No amount of new winter clothes would save him from this mess. Even though he had convinced himself that he had stopped nurturing the futile hope, Eirik found himself running through the names of all the gods in his mind before bed. And once again, he was abandoned, ignored—forced to begin his journey with yet another night devoid of dreams.
The weight of the backpack pressed heavily against his back. For now, he wore only two layers of clothing—enough to withstand Halsport's early spring chill. But the further they traveled toward the northern corner, the more he would feel the cold bite at his skin.
Even Sindre and Ulrik seemed uneasy. Their journey to Kaldrheim's capital hadn't been easy, it seemed, but whenever Eirik dared ask about it, he was met with nothing but angry glares, especially from Ulrik. The two brothers stayed silent, their presence a quiet burden, as Eirik rambled on for all of them while they neared the city’s boundary walls.
It was as if fate itself mocked him, that Saarni was the gatekeeper at that very moment. As the trio approached, the woman leaned out from her post, confused, rubbing her eyes to make sure the morning fog wasn't playing tricks on her.
"What do my old eyes see?" Saarni laughed. "My baby brother! Where are you off to?"
Eirik had to look up to the top of the five-meter wall, where a familiar figure stood. Saarni was dressed in thick leather, reinforced with iron plates on her torso. Draped over her shoulders was a warming cloak of fur, its massive hood concealing her black curly hair and partially obscuring her eyes. It might not have been the most fitting gear for a soldier, but it kept her warm.
Finally, he spoke, "On a business trip. Darling mother thought I should get some exercise in."
"She's right.”
"Shut up," Eirik muttered.
Although he wouldn’t admit it, he was relieved to see his sister before he left. He hadn’t heard from her since the sight of the northern lights, which now felt like it had happened ages ago, even though it had only been two nights. So much had happened in those hours that time seemed to stretch on endlessly.
“And where exactly are you headed?” his sister inquired, feigning innocence. “Just a watchman’s duty to ask. I need to know where the citizens of this city are going, and why.”
He didn’t want to think about it, but there was no avoiding it. “Oh, it’s a lovely sunny getaway—beautiful beaches and all that… or rather, Everfrost.”
Saarni frowned. “What business could you possibly have there? There’s nothing but beasts that would snap you up like a matchstick for breakfast.”
“Someone needs my skills. A human person, mind you. Besides, those beasts will have to get through my bodyguards first.” Grinning, he patted his companions’ shoulders. Ulrik brushed his hand off irritably, but Sindre didn’t react at all. Eirik swore they’d all be best friends soon enough.
His sister didn’t seem convinced. Still, she didn’t press the issue; she was on duty, and it was neither in her values nor her pride to behave too poorly in front of strangers.
“Very well, then,” Saarni said. “I’ll be heading back into the forest tomorrow. Let’s hope I don’t find your body there.”
“Wouldn’t that just be your lucky day?”
“Just get going.”
The gate creaked open, and they continued on their way. Eirik could’ve sworn he heard Ulrik mutter “finally” with a few curses thrown in, but when he glanced over, his expression was as stoic as ever. He didn’t even respond to Eirik’s wide grin, acting as if he couldn’t see him at all.
Eirik waved a lively goodbye to his sister, his smile bright and wide. But as the gate closed behind them, a thought took root in his mind—why had Saarni been sent back to the nearby forest for patrol? What exactly was lurking there?
He grew even more apprehensive about what lay ahead, knowing the brothers were heavily armed. Though they weren’t clad in armor like Halsport’s soldiers, they were just as imposing.
Their last meeting had taken place in a dimly lit room, so in the sunlight, Eirik could finally get a better look at their features. Ulrik, the more aggressive of the two, was tall and massive. Even through the thick layers of leather and fur, his muscular build was obvious. Both had dark brown, closely cropped hair and harsh, chiseled features. They looked so alike they were likely twins.
Naturally, Eirik had suggested they travel to Everfrost by sea, but Sindre argued that it would be even more dangerous than crossing through forests and mountains. He hadn’t given a reason, but Eirik wasn’t oblivious; he knew that some people believed in the old legends: monsters lurking beneath the waves in the kingdom of shipwrecks and sunken vessels. He thought it was just nonsense. Everything in their world was a gift from the gods. Why would they give humans something that only brought trouble and danger? Even storms held purpose, clearing the air and scattering seeds and nutrients across the fields. Thanks be to Thalorath, god of the sea and storms.
So instead of a comfortable cruise, they had to walk to the nearest village, which was at least fifty kilometers away. There, they would buy horses to continue their journey.
“Why didn’t we just buy horses in Halsport?” Eirik grumbled, feeling another blister forming on his heel. The sun was already high in the sky, shining through the sparse trees. So far, they had stuck to the main trail, keeping far from the eerie forests.
“Because that miserable port town doesn’t know how to train them properly,” Ulrik growled. “They’re too scrawny and small. Good for a bit of recreational riding, but they wouldn’t survive in the wilderness.”
Eirik brushed off Ulrik’s remark and kept questioning them,“So, how did you even make it to the city from that far out? Surely, not on foot. You might be in good shape, but not that good.”
Ulrik let out a strange snort, vaguely resembling a laugh, but left it to his brother to answer.
“We had horses,” Sindre said.
Eirik raised a brow, glancing back at them. “And where are these mystery horses now?”
Sindre’s expression darkened as he stared intently at the ground. “In pieces. Giant wolves got them halfway here. Nasty beasts.”
Eirik sighed. “Lovely.”
“They’ve been acting more aggressively than usual. Something’s disturbing them, forcing them out of their territories and closer to the villages. We believe it’s somehow connected to the elder’s dream. We hoped you could help,” Sindre continued.
“And look where that hope got us! It’s been a waste of time!” Ulrik interjected. “So far, all he’s done is fool around and complain.”
“Hey!” Eirik defended himself. “I’m here with you, aren’t I? I’m trying to help!”
“And I already regret having you along,” Ulrik muttered under his breath.
Sindre shot them both a half-resentful, half-bored look. When he spoke, his gaze was fixed on his brother. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about Nanuk and their abilities. They understand the dream realm better than anyone else. The gods speak to them most clearly, so try to tolerate him.”
Guilt crept over Eirik, heavy and sharp. Maybe this was a huge mistake. He should have thought of more excuses to turn the brothers down. Pitu would’ve been a much better fit. His brother was of age so he could leave home, perfectly suited for a journey like this, and had a true connection to the gods. Pitu understood dreams in a way that went beyond theory or symbolism, something Eirik hadn’t mastered no matter how many books he’d read.
And yet, the more he thought about it, the more he felt he couldn’t let the brothers down. If they’d come this far seeking help, maybe he owed it to them to see this journey through. Furthermore, their trip had already begun, and there was no point in dwelling on past decisions.
Though uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his confidence, he knew he was capable enough. Eirik was simply anxious about this new world unfolding before him. He had never traveled far from home, always staying in the warmth and comfort of familiar surroundings. He was used to a simple life, one he could share with his loved ones. This journey was the complete opposite—an utter contrast to his usual way of life. Goodbye to his loving family, to the luxury of comfort and a warm home. And on top of that, his travel companions seemed to hate him.
"Thanks, Sindre!" he said, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen between them. "I always knew your brain was made of more than just water and fat.”
He didn’t even get a gruff chuckle in response. This journey was going to be terribly boring. Eirik couldn’t understand the brothers. How could they walk for hours on end, from dawn to dusk, without saying a word? Where were the travel songs, the jokes, the mutual encouragement? He was pretty sure that if he tried to say, ‘Good job, man, you’ve got this,’ to Ulrik now, he’d pull that massive machete from its sheath and start swinging. Maybe he would have better luck with Sindre. He seemed more reasonable and calm. Or perhaps he was just embarrassed by how he had literally begged for the dreamweaver’s help, sitting around little porcelain tea cups, surrounded by silk cushions. If Eirik had done the same, he would have kept the provocation to a minimum, afraid that what had happened could be used against him.
"So... what’s Everfrost like?" he asked. For a long time, all he had heard was the sound of footsteps and his own complaining, and he couldn’t stand it any longer.
It was no surprise that Sindre was the one to answer. "There’s not much there. Trees, snow, some animals. We’re from the only village in the region, called Brumar."
"I’ve never even heard of it."
"And you’re supposed to be the one who went to school?" Ulrik remarked.
"Well, it’s not like I cared much about some dump of Kaldrheim," Eirik shot back. "I was more interested in the things that actually matter."
He didn’t sound annoyed, though. He was used to banter. It would have been strange if he hadn’t, considering his siblings.
Not waiting for Ulrik’s answer, he went on, "What do you actually do there? Life would be a lot easier if you were a little closer to civilization."
Wildmere was full of beautiful countries, with Kaldrheim being the northernmost of them. But even they saw summer and enjoyed its soothing warmth—at least until they ventured further north. Kaldrheim was a land of mountains and forests, dark lakes and caverns. And the deeper one traveled, the harsher it became. The animals grew wilder, the winds heavier. Beyond all of this lay the cursed Everfrost, a place where no one, by any sense of reason, should ever live. Its only significance lay in its proximity to the border of the neighboring country, but no one dared cross the canal that separated them due to the treacherous weather. So, it was all in vain, and it was far easier to start shipping routes from Halsport, Kaldrheim’s capital.
“We guard the borders of the land,” Sindre replied. However, he had taken too long to think of an answer and didn’t try to elaborate further. Had he lied? Eirik was suspicious, but he didn’t want to start questioning his honesty out loud.
“So, you’re soldiers, then?” he asked instead.
“Kind of,” came the reply. And that was that.
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The brothers no longer engaged with any topic Eirik tried to bring up. Eventually, he too had to settle into the silence he despised so much. Slowly but surely, his thoughts returned to the elder’s dream. He had been trying to piece it all together: flashes of bodies on the battlefield, people screaming in their sleep, and a coyote simply watching from the sidelines. Animals were among the most common symbols, but Eryx usually favored inanimate objects in his signs.
Sometimes, the gods appeared in dreams in animal form, likely because they were either shy or simply hideous, at least in Eirik’s opinion. But Eryx was not a shapeshifter. Each god had their own powers, bound by specific rules. Eryx couldn't alter physical forms; his abilities were far more unsettling. It was only by their luck that the gods couldn’t directly wield their powers over mortals—because Eryx could put an entire army to sleep in the blink of an eye. He could create a veil of darkness, through which no one could see, and even worse, in theory, he could trap someone in eternal sleep. The gods were capable of terrible things, but they were bound by divine law. And of course, they simply cared too much for mortals to hurt them.
Eirik’s legs ached. He had been about to ask for what must have been the tenth break, when he realized that the brothers had already stopped. He turned to face them, ready to crack some silly joke, but then hesitated.
Sindre and Ulrik stood still, tense, their eyes fixed on something ahead. It was already dark, and their path was illuminated only by the pale light of the moon, forcing them to focus intently. Sensing the change in the atmosphere, held his tongue. Something was off.
As Ulrik began to slide his hand toward the weapon in his sheath, Eirik whispered into the stillness, “What now?”
“The village is up ahead. It’s too quiet,” Sindre explained.
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s too quiet, even for a village that’s asleep.”
A blood-curdling scream cut through the darkness, tearing the silence to pieces. It made Eirik’s hand instinctively move to the sword he had received from the brothers as they had prepared to leave. Just for safety, Sindre had said.
Eirik had wielded a sword before. He had trained with his sister throughout their childhood, though Saarni had quickly become faster, stronger. Still, Eirik could at least consider himself somewhat skilled. But even so, as his fingers gripped the hilt, a tightening sensation constricted his throat. He had never used it to cut into a flesh.
“Well, at least it’s not quiet anymore,” Eirik laughed, unsure what else to say.
And then they ran.
Just moments ago, his entire body had screamed in agony, pleading for rest. But now, his heart hammered relentlessly in his chest, urging him forward—run, run, run. The weight of his pack no longer felt like a burden, and it did nothing to slow him down as his legs moved faster. Another scream tore through the air, more frantic, more desperate, forcing them to push harder.
The closer they got to the village, the clearer the sounds became, sharp and shrill. Anticipating the worst, they abandoned anything that might hinder their movement in the impending fight.
“Wolves!” someone screamed. “Run, get out!”
Eirik felt it now. The sense of danger. He hadn’t grasped it earlier, his exhaustion clouding his senses. But adrenaline surged through his veins, jolting him awake, and, in unison with the brothers, he drew his weapon. The village’s wooden, fragile gate was shattered, as if something had crushed it under its weight. There were massive wolf tracks, smeared with blood, pressed deep into the snow.
"How did they get here?" he asked in alarm. Villagers either rushed into their homes or, the bravest among them, took to the streets, wielding whatever they could use as weapons. They had no great protective stone walls or armed soldiers like Halsport. This was a coastal village, making a living from modest fishing, cabbages, root vegetables, and frost wheat—perhaps a bit of small-game hunting as well. They couldn’t afford defenses. Not that they should have needed them. The mountain forests were still far enough away, and giant wolves lived only there.
Ulrik, ever the cheerful one, snapped, "If you’re not planning on remembering, city boy, Sindre did mention they’ve been drifting far from their territory. Duck!"
Eirik had no desire to take orders from such an insufferable person, but his body moved faster than his stubbornness, and he rolled to the side. The spot where he’d been just a second earlier was split by a massive blade Ulrik had thrown. It struck the giant wolf charging toward them, with a sickening sound as it sliced through flesh and bone. Yet the wolf didn’t back down.
Its gaze locked onto Eirik, and in an instant, it was upon him. The brothers shouted something at him—orders, advice, maybe even goodbyes, he couldn’t tell. A buzzing filled his ears as he dropped his sword to the ground, unable to hold it under the wolf’s crushing weight. Instead, he reached for the knife under his coat and jabbed it wherever he could reach. The wolf grumbled, shifting its weight just enough for him to push it off. Eirik kicked it in the belly, freeing himself. As he crawled away, Ulrik was already bringing his blade down on the wolf’s neck, while Sindre helped him up.
"Thanks," he gasped. "What—"
"No time to talk. Go!" Sindre pointed toward the streets, where two men already lay fallen. Eirik nodded, trembling, and picked his sword up from the ground. His vision blurred, just for a second, with a strange lightness washing over him. He was bleeding, though he wasn’t sure from where. It couldn’t have been anything life-threatening, or surely Ulrik would have looked more triumphant. So, he had no choice but to save the villagers’ night and get them back to their beauty sleep.
The three of them spread out, each taking a different direction. There were about ten wolves—a typical pack size for frostburnt creatures. That was the only typical thing about this whole mess. Eirik had never seen giant wolves before; they were supposed to live far away in the land of eternal night. Their fur was snow-white, and their enormous claws sharp as knives. Here he was, just a day’s journey from his cozy home, already falling victim to these unnatural beasts. This was exactly why traveling was overrated.
The giant wolf had smashed open the door of a wooden building, clearly savoring the terror it inspired in the family inside. But before it could take another step over the threshold, Eirik shouted, "Hey! You stupid mutt! Don’t you want a real meal instead of helpless women and children? Come here!"
His taunt didn’t have the desired effect. The wolf cast him half a glance, clearly unimpressed. Apparently, brave knights didn’t fit into its diet plan. Eirik needed a new approach—and fast. He thought back to the way Ulrik had thrown his knife earlier: it was all in a powerful flick of the wrist and sharp aim.
He had the wrist flick, but not the aim. He watched as his knife soared in a sad little arc, looking as if it would miss the wolf completely. So, maybe it wasn’t as easy as he’d thought. Desperately, he began scrambling for a plan C, but just as he did, the knife clattered to the ground with a soft thud, followed by an annoyed growl. Somehow, it had managed to hit the wolf’s paw.
“Well, better than nothing,” he muttered, as the creature’s enraged eyes turned fully on him.
Eirik realized he was completely alone. He’d survived the earlier fight by pure luck—and with pure help from the brothers. Now that pair was off rescuing beautiful women and racking up glory, while he was about to meet his end at the claws of an overgrown mutt. Just perfect.
The wolf lunged without warning, and Eirik dodged—this time with a bit more style. At least he wasn’t left crawling on the ground in humiliation. He swung his sword through the air, cursing just how rusty he’d gotten. Saarni would have laughed at that feeble strike, disarmed him in a second, and called him a loser. She and the wolf would have become best friends for sure.
The creature bared its teeth and lunged again, jaws snapping dangerously close. Eirik managed to slash its shoulder, a shallow cut but enough to make the beast back off, snarling. His heart pounded. He steadied his stance, raising his blade and muttering, "Alright, let’s see if I remember anything useful."
This time, it was him who attacked. He wouldn’t last much longer if he kept dodging and hoping for luck to save him.
The faint light from a nearby building’s lanterns offered some relief against the night, casting a pale glow across the surroundings. The wolf recoiled, narrowly avoiding Eirik's sword, retreating straight into the light. And then, he saw them—those monstrous eyes. Completely black, as if shadows themselves had eaten away at them.
Eirik hesitated. A cold shiver ran down his spine as a terrible thought crossed his mind. It wasn’t a pack of giant wolves lurking in the darkness, just like Ulrik had said about the dream, but what if it was something far worse, something else taking their shape?
The hesitation was a moment of weakness, and the animal knew it. With a ferocious growl, it lunged toward him, ready to deliver its final blow. But Eirik was quicker. He dodged and swung his blade. This time he put more force into his strike, and the wolf’s howl rang in his ears, a hideous sound of agony.
Yet, it wasn’t ready to quit. The giant creatures were known for their endless endurance—after all, they had to survive the merciless eternal winter somehow. But Eirik wasn’t going to give up either. He aimed for a second blow, his muscles tensed, when something caught his eye in the corner of his vision. Another wolf.
He tried to sidestep, but his foot snagged on something. A body. A lifeless body, lying by the side of the road, and now it would be his undoing. Eirik cursed aloud as he fell, and then there was nothing but the sound of his scream, drowned out by the sharp pain of teeth sinking into his shoulder and claws raking down his side.
Was this it? Eirik’s head was spinning, his gaze fixed on something far off. He saw a strange silhouette, hazy and uncertain, as if it didn’t truly belong there.
A coyote. A thin, starving coyote, its eyes locking onto him with unnerving intensity.
So this was it.
His whole life, he’d been a fraud. A Dreamweaver who had never seen a single dream. The gods had never spoken to him, yet here he was, embarking on a dangerous journey to solve the mystery of the village elder’s dream in Everfrost. But why? Was he trying to prove to himself that he wasn’t a failure? Or maybe he didn’t want to let others down? Or, deep down, was he still the adventurer he’d been as a child, running around with his sister?
Eirik shouted again, this time in frustration. He grabbed his sword and drove it into the wolf’s side. The creature wailed in pain, retreating suddenly, dragging the sword with it.
Yes, this was it. It was only a matter of time before the second wolf would grab him. Eirik searched for the coyote again, but it had disappeared. An inexplicable feeling of longing tightened around his heart.
No new strike of pain came. Eirik could hear shouting, the sounds of battle, and more growls from the giant wolves. Then… silence.
“Are you alive?” The voice felt distant, almost unreal.
“I think I am,” he replied weakly.
“Shame.” Ulrik pulled him up, not exactly gentle about it. “Let’s get you patched up.”
“Thanks, my brave prince.”
“Shut up.”
The following moments blurred before his eyes, too fast to stay in his memory. Eirik was wounded in several places, pain radiating through muscles he hadn't even known existed. But he was alive, and the villagers loved him. What’s more, Sindre and Ulrik hated him a little bit less.
Eirik knew he should be happy about the victory, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease. Every time he closed his eyes, the coyote returned to his mind. He was certain of it now—it had been the coyote that had appeared in the elder's dream. The one who always watched destruction from the sidelines. It felt like a symbol of death, lingering in the final moments of people’s lives before their last breath. It made the most sense. And yet, Eirik wasn’t convinced. He was not able to see any divine symbols, no signs from the gods. Maybe it had all been an illusion caused by the heavy blood loss.
They were finally left in peace. The whole night and morning, the villagers had crowded into their shared recovery room, indifferent to the fact that they were being patched up, wounds stitched closed, and were practically half-naked. Eirik felt like a zoo animal, especially when an old woman stared relentlessly at him as he shoved pastries into his mouth.
Worst of all, at least in his opinion, Eirik was in no shape to be seen, let alone admired. His shoulder-length curls, typically kept tied back, were now a tangled mess, streaked with sweat and dried blood. His sharp features were dulled by grime and exhaustion, and his tanned skin looked battered. His body was covered in cuts and bruises, and he often complained about how his scars would never look as “neat” as Sindre's. All he got were “stupid bite marks” on his shoulder and wide claw slashes across his side, while Sindre’s face would now be framed by fierce, dramatic gashes. Life was just so unfair.
Eventually, the woman caring for them lost her patience on their behalf and ordered all the bystanders to leave. Their heroes needed to rest.
Eirik held onto the word. Heroes.
But he didn’t like the silence that descended on the room after all of that. He’d nearly forgotten how silent the brothers could be.
“What happened to the other wolves?” he asked.
“I killed a couple. Ulrik did too,” Sindre replied. He was also wounded but didn’t grimace or complain the way Eirik had. “The two left alive ran off.”
“Did you see their eyes?”
Sindre glanced at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Well... their eyes were completely black, like gaping voids. I don’t think they were wolves at all,” Eirik said. Then he realized how ridiculous it sounded, so he added, “Maybe I’m just losing my mind. That’s what this company does to you.”
Even Ulrik turned to look at him, a serious expression on his face. Now, without constantly furrowing his brow in anger and looking like he had eaten a kilo of lemons, his face looked... polite. The thought almost made Eirik chuckle.
After a brief pause, Sindre answered, “Something’s off about all of this.”
“I’m starting to believe that myself,” Eirik admitted. However, he didn’t mention the coyote. He couldn’t say for sure if it had even been there, watching him suffer. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a hallucination. But those eyes—those blue, almost human eyes—were hard to forget, staring at him in the glow of the lantern.
"Right. So why didn’t your dreams warn you about this, dreamweaver?" Ulrik asked dryly.
Eirik grimaced. “Good question. Maybe the deity of flowers doesn’t bother with wolf-pack territory updates.” It was a quick lie, one that passed as a silly joke. “No point blaming me. You didn’t see anything useful either.”
“We’re all abandoned by our gods,” Sindre muttered. He didn’t know how right he was, at least when it came to Eirik.
Someone had brought their belongings back to the room. Eirik’s bag, and even the sword he’d driven between the ribs of that shadowy creature, had been returned—cleaned and polished. News spread that the locals had begun constructing stronger walls around the settlement, though the wisest among them had already packed their things and set off with their families toward Halsport. It wasn’t safe here anymore. Eirik could only hope they’d reach the city unharmed and tell everyone what had happened. Saarni would want to investigate, no question about it; she’d be the first to volunteer. Eirik was certain of that. And though he knew just how capable his sister was, he wished that, for once, she’d have the sense to step back.