They had to rest in the village for a few days. Given their injuries, they should have stayed put for at least two weeks, but with every passing second, the brothers grew more restless. So, with a short thank you to their caretaker, they made their way to the stable to buy horses for the remainder of their journey.

"Finally, some damn horses!" Eirik cheered, throwing his arms around his steed's neck. The horse was a seasoned traveler, a powerful mare built for mountain paths. She was strong-willed and proud, her coat a deep, earthy brown, and her eyes gleamed with an unyielding spirit. Unsurprisingly, she shoved him off, snorting a puff of air right in his face.

"Now, now, Captain Clop," Eirik waved a finger at her accusingly, "Behave yourself."

“How old are you again?” Ulrik asked.

“Twenty-six, thanks for asking,” Eirik shot back with a grin.

“What? You’re older than us?” he blinked, clearly taken aback. “Did they drop you on your head as a child or something?”

“... Possibly,” Eirik shrugged, “But look how I turned out! Tough, charming, and entirely capable of dealing with obnoxious younger brothers.”

“Don’t call us your brothers.”

“Why not? You’re lucky I didn’t call you my ‘beloved kin.’”

Ulrik turned to his brother, who had remained silent, his face unreadable as he worked diligently on his horse. He adjusted the saddle and tightened the straps, adding their supplies—pouches, weapons, and extra blankets—onto its sides. Each movement was efficient, as if he had done it a hundred times before. Over the past few days, Sindre had grown accustomed to ignoring their endless bickering.

"Can I hit him?" Ulrik asked, pointing at Eirik.

Sindre merely grunted in refusal, his lips curling slightly in disapproval as he gave the reins one final tug. This response made Eirik beam like a blazing sun on a dry desert.

Their trip was expected to take about twenty-five days, depending on the weather. Luckily, they wouldn’t have to cross entire ranges; the brothers knew of narrow mountain passes. However, they warned it still wouldn’t be easy. Well, Sindre warned him, while Ulrik more or less hoped Eirik would fall off a ledge. He was such a friendly guy.

And so, at dawn, they bid farewell to the villagers and shed their titles as heroes. It was still dark and gloomy, but Eirik was in his usual good spirits. For one, he had always despised spring. It melted the snow far too late and never gave them enough light for a proper day. It was like a second, even more miserable winter, and in his mind, it didn’t deserve its own spot on the list of seasons. But since Everfrost was known for its year-round snow, at least there he wouldn’t have to worry about melting ice or the weather that couldn't decide whether to drop rain, snow, or both at the same time.

Secondly, he felt better being himself. The night of the wolves had awakened something in him, that old thirst he had let dry up, waiting to fade into oblivion. He had wanted so badly to be a dreamweaver, to fit in with the group. He hadn’t wanted to be as brave as Saarni, and he didn’t allow himself to be. Saarni didn’t carry the same secret as he did. The whole of Keldhreim—no, the whole world—would shun him if they knew the truth of his lies. Dreams were important, a sign that they weren’t the only ones in this world. People took it seriously, and traitorous dreamweavers weren’t welcomed in their circles.

But now... he no longer feared, every waking moment, that he would be exposed. He didn’t have to pretend to be the perfect golden boy, a messenger of their rulers. And it felt good.

The mist had settled on the ground as the sun began to rise, lazy and slow. Their horses, however, didn’t hesitate, maintaining a steady pace. According to Sindre, the first few days would be relatively uneventful, but soon they’d have to move onto forest paths. The area was still considered military territory, land the soldiers dared to explore. Eirik wanted to believe that meant it wouldn’t be dangerous, but that might be too optimistic a thought. Who knew what kind of creatures they might encounter along the way, or what monstrous threats had already crept into the heart of civilization? Their time was running out.

The slower the days passed, the longer the shadows grew. Everywhere around them was open wilderness, leaving them exposed with no place to hide or village to seek warmth. But it wasn’t the vulnerability that troubled Eirik—it was the dullness. He wasn’t used to that feeling. At home, there was always something to do. Relentless as ever, he tried to entertain himself, trying to drag the brothers into endless conversations, but rarely succeeded. When the edge of the great forest finally came into view, Eirik almost welcomed the danger that awaited them.

He wasn’t, of course, just sitting idly by. All the while, Eirik had been trying to make sense of the nightmare. It was clear that something was wrong in their land—bad dreams, wolves roaming far from their territories, with eyes like shadows. Had the dream warned him of these creatures? Or something else? They hadn’t yet witnessed the war it had threatened, and as far as Eirik could tell, no one had woken up to a bottomless scream in the night. And if the situation was so serious, why hadn’t any other god warned them?

"I've been wondering for a while," Eirik began, "Why you two? Why were you sent to Halsport?"

Sindre shrugged. "Because we know the routes better than anyone. And it was urgent. We had to move as quickly as possible."

"You know, you could've just sent a letter or something. We have hawks that can travel even in bad weather."

"And risk it falling into the wrong hands? Don't be foolish," Ulrik cut in.

Eirik furrowed his brow. "What difference does it make? Word would've spread fast, and someone would have come to you. My mother would have taken care of it."

"Word of something like this can't spread," Sindre said firmly. "It's sensitive, and it could cause unnecessary panic."

"Okay. I have another question."

"What a surprise," Ulrik responded.

"Why me? Clients can choose which dreamweaver they go to for advice. If the topic was so delicate, why pick the only apprentice in the family?"

They could have chosen anyone. Pitu was only eighteen, but he was one of the most favored dreamweavers. Mother and father were highly experienced and precise, and there were also some other members of the Nanuk family in the city, whose reputations were all exceptional.

For a moment, neither of the brothers spoke. The only sound was the steady clip-clop of the horses' hooves, pressing against the crunching snow and the brittle twigs scattered on the ground. The low branches of the pines brushed against Eirik’s shoulders, and he instinctively pulled his hat lower over his eyes.

A chill ran down his spine, an unsettling feeling that they were being watched. He glanced around, the tension thick in the air, but saw nothing. Hopefully, it was just his paranoia. Maybe the real danger was Ulrik, ready to explode, about to snap and tell him to keep his mouth shut.

It was Sindre, though, who spoke. “It wasn’t just the battlefield that was reflected in the coyote’s eyes. It showed everything the animal had seen. Including you.”

Eirik felt his heart miss a beat. Before reason could stop his tongue, he blurted out, “I saw that coyote when the wolves attacked. It just watched as I was dying.”

“What? And you couldn’t mention that earlier?” Ulrik snapped. “You’ve been acting like we’re a bunch of crazy idiots trying to scam your family! And now you’re saying that the main symbol of the dreams was right there, proof of everything we’ve said, and you said nothing?”

“Correction, I only acted like that the morning you came to talk about the elder’s dream, and maybe when we set off,” Eirik said. He didn’t understand how sensitive the topic was, trying to ease the conversation’s tone with a casual attitude. “Besides, I didn’t see how it was relevant to the whole thing.”

“Bullshit!” he spat back. “Everything is relevant. When will you thick-headed fool understand that? You can whine about the blisters on your heels, your aching back, and how you miss warm meals, acting like those are our only problems, while the shadows are corrupting our lands! You don’t understand how important this is, even though we’ve tried to tell you. We begged you to help us. But you don’t care. You’re not here because you want to be, but because you were too afraid to refuse your parents’ orders. For some reason, you want to protect your reputation, and when I find out why, I’ll ruin your entire life, just like you’re ruining the world with your apathy!”

Ulrik's voice carried through the trees, his tone making the horses uneasy. Sindre looked unsettled as well, trying to silence his brother with a sharp glance, but it was no use. For the first time in a long while, Eirik was completely speechless.

He was right. Even though evidence had been laid out for Eirik on a silver platter, he had convinced himself that he had imagined it all. Blood loss, blurred vision, the darkness of night or that he had only seen what he wanted to. A string of excuses and explanations, anything but accepting reality.

But he could never see the reflections or signs sent by the gods. That had never happened, no matter how much he had prayed. That was a fact. And it meant that the coyote had truly been there, watching the village's destruction. Watching him.

Eirik opened his mouth. He tried to speak the truth, to confess what a fraud he was, and how he wasn’t the right man for this task. If the elder's nightmare had shown nothing but death and pain, chances were, he was part of it.

However, his voice failed him. Eirik lowered his gaze, clenching his hands into fists around the horse’s reins, remaining completely silent.

“That’s what I thought.” Ulrik's words landed like a crushing blow to the chest.

It would have been so easy to say those words out loud. He could have at least apologized for not taking them seriously at first. But Eirik couldn't bring himself to do it. Accepting the impossible had been hard enough, and now, with his whole life turned upside down, he no longer knew what to do. His smile had faded, and he felt as if it would never return.

“That's enough, Ulrik," Sindre's voice was firm. "We're in this together. We can't afford to point fingers when so many fates depend on us. If you can't behave, stay quiet. And you, Eirik, my brother is right about something. You need to understand the gravity of our situation.”

Eirik’s throat tightened. "Alright. Then tell me what happens when we reach Brumar? If I figure out what this is really about, how can we change anything? The gods only inform us of things that won’t alter our fate. They don’t warn us about wars, I can assure you. It’s their divine law. Unless, of course, it wasn’t a warning, but an announcement."

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They looked at each other for a long time, studying one another’s faces. Sindre's expression was heavy with worry, his thick brows furrowed in concern. Half of his face was concealed by bandages, the fabric stained with crimson, the blood seeping through like a quiet reminder of the battle with the wolves.

But no matter how battered he looked, there was a gleam of determination in his dark eyes.

"Then we will alter our fate ourselves," Sindre declared.

Was it possible that a war raged around them, one they knew nothing about?It was too late to only care about one's own life, just as Ulrik and Sindre had said. Now, there was more at stake.

It was hard to find a good spot to rest in the forest. In the end, they settled on a small clearing, where at least they could see if a wild, rabid animal had any unpleasant plans for them—like, for instance, feeding them to its cubs.

The starry sky was clear, the full moon casting its pale light over them as they set up their tent and fed their horses. The air had grown colder, a biting chill creeping in as they neared the mountains. Eirik could see their towering peaks rise beyond the trees, untouched and imposing, as though the mountains themselves were their rulers, silently watching over their suffering.

That night, Eirik couldn’t sleep. He sat alone by the campfire while the brothers snored in their sleeping bags, wrapped in the cold of their tents. All he could hear was the crackling of the fire and the rhythm of his own breath. The forest was eerily silent, as if it were the domain of the god of night itself. It wasn’t entirely impossible. Gods, after all, were known to favor certain areas. In Kaldrheim, particularly in Everfrost, there was no trace of the beautiful summer deity, no blessing of the warm sun. She was somewhere in the southern lands. The earth felt like their playground, shaped by the gods' hands as they willed.

Realm beyond mind, the home of the gods. The place mortals called dreamland or afterlife was something far greater than any human mind could ever comprehend. Many philosophers and theorists had tried to understand how the gods could manipulate mortal minds while they slept.

The most common conclusion was that the human mind was a blank canvas. Since, according to divine law, the gods could not physically interact with mortals, they had found ways to communicate in other ways. When a mortal’s mind was free from thoughts, plans, and imaginations, when they ceased to be defined by identity, a loophole was created. Yet, no ruler ever used this opportunity for ill. They loved humans, loved their quirky little thoughts, plans, and imaginations. So, they had chosen to help in small ways—showing glimpses of the future or past, revealing things that mortals could not otherwise know. Since the law could no longer prevent the gods from communicating with mortals, it became encouraged and eventually essential. No mortal should ever be left alone.

Eirik added more wood to the embers, watching as the flames began to consume the branch, dancing on its surface like free souls. The Firebringer was the one his family typically worshipped, as he also symbolized freedom.

Suddenly, a muffled gasp echoed through the air. Eirik's hand gripped his sword. He had never gotten his knife back after it struck a wolf’s paw, so this would have to do. The sound had come from Ulrik's tent. For a moment, Eirik paused, listening intently—and then the gasp came again, this time escalating into a full-on shout. Without thinking, he rushed to the tent, ripping the entrance open.

Ulrik was asleep. The flickering campfire cast lights and shadows on the tent’s walls, and Eirik could see the sweat glistening on his face. Ulrik was tossing and turning in his sleeping bag, his eyelids twitching as though he were struggling to force them open—or perhaps as if he were witnessing something he wished he hadn’t.

"What the…." Eirik muttered under his breath, lowering his sword. He knelt beside Ulrik, giving him a light shove. “Hey! Sleeping beauty!”

He had to shake the man a few more times before Ulrik jolted awake. He reached instinctively for his weapons, ready to strike anyone who had dared to wake him. But when his eyes landed on Eirik, his expression shifted from startled to furious.

"What are you doing here? Get out!" he roared. Now, the entire forest was definitely awake.

Eirik paid little attention to his outburst. He was already used to the man's angry tone and shouting. But what caught his attention was the fear in Ulrik's dark brown eyes and the tears streaking down his face. Ulrik had scratched at his own skin in his sleep—his stubbled chin revealed torn flesh and blood. He looked as though he had seen a ghost.

“What did you see?” Eirik asked sharply. There was no time to be polite, and when Ulrik hesitated, he grabbed him by the collar. “Tell me!”

The intensity in Eirik’s grip made the tension between them palpable. His voice was low but commanding, filled with an urgency that left no room for refusal. A chilling gust of wind swept into the camp, and from outside, Sindre emerged from his tent, startled by the commotion.

Ulrik pressed his lips tightly together, shaking off Eirik’s grip as he sat up fully. His voice was low and tense as he muttered, "A nightmare."

Wasn't anyone here going to get to the point? Eirik had to resist the urge to slap him. Obviously, he’d had a bad dream. But what kind of dream? What had happened in it? There was no time for hesitation or skirting around the details.

Sindre stepped into the tent. "What happened?"

"…A nightmare," Ulrik repeated, his gaze distant. "Movement in Norden Viper. It’s waking up."

Norden Viper—the canal near their small village, lying on the border between their land and the neighboring country. The phrase carried more weight for Sindre than it did for Eirik.

“The sea serpent?” was all Sindre could manage to say.

Ulrik nodded. "Vorsythus."

“Shit.”

Eirik looked between the brothers, confused by their exchange. Vorsythus was a name whispered with dread, a curse passed down with warnings. It was the thing parents threatened their children with when they ventured too far from the shore. If they swam too deep into the waters, the sea serpent would drag them down to the depths, to the lost and forgotten graveyards of the sea. It was one of those legends people in Kaldrheim muttered about, the reason why the waters were left unexplored. Because the monster knew. It sensed everything around it, even in its deep, eternal slumber. But then again, it was just a children's tale. Or it was supposed to be.

“You’re not guarding our borders, are you?” Eirik asked. “Your task is to watch the canal. Not from people, but… from that.”

Sindre gave him a sorrowful look. “That’s why the village was built. We guard... to make sure it never awakens again.”

“What happened to it? I thought it was just a myth.” And he still wanted to believe it was all just a story from some ancient book. But if there was one thing Eirik had learned from his travels, it was that he shouldn’t doubt the brothers. No matter how impossible their claims seemed, they were rooted in a truth he had been too blind to see.

“About two hundred years ago, it’s said that a vicious sea serpent began haunting our waters. It destroyed all ships, created storms, caused floods, and wreaked havoc on coastal towns,” Sindre began. “People fought back, but they didn’t have the right tools or resources, and in the end, even the few that remained sank to the ocean floor. Many described Vorsythus as a nightmare. For fifty years, it spread terror, until it started to weaken. No one knew why, but it gave people a brief advantage, until one day, it no longer rose. It had fallen asleep, as if all its power had been drained away.”

“When you say ‘power,’ you mean...?”

“Unnatural power.” Sindre nodded. “People burned all the books, journals, and notes... everything that proved the existence of Vorsythus, and then it was covered up, treated as just a story for the new generations, because the serpent’s power was god-like. It didn’t fit the image we were supposed to have of our rulers.”

“Only one journal survived the mass burning,” Ulrik added. “It belonged to our village elder’s family. It contained a detailed drawing of the sea serpent, and it had...” He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Black eyes, like gaps in the void.”

Like the giant wolves that entered the village. These creatures weren’t natural-born animals driven from their home territory by fear. They were something entirely different, beings that had taken on monstrous forms, fueled my unnatural power.

Eirik rubbed his eyes in frustration. "Why would the gods send something like that to our lands?"

"That’s exactly what we want you to find out," Sindre replied.

“Awesome.” He was silent for a moment before turning to Ulrik. “What happened in the dream? Tell me everything.”

It was clear that Ulrik didn’t want to open up to him. But now, the truth was already laid bare, and there was no room left for secrets. Eirik was a real hypocrite, demanding to know everything about everyone else when he himself had kept so much hidden. Better a hypocrite than hated, shunned, or cast out.

“I saw violent storms over the canal,” Ulrik began, his voice low and haunted. “The ice was ripped from the sea’s surface, crashing against the shores, our village. In the dream, Brumar was submerged—lost beneath water, ice, and debris, torn apart by floods.” His gaze drifted to the ground, dark and troubled. “And I saw our sister, walking toward the shore as if in a trance. The coyote was there too, looking more ravenous than ever, its silver fur now almost entirely stained with blood.”

“Your sister?” Eirik repeated.

Ulrik fell silent, so Eirik turned to Sindre, hoping he might fill the gaps.

Sindre sighed heavily. “Our younger sister. She… she’s ill. Our parents passed years ago, and gradually her mental state has crumbled. She no longer speaks, barely eats or moves. She just cries at night, on those rare occasions when she does sleep.”

Eirik didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to pull the brothers into a warm embrace, to somehow shoulder their burden with them. But that didn’t feel like the right thing to do; it felt intrusive, a kindness they might not be ready for. Words, usually his allies, now felt distant and useless, and a deep sadness washed over him as he looked at Sindre and Ulrik.

All this time, he had been complaining about trivial matters, struggling each day just to keep a sense of optimism alive. Meanwhile, these two had carried something so heavy, so profoundly painful, weighing on their shoulders. Knowledge, he realized, was sometimes far too much. People weren’t meant to know everything—the monsters lurking in the sea, the nightmares waiting in sleep, the sorrows deep enough to drown.

Instead of offering his sympathy and support, Eirik asked, “Which god showed you this dream?”

Ulrik shook his head. “I don’t know. It wasn’t the one who usually reaches out to me.”

“But the coyote was still there…” Eirik murmured, his mind turning the images over, trying to make sense of them. “And your sister? Why can’t she sleep? Is it because of the nightmares?”

“She won’t say,” Sindre replied softly, “But that’s our theory.”

Gradually, nightmares began to seep into the minds of the people. First, in their sister’s dreams, then their elder’s, and now Ulrik’s. Who knew how far the plague had spread, how many cities it had touched, or how many countries it had reached? Kaldhreim was not the only place where the gods had laid their claim.

Eirik said, “When we reach Brumar, I need to speak with your sister.”

“No way!” Ulrik barked. “She can’t be disturbed any further.”

“Wow, you're acting as though I’m some god-sent creature of destruction.”

“Who knows, maybe you are.”

“Of course. Because I’m such a giant, deadly beast.”

“I won’t let you speak to her. I’ll kill you if you come anywhere near her.”

Eirik glared at him, almost offended. “I’m just trying to help! If you want me to get to the bottom of all this, I need to understand everything that’s connected to these nightmares.”

“Try to figure out my dream, then,” Ulrik shot back, “Ylva is too fragile. I won’t let anyone—”

“Don’t start with the protective big brother act. Weren’t you the one shouting about how everything’s relevant?” Eirik retorted. For the first time, he was truly fed up with the man’s shouting and hostile attitude. “And I will figure out your dream too, but it’s hard to analyze symbols that have never been shown before. I need to find the answer from scratch, so I need every bit of context I can get.”

“Listen now, you—”

Sindre interrupted, “Yes, Eirik, you may speak to our sister.”

Ulrik stared at his brother in a fury, shocked, as though Sindre had just stabbed him in the back. “You can’t be serious, Sin, we’re talking about Ylva here!”

“She’s not a child anymore,” Sindre replied calmly. “And if her state of mind is due to these nightmares, Eirik might be the only one who can help her. So, we’re giving it a chance.”

He then turned to leave the tent, continuing, “I can’t sleep anymore. If neither of you can either, let’s have breakfast and head out.”

Eirik hadn’t slept at all, but his mind was so full of thoughts that he agreed to Sindre’s plan without protest. He grabbed his sword and left Ulrik sulking in his tent, where he didn’t plan to leave anytime soon.

As Eirik and Sindre were feeding their horses together, Eirik muttered softly, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You always have my back,” he replied. “Even when Ulrik is usually right. You have no reason to trust me, and I haven’t been fair or understanding toward you.”

“True, you haven’t,” Sindre sighed. “I think we’re more susceptible to nightmares because we live so close to Norden Viper and the sea serpent. There’s some ancient power in it, something our realm shouldn’t be exposed to. And because you were in the elder’s dream, your fate is now tied to ours. We don’t have any other choice.”

Eirik nodded but didn’t say anything more. Eventually, Ulrik emerged from his tent as well. After they had eaten, extinguished the campfire, and packed their belongings, they continued their journey in the quiet of the night.