shot her a sideways glance. “Are you talking about our father?”
“Yes,” she replied simply. “He doesn’t know how to let go of what’s been lost.”
After that, silence settled between them. They walked side by side, two tall silhouettes in the darkness, their black curls brushing through the fur-lined hoods of their coats. Years ago, they had been like mirror images: adventurers, dreamers, and visionaries. But then fate had pulled them apart, leaving only a dreamweaver without a cause and a soldier who had turned her back on her legacy.
Secretly, Eirik had always felt a twinge of envy toward his older sister. Despite her disdain for the gods and dreams, she had purpose. Why had the gods abandoned Eirik, who had prayed to each of them, yet not Saarni, who only wished they would leave her be?
He would never voice these thoughts. He didn’t want to seem negative, a harbinger of bad luck. He led a quiet, simple life, part of Halsport’s elite by virtue of his family’s wealth and business. People like him had no right to complain. And if word of Eirik’s loneliness spread, the Nanuk family’s reputation would be at stake. So, he kept his secret to himself.
His house was the first on the path, and with a brief nod of farewell, they parted ways.
It was a very simple house, the kind that might not seem fitting for one of the city's wealthiest men. It was plain, single-story, made entirely of stone and wood. It looked as if Eirik had just moved in, even though he had been living there for nearly eight years. He didn’t enjoy being alone and often still found himself at his childhood home, pestering Pitu and hanging out with his mother.
Whenever silence descended and he was left alone with his thoughts, everything became much harder to bear. It was a feeling he struggled to accept, for no one was ever truly alone. Their rulers, the gods in the realm beyond mind, dreamland, whispered in the ears of all, guiding their lives and offering company. They rewarded their most faithful believers. And it wasn’t difficult to catch the gods’ attention; they always found a way to make their presence felt, slipping into the edges of dreams when sleep took hold. But Eirik did not experience the same sense of joy as others from it.
As he laid down and closed his eyes, he could once again see the green flashes in the sky, their golden edges gleaming like pure gold. A sense of relief washed over him. All these years, he had believed the aurora had grown sparser because of him, that he was nothing but a curse to the people of Halsport. But this evening proved that he was not so extraordinary. He was just a normal man who had thought too highly of himself. He wasn’t important, and that was the kind of life he needed.
The next morning, Eirik cursed how they had been right. The people of Halsport were buzzing with excitement over last night’s northern lights, and many had spoken to the gods, asking if their ancestors had heard their prayers and voices in the afterlife. As always, the rulers’ answers had been vague.
He arrived at his parents' cabin early, feeling cheerful and full of energy, but when he saw the chaos, he immediately wished he were back in his warm bed.
Eirik didn’t even get a greeting from his father, who was already waving him over to the seer room—a plain little office used for his work. A low table had been set with tea, and the purifying candle’s flame flickered just as brightly as it had the day before. On the floor, seated on cushions by the table, were two young men who looked visibly uncomfortable, glancing around anxiously and avoiding Eirik’s gaze.
"Good morning!" Eirik greeted with his usual smirk. "Great to see everyone so... thrilled about this morning meetup."
He set the table and poured tea into beautiful porcelain cups. The candle was blown out, and the scent of smoke filled the air, meant to relax muscles and calm the mind. However, judging by the men’s tightly pressed lips and clenched fists, the incense and dim lighting didn’t seem to improve their mood. They ignored his attempts at small talk, and eventually, Eirik gave up, moving straight to the point.
“Relax, you’re not facing the gallows,” he teased. “No need to be so tense. So, what’s on your mind?”
“Dreams,” one of the men replied. He was darker-skinned than Eirik, his features nearly swallowed by the shadows of the room.
“... Dreams,” Eirik echoed, trying to suppress a laugh. He managed it, perhaps better than usual. “Yeah, so what kind of dreams, exactly? Which god spoke to you? Try to describe the surroundings in detail.”
Normally, Eirik would hold a client’s hand to connect with their aura, but he sensed these men would have a fit if he suggested it. He would need to rely on words alone.
The other man spoke up. His voice was raspy, like a night bird’s call, “My apologies, we’ve never visited a dreamweaver before.”
Eirik guessed they were from the far north of Kaldrheim. Though the country had experienced a lot and would benefit from teamwork, its districts tended to avoid each other, and only the wealthy sought out the Nanuk family's counsel. These men, however, were dressed in worn leather and dirty furs, their thick, calloused hands unsure of how to hold a teacup. What on earth were they doing in Halsport?
“It’s alright!” Eirik replied. “I’m Eirik Nanuk, here to interpret your dreams. Let’s start with your names, and then details about your dream. Don’t worry, everything stays in this room. I’m not one to gossip.”
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Finally, the more well-spoken man said, "I’m Sindre, and this is my brother Ulrik. We’re from Everfrost."
Eirik’s guess had been right, though he never imagined civilized people actually lived in Everfrost. It was a harsh land, beyond the snow-capped mountains and dense forests, battered by eternal winter. No wonder the northern lights were so vibrant there, appearing more often in a land where death seemed ever-present.
Before Eirik could respond, Sindre continued, “We aren’t here for our dreams, but the dream of our village elder. He’s too old to travel, so we came on his behalf.”
Eirik smiled, though it was a sad, almost pitying one. He couldn’t shake the feeling that these men had come all this way for no reason at all. Yet, he said nothing, letting the stranger speak.
"He saw... a bad dream," Sindre said, grimacing as if the word itself tasted bitter on his tongue. He shifted uneasily on the pillow, and the hot tea spilled onto his skin, but he didn’t react. Many people called the inhabitants of Wildermere wild savages. Eirik had always disagreed with that notion, but now, he wasn’t so sure. The men stared at him with hawk-like eyes, as if he were a tiny forest mouse.
Eirik nodded slowly, trying to be encouraging, though the conversation made him uneasy. The gods had no concept of nightmares. Why would they? The dream realm was their domain—a place beyond the mind, where everything was calm and whole.
"There are no bad dreams," he stated, playing the part of the calm, understanding listener. "But sometimes, the gods try to warn people of negative things, which can make the experience feel unsettling. Could you tell me more about the elder’s dream?"
Ulrik nudged, ready to rise and leave the seer’s room, but Sindre stopped him, holding his arm down. Then, he took a deep breath and repeated, “It was a bad dream.”
“Alright,” Eirik said. “Let’s say it was.”
The air felt heavy, just like it had the night before. The gods were watching them—or perhaps it was the dead, still lingering on this side of the veil, eavesdropping. Eirik's intuition stirred. This wasn’t just about dreams; there was something more. He just couldn’t yet put his finger on it. Whatever it was, he was certain he wasn’t qualified to handle it.
“It was from the god of night, Eryx.”
Eirik had heard of Eryx many times. He was the god who had sworn to silence for all eternity, and the dreams he revealed were always mute. His messages came in symbols, fitting for a god of night, whose words were as mysterious as the darkness itself. But his callings were not nightmares. Those who worshipped Eryx usually understood his unique way of communication. By all logic, they shouldn’t have been startled by the slightest thing.
Ulrik finally spoke again. Eirik had begun to believe he was just a gruff man who couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Until now, he’d only glared, sulked, and tried to escape—understandable reactions, really.
"Eryx showed him a war that has already destroyed the land. In the darkness lurk dangers that eat away at our minds," he began with a venomous tone, as if he knew exactly what Eirik was thinking—that he didn’t believe their ramblings. "He tried to warn us. But warn us of what? What war? There is no war in Wildmere, not in any of our lands, and I don’t believe the lurking evil is just a pack of giant wolves!"
It sounded... unbelievable. Dreams weren’t meant to inspire panic or fear in people. Eirik furrowed his brow, lost in thought. Wildmere wasn’t at war, it was mostly a peaceful continent. Some tribes had their feuds, and there were disputes over fishing territories, but diplomacy usually prevailed. And what did Ulrik mean by dangers that eat away our minds? Eirik guessed it might refer to lost memories or mental illness, but he wasn’t about to voice that just yet. The men probably wouldn’t be too pleased if he casually declared that their village elder was completely mad.
Sindre nodded, continuing his brother's tale, filling in the missing gaps. "There are always some kind of monsters in them. Their entire bodies never show, just their silhouettes and fleeting shadows. They taint the land, corrupt the mind. Then people cry and scream, and they suffer."
"Scream?" The word caught Eirik’s attention. "Do they look like they’re screaming, or...?"
"They scream," Sindre repeated. "It's the only sound in the dream. The cries of sleeping people, in their warm beds. There’s no blood, no illness… but the screams... they sound wrong, like something deeper than pain.”
"Eryx has vowed silence. It’s not like him for there to be any sound in his dreams. Are you sure it was him?"
"We didn’t ask you to doubt us, we asked you to analyze the dream!" Ulrik hissed.
"That’s what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to make sense of it," Eirik said, trying to keep his composure, though Ulrik had a point. He was questioning their word.
He wasn't sure what to think. If this really was Eryx, it would be the first time in living memory that he had used sound in the dreams he sent to his followers' minds. It was also hard to believe that he would show such powerful signs. As the god of the night, he valued tranquility and rest.
"The dream clearly showed only one creature, but it never did anything. It just watched from the sidelines. A starving, silver coyote with bloody paws," Sindre continued. Unlike his brother, he was actually trying to push the conversation forward. "Before the dream ended, the elder saw the coyote's eyes. In them, was a reflection of a battlefield. This was the second time war had been shown in the dream.”
"...Okay, wow," Eirik huffed, leaning back. "So the god of night is showing you a war? I guess eternal sleep is his thing now." He laughed at his own joke. The whole situation was so absurd that he almost felt like they were just messing with him.
But when the brothers remained silent, he sighed. "Okay, look, I get it. Something's scaring you, but I don’t think Eryx is sending you visions of war and mind-eating shadows. They're probably just pointing to a conflict where your village elder will have to make a tough choice."
But even as he said it, doubt gnawed at him. The way they spoke... something about it felt off. They seemed genuinely desperate.
"I knew this was a waste of time," Ulrik grumbled, turning to his brother. "Let's get out of here."
Maybe they weren’t just messing with him after all. As Eirik's panic took hold, his sense of responsibility kicked in. He couldn't simply turn away clients because their elder had witnessed something that seemed impossible.
It was clear that this was no ordinary, everyday situation. He believed that much, though he still couldn’t grasp how such a dream was even possible. But to get to the bottom of it, he would need to speak with the village elder. He would be able to sense the elder's feelings as he recalled the dream, and it would be easier to determine whether he was simply an unreliable narrator or not.
"I could help you more if the elder came to us. That way, I’d get all the details. I can’t piece everything together if I’m not in contact with the one who actually had the dream," Eirik said, his tone shifting to more serious.
However, his response only seemed to irritate Ulrik more. "Like we already said, he's too old to travel."
"Then, there’s nothing I can do," the dreamweaver shrugged. Though he was annoyed, he couldn't deny that curiosity tugged at him. It was unheard of for the gods to show visions of battlefields, corruption, and death. They were forbidden from interfering too directly with the fate of mortals. No, this had to be something else. Sometimes, the elderly confused matters in their dreams, the sickness distorting their memories.
"This is important," Sindre said. His voice was quieter, calmer than his brother’s, whose simmering anger seemed ready to boil over at any moment. "Please. I’m begging you, help us understand.”
A pang of guilt squeezed at Eirik's chest. "I wish I could, but I can’t. Not unless I meet the elder myself. I need to sense his aura, analyze his energy."
"Then come with us! We’re leaving in two days!" Sindre urged.
"To Everfrost?" Eirik frowned. "That's on the other side of the country. I can’t... I won’t go there, nothing lives in that place."
"See? Not even dreamweavers can help us," Ulrik spat. This time, when he stood, Sindre didn’t stop him. The man stormed out of the room with a slam of the door, and after a moment, his brother followed, their footsteps echoing in the silence.
Eirik was left in the stillness of the room, the weight of their plea lingering in the air like a distant thunderstorm. He sighed deeply, hoping that at least his sister would have a better day patrolling the forests.
He had only spoken with the morning’s first clients, and Eirik already craved a coffee break. Stepping from the dim seer’s room into the front hall, Eirik noted how cramped the space felt, especially now with a line stretching all the way to the front yard. His parents ran their business from the cabin they’d built in the backyard of their property.
Pitu, who’d arrived at the hall just a bit before him, raised an eyebrow at his older brother.
“We’ve been open for all of ten minutes, and two customers have already left. Their expressions were as sour as lemons,” he remarked with a teasing tone. “That’s why you’re the apprentice, and I am not.”
"I love you too, man," Eirik replied dryly. It was an uncomfortable truth he had come to accept. All this time, he’d been missing something that kept him from advancing as a dreamweaver. Despite knowing by heart each god’s unique ways of communicating—their symbols and their double meanings—something was lacking, holding him back from ascending. Pitu didn’t know the reason, nor did Saarni. And certainly not their parents. But he did. How could he ever truly understand dreams when he’d never glimpsed one himself? It was like reaching for something vast and unknowable, always just beyond his grasp.
Eirik kept himself busy for the rest of the day. Fortunately, the next customers were more approachable. No one stormed out in anger, slamming doors, and there were no complaints about nightmares, wars, or mind-consuming corruption. Many of them had indeed made contact with the dead, and soon the entire city of Halsport was in such high spirits that it felt as though they were celebrating a second New Year.
The cheerful mood failed to reach Eirik, despite his reputation for boundless energy and a smile that never faltered, even in the darkest of moments. His thoughts lingered on the mysterious brothers, their encounter haunting him. It was hard to believe that anything could unsettle men who had survived such brutal conditions, who must have faced horrors daily in the unyielding, frozen grip of eternal winter. They had traveled far, crossing mountains and forests, and surely not for some cheap joke. And the atmosphere he had sensed... Like the rest of his family, he was more attuned to the whispers of immortal power than most. When Sindre and Ulrik spoke of the elder’s dream, something in the air had shifted, a tension that left him uneasy. Somehow, he knew it wasn’t over yet.
As Saarni had predicted, they were forced to work overtime. It was already nearing midnight when Eirik finally finished. Quickly, he cleaned up his seer’s room, silently thanking the gods that tomorrow would be a day off. Pitu and their parents were tidying up the front hall when he made his way over to them.
Eirik sighed dramatically, stretching his arms and legs. "I’m completely wiped. I’m going to sleep for at least fifteen hours."
His mother smiled at him. "You did great work today, darling."
"Did I?" he chuckled. "Not sure about that. I’m pretty sure I’ll get some angry feedback tomorrow for my terrible customer service."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I’m sure you’ve heard about those men I pissed off this morning. They put on quite a show, I swear the floor shook after the door slammed."
"Oh, right, I meant to tell you!" his mother said. "I spoke with them, and we sorted things out."
Eirik eyed her in suspicion, his dark eyes narrowing. "Oh, really?"
It was perhaps the most surprising news he had ever heard. At no point had he imagined that the brothers would calm down and reach a compromise. Perhaps they had found a way to bring the village elder to Halsport? Maybe by sea? The journey would take days, but it would be far more comfortable than getting lost in the mountains and ending up in the jaws of giant wolves.
Mother had surely worked her magic. It was so easy to listen to her, so hard not to love her. Even the grumpy Ulrik, with his heart frozen by the Everfrost’s eternal gloom, would melt under her kindness.
"I didn’t want that little incident to affect our other customers, so I smoothed things over as quickly as I could," she said happily, as though she had just brokered world peace. "You’re leaving with them soon, to their home village. They’ll pay you well.”
Eirik’s smile slipped, replaced by a look of disbelief. "…What? You know where they live, right? I'll freeze to death out there!"
This time, it was his father who spoke up. "Don’t complain. You caused this mess, so you’re taking responsibility for it."
His mother quickly added, trying to soften his father’s words, "I’ll give you plenty of money to buy new winter gear. It's much colder over there than here," she said gently. "But the matter is settled. You’re leaving the day after tomorrow. Go get your good night’s sleep.”
The reality of the situation began to sink in. A small part of Eirik was curious; he wanted to know more about this terrible dream, to unravel the mystery. But he wasn’t a traveler. Maybe once, back when his head was full of ideas and an unbreakable thirst for adventure, when he’d played with a wooden sword alongside his older sister. Those days felt long gone now, and he had settled down. Saarni was the daring one between them, not him.
Still, optimism flickered in him, a glimmer of his old spirit that made him want to believe he could help. The men had come from afar, from the other side of Keldhreim, just for his advice, and it wouldn’t be right to abandon them. Besides, if those brothers had managed to survive the journey, then surely he could too. Probably.